Brown Eyes

Sometimes, I just have to look at myself.

Most of the time, I just don't look because I'm afraid to. I have a traumatic past with myself.

But today, I got a new dress, and so I took this picture, and here is what I see.

It looks like I'm wearing lipstick, but I'm not. They just look like that. My mom used to say I had "rosebud lips," and now my daughter has them, and here, in this picture, I still have them, except they're grown up. Not a rosebud anymore, I guess. Over the course of my life, people have loved me enough to want to kiss them. And kissing - isn't that something? Mashing your mouths together to demonstrate affection for one another? I always think about that. Always. You think I'm kidding. Every time I've ever kissed someone, this special person living inside me for the sole purpose of dampening nice moments has to come out and say, "THINK ABOUT IT, of ALL the ways in the entire universe that humans could possibly choose to show affection for one another, THIS is what we've settled on."

But people have wanted to kiss them, and that's cool with me.

There's a little mole between my lower lip and chin that seems to get more prominent with age. I don't think it was there in photos I see of myself from high school or even early college. My dad constantly tells me I can have it removed, and I constantly tell him that I like it there. When he tells me that, I get upset, inside, and I usually have to say to someone, "You'll never believe what my dad told me," and then they're like, "That's terrible," and I'm like, "I know," and I get that sense of validation I've craved since childhood.

I see that I'm getting older. I think it took me a long time to look like a woman. A real, bona fide, grown up woman. You wanna know how much I weigh? Here. Here's how much I weigh.

I weigh 138.4 pounds. I'm five-foot-four, and I weigh 138.4 pounds.

Take that, old self. Take that, putrid American societal standards of beauty.

I'm not sure I've ever done that before.

But you know what? 138.4 is a good weight for me, myself, a woman. Maybe not in general, but for me. It wasn't a good weight for me as a teenager, not when all my friends were only about 110. But now, I'm a woman. Even if I'm not really taller, I seem taller, and leaner, somehow, maybe because my hips changed a bit after having a baby. I have no idea what it is, but it works, now. It didn't before, and now it does.

I used to wear green contacts, too. I wouldn't leave the house without them. I'd sleep in them, sometimes for a month at a time. I didn't want to believe that I didn't really have green eyes. And very few people could tell that they weren't real, either.

My ex-boyfriend used to practically revere them. If I took them out for any reason, he'd just look at me and sigh and say, "Brown eyes." Just that. Just, "Brown eyes."

And I was horrible and unappreciative (still am), so I'd write him off as not knowing what beautiful was and hurriedly put them back in. Yes, even if I was laying down to bed.

"Brown eyes."

Crappy insurance and the cost effectiveness of glasses changed that.

I got married and started wearing glasses and chose to get over my negative obsession with my eyes because ... well, it wasn't like I had anyone to impress anymore. Right? My husband found me attractive first thing in the morning when I was at my absolute worst. It was like I didn't even have to try for this dude. I just had to exist and he fell all over me.

Falls ... all over me. I should say. I'm a lucky girl. Woman. Girl.

Anyway, now I love my eyes.

I had no idea how dark and penetrating they can be. I don't know many people up here, up north, with eyes that dark. I appreciate them now. I wish my vision was better so that I didn't have to wear glasses at all, so that I could enjoy them more, and so my husband could enjoy them more, too.

Behind me, there's the fridge.

I can sit and look at myself in Photobooth and try to be pretty all day long -- we can't deny that there's a refrigerator behind me. Super glamorous.

This is significant, though.

My life is reflected on that fridge.

There's a stark contrast between the woman I'm looking at in the photo and the reflection of her life on that fridge.

A calendar indicating that my daughter's last vaccinations are coming up next week. Invitations to childrens' birthdays. Family photos. Coupons for recycling bags.

I can't even define what is means to be "grown up" right now.

Which part of this photo that I'm looking at really says "grown up?"

Confidence? Obligations? A new, more perfunctory view of ... what, my face?

What is the value of "grown up" anyway? Personally, I don't see any real value in the notion of "grown up" that I've maintained my whole life.

This was a deliberate experiment in self-awareness, particularly in the department of self-esteem and self-validation. Lots of self in there. It was necessary.

I have a very traumatic past with myself.

Fruit Lasagna is Not Italian

Something weird is definitely happening in my body right now. I'm simultaneously headachey and excited and sleepy. I either need to go to bed or to the hospital. Yes, it was worth it.

Tonight, our friend Jason had an idea for fruit lasagna. A quick Google revealed that it's not a new thing, but all the recipes I found were either weird (like, fruit and ricotta cheese ... no) or convoluted or in Spanish. So, armed with bits and pieces of recipes I found online that seemed to work, and Jason's insistence that graham crackers be incorporated somehow, I threw together this heinous concoction of sugar-coma-inducing awesomeness.

The photos are crappy. Yeah, I know I'm a photographer, which means I take photos all the time, which means sometimes I just want to take a photo with my iPhone and call it day, and so I did! Take that, Pioneer Woman. 

  

The "lasagna" is just crepes, AKA French tortillas. The "sauce" is fruit dip. Now that you know that, here's what I did.

CREPES:

• 1 1/2 cups milk
• 1 cup flour
• 2 eggs
• 1 TB veg oil
• 1/2 teaspoon almond extract
• 2 TB sugar

Toss it all in a bowl and whisk it up until you have a nice little batter. To make them, use a nice-size frying pan on medium heat. The recipe I used says to put it in the pan 2 tablespoons at a time. I just poured mine in right out of the bowl until I had a "pancake" about 4 inches around. Then, you need to twist and turn the pan all over to "thin" out your pancake. The idea is to make really thin little pancakes (seriously, they'll look like tortillas) so don't think you can go too thin. Just roll that pan around until the cake is really thin. Let it cook until the top of the cake looks pretty matte, rather than shiney, and then carefully flip it and cook it up on the other side! Pretty easy! Here's what mine looked like.

 

THE SAUCE:

I got this "sauce" here, but adapted it a little bit. Please note that Austin picked up regular blueberry cream cheese at the store, and it ended up working out pretty well. However, I'm going to post the actual recipe, and if you wanna try it with blueberry cream cheese, you go right on ahead, homie.

• 1 cup marshmallow cream <---this stuff is ridiculously sticky.
• 1 cup cream cheese (try to get it to at least room temp if you can.)
• 2 TB frozen orange juice concentrate
• 1/4 cup milk (or more, if you want the sauce less thick)

Put the marshmallow cream in a bowl first and pop it in the microwave for about 20 seconds to melt it up some. Then, add the cream cheese and juice concentrate. Mix that up rull gud. Add the milk slowly so you don't add too much, and feel free to add a little more milk if you want it to be a little more saucy, like me.

