...In which our heroine is very merry.

Sterling-Cooper-Draper-Price, Wilford Brimley cat, Opus, and I wish you and yours a very Merry Christmas. If you haven't bought it already, don't worry about it. I'll be looking forward to the annual viewing of Love Actually tomorrow and watching my grandma get all giggly after one glass of wine.

...In which our heroine itemizes.

Currently:
On my couch, in this sixty degree house because my parents refuse to turn the heat up.
Letting a nail color called "vodka and caviar" dry on my nails.
Watching Teen Mom and thanking all that is for those 28 little pills being easily obtainable.
Being thankful to MTV for at least showing the reality of unprotected teenage sex - all of the girls admitted to not using protection.
Sitting under my mom's leopard print Snuggie, that despite the fact that it's a Snuggie and a joke, is quite warm.
Dreading the doctor tomorrow. Every time I'm home, it's a must. I should probably get one in Chicago.
Ruminating on a situation that definitely qualifies as scandalous behavior, but still not feeling bad about it.
Flashing back to Recess and the Ashleys saying "SCANDALOUS!"
"When they're young, they're green."
Deciding if I need any other Christmas gifts and wondering what spirits to purchase from the Party Source.
Eating a no-bake cookie, wanting some hot chocolate, made with whole milk.
Realizing I probably won't see any friends until Saturday :(
Wondering if Avatar and the gorgeous 3-D effects will a. usher in a new era of filmmaking; b. do monster Christmas business; c. ever realize how similar to Ferngully it is.
Liking it nonetheless, despite a really bad script.
Smiling at this, a lot -

...In which our heroine wraps things up.

Yesterday was: red and fuzzy, from a new sweater.
The best batch of biscuits and gravy I've ever made.
My Production II teacher still hating my final film. Me not giving a shit and accepting the B from that class.
Dancing with Heidi to "Lovefool" while we made breakfast for dinner.
Hugging everyone profusely.
Turning from a sophomore to a junior. 
The end of another era.
Brainstorming about Big Art.
Walking home with the object of affection. Talking about Mad Men, specifically Joan.
Talking about high school drinking. Laughing at my roommate, drunk for the first time.
Cheeks flushed red from being cold, standing over a hot stove, and being infatuated, all at different times.
A cryptic message from a boy at 4AM that I gave only a hazy, semi-conscious response to. 
Watching classmates role cigarettes in rainbow papers during class.
Talking about important things, like which Pokemon is the cutest (Dratini).
Finding out your RA also had a Dolly Parton Barbie as a child. 
One of those wonderful days, where you sit back and smile and forget about all the horrible things because you're just happy that there are people in your life you love, and who love you back.

...In which our heroine is no hunter, strictly a gatherer.

Exciting finds from that contraption they call the internet:

Philip Glass and Sesame Street. Oh yes. This is saved for a point and time that I'll appreciate it more.


44 Inch Chest, from the writers of the most excellent Sexy Beast.


If you aren't reading Ugliest Tattoos on a regular basis, you should be.

I'm so not hip enough for the year end lists over at Pitchfork. -50 hipster points!

I am, however, too hip for Rolling Stone's best albums and songs of the decade. Just because Bob Dylan released an album this decade doesn't mean you have to put it on the list.

Quentin Tarantino presents his favorite films of the year: I only agree with #2 and #8.

Lots of wonderful True Blood casting news. Yeah, it's trashy TV, but it's well-done trash.

Five word film reviews: An Education - Beautiful. Lovely. Unconventional. Nostalgic. Accurate.
A Serious Man - Directionless. Dark. Funny. Minor Coens.

A round-up of year-end film lists. I still need to see A Single Man, Up in the Air, Avatar, and Precious, although I'm not so excited about the last one. I really really really would love it if Kathryn Bigelow won Best Director for The Hurt Locker. 

According to the Myers-Briggs personality test, I'm an INFJ, the rarest of all personality types. Tell me this doesn't describe me. 


And finally, if you need a Christmas gift for me, look no further. I'd appreciate delivery of said item by either Seth Rogen, Jim James, or Christina Hendricks, but just if it isn't too much of a hassle. 

Yeah, it was kind of like this when Cassie and I saw them:

...In which our heroine returns to proper form.

Let's ramble, shall we?

I just saw a delightfully adorable photo of a Boston Terrier in a Santa Hat. It never ceases to amaze me how I can draw equal pleasure from both zombies gnawing on human flesh or a cute baby animal. That makes me nostalgic for Odin's Word, and thinking of Cute Overload. I've been adhering to Sylvia Plath's wisdom lately of taking baths so hot you can only edge in one foot at a time. I don't understand - I hate being hot any other time, but I love hot baths. Last night it was hot to the point that I almost made myself pass out. I listened to "Nights in White Satin" in the dark bathroom and thought wintery thoughts. As much as I hate hate hate Christmas music, I'll listen to "Last Christmas," yes that "Last Christmas" by Wham! any day of the year. Heidi read my tarot cards in several variations tonight which never ceases to amuse me. I don't believe in god, but for some reason I listen to some colorful pieces of cardboard. I got the death card in every reading, which is actually not so bad. The words attached are things like "rebirth, new beginnings, desire, moving on."Another book she has talked about how the power card for Scorpios is death is not the end, but only a chance for resurrection. And somehow death is tied to Scorpios because we're the most sexual of the zodiac, to which the only connection I can make one Neil Gaiman short story talks about how the French call an orgasm la petite morte: the little death, and I suppose they're mostly right. I always liked that phrase or the other French phrase Mr. Gaiman taught me, l'espirit d'escaliers, the spirit of the staircase, meaning you remember the exact right thing to say as soon as you leave the party. I've had many of those nights. Tonight I ate an all-time Hall of Fame Chipotle burrito that had the perfect amount of corn salsa, but just a little too much cheese. John, it's a nice thought that you're telling me all I need is love right now, but terribly impractical. BUT, my finals are nearly done. I put finishing touches on my film today, and I'm a mere sound mix away from never having to shoot another film on a Bolex, although they are very cool cameras. Someone told me Columbia got the very last shipment of VHS tapes, in addition to owning the very last Bolexes. That "exes" looks weird in the last sentence. As people talk about Tiger Woods and Brian Kelley, I realize how little I care about sports. This shouldn't be a surprise, but then again, I haven't seen a movie in theaters in two months, which seems insane for a film major. The Cranberries on shuffle, the song takes me to 1995, Q102, Target parking lot, holding my new stamp shoe Barbie. Emily and I have been binging on 90s music this whole fall, crap from our childhoods that isn't any good, like Third Eye Blind, but then again neither is 80s music and I love that. I've been exploring Tumblr accounts lately - they start frequently with "fuck yeah" and end with "Christina Hendricks," or "beards," or my personal favorite, "beards and bacon." It never ceases to amaze me how much time people spend on the internet, because I know how much time I spend, which is too much, and they spend far more. In seven days, I will be a junior in college. I was at Big Art last night, and Joe told me to stay in college forever, and I nodded, smiled, because he is so damn cute and not nineteen. A man, not another silly boy. Motorhead, alright shuffle, I see we're behaving badly tonight. Skip. Now "Material Girl." Yes, Madonna, I'll listen to this garbage because it reminds of MTV clip specials I watched back when they still played music, and I still played Barbies.

