i got pulled over tonight. a friend and i saw the hundred foot journey, which is amazingly good and lovely by the way. it'd been a good day. i got a pedicure. i played my best game of hearts today. i had a good day at work. brio's had italian wedding soup (this is not always the case). it didn't rain; i thought for sure it was going to because there was that tropical storm that blasted mexico, and in the past few evenings, we've seen some pretty impressive cloud cover here, no doubt because of dolly. i wouldn't've minded rain, except phineas does not have a functioning air conditioning system, and so i'm driving with the roof open and the windows down; i did not want to get drenched. i browsed a bit in barnes & noble, straightened a bay of books, skimmed a couple of pages of some michael connelly novels, managed to entice a woman to read the language of flowers rather than some sophie kinsella crap. spent some quality time with a friend and watched a REALLY good flick.

for the most part, it was a really good day.

the not-so-attractive bits: i planted my left hand smack dab in the center of a fire ant bed, so now i've got some lovely little bite marks all over it. i've some sort of an infection that's wreaking havoc somewhere in my digestive tract (i'm almost done with the antibiotics, thank god), and the ice cream, popcorn and coca-cola i had right before and during the film was just too much for my still-weakened system, so i got sick. on my way to a convenience store to purchase a roll of tums and a bottle of water, some guy in an s.u.v got too close to me; his lights blinded me so that i couldn't see the road well. i put my hazards on in hopes that he would use one of the other two vacant lanes to pass. but he stayed where he was. so i stopped. he stayed where he was. i stuck my hand out and gestured for him to go by. and then i saw the outline of the lights atop his car. which is, of course, when he turned those lights on.

no biggie. i just have to tell him that i have special k vision and couldn't see. and then i have to tell him that i don't wear contacts or glasses, that my eyes were crossed when i was born, that i have no depth perception because of it, that it can't be corrected, that at night i rely very heavily on what i see in my mirrors, that i couldn't see because of the lights.

all i want is some tums.

i don't want to think about the conversation the friend and i had before the film started--about what i'm doing with my life, what i'm not doing and why i'm not doing it. i don't want to think about the comment a woman left on my facebook page today--the only therapist i'd seen in my adolescence that i respected, the only one who seemed to respect me... i don't want to think about how, maybe, just maybe if i'd actually had the courage to tell her what troubled me then, that i'd be so much better off now. i don't want to think about the fact that i don't have a passion for anything. i just want the tums and the water and my bed.

so i pull into a parking lot, tell the cop that i've those vision issues and wait for him to do his initial check and come back so i can tell him that those issues can't be corrected. and there before me is this tree. and all the leaves are golden. dry. dead.

i feel like that tree. and i really wish my brain would leave me alone. i'm tired of the sucker punches. i'm tired of the battles. the losses and failures.

copper lets me go. i get my tums. i go home. and cry. again. and then i sit down to jot a quick note on facebook that more people need to see that movie.

i look to my left at a printout my mother's left on her desk. an email. a spiritual thought for the day.

it's a passage from john o'donohue's anam cara: a book of celtic wisdom.

i won't quote the whole thing. this is a long enough post as it is. but this, the beginning of beannacht for josie:

on the day when

the weight deadens

on your shoulders

and you stumble,

may the clay dance

to balance you.

that passage... the fact that it was there, in such a spot that my attention would be drawn to it... that must be the clay.