 

ASSEMBLY! 
Let it be known that you can seriously use whatever fruit you want, because between the crepes and the sauce, you could slice up a log of dog doo and everyone would still think they were eating unicorn star fairy sprinkle hearts. It's that yummy. While Austin and Jason were eating it they were like, "This would be good with kiwi!" "This would be awesome with grapes!" "Next time we have to use more bananas!" "I'm going to take this home and spread the sauce all over my body!" <--Jason

Here's what I used: 

• Blueberries (one small box, not sure if that's 1/2 lb or not)
• 3 bananas
• 1 lb strawberries
• Graham crackers <--Jason's requirement

Slice the strawberries and bananas up and set those aside with the blueberries. Now, lay some crepes down (to the sound of a little Barry White) in the bottom of a glass dish. Spoon half the "sauce" onto the crepes and spread that around a bit. Put about half the fruit mixture on top of that. Now, crush up at least one or two full graham crackers and sprinkle that all over the fruit. Add another layer of crepes, the rest of the sauce, the rest of the fruit, and some more graham cracker crumbles.

Now, you can either stick all this in the fridge for a half hour or so, OR, you can do what I did - when I made the crepes, I layed them all on a baking sheet and put that in the fridge while I sliced fruit and made the sauce. Then, when I assembled everything, it was already pretty chilled!

Enjoy, dudes!

Keep Calm and Stop Citing NaturalNews.com - Some Casual Tips for Evaluating Health Claims on the Internet

Literally only put this here so I'd have a better thumbnail image to choose from on Facebook.

If you know me, it's really unlikely that you'd call me crunchy. I take acetaminophen when I have a headache and I give it to my daughter when she has a terrible fever at night. I'm a vegetarian for health and environmental reasons, but if I thought I could get away with eating pasta and drinking soda every day for the rest of my life, I would. But I also swear that a few cloves of raw garlic taken throughout the day has killed every cold I've had since I learned the trick. (1)

Oh - what's the little number right there? Nothing. Just a citation back to an article that, based on the SEER (Source Educational Evaluation Rubric) method of evaluating resources, checks out.

Evaluating Sources
SEER is awesome. It changed everything for me. It's a rubric used to help you determine whether or not a resource you're reading is reputable or reliable (2). Basically, you're supposed to consider:

• Authority: Is the site well regarded, cited, and written by experts in the field?
• Educational Value: Does the site content help advance educational goals?
• Intent: Is the site a well-respected source of content intended to inform users?
• Originality: Is the site a source of original content and viewpoints?
• Quality: Is the site highly vetted with good coverage of the topical area? 

(SOURCE OF TEXT: Turnitin.com White Paper) 

After reading this blog post, you'll probably want to consider whether or not my blog checks out using the SEER method of evaluation. I'll tell you right now, it probably won't. Even with two years of library and information science graduate school under my belt, I wouldn't consider myself an expert. Educational value of my site? Yeah, no. Intent? I guess so. Originality? Probably not. Quality? Yeah, definitely not.

But I do care. A lot. Which means nothing in the academic world.

Still, I hope some of my friends will take what I have to say to heart.

IT'S ALL A CONSPIRACYYY
First, know that the debate is rampant. Take Dr. Joseph Mercola, for example. From my experience, people either love him or they hate him. Personally, I try to stay away from anything he's associated with given that hyperbolic language gives me hives and makes me feel like the marketing strategists are trying to use psychological warfare on me.

Thing is, lots of what he says makes sense on a surface level. Plants, raw food, antioxidants. That stuff is good for you. That stuff changes your body chemistry for the better. Duh. I don't need a medical degree to tell me that.

Then you think - well - if that's the case, why is the FDA riding his #$% so much? (3)

Oh, probably because the FDA and The Corporate Lobbyists are in cahoots, right? I mean, They Don't Want You to Know that garlic can cure colds because then you won't run out and spend your hard earned money on Nyquil and Alkaseltzer anymore, or whatever. So, better shut it down, Mercola, or you'll terk-er-jerbs.

This is mostly here for my husband's amusement.

Maybe. That kind of makes sense to any intelligent person, too. I don't need a PhD in Political Science or an MBA from Harvard to know that there is waaaay, way more going on inside these government agencies than any of us are aware of, and I don't have to be a complete and total cynic to know that a disgusting ton of it is probably pretty corrupt and definitely not for the benefit of the American people. That's just human nature, sadly, and I accept that.

So, just by being alert and aware, I can gather that:

• Fresh, organic plants are good for me and keep me healthy and help me heal
• The FDA isn't perfect, and to trust in anything wholeheartedly just because someone I don't even know tells me it's safe to goes against my intuition.

So why am I writing this?
I'm friends with a ton of different kinds of people. I'm friends with people who eat McDonald's three times a day, and people who homebirth. I'm friends with people who eat white bread and people who make their own multi-grain bread at home from grains they grow in their backyard.

On my newsfeed, I often see postings from my more "activist-y" friends linking back to articles about how sugar is the devil incarnate or that all the OB-GYNs in the country hate women or something.

One website that I see pop up often on my newsfeed is NaturalNews.com.
 
The first time I went there, it was because I had followed a link entitled Nine Foods You Should Never Eat Again.

I had to follow it.

Nine foods I should literally never, ever eat again?
I figured it would list things like tire rubber or laundry detergent, since I honestly couldn't think of any single food that someone should literally never eat again.

When I got to the microwaveable popcorn, I was totally bummed out. I love popcorn. I know the "buttery" ones are loaded with sodium and MSG, which isn't that great and well, really kind of heinous. But otherwise, I think it's totally yummy, and for a salty, crunchy snack food, it doesn't usually leave me feeling like a fat blob of crap afterward if I happen to eat an entire bag of it.

Then I read this sentence:

"Practically every component of microwaveable popcorn, from the genetically-modified (GM) corn kernels to the processed salt and preservative chemicals used to enhance its flavor, is unhealthy and disease-promoting." (Source.)

Disease-promoting.

Wait ...

... disease-promoting?

What the $%&* does that even mean?

I said it over and over again. Disease...promoting.

What kind of diseases? There's, like, literally an infinite number of diseases, I mean, I would assume that the list compounds every day, in some regard, with cell mutations and whatever. And this writer seems to think that my favorite bag of Orville Redenbacher Movie-Theatre Butter (represent, Valparaiso) is going to ... what? Promote ... diseases in my body?