Leah in Production II is using this in her final film. Gave me chills when she showed a rough cut.

ED. NOTE - Fixed "Least Christmas" back to the proper "Last Christmas." I think that was a Freudian blogger slip for actually talking about Wham! in a non-ironic context.

...In which our heroine gives a gift.

A confession, dear readers; I've turned into quite a nice little feminist this semester. Through learning that the true definition of feminism is simply "equal treatment for both men and women," my domestic violence writing class, Culture Race and Media, and some very snarky male film majors, I've become much more assured in my abilities as a woman, and the flawed portrayals of women that the media presents.
This is my final paper for said domestic violence writing class, and one I promised to share with Quarternotelife, posted here because it is still her birthday my time. This is a gift you've helped me work on for years -I feel like this is the paper the two of us spent a childhood researching as we shrieked and giggled in her dark basement. We'd make good case studies about the women who love horror films, and the effects that viewing violence from a young age has. Be warned though, it is fairly academic as I try to be all edumacated and stuff...

Virgins Live, Sluts Die, and the Final Girl Always Wins: The Role of Women in Horror Films
We've all seen it – a scantily clad young woman runs through a house, stalked by a masked killer. Her chest and breasts heave under a tight shirt as she flees the killer, often portrayed as hyper-masculine. Often times, as much focus is placed on what the woman is wearing as the amount of danger she is in. Also common is that this woman has been shown as the “slut” throughout the rest of the film, and acts of violence often accompany acts of sexual expression. Look to any of the major money-making horror franchises – Friday the 13^th, The Texas Chainsaw Massacre, A Nightmare on Elm Street, Halloween – and you will find that women are objectified, hyper-sexualized, and meet violent, brutally gory ends. A more disturbing thought then is that a large portion of the audience for these films is young males – what messages do they receive about the effect of violence on women, especially women who express their sexuality. Horror films can be cheaply made, and produce healthy profits, making them a great investment for film producers (Clover 18). Thus, horror films are here to stay, but what exactly do they say about violence towards women? Perhaps more interestingly than the culture of violence they promote, what do horror films say about women in positions of power, such as Ellen Ripley in the Alien films (Stephens)? Or, could horror films even promote feminist ideas with the centralization of a “final girl” who triumphs over horrific obstacles to escape victorious, an idea widely explored by Carol J. Clover in her book Men, Women, and Chainsaws: Gender in the Modern Horror Film (Clover). The exploration of these ideas will be the focus of this paper, as will a study of if horror films have an impact on their male viewers.
The role of sexuality of female characters in relation to the violence perpetrated against them is perhaps the most disturbing aspect of horror films. In a few major examples, the horrors that commonly exist in many horror films get a violently sexual twist on them. One of the most notorious horror films of all time, I Spit on Your Grave, was released in 1978, and featured its female protagonist being gang-raped, beaten, and left for dead by several rednecks (she ultimately extracts various forms of revenge on them including cutting off one of their penises) (I Spit On). In 1981, Sam Raimi's The Evil Dead featured one female character gets dragged through the woods before ultimately being stripped, beaten, and raped by possessed tree branches (The Evil Dead). Released several years later, Stuart Gordon's Re-Animator featured a restrained naked woman screaming in terror as a severed head performed oral sex on her (Re-Animator). Unfortunately, this trend has continued into the 1990s and 2000s: 2007's Hostel: Part II prominently featured one female character hung naked from the ceiling, gagged, and throat slit with a scythe as another woman lay below her, drawing orgasmic glee from it (Hostel: Part II). With these examples and countless others, it becomes apparent that the link between a woman's sexuality and her own death or torture is prevalent in many horror films. Earlier examples include 1978's Halloween and 1980's Friday the 13^th in which a sex act is directly followed by the murder of the female participants (Halloween, Friday the 13^th).
Women who do not exhibit their sexuality in horror films fall into the role of what Carol J. Clover calls the “final girl” (Clover 260). The final girl is often portrayed as more innocent than her other female peers, virginal, and far less sexual. Clover describes the final girl as a “double for the adolescent male... a homoerotic stand-in,” meaning that the final girl does not threaten the masculinity of the male characters within, and could easily be substituted for a male character (Clover 261). Her femininity is repressed to the point where she becomes just like the males within the film. However, Clover explains this phenomenon as actually being a feminist issue, stating that the final girl “triumphs over her the perversity of her tormentor, and in the process undergoes a change from passive acceptance to active dominance” (Clover 260). However, Clover makes no mention of the fact that in this change from passive to active, the final girl is still not allowed to be sexualized or get any pride out of the fact that she is a woman – an example of this would be of the character of Kirsty in Hellraiser, who does ultimately triumph over the evil Cenobites, but yet is left to languish in oversized t-shirts and no make-up, further relating her to her male counterparts and squashing her female characteristics (Hellraiser).
However, there are horror films that transcend both sexual violence against women as well as the final girl mythology. One of the most prominent examples would be the Alien films, featuring Ellen Ripley as a protagonist who bests her male counterparts to defeat the alien. Daniel Stephens, a horror blogger, explains how Ripley functions in the film and subverts her male co-horts: “Ripley is the strong female character who makes active judgements and survives what is trying to kill her. The male character's activity is largely passive - most die quickly, others wait for her command. It is Ripley who makes the plan to defeat the alien which works, while the 'powerless' male Captain makes bad judgements as his unsure plan fails” (Stephens 1). While it could be argued that Ripley is in face de-feminized – with her job as a lift operator, the baggy space suits she wears – it is in the second film, Aliens, when her former life as a mother is explained as she is given the chance to care for the orphaned Newt, and she is allowed to maintain a major part of her femininity that other female protagonists in horror films must relinquish (Aliens). However, the treatment of the other female characters in Aliens, two space marines, fall prey to the horror movie trap of being masculinized and even accused of being lesbians (Aliens). Another film, 2006's The Descent features a core of strong female characters who find cannibalistic creatures as they independently explore underground caves. On the surface, it appears that the women subvert the usual horror film trappings, when only two are left and trying to survive, they end up battling against each other over the infidelity surrounding one of their husbands (The Descent). Unfortunately, it is difficult to come up with a fully positive portrayal of women in horror films, and as explained, even Aliens and The Descent, which appear to be feminist horror films on the surface, fall victim to the same trappings as their genre competitors.
It becomes apparent that the horror films certainly show a skewed view of women, but what effect does this have on the viewer? Daniel Goleman explores what exactly horror films to do the viewer in his 1984 essay “Violence Against Women in Films.” For male viewers, the numbers are quite disturbing: one in three men becomes sexually stimulated when viewing acts of extreme violence towards women, while another one out of three is aroused even when the violence is non-sexual (Goleman 1). The statistics come from a 1983 survey from the American Psychological Association that also found after five days of viewing horror films and then presented with a mock rape trial, the males surveyed sided with the rapist over the rape victim (Goleman). The same effects were not drawn from test males in the group who did not watch the horror films, or even watched hardcore pornography such as Debbie Does Dallas (Goleman). Though this survey is twenty-five years old, it does present some terrifying statistics in terms of how horror films and their treatment of women affect male viewers. Feminist author Myriam Miedzian supports this idea in her essay “How Rape is Encouraged in American Boys,” and uses the same study from the American Psychological Association to conclude that of the “ two hundred and thirty five studies done over the last forty years [the idea that] viewing violence helps viewers get violent impulses out of their systems is a mistake. Viewing violence encourages violent behavior”(Miedzian 156). While statistics and facts about the exact number of men that exact violent behavior on women because they've seen violent acts against women in horror films can't be stated definitively, the evidence certainly seems that it viewing such films is not a totally innocuous act.
However, men are not the only viewers or producers of horror films. Pet Sematary, Near Dark, and American Psycho are three tremendously violent films that all feature acts of violence against women, yet were all directed, and in the case of Near Dark and American Psycho, written by women (Pet Sematary, Near Dark, American Psycho). In a New York Times article, “Taking Back the Knife: Girls Gone Gory,” lesbian author Rita Mae Brown, who wrote a satirical horror film in 1982 with The Slumber Party Massacre, states that the reason she believes horror films to be so popular amongst women is that “films in general, not just horror films, are one of the few places left for women to make progress” (Orange). The article also discusses how women can appreciate Clover's “final girl” theory as a means of feminist catharsis - “audiences love a woman who can take back the knife” (Orange). Perhaps it is for this sense of empowerment and a reclaiming of violated rights, both of mind and body, by masked killers, that makes horror films so tremendously appealing to women.

