Favourite Things

Book: The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay

Movie: Annie Hall

TV show: Friday Night Lights/Six Feet Under tie

Item of clothing: Black jersey v-neck dress from Banana Republic

Flower: Magnolia. Or Peony

Tree: Arbutus

Colour: Teal

Food: Kielke with "shmaundtfat" (sp?) and farmer sausage, made by Grandma. And dim sum.

Dessert: Cream puff/Strawberry Angel Food Birthday cake

Beverage: Caesar (extra spicy) (oh wait, water. )

Animal: Lion/lynx

White sheets

I'm super into white these days. I bought the first white t-shirt I've had in years (the Gap "favorite T"). Yes, it always has some kind of mark on it at the end of the day (often soup), but in the interim between being washed and getting dirty it is so perfect and crisp and classic. I kind of wish I could wear a white t-shirt every day. I guess I could...

Now I'm starting to think about the move, and I think, for the first time in my life, I'm going to have plain white sheets. I got an email the other day telling me, The college provides each Don with a fully furnished suite, which contains a double bed, bookshelf, desk chair, sofa set, coffee table, end table, night stand, and small fridge. I have no idea what any of this is going to look like, but I know that I want to feel like I'm living in a home, my own, and I want it to look as beautiful, clean, warm and lovely as it can. So I'm thinking classic. White sheets and some awesome original artwork (see you soon, Etsy!).












I haven't decided whether I will go for the thirty dollar Ikea sheets, or something more sumptuous and expensive. If you know of any amazing, simple, affordable sheets, let me know.

Scenes from a Marriage

Some films seem to be dated just a few years after they come out. Others, like Ingmar Bergman's Scenes from a Marriage, somehow feel fresh even thirty-five years later. Maybe it's the Swedish aesthetic, rendered timeless by our familiarity with Ikea (which opened its first store in 1958), but almost everything about this film felt thoroughly contemporary. I say film, but this Criterion Collection DVD set actually includes the original six-part miniseries, which was collapsed into a three hour theatrical release for North American audiences. I watched the full version, ensconced in my bed all afternoon and evening. It was thoroughly engrossing and perfect. It's like unfunny Woody Allen, in the best possible way.

The title is apt; each "scene" is an episode, and taken as a series they chart the dissolution of a marriage and the evolution of a relationship. Liv Ullman is luminous (it's hard to look at anything but her) as Marianne, a woman who is devastated by the breakup of her marriage, but comes to realize who she was meant to be, as opposed to who she became in a relationship. Erland Josephson plays Johan, who sort of undergoes the opposite realization.

The best parts of this series are the moments of absurdity that reveal themselves in the minutiae of Marianne and Johan's relationship. Their marriage is on the brink of collapse, Johan is planning on leaving in the morning, and they go to bed together. Marianne suddenly leaps up, leans over Johan and picks up the alarm clock from his side of the bed, lying against him as she sets the alarm so he's up in time.

Love is complicated. Life is complicated. Scenes from a Marriage is complicated yet beautifully simple.

5/5 stars.

Yum

I know I'm going to have at least a few days like this before I leave Vancouver. Days that have me saying out loud, "Why on earth am I leaving this ridiculously amazing city?"

Sally and I hopped on the 98 B-line at Broadway and Granville, and twenty minutes later stood in the hot, dusty traffic of Richmond. Across the busy street lay our destination: Aberdeen Centre.

The Asian Mall.

I had no camera, and it's almost impossible to share in words the wonders of this magical place. There is a dancing fountain. It dances, to music. The ceiling of the building features a moving cloudscape. The building itself is laid out in the most ridiculously indirect path, all the better to get you walking past as many stores as possible. Most of the stores are filled with overpriced clothes. One store features "Japanese" fashions (ultra cool multi-hued babydoll dresses, stripey varsity sweaters, swarovski crystal jewellery) most of which I'm pretty sure came from Value Village and have been relabeled. One store bucks this overpriced trend (or toonies it, haha): Daiso. The two dollar store. Yes, you've been to dollar stores. It's not one of those. It's filled with everything you could possibly imagine (incontinence pads, makeup, chopsticks, plastic flowers, origami paper, wool, mugs, vases, piggy banks, and on, and on) for two dollars! For anything! And all laid out fairly nicely, like a sort of hodge-podgey department store. Two floors! Although, as I said to Sally once we were safely outside, I feel like everything is made of lead and weird chemicals, and I don't think I would buy anything that would actually ever touch my skin.