Okay, maybe if I decided that I was going to quit eating all other foods ever and ONLY eat microwave popcorn for the rest of my life. Or if we created, like, a microwaveable popcorn concentrate, all the artificial flavors and everything, all mashed up, liquified, and then delivered intravenously so it was like eating 9000 bags of microwaveable popcorn a day. That'll uff anyone up pretty quick.

But, that phrase - "disease promoting" - was enough to convince me that I wasn't reading a very reputable source, but clearly it didn't (and doesn't) phase many people who are still reading the article and circulating it every which way and freaking out.

I'm Not Saying Ponzi Scheme, But...
I want to point something else out to you about this website, though, and others like it.

I've circled an ad there, in red.

These ads are a lot different than some Google AdSense ads, or ads linking to other websites.

These ads link to sites selling very specific products and supplements. (You can learn more about why this matters here - note that this links back to someone's blog. This person has clearly done some research, and the findings are pretty common sense and easily verified, but generally speaking blogs wouldn't normally be a source I'd consider reputable. That aside, I do take this guy and his easily verifiable facts at his word, as much as I can. You can't really make much of that stuff up.)

Anyone with their eyes open can see that there's a not-so-innocent, kind of weird connection between the hyperbolic (DISEASE-PROMOTING) language and the cheap (CURE DISEASES) ads.

Then there are the citations to that article ...

... or, rather the lack of one.

Citations, Citations, CITATIONS! Something Better Than Reader's Digest, Too, Please.
Citations matter. Next time you read an article, scroll down and see what sources the writer drew from to come to the conclusions that inspired the information that he or she wrote about. Once you look at those, look at their citations, and their citations, and so on.

This article does have one citation. To Reader's Digest. The article on Reader's Digest, however, was lacking in citations. And Reader's Digest in and of itself isn't a terrible source - but when you're advising people in the matters of health, medicine, and nutrition ... are you really going to cite ... Reader's Digest?

Are you really going to say, "I'm an expert in my field. Check out this article I wrote based on another article I found in Reader's Digest."

Here's one I saw a few times today. The article was called A Work About Sweeteners, and again, we're looking at some fairly serious claims: "A diet high in fructose has been linked to obesity and metabolic syndrome."

Everyone Calm Down - Was it Linked To? Or Proven?
"Has been linked to" is a phrase that I've been trained to be wary of.

In this case, the conclusion that I believe we're supposed to arrive at upon reading that sentence is that "it's been found that some overweight people with metabolic syndrome also happen to have diets high in fructose, therefore we believe that fructose is a probable cause of their condition, therefore it would be wise to avoid fructose."

The problem with that phrase - "has been linked to" - and furthermore, the problem with taking that phrase and letting it freak you out, is the fact that that phrase incites the well-know fallacy (and I want this to stick with you, friends):

Correlation does not (always) equal causation. (This is actually a pretty flawed cliche, but it's important to note that we can still draw at least some logic from the idea. Bad for hard science, not-so-bad when you're just trying to get a grip on an idea like we might be trying to do right now.)

Just because a possible link has been identified, doesn't mean it's time to freak out yet. More importantly, if you're going to use the "has been linked to" argument when making what I'm assuming you'd want others to believe are verified health claims, then at the very least you could have some consideration for your readers by noting that there is a difference between a linkage and a hard, proven, medical fact. 

Be Wary of Content Farms
Let's continue and look at the citations on this article too. Some of them happen to be links in the text, like the one on the sugar alcohol erythritol. The author says, "Hey, I know this fact is true because it says so here in this article on Livestrong.com." 

Really?

Because Livestrong.com is content farm. It's associated with Demand Media, the same amazing people who brought us such research gems as eHow.com and answers.com, those websites burgeoning freelance writers get paid $15 an article to write for while they build up their writing portfolio. (Name in the byline look familiar?)

Maybe I'm not giving this article on Livestrong enough credit. Let's check the citations.

Just Because it's on PubMed Doesn't Mean it Matters
Oh, nice. This one goes back to PubMed. PubMed is a pretty great medical research database. Let's take a look at the article that was cited on PubMed.   

So, we should definitely freak out and avoid erythritol because, according to the literature, we have ONE SINGLE recorded case of a woman getting a nasty rash after drinking a beverage that contained erythritol.

One.

The article also cites our friend, NaturalNews.com, as well as a website called the Global Healing Center. 

Nice little ad on the Global Healing Center's website.

Check the Date, Dude
What about this article, the one on Global Healing Network that the author of the sugar article is citing? What is that article citing? (Because again, remember, it matters.)

Copyright ... 1975 ...

Really?

The information in this article is nearly forty years old.

Really?!

One basic reference course was all it took to teach me that, when citing sources, in most cases it's important that these sources are current.  

According to this great article on Caregiver.org:

Sites should be reviewed and updated on a regular basis. It is particularly important that medical information be current, and that the most recent update or review date be posted. Even if the information has not changed, it is helpful to know that the site owners have reviewed it recently to ensure that the information is still valid.

 Now, sure, we may be dealing with information about sugar that was discovered in the seventies and hasn't changed. According to the citation, the information was even re-released in 1993, which means that just twenty years ago, the information was still good enough to be published by someone at least decently important (Warner Books.)

But the bottom line is that, if I'm going to make a medical or health claim, I'd want to do it right, and make sure that I could prove that the information I was drawing my research from was high quality and highly verifiable.


Some Things Just Make Sense, Though
I want it to be known that I am in no way criticizing anyone for their beliefs or for making the health choices that they make. I'm not even directly critiquing the information in these articles or trying to make anyone feel stupid for buying into certain claims they make.

I also want to make it known that I'm not naive enough to believe that it's all either black or white. I believe in a lot of naturopathic/homeopathic stuff. It makes sense to me. But there's also a lot of stuff in modern medicine that makes sense to me.

The people who are writing articles and publishing books claiming that homeopathy is 100% the way to go have as much to gain from the market as does the FDA and those Evil Corporate Lobbyists. No one is innocent here.

What I am trying to say, however, is that we have to be careful and we have to be aware. 

Furthermore, we have to calm down, at least a little bit.

This one documentary I really liked - How to Live Forever - showcases the lives of some really, really old people who drink and smoke and who otherwise put to shame the hyperbolic health claims of people like Dr. Mercola. What I noticed they all have in common, though?

They're just ... happy.

Okay, some are a little cantankerous.

But for the most part, they're just people who have made common sense choices with the foods they eat and the activities they partake in.