The topic of the effect of violence against women in horror films, or what exactly makes the “final girl” formula so appealing has not been studied extensively enough to draw major conclusions about the issues. What can be said however, is that the extreme and prevalent acts of violence against women in horror films do have an adverse effect on their male viewers if seen in large quantities. What can also be said is that perhaps a truly realistic portrayal of a woman in a horror film has never occurred, but then again, the media is notorious for stereotyping and making generalizations about all groups, not just women. For the time being, the final girl will continue to triumph over her male counterparts in horror films, and until female screenwriters decide to change the formula, audiences will continue to delight as she takes back the knife.

Isaac Brock is another rock star whose children I'd gladly bear -

...In which our heroine strikes a pose.

I posed for Emily's studio final a few weeks ago, and just got some of the prints back. Her concept is atypical femininity - we both agree that this is the first time that we've had more female than male friends. I really like the photos, and to me there just another stepping stone in this year's acceptance of my body, and my place as a woman in the world. Her skills as a photographer continue to improve, and these are just some of the awesome prints she's done. The ones she did of Heidi as a mother are particularly fabulous. But today you just get me, particularly highlighting the contrast between my obsession with keeping my nails done yet having some very prominent tattoos.

...In which our heroine reviews a decade.

I've been reading all sorts of end of the decade lists and thinking a lot about my choices for best films of the decade. This list tries to balance personal opinion with what I consider to be quality filmmaking. I was coming of age in the 2000s and therefore lucky enough to experience most of these films when they first came out, as opposed to hindsight on a lot of other films, so they're much more near and dear to my heart.

 I know you were eagerly anticipating my humble opinion, so without further ado -

20. Knocked Up - 2007, Judd Apatow
Say what you will about Judd Apatow and company, but there are few films I can watch over and over again. Especially comedies, so the fact that I can watch this on repeat and still laugh as well as say "aww" is impressive. I like The 40-Year Old Virgin just as much, but this premise feels more real to me.

19. Adaptation - 2002, Spike Jonze
Here's where my professional opinion outweighs the personal. I can definitely do without Nicholas Cage, but he gives a solid performance here. And from a writer's standpoint, I think this even more so than Charlie Kaufman's other entry on my list is the most clever, best written screenplay maybe ever in terms of plot structures.

18. Inglourious Basterds - 2009, Quentin Tarantino
Too soon? Maybe, but this almost made me forgive Quentin for Kill Bill. Almost. Hans Landa is a villain for the ages, and the last thirty or so minutes of this film made me sit straight up and get all nervous, which is hard to do at this point. I'll be interested to see how well this holds up on subsequent viewings.

17. In the Mood for Love - 2000, Wong Kar-Wai
We had the mood vs. plot argument in class last week, and this film is one of the few examples where I can say the mood surpasses a fairly standard plot in such a way to create a heartbreaking film. One of the most visually stunning films I've ever seen. This is how you do forbidden love, Edward and Bella.

16. Head-On -  2004, Fatih Akin
Please find this film and watch it. On the surface it's a romance about two sets of damaged goods who use each other out of convenience, but on a deeper level it deals with German/Turkish politics, the role of women in society, and what exactly love entails. Beautifully brutal.

15. Punch-Drunk Love - 2002, Paul Thomas Anderson
Paul Thomas Anderson is my favorite working filmmaker today. Everything about this film works, but   getting Adam Sandler to give a serious performance and the lush, colorful cinematography really stand out. Call it quirk, but any film that can pull off "I'm looking at your face and I just want to smash it" as a romantic line and then make it resonant is just fine with me.

14. Children of Men - 2006, Alfonso Cuaron
Good sci-fi is hard to come by these days, especially good sci-fi with something to say. Alfonso Cuaron is an interesting filmmaker, and here he combines some absolute technical marvels (those long, long tracking shots, the whole birth scene) with a bleak but beautiful scenario. Clive Owen's best role, without a doubt.

13. Wall-E - 2008, Andrew Stanton
There are Pixar films I enjoy more, yes. But in terms of plot resonance and visual storytelling - I'll never know how little ones sat through the first thirty minutes - this takes the cake. Plus Wall-E and EVA are about the cutest robots in love ever. It's the little details - when EVA gets wrapped in Christmas lights, the cricket, the way Wall-E's eyes shift when he's watching Hello Dolly! that make even the coldest hearts melt.

12. The Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers - 2002, Peter Jackson
The LOTR trilogy is a perfect set of films, and an amazing technical achievement. The Two Towers is my favorite for one reason and one reason only: Helm's Deep. If it's on TV and I know it's Helm's Deep time, I'm pretty sure I'd let the house get robbed, lest I be interrupted in my nerdgasm.

11. Amelie - 2001, Jean-Pierre Jeunet
Maybe the sweetest film on this list. Wouldn't we all love an Amelie from Montemarte in our lives? My favorite thing about it though is the side characters - like the man with class bones, Nino, the couple Amelie plays matchmaker for - and the magical realism in the production design, from the color palettes to the scrapbooks she makes.

10. Y Tu Mama Tambien - 2001, Alfonso Cuaron
Naughty, naughty, naughty. I watched this far too young, but more than the sex in it, the ahem, relationship between Gael Garcia Bernal and Diego Luna as two young men whose sexuality threatens their lifelong friendship is what stuck most. The erotic factor may be what initially gets you to watch, but this is a gorgeous, tragic film. Alfonso Cuaron, please make another movie.

9. The Dark Knight - 2008, Christopher Nolan
Best comic book film ever, hands down. The most excited I've ever been to see a movie as well. I don't know what to say that hasn't been said already. I've loved Batman since I was a little one, and this is by far the most interesting cinematic rendering of its mythology. When is chapter three coming, Mr. Nolan?

