Toy Story 4

Ever since I saw Toy Story 3, I have been longing to take out my American Girl Dolls. I can hear them scratching at the insides of their trunks, begging for me to come and do their hair, I swear it! And somehow the universe knew this, because today an 8-year-old American Girl Doll fanatic showed up at my door. She was the daughter of a work associate of my mom’s, and I was told to entertain her. She seemed shy at first, but I should not have been fooled. The second I took out the dolls, it was like her voice box had been switched on. As she tugged on the beautiful hair of my Felicity doll, she would say ridiculously precocious things like “You know what’s weird? So many things are made in China. It’s not good” or “You know what’s strange? Sneakers were invented in 1892” or “Hey, did you know World War II started in 1944?” I usually like smart, interesting children, but, selfish as the kid in me can be, I wanted to play dolls. After she stripped all my dolls naked, she said, “You know what’s weird, Tara? The dolls don’t have butts!”

Needless to say, I did not get to set my dolls up for a Victorian tea party today. But I did get to get my hostess fix later on.

In honor of the fact that we planned to watch Driving Miss Daisy, I planned a Southern-style dessert for Kristin Emily, Katie, and Lissie’s friends. I squeezed lemons and blended strawberries to make Strawberry Lemonade, which I thought came out well for my first time making homemade lemonade! (As you can tell, I have little faith in my own domesticity. This comes from growing up thinking feminism is the only way, hence anything done in the kitchen is anti-feminist. I am not sure where I got this idea from, but I sure wish I never had it. Maybe then I could cook well!) I then attempted to make use of our excess watermelon, in making Watermelon Lemonade. This was far from successful, coming out as a pulpy, bitter mess. But I served it anyway…along with Key Lime Pie, Brownies, and cherries.

This all reminds me, I have watched two other movies to add to Project Film Frenzy:

· Being John Malkovitch (strange…I think I liked it…but it is hard to say)

· Driving Miss Daisy (which just further confirmed that Morgan Freeman is my hero…and strangely had little plot but was still fantastic, as Katie, Giff, and I agree)

Daily Randomisms

Daily Excitement: The Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows trailer came out today, which made me already feel the anticipation to see the next movie. However, as many of you know, they are putting out this last movie in two parts, and I am very afraid that the first part will be nothing but a lead-up to the final part. Most of the things shown in the trailer seem to be from the second half of the book, which makes me wonder what they will show in the first part of the movie at all…Harry sitting in a tent in the woods?

Daily Annoyance: Birds. For some people it’s spiders, for some it’s rodents; but for me, it’s birds. Ever since that seagull at Robert Moses Beach swooped down and stole the hot dog right from the bun in my hand I’ve hated those bastards. (And then the guy at the concession stand would not believe me, or give me a new lunch. I was only 12.) I’ve never even seen Alfred Hitchcock’s movie about those flying creatures, for fear it will make it worse. But, unfortunately, I have had quite a few run-ins with them lately: Lissie feeding swans from her dinner plate (shown in picture), my dad kicking sand at pigeons and throwing bread at gulls until they swarm us in the ocean, a rather annoying little bird who kept flying around my hair like I was a cartoon character who just bumped his head.

But, by far the best was the bird that had been annoying my dad as he sat outside with my mom. In trying to get rid of it, he fed it a Wasabi pea, hoping it would hate the spicy thing and leave, or, even better, explode and die like the pea was a Pop rock. (I really don’t wish death upon birds; PETA do not come after me, please.) But, instead, it enjoyed the pea and came closer, looking for more food. My mom went to get a drink, and when she came back the plate of Wasabi peas was on the ground, broken, with spilled peas around it. My mom looked at my Dad accusingly but he answered sheepishly “The bird did it!” and who knows if this is true. Finally, my mom had the idea to take her straw and spit Seltzer-water in the bird’s face, which did the trick and it flew off. She was so filled with pride at defeating the bird that she told Lissie and I this whole story, while grinning largely like a kid who just won a goldfish at a fair. (Yes, this is what my family talks about at dinner.)

Trivia: “Lady Gaga is inappropriate! She shows almost all of her boobies!”

-the 8-year-old I played with today…(she followed this statement with silence and then a question: “What does inappropriate mean?”)

