Here are my exciting new prospects:
July 31, 2007
Tis The Season...
...To get married.
We just confirmed: Josh and I are flying to Chicago for his cousin's Black Tie Optional Wedding. I have not attended a wedding ceremony since dearly beloved Courtney and Adam, as long as you don't include the season finale of Grey's Anatomy (shocked!). One of my favorite things to do at weddings is critique. Yes, those flower garlands are tasteful. These mini-quiches are gross. The bride's hair and make-up look beautiful. There should be more slow dance music because I'm exhausted. When I was much, much younger, weddings were the stuff Disney movies are made of, and I fantasised about them all the time. But now when I think about planning a ceremony, I think hassle. And money. Expectations. Money. Disappointment. Not too long ago, I decided that I'd rather elope to Vegas and get married by Elvis than to have a wedding that was less than perfect.
But what's most exciting about this wedding invitation is that I get to buy a new dress and possibly shoes! I started shopping online today, and almost hyperventilated, much, much more excited than a child in a toy store.
Here are my exciting new prospects:
Here are my exciting new prospects:
July 30, 2007
Bad Date: Road Closed
Our bartender tonight was recounting her clumsiness throughout the night, and I agreed (it seemed like she was a bit off.) Then reminded her that she kind of sprayed beer on a guy who was sitting with his lady friend at the end of the bar. She shrugged and with a half smile said something along the lines of yeah, but his date laughed a lot, so it was fine. I asked her if she thought they were on a date and she said yeah, maybe even a first date. While mulling this thought over, were those two people really on a first date? The bartender piped in, you can usually tell when someone is on a date because they talk a lot. I motioned to Josh and I playing cards between watching baseball on the HDTV, and said oh yeah, unlike us. She replied that at least it seemed like their date was going well. There is nothing worse than witnessing a bad date. Although, trying to beat your friends in the worst-date competition makes the experience sort of worth it.
***
I had a date with a customer from my job in high school. It was the worst date that I've ever gone on. He was on the football team before he graduated from the school across the river, and just quit his job at the Gap. His best friend was currently dating the head cheerleader/class president of my class. Clearly, we had a lot in common.
Not only was he a half an hour late meeting me, but he popped pills at least three times throughout the night and excused himself to the bathroom at least as many times. Drugs? Prescriptions? Who knows. Unfortunately, the show that I wanted to go to had been pushed back almost two hours, so after dinner, we had another entire hour to kill. He suggested that we drive around town to waste time. Trapped, I agreed. We were headed for the lake and I thought, oh how nice, we're going to drive around the lake. Until he turned right and Road Closed and Turn Back Now signs appeared in his headlights out of the dark of the night. It was wooded, cold, and I didn't have a cell phone. So if he raped then killed me, he could have left me there and the dogs wouldn't have found my dead body for at least three more days. He parked at the end of this dead end in the middle of the woods, and when one thing did NOT lead to another, I had to tell him that I was a virgin so that he would believe that there was no way we were doing it. And he was a bad kisser. He had the audacity to come back to the store a few months later, which was witnessed from the safety of the back room.
***
I had a date with a customer from my job in high school. It was the worst date that I've ever gone on. He was on the football team before he graduated from the school across the river, and just quit his job at the Gap. His best friend was currently dating the head cheerleader/class president of my class. Clearly, we had a lot in common.
Not only was he a half an hour late meeting me, but he popped pills at least three times throughout the night and excused himself to the bathroom at least as many times. Drugs? Prescriptions? Who knows. Unfortunately, the show that I wanted to go to had been pushed back almost two hours, so after dinner, we had another entire hour to kill. He suggested that we drive around town to waste time. Trapped, I agreed. We were headed for the lake and I thought, oh how nice, we're going to drive around the lake. Until he turned right and Road Closed and Turn Back Now signs appeared in his headlights out of the dark of the night. It was wooded, cold, and I didn't have a cell phone. So if he raped then killed me, he could have left me there and the dogs wouldn't have found my dead body for at least three more days. He parked at the end of this dead end in the middle of the woods, and when one thing did NOT lead to another, I had to tell him that I was a virgin so that he would believe that there was no way we were doing it. And he was a bad kisser. He had the audacity to come back to the store a few months later, which was witnessed from the safety of the back room.