8. Pan's Labyrinth - 2006, Guermillo del Toro
I like to call this "most unexpected outpouring of tears ever to happen in a movie theatre." I knew it would be sad, but this dark, gothic fairy tale is also one of the best films I've seen about what it means to be a child, and be on that brink where fantasy and reality merge just enough. Beautifully shot, beautifully written. That final shot haunts me to this day.

7. Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind - 2004, Michel Gondry
The second Kaufman scripted entry on the list, this film would have failed without the touch of Michel Gondry. I love Jim Carrey in serious roles, and Kate Winslet is perfect as always as Clementine. I had to watch this twice to figure it out, which was a rare treat. Every time I watch it, I enjoy it more. The best take on modern romance of the decade? Probably, but at the very least it's the most thought-provoking.

6. Memento - 2000, Christopher Nolan

I'm so glad I've gotten to watch Christopher Nolan grow and develop as a filmmaker. This is his most well-written film, and is absolutely ingenious in its storytelling. It seems so obvious, but yet when you're watching a film play out backwards and you still don't know what's going to happen next...now there's great filmmaking.

5. Lost in Translation - 2003, Sofia Coppola
I really just need to be Sofia Coppola's BFF. Here's another example of when mood overwhelms plot, as does perfect music choice. This is Bill Murray's best role, and I love the unconsummated passion, the "above love" relationship of Charlotte and Bob. I could live inside of this film.

4. No Country for Old Men - 2007, The Coen Brothers
How do I love the Coen Brothers, let me count the ways...the violence that always lies somewhat dormant in their films finally comes to fruition in this Cormac McCarthy adaptation. Chigurh is so terrifying as a villain, and the setting of 1980s Texas shows through every dirty, dusty frame of the film. People complained about the ending, but I thought it was perfect, the way Tommy Lee Jones' sad bulldog face knew his time had finally passed.

3. A History of Violence - 2005, David Cronenberg
This is David Cronenberg's most accessible film, and one that explores the notions of family, trust, and small-town life. The bursts of extreme violence are beautifully done, as the performances by Viggo Mortensen and Maria Bello. The whole William Hurt segment is some of my favorite character interplay ever put to film. It raises the eternal question of how well we really know those closest to us, and if we did, what would we do with it. I love the ending, the subversion of the American family dinner for good.

2. There Will Be Blood - 2007, Paul Thomas Anderson
This is what an epic should be. I had visions of old Hollywood when I saw this the day it opened. Daniel-Day Lewis as Daniel Plainview gives one of the best performances I've ever seen. There is so much that is perfect about this film - Johnny Greenwood's score, Robert Elswit's cinematography, Paul Dano as Planview's foil, the oil derrick scene. Some people I know (*cough* ChemGuy) thought the ending was anti-climatic, but I didn't move for the entire last twenty minutes out of fear. Yes Daniel Plainview, you do drink my milkshake.

1. Almost Famous - 2000, Cameron Crowe
I can say with certainty there are better films on this list, but I've never seen anything I enjoy as much as this film. I just want to crawl inside of it and live there forever - it makes me nostalgic for a time I never lived through. I aspire to be Penny Lane, or at least be half as cool as she is. I remember the cold chills I got the first time watching this and "Tiny Dancer"came on, and I still get them. There's so many perfect moments of music and laughter and love in this film. Crowe really gets what it is, as band-aid Sapphire states "to truly love some silly little piece of music or band so much that it hurts."  One list I saw named this as the rom-com of the decade, but it's that and a road movie, and a rock movie, and a coming of age film.  I know the dialogue verbatim at this point. There is no doubt when watching the love for this life that Cameron Crowe has for this era - he was William after all. And if you haven't seen the vastly superior but out of print bootleg cut, please find it. The additional scenes add so, so much. It's my favorite film ever, and that's all there really is to say.

While every frame is perfect to me, I especially enjoy watching William's reactions, and how "River" comes in as Penny starts to cry when she sees Russell. I want a tackle box like hers.

...In which our heroine prepares for the weeks of hell.

It's Monday, 9AM, and I am awake. This is probably the first time this has happened all semester and that can only mean one thing: FINALS. I dropped my film off in the cage for better or worse, and have a full day of homework, grocery shopping, and laundry ahead of me. Is it Christmas yet?

I spent nine hours in a van yesterday on the second worst trip back to Chicago I've ever had. Emily's friend, Cameron, was nice enough to drive the two of us and three others back in her van, but I'm surprised I survived. Motion sickness for nine hours because she didn't know how to brake, turn, or take bumps, the longest McDonald's wait ever, and an unsafe driving ticket later, we somehow made it back in one piece. I was thankful for the ride, but oh my dear lord...

First bad things, now good things. I can say honestly that this was the most enjoyable trip home I've had. Thanksgiving with the family was lovely, but seeing as I hadn't seen most of my friends since August, it was great to see them. Last Thanksgiving I felt distinctly blah about high school folks (save a few) but I embraced the spirit of the holiday and learned to be thankful for everyone, crazy as they may have been.

Friday night was spent at Matt's house and I got to see everyone in one big swoop. We didn't get there until ten, and things were in full effect. It's all Lee's fault that I drank a bottle of white wine, which pairs oh so nicely with smothered/covered hash browns from Waffle House. It really brings out the aromatics in the wine, that American cheese. That poor waitress...she deserved the 50% tip I gave her. The atmosphere was great because everyone was just so glad to see some familiar yet now distant faces. Saturday was much more subdued, just a couple friends at my house, enjoying my mom's baked goods and watching the cinematic masterpiece Ice Spiders, a SciFi channel original. (Yes I know it's "SyFy" now but I refuse.)

Expect infrequent posting the next few weeks as I try to survive finals. But hey, after that, I'll officially be a junior and get to be home for a few weeks.

I'm stuck on this song right now. It's just so sweet, despite the funky tone of the rest of Evil Urges. Jim James, if you need a Penny Lane in your life, I'd be willing to take up the reins. Just don't sell me to Humble Pie for a case of Heineken and then spend the night with Bob Dylan when I overdose on Qualuudes.

...In which our heroine is delicate, but potent.

I love Black Friday. It's a tradition that my dad and I go out in the pre-dawn, and go buying, not shopping. I can't remember when we started doing it, but we always end up at Sears, in the tool department, and there are few things I love more than trying to pretend to be interested as my dad explain what a certain type of wrench does, or why $9.99 is a good price for it. Today in total I picked up: a vacuum for $25: originally $45, the first two seasons of Mad Men for $30: originally $80, and a pair of jeans/black pants for $56: originally $96. I know the whole thing is consumerism at its worst blah blah blah, but as long as you don't dawdle and know what you're going for, it can be quite a productive day, and all before 10 AM.

Thanksgiving was perfect and wonderful. Something else I look forward to is sitting on my Grandma's floor, plate in my lap. There's is a tiny house that is insanely hot, but I love it. In the past several years, we've combined Thanksgivings and all my family under one room is so awesome.

You know me well enough by now, but I feel that I should introduce you to where I come from. These are the people that have shaped me into who I am, supported me, and cared for me. This is my family, and for them I am truly thankful.

This is my Aunt Brenda, Grandma Jo, and Uncle Gene. Jo and Gene's names are actually Daisy and Arley, but we're country folk, so they have nicknames of unknown origin. I spent a lot of time in this house as a child, being cared for my Grandma Jo and my Nan. Grandma Jo made all of the delicious food yesterday. They have all given me an appreciation for hard work, sacrifice, and family.