the good in my day: august

lunch with maria. dinner with dianne. i sold a lot of stuff at work. seabiscuit. swimming. hearing my older brother's name called over the p.a. in the airport just before my younger brother and i caught a flight to colorado to attend my cousin's wedding. going to the aquarium with another cousin, his wife, child and father. lunch with my aunt and uncle and cousins. the beautiful evening outdoors for the ceremony. playing cards with my mother and aunt. dinner and skip-bo with a neighbor's family. the red, patent leather shoes i bought at macy's. the third interview i had at a high school for an instructional aide spot--maybe i could've done better, overall, but i was pleased with many of the answers i gave, and that hardly ever happens. the email erin sent, just checking in. the two days i spent caring for the wonder twins. feeding the ducks. not losing them at the mall or chuck e. cheese's. the lego store. the letter and surprise i got in the mail from a former employer. playing tennis with the neighbors. actually hitting the ball with the racket... quite a few times and well enough that it soared over the net to the back of the court. harry potter and the sorcerer's stone. my friend victoria. the trailer for the theory of everything. the costume i got bambam came in today; it wasn't supposed to get here until october. houston's skyline. surprising karen with a gift after her back surgery. joe perry on guitar. that i got another saturday off without having to ask for it. the staff at optimum emergency room on research forest drive; i loathe all things related to hospitals and emergency care, but i also loathe infections, and (for you local peeps in need of a good twenty-four hour clinic) this place was pretty phenomenal. mike myers on david letterman.

the fall film challenge: my list

one. any action/adventure flick. x-men: days of future past.

two. any shot in budapest, hungary. a good day to die hard.

three. any awarded an oscar for best cinematography. who's afraid of virginia woolf?

four. any drama/biography/documentary. the judge.

five. any awarded an oscar for best film editing. argo.

six. any science-fiction/fantasy flick. brave.

seven. any starring an actress whose last name begins with the letter g.
meet me in st. louis (judy garland).

eight. any set during any holiday. in bruges.

nine. any from internet movie database's top flicks list. american history x.

ten. any starring an actor whose last name begins with the letter j. lincoln.

eleven. any starring an actress whose last name begins with the letter k.
unhook the stars (moira kelly).

twelve. any shot in london, england. sherlock holmes: a game of shadows.

thirteen. any awarded an oscar for best original score. the way we were.

fourteen. any adapted from any novel. this is where i leave you.

fifteen. any awarded an oscar for best original screenplay.
butch cassidy and the sundance kid.

sixteen. any awarded an oscar for best picture. driving miss daisy.

seventeen. any featured on american movie classic's fifty great movie quote's list.
national lampoon's animal house.

eighteen. any romance or comedy. st. vincent.

nineteen. any sports flick. when the game stands tall.

twenty. any thriller or mystery. lincoln lawyer.

twenty-one. any starring an actor whose last name begins with the letter u.
the newton boys (skeet ulrich).

twenty-two. any shot in a country you've never visited. rush (austria).

twenty-three. any shot in wilmington, north carolina. twenty-eight days.

twenty-four. any western or war film. fury.

twenty-five. any from american film institute's greatest american movies of all time.
a streetcar named desire.

wanna take the challenge? click here for details.

we all bleed the same

i've been debating writing this post for a while now. it's ultimately going to sound preachy, and i doubt it'd make a dent, but...

i'm really tired, and it's probably not going to make much sense, but i decided to give it a shot anyway, all because of one sentence, one callous remark spoken by a stranger seated next to me on the hill at the cynthia woods mitchell pavilion last night.

i was waiting for aerosmith to come on stage. i forget i don't enjoy concerts at the pavilion. i'd been at my spot at pappadeaux's bar when the service bartender reminded me that the band had a show that night. so i collected my things and hurried over to see if i could snag a ticket without thinking of the discomfort i'd feel while there. my brain was fixated on the thought that i wanna watch joe perry play live once in my life. 

at some point, the couple to my left scooted toward me so that the space between the gentleman and i was a mere inches. i looked to the man, who'd had at least two large beers to my knowledge, and asked that he not sit so close to me, that i had huge personal space issues. 

instead of scooting back over, he chose instead to mock me and argue that the distance between us was plenty and blah blah blah. his girlfriend looked over at me, and i tried again to explain my need. i'd said i know it doesn't look like i have a disability, but i do.

she came back with some sort of retort about how it does look like i have one. i can't remember. but the words she used, the tone with which she delivered them, her facial expression... all these things reeked of superiority.

the last time i'd attended a concert at the pavilion was depeche mode's show nearly a year before. i sat on the hill then, too. both times i've had good spots. on this night, i'd gotten up to use the restroom. when i came back the ladies to my left had moved my things over so that they could have my spot because a bar kept them from getting a good look at the stage.