Other bad dates that I've been on include: my date laughing so hard at a movie, Gosford Park, that was so not funny that my friends laughed at him laughing, and when we left he couldn't figure out why I didn't get it, because everyone else was laughing. I'm attractive, you're attractive, so we might as well perform discrete sexual acts in the back of the car even though there is no spark at all. Leaving me alone in a room in his house for over half an hour before I realized he forgot about me. Going to a sushi restaurant when you've never eaten sushi (see also: Ugly Betty)
July 28, 2007
Magazine Blues
I'm not exactly a hard ass. If someone tells me no, usually, I'll take no for an answer. This is especially true at work, where there is a certain type of finagling I am incapable of doing. I can't get our old postage meter returned. I can't get a copy of a bank statement from an auxiliary account because my name isn't on the statement. If I'm told it's time to renew my yellow pages ad, I'll believe you, until I realize we don't have a Yellow Pages ad. A man calls me on the phone and offers me supplies for my credit card machine, I won't realize it's a scam until I get the ginormous bill.
This is how I got involved in the Magazine Scandal. Some lady calls my work, and I answer, because it's my job. She offers me free subscriptions to a number of different magazines, some of which I read, most of which I don't. I say yes, because, who doesn't love free stuff? She tells me that it's a $25 fee, and I think, hey, that's not bad. But it's actually 25 dollars I have to pay every month for the next two years, which is an amount of money I can't even begin to think about, because I'll start crying. The tip off should have been the ambient noise of the call center. You can always tell when it's a call center by the faraway sound of the voice on the other line. I forgot to pay last month, and haven't had a chance to pay the double charge due this month, and they're calling me at work and harassing me for the money. Oh, and I can't cancel the service. They have my voice on tape agreeing to do this, which is legally binding.
This is what I'd like to say to them when they call:
"Hi. Thanks for calling. Please listen carefully, and I would like it if you didn't give me some canned, scripted response. Don't call my work ever again. Because I could get fired for receiving personal phone calls at my job. You think that I don't pay you now? Try getting me to pay you if I'm unemployed. I've told you once, and I'm telling you again. Don't call my job. I know you know which phone number is which. You can dial my number until you're blue in the face, but I'll pay you when I'm good and ready. You might think that threatening to put my account into collections scares me, but you have no idea how bad my credit is already. I say, BRING IT ON! I hope that our exchange today dampens your mood for the rest of the day, you spineless jellyfish. But it probably won't because you do this horrible job, selling your soul, every day. I know your type. You probably use the money to buy cheap beer and marijuana, and have aspirations to win the gaming championship of the world, or to get your horrible excuse for a band discovered. I help people, and you took advantage of me. I help kids pay for wheelchairs. You should feel ashamed of yourself, preying on innocent, entry level people like me, who are just trying to make a difference in the world. I know you're not listening to any of this, and once I stop, you're going to tell me that I agreed to this service, and there is nothing you can do about it, but this is a scam. and you know it. Don't even think of charging my credit card, or I will call my lawyer."
This is how I got involved in the Magazine Scandal. Some lady calls my work, and I answer, because it's my job. She offers me free subscriptions to a number of different magazines, some of which I read, most of which I don't. I say yes, because, who doesn't love free stuff? She tells me that it's a $25 fee, and I think, hey, that's not bad. But it's actually 25 dollars I have to pay every month for the next two years, which is an amount of money I can't even begin to think about, because I'll start crying. The tip off should have been the ambient noise of the call center. You can always tell when it's a call center by the faraway sound of the voice on the other line. I forgot to pay last month, and haven't had a chance to pay the double charge due this month, and they're calling me at work and harassing me for the money. Oh, and I can't cancel the service. They have my voice on tape agreeing to do this, which is legally binding.
