After months in the waiting, I had the absolute pleasure
to see "Where the Wild Things Are"… finally :)
I went alone because I didn't really know how I'd react to
the sheer awesomeness of Spike Jones' brilliance.
I mean, I knew I'd laugh.
And I knew I'd contagiously smile.
But for some reason, I knew I'd cry my eyes out
(which I totally did)
Confession: I don't cry very often so when I do, my eyes swell-up as if they're deathly allergic to tears. It's incredibly unattractive (therefore making me never want to cry, like ever)
Aaaaand I digress, per usual …
In an interview with New York magazine, Spike Jones said he had one goal in mind, "To create a movie that captured what it was like to be 9 again." And holy hell, did he ever!
Tonight I sat in the theatre and vividly remembered every single page of my Simba & Nala diary from the year I was 9 … the diary that slept soundly under my pillow (while its key was kept safe in my sock drawer).
For me, the age of 9 consisted of Miss Barnett's 4th grade class and countless games of 4-Square at recess. For me it was coming home to my Grandma Stella after school, knowing without fail she would have chicken-rice soup ready and waiting :)
It was the year I got my first Polaroid camera.
Received my first score of "8.0" in a gymnastics meet.
Went to my first New Kids on the Block concert .
The year I had my first crush on a boy ... His name was Todd Hicks and I "loved" him even more than Fluff. Admittedly, I even faked an arm injury in order to wear a sling to school that October so Todd would feel sorry for me (and therefore ask me to be his date to the Pumpkin Festival, obvi)
Oh what it was like to be 9!
Despite the fact that I watched Drop Dead Fred religiously,
I wanted to save the world (and all the manatees within it).
I was destined to be a marine biologist.
I desperately wanted my molars to fall out (so that I'd have all my "adult" teeth)
I wanted my mom and dad to say goodnight to Stephen and Jamie before me so that one of them would stay longer and scratch my back, uninterruptedly ;)
When I was 9, my brother was 12 and my sister was 15.
I used to pay Stephen my weekly allowance to sleep under his desk when Billy, Jack & Justin would stay the night at our house.
They talked about Michael Jordan and sports stats,
never once about girls. I wanted my money back!
Jamers had her learners permit to drive a car.
There could have been nothing cooler in my mind.
I dreamed of the day she would be able to take me to Corelee Candies ... Just the two of us!
When I was nine we got Bo & Bradey :)
Stephen named the boy dog "Bo" after Bo Jackson (clearly) and I named the girl dog "Bradey" after the guy my sister had a massive crush on. His name was Brady Zerland and he was 16. He drove a yellow Slug Bug convertible and made my feelings for Todd Hicks seem pale in comparison. I loved him more than the Cosby Show. (Note: I however, spelled the dog's name as Bradey with an "e-y" because that's how my name is spelled and therefore I'm partial)
Sitting in the theatre I remembered being 9 as if it weren't even close to being 20 years ago.
I remembered what it felt like to experience anger like no other. The overwhelming feeling when I'd come home to find Jamie's friends sitting on my bed, reading my journal and laughing aloud. I thought I just might spontaneously combust. Or better yet, that they would! ("Hot face" would be a raging understatement)
I vividly remembered reading "Kid News" every Friday in Language Arts class and asking Miss Barnett if I could be excused to use the bathroom. But really, I would run down the hallway to call the Lincoln Park Zoo from the 25 cent pay phone. As the President of the "Animal Friends Association", I needed to know what new endangered species were available to adopt that week.
I was a huge dork. Repeat: a huuuge dork
(who wanted nothing more in life than a Wooly Monkey)
Sooo, yaaa ....
To say the least, Spike Jones captured what it was like to be 9 again on-screen and evoked you to feel it off-screen as well.
In my opinion,
he "let the wild rumpus start!"
and for me it never stopped :)
The film is spot on.
Even if the message is simply to remind the masses that in all of us,
there is Adventure.
There is Hope.
And there is Love :)
Today, after way too many laughs at brunch
(and slightly too much sangria)
I adventured to walk home
from the Upper West to the Lower East Side.
78 streets
9 avenues
1 Central Park
(and 2 lattes) later,
I reached the East Village only to look left
and have one of those uniquely New York moments:
With just 1 avenue and 6 streets to go,
I bopped into the Sidewalk Cafe to rest my feets
and to jot down my thoughts from the 3 hour journey.