last night, when aerosmith came on, another couple--friends of the folks to my left--came and stood right in front of me. the man was quite heavy and had been drinking. he practically stood on top of me. his ass was very much in my face. i put my hand up twice to get his attention, and when i finally got it, his attitude was that i shouldn't be sitting right there.

and then there's the stories i hear... and people's reactions to them...

when robin williams died, my mother's response was to think him a coward because he couldn't, wouldn't face his challenges. in her mind, he should've used his humor to prevail, to endure for as long as possible.

the week before i'd sat in my father's office willing myself to do just that. my mind was plummeting to hell, and, yet again, i had to talk myself through it. so when a person chooses to act in such a way, i know exactly how he feels. i know how hard it is to resist the temptation to end it. i know how easy death appears. how peaceful. i know. and i did what i could to convince her that williams' choice wasn't an act of cowardice. but i couldn't change her mind.

when michael brown was shot, people in that community used the word execution in reference to the shooting, to his death. that word implies that the shooting had been an intentional, lethal punishment for some crime. people insisted that if the boy had been white and the cop had been black, the world would be in more of an uproar.

i'm so tired of reading crap like that. i wanna throttle the people who say these things.

because it IS crap. a man died. period. death should be the story--the grief, the tragedy, the loss. we could reach for the best examples of our humanity. instead we turn to riots and bigotry.

i don't care about the color of that boy's skin. i don't care about the color of the cop's. i care that a man died. i care that another man now carries the label of killer. i care that another man who'd given us decades of laughter, that the contributions he'd made in his lifetime will be erased by apathetic people who can't respect a man's choice... who can't respect a man. i care that we can't appreciate each other's differences, each other's needs. i care that we have become so obsessed with political correctness in an effort to appear courteous, but when the time comes to walk the walk, to actually behave courteously, we choose to be callous instead.

the pain i feel is no different from the pain you feel. a word can cut me just as easily as it can cut you. a bruise forms in just the same way. a wound heals in just the same way. my hopes and dreams are just as fragile as yours. my loves as beautiful.

the fall film challenge

begins one minute past twelve a.m. september first / concludes midnight november thirtieth. you may NOT use a film you have already seen, even in part (excluding trailers), for this challenge. all films MUST be new to you. each film chosen for the challenge may be used ONLY ONCE, i.e. a film used for the best cinematography category may not be used for the best picture one as well. all films selected for the challenge MUST have a page on the internet movie database. films can be viewed in the theater or at home, but all films must have (had) a theatrical release; made for t.v. movies are not eligible for the challenge.

the first five people to complete the challenge prior to nov. thirtieth will each receive a redbox gift card valued at ten dollars. the one person to accumulate the most points will receive an amazon gift card valued at fifty dollars. each film is valued at ten points, yielding a total points of two hundred fifty. details of a bonus round will be revealed october fifteenth. 

to participate, you must be a member of the fall film challenge facebook group. once you have joined and chosen your films to fit the below categories, post your list to the group's page or email it to criticalcrass at me dot com so that i may add your selections to a master list. only those who have submitted lists to me are eligible for the prizes. 

one. any action/adventure flick.

two. any shot in budapest, hungary.

three. any awarded an oscar for best cinematography.

four. any drama/biography/documentary.

five. any awarded an oscar for best film editing.

six. any science-fiction/fantasy flick.

seven. any starring an actress whose last name begins with the letter g.

eight. any set during any holiday.

nine. any from internet movie database's top flicks list.

ten. any starring an actor whose last name begins with the letter j.

eleven. any starring an actress whose last name begins with the letter k.

twelve. any shot in london, england.

thirteen. any awarded an oscar for best original score.

fourteen. any adapted from any novel.

fifteen. any awarded an oscar for best original screenplay.

sixteen. any awarded an oscar for best picture.

seventeen. any featured on american movie classic's fifty great movie quote's list.

eighteen. any romance or comedy.

nineteen. any sports flick.

twenty. any thriller or mystery.

twenty-one. any starring an actor whose last name begins with the letter u.