Look -

I think we can all agree that the food industry is crap. So here's what you do:

• Buy local produce from farmers whenever humanly possible, or grow your own. Without reading a ton of scary articles with poor citations, any idiot can plainly see that these are good, pure foods that nourish your body without introducing a bunch of spliced, franken-genes or pesticide-y chemicals into your blood stream. It also helps farmers maintain a living, which is nice, and keeps the need to transport plants that grow in the dirt, like what's in your yard (think about it, it's just stupid) all over creation, which is even nicer. (Buying local-organic or growing your own food is just a nice, considerate thing to do, anyway, period.)

• Look at the back of the dad-gum box. Just look at it. Yeah, I know it says "all-natural" on the front, but look at the back. Yeah, I know you can't pronounce half of what's in it. So put it down. You wouldn't go to the pharmacy and start drinking a bottle of shampoo, right? So don't eat that. Try making your own, so you know exactly what's in it. Oh, wait, you really want some Oreos right now? Well, screw it. Eat some Oreos. Ain't gonna kill you. Just wait a few weeks or so before you eat Oreos or chips or drink a soda again, ya fatty. It's that simple. 

That's common sense health, to me. 

So, next time, before you share that article about saccharine giving lab mice cancer (so we should all stay away from it or risk certain death):

• Use the SEER evaluation method. 
• Scroll down, check those citations. 
• Then check those citation's citations. 
• Make sure the information isn't coming from a content farm. 
• Make sure the information is current. 
• Consider whether or not someone might be benefiting from these claims financially, at the very least on a grandiose scale. 
• Make sure the information is coming from a .edu, .gov, or .org domain name (I know for a fact you can only obtain the former two suffixes with proper credentials.)
• Understand that none of it will be perfect because everyone has something to gain from everything
• Calm down, eat one Pop-Tart, but don't make it a part of your daily routine or encourage your kids to eat it as part of a "balanced breakfast," and don't tell your kids that Pop-Tarts cause cancer or kidney failure or something stupid, because based on the research, no one knows that for sure. However, given that Pop-Tarts are full of chemicals and eating chemicals is generally considered not-good-for-you, you should probably only have the one and not have another one for a pretty long time. Then, go eat a plant, preferably something organic, because that makes sense and is smart.

And use your head!

P.S. I wasn't trying to come off professionally, so if any formatting on the citations is weird or anything like that, just know that my only goal here was to present an opinion in conjunction with some reputable Internet resources (and my forthcoming Master's in Library and Information Science.) And to enlighten people I care about.

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

1. Lissiman, E., A. Bhasale, and M. Cohen. "Garlic for the Common Cold." Cochrane Database of Systematic Reviews (2009): n. pag. Print.

2. Turnitin.com White Paper: Evaluating Sources (link to .pdf)

3. Walker, Susan J. "Warning Letter." Letter to Joseph Mercola. 16 Feb. 2005. MS.

If I Don't, I'm Not Me

I seriously still can't believe that a university is going to pay me to get a master's degree in creative writing while teaching their students stuff. Whenever I think about it, I'm still kind of in shock -- mainly because I had resigned myself, many years ago, to the idea that art was just a hobby, and you were a fool to actively pursue it as a career. And then I ended up miserable doing everything else, while simultaneously being terrified of creating art at all, partially because I loved it so much and even trying it would be like going on a date with an exboyfriend that I never got over, and partially because I always had a sneaking suspicion that I sucked, so why?

Then, after three horrible, miserable years trying out teaching and banking and counseling, I had run out of "do what you love" options. So I applied to a program doing something that was just as horrifying to me as it was exciting and fulfilling and ...

... they actually wanted me. They read my statement, they looked at my writing, and they said, "This girl should teach classes and study with us." ...

Really?

I know it's "just Ball State" (to some), but I'm still just like ... wow ... I mean, now I literally CAN'T go back to full-time 9-5 work because of this.

Oh, why can't you work a full-time 9-5, again?

Because I'm in a graduate program for creative writing and I teach freshmen/remedial writing courses (I'm assuming). And they pay me. I make money doing something I love and know and long to do and hate to do sometimes but I have to do it because if I don't do it, I'm not me and I don't know me.

That's so amazing.

I guess I should clarify that "full-time 9-5" just means "one of those jobs where you work for an hour and push paper for the other eight." Or any job that you hate.

And I guess I should clarify that I've technically been working more than 40 hours a week out of my house anyway so it's not like I have an aversion to work.

And I guess I should clarify that I need to go to bed.

Just happy.

It's about time.

There's nothing inherently wrong with consumerism - but planned obsolescence is gross. Austin and I often talk about how easy it is for companies to create products that can stand the test of time - the way they used to - except they won't. My number one issue with American capitalism isn't the nature of capitalism itself, since I genuinely believe that American capitalism really can be the stuff dreams are made of. My issue lies in the way that corporations and manufacturers seem to take great pride in the fact that, if they can just make us their [expletive deleted], they can make more money. Manufacture a product that is not MEANT to stand the test of time, and we'll run out and buy more of it to replace what we just purchased that has gone out of style, been updated, or just plain broke for no reason (and there are no parts available to purchase and fix it.) There's no reason for it. I enjoy Apple products, and again - there's nothing inherently wrong with using them. I think I just wish people would hang on to what they have for a few years before upgrading. No one needs every single version of the iPhone. What we need is to take some of that money that we're spending on every new version of the product and invest it back into our communities. I think if we could learn to quit over-consuming, we could easily find a way for everyone to "have their cake and eat it too" - not only can you have that iPad, but perhaps instead of spending $600 on the newest version when the old version works just fine, we could all pitch in that $600 to update the technology in a school in an economically disadvantaged neighborhood.

Just a thought.

"According to Brazil’s Jornal do Comerciao, IBDI believes that Apple could have implemented the technological updates of the iPad 4 into the iPad 3. By not doing so, they believe that Apple took part in unfair business practices. Were Apple to lose in court, iPad 3 users in Brazil could receive some compensation.

'Consumers thought [they were] buying high-end equipment not knowing [it] was already an obsolete version,' says IBDI attorney Sergio Palomares."

http://mashable.com/2013/02/21/apple-sued-ipad-3-brazil/

A Kind of Love

I go to a lot of weddings. I photograph them, so, I kind of have to.

I photograph weddings, and I photograph engaged couples before I photograph their wedding much later. And when you photograph engaged couples and newlyweds, obviously, the look you're going for is love.

Whatever that means.

I mean, when you're there, in the midst of the job, you know what love means. Love is pretty. Love is adorable. Sometimes, love makes you cry, to see two people who enjoy each others' company so much they're willing to sacrifice life and limb in order to bind themselves to this other person legally and spiritually and, let's face it, domestically until they're dead.

Seriously, that's it. Game's over. I found you, and now I'm done. 