These are my cousins: Michael, Jessica, and Nick. I'm the oldest, and the shortest. Mike is 19, Jess is 13, and Nick is 16. I'm the oldest - and the shortest. We spent a lot of time playing and fighting in that living room as little kids, but as we've gotten older, it's been interesting to watch all of their personalities develop. Mike is at UC studying pharmacy, Jess is learning the drums, and Nick is a budding culinary whiz.



And now we move to my mom's side. That's my Uncle Bob, who I've called Uncle B forever, and Grandma Mary Alice aka M.A., or Memaw. Uncle B is responsible for exposing me to lots of good art and culture things, especially in downtown Cincinnati. He's constantly volunteering, and one of those annoying people who asks you to do surveys for Cunningham research. I pretend Memaw was like Betty Draper and she gave me some awesome 1960s overcoats last night. She's a good Irish Catholic woman who always tries to feed me and tell me about how handsome Clark Gable was.



And my parents, Ken and Mary Beth. I love this picture of them so much. My dad and I have an especially close relationship because our personalities are so alike and he does wonderful things like give me lucky wheat pennies, play me obscure vinyl records that I end up loving, and push me just enough to keep me on my toes. I am glad that I was always just geeky enough as a kid that I could appreciate things like when he'd take me to comic shops or let me watch Blade Runner. He's often a man of few words, but he makes them count. My mom and I are also super close, but in a different way. She's taught me all of my good groupie skills - the meaning of concert pockets, and how to stake out a band. Everything I know from the kitchen comes from her, Memaw, or Grandma Jo. She has always been 100% honest with me, even as a child, and because of that, I tell her everything when I talk to her daily on the phone. Both of them have been so loving and supportive that I know even when I fail, they'll never lose faith in me. I have been extremely lucky to grow up in a house where sarcasm and pop culture rule equally with silliness and support. They've always accepted me just as I was, and let me be exactly who I wanted to be, which is an independent young woman living in Chicago, being a geek, and blazing my own trail.

It struck me last night how much I love my family when they're all under one roof. I am so lucky. I remember so many good things about Thanksgivings past, and those who've come and left us. What I remember more than anything else is love, and laughter.

Don Draper knows...this is probably the most beautiful speech from the series thus far.

...In which our heroine has a case of the Tuesdays.

Some thoughts for a Wednesday morning...it might be noon, but it's morning to me:

-I woke up with a headache because I dreamt something about my parents getting divorced, or slept incorrectly on my pillow. It's a grey, yucky day so I slept longer than I probably should have.
-American Dad is so terribly unfunny, but I had to watch a full episode to see cartoon versions of My Morning Jacket and Zach Galifianakis and their wonderful (albeit animated) beards.
-My shoot for my final film is tomorrow. I am doing my best not to freak the fuck out. A delightful classmate named Pam is lending me her gear tomorrow and thus I am saved another day by the filmmaking gods. Wish me luck.
-Speaking of tomorrow, the schedule is - 8AM-5PM: make a movie, 6PM-9PM: go to class, 10PM-5AM: take the bus home. Caffeine, don't fail me now.
-I CAN'T WAIT TO BE HOME.
-I'll be home until Sunday afternoon. I hope I get to see everyone, but there's always someone that gets neglected and I feel bad. There never seems to be enough time when I'm home, but I'll try!
-Who wants to go Black Friday shopping with me? I'm a pro - my dad and I go most years. I want Zack and Miri and Pineapple Express for cheap from Best Buy so there is more Seth Rogen in my life.
-I want to make pies for Thanksgiving, but won't be home in time :( My mom has proclaimed it's high time for bacon to make it's way onto the table.
-WAFFLE HOUSE. We'll meet again this weekend, hopefully post midnight, with those silly boys I spent so much time with in high school.

Spurned by a conversation this weekend, my ten favorite albums of the decade not in order:
The White Stripes - Elephant
Radiohead - In Rainbows, although Kid A is a better album
Wilco - Yankee Hotel Foxtrot
Girl Talk - Feed the Animals
Rilo Kiley - More Adventurous
The Arcade Fire - Funeral
Broken Social Scene - You Forgot it in People
Animal Collective - Merriweather Post Pavilion
My Morning Jacket - Z
Fleet Foxes - Fleet Foxes


And my ten favorite albums of all-time, in order:
The Cure - Disintegration
Pixies - Doolittle
Neutral Milk Hotel - In the Aeroplane Over the Sea
The Beatles - Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band
Nirvana - Unplugged
Led Zeppelin - Led Zeppelin IV
Roxy Music - Avalon
The Replacements - Tim
Radiohead - In Rainbows
My Morning Jacket - Live at Bonnaroo 2008 - maybe shouldn't count since it's a bootleg, but oh well.

Best of's for Neil Young and The Allman Brothers Band also rank, but I thought they should be disqualified for being greatest hits.

I'm going back to Ohio, but my city is gone.

...In which our heroine goes to shows.

I am a fortunate person. Despite all the bullshit and the unnecessary worrying, there are moments in life where I just feel truly lucky. The past three days have been filled with many of those. I've gotten to see my second favorite album of all time, Doolittle, performed three nights in a row in its entirety, by my favorite band, the Pixies.

I was kind of glad to have the Thursday show to have my moment alone before being joined Friday with the BFFF. I danced, and rejoiced because I was seeing the Pixies, who I saw twice in 8th grade, and never thought I'd see again. It really struck me, alone in the beautiful Aragon Ballroom, how in the six years since I saw them last, how many things I've done. I'm not a little kid anymore. When I saw the Pixies in 8th grade, my dad was worried about me standing too much in front of him, and now here I was going to see them all by myself, in the city I lived in. And how stunningly apropos it was to have them here my birthday week, on the 2nd anniversary of the tattoo I got for them, no less.

As for the shows themselves, they were just perfect. You can tell the band is just so thrilled that people want to come see them and genuinely happy to be performing - Kim Deal did all the onstage banter, and just kept smiling. I could've cried when they bowed for curtain call Thursday night - I never thought I'd see the Pixies again and here they were. Bliss. Pure, perfect bliss.

Song highlights: "Gigantic" closing out Thursday and Saturday night. The assault of "Tame" Friday and Saturday. "Isla de Encanta" Friday night, "The Holiday Song" Saturday neither of which I thought they'd do. "No. 13 Baby" Friday, even though I'm not a huge fan of that song on the album. Non-highlights: I could really care if I ever hear "Where is my Mind?" again because of all the people who say they're Pixies fans for that song, although the disco ball was a pretty cool accompaniment. And "Here Comes Your Man." What can I say? I'm an elitist for Pixies.