Within minutes,
the Albanian cab driver sitting to my right asked
if I'd like to share french fries with him,
to which I replied,
"Sure, why not?!"
We toasted our glasses of water and he said,
"To America!"
"To America! Cheers!"
I said back :)
The thing is,
my heart will always tick for home,
but there's something about NYC
that just makes it beat a bit faster.
I love living in New York
because it takes effort to do so
and I take nothing for granted in the process.
It's the place where people from all over the world
come to live out their dreams. And to many,
it is their vision of America.
I vividly remember when I told my Grandma Stella
that I was moving here. After which she replied,
"New York City?!"
(said in the voice of the cowboy from the Pace Pacante Salsa commercial)
I assured her that it was not a lifelong choice,
but that it's the right choice for me
for right now.
Like any city, it's an acquired taste.
New York is the only place I've ever encountered
where change is the only constant.
It's always one step ahead,
and believe me,
it will not wait for you :(
Here in "the Zoo" I've learned to adjust to a lot
and have come to simply except the fact that:
* Life is insanely expensive ...
(it costs ~$10 to breathe and a min of $25 to eat)
* 2am is "early"
* Monday could just as well be Friday
* "Open 24 Hours" is slightly expected
* 450 sq ft is "a lot"
* Being 28 feels like 18
* Rooftops and fire escapes serve as porches and backyards
* Cabs are our cars
* The subway is your best friend and worst enemy ;)
* Going to a "house party" includes taking at least 2 train lines
and walking up 5-7 flights of stairs
(all while carrying an overpriced 6-pk)
I love that on any given evening,
I've enjoyed the company of an eclectic melting pot
of "aspiring somebodies" …
All under one roof, I've had the pleasure to meet:
The singer-song writer by day / bartender by night.
The Advertising Exec.
The Dow Jones editor.
The New York Times columnist.
The Nurse. The Nanny. The New Mom.
The Hairdresser.
The Trial Lawyer.
The Public Defender.
The Public School Teacher.
The Grad Student.
The Socialite.
The Social Worker.
The Real Estate mogul.
The PR Director. The Event Planner.
The Campaign Manager.
The TV producer.
The Broadway lead.
The actress/model who is beautiful both inside and out
(and the actress/model who is not so much ;)
The Entrepreneur who took a gamble and won!
The Wall Street guy
The Hedge Fund guy (who's still in a suit from a 14 hr work day)
The Photographer who's enjoying a picture-free evening.
The Fashion folks who are already sporting the next season's look.
The Restaurant Owner. The Wine Director.
The Hipsters.
The Gays. The Straights. The Bi's.
Old money. New money. No money.
The tried-and-true New Yorkers.
The fellow newcomers and transplants.
The immigrant from (insert country here)
and of course, the Albanian cabbie
(with whom tonight I shared a plate of fries :)
It never gets old!
Because from what I've learned living here,
no one ever seems to want to get old.
Be it good or bad,
the "Peter Pan syndrome" is ever present in NYC.
And so I repeat:
It's most definitely an acquired taste.
But for now it's the right taste for me
to fill my every craving for life :)
No matter what city you may be reading this from,
I hope this verbiage vomit finds you doing GREAT
and enoying all the people,
taking in all the places,
and soaking up all the things
you have the pleasure to be surrounded by!
(Admittedly, I become ecstatic to witness when collections range from
“Dude, Where’s My Country?” to “The Count of Monte Cristo”)
Buuuut,
since I am living in my life,
and not the one I dream of,
that my friends, has yet to happen ;)
And besides, who am I to judge a book by its cover?
My bookshelf looks like an overflowing used car lot,
and my nightstand touts this month’s selections of :
“The Alchemist” (a must read if you haven't already!),
"Barack Obama: The Inaugural Address and Other Speeches"
"Are You There, Vodka? It's Me, Chelsea"
and Shel Silverstein’s latest, “Runny Babbit”.
If someone were to summarize my existence based on such,
they’d probably say I’m just a soul searching liberal
with an affinity for satire and simple rhymes.
Shoot…
Ok, so maybe you can judge a book by its cover ;)
But we shouldn’t so I won’t!
Aaaand, I digress
per usual
Point of post ...
My thoughts on bookshelves themselves are that:
I HEART THEM BIG TIME !
Here are a few that I aspire to own someday :)