Love is a sinking feeling. Love is having a partner, an invested partner, someone who has made a commitment to obligate themselves to you, to take time out of their busy schedule to comfort you and encourage you. And why?

I don't know. Because you like the same things. You're attracted to each other. You make each other laugh.

Love is being willing to cross town, states, countries ... just to spend a few hours with that person who, for whatever reason, probably one you can just barely articulate, you want to spend time with.

See? Isn't it sweet? It's cute. I know.

I see this engagement video, and I love it. It's charming. I watched it all the way through and pondered it, compared what I saw there to what I see in my own marriage.

I thought about the couple being portrayed here - and I know they're real people, I know there are probably dozens of layers to their relationship and I'm sure they aren't all unicorns and glitter-hearts. But that's not the point of the video.  The point is portray this idea of love. Boy meets girl. Girl meets boy.

Can you imagine that idea of love in five years? Ten years? Fifty?

I see her in white apron with tiny red hearts on it, pulling a roast out of the oven right when he walks in the door, simultaneously loosening his tie while ...

... no, actually. I can't.

I can't picture that idea of love in ten or fifty years ... just like I can't picture a cute girl like that getting fat after giving birth to three kids, or a sweet, forehead-kissing dude like that feeling like he just needs at least three days alone somewhere playing Max Payne without interruption for once can't he just have that?

I see videos like that ... and I go to all these weddings and I take all these pictures ...

... and I come home and I think ... my marriage looks nothing like that.

I mean, it's not dull and uneventful or sad. We don't fight. We don't really even have any problems. He's my best friend, and I know I'm his.

But we aren't sitting on the couch nuzzling each other or playing Scrabble by the fire (that actually sounds kind of fun) or sipping wine at a picnic and giggling. And half the time, we're thinking of stuff we could do with other people rather than stuff we could do with each other. And I don't always cook for him and he doesn't bring me flowers every week and really ... we aren't much to photograph.

Two years and one child later ... it's really nothing like I anticipated it would be.

At the risk of sounding sappy ... it's probably better.

Which is why it was the couple slow dancing that had been married over 60 years tonight that got me all misty-eyed tonight, not the newlyweds.

As usual, I feel like my writing has just taken a nosedive off a cliff into a sea of no real point.

Let me know if you figured out the point I started out trying to make.

Elliot. Or, My Husband the Sociopath

This is a trailer for a film my husband made with a friend of ours in 2010.
Still digging it.

Get Thankful: Day 5

DAY 5. I am thankful for my big red cup that holds my iced coffee. Most mornings, I have two of these. It's the closest to being a crack addict that I'll probably ever get. Unless I get really adventurous one day.

If You Love Something

If you love something - and by love I mean, you procrastinate your actual work to do that thing - then you should just do it.

Quit trying to convince yourself that you're fine with how things are, or that you're fine with your job or you're fine with that major.

If I could go back, I would have majored in theater performance. I wouldn't have minored in it. You know why I minored in it?

Because I was terrified of creating something that I put my whole heart into creating and having someone tell me something was wrong with it or that it wasn't good enough.

I majored in English because it was interesting enough. If a peer or a professor criticized my research paper or told me to change something, I wouldn't take it too personally. But I have always taken criticism of my creative work so deeply, deeply personally that to really expose myself to criticism, to risk being told that I wasn't naturally gifted or that I hadn't blown someone completely away, was really risking my heart.

See, I started writing as a kid. And acting, and singing. I played piano and violin. I wrote stories. Full plays when I was in 4th grade. Novels in 5th and 6th grade. I made videos of myself. I put on plays for friends and family, plays that I wrote and then gathered all the neighborhood kids up to perform. I recorded tapes of myself singing all kinds of songs. I tried started a band when I was 10. It was an all-girl band, and that's all I'll say.

My first opportunity to try out for a play, I was all over that. I acted competitively in UIL speech and theater (and kicked xss at it) from 6th grade until just at the end of high school when I had a falling out with my theatre teachers over a ton of things, but mainly just the fact that I'm over-sensitive and at that time there was no one really teaching me how to work through my more or less unwarranted emotions. It was kind of traumatic for me. It definitely ended traumatically, anyway.

I grew up being told that I was amazing and gifted because for a kid, maybe I was. The same things don't carry over to adulthood with quite the same novelty. As an adult, no one really calls you amazing. And as an adolescent, no one really explained this to me.

So, in short ... I didn't major in theater performance because I loved acting so much that I was terrified of having to face the fact that one of the only things I really, really loved doing, was something I was sub par at. I majored in English. I became a teacher. Everyone in my family had been a teacher. I should be decent at that, I guess. And I was. And when I wasn't, and when people told me I wasn't, I just took their advice and tried to make changes.

More importantly, when I took my licensing exam, my "skill" was measured quantitatively.

Being criticized quantitatively is a completely different ball game than being criticized qualitatively. It's ability versus effect. It's being able to run a six-minute mile versus whether or not people care that you can or how pretty you look while you do it. 

I also used to be a musician. I always turned down offers to form bands or play in other venues across the state because I was terrified that, the more into the limelight I got, the more I'd be forced to look at myself and be unsatisfied. And then where would I be?

Because I hated looking at myself. I never thought I was pretty. I only ever saw flaws. I'd see other female musicians ( -- don't even get me started on female musicians and who gets popular versus who doesn't. No, the mix is not homogenous. But yes, the pot's disproportionate in my opinion -- ) and believe that no one would take me seriously if I couldn't lose 20 pounds. I was an obsessive dieter. I still have issues. This isn't where I talk about them though. I just did what I could to either stay out of people's line of sight or look like I didn't care when I was in it. I wrote songs for them. I didn't dress up for them. Why?

Because I really wanted to look good in a sleeveless dress and tall boots, but I have huge upper arms and even bigger calves and so I wasn't going to, and I had convinced myself that there was something sexy and cavalier about bedhead and a faded Die Radio Die t-shirt with a hole in the shoulder.

I even quit writing for the same reasons. I began to become my own worst critic. I told myself that story ideas that hadn't even been fully fleshed out yet were stupid. The poems I was writing were too melodramatic and I needed to get over myself. Even this entry. I'm worried that all these line breaks make me look like I'm 14 writing on LiveJournal again. I want to tell you that as a form of protection, so that you know I'm not oblivious to this fact and write me off.

You know when people are proud of you? People are proud of you when you finish school and find a job, and they get all a twitter when you buy your first car and you buy property. And for a second, they even kind of want to be you, just a little bit. They're just a little jealous.