Setlists - Dancing at the Manta Ray / Weird at my School / Bailey's Walk / Manta Ray / Debaser / Tame / Wave of Mutilation / I Bleed/ Here Comes Your Man/ Dead/ MONKEY GONE TO HEAVEN/ Mr. Grieves / Crackity Jones / La La Love You / No 13. Baby / There Goes My Gun / Hey / Silver / Gouge Away / Wave of Mutilation (UK Surf) / Into the White

Thursday Encore: Dig for Fire / Planet of Sound / Where is My Mind? / Gigantic
Friday Encore: Isla de Encanta / Nimrod's Son / U-Mass / Velouria
Saturday Encore: The Holiday Song / Something Against You / Vamos / Where is my Mind? / Gigantic

Friday sounded the best overall, though Thursday was the most enjoyable because it wasn't sold out, and the crowd was best Saturday. It was disgustingly hot all three nights, but who cares when you're seeing your favorite band, dancing with your BFFF? Perfection.

The band, then Mrs. John Murphy and Mr. Black Francis.

...In which our heroine provides an update.

I've been trying to come up with things to write about my birthday, but it all seems silly. I wanted to talk about how fantastic it was to reunite with the delightful boys of 813, how delicious my pumpkin cream cheese frosted cake was, how PBR is really rising in likability in the beer index. How much my lungs hated me the next day, how my friends know me well enough that Pride and Prejudice and Zombies and a dream encyclopedia were received, how there are few things more enjoyable then smoking on a deck on a chilly fall night. But those are most of the details I remember - it wasn't quite as bad as the Alice B. Toklas brownies strip club visit from last year, or the unfortunate night of shots done off a certain high school textbook that was 18 - but it's a little foggy. It was a wonderful night and I am officially two decades old.

A brief product endorsement: I never shop at Victoria's Secret. Their bras have never fit before, but I had a really good coupon and decided to try the new Miraculous bra. I have seen the light. Ladies, in case you're curious, it is not only miraculous but divine. Worth every penny for the compliments you'll receive.

It's the school week from hell, and I just want to be home for Thanksgiving and reunite with everybody. Being home does kind of put me in a weird head space though - I miss it once I'm there, but the whole time I can't wait to get back here. I went through a bunch of old stuff when I was home last week, and it's just strange. I feel so removed from that life, and home doesn't really feel the same anymore. I do miss the people though, and that's reason enough.

I love Twitter more than Facebook right now. I enjoy it not even so much for my writing on it, but reading other people's accounts. Stan Lee and Roger Ebert are particular favorites. Give it a try... www.twitter.com/katydidnt_

BIG ART! had it's first meeting this week. Briefly, they are the organization I worked for this summer, part of Columbia's Center for Community Arts Partnerships and we're trying to get a student organization off the ground. This week I get to enlighten 20 or so Chicago public high school seniors about Columbia, the film program, and the summer intensive I worked in. I really enjoy the time I spend working with them, and we'll just ignore that one of my bosses happens to be an adorable, flannel-wearing, bearded lumberjack. I'm really good at being attracted to people I shouldn't.

And these look fun -

Crazy Heart with Jeff Bridges trying to bait the Academy

Kick-Ass from Matthew Vaughn, director of Layer Cake


Leaves of Grass with the "I don't know why I think you're cute but I do" Edward Norton.

...In which our heroine is an adult now.

Today I turn 20. I'm one of those obnoxiously termed "twentysomethings" that makes me think of Carrie Bradshaw. I guess it's time to be a grown-up. Julia is in town, and we're going to birthday brunch at Yolk then all the troops are joining us tonight for a celebratory shindig at Emily's. Here's praying to the party gods for no puking or unfortunate romantic entanglements.



This was the first song I listened to at midnight, and the only song I think of that specifically references being twenty. One of my favorite Neil songs...

...In which our heroine looks ahead.

I have survived dear readers. As of today, I'm no longer deemed contagious by Columbia College and back in my dorm. Which was a total fucking mess when I returned thanks to my ever-delightful roommate. Alas, I am feeling better by the day, and honestly just want to get back to all of my classes at this point and start playing catch-up.

I register for the classes tomorrow that will make me a junior, which seems terribly odd. In a 5AM fever delirium I figured out a loose plan for the next couple of years: Continue majoring in Screenwriting, minor in Women and Gender Studies. Second semester senior year, go to LA and see if I can sell a script or get an internship before graduating. If I can't, I'm going to join Americorps and go to either Seattle or California, spend a year doing that and living, maybe applying to grad schools. It all sounds easy laid out as such, but I'm sure there will be a bunch of delightful speed bumps along the way.

Speaking of growing up, I am being pretty lame considering in three days I won't be a teenager anymore and won't have as much leniency for bad behavior. Stupid flu. I bitched a lot about 19 being a boring age, but it has by far been the most amazing, beautiful, creative, heartbreaking, stressful, and sad year of my life. I've grown in ways I can't explain, and some I can. I fell in and out of love, was wildly creative, adjusted to living in a big city and away from home, expanded my consciousness through methods legal and otherwise, and most of all decided what it is I'm meant to do in this life - at least I hope so. 20 sounds so old! Where does the time ago - I saw a commerical for the tenth anniversary of "...Baby One More Time" and nearly puked.

I am deeply embedded with the citizens of Twin Peaks. The first season is as perfect as television gets, and oh so wonderfully weird. I can't believe it was broadcast on network back in the day. The whole idea that a single mystery can bind twenty plus hours of a story is brilliant. And all this praise comes knowing even what the outcome of the show would be. Speaking of perfect television, Mad Men's season finale was fabulous. After a slooow season, Matthew Weiner amped up the stakes. I've come to realize that I hate Betty Draper with a fiery passion. It was nice to see subtle moments of character development for Don, Peggy, Pete, Harry, and Roger. Oh, and JOAN IS BACK, BITCHES. I was so glad to see her in her mod 'lil black pants and sweater-set, looking fierce as always. I also realized there are at least four people on Mad Men I'd make out with, now that's good TV! Something about television has appealed much more than film to me lately, maybe it's the Production II blues, but I really like the short-form and how well the nuances of character can be explored.

On a final note, I thank my grandfather and all the veterans for their service today. I can't imagine how much worse the horrors he saw in WWII were than what he actually told us about. Though I may not always agree with the cause, I'll always support the men and women who are willing to sacrifice and dedicate their lives to support it. Thanks, veterans, for doing something I never would or could.

I couldn't find an acceptable video of Neil Young's "War of Man" so this'll have to do.

...In which our heroine is in the trenches

Swine flu, Day 5. I am feeling somewhat better, but still pretty woozy. I can't do much of anything without feeling like I'm gonna pass out, but my fever is gone. I'm pretty sure I have a double ear infection now, which is unfortunate but not surprising. I do like having an excuse to sleep for 12 hours at a stretch.

I have no idea when I'm going back to Chicago - I have a bus ticket for Monday, but I'm guessing I'll need a doctor's clearance before I do so. I hate missing so much class, but I can't really do anything about it. I'm trying to remember the last time I had the flu, which was Christmas when I was eight, but as far as I can tell, this isn't that much worse. It came on quicker, but feeling shitty is still feeling shitty.

Watched Antichrist yesterday, and believe the hype, it's terrible. I can see why Cannes was all in a twist about it, I just don't know how anyone actually enjoyed it. A large part of the plot is poorly done sex scenes between Willem Dafoe and Charlotte Gainsbourg. The shock moments weren't even that shocking - maybe I'm just callous to violence but I was like yeah, she just severed his testicles and then performed self-circumcision, but it's so fake looking. Nevermind that the overall message is the inherent evil in women. Not worth anyone's time.

