(500) Days of Summer

It’s true. Because Summer Finn was a bitch.

But for some reason I really adore this movie. And I usually hate indie, “Juno” like movies, trying to be all hip. But this one rings so true despite its hipster tendencies, which I like better than Juno’s so it’s ok. Actually, I have no idea why I love this movie because both times I’ve watched it it’s left a particularly bitter taste in my mouth. You know the one. The one that reminds you that you were Tom once, hopelessly in love with someone who didn’t love you back.

Ok, so I love this movie because it’s a movie about Tom. And dammit if he isn’t downright lovable in a Ted Mosby sort of way. Joseph Gordon Levitt doesn’t hurt the matter either.

Also, it’s sometimes downright hysterical.

Like how Tom places himself into classic foreign film scenes. “The Seventh Seal” anyone? Get it? Instead of playing chess with death it’s cupid and cupid is being a little bitch and it’s chalk full of LOLz……..Ok, maybe I’m a pretentious film snob and only about twelve other people I know would find this hilarious but I don’t care because this movie was MADE FOR ME!

But moving on from the funny, there’s also the reason why this movie breaks my heart and wows me from a filmmaking standpoint all at once. And it’s this scene below.

Expectations vs. Reality

Honestly, who doesn’t go through this? How often am I going to an event and I visualize the entire thing before I even go? It’s like a storybook inside my head and it never, never turns out the way I envisioned it.

Life is kind of like that, I think. Never amounting to your own expectations and imagination. Oh! Speaking of:

“It’s these cards and the movies and the pop songs, they’re to blame for all lies and the heartache, everything.”

And then Marc Webb painted it all out for me on film with split screening and gorgeous visuals and it was so perfect it hurt. Which is why I prefer film to life. True facts.

So then there is the best line in the entire movie, delivered by none other than Matthew Gray Gubler aka The Gube.

Seriously, just when I’m about to go drown myself in my bathtub (fun fact, Gube loves baths) because I realize I’m totally like Summer, who’s a crazy bitch, I hear Paul in the confessional of the Real World house on 16mm-esque film and I realize I totally believe in love.

Phew.

Sometimes….

“It’s love. It’s not Santa Claus.”

]]> http://airandwanderlust.wordpress.com/2010/05/31/500-days/feed/ 0 airandwanderlust tumblr_l35voeVcdv1qzwvwlo1_500 seventhseallol expectvreality shesreal http://airandwanderlust.wordpress.com/2010/05/20/barcelona/ http://airandwanderlust.wordpress.com/2010/05/20/barcelona/#comments Thu, 20 May 2010 05:10:36 +0000 airandwanderlust http://airandwanderlust.wordpress.com/?p=60 ]]> Barcelona, Spain October 16th-18th, 2009

So I remembered hating Barcelona when I was there for 24 hours when I was eleven. It was busy and loud and commercial and dirty and there were tons of homeless sad people that made my sister cry (because she has a sensitive soul). I went back begrudgingly and hoping I’d changed or it had. Turns out right place, right time means everything.

Barcelona was our shortest weekend, from Friday to Sunday and one of our most lame, and one of our most eventful. I’ll explain. As the pictures progress I’ll exhibit.

a) The city where you’re supposed to eat dinner at ten, go out at midnight and party until daylight? We did not. Night one we drank a little too much sangria before and during dinner that it sent us straight into a lovely siesta all night long.

[my 10 Euro bowl of Sangria]

b) Night two we got ourselves up and out around midnight but were too cheap to pay an entrance fee and ended up drinking strange mojitos and getting free tequila shots at an outdoor bar. It was actually my kind of perfect. But the dancers of the group were pointed towards a free club so we entered, danced, noticed the 35-40 aged people there and left.

c) So we missed the epic nightlife, but we almost missed something more. Our flight. We suited up in our bikinis and speedos and went to the beach to play in the Mediterranean! It was only breaking 70 and the water was freezing, the currents so strong they knocked me over and I had sand in orifices for days. Also? Everyone else who was sane were in jackets. Once we ate a fantastic lunch (which I’ll blog about in my food edition coming who knows when), we thought we had plenty of time to get to our tiny airport an hour and a half outside of the city. But Braden and I, being the genius honors students we are, read the 17:00 departure time as 7pm instead of 5pm. It was 3:30.

d) Thus commenced The Amazing Race: Barcelona. Complete with the longest subway hallways in existence, a line change that took us above ground and sprinting along a yellow dotted line four about a half a mile to the “linked” station – all why my leggings were falling down…and with luggage. We caught the bus – but it would get us to the airport after our scheduled flight. So we split up into two cabs – 3 and 3. Our cab ended up costing 185 Euros. Brett, Eric and I had 186 between us. More running and sprinting took place until we boarded the plane and it actually took off ten minutes later.

e) Bonus: I called and texted my parents to let them know what was happening. That if we missed the plane, since it was a discount airline we had no idea when we could get another, where we would stay and we’d have to pay God knows how much for another flight.