This is what I'd like to say to them when they call:
"Hi. Thanks for calling. Please listen carefully, and I would like it if you didn't give me some canned, scripted response. Don't call my work ever again. Because I could get fired for receiving personal phone calls at my job. You think that I don't pay you now? Try getting me to pay you if I'm unemployed. I've told you once, and I'm telling you again. Don't call my job. I know you know which phone number is which. You can dial my number until you're blue in the face, but I'll pay you when I'm good and ready. You might think that threatening to put my account into collections scares me, but you have no idea how bad my credit is already. I say, BRING IT ON! I hope that our exchange today dampens your mood for the rest of the day, you spineless jellyfish. But it probably won't because you do this horrible job, selling your soul, every day. I know your type. You probably use the money to buy cheap beer and marijuana, and have aspirations to win the gaming championship of the world, or to get your horrible excuse for a band discovered. I help people, and you took advantage of me. I help kids pay for wheelchairs. You should feel ashamed of yourself, preying on innocent, entry level people like me, who are just trying to make a difference in the world. I know you're not listening to any of this, and once I stop, you're going to tell me that I agreed to this service, and there is nothing you can do about it, but this is a scam. and you know it. Don't even think of charging my credit card, or I will call my lawyer."
July 24, 2007
Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows
I'm about to discuss Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows
Which Harry Potter Kid Are You?
I just couldn't help myself! Asking the question which Harry Potter kid you think you're most like is sort of the same as asking which Sex and the City character you think you're most like. The answer that you want to say is always Carrie, but not everyone can be the star.
The short list of happenings in the last few days:
I ridiculed a coworker for writing a check for a sixty cent toll on the highway, then had to do the same thing myself after I unexpectedly had to take the highway.
Josh and I went to Rebecca's for a party, brought a sippy cup full of booze, and talked about bad dates and This American Life.
T
Before I go any further, let me explain that the White Stripes used to be my favorite band. I was once even Meg White for Halloween (it would've been a much more clever costume if I had a Jack.) They played in town last weekend. Seeing them wasn't a priority, since I've already seen them twice, and tickets were way more than fifteen dollars. But get this. Jack White, being the incredibly ridiculous king of the hipsters, stopped by Bull Moose Music. Mandy, being Mandy was there. Jack White, after browsing the store for a few minutes, told her that he liked her dress. But that's not all. She inherited the dress when I moved out because I didn't care for it. She sure showed me I was wrong.
And lastly, Josh just had a story air on Weekend America, a syndicated radio show. He recounted to me what happened when his family called to tell him how great it was. His mom, dad, sister and sister's new boyfriend were all at home in New York. When Josh didn't answer the phone, they left a long, pass the phone around voicemail. Sometime later, while he was listening, Josh got so wrapped up in the praise they were showering him with, he forgot it was a message and started to talk back. It went something like this, "Josh, you're so great, we loved the story, you're the best son ever, blah blah blah." "Oh, thank you so much, I'm glad you guys enjoyed it." "Wait, here, let me give Dad the phone." And it wasn't until the message was over that he realized they were not actually there.
July 19, 2007
My Adult Life
This past weekend, I had the pleasure of visiting the Dirty Water city of Boston. I've always loved Boston. As a girl from Small Town New England, how could I not? It is the city to which all other cities are compared. When I was in high school, everyone I knew dreamt of Boston and it's academia. There are so many institutes of higher education in Boston and the greater Boston area, it seemed impossible that there was not a school to meet your post-graduation plans. Not to mention that we road tripped there once, sometimes twice a month to see all our favorite bands. Home of the Red Sox. The Boston Marathon. Plus there's that whole Boston Tea Party/Paul Revere/first city of our nation thing.
I was there for a few reasons. To see the new Harry Potter movie, to see Andrea and her new yellow house, and H&M. There was a barbecue the night I arrived, and a few of our friends from Burlington, where Andrea and I met and had one magical joyous summer together, also came down from their New England corner to hang out. We had a really nice time, there were hamburgers, PBR, badmitten, a gold motorcycle...
