...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 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 recounts an evening.

Okay, so the exile from streams of consciousness wasn't very long, but I like them so deal. This is from last night though, so it isn't totally off the cuff.

It's Emily's friend Matt's 21st birthday. We're watching Near Dark and she tells me we're going. To a high rise on Lakeshore. A very posh high rise. The lobby seems positively hot after the chilly wind that appeared suddenly and has persisted through the week. I've gawked at this building before, and it's definitely the nicest building I've been in through the city. The lobby looks like Don Draper should be smoking in it. Instead of going up, Matt meets us with a bottle of beer with an elephant on in and we go to the basement. Emily is met by two photo majors she hates, discusses lenses and things I do not comprehend. This must be how she feels when I start talking about discontinuity editing. A tall man with long dreads that looks like he could be in TV on the Radio passes me a pink and blue bowl and I don't say no. Back on that chain gang. Somehow, standing in the circle of smokers, it doesn't seem so cold anymore.

We go upstairs and I realize again, how little of a hipster I am. They're like action figures - ginger hipster, ironic headband hipster, bro hipster, asian hipster, and lots of photo hipsters. Vlad, one of Emily's most hated, keeps taking my picture, the flash making spots in my eyes. Every time I go to these things with her, I meet people I've met before, but they're too drunk to ever remember. Someone gives me a PBR - elixir of life to hipsters - and I don't say no again. A Classics major from Northwestern with no social skills starts talking to us, and I feel bad for his inability to talk to girls. We go into the kitchen and I smoke guava shisha, which is fruit, out of a hookah. I get incredibly lightheaded from the thick smoke, which has left my chest aching today. We stand in the foyer, which is hot from the plastic chandelier, and Emily simultaneously fends off advances from three different boys while I watch. I feel like I'm dead weight at these things sometimes. One of them is a creepy DJ we met at the Glow in the Dark party who always hits on her. She starts speaking hebrew and talking about Israel with a boy whose class is next to mine. He is drinking whiskey and root beer. I decline another PBR. I meet a film major, then another, then another, but our conversation ends once we ask "what's your concentration?"We go back to the kitchen and try to get the hookah going again. "Electric Feel"is playing, and we talk zombies. Emily is drunk and keeps hitting the kitchen light switch. It's one AM, I want to leave because I hate taking the train this late. Matt hugs me twice and thanks me profusely for coming. The night is reaching it's peak and the shit shows are beginning. It's so cold when we leave. For being Lakeshore Avenue, there's trash everywhere. We discuss the party - I tell Emily to pursue the boy she was speaking Hebrew too. The train seems a million miles away. We dodge lots of broken glass on the sidewalk. A homeless man asks Emily for a dollar, and when she says no, he kicks her in the shin. I'm glad she's drunk, because it keeps her giggly about the thing. Bad vibes, so I decide to just stay at her apartment. We drink hot chocolate, extra marshmallows, and watch public access cooking shows. The woman is deep frying panna cotta - I like her. Emily is getting goofy, so we talk soul-mates. She is friends with mine - a drummer from Cincinnati who she went to Jew school with and is the most attractive thing I've ever seen, although I've only met him once. She's texting hers, as she often does drunk. I go to sleep under a Carebear fleece where I'll remain for the next ten hours. Sleeping in jeans on a strange couch reminds me of high school parties, and my to' up-ness in the morning makes me nostalgic.

Updated to add photo realism, from excessive camera flash's Facebook:

Bryan Ferry is just the coolest. This is one of my favorite Roxy Music songs.

...In which our heroine is the midnight rambler.

Ramble, ramble, ramble since we seem to not only like them, but make some of our own.