Neither Sally nor I was tempted by any of the treasures. We were there for one reason only: to eat. We wandered around the food court, overwhelmed by all the choices. We decided to split a few things: Deep fried squid, deep fried tofu (tofu is healthy!), wonton noodle soup, and steamed dumplings. Yum, yum, and yum.

But we were really there for dessert.

I have been hearing about Beard Papa's since they opened up just over six months ago. Japanese Cream Puffs. That is all you need to know. Okay, no, you need to hear more. Apparently the pastry part is made of two layers. Choux pastry inside, and a flakier "Pie crust" pastry outside. This makes them a little bit crispier than other cream puffs I've had. The pie crust taste is a little weird, but the filling makes up for it. AMAZING. Vanilla custard mixed with whipped cream. They were holy cow delicious.

Then we wandered around, tried to find Parker Place (another Asian mall, this one with more affordable clothing choices). Couldn't figure out where it was. Went back to Aberdeen Centre, watched some more dancing fountain. Got some mediocre bubble tea (Sally's was apparently good. My green tea/milk tasted, as they often do, like it was made with non-dairy creamer. Gross. Which is good because it's not like I really needed it (though this trip was not about need; it was about cramming as much Vancouver suburb awesomeness as I possibly could into my short time before I leave, boo hoo).

Then: PHOTOBOOTH PICTURES! Ta dah! The beautiful pictures that grace the head of this post were the most complicated to achieve ever. Gone are the days of coin, sit, picture. We went into five booths before we found one that would take our money. There were two cameras, and it was kind of like dance dance revolution figuring out which side to pose for. It took about a bajillion pictures, us swivelling the entire time, and finally it gave us the shortest minute of my life with which to pick which ones we wanted to print. I didn't even have time to pick the full six we were allowed, so we managed to get four, and not even the four best ones. I look like I'm posing as an American Gladiator, or a Sci-fi channel TV movie star in the two middle ones. THEN! We had to go outside the booth where we had something like 300 seconds to adorn our pictures with hearts and stars and glory. I gave up after accidentally giving us both green mullets that I couldn't figure out how to erase. Luckily Sally is a star and got us back to normal. Is it a sign of my age that I prefer the regular plain ones? Probably.

Anyways, all this writing is to get across the fact that I had an awesome day, and this is an awesome city, and I am going to miss it so much. I'm excited about Halifax, and from everything I hear it's a wonderful place, and I know I'll have a great time, but man. This city. It's a special place.

Weirdest compliment ever

The other day at work I was checking out this girl's books, and she looked up at me, and in a sort of startled way exclaimed, "You have Frodo eyes!"

Manly Men

I like manly men. I admit it. Cliche though it may be, I have a bit of a thing for firefighters.

So today, there was an accident outside of the library. Tara came rushing up to the desk and said, "Can someone call 911?" And I said, "What happened?" And she said, "A motorcycle accident."

So I dialled 911 and waited on the line, gave them my city and address, and they asked, "Is this about the motorcycle accident?" I said yes. "Are you with the body?" (maybe it's just my memory in which they said, body, because they must have said something that would indicate more life, aliveness, than the depressing word body). I said, "No, I'm calling from inside the library."

"We have lots of help on the way. Thanks for calling." (Although I don't think he actually thanked me... I'm not sure how we hung up).

Some moments (who ever know how many) later, sirens were there. I looked out the window and saw pieces of red motorcycle and people surrounding someone who lay on the ground. I didn't look for details. Went back to work.

A few minutes later, we're all around the window watching a little bit.

"I love firefighters," I said. "At least there's something of an..." and then I looked down, ashamed. I was going to say "upside to the accident." But I felt so guilty. My boss said, "It's okay, Angela. We all have our natural reactions."

I love the world.

I must be in a weird mood today. This ad made me cry (although crying at commercials is not a stretch for me, a fact about which I am glad). It was happy crying, mostly. I love happy crying.

I've been doing lots of library searching today, and reading library blogs. This clip came my way via Mazar, a Canadian (among other things) librarian whose site I found through the CLA's "Infonation", all about choosing a career in libraries!

Go books!

An artist

I want to start drawing. And watercolouring.