twenty-two. any shot in a country you've never visited.

twenty-three. any shot in wilmington, north carolina.

twenty-four. any western or war film.

twenty-five. any from american film institute's greatest american movies of all time.

helpful links

twenty-five favored chick flicks.

the best released from 'three to 'thirteen.

the best of the nineties. erin's list. rolling stone's list.

the best of the eighties. erin's list. rolling stone's list.

movies you didn't know were set at christmas.

one hundred movies set in winter time/christmas time.

films set around halloween.

twenty-five best holiday movies.

movies set around thanksgiving.

stuck on u? i made yall a list!

songs that start with the letter u: a not-so-random sample

because it's not a good day and i just wanna sit here and listen to music,
yall get another playlist. yay!

one. ultraviolet (light my way). u2. achtung baby.

two. unbelievable. emf. coyote ugly soundtrack.

three. under the milky way. the church. starfish.

four. undercover. pete yorn. nightcrawler.

five.  underneath your clothes. shakira. laundry service.

six. underwater march. klaus badelt. pirates of the caribbean: the curse of the black pearl.

seven. undone. lifehouse's self-titled album.

eight. ungodly hour. the fray's self-tilted album.

nine. under my skin. rachael yamagata. happenstance.

ten. uninvited. alanis morissette. city of angels: music from the motion picture.

eleven. union of the snake. duran duran. seven and the ragged tiger.

twelve. universe and u. kt tunstall. eye to the telescope.

thirteen. unsung psalm. tracy chapman. telling stories.

fourteen. until it sleeps. metallica. load.

fifteen. until the end of the world. u2. achtung baby.

sixteen. untitled. collective soul's self-titled album.

seventeen. untitled. fuel. sunburn.

eighteen. untitled. interpol. turn on the bright lights.

nineteen. untitled. smashing pumpkins. rotten apples: greatest hits.

twenty. untitled one. keane. hopes and fears.

twenty-one. unwell. matchbox twenty. more than you think you are.

twenty-two. up all night. unwritten law. elva.

twenty-three. upside down. tori amos. silent all these years (single).

twenty-four. us. regina spektor. soviet kitsch.

twenty-five. useless. depeche mode. ultra.

twenty-five favored chick flicks

kari made a list of the chick flicks she never tires of watching.

i felt inspired to make (yet) a(nother) list of my own.

about time

catch and release

chocolat

crazy stupid love

the cutting edge

dedication

dirty dancing

eternal sunshine of the spotless mind

fever pitch

five hundred days of summer

for love of the game

hitch

life as a house

life or something like it

love actually

memoirs of a geisha

the mirror has two faces

no reservations

the notebook

one fine day

the painted veil

the proposal

she's all that 

steel magnolias

that awkward moment

the twelfth of october

i attended a writing workshop in houston this morning. for one of the exercises, we were to grab an object from a ziploc bag and write something about it. we weren't supposed to be too choosy. so i reached into the bag, turned my head so that i couldn't focus on the contents at all, and pulled out the first thing my fingers found.

a slip of paper. a ticket stub from a film festival. dated october twelfth. 

my older brother's birthday.

for the previous assignment we were to choose from a handful of photos and write about the person pictured. for this assignment, we could use that same person or make up someone new. i'd arrived late, so i used the same person. and we were supposed to place the object on or inside a nightstand. 

on the back of the picture i'd selected was a name (chandra), a date (10-31-86), and a number (16). so i subtracted sixteen from eighty-six and wrote the following:

she was twenty-seven then.

chandra slowly pulled out the drawer of her nightstand and withdrew a ticket stub. since the only other thing in the drawer was a ring, she didn't need to search for the ticket--a memento of the best day.

of the worst.

she missed him. especially on a day like this when they should've been together to see their daughter off. the daughter who looked like her father. who had his dark eyes and hair. his smile. his dimple in her left cheek.

there was a small bit of extra paper that had clung to the edge when the usher had torn it. chandra fingered it with her right hand, tempted to tear it so that the perforation was even, the edge clean, but she resisted.

the thirty-third chicago international film festival. the ice storm.

in october. on the twelfth.

his birthday.

his death day.

she ran a hand over the ticket and set it back in the drawer.

sixteen years ago.