They both took it very lightly and thought it was an excellent adventure….It was.

…like how the first thing we did was get lost on the way to finding our hostel and stumbled upon the most gorgeous park ever.

….or how Braden got us so lost after seeing the Sagrada Familia that we were off the edges of our city map and I navigated us all the way back into the old town to the Picasso museum. We literally walked the entire city limits and it was the best way we could have possibly spent our day…

Needless to say I love Barcelona now.

Attempting to document my life, I’ve been meaning to bring my camera out and about more, and not just to parties. I found myself on Thursday in the editing room from 12-2 and then from 6-11:45. With a reel of picture and two of sound no less, trying to learn how to sync them together and edit it all. After a while, once I was successful in adding my first, then second, then third sound clips, I got cocky and decided to take pictures of this hunk of equipment called the Steenbeck I’ve been working on.

My three reels. Picture, my mag sound and my slug which will become my sound reel. I basically cut up the middle reel and inserted parts of it into the bottom one to create my sound track.

I wonder if the french are proud that the little guy I use to splice and tape my film is called a guillotine.

The gears at work.

Discarded film and mag in the drop bin. It always looks so pretty when it’s such a mess and crumpled up like that.

I told my mother years ago I’d find my husband in Scotland. Definitely not the case here. What did I find? Lots. I found one of my top five favorite cities in the world, Scotch Whisky without an “e”, the best clubbing experience I’ve ever had, my friend from high school, Meghan, who goes to school in St. Andrews, the green and blue plaid my school uniform was, and also lots of Canadians. Go figure.

The view from our hostel was this. Prime real estate for dirt cheap? Hell yes. I’ve been to a lot of cities and none of them look quite like this. Of course, we had to hike up massive hills and steps to old city for this, but it was worth it. My ass and legs looked great too. Thanks, Edinburgh.

Club: GHQ aka the Gay Headquarters. It. Was. Amazing. We got in for no charge at around 10:30, had some classy vodka and tonics and then the magic began. The haze above is from the killer smoke machine blazing  on the dance floor. And not only that, but we’d suddenly discover at various times throughout the night that they would be opening doors to more rooms, including a hallways with round black satin beds, another huge bar and dance floor and even a room with a hot tub? I did take a power nap on one of the beds for a few (don’t worry I was fine) to rejuvenate myself. Then I was back in action until we left at around 2:30 in the morning. The walk back was refreshing and amazing in the dead of night. Also? Of course the only shirt I had to wear to this place was patchwork flannel. I rocked the lesbian that night.

Part of the largest collection of Scotch Whisky in the world. Yes, I dragged everyone on a Whisky tour. I ended up being the only one who really liked it. Ordering a glass of Glenriddich (correct?) at a bar the first night, relishing in the tour and the tasting that came with, convincing the friends we should buy a bottle for the evening and settling on Scotch liquer because they weren’t exactly fans. I brought home a souvenir airplane sized bottle aged 20 years because I was fresh off a week of my birthday!

Our last morning we hiked up the mountain (hill) to the south of the city. I entirely forget the name. But it was gorgeous and I felt like it was a little escape to the Scottish hillside that I didn’t have time to experience. While I may have had a mini asthma attack and a subsequent panic attack which resulted in my calling my mother overseas, I like to remember it as green and lush and perfect just like this picture.

Purpletoned view of the city from the top of the mountain (hill). Something Prince’s Seat maybe? I’m too lazy to look it up. Bad blogging. Also, spot the castle in the way back on the left? Our hostel was right next to it. So cool, and so far! We walked a lot, especially this weekend. Anyway, there you have my best and favorite photos from Edinburgh. I honestly could live there.

;

“At any rate, let us love for a while, for a year or so, you and me. That’s a form of divine drunkenness that we can all try.”

-”The Diamond As Big As the Ritz” F.  Scott Fitzgerald.

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The 1920′s glamour. The style. The speech. The fleeting, temporary quality of it all.

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“Nous aurons toujours Paris.“

The first time I went to Paris was when my Aunt took me for my 13th birthday. This time I was just shy of 20. Paris is perfection, and I wholly believe that if you speak the language, the city is entirely different than others experience it.

We lived off of cheap wine, street food, the french language and class.

Forget about my shoes killing me, blisters rendering me unable to walk, peeing on the Hotel de Ville in public, getting emotionally drunk and calling my mother from overseas telling her I had no right to be turning twenty in a day. She agreed.

For all purposes of this post, though, I’m sticking with the snobbish Parisian love of aesthetics, art, wine and culture.

Quasi Modo welcomes you to Paris.

Notre Dame was our central location. We never actually went in, but we walked by it a lot. Our hotel was right nearby. From there I bring pictures of the main 5 Points of Paris we explored.