Perfection

Why is it that I want to be amazing at everything I do the first time out? There are so many things that look like they should be easy: tennis, skiing, writing a novel... and when I try them, I am so frustrated with not being as amazing as I think I should be that I don't get very far.

I know writer's say it time and time again, all you need to be to be a writer is to write. What I only recently realized is this: you need to write because what you start out with is going to be awful, and you're going to need to keep doing it in order to be any good. My conception of what I can write falls so far from what actually happens when I sit at the computer and type that I am inevitably disappointed and don't sit down again for eons (take that clunky sentence there, for example).

So I'm trying to write more. But I want it to flow. I want it to be like when authors say, "the characters just walked onto the page." Because my characters haven't walked anywhere. They're all hiding in my imagination, hoping I won't notice them.

Library treasures

Every day at work I end up with a huge pile in the back room waiting to come home with me. I usually edit it down to about half, and sign those out. Here is my list of things I took home today, along with first impressions.

Nine Queens - Argentinian heist movie that sounds great, in so far as the reviews go.

Scenes from a Marriage - Somehow I made it through film school without ever watching this. I'm psyched that it has Bergman's original 5-hour television version. I'm very much looking forward to this.

Bach - Brandenburg Concertos - Listening to it right now.... feel kind of like I'm in a TV show set in an upscale British department store... not my favourite. Okay, number four is much nicer than number three. I'm such a classical music snob. Ha.

How the Rich Get Thin: Park Avenue's Top Diet Doctor Reveals the Secrets to Losing Weight and Feeling Great - Not sure why I took this. It sounds pretty lame.

The Sonoma Diet Cookbook - I just like finding new healthy recipes, not following crazy diets. I swear.

The Glass Castle - at Amanda's recommendation. I like the cover so far. (Wow, 1030 customer reviews. Popular.)

Quiet, Please: Dispatches from a Public Librarian - I think this one will make my week. By Scott Douglas, who has been chronicling his librarian-ness for McSweeney's since 2003. Yee haw.

Speaking of music

Thank you to anyone who has ever introduced me to new, amazing music. This morning it was someone I've never met, just read, Heather B. Armstrong from Dooce, with her recommendation of Bon Iver's For Emma, Forever Ago. Said Heather: "If you're looking for something to help you heal, no matter what went wrong, go buy this album." I have a feeling I'm totally the last one on the boat when it comes to this record (hell, apparently even Grey's Anatomy got in on the act before I did), because I am so behind in the realm of "cool music" lately (I sit around listening to Paul Simon most of the time). This record is lovely and magical and plaintive and extraordinary. I love it.

War Dance

In our daily lives there must be music. In everything we do, if there's music, life becomes good.

This film made my heart simultaneously sad and glad. Children of Northern Uganada's war zone compete in their country's National music competition. They tell their stories in heartbreaking detail, and it was sometimes hard to take in, but for every painful story there is a moment of redemption in which they beam with joy. I felt my eyes first start welling up within six minutes, and often throughout, from both sadness and happiness. The documentary is beautifully photographed, the colours of the African landscape are glorious, and everything glows, even dust-covered faces.

It is a beautiful film.

4/5 stars.

Best sleep ever

I stayed in Xine's guest room last night, and wow. I had the most amazing sleep. The bed had a fluffy mattress topper, the most perfect light down duvet, and (piece de resistance here) A Whole Body Pillow. I am in love. I usually cuddle with pillows. But this was something new. It was about five feet long (plus?) and round, and pretty dense, kind of like a blown up bolster, and you could cuddle it, and it aligned my spine properly, and I loved it.

The end. I need one. I'll probably wait till I get to Halifax, cause taking that thing on the plane with me might be kind of weird. But yes. I think you should get one too (if you like that kind of thing).

p.s. You can probably get them way cheaper than the organic version I've linked to, but I'm a sucker for that unbleached cotton.

Style Statements

I read an article in the Georgia Straight a couple of years ago, and I was blown away by the ingenuity and creativity of the two women being profiled. Carrie McCarthy and Danielle LaPorte are two Vancouver women (holla!) who designed a service called the Style Statement. The idea, distilled: two words. Two words that sum up your "style", your way of living and being in the world, the purest heart of you, your best.