The Facebook online box is a list of former lovers. It always it hits me when more than one of them is on at the same time. Someone who you've shared you're most intimate moments with is reduced to no more than a green dot and a tiny profile picture. Technology, what a weird thing. Not even former lovers. Former classmates who I spent nine hours a day with are reduced to no more than "WHO DEY" status updates and changed profile pictures. The wind is howling fierce outside and I love watching it rain from this height. I look at the Sears Tower, clouded in fog, and think of Ben, always. There's a tiny cockroach shimmying across the carpet, but he's too small to kill. There's also a spider that lives behind my tapestry but every time I try to kill him it just retreats back up. Fall is in the air and I can't put into words how the chill in the air and Sundays spent hitting these buttons makes me nostalgic. I miss my house in the winter and I miss taking it down and passing it around in my upstairs, when it was still something forbidden and fun and not a lifestyle. I haven't smoked or drank in a month which was longer than I went with mono. Bugs thinks I'm looking down on his current activities because of this, but really I'm just tired of the stoner lifestyle. Most of my peers indulge and I feel like I'm being holier than thou for living clean. The cockroach is migrating towards my DVD shelf and now "Crazy Mary" is in my head. Who really cares if their eyelashes aren't thick enough, Latisse? Mascara works just fine. Mad Men is more perfect than I can say and it inspires me to say less and show more. Which completely goes against the point of this. I spent four hours tonight writing about race and gender and I don't really give a shit about analyzing either. I will saying Writing Women Safe is both awesome and nauseating. When the woman, Tara Dabney, came from Family Rescue this week and said that in an abusive relationship, the woman feels like no matter what she does will ever be enough, I dug my nails into my palms and tried to make my stomach stop doing the hot/cold thing that happens when I'm excited or terrified. That class is making me perceive my life and my relationships in a new way. I need to call my grandma and aunt, but every time I do they make me feel like shit for being here. Sorry, I need to live my own life and that I don't have a three-year old right now. The spider veins in my thighs remind me I'm theirs, purple and fragmented despite the fact I'm not even twenty. Emily has them too which makes me feel not as horrible. A Johnny Cash song I don't know the name to, one line from it is on repeat. I played one level 47 times in Crash Bandicoot tonight before passing it and cursing every word I know. Then I lost on the next level, of course. We're under a tornado watch tonight so I won't sleep, the wind howling. I'm getting to be an expert at cat naps but my dreams have been especially vivid. Bachelor No. 1 keeps coming to kill me in them, or comes back to school. I wake up and can't go back to sleep. Tool Academy, now there's some deep television programming. They could shoot it in my building this year. I keep seeing cute boys in the film building but they all seem so old. Another mascara commercial - I don't even know what brand I wear, just that the tube is yellow and purple. I made the fatal mistake of finding out Cookie Jar blizzards have a thousand calories, but that won't stop me from using my dollar off coupon. I eat so poorly when school starts. I've had a headache for five days and my immune system is doing its best. I refuse to get a flu shot, swine or otherwise, or use hand sanitizer. Wash your hands, drink your OJ, do something nice for someone else, and sleep tight.

Here's that song. My mom would faint if she knew I was posting it, the only Pearl Jam song I still actively listen to and it's not even theirs:

...In which our heroine lets things speak for themselves.

The most difficult part of this post was choosing a picture from the Emmys, which were horribly boring. Thank god for Nathan Fillion, and this:

C'MON...even the very gay Neil Patrick-Harris said he'd go straight for it. No one should be allowed to look that good. There's lots more where that came from. Too bad her finance looks like a goober, but then again, I'd probably be awestruck if I got to look at that everyday too.

One day I'll shut up about my massive girl crush on Christina Hendricks, and maybe even make a post without her it in, but that day is definitely not today. Little did I know when watching Firefly how much in love I'd be in love with these two. It's slightly naughty, so you're warned -

I'll plug Firefly again because she pops in several more episodes. Nathan Fillion and Christina Hendricks, have mercy. Please try not to die Cassie.

...In which our heroine rambles on.

Another late evening ramble, yes?