"mama!"

she shoved the drawer shut. "coming."

landline

why i wanted to read it: i wasn't as excited about reading this as i was for her other books. fangirl didn't do anything for me at all. and while i liked beth and jennifer in attachments, lincoln didn't impress me that much. and this one? about a fifteen-year-old marriage in trouble, its complications corrected through conversations held via magic phone calls? i was wary. i wasn't going to buy it. i'm glad i did.

what i liked: neal trimmed the trees. neal kept tulip bulbs in the refrigerator and sketched garden plans on the back of whole foods receipts. he'd pore over seed catalogs in bed and make georgie choose which plants she liked best.

"purple eggplant or white eggplant?" he'd asked her last summer.

"how can you have a white eggplant? that's like... purple green beans."

"there are purple green beans. and yellow oranges."

"stop. you're blowing my mind."

"oh, i'll blow your mind. girlie."

"are you flirting with me?"

he'd turned to her then, pen cap in his mouth, and cocked his head. "yeah, i think so."

georgie looked down at her old sweatshirt. at her threadbare yoga pants. "this is what does it for you?"

neal smiled most of a smile, and the cap fell out of his mouth. "so far."

neal...

she'd call him tomorrow morning. she'd get through to him this time... time zones weren't on their side. 

and he was pissed with her.

she'd make it better... morning glories, georgie thought to herself just before she fell asleep (pp. 43-44).

but that's the thing, georgie--he isn't friendly. he growls at people, literally, if they get too close."

"he doesn't growl at me," she said.

"well, he wouldn't."

"why wouldn't he?"

"because you're a pretty girl. you're probably the only pretty girl who's ever talked to him. he's too stunned to growl" (pp. 76-77).

"he was mad when he left, but--i think he'd tell me if he was leaving me. don't you think he'd tell me?" she was asking it seriously.

heather made a face. "god, georgie, i don't know. neal's not much of a talker. i didn't even know you were having problems."

georgie rubbed her eyes. "we're always having problems."

"well, it doesn't ever look like it. every time i talk to you, neal is bringing you breakfast in bed, or making you a pop-up birthday card."

"yeah." georgie didn't want to tell heather that it wasn't that simple. that neal made her breakfast even when he was pissed; sometimes he did it because he was pissed. as a way to act like he was present in their relationship, even when he was chilled through and barely talking to her (p. 106).

christmas 1998. they fought. neal went home. he came back. he proposed. they lived not-exactly-happily ever after. wait, was that what she was supposed to fix? the not-exactly-happy part?

how was she supposed to fix something like that, over the phone, when she wasn't even sure it was fixable?

christmas 1998. a week without neal. the worst week of her life. the week he decided to marry her.

was georgie supposed to make sure that he didn't? (p. 113).

"you could do this for a living," georgie said one night at the spoon, before they even started dating. 

"entertain you?" neal said. "sounds good. how are the benefits?" (p. 117).

georgie had gotten that far into her imagining--to neal spooning with his more-suitable-than-georgie wife--when she imagined neal's second-chance kids in this second-chance world. then she slammed the door shut on all his hypothetical happiness.

if the universe thought georgie was going to erase her kids from the timeline, it had another fucking thing coming (p. 122).

"i don't want to go out with jell-o instant pudding," georgie said.

"i would marry jell-o instant pudding."

georgie rolled her eyes. "i want to go out with mikey."

"i thought you wanted to go out with jay anselmo."

"jay anselmo is mikey," georgie explained. "he's the guy in the life cereal commercial who hates everything. if mikey likes you, you know you're good. if mikey likes you, it means something" (p. 136).

neal would stir in his sleep and reach for her hips, pulling her back onto the bed. "what are you looking for?"

"paper," she'd say, leaning off the bed again. "i have an idea i don't want to forget."

she'd feel his mouth at the base of her spine. "tell me. i'll remember."