They would meet with a client, sit for an hour asking questions (such as: "If you were to have your portrait taken by Annie Liebovitz, what would it look like?" My answer: I am naked and covered in fresh green leaves lying on a forest floor, looking ethereal and beautiful, with perfect colour correction. My eyes are piercing and amazing, and my skin is luminous.) Then they would look at your answers, and come up with your style statement. It sounded like therapy, only fun. I was immediately smitten with the whole idea, wished I could steal their amazing job, and, because booking an appointment to be given a style statement cost a lot more than I had available, I spent the next week thumbing through thesauri to come up with words that I felt defined my essence.

Mine: Organic Modern.

Luckily for everyone else, there is now a book. It is lovely, with plenty of questions that make you sit still and think about the answer. The idea of getting in touch with yourself, learning what you love, what you want, and what you need is one that resonates very deeply within me. I think it is so necessary. And fun. I think I might buy the book even though I already have my statement, because I really think it could be a great thing to share, and I think I could learn a lot about the people I love, too.

Now, question: If you were to have your portrait taken by Annie Liebovitz, what would it look like?

Broken English

This is a sweet, "cool" little film by Zoe Cassavetes (yes, of the Cassavetes'). I watched it by myself this morning, which is one of my favourite ways to watch movies, and was definitely the perfect way to watch this film. It is a film about loneliness and love, about a woman who spends much of her time alone with red wine and bad TV. A woman who says, out loud, to her lover, within 24 hours of meeting, "I'm just trying to figure out if this is supposed to mean something." I've been there.

I related to the best of Nora (Parker Posey)'s worst qualities. In my notes I underlined the word neurotic only twice, but it should have been three times. Her body and the flitting of her emotions and movements are birdlike. She's pretty and brittle. She wears lots of cute dresses and jewelry, and lives in New York.

It is a love story, in the broadest sense. What makes it work are the tiny perfect details, that make even the cliched romantic disasters fit. Justin Theroux (also known as my imaginary boyfriend) plays the perfect actor paramour, the one you know you shouldn't date, because actors are self-involved liar assholes (quite often), but he's just so charming and cute. Then comes the guy who's still in love with his ex. Finally, the earnest, charming, slightly cheesy frenchman.

It is a story of love, and self-love, and while it is occasionally a little bit forced and awkward (such as the scene in which the requisite older Frenchman says to her, "First you have to find love and happiness in yourself, Nora." It's like, gee thanks, didn't get that.), it is overall enjoyable. A nice way to remind yourself to take chances and seek out pleasure, and that life is for living. And loving. (Yourself! Love yourself first!)

3/5 Stars.

etsy etsy etsy

Thanks to Xine, I have become a tiny bit addicted to Etsy. So many pretty, creative, amazing pieces of art.

Here are a few of my picks:

Nesting Lotus Bowls by Whitney Smith Pottery (also, the poppy bowl is a-may-zing).


Petal Necklace by ES Designs (I like flowers, it would seem). I also really like the Ginko ring.


A gorgeous print by Lily Moon.

Bookworms with Ink

I love tattoos. I don't have any, I'm not entirely sure I will ever have one, but I love looking at them and fantasizing about what I would get. My style is so changeable that I'm not sure there's anything that I would love on my body forever and ever amen. Also, there's the Buddhist side to me that thinks it's kind of weird, an attempt at permanence, a waste of time and money - but then I can look at it from the opposite side too, as another example of the impermanence of life, and ink, and another thing to accept and love.

Wow, that was off topic - the purpose of this post is to introduce you to Bookworms with Ink, a Livejournal community dedicated to literary tattoos. And if I were to get anything marked on me for life, it could easily be something like what they showcase. For a few weeks there, a while back, I was convinced I was going to get an E.E. Cummings tattoo:

love is a place
& through this place of
love move
(with brightness of peace)
all places

yes is a world
& in this world of
yes live
(skillfully curled)
all worlds

The whole poem... I think it would be absolutely beautiful, and it's something that I've loved for years already. I was thinking ribcage, or back (maybe aligned against my spine, as opposed to centred). But I'm not sure. And I know that once I start I won't be able to stop. Part of me wants to be covered (well, not covered... maybe one half sleeve, Japanese style) and another part of me wants to be naked and fresh and lovely in my natural state.