I think I finally may be tiring of Girl Talk, which is not surprising since I've listened to Feed the Animals hundreds of times by now. I am so ready for school to start, to find another album to define the year and shed all the baggage that the past year has brought. I'm still wondering about what'll be like to see him. I don't think I'm properly utilizing Twitter yet, and still kind it kind of ridiculous. Diablo Cody is my girl though, I'll even forgive her for making me sit through Megan Fox for two hours in Jennifer's Body. Speaking of, what the fuck is up with movie lengths? I'm tired of two and a half hour movies that do not need to be. I started writing again, something I think that'll be a TV pilot, or at least in my own head it will. Somedays I still worry if I'm going to be able to summon the muse to pay the bills. I kind of want to go to grad school, then come back and teach at Columbia. I'd get to live in Chicago, enrich the lives of young people, and write on the side. I've met a grand total of one cool new person. All the freshman are bro assholes who cannot work a key card or an elevator and are trying oh so very hard to work their game on the opposite sex. It's kind of pathetic. My roommate, Alexandria, is back. Let's talk some opposite lifestyles now. I haven't even heard her curse yet. I have no idea how to broach the subject of substances or boys, and limits on either. Speaking of that, I'm thinking of detoxing for a month or so. Telly is very into all sorts of natural remedies and teas and such and I'm getting really tired of my lifestyle. Granted, I've cut way back, but still every time I've smoked lately I just feel like a mass of wasted brain cells. The charm has worn off, maybe. I dunno. And I think it'd be good to start the new school year with a clear head. Yes, I am tiring of this Girl Talk finally. I keep getting the smell of ammonia wafting off of my hair, which is freshly cut and dyed. Too dark again, but not as bad as before senior year. It definitely looks somewhat brown. I can't ever get my bangs cut the way I want even when I bring pictures. My Morning Jacket is covering "Get Down on It," which would be intolerable any other time. Inglourious Basterds is probably the best thing of the summer, and the best thing Tarantino's done since From Dusk 'til Dawn. I loved Hans Landa. I tried to read the script in the bookstore today and it made my stomach hurt. I guess it's a stylistic thing I'll develop too, but my god, so much descriptive text and camera movements and such. Summer is pretty much over and I'm not even sad about it, I'm just glad school will give me something to do. I still need a job but have quit looking. Extract wasn't very good at all, and neither was Mike Judge a very thrilling Q&A. Kevin Smith is at the Chicago Theatre in a few weeks and its taking every fiber of my being to not purchase a ticket although I'll probably cave. I feel like as soon as I have any money to spend it's gone, feast or famine. It's weird having someone else's food in the refrigerator and towels on the rack. I was quite liking being on my own. She doesn't curse - how do ask someone like that if you can have the room for the night, should it occur. Jeff Mangum is the King of Carrot Flowers, parts one through three. "Communist Daughter" certainly has the oddest lyrics on the album. Nancy Botwin finally learned that she can love men but not depend on them in last night's finale, good advice Not Francie. The ladies had a particularly good week on Mad Men and I still envy Christina Hendricks something awful. I would very much like Santa to bring me a PS3 now that they cost $299 so I can begin to move towards Blu-Ray and all that jazz. "Two-Headed Boy Part 2" makes me want to cry every time I hear it. Mangum's voice is just raw. Pangs of nostalgia hit hard this week, the chill in the air, the old rituals. How I've changed in this year. My dreams and deja-vus have been particularly intense. My scalp is stained with pigment and I want another huge, colorful tattoo of a feminine origin. I like how it challenges a conventional notion of beauty. But I don't want anything that'll show in a wedding dress, ha ha ha. I think Mia Wallace, hypodermic needle and all, will happen for Halloween, especially with this new hair. Say it Jeff, "Two-headed boy, she is all you could need. She will feed you tomatoes and radio wires and retire to sheets safe and clean, but don't hate her when she gets up to leave." I did leave him, whose birthday I didn't even acknowledge this week,  and I'm tired of safe and clean sheets, but it was the best choice. Second chances, are they worth it, or better yet, am I just imagining them. Who knows. I always project grandoise situations of reality before they even begin to germinate. It's how I go to sleep at night, imagining an alternate reality for myself. I always have, since I was little. Frank Black is screaming about some wild honey pie and I'm sleepy.