But what's the point if you don't want to be you? What if you only want to be you in a one-bedroom apartment with someone you love and a burgeoning photography business or writing career?

So do what you want. Don't let people tell you otherwise. Get rejected, let it hurt, and then GET BETTER. And keep doing it. Tell yourself you suck, and then keep doing it. Let someone else tell you that you suck. And then keep doing it. 

Realize that you'll probably never be fully satisfied with your art because it's your art. And maybe you aren't really supposed to be fully satisfied with it. Because once you're satisfied, then what? Then, realize that not everyone will be satisfied with your art because that's just the nature of art.

So do it. If you do it while you procrastinate, then do it anyway. Find a way. Make a way. Make a list of what you're willing to sacrifice and do it. Be fearless and realize that we only get one chance at this - only ONE CHANCE. Don't be a sissy. Oh, wait - you're 26 with a mortgage and a family? STILL NOT TOO LATE.

The best thing about all of this is that it's never actually too late.

I have to keep reminding myself of that.

Weekend Playlist

This is worth seeing live.

Stream of Conciousness, What Inspires Me

I've been trying to decipher the difference between people who are genuinely happy - genuinely  contented, genuinely fulfilled - working full-time, clock-in/clock-out kinds of jobs compared to those who are not.

To clarify even further, I don't mean the teacher who is passionate about teaching who works a full-time teaching job, or the mayor who is genuinely passionate about city government working their full-time job ...

... I mean the bank teller, the grocery store clerk, the corporate manager, the telemarketer, the auto salesperson.

I know people that work jobs like that for years ... years ... and they're happy. And the thought of losing their jobs is terrifying to them. They might not always like what they do, but they're not miserable. Not like I was, anyway. These are people with hobbies and interests like the rest of us, who are willing to trade in hours of their lives in order to maintain a particular lifestyle.

I can't think of anything outstanding that isn't presumptuous or narrow-minded. Nothing that really explains what I'm feeling.

See, when I graduated college and entered the workforce, it seemed as though some invisible force came along and snuffed out my muse. Obviously it didn't, as there have most definitely been embers burning hidden beneath the ash all this time, occasionally kindled by something or another, resulting in a song or poem or story idea or even a post like this. But as I became more fixated by my ever expanding to-do list (which seemed to grow more after I left work to stay home with my daughter than to shrink) my ability to produce really dwindled.

I remember being told that my daughter would become my muse. It would be a lie to say that she isn't, because she is, but not like you'd think. She's more of a motivator than anything - a motivator, as opposed to a muse. I look at her and am not inspired to write or create, at least, not on my own. I look at her, and I'm more inspired to spend time in nature with her, to throw some paint around with her, to try a new cookie recipe with her, to clean, organize, declutter, give her a better place to live.

The stuff that inspires me to create hasn't changed. Above all, "love" inspires me. I say "love" in quotes for one reason in particular:

I've never loved anyone like I love my husband. What I feel for him is perhaps the most genuine feelings of affection I've ever felt for anyone, and yet his presence in my life has probably only really inspired a handful of songs, compared to the dozens upon dozens I've written for all the other ones - whatever it must have been that I felt for them.

But ... yeah. "Love" inspires me. Love between others, misunderstood love, complicated love. Angry love. Stupid love.

People are idiots when they think they're in love. They do stupid things. Perhaps what's more stupid are the plethora of things that they don't do.

I'm also inspired by platonic relationships. I'm inspired by the fact that, as a girl - a burgeoning woman at 26, I guess - I still don't understand exactly why girl friendships seem to be so much more egg-shelly than guy relationships. I mean, I have my theories, but they're just theories.

I'm inspired by people ... interacting. Why we are how we are. Why we do what we do. Why not some other way? What's the worst that could possibly happen?

Anyway ... that was all an incredibly awful segue to my main point: I know I'm supposed to live a creative life, but I don't really know what that entails.

I'm terrified that if I start working full-time as a librarian on my master's degree, my financial worries will be quelled right along with what's left of this creative drive I still have.

In my life, I have to write more music. I have to write a film. I have to write some short stories. I have to do all these things. I need to take more risks. I was never so afraid to just do that which comes naturally to me as I am today.

I'm all ready to rip this entry apart because I don't feel like it's particularly well contained, but I'm not. I'm just going to keep drinking my iced coffee and try to be happy that I wrote.

I Can't Tell You Why, but I Know I Loved The Master

I realize, I'm bad at talking about movies. I mean, right after watching one I fare alright. While it's still fresh, you know. But unlike with music, once a certain amount of time has passed, I can't tell you why I like it. All I can do is tell you I like it.

With my husband, it's a totally different story. He and several of his friends can quote films they haven't seen in years after only a single viewing. They remember specific scenes, whereas with me, it takes multiple, multiple viewings to be able to retain specific events and dialog. Up to that point, I just know that I "felt feelings" as I'm known to say.

I was so excited about our upcoming viewing of Paul Thomas Anderson's new film The Master that I ended up having an awful dream featuring Phillip Seymour Hoffman and me, held hostage in the "church" of a cult led by him, ending in me having to escape by stabbing a couple guards in the stomach. I specifically remember the "stabbing" feeling as though I was cutting through raw chicken. I have extremely vivid dreams. Not important.

Later, when I was asked to rate it (1-10 scale) I really didn't know what to say. I liked it. I loved it, actually. And it did a lot for me. It didn't do the same things for me that Punch Drunk Love does, but whereas I often feel as though I have a little Barry Egan living in my head, Freddy Quill is not someone I feel like I have ever been. I feel for him, but I don't feel like him.

So I can't do what my husband does. I think I finally realized that. I love Paul Thomas Anderson, and I love Wes Anderson - I'd easily, easily say that these were my two favorite directors - but I can't line up their films and tell you which ones I thought were the "best" based on whatever criteria. I can tell you, however, which ones touched me the most and why.

Tonight in the car, driving back from the theater, when asked to comment I could really only think of one thing to say. The film will be memorable to me because, as I've experienced with all the PTA films I've seen and clearly remember, his actors deliver impeccable performances. My favorite parts of nearly all his films involve moments where no one is talking. They don't necessarily have to be silent, but at any rate, dialog becomes indecipherable or non-existent.

At this point, my mind is sort of awash with eight hundred things I want to say about both Paul Thomas Anderson and Wes Anderson's films that makes each one of them mean so much to me for varying reasons, and I can't clearly articulate them. On the whole, though, I feel like both directors notice the same things I notice about life. They're tiny things that make me sad, but so tiny that I can't really tell anyone because I don't think anyone would understand. And the same for tiny things that make me happy. Sometimes it's a type-o on a street sign or the way someone takes just a second too long to answer to an easy question.