It's my constant wish: to be two things at once. I've often said that if I could have a superpower it would be to grow my hair as long as I wanted, whenever I wanted, so I could alternate between long and short, depending on my mood. Probably this is not what I would actually choose (hair growth versus flying... hmm, tough one), but I have these futuristic fantasies where things like hair and skin art and eye colour and all those visual elements are in our control on a day to day basis. I suppose when our lives play out entirely on the internets and our avatars wander around while our physical bodies subsist on vitamin filled IV drips, this will happen.

I can't wait.

Dear Drew Barrymore

Dear Drew Barrymore,

We should be friends. I think we would get along. The first boy I ever dated (for about a week, in grade eight) thought I looked like you. We would talk on the phone at night and he would say, "I'm looking at your picture." And I would be like, "How is that possible, we haven't gotten our school pictures yet... Are you looking at a picture of Drew Barrymore?" The answer was yes. That is kind of creepy, I know. This is part of why I dumped him (via another girl, in his science class. I was a bad bad dater). Actually, I liked it. Because you are adorable, and it is pretty much the ultimate compliment to be compared to you (side note, an old man at the library the other day told me he watched "The Girl in the Cafe" and that I reminded him of Kelly McDonald. She's a pretty cute person to be compared to, too). And you know how people fall in love with people who look like them? I think it works that way with friendship, too. Our cute roundish faces reveal our compatibility.

But yeah, we should go to Hawaii and smoke joints together (hey, what happens in Hawaii stays in Hawaii, okay?) and laugh at the paparazzi and take your dogs for walks and maybe I could date the guy who plays the PC in the Mac commercials and we would go on adorable double dates, you and Justin and me and PC guy... Sigh.

Call me.

Ella

When people make me feel dumb

I hate being wrong. Especially when someone calls me on it. At the bookstore tonight, I was recommending Sweetness in the Belly. I said it was set in the Middle East. This girl I wasn't talking to pipes up and says, "Actually, it's Africa." And I felt like a culturally ignorant jerk.

Because I just went with the feeling I had. And they were Arabic, in the book. I think.

And I spent all night feeling stupid. And I need to stop it. It's not a big deal, being wrong. Or having someone think you're dumb. I must thicken my skin. Maybe there's some kind of cream I can get for that.

Iron Man

I went to see this today with my brother, and I looooooooved it. From its first moments to its last it was pitch perfect. I love Robert Downey Jr, Gwyneth Paltrow was pretty great, and Jon Favreau is undeniably a genius. Swingers, Elf, Iron Man: all totally different, but all at the top of their classes and genres.

I had a conversation with coworkers a couple of weeks ago about which superhero we would choose to be our boyfriend (or girlfriend, as the case may be). I picked The Incredible Hulk, because I thought that under the big tough green exterior, he would probably be the sweetest. Well, my superhero crush has officially shifted from the Hulk to Iron Man. He's smart, he's funny, he's got money, and he's got a conscience. Plus I wouldn't have to worry about getting into a minor tiff and having him rip me in two without even realizing what he was doing. Or breaking me in half while we, ahem, were intimate.

I love you Iron Man.

Reasons to change my name:

1. Angela is not a name that is very easy to sing the rhyming name game song with: Angela angela bo bangela really doesn't swing very nicely. Ella ella bo bella sounds much nicer.

2. Angela and Ange both sound hard, and kind of mean. I'm nice.

3. Ella isn't really a name change, as Angela ends in ela, and when you add an extra l it's just a shortened form of my real name. Why should the opening syllable get all the love?

4. Angela sounds kind of like Angina, which sounds kind of like Vagina. Although maybe that should be a point in it's favour, because I should love Vaginas, mine in particular. But heart disease, not so much.

5. As Aspa says, Ella is poetic and musical. And it suits me. It suits the best, warmest, prettiest, funnest me.


Reasons why it might not work, and I might change my mind:

1. Changing my name when I go away to Grad School makes me feel like a character in a bad novel. Next thing you know I'll be wearing pearls and high heels and putting on swipes of blusher that bring out my cheekbones and make my eyes sparkle. Then the school rowing captain or dot com millionaire who is now studying social work will fall in love with me. (although once again, it's not really changing my name. Just upgrading it).

2. It makes me feel like when I was going into grade seven at a new school and decided I wanted to tell everyone that my nickname was Trixie and that was what they had called me at my last school. Why I wanted a hooker name, I'm not sure. Oh wait, yes, I know. Because it sounded like a club kid name, and I watched every Maury Povich that involved club kids and I wanted to live in New York and be one, and I still kind of do.