"you're asleep, too."

he'd bite her. "tell me."

"it's a dance," she'd say. "there's a dance. and chloe, the main character, will end up with one of her mom's old prom dresses. and she'll try to fix it to make it look cool, like in pretty in pink, but it won't be cool; it'll be awful. and something embarrassing will happen at the dance to 'try a little tenderness.'"

"got it." then neal would pull her back into bed, into him, holding her in place. "dance. dress. 'try a little tenderness.' now go back to sleep."

and then he'd push up georgie's pajama shirt, biting her back until neither of them could go to sleep.

and then, eventually, she'd drift off with his hand on her hip and his forehead pressed into her shoulder.

she'd get out of the shower the next morning, and it would be written in the steam on the mirror: 

dance. dress. try a little tenderness (p. 140).

"i've wanted a crayola caddy since 1981," georgie said. "it's all i asked santa claus for, three years in a row."

"why didn't your parents just buy it for you?"

she rolled her eyes. "my mom thought it was stupid. she bought me crayons and paint instead."

"well--" he lowered his eyebrows thoughtfully--"you could probably have mine."

georgie punched his chest with their clasped hands. "shut. up." she knew it was stupid, but she was genuinely thrilled about this. "neal grafton, you have just made my oldest dream come true."

neal held her hand to his heart. his face was neutral, but his eyes were dancing (p. 148).

and it won't be the same if you have kids with some other, better girl, because they won't be alice and noomie, and even if i'm not your perfect match, they are.

god, the three of you. the three of you.

when i wake up on sunday mornings--late, you always let me sleep in--i come looking for you, and you're in the backyard with dirt on your knees and two little girls spinning around you in perfect orbit... and they look like me because they're round and golden, but they glow for you (p. 164).

when georgie thought about divorce now, she imagined lying side by side with neal on two operating tables while a team of doctors tried to unthread their vascular systems (p. 201).

neal always held her hand during take off and turbulence... sometimes he didn't even look up from his crossword, just reached out for her when the plane started to shake (p. 275).

but these are the little things. there's pages and pages of goodness... things that are too good to put here. things i want you to read for yourselves. you're gonna love neal. he's a pretty cool dude.

what sucked: i'm not so much a fan of georgie's name. one of my friends, when i read her some excerpts, she said she liked neal, but not so much georgie. that her name ruined it for her. and yeah... i sure wish ms. rowell had chosen something else to call her, but... what makes me like georgie is that she was smart enough to recognize all the good in neal when so many others could overlook him.

having said all that: i loved this book. probably more than eleanor and park. and i LOVE that one, so...

the monastery's guest house grounds: photos from a five-year-old's vantage

at the top of the drive, just outside the back porch.

 the upstairs kitchen.

just outside the back porch, on the other side of the house.

 the upstairs kitchen again.

the redwood picnic table my great uncle built at my grandmother's request.

 the top of the box elder tree near the house.

and this one here... on the other side of the brush at the base of the tree... that's where my younger brother, at ten, tripped me, at fourteen, and fractured my collar bone.

i would've given yall better pictures, but the children used up all my battery.

wonder

why i read it: i saw it on the wall of bestsellers near the information desk at barnes & noble's. the cover caught my eye.

and the first page: i know i'm not an ordinary ten-year-old kid. i mean, sure i do ordinary things. i eat ice cream. i ride my bike. i play ball. and i feel ordinary. inside. but i know ordinary kids don't make other ordinary kids run away screaming in playgrounds... 

if i found a magic lamp and i could have one wish, i would wish that i had a normal face that one one ever noticed at all...

i know how to pretend i don't see the faces people make...

my name is augustus, by the way. i won't describe what i look like. whatever you're thinking, it's probably worse.

what i liked: "who is your favorite character?" julian asked. i started thinking maybe he wasn't so bad. 

"jango fett."

"what about darth sidious?" he said. "do you like him?" ...

maybe no one got the darth sidious thing, and maybe julian didn't mean anything at all. but in star wars episode iii--revenge of the sith, darth sidious's face gets burned by sith lightning and becomes totally deformed. his skin gets all shriveled up and his whole face just kind of melts.

i peeked at julian and he was looking at me. yeah, he knew what he was saying (p. 44).