As with other things, if I can create a cohesive, articulate list, I'll try and share it.

Until then, watch something by one of them. Especially if you're feeling particularly deep. The greatest joy I get from these directors is when I watch one of their films and encounter a moment where I can't stop smiling because it's exactly what I had been needing to see or hear. Usually it's something so insignificant in the whole scheme of things, but then again, everything kind of is when you really think about it.

"Mommy" culture

Mommy culture is weird to me. At times I wish I were more knowledgeable or articulate so that I might have an easier time expressing what I mean with sentiments like that. But it is. It's weird to me.
I don't understand why I feel the need to question a woman exclaiming something like, "Oh, that's just life as a mom!"
Just ... "life as a mom."
Maybe it's the fact that people tout the marked difference between BEFORE kid and AFTER kid for more than the simple rite of passage that it is.
And "mommy-blogging" ... that in and of itself is just a whole other thing. It's a sea of women looking for their fifteen minutes, really, is what it is.
It's one thing to feel and write, in my opinion. It's another thing entirely to ... see, I don't know. I don't know where I'm going with this. I guess it's because I don't see any inherent problems with any of it ... so why, frankly, do I just feel like I wish there were less of it?
In an ideal Melissa world, we would all just be. I don't like to associate with Mommy Culture because I don't want to be anything but me. And I am so much more than just a mom. I've sought my identity, mostly, in spiritual things first ... I feel, deeply, that I was meant to be exactly who I am, where I am, in this moment. I try not to cling too hard to any one thing. It's failed me too often in the past.
I am just Melissa. I'm simple. I like things that are simple and that emphasize the tiny, beautiful nuances of life that often go overlooked. I like films with beautiful stories that can convince me they're real, at least somewhere. I like books that test me. I like people that don't try too hard at anything that doesn't matter. I'm simple, and I just think we should do things from the heart, do things that make us happy, and give as much of ourselves to others as we can afford.
You know, I'm also married and I have a daughter. That's awesome. But my husband and my daughter aren't me. They're things that I love and that make me very happy, but I hope to never confuse them with me. Does that make sense?

I've been sort of down, lately.

Is that okay to admit?

There is such a stigma associated with vulnerability in our society. It's true.

I think for me, personally, the fear is that anyone I open up to will assume that I now expect something from them. This isn't the case at all.

I open up when I think people will benefit from my vulnerability, the aforementioned stigma in mind. It isn't that I'm anyone particularly special, but I can be that one person someone might encounter today who I can truly say, "I know that feel." I think that's really all anyone needs at times.

I've been down because I think I'm the most disappointed in humanity that I've ever been.

I'm down because my husband and I work hard in school and are destined to be straddled with debt while people like Snookie and J-Woww are rolling in the dough when they really ought to be paying some kind of dumb b%*#! tax.

I'm down because whenever I check my Facebook feed, it's just always the same crap. Over and over and over again.

I'm down because I have no idea what I'm supposed to do with my life. I know what I enjoy, and I know what I can do well, but the propensity to fail at these things is completely overwhelming.

I'm down because it's summer, and I've been landlocked for three years, and I just want to go to the beach.

I'm down because money really doesn't grow on trees and as much as I try not to, I can't help but worry about our future.

I'm down because sometimes I feel like a phony.

I'm down because it took three years, but I'm finally beginning to really miss everyone I knew in Texas.

I figured that by twenty-six, I would have overcome many of my body image hang ups, and I haven't. And I realize that these things won't get any prettier with age. I wish I could just have a moment seeing myself like everyone else sees me. Or maybe I don't.

Even the "blogosphere" makes me sad. It's hard to find anyone trying to do anything different. It's hard to find anyone trying to be truly novel with their style, or going the complete opposite direction and being totally complacent about style.

By morning I'm usually much better. Sometimes all I need is a good night's sleep. It just seems that lately, that hasn't been enough.

What's the Focus?

I was a musician for a long time. It didn't pay the rent, but it's how I spent more than half my waking hours for several years. I guess I kind of still am in that I still write music and my husband and I are slowly, slowly piecing together a collaborative project. That being said, occasionally the topic of genre comes up and it's just one of those questions that most of the time, you just don't really know how to answer.

What I'm trying to articulate is that ... I really can't decide on a focus for this blog.

I mean, there's the title: the Cinephile's Wife. I am that. My husband is total nerd pants film geek. Most of our friends are, too. A good 2/3 of our daily conversation has something to do with film, music, books, and the occasional TV series.

But I'm also someone's mom. So then, you know, there's that $%^@ing mommy-blog route.

For a while I was like, yay, now whenever I try a new recipe I can take pictures along the way and post them and talk about it, and blah, blah, blah.

I can pin things on Pinterest and make them and show you guys.

I guess that's okay.

But frankly ... I don't think I can dedicate effort spent writing to something like that.

Writing means a lot to me. There is no other medium like it. None. If not for prose and lyrics I'd be strapped down in some rehab center somewhere. I know that sounds extreme but I'm only just slightly not kidding. That in mind, I just don't think I can bring myself to write about making my own Febreze when I'd much rather be writing about something more meaningful. Not that anyone likes reading about meaningful things, but whatever.

Then there's that other thing. Jesus. "Religion and spirituality." That's major. It's everything to me, actually.

And while he's a fabulous topic, I feel like part of my calling is to draw attention to some of the nuances of life, and of the world, and so therefore this couldn't really be a completely spiritual blog, either.

So ... I hope you're okay with these things.

If you've come here looking for nine thousand photos of my daughter, you probably won't get them. Those are on Facebook. And Instagram.

If you're looking for daily devotionals from a foul-mouthed semi-cynic ... they won't be daily. But they will be meaningful.

If you're looking to see what I wore today ... it just doesn't matter. So, good luck with that.

And film/book/TV reviews ... they're laughable, but I'll try.

We can definitely listen to some music though.


This has seriously been rocking my world for a couple weeks now.

Weekend Playlist

Here are some songs I haven't been able to get out of head this week. To be honest, I've been reminiscing a lot this week. Most of these songs probably won't be particularly new to anyone, because they aren't new, period. But even if you aren't, I hope they take you back. They definitely take me back.

And now I just want to be in a movie or something.

Having My Cake and Eating it in Moderation | My Weight Loss / Weight Watchers Experience

This is my "10 pounds lost" photo. I plan to take a photo in this outfit for every 10 or so pounds I lose!