Shafty, Film Frenzy, and Broccoli Rape

Let me tell you a little about Project Film Frenzy. It is mainly compromised of my favorite people, sitting around and watching movies with me. Holy Cross is a bloody difficult school, and I needed a break now that summer had come and I did not start work for a few weeks. (Katie and I started this project about a month ago.) My idea of a break: watching movies and making jewelry, eating blueberries with cool whip and drinking 99-cent Arizona green teas, with my best friends. So that’s what I did. I decided, after careful consideration on how to attack all the wonderful movies I still need to see, to take on the Smithtown Library DVD collection. I have taken out many of their movies before, since they have a much more of the oldies I like than Blockbuster does (did you know that Blockbuster doesn’t even have The Breakfast Club?!). But there are still more I need to watch, so I am alphabetically taking out 7 movies at a time that I have yet to see/ really want to watch again. Here is what I have tackled so far:

· African Queen (Humphrey Bogart at his youngest, and least handsome)*

· Age of Innocence (based on the novel by Edith Wharton…good, but frustrating, as tragedies are)

· Aladdin (have obviously seen it a million times but I had to watch it again, to pay tribute to most of my childhood years in which I actually thought I WAS Jasmine…found it incredibly funny this time, especially how Jafar, (who Alli, Zach and I used to call “Jafart” when we played Aladdin when we were little) always called Aladdin “Prince Abooboo”)*

· Alice in Wonderland (both versions)

· Amelia (which wasn’t terrific but it revived my fascination with Amelia Earhart…SHE JUST DISAPPEARED!!!!!!)

· Anna Karenina (with Greta Garbo, based on the novel by Tolstoy that I have never been able to get through…but Garbo was great with her frequent head-back movements, and Katie loved this one most I think, partially because it brought us our new favorite word: “INSUPPORTABLE”)

· Apollo 13

· Bonnie & Clyde (Did you know Warren Beatty got 40% of the profits from that movie?? Craziness! Like he needed anything else when he’d already slept with half of Hollywood)*

· Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid (Robert Redford and Paul Newman are such a good pair…Kate joined us for this one, of which we are extremely lucky, and I miss her greatly)

· Cat on a Hot Tin Roof (based on Tennessee Williams’ play…this was soooo good, definitely my favorite, Elizabeth Taylor was beautiful and Paul Newman was hotter than James Dean and Marlon Brando (circa A Streetcar Named Desire, not in his cotton-mouthed Godfather days…) combined!)*

· Choke (based on the Chuck Palahniuk book, which we rented to satisfy our beloved Giff who we have put through far too many movies that were not her type. She takes it like a champ, though!!)

· Ciderhouse Rules

· The Constant Gardener

· Diner

· Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde (the version with Ingrid Bergman…Katie fell asleep in utter exhaustion but I enjoyed it)

*= You need to go rent this movie…immediately!!!

I will keep this blog updated with our progress; hopefully we can get through the alphabet by the time the summer is over!

Daily Randomisms:

Daily Excitement: British-ness. This is always an excitement for me. The monarchies, the scones, the literature, the accents. Don’t forget the idea for round tables, The Who, high society snobbery, and Churchill’s attitude. So much goodness has come out of that little rainy island.

Daily Annoyance: Thong Bathing Suit Bottoms on Family Beaches. I mean, really, is that necessary? Very few people want to see that. And then to rub oil all over your bottom and almost give the crotchety old man sitting behind you a seizure?? More unnecessary. So, lady-that-I-saw-on-the-beach, and all others sporting this form of nudity, please put your arses away. For the good of your countrymen (and countrywomen, of course.)

Possible Future Occupation: Writer for the NY Times Travel Section. I may have decided this was a good job for me because I was reading the Sunday Times and there was an article on Harry Potter World in Universal Studios. And the author of the article got to go to the park early with his family to write about it. And this might have made me so envious that I decided being a Travel writer is the only way to satisfy my wanderlust.

Trivia!: In his army days, JFK’s nickname among his peers was “Shafty.”

And I’m Still Laughing About: Menu item 19 at the Italian restaurant we ate at in Aruba read “Broccoli Rape.” I’m guessing it is supposed to say Broccoli Rabe (the disgusting broccoli-spinach combination). We asked the Spanish-speaking waiter how long they’ve had their menus, (and after being thoroughly confused about what “menu” meant, and going to ask another waiter, who then had to ask the hostess, causing a ruckus at our table) they said about 3 years. So we figured it best not to tell them of their written mistake, and let the rape remain…even though it sounds like a title of a Veggie Tales gone horribly, sickeningly wrong.

