book a week geek

Yesterday I grew tired of doing mountains of tedious library school homework (and visions of imperfect dresses danced in my head) so I begged OMC to drop his extremely interesting writings on Chiefdoms in Belize, or whatever, and go on a superfun date with me to West Mifflin, haven of all things cheap.  “We could even,” I suggested, with flirtatious eyelashes,” see if TWILIGHT is playing at the Dollar Theater!!!” (which of course it was, because I’d already checked).

Very much against his will, lured in only by the promise of popcorn and a Coke all to himself, OMC succumbed to the beauty that is Twilight.  I say that thickly, with a heavy sense of sarcasm, because unless you are 12, a girl and foolish (or, well, 23 and a girl and still pretty foolish) this movie is Bad.  Capital B Bad.  That didn’t stop me from loving it.  I loved it for a myriad of really embarrassing reasons, but for the sake of maintaining any coolness I might appear to have, I will say that I also loved it for these reasons:

• Edward has THE BEST wardrobe.  I don’t know anything men’s clothing, but he wears a coat that is dreamy and grey and tweedy and fitted and fabulous.  Bella’s wardrobe sucks.  She dresses like the bulk of her clothing came from Gap Body (essentially what I am saying is that she wears pajamas, or some incarnation of pajamas for the majority of the movie).  What does Edward see in her?  Find a woman who can dress like you, boy.
• Edward’s bedroom is practically the essence of awesome.  I know even less about furniture than I do about clothing, but holy hell, his day bed/couch/Eames thingie: I want it.  I need it.  And a cuddly vamp to share it with.  His bookshelves!  SWOON.
• (Library dork time) Bella’s information-seeking habits pleased the nerd in me to no end.  She perfectly demonstrated what a gazillion boring SPEC Kits and ARL papers took pages and pages to “show” me: teenagers like Google!  They use it for everything!  Shock!  The.  End.
• The scenary.  Hello, Pacific Northwest.  You are gorgeous.  You are full of moss, and fog, and rain, and moody teenagers.  Sign me up!

An armful of imperfect Anthro dresses, a bellyfull of Dollar Theater popcorn and one grumpy, bored OMC later, I was satisfied.  In case I wasn’t clear enough (I wasn’t), OMC is the best, most tolerant, kindest boyfriend ever.  I owe him at least three viewings of Mad Max and maybe even some terrible choose-your-own-adventure Dragon Lance viewings.   An excellent Sunday of postponing so much schoolwork.

I’d never seen the Outsiders before yesterday.  I think this was one of those movies that I feel like I should have watched in middle school, but never really did, so I just always pretended I’d seen it (like Caddyshack.  And Braveheart.  Also have never seen these.  But probably should.)  This movie is a great favorite of OMC’s.  Cherry Valance, as played by Diane Lane, is his dream girl (next to me, theoretically).  He has a tattoo of her.  No joke.  He knows most of it by heart.  He would be a greaser.  And would live with Darryl, Sodapop and Ponyboy (I would too, but for different reasons KNOWWHATIMEAN *cough* Sodapop *cough cough*)  It’s always kind of been a sore subject between us, that I hadn’t seen it, and that I didn’t honestly want to.

That has all changed.  I feel like I’ve been caught up on some ritualistic rite of passage.  I feel like now I can hang with OMC and his myriad of brothers.  I also feel like I kind of missed something.  I DON’T GET IT.  This movie is honestly pretty awful.  It is seriously made for middle school English classes.  It’s cheesy, and kind of lame, and generally made me go “eh.”

It is mere moments from the weekend, and since next week is SPRING BREAK OMG I don’t have any schoolwork to do, so I am looking forward to two days of sitting in the park, reading so much, not doing schoolwork, going to yoga maniacally, and dog-sitting for a fluffy, fluffy pup.  Which means I can snuggle with two dogs.  And that means my life is absolutely, positively perfect.

