I am attempting now to write my research proposal for film noir. However, I’m finding it difficult to summarize in 250-400 words what exactly it is that I want to write on. Basically, I’m writing about John Alton the cinematographer. But specifically, I’m writing about how he translated the nitty-gritty city (L.A.) world of film noir into the rough and tumble Arizona/Mexico border, that is how he brought his known style of lighting to the vast expanse of American/Mexican border while retaining the noir aspects of the movie. We need three sources (film) for the paper, so I’m writing over T-Men, He Walked By Night, and Border Incident. All three were directed (although the 2nd was uncredited – but commonly accepted) by Anthony Mann; all three are staples of noir. The first two take place in the aforementioned nitty-gritty L.A., while Border Incident (shockingly!) takes place along the border. The first two are straight up noirs, while the last is a western noir. So basically, I’m gonna talk a lot about how Alton uses as the primary element of noir in all three, how he manages to connect these two extremely different settings through his cinematography…. basically… yeah.
I am so going to Buenos Aires… what what! January until July, baby. And I’ve already got a friend down there, so again what what.
I am sooo ready to get up out this bitch (as I’ve said before). And I’d like to mention that him and I (a brand new new new him) are pretty much destined to fuck. At least in my book… not that I’m really planning on anything, but my god we spend so much time running into each other it has to be like destiny or something along that line.
But basically, I don’t want to read Pedro Páramo anymore.
Oh yeah & me & Ryan Bingham totally have a date for next month… i.e. I spent $10.50 on the concert ticket!!
I’m done. I start so many entries this way, but this one is special. I am done with douchebag boys. No one did anything particularly offensive, but I think I’m actually done this time. Apathy has set in and I’m ready to get the fuck up out this bitch (i.e. I am ready to go to Buenos Aires for seven months, then I’ll come back and inevitably return to my old ways, although maybe that time around I’ll live in my own house or something).
I have a celebrity crush. And I have no desire to date, fuck, or even talk to the only boy at Reed I’m currently attracted to (a dead ringer for Ryan Gosling!).
“Divine Negotiation” is the title of my first short story collection.
That (meaning ALL of this) was a mistake. Bad call on Laura’s part. Oh well. I had fun (some anyways).
I’m home. I’m glad to be away from Reed, but really? Here? That just doesn’t make sense. Some confusion with Heather, so actually on my birthday I don’t have anything to do other than get really, really, really drunk and pretend that I’m happy to be here/not freaking out about getting old (last important birthday & and I’m not even psyched). Friday morning coming back to Carthage. Family birthday. Then I’ll drink or something (maybe a bar? Maybe with my sister?). Saturday is Maple Leaf. I will be drunk and cold and utterly disappointed. Then I’ll do something until 3am Sunday morning when Jonny and I will pile into the Geo and drive my still drunk self back to the MCI so I can go back to Reed and continue to be really, really, really dissatisfied with, umm, everything and everyone.
So yeah. We’ll see. But DBT on Tuesday!
Oh! Patsy Cline, why oh why do you only have one hit? And why oh why is it oh so fucking pertinent? Reed is too small for comfort. Joe & I walked home from some off campus party only slightly behind the #1 1 N.W. and his new beau-ita being oh so goddamned cute. It was unbearable. And now I sit one shot drunker and slightly struggling to pound out these fanfuckingtastic words. But oh god is my apathetic movie man not only a little bit way too forward/obvious to make it oh so slightly uncomfortable despite the high amount of not-so-cheap authentic vodka imbibed over the past few hours… goddamn fuck it all.
I want to say this all to Heather, but she didn’t answer her phone. She is the only one who understands the extent of the circumstances. Oh god, why can’t I just fucking pound this out? Why didn’t I just tell Joe about everything when he asked awhile ago? Just to let it all off my chest would be worth be worth it enough… oh lord oh lord oh lord, when did I get to the point where going home made me happy??? Or gave me hope????
I’m at the airport. My “mama argentina” has a 20 year old son that I’ll be living with next semester. Exxxciting.
Glad to have left Reed for the week. Nervous about going home. The pit in my stomach is pretty cavernous. I think I need to eat something. Probably overpriced (although not by a lot) pizza.
Reed is way too small and it makes me be in way too many uncomfortable seemingly fate-induced social situations.
Alas, I am going home. Wearing a sundress was a bad call as everyone (i.e. random people/strangers) feels the need to ask if I’m cold/insinuate I am a slut/hit on me:
“Are those your legs, or did you have them custom built because they’re perfect for you.”
- Middle aged airport man
Apparently to
say “I am really sorry”
was all I needed
—–
Essentially, I turned down an offer to go drink with him now (goooood student Laura doing her spanish homework!) But, still an invitation? Hmm… random progress.
“I’m With You” by Avril Lavigne takes me waaaaaaaaay back. Like high school. Sophomore year waaaaaaay back. Oh! high school crushes. How fun. Back when you had to spend time with boys so eventually you could make yourself like one of them enough.
The simple life.
I really need to make it my goal to stop liking emotionally needed/fucked boys… just for a change – maybe. Tonight, I got into a text fight with my movie man. Absolutely ridiculous. In conjunction with the ‘conversation’ we were having, I said something to the effect of eventually, I just might actually lose interest in the totally unattainable (i.e. him in this scenario), and then what would happen? To which he responds: “then you’ll go to your other ‘distraction.’” Dude, what?! So, I, in all my infinite wisdom, called him passive aggressive, or more accurately, I wrote. “Oh. Passive aggressive?” Then we stopped. And now I’m pissed and I have the distinct feeling that he is as well… which is weird because we do not have any real form of a relationship, so we shouldn’t be fighting. I can’t wrap my head around it. Is he mad because (in the past, i.e. Joe’s birthday), I suggested he should come and distract, then when he said he couldn’t, I said, oh well, I’d just have to go with my other option (a regrettable one at that…) And that was that. Obviously, I was distracted/drunk, so I didn’t really connect him possibly being mad at me for that, but I guess he was/is??? I just do not know. Christ. Seriously, boys suck. And this is why I’m cool not dating. But really, why is he mad? Is it justifiable? He has no intention of dating me, I have no intention of dating him; thus rendering us both ‘distractions.’
So yeah. Do I leave it at this? Or should I pursue other digital (electric) avenues (i.e. myspace the hell outta it)? I’m just really confused by it all…. oh! the woes of technology… how did the world get so complicated?