3. It might be too awkward to say out loud. It's one thing to type all this stuff, and say via email, call me Ella if you don't mind, but it's another to actually start saying it. With my voice. Although, I've never really felt comfortable calling myself Angela or Ange either, so I guess it would just be a different kind of awkward.

Leaving Home

I suppose it's time to start a countdown. I can't believe I haven't done it already, but I guess it's because a countdown makes it all real.

At least 89 days until I leave for Halifax, and at most 120.

That's potentially less than three months. Which is slightly crazy, and feels simultaneously like no time at all and like an eternity. Because part of me wants to just be there so I can start my new life. And the other part needs more time to find a cheap flight. And to do all of the amazing Vancouver things I want to do before I leave. I love this city. Anyone who knows me knows that I love this city. I love riding over the Lions Gate Bridge and seeing the sun set. I love the Asian malls. I love movie hopping at the Tinseltown theatre. I love cream-cheese bagels from Granville Island. I love the amazing dim-sum, and the amazing sushi. And I'm kind of sad to leave it, though more excited.

Actually, given that I'll probably be coming back for summers, I'll get to have the best parts of Vancouver - the summers. The four (or less) months that are mostly sunny and gorgeous. Which is exactly what I have left here, and I'm going to make the most of it. So I've been making lists of things to do.

At the top: The Free Spirit Spheres


I read about them in the Georgia Straight last year, or the year before. Photos are care of Sarah, who was lucky enough to go with Wayne. It looks so beautiful. You sleep in the little wooden sphere. I just want to go for one night. Sleep while it sways with the trees. Ensconce myself in the landscape I'll be leaving.

Plus it's right near Coombs - home of the market with the goats on the roof! And the amazingly delicious bee sting pastries.

I sound like an advertisement. They're actually that good. Someone at work recommended them and I was like, sure whatever, okay. It's mouthfulls of delicious custardy cream in a really light pastry, with I think Caramel on top... Holy cow I was blissful.

The New is the True

New Blog. Woo!

Title comes from (but of course) an E.E. Cummings poem (see elsewhere for arguments as to whether Mr. Cummings' name should be capitalized or not, I don't really feel like getting into it. Actually, my opinion on this changes somewhat easily, a thing that will be addressed shortly in this introduction to myself and the "blog"). Because I am a nerd. An E.E. cummings loving, enthusiastically in love with the world kinda nerd. And because it is Spring.

spring!may-
everywhere's here
(with a low high low
and the bird on the bough)
how?why
-we never we know
(so kiss me)shy sweet eagerly my
most dear

(die!live)
the new is the true
and to lose is to have
-we never we know-
brave!brave
the earth and the sky
are one today)my very so gay
young love

why? how-
we never we know
(with a high low high
in the may in the spring)
live!die
(forever is now)
and dance you suddenly blossoming tree
-i'll sing

--e.e. cummings

So, I was wandering around, trying to find a title for this blog, and of course all of the things I was trying were taken (and I refuse to add my name to a title so that I can use it, boo). I wanted something that tied in to what it would be about, which is, namely, everything. I tried having a book blog, I tried to have a movie blog, I kind of like the idea of a food blog. But I am a generalist. I like lots of things, I have opinions about lots of things. I need a catchall blog (like a good purse: big, with lots of pockets, in a pretty colour). So I perused my E.E. CUMMINGS COMPLETE POEMS 1913-1962 (Capitalization care of Harcourt Brace Jovanovich). A line caught my eye, "the new is the true". It was catchy. Of course I closed the giant book and had no idea what poem it was from, but since blogger said it was an available "blog name" (I feel lame using the word blog so often, so the occasional use of quotation marks makes me feel less lame. And more lame. Anyways.), I googled it, found it, and I liked the feel of the whole poem. It encompasses the contradictions that I feel make up life. The kind of zen of living that encapsulates my outlook (to lose is to have, earth and sky are one, etc etc, I'm so deep). I was told by a psychic once that I was a Buddhist monk in another life, and I like to believe her. It makes me feel better about buying shoes and makeup and reading the occasional trashy novel.

But anyways. I love life. I love springtime. I love poetry and love and beauty and all of those things. I love movies. I love books. I love food. I love gossip (bad bad me). And then there are lots of things that I like. So this will be about those. Happy springtime to you!


Lastly: not that the old is any less true.