---

I was probably on some kind of diet at all times from the age of 16 until about 23 or so. Not kidding. I won't go into where I think it stemmed from, because to be completely honest, I don't know. I had a certain standard I set for myself as a girl that I never felt I could meet, I guess. Add that to being a musician and, about once a year, being involved in acting in some way or another ... I was in the public eye a lot, and very critical of myself.

I have literally done everything from Atkins to these weird pre-surgery fasts I do not recommend. I've even done Weight Watchers back when you actually had to count your fruits and veggies and you got just enough Points to sustain yourself. And I never once made it past around 10 days without completely screwing everything up.

I've weighed at least 140 since the 8th grade. 140, which I always thought was just huge- I now realize that's hardly the case at all. Now that I've been pregnant and survived pre-eclampsia which sent me home from the hospital at 205 libres, anyway. Yeah, I have stretch marks on my calves. True story.

Sometime right around my move to Indiana in 2009, I was just done with dieting. I honestly became a little phobic of it, I think. I had tortured myself with diets for so many years that I finally just resigned myself to eating whatever it was that I felt like eating since my boyfriend thought I was hot and everyone kept telling me that I didn't need to lose weight in the first place. At the time I was still around 135, my lowest weight since 125 which I reached during a time of great dumped-ness.

Fast forward to post E, and I'm at 160, a number I swore I'd never see, not ever. I mean, I once went on a consultation for arm liposuction when I lived in Houston - yes, I did that! The baby/water weight was gone, and I was left with what I had done to myself, because I love the crap out of food. I just do.

Why did I kept screwing up?
First and foremost, my perception of time was so, way off. If I'd been dieting for a week, it seriously felt more like a month and I wanted to know why I wasn't skinny right now. Second of all, I was surrounded by beautiful girls who were on average at least twenty pounds lighter than me, and they were able to eat whatever they wanted, whenever they wanted to eat it. More importantly, my expectations were skewed. The notion that "it's a lifestyle, not a diet" was somehow impossible for me to grasp. Impossible. So as long as I ate "differently" than my peers, I was not in a world I enjoyed very much.

So what's different now? I've been on Weight Watchers for eight weeks, I've lost nearly 15 pounds, and I'm more than ready to keep going. Why this has worked this time and not other times for me is really, really important for me to think about. There's that saying, "If I can do this, you can." I'm not kidding. I'm seriously, seriously, seriously not, though.

Why am I succeeding now? -- Because it really is a lifestyle. And no one needs cheesecake more than once a week ... no one.
This go-around with Weight Watchers has really taught me something that I never quite learned in the past: nachos are awesome and they are not off limits. The problem is that the average American meal is obscenely starchy and fatty. We love our cheese fries and burgers and fried chicken and huge plates of pasta, and we have no idea that that isn't really how we're supposed to do it.

Think of it this way. Your car runs on unleaded fuel. Treating your car with the swanky SUPER unleaded stuff is extra yummy for it, but you just don't have the budget to do that all the time ... our bodies are similar.

"The problem is that the average American meal is obscenely starchy and fatty. We love our cheese fries and burgers and fried chicken and huge plates of pasta, and we have no idea that that isn't really how we're supposed to do it."

Our bodies love what most people consider rabbit food. Our bodies love lean meats, green veggies, tasty fruits and lots of water ... but an Olive Garden smorgasbord isn't the end of the world for it either. That stuff - the stuff that us Americans consider just an average, every day dinner? That stuff is special occasion stuff. That stuff is swanky, super unleaded goodness that we budget for.

Another great analogy: if you're a shoe connoisseur (and I am not) there's truly nothing wrong with saving up your pennies and dropping $200 on a hot new pair of kicks. But what if you shopped like that every day? Just bought crap, hundreds of dollars worth of crap, ever day? That's taboo. That's a financial disaster waiting to happen. We don't seem to view food the same way.

If you want a Baconator (mmm, bacon) save up for a Baconator. But just know that having one every day is just asking for trouble.

Oh, did I mention I have a daughter? And that she's going to notice how I take care of myself and mimic what I do? And that I want her to see a woman with a sense of self-control and self-confidence she can then take after? Yeah. That's a big one!

Why does it matter? You really aren't that overweight.
It matters because it matters to me. That's why it matters. I no longer think I'm "fat" like I did several years ago, but you know what? I wasn't eating right. I wasn't exercising (that's another entry.) What would happen if I did eat right? What will happen when I do exercise? The goal here isn't what it used to be. Sure, I am paying attention to a number on a scale. I have an ultimate goal of 125, which is a weight I was really happy at several years ago. (Okay, not happy in life, but I felt decent about my body.) That's my gauge there. And if I continue eating how I'm eating and if I keep up with my running (please God, help me keep up with my running) and I never make it to 125, the point is that my body will have figured out where it wants to be. It will regulate, it will have everything it needs and nothing it doesn't. That's what matters the most.

Later, I'll map out what my eating week looks like and any tips I think have helped me out the best.

As for now, I am just going to think about nachos.

Our girl, Evey.

We're kind of smitten.

Eisley is Taylor Swift

Taylor Swift - Safe & Sound - Music - More Music Videos

Eisley = Taylor Swift?

The Descendants

I cried. That never happens. Never. You could have killed Bambi's entire family and I'd have just told you that was sad, but this movie made me cry. Not a whole lot, but with some effort a tear managed to make its way out of my right eye during one scene in particular, and that's saying a lot.

This is one of those movies I wish I'd written. It's about a family fallen on some hard times - death, teen angst, infidelity - and their journey up and through it. I can't say that everyone would relate to every thing, but but everyone has felt, at sometime, like these characters must feel ... and so, I cried. But, I also laughed! Which is also fairly hard to do. I guess I should have said that in the beginning.

Guys, this movie made me emote.

It's also set in Hawaii. I think that's important because, I don't know ... sometimes it seems like everyone in Hawaii is happy, and, well, I guess they aren't. Hawaiians are real people.

Another thing I really liked is the 10 year old daughter. She's awkward and a little chubby and I was too, at 10. Like you wouldn't believe.

Wow, I'm really trying here ...

Okay, okay. Here's what I think about this movie. I think this movie is awesome. I enjoyed it. I felt something, and my husband always tells me a good movie is not an escapist film, but a film that invokes your emotions, and mine were totally invoked. You'll like this if you like honest movies about families that make it out alive, campiness excluded.

And here's what Austin said about it on Facebook:

"Honestly, the last half of this film is very effective. The first half is a classic Payne "dramedy," but the last half is the best work of his career, in my opinion (although I haven't seen Citizen Ruth or About Schmidt). I am surprised this once best picture at the Golden Globes, but I'm glad a great film won nonetheless."

I say, go see it.