I started watching Twin Peaks too. I like it so far, weird as it is, and it'll help fill that Mad Men gap after Sunday. David Lynch gives me mixed feelings - he's either brilliant or bat shit crazy, but probably some of both. I really enjoyed Blue Velvet, but Wild at Heart and Mullholland Drive left me cold. My parents both loved Dale Cooper and company, so I'll probably like it as well.

Tonight's thrilling activity includes watching The Godfather Part II, which I have sadly never seen. I'm definitely in the higher tier of Columbia film students in terms of what I've seen, but there are still areas where I lack. A girl in Production II has never seen Star Wars, The Wizard of Oz, ET, Forrest Gump...the list goes on and on. This is sadly the case with a lot of film students, and I wonder what it is that made them want to go to film school then. The Dark Knight is often the answer, seriously. I love it too, but c'mon kids...

It's probably nap time again. I am just too much fun!

...In which our heroine joins in on the biggest fad of 2009.

Bacon has finally exacted it's revenge on me - I have swine flu. I figured after the highest fever of my life last night, so bad I contemplated going to the hospital, I should probably get it checked out.

I feel like death as expected. Spent an obscene amount of money on medicine. Attempting some pita chips, although nothing else has stayed down. Had to curse out my dear roommate because despite the fact that I was moaning in feverish delirium, she thought it was fine to being doing step routines in the kitchen at 3AM with her boo. My mommy is coming to get me tomorrow, and I'll get to recuperate in the Queen City, lest I have to get quarantined here.

My immune system doesn't exist anymore. Three nights in a row returning home post 4AM was probably not helpful in boosting it. I won't be going to class for a full week - that's how long I'm contagious for. Joy. I'd still rather get the natural immunities than take a marginally tested vaccine. Thankfully it's a slow work week. Watching Michelle Duggar talk about the benefits of natural childbirth. I try to hate the Duggars and I just can't. Why I can't agree with their lifestyle, they are such good-hearted people. They harbor not hate for anyone and give back constantly. 18 Kids and Counting sucks me in waaay more often than I'd like to admit.

Hopefully I don't end up with Captain Tripp's, the superflu. The miniseries for The Stand, my favorite book ever, is kind of terrible, but I've seen the whole eight hour thing probably five or six times.

...In which our heroine survived, once again.

Of course Halloween weekend gets a ramble! It was my first time going out into the city for Halloween, and the city kept up its end of the bargain.

I know when we get off the blue line train at Logan Square and see Vincent Van Gogh and Amy Winehouse, we are terribly underdressed for the Dan Deacon concert. It's chilly and windy and smells like dead leaves (and the dirty ground) when we're walking to the venue with a ton of other scene kids. Emily and I play the "look at that fucking hipster" game, and have a hard time deciding who's dressed up. The shitty opening acts take forever, but one of them has these awesome neon green shark heads that move while they play their instruments. As always, Emily knows people there. Dan Deacon keeps yelling at people to move away from his table but no one does. We dance and drown in electronic neon bliss. Dan thanks us for not doing drugs. This really is a rave, with everyone dressed up like bumblebees and luchadores and the crazy 88s. Two dance contests later, I'm disgustingly hot but then "Woof Woof" comes on. It is an insanely fun show, but I'm so toasty I'm glad when he says thank you and goodnight. Of course then it is freezing outside, and I realize we have to take two trains and a bus to get back to Wrigleyville. This takes approximately one million years. We stop by Ben's apartment and I wonder where he got that obviously original Dark Side of the Moon poster, and if he misses his Johnny Cash t-shirt. We are cordial and friendly as always, and I feel bad when he says all he does is work and school. By now it is very late, and we stop at McDonald's on the way back to Emily's. The stuff we smoke is ungodly potent. We eat, and sleep within the hour. Her couch eats me alive, and at some point in the middle of the night, it sounds like her neighbors throw a body down their back stairs. My mom wakes me up with a phone call - she's in Philadelphia watching Pearl Jam close the Spectrum out, her 23rd and 24th shows. We discuss what we call "good groupie skills" and she tells me she was only twenty or so rows away, and I say Dan Deacon stood a foot away from me, because he did. Emily and I go back to my apartment - everyone on the train looks far rougher than us. I shriek with terror when we watch Candyman with Heidi, Telly, and my RA Megan. Heidi does outstanding gore makeup on Megan's neck, and Emily and I prepare our TV characters - she's Nancy Botwin, I'm Meg Griffin. The costumes are covered with tin foil, and we go to Chipotle. For some reason I get a new burrito combination which is quite delicious. Back on the blue line. We go to a party in a loft in Wicker Park, and the costume stopping is fantastic. On the train we sing Cher with a Rollergirl in drag and female versions of Dr. Gonzo and Raoul Duke. The party is awkward, and I want to go immediately after arriving. Strawberry jello shots are better than cherry or lime, I discover. Telly and I smoke one of her hand-rolled cigarettes and say hi to Wolverine and Catwoman. It's midnight before we can get Emily and Heidi, social butterflies anywhere, to leave. Back on that same trek from last night, except it now takes two million years. I run into Leah from class while waiting half an hour at the Belmont stop, and drunk or not, it makes me smile at how glad she is to see me. A girl eats her dropped Subway off the train platform and I grimace. She gets arrested a minute later for smoking on the platform. We finally get on the train, and to Kris's where everyone is GONE. Tyler gives me a Parliament,which tastes like last fall. I love the smell of tobacco in my hair, and get giggly, eating too much candy and watching Kris and Tyler do Wrestlemania impersonations. Grace falls asleep in her Audrey Hepburn makeup, and we don't leave until 3 or 4 - half our phones haven't made the switch yet. This is the latest I've ever taken the train. A very drunk Mike Tyson gets abandoned at some stop by his friends, and in his place a guy gets on and smokes a bowl, right in the middle of the car. A very scary homeless man sits behind us, and while I'm not paying attention, Telly grabs Heidi and I and tells us to move. I assume he has a weapon, but no, Telly says he was getting personally intimate. On the train. This is why I do not take it alone past one. I thank my lucky stars for making it home alive and not vomited on. The multitude of shit shows in the lobby is amusing. Amateurs. Bed has rarely felt so good, nor has brushing the sugar off my teeth, like my eight-year old self. Some things change, others stay the same.

Sara Quin (Telly) of Tegan and Sara and Meg Griffin make careers out of being awkward.

Heidi should've worn her helmet on Legends of the Hidden Temple...

Emily IS Nancy Botwin. And that is oregano and basil, I promise.

Obviously this is not the Dan Deacon show I was at, but we did this. So, so fun:

Dan Deacon Dance-Off from kata rokkar on Vimeo.
As an aside, why do no one's posts show up in my blog list anymore? And neither do mine. It still shows that my last post was actually the third one ago I wrote. And it says the same for Cassandra and Gallacher. WTF maaaan. How do I fix?

...In which our heroine addresses the elephant.

That's Crystal Renn, my obsession of the moment. She is so naturalistically beautiful - the hair, the lips, the eyes. She's a plus size model now, at 165 pounds, 5"9, but entered the industry at 95 pounds:

Yeah...I don't think there's a question on what looks better. She's just written a book called Hungry: A Young Model's Story of Appetite, Ambition, and the Ultimate Embrace of Curves, which I've yet to pick up. Renn says she gets more work now as a plus-size model, worked for Dolce and Gabbana, and even closed a Jean-Paul Gaultier show in Paris last year.