"we sat together at lunch," i said.

i had started kicking a rock between my feet like it was a soccer ball, chasing it back and forth across the sidewalk.

"she seems very nice."

"yeah, she is."

"she's very pretty," mom said.

"yeah, i know," i answered. "we're kind of like beauty and the beast."

i didn't wait to see mom's reaction. i just started running down the sidewalk after the rock, which i had kicked as hard as i could in front of me (p. 56).

mom put the book down and wrapped her arms around me. she didn't seem surprised that i was crying. "it's okay," she whispered in my ear. "it'll be okay."

"i'm sorry," i said between sniffles.

"shh," she said, wiping my tears with the back of her hand. "you have nothing to be sorry about."

"why do i have to be so ugly, mommy?" i whispered.

"no, baby, you're not..."

"i know i am."

she kissed me all over my face. she kissed my eyes that came down too far. she kissed my cheeks that looked punched in. she kissed my tortoise mouth.

she said soft words that i know were meant to help me, but words can't change my face (p. 60).

for me, halloween is the best holiday in the world. it even beats christmas. i get to dress up in a costume. i get to wear a mask. i get to go around like every other kid with a mask and nobody thinks i look weird. nobody takes a second look. nobody notices me. nobody knows me.

i wish every day could be halloween. we could all wear masks all the time. then we could walk around and get to know each other before we got to see what we look like under the masks (p. 73).

i knew it wasn't a bleeding scream they were looking for. it was a boba fett.

i was going to go and sit at my usual desk, but for some reason, i don't know why, i found myself walking over to a desk near them, and i could hear them talking...

one of the mummies would say: "it really does look like him."

"like this part... " answered julian's voice. he put his fingers on the cheeks and eyes of his darth sidious mask... "if i looked like that," said the julian voice, kind of laughing, "i swear to god, i'd put a hood over my face every day."

"i've thought about this a lot," said the second mummy, sounding serious, "and i really think... if i looked like him, seriously, i think that i'd kill myself... i can't imagine looking in the mirror every day and seeing myself like that. it would be too awful. and getting stared at all the time..." the mummy shrugged. i knew the shrug, of course. i knew the voice. i knew i wanted to run out of the class right then and there. but i stood where i was and listened (p. 77).

i know the names they call me. i've been in enough playgrounds to know kids can be mean. i know, i know, i know. 

i ended up in the second-floor bathroom. no one was there because first period had started and everyone was in class. i locked the door to my stall and took off my mask and just cried for i don't know how long. then i went to the nurse's office and i told her i had a stomach ache, which was true, because i felt like i'd been kicked in the gut (p. 79).

anyway, it's not that i care that people react to me. like i said a gazillion times: i'm used to that by now. i don't let it bother me. it's like when you go outside and it's drizzling a little. you don't put on boots for a drizzle. you don't even open your umbrella. you walk through it and barely notice your hair getting wet. 

but when it's a huge gym full of parents, the drizzle becomes like this total hurricane. everyone's eyes hit you like a wall of water (page 207).

i read a good chunk of this on the flight to utah. i had to pause every so often because the tragedy of this boy's life broke my heart.

i also liked that the point of view shifts from august to his sister to his friends and back again. i liked that the story was told by so many.

what sucked: the last fifty pages or so. what was an incredibly touching tale became a really cheesy, preachy one. i was kind of disgusted by the conclusion. way too schmaltzy. it sort of wrecked it for me.

having said all that: it's rare that a book affects me so. and maybe it did this because my childhood resembled august's in some ways. maybe i'm overly sensitive and far too compassionate. but even though the ending annoyed me, i'm glad i read this story. because i like august. he's a good kid.