The "Cat People" scene in Basterds gave me chills like only a good movie can, but I prefer my Bowie like this:

...In which our heroine absorbs.

Consumption of media, play it as it lays:

Funny People - I wanted to love it so, so badly and went away just feeling very blah. To be quite honest, nothing happens in the film, certainly nothing that I did not expect 100%. We talk a lot in my screenwriting classes about basic ideas of story - what are the stakes for the characters, what challenges them, what does the protagonist want - and the film fails on all of these levels. I'll skip the plot details because the trailer already shows them all. Judd Apatow needs a firmer hand editing - the whole subplot of Seth Rogen's roommates and love interest was essentially worthless, and I was more than antsy for the end after two and a half hours. Also, I swear every joke within in a dick joke, which wears thin quickly. I will say Rogen and Adam Sandler give pretty decent, understated performances and the cinematography is lovely. A big disappointment for me - probably the weakest Apatow affiliated film I've seen. Oh, and on a personal note, I really do not appreciate the use of "Jesus Etc." in affiliation to Seth Rogen's character, too many sad memories attached to that one. I almost lost it.

District 9 - A refreshing breath of individuality into my beloved sci-fi genre. Far and away, the most impressive aspect of this film is the amazing visual and make-up effects. It cost $30 million and looked like it could've easily cost $150 million. I loved the faux-documentary style mixed with the narrative film, and the lead, Sharlto Copley, plays dorky as well as anyone I've ever seen. This film has the distinction of only a few other films - Audition, Dead Alive, The Fly, 28 Weeks Later - that have ever made me feel sick, yay!A lot of the reviews I've read have remarked that it's the best sci-fi film of the decade which seems a little much, but then again, I'm hard pressed to think of anything that's better. I've seen better films, for sure, but this is just a solid, entertaining flick that shows how far a moderate budget can go.

Mad Men Season 3 premiere - I loved it, duh. But I mostly wanted to mention that the Parents Television Council filed a complaint against it for the gay sex and semi-boobs in the episode, but yet doesn't care that The Dream of the Fisherman's Wife (NSFW) - which put Henry & June over the top to be the first NC-17 film ever twenty years ago - is featured prominently. How times change. But that aside, a really beautiful episode. I love Don more and more, that smarmy bastard. I would've like more of the ladies, Joan, Betty, and Peggy, but that'll come.

Top Chef Masters - Caught up with this, my favorite food show. While I doubt I'll ever even attempt the dishes on here, but I love watching them get made. Everything looks so good - especially Chicago's own Rick Bayless and his gourmet Mexican food. I enjoyed the Masters edition because the disasters were fewer. It makes me want to improve my culinary skills.

The Dead Zone - Probably the least interesting Stephen King book I've read in its entirety - Gerald's Game and Lisey's Story were both given up on. I guess it's partially my own fault for knowing the plot ahead of time, but his style is weak in this one. I felt the characterizations were weak, and the macabre element wasn't explored enough. It wasn't bad, it just wasn't The Stand or The Long Walk.

Jim James: Tribute to George Harrison - Three posts in a row with him, but hey, I'm going through a hippie boy phase. This is a beautiful album, simply put. George has always had my favorite work as a solo Beatle ("My Sweet Lord" is one of my favorite songs ever) and Jim James doing stripped down versions? Oh yes. If you're a fan of either, I recommend fully. And you can even stream it for free. 

Picked up East of Eden and Bambi vs. Godzilla: On the Nature, Practice, and Purpose of the Movie Business for reading, American Beauty and the Alien trilogy to add the collection, although I haven't watched Alien 3 yet, on purpose. Taking Woodstock and Inglourious Basterds are musts for the weekend.

Since I mentioned it, "My Sweet Lord." I never tire of this song and it always makes me smile.