But I feel compelled to go back to a conversation that I had with this drummer guy who I had to introduce myself as the one from the Pretty and Nice cd (see below).
Let me first explain that while I was living in Burlington, my real life was on hold. I dropped out of school. I stayed out at the bar until 2am, slept until noon, worked a retail job and shirked my financial responsibilities. So, in Boston, reunited with my Burlington friends, I said that I felt like I was taking a break from my adult life. Drummer guy, who is three years my senior, challenged me. What makes me more adult than him? Does that make me think I'm better than everyone else here? These questions weren't said out loud, but clearly thought. I have a job with a dress code, office hours, a salary and benefits. I live with my boyfriend in the nicest apartment I've ever lived in. We cook dinner at the same time every day. My bedtimes and wake-up times are strictly enforced by my biological clock- not after midnight or after nine. These things, in totality, project the image of adulthood. But it doesn't mean that I feel like I'm grown up, ready to live the rest of my life here, like this- or that I think everyone who isn't on the fast track to marriage, babies and a promotion is juvenile- it just means that I don't stay out late. His life consists of making money at a job he doesn't care about to pay the bills, then taking all of the rest buy booze, gear and tattoos and one big drunken party. He thought I was "the man."
I am so not "the man!"
In an unrelated note: Rilo Kiley has a new video. Since I'm not as "hip" or "indie" as I used to be, I flipping love it. It's so hot. But I'm supposed to say that it's a corporate sell out and they'll never be the same since they signed to Warner. Or something.
July 18, 2007
Broccoli Wokoli
Grocery shopping is usually more of a chore than an activity. No one wants to face the facts that it's more cost-effective to eat in, but it's also a blow to spend a huge chunk of change to fill your refrigerator and pantry every week. I would dread going to the grocery store more if it weren't for Josh. One of the first times we went to the store together I sort of wanted to run away and never come back. It went something like this: we were there for an incredibly long time. Josh would stop, put his basket down in, maybe, the Mediterranean aisle, slowly look around and say something like, what I really need is butter. Which of course is halfway across the store. The grocery store is a terrible place to loose your focus.
It's great now though. Because we have a lot of focus. I know that if I forgot the olive oil in aisle four that I can plough on and just send him to get it instead of back tracking while I push the cart, which kind of makes grocery shopping feel like a special operation mission.
One day he was probably gingerly handling the onions to decide which was best, I meandered to the recipe kiosk. There, while browsing recipes for our favorite vegetable at the time, I found an ingredient called: the Broccoli Wokoli. Say it out loud, and you'll understand how ridiculous it is that there is a product on the market called the Broccoli Wokoli. So we called the answer center, and asked where we could find the Broccoli Wokoli, giggled, and then hung up when the kind Hannaford lady put us on hold. We didn't really want to know where we could find it, we just wanted to hear someone else say it so we could laugh at them. Then, then best thing happened. The really nice answer lady, said "Mr. Han's Broccoli Wokoli, aisle five" over the intercom, twice. I think we nearly wet our pants we were so surprised.
It's great now though. Because we have a lot of focus. I know that if I forgot the olive oil in aisle four that I can plough on and just send him to get it instead of back tracking while I push the cart, which kind of makes grocery shopping feel like a special operation mission.
One day he was probably gingerly handling the onions to decide which was best, I meandered to the recipe kiosk. There, while browsing recipes for our favorite vegetable at the time, I found an ingredient called: the Broccoli Wokoli. Say it out loud, and you'll understand how ridiculous it is that there is a product on the market called the Broccoli Wokoli. So we called the answer center, and asked where we could find the Broccoli Wokoli, giggled, and then hung up when the kind Hannaford lady put us on hold. We didn't really want to know where we could find it, we just wanted to hear someone else say it so we could laugh at them. Then, then best thing happened. The really nice answer lady, said "Mr. Han's Broccoli Wokoli, aisle five" over the intercom, twice. I think we nearly wet our pants we were so surprised.