An Introduction

I am not sure how to start a blog, but here goes...

Part One: The Outer Shell

It will occur again…and numerous times after that. I will lose my identity. The days will get thicker and slower. I will retreat to that placating spot in my head. This place disconnects me from everyone, and so my outer manner will become harsh when people try to infringe upon my spot. You can blame this breakdown on stress, lack of space, or insomnia, but the veracity of the situation is…I have lost myself once more.

So my wandering soul leads me to the distinct smell of a library, rich with age and continuity. I will pick up a book, and fill myself with the pages, until I am part of its course. My own thoughts will be that of the story’s, and my short breaks, whether to consume a bowl of cereal absentmindedly or to grab a glass of water in my slippers, will be lived by a different me. I will be inhaled by the words, by their flow and by the figures that etch themselves into my memory.

Recently I was shown how severe this book affinity is:

Novel world: A character is found dead in the woods, right after teatime.

Real world: Engrossed in the story, I suddenly clasp my hands over the page in horror. My friend, observing me doing this, gets confused and taps me until I surface. Surface. Surface from those letters weaved into sentiments.

“What are you doing?” She squints at me strangely, worrying. I look up quickly.

“Dead body!! It’s Charlie!” My voice tells her, as my eyes itch to return to the page.

“Well it’s not like you can see it there. You are acting like you are covering your eyes in a gory movie scene.”

And it is probably better that she doesn’t comprehend. Because I know. Every fiber in my body knows, every miniscule part of me crunches and cringes at the terrible scenes, and relaxes and extends at the content ones. Though I am leaving my own reality, I am connecting my body to my disarray of thoughts. I can feel the trembling of their joining together. I continue to feel it…as the book is gripped in my hands, so tight, my nails make marks on the fragile paper shell of the story.

I can sense myself loosening as I reach the last few pages and my eyes race over the words. Though the adventure is over, I am excited to be done and return to an identity I now feel so instinctively: my own. As I place the worn book down, I feel exhausted and accomplished and full.

Words are bodies, tiny life-forms, craving identity just as badly as our centers crave identity. But sometimes an author, a significant genius, can string those beings together and give them more vivacity than truth itself. Only certain individuals will be able to revive the story. But those readers who can…it will save them. When they are clasping for definitions or anything steady at all, the book will draw them in and piece them together before they know they are taken by it. In this way, I am in my element when I am reading. I stream through words as though they are aqueous; they generate in me a power to trace the ink-scrawls back to myself. Again.

Part Two: The Middle Layer

I am sure many people see the inner workings of my moods, since I often speak my mind. I am aware of my greatest insecurities. Many people are not, I have gathered. I used to ask people I was close to what theirs were, and most of them said they couldn’t think of any, even if they had previously answered the “Are you insecure?” question with a “Yes”. Either these people are not in tune with themselves enough to admit the insecurities, or they are just afraid of what telling someone else will do to them. It sometimes feels that if I just say them aloud they will seem callow, and evaporate in the mist. When I was younger I would imagine them just disappearing one day. But they don’t. One’s largest insecurities…the ones that tug at the pit of our stomachs as we try to ignore them…are terrible.

I know that I am very fortunate with the life I have been given. Handed to me, since I was young, was everything I needed to survive very comfortably. Plus more. My family cares about me more than I could ever explain, and I know for this I am genuinely luckier than many people. And yet…there is a very large part of me that is not content. One day, I finally confessed this to someone, and they did not look at me in horror, but they replied, with a rather simple expression:

“Maybe what you have in your life…all the things that you think make you so lucky…are not what makes a person happy.”

I had someone whose opinion I respect greatly read this for me. But he took a long time, then made a slightly pained face.

“I don’t know,” he said. “You have to work on its readability.”

I like honesty and reality. But what I need is a trait that I can identify with. It may never be the amazing writer, but I just want to find it. I do not want reassurance. I don’t feel that I fit into the masses of kids that surround me. I do not mind this usually, but if I had a concrete identity, it would be easier.

Part Three: The Stable Core

I am Tara Elizabeth.

My life has not been unordinary, but I value it greatly.

I have been in love. I believe in it strongly.

I have been broken, but it seems foolish now.

I make wishes: on stars, on birthday candles, at 11:11, while tossing coins into fountains. It is always, without fail, the same wish…

I wish to be happy for the majority of my existence.

I am ever-changing, and that is what makes me who I am.