I went to visit my grandparents on Sunday. They filled me with deep-fried goodness. French fries, onion rings, fried zucchini, fried mushrooms. On top of that, sadly un-fried pumpkin pie. I wanted to die. My body is not meant for such consumption. I am the kind of girl who would be extremely content eating sprouts and Pink Lady apples for the rest of her life. I should have been rolled home down the Pennsylvania turnpike. I was exceptionally full, and in fact still couldn’t eat yesterday. Therefore, there was no cooking in my house. Not a thing. Therefore I have no recipes, except for the recipe of self-destruction, which I am newly well-acquainted with and reads something like:

veggie burger + cheese + onions + mayo + ketchup + french fries + onion rings + fried zucchini + fried mushrooms + hot peppers + chunk of garlic + can of Coke (they don’t believe in drinking water, I don’t think) + pumpkin pie = stomach-clutching burping disgusting illness.

In book news, I finished Love Medicine (need I tell you it was great?) and started the Beet Queen (which, by the way, should probably be my middle name). I woke up at the crack of dawn on Saturday morning and tore through Adrian Tomine’s Scrapbooks, which I keep reminding myself to buy because it’s one of those “need to own” books.

I hardly ever ever ever talk about movies, but last night big brother and I went to see Wendy & Lucy and I felt like someone punched me in the stomach with a sadness punch. I can’t watch movies that make me this anxious. Yes, it was pretty, and yes, Michelle Williams is pretty much a babe and I think I’m going to have that hairstyle accidentally in about two days and yes movies about dogfriends break my heart, but oh my god, did I ever need a hug after it. Old Joy didn’t do this to me. I resent this lingering sadness feeling. Needin’ a hug. Needin’ a hug.

-any beer that Red Hook makes, but in particular, ESB

-pie

-growing one’s hair out

-written correspondance

-Alice Munro’s short story “A Bear Came Over the Mountain” & less-so, but still something I would get behind if there were a fight about it or something, Sarah Polley’s film based on the story, “Away From Her” (this is not just because I LOVE Sarah Polley and sad stories about old people, either)

-going to Canada/dreaming about Nova Scotian real estate

-making fake meatball subs (um, hello YUMMY)

-playing Uno

-family time

-dog walkin’

-getting up early when there’s no reason to

-Koha (dangerously, beautifully addictive & dorky)

Lately, I feel like I need to read things I am already familiar with. Lots of X-Men and Gary Paulson and Margaret Atwood. Also, Roald Dahl. When I was a kid, my mom had Dahl’s gigantic Omnibus and I frequently used to tote it around my parents’ house, reading and freaking out at how scary the stories were. Not as silly as Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark (another perennial favorite of mine) but oh-so-creepy and gruesome. Browsing at the CLP last week, I saw Dahl’s Tales of the Unexpected and, because of my childlike mood of late, checked it out. Reading these stories now, I realize I missed a whole lot as a kid. These babies are deep. They’re scary, and they have serious substance I never before caught on to. Two very enthusiastic thumbs up.

Speaking of gore, my brother and I (in order to fulfill a two year-old pact we made in Bratislava) watched Hostel over the weekend. I can genuinely say that it was the worst movie I have ever seen. Gratuitous sex, gratuitous violence, omg, gratuitous everything. Biggest waste of $2 ever.

Also, I am slowly reading Susan Sontag’s Regarding the Pain of Others. In my dream life, I would be as brilliant as her. In this life, I will continue to cook a lot and watch bad movies.

A few years ago I read The Commitment, by Dan Savage. I read it because I think Dan Savage is hilarious, and because I am a little obsessed with him. I so very eagerly look forward to his column every week. Like, no offense Andy, but I skip past all other City Paper content and happily devour “Savage Love.” And I giggle, and people on the bus look at me strangely, and sometimes I howl, and then people on the bus REALLY stare at me. BUT, The Commitment was not your standard Dan Savage. Of course it was funny, at times, but I think he’s best read in short, little, paragraph form. My ancient qualms with Savage’s books are neither here nor there, though, because he’s coming to Pittsburgh!! Monday! CMU! McConomy Auditorium! $5 if you’re not a CMU student. I will be there grinnin’ away.
Yay!