July 16, 2007
It's Better to Give Than Receive
By far, the most boring topic of conversation is something that you know nothing about and have no interest in learning about. On many occasions this happens when men are talking to each other in my presence about Baseball (players, batting averages, earned run averages, contracts, injuries, who's hot, who's not), any Other Sport, politics (who's running, campaigns, who supports what bills, clearly I have no insight into the topics of conversation involving politics, which reiterates my point), or gear, mainly music gear like, guitar pedals, certain years and makes of guitars, amplifiers, etc. These are the sort of conversations during which I will find myself daydreaming about Ron and Hermione and if I were Hermione would I loose my virginity to Ron Weasley or Victor Krum.
Here are two other topics of conversation that are boring even when a GIRL is trying to TELL you: bands that you have never heard of, have no interest in hearing, and have no point of relation to (you don't know their label, their singer's old band, or the band they are most often compared to) and very long and convoluted dreams. "You were there, but you weren't really you, because you had eight legs. And I was me, but I was a thousand years old, looking down on you like I was God. I knew that I was a thousand years old because in a dream, you just know."
It's for this reason, I am very hesitant to share my dreams with anyone, because people love to talk about dreams, but it's not a very engaging topic. When I do share my dreams, usually I tell Laura, and I'll forget the next day, then six months later she'll reference my dream which I've already forgotten. The dream I had Saturday night however, is worth sharing. In this dream I received the best gifts I had ever received in my life (I just knew.) They were: a small container of twenty one-inch buttons that were hand made specifically for me, a mixtape, and a bright blue jumper, like a parachuter would wear, and two sky-diving gift certificates. Isn't that totally weird and great?
Here are two other topics of conversation that are boring even when a GIRL is trying to TELL you: bands that you have never heard of, have no interest in hearing, and have no point of relation to (you don't know their label, their singer's old band, or the band they are most often compared to) and very long and convoluted dreams. "You were there, but you weren't really you, because you had eight legs. And I was me, but I was a thousand years old, looking down on you like I was God. I knew that I was a thousand years old because in a dream, you just know."
It's for this reason, I am very hesitant to share my dreams with anyone, because people love to talk about dreams, but it's not a very engaging topic. When I do share my dreams, usually I tell Laura, and I'll forget the next day, then six months later she'll reference my dream which I've already forgotten. The dream I had Saturday night however, is worth sharing. In this dream I received the best gifts I had ever received in my life (I just knew.) They were: a small container of twenty one-inch buttons that were hand made specifically for me, a mixtape, and a bright blue jumper, like a parachuter would wear, and two sky-diving gift certificates. Isn't that totally weird and great?
July 10, 2007
Boogie
"Oh, hold on, there's something on your face... *GASP* It was a booger. I just touched your booger." -Me to Josh, breaking the final relationship threshold.
July 8, 2007
Dirty Dancing in the Catskills
Today my boyfriend and I drove home in separate matching '86 white Volvo sedans from Western Massachusetts. I followed him or he followed me for four hours, and it was a lovely trip. Nothing makes you feel more free than the open road. Especially when you can sing as loud and off key as you want, and no one will care. Why did we have matching cars? Long story, too boring for the blog.
I discovered this weekend that the Catskill Mountains were like this Jewish version of the Hamptons (I use the past tense because hopefully, the Jews are allowed in the Hamptons now.) And that Dirty Dancing, which took place there, was pretty much dead-on. Josh's father worked at one of those hotels, and he attests to the authenticity of the movie. Additionally, the more time Josh and I spend with his parents, the more I realize how much I have to learn about Jewish culture. We had an entire conversation in the car, Josh, his parents and myself, about circumcision. The first penis I've ever had "relations" with was uncircumcised, and I pretty much forgot about that nightmare and the fold about short while after. This was, of course, information that I did not disclose, seeing as though Josh technically only half a Jew and circumcised.