#1: The Floors of Versailles

Walking where many Louis have walked before. And one Marie. Decadent.

Probably the best time I had in Paris and top five of the whole trip. We were filled with so much energy, so childish and excited. We took pictures all over the place, walked the entire grounds, found beauty and art everywhere we looked and took it with us. Of course we took a nap once we got back.

#2: Pont Neuf

The end of the islands. The Seinne was beautiful. View from the wooden bridge between La Musee d’Orsay and Le Louvre. I never did get on that boat ride.

#3: Le Louvre

Rachel and Eric studying art in the Louvre. We were pensive and intellectual that day.

#4: La Marais

We set out to find the Jews in Paris and we found them! The Jews and the hipsters and the gays all in one quarter and it’s amazing. I stayed in the Marais later when I met my family in Paris. On our day we were lucky enough to roam the streets on the Friday after the high holidays, so all of the men were out selling the typical items you need to celebrate Shabbat. Of course I forget the name of it and the ingredients. But French corner quaintness paired with yamacas is hard to beat. For a second the city felt small.

#5: La Tour Eiffel

It just never stops being beautiful. It’s strange how striking an oddly shaped iron tower can be. I’d rather look at it than be in it. The Paris skyline without it is plain criminal.

Paris, I will see you again. Somewhere down the road. I just hope I can still speak french to you!

Remember: “We’ll Always Have Paris.”

it’s rather beautiful in its fury and anger isn’t it? just gorgeous.

The New England rooftops were black with soot and salt. At least that’s what they looked like to him. He was trapped in a fishing town, pungent with the smell of scales and slime that was so appealing to most people. Most people marveled at the quaint, puritanical structure of the region, where everyone was safe in their cottages with white enameled sideboards and geometrically angular points facing up towards heaven or space or God. He knew better. He saw a rotting ancestry that Hawthorne and Miller had warned him against. He didn’t mind sullying one’s hands in sin as long as it was straightforward, sophisticated and not at all hypocritical. Look at all of these simple people, thinking they are the epicenter of America, as if Jamestown was located right where they stood. The beauty escaped him; he could not understand why she brought him here to this fishing village, where the freckles of the sun caught the tips of the triangular waves and bounced back in his eyes. It burned and he resented being able to see color. Too bad life wasn’t in shades of grey, then maybe he could let his guard down.

85 students. 1 weekend. Amsterdam. Of legal age.

Amsterdam isn’t my favorite city in the world. For some reason I’m not entirely in love with it. But it has an energy to it that is a force to be reckoned with.

Anne Frank House // cafeteria

Testing out my first venture it photography with my crappy little point and shoot digital camera. After this trip the photog in me really came out full force.

I’ve never seen so many goddamn bikes in my life.

These fucking bikes were everywhere. I was almost run over about twenty million times by cyclists. I hate them I hate them I hate them. But then again it’s an Amsterdam thing. Makes the city unique.

Crooked canal houses. Is the world sinking?

Lunching in Dam Square. Pretty much sums up what we did this trip. Ate provided lunches of cheese and butter on the steps like a proper field trip. We’d roam around the city at night and run into other castle kids. We were swarming the place. It was contagious and fantastic.

Arriving in the Netherlands for my first semester sophomore year, I couldn’t have been more ready to live in Europe for three months. It seems so long ago now. I’m two weeks shy of being a junior in college and it almost seems like it never happened. It was three months of surrealism, a time away from real life. It’s starting to become someplace I’d rather be than anywhere else.

I don’t think I can recreate a travel journal so long after the fact, but I want to document it somehow with some images and text that hopefully can capture some of the moments.

To begin with: the place.

Dulcia addressed us always as “castle dwellers” and that’s exactly what we were. This is when the novelty was still there, and it wasn’t second nature as it would soon become. When we traveled, common language soon became, “…at The Castle” as if it were the name of a residence hall. Sleeping, eating and classes all took place inside of this outer wall, and yes, it did sometimes feel like a fucking prison. But this is how it should be remembered. My favorite view is probably from Braden’s inner tower room, with large windows that opened right up onto the moat and courtyard. Kastell Well. In the middle of nowehere.

The wine.

Dulcia: “I understand your drinking problem. I really do.” And then came the wine. Which, amazingly enough, they served to us. Cheap, no brand name wine served legally and with class in Europe is one of my favorite things in the entire universe. This was the very first, on a river cruise down God knows what random river that ran alongside our town. I’m definitely a red girl.

The bar.

While wine is all good and proper, the kids just can’t stay away from the hard alcohol. The bar at the end of the road became ours every Wednesday night for “America Night.” Complete with handpicked music from ipods, dancing on the folded up pool table, and even some bar tending from our very own. Evidence from the aftermath of some tequila and Yeager shots.

The walk home.

Braden: “Oh my God, look at the stars!” One of my favorite pictures because it just simply is. Or was. The little things with the right people made it home for a while.