For me, seeing her do this is a revelation. It marks a slight change I've noticed in the fashion industry in accepting more normal body sizes - not that 5"9, 165, is normal, but it is an improvement. It makes me feel great that young girls who aren't a size XS can have someone to look to up to. I look at Renn, and say "hey, my thighs look like that too!"

I've written and re-written this post about a thousand times because I never know how to say exactly what it is I want to. I've come to terms with a lot of issues about my body this first year of college. Maybe it's being out of the bubble of high school, and maybe it's not being sixteen, but for the first time in my life I can say I love my body. It has taken me a long time to come to terms with this, that'll my Applachian-bred hips will never fit a size four, that yes models have cellulite too, it just gets airbrushed away.

Growing up, I had absolutely no positive role models of women who were curvy, plus-sized, fat, whatever, in the media. No one. My family was always making sly comments about "could I just cut back a little," and my mom, as much as I love her, has always compared me to her, if I would just eat fewer carbs and smoke two packs a day, I could be just like her. I remember seeing Real Women Have Curves in seventh grade and for once finally feeling like I wasn't alone. I can't help but think more positive images of women in the media - and I'm not even talking plus-sized, I'm talking more womanly, like Christina Hendricks, Liv Tyler, America Ferrara, or Kim Kardashian, would have made me accept my body and all of its wonderful flaws sooner.

In the past couple years, I've noticed more and more big girls getting exposure in the media - aside from Renn, I've seen Mia Tyler, Kate Dillon, and Lizzie Miller all in print ads recently. Glamour, praise them, ran a story recently about how they are going to try and portray more realistic images of women in their magazine. To this photo from the issue, I say bravo.

It is simply ridiculous to think the size zero, airbrushed and photoshopped like there's no tomorrow women that permeate the media are reality. I really hope that this trend continues. I hope more stores like Torrid or Forever 21's new plus sized line, Faith 21, pop up that give girls options to stay fashionable. I know it would've helped me.

I get bothered by the fact that fat really is that last taboo. In my Culture, Race, and Media class and we were talking about that stupid More to Love plus-sized dating show. I made a comment about hating watching the poor fat girls cry because I've learned being a fat girl and crying about it does not make you more attractive to men. People fumbled in their desks. My teacher changed the subject. It's the elephant in the room - I'm fat, let's talk about it.

I lost a bunch of weight the summer after seventh grade - when my diet consisted of McDonald's and candy bars, going from a very unhealthy 225 to 190, and the goal then was a size 10. Right now, I'm a size 12, thin as I've been, since no joke, third grade, probably as I ever will be. I realized one day that I could lose weight, exercise more, eat better, but who couldn't? If I wasn't fat, I simply wouldn't be me. I look exactly like the women on my dad's side of the family - dark-haired, fat arms and hips meant for child wrangling - and I've learned to take pride in this. I'm never going to be as skinny as a lot of my peers, but the average sized woman is now a size 16, so what is normal anymore?

I wish someone would have instilled in me that I was beautiful just as I was at an earlier age, or that I would've had women in the media to look up to. Hopefully, with models like Crystal Renn and the trend of more realistic beauty, girls entering adolescence today won't have to sigh and fret as much as I did.

I was shopping with Emily at Forever 21 today and she told me that she loves how I accept my body and dress it well, without trying to be something I'm not. Still, I laughed because Forever 21's clothes rarely fit me: my boobs are too big. Hey, there's one fantastic benefit of being a curvy girl. It took me a long time to find my confidence, and there are still times when I get looked at and think 'is he really checking me out," and those days when nothing in my closet looks good on me, but I've learned to love myself, and for that, I am thankful.

It's also Katydid in the City's 200th post, so I thought I'd get personal. Happy blogging milestone and sheer geekery!

As if I could write about real women and their curves with showcasing the delightful Joan Holloway, who was FINALLY back in fine form in last night's episode.

...In which our heroine dares disturb the universe.

In a minute there is time for decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse.

-TS Eliot, "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock

Decisions. We make a thousand and one of them each day - good, bad, indifferent. Sometimes, like poor Mr. Prufrock, we're so worried about what impact those decisions will or won't have we're stuck in a state of inertia that keeps us from doing much of anything at all. And as Greg Dulli of my favorite Cincinnati band ever says ""You've got indecision/and indecision is my enemy."

It has been a year since I made the best decision of my life. I can say this with certainty now, in the sweet hereafter. It didn't even occur to me until I was on the phone yesterday with Cassie, and she mentioned running into him, Paul. Unsurprisingly, she said he gave her a hateful look. I felt bad for ever involving her in that situation, and still do.

I know that at some point all of this boy talk becomes a broken record - everyone is in relationships that are like decisions - good, bad, indifferent. Maybe I shouldn't talk about all of my personal business here, but this has become a journal of sorts for me. I write to get my feelings out, and even if no one read them, I'd keep writing. So this is why I talk about these things so much, because the writing helps me process.

But it's been a year since I've spoken to him in the flesh, the person who I was once closest of all to. I was going home for the weekend, the first time since coming to school - causing a spectacle with Kelsey, we were holding hands walking past his dorm, and he was outside smoking. I'd been ignoring calls and texts for about a month, dodged the bullet when he saw me out and about several times by cleverly ducking behind something. But there he was and he came up to me, waving his hands. He asked if I checked my phone anymore. Where had I been? What was I doing? Why wouldn't I talk to him? He followed me for the block, me giving curt answers all the way. The last image I have is him standing arms spread with "are you really walking away from me" look on his face, mouth open, cigarette in one hand. And I walked away.

My mom and I had a long, late night talk about Paul over pie this summer. I told her a lot of things she didn't know, that I had "forgotten" to mention. They were things I'd only told two other people on this planet. In high school, it was kind of a joke that I was so into Paul and he was so very not into me (which he actually was, but that's another story). I think a lot, not all, of our friends viewed it as stupid high school infatuation that just needed enough drinks to finally happen. Even my mom thought that way. But things were more serious then even I thought until afterwards.

If I could've avoided him totally until this point, I would have. This spring though I finally was forced to say everything to him when he started talking shit to Ben, making me panic with empty threats, putting a strain on our relationship that contributed to its end. At least now he knows, and I know, about all of it. We both said the things that were left unsaid, and haven't spoken since.

It was the best choice of my young, naive, green life to leave him on that street and never look back. I don't regret Paul, or spending as much effort as I did on him because I don't regret things, but I wish I would've done it sooner. But I learned oh so much from that situation, and still am, a year later.

That was a good decision. A really good decision. Maybe it was a bad decision to involve myself with him in the first place, but it was a decision nonetheless. I learned more than I could ever say from it, and that's all I can ask. I did what Prufrock couldn't: I dared. Did I fail? Absolutely.

And indeed there will be time to wonder "Do I dare?" and, "Do I dare?" Time to turn back and descend the stair.

You get a major bonus point if you know why I picked this song for this post. It has to do with a lyric, but not the one you'd think. Pure 90s goodness. Oh, Gavin Rossdale.