Meanwhile, on the 80's Coming of Age Movie Soundtrack mix, I've rediscovered the awesomeness of Love is Strange. I, like I'm sure most girls my age, watched Dirty Dancing a hundred thousand times when it came out, and the songs will forever be burned in my brain. This came up before Josh and I started dating and he included Be My Baby on a mixtape he made for me. At this point, he had done absolutely nothing to make me think that he liked me. Except force me to answer questions for his documentary for three or four times a week, and include a song from the Dirty Dancing soundtrack on the mix. It drove me absolutely insane for weeks, spending more time analysing weather or not the inclusion of that song meant he wanted me or not than on the relationship I was in at the time! Clearly, it meant he wanted me.
Anyway, Love is Strange is a great song from the soundtrack that you don't hear at all outside of the soundtrack. The opposite of Stand by Me, from Stand by Me.
Spending the majority of my weekend with his parents was great- they, like many of my other friend's parents, are extremely easy to be around, and very loving. I got spoiled hearing Josh talk about me to his parents, "Amanda does all of my first edits," and "Amanda is very sensitive about how friendly the service is." We opted against our better judgement to fool around while his parents were two doors down, and probably drank too much at dinner. Later, after we crossed the glorious Piscatiqua River bridge and eventually arrived in Portland, we slow danced in his office, just like when we first met.
Hopefully this doesn't become a blog about my relationship... Coming Soon: a tentative playlist for the 80's mix, and details about the awesome 80's party we'll throw to celebrate it.
I discovered this weekend that the Catskill Mountains were like this Jewish version of the Hamptons (I use the past tense because hopefully, the Jews are allowed in the Hamptons now.) And that Dirty Dancing, which took place there, was pretty much dead-on. Josh's father worked at one of those hotels, and he attests to the authenticity of the movie. Additionally, the more time Josh and I spend with his parents, the more I realize how much I have to learn about Jewish culture. We had an entire conversation in the car, Josh, his parents and myself, about circumcision. The first penis I've ever had "relations" with was uncircumcised, and I pretty much forgot about that nightmare and the fold about short while after. This was, of course, information that I did not disclose, seeing as though Josh technically only half a Jew and circumcised.
Meanwhile, on the 80's Coming of Age Movie Soundtrack mix, I've rediscovered the awesomeness of Love is Strange. I, like I'm sure most girls my age, watched Dirty Dancing a hundred thousand times when it came out, and the songs will forever be burned in my brain. This came up before Josh and I started dating and he included Be My Baby on a mixtape he made for me. At this point, he had done absolutely nothing to make me think that he liked me. Except force me to answer questions for his documentary for three or four times a week, and include a song from the Dirty Dancing soundtrack on the mix. It drove me absolutely insane for weeks, spending more time analysing weather or not the inclusion of that song meant he wanted me or not than on the relationship I was in at the time! Clearly, it meant he wanted me.
Anyway, Love is Strange is a great song from the soundtrack that you don't hear at all outside of the soundtrack. The opposite of Stand by Me, from Stand by Me.
Spending the majority of my weekend with his parents was great- they, like many of my other friend's parents, are extremely easy to be around, and very loving. I got spoiled hearing Josh talk about me to his parents, "Amanda does all of my first edits," and "Amanda is very sensitive about how friendly the service is." We opted against our better judgement to fool around while his parents were two doors down, and probably drank too much at dinner. Later, after we crossed the glorious Piscatiqua River bridge and eventually arrived in Portland, we slow danced in his office, just like when we first met.
Hopefully this doesn't become a blog about my relationship... Coming Soon: a tentative playlist for the 80's mix, and details about the awesome 80's party we'll throw to celebrate it.
Hugs
There is a serious lack of Lift-and-Spin hugs in my life. But I guess browsing my friends list on MySpace by first initial sort of makes up for it.
July 5, 2007
O say, Can you See?
Happy belated Independence Day!
This year was pretty great (see pictures). The fireworks were nice, from what I could see between blinking the raindrops out of my eye. The best part of the Portland fireworks had to be the boats lit up in Casco Bay like reflections of the stars in the water (did I actually just say that?) It was really somthing though.