the good in my day: june

the chat i had with my mother before she left this evening to dine with my father and their friends. the drive into my subdivision at dusk this time of year. the compliment a server paid me; i don't remember the words, but they were incredibly kind observations of my character, and i almost cried because the beauty of that kindness was so welcome in that moment. one of my managers got me giggling after a long string of trying customers... too many instances of my not being able to satisfy, of disappointing and being disappointed, and somehow she got me giggling. she's very good at that. the smile on a friend's face when i dropped by with a gift. peter dinklage in game of thrones; he's pretty incredible. ansel elgort didn't ruin augustus waters; i was so certain he would. the lovely, lovely child i met today at work, and the kindness his mother bestowed upon me. my five-year-old nephew's voicemail: wub, i'm fine. i had a pleasant enough day at work. i spent the day watching game of thrones: resting while watching a great story is a wonderful thing. the gift i received from a fellow blogger: a pack of tul pens (just like i like'm) and b&n gift card. i've managed to get really great parking places at the mall on the first try two days in a row. quality time with my mother followed by dinner at home with the family. one of my coworkers, who's on maternity leave, picked up a shift for another yesterday; it was nice to see her again... it was also nice not to have to get up at six a.m. and work a long day, which i would've had to do had she not picked up. the elder lannister brother rescued the younger brother from prison; the younger learned of his lover's deceit (i KNEW she was bad!), then killed his father in the privy... go tyrion. the hug alex gave me. i enjoyed working with a particular manager; that doesn't happen often. lunch and window shopping with my father. i ended my day at work with a really good sale. a quiet house. the chat i had with one of the managers. breakfast with my father. the hug my nephew gave me. english muffins. dinner and window shopping with a friend. visiting with a sweet, sweet lady at b&n's cafe. playing i spy with my nephew. my store manager's smiling face at the start of my shift. mi cocina's queso blanco. no cavities!

this could be the last time... also knowns as "monks? monks live in utah?"

yes. yes, they do. on some of the finest land in the country.

i've posted most (if not all) of these images before. i won't have new ones for you for a couple of weeks. we leave on wednesday for what will most likely be the last time we ever go. my munkle is very old. and there are only ten monks left at the monastery. one by one, they're leaving--either because the body fails them or they've chosen to live elsewhere. 

this one'll have to close. there's not enough to sustain it. i hate like hell this has to happen. soon, much too soon this beautiful land will be turned into another cookie-cutter neighborhood. hundreds and hundreds of cheap homes on teeny tiny lots. i can't bear to think of it.

so here. look on this glory with me a little while longer.

my cousins, my brother, my mother, me, the monk and another cousin.

my aunt's brother, my brothers, my cousins and my munkle's red truck.
i miss that thing. i miss those days.

songs that start with the letter i: a not-so-random sample

one. i alone. live. throwing copper.

two. i am. train's self-titled album.

three. i choose. the offspring. ixnay on the hombre.

four. i dare you to move. switchfoot. learning to breathe.

five. i do. abra moore. everything changed.

six. i don't believe in love. queensryche. operation mindcrime.

seven. i drove all night. cyndia lauper. the essential cyndi lauper.

eight. i got id. pearl jam. merkin ball.

nine. i miss you. blink-182's self-titled album.

ten. i will not take these things for granted. toad the wet sprocket. fear.

eleven. i won't let you go. snow patrol. divergent (original motion picture soundtrack).

twelve. i'll stand by you. the pretenders. last of the independents.

thirteen. if i can dream. elvis presley. memories: the '68 comeback special.

fourteen. if you're gone. matchbox twenty. mad season.

fifteen. (if you're wondering if i want you to) i want you to. weezer. raditude.

sixteen. in 'n' out. van halen. for unlawful carnal knowledge.

seventeen. in my place. coldplay. a rush of blood to the head.

eighteen. in the end. linkin park. hybrid theory.

nineteen. in this life. chantal kreviazuk. what if it all means something.

twenty. in your eyes. peter gabriel. so.

twenty-one. in your room. depeche mode. the singles 86>98.

twenty-two. innocence. the airborne toxic event's self-titled album.

twenty-three. invisible city. the wallflowers. bringing down the horse.

twenty-four. iris. goo goo dolls. dizzy up the girl.

twenty-five. is it any wonder. keane. under the iron sea.