Just about every single one of my favorite Portland people were there at the post-fireworks ice cream social, including members of the 500's and the Enchantments, and a great time was had by all. The girls wore pretty printed dresses, Miranda and I shared a chair, Sammie put ice cream in his Dark and Stormy, and it's official: Corinna and Nick have the most fantastic and huge apartment!
Last year, however, my boyfriend and I drove to Bristol, RI to watch the oldest ever Independance Day parade. As in, it's been an annual event since our country was born. Here are two pictures that sum up how hot it was:
I'm not particularly fond of this picture of him, and he's not particularly fond of this picture of me, but we can't help looking like that on film.
The best part of the trip to Bristol was not the seedy motel we stayed in, the fair food, the cheap sunglasses I bought, or the celebration of the awesomeness of the country... it was the eight different fireworks displays that we saw from the car driving south on Interstate 95. It was amazing, and I'll be hard pressed to have a better 4th of July.
This year was pretty great (see pictures). The fireworks were nice, from what I could see between blinking the raindrops out of my eye. The best part of the Portland fireworks had to be the boats lit up in Casco Bay like reflections of the stars in the water (did I actually just say that?) It was really somthing though.
Just about every single one of my favorite Portland people were there at the post-fireworks ice cream social, including members of the 500's and the Enchantments, and a great time was had by all. The girls wore pretty printed dresses, Miranda and I shared a chair, Sammie put ice cream in his Dark and Stormy, and it's official: Corinna and Nick have the most fantastic and huge apartment!
Last year, however, my boyfriend and I drove to Bristol, RI to watch the oldest ever Independance Day parade. As in, it's been an annual event since our country was born. Here are two pictures that sum up how hot it was:
I'm not particularly fond of this picture of him, and he's not particularly fond of this picture of me, but we can't help looking like that on film.
The best part of the trip to Bristol was not the seedy motel we stayed in, the fair food, the cheap sunglasses I bought, or the celebration of the awesomeness of the country... it was the eight different fireworks displays that we saw from the car driving south on Interstate 95. It was amazing, and I'll be hard pressed to have a better 4th of July.
July 1, 2007
Your heart is an Idiot?
Watch this:
Okay. I'm a little bit wary of the concept of editing a movie with internet imput, but I did vote for Danny and Nina. This "trailer" makes a very great showing of why music is so important to the promotion of your movie. Clearly, the abundance of re-cut trailers on YouTube illustrates this also. Here are a few other movie trailers with great music...
Wake Up You're Sleeping features an Arcade Fire song:
And this movie was rated two stars by everyone on Netflix. Everyone must have been disappointed because the trailer was so misleadingly awesome:
Okay. I'm a little bit wary of the concept of editing a movie with internet imput, but I did vote for Danny and Nina. This "trailer" makes a very great showing of why music is so important to the promotion of your movie. Clearly, the abundance of re-cut trailers on YouTube illustrates this also. Here are a few other movie trailers with great music...
Wake Up You're Sleeping features an Arcade Fire song:
And this movie was rated two stars by everyone on Netflix. Everyone must have been disappointed because the trailer was so misleadingly awesome:
Say a little Prayer
I had my name chain-sawed into a belt buckle while I was wearing it. You can see Ray messed up a little, because I moved. As one can imagine, it was pretty nerve-racking. We were in a sound-proof booth, but for the rest of the audience, "Say a Little Prayer" by Aretha Franklin was on.
It's been a pretty great week, other than my health problems. My boyfriend has been in a wicked good mood, which in turn puts me in a wicked good mood. We made the season's maiden voyage to Jay's Oyster Bar, saw Michael Showalter and Michael Ian Black preform at the Station, watched a Sea Dogs game, road-tripped to Ellsworth... I got awesome new flip flops on sale at Kohl's, and I just re-organized my wardrobe!
Next up: I'm working on a mixtape of songs from the soundtracks of Coming of Age movies from the 80's. Impressive, right?
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