A Surprise

About a half hour ago, I was sitting cross-legged on my bed. Aloe covered about 75% of my body. On my computer screen flashed, in bright and garish couture, an episode of Gossip Girl. (You're judging. I can see it from here. Please stop. I don't smoke, I don't drink, I don't do drugs. Don't I deserve to enjoy the teenage soap opera that is Gossip Girl?).

Suddenly, my baby (and when I say baby, I mean 18 and a half years old and going off to college tomorrow) sister knocked on my door, calling for me to come out to see something. My initial thought was that the Two Fat Ladies were on TV (oh how I love those women), or that Annie had gotten into the bathroom garbage again (oh how that dog loves to shred Kleenex). When I turned the corner into the kitchen, however, I was greeted by a happy birthday serenade, sung the way only my family can sing it (shockingly out of tune).

My family had surprised me with an early birthday cake so that we could celebrate while my sister was still home.

I had a twenty-first birthday party tonight, you guys. With ice cream cake and presents and two of those trick candles that had me winded trying to blow them out.

And even though I could see my baby sister's many packed boxes out of the corner of my eye, and even though I was covered in gorgeous, itchy hives, and even though I'm not sure I'm ready to be twenty-one yet, it was still a pretty great party.

Stay gold, my friends.

In Which I Bring Back A Souvenir

The funny thing about work is that you have to show up every day for it. And the funny thing about having to show up every day for something is that you can't possibly look (or feel, for that matter) your best every single day.

Last year, it was the Amidala Eyebrow Incident. This year, it's hives.

And they're all over. Legs, arms, feet, hands, stomach, back, shoulders, neck, face. Everywhere.

Last weekend was the big family boating weekend up on Lake Superior, and apparently I found something in the pure nature of the Northwoods that didn't agree with me.

I'm sorry for the pouty attitude, but I'm too itchy and too tired from 4-hourly doses of Benadryl to laugh at myself much right now.

Now if you'll excuse me, I'm in the final episodes of Gossip Girl, Season 4, and I just have to know if Chuck and Blair get together at the end. (How I wish I were joking)

Holly Does Math

I can be a morbid person sometimes. For instance, I just did some math (Please pick up your jaws, folks; the carpet is getting wet).

Average life expectancy of an American Female: 78 years.
My current age: 20
Years I (based on the average) have left to live: 58
Books I read per year (on average, based on my Read-a-Thon records): 84.5

Number of books I have yet to read before I die: 4,901

Surprisingly, this is somewhat comforting.

In Which I'm Still Working At Target

Hello, blog.
Today I'm feeling a little down. All of my friends are in Morris. Together. Walking the mall and exploring the HFA and shopping the (ridiculously overpriced) bookstore.
And I'm at home, still working at Target.

I don't leave until September 9th, which I may or may not have mentioned. I'm glad that I have the extra time at home to earn more money, to celebrate my birthday, to spend time with my family, but it's a bad feeling to be left behind.

I'm ready for my school year to start, too. Is this how it's going to feel every August once I've graduated from college? Sad and lonely and like I'm missing out on everything? If so, I may have to reconsider going to graduate school. Or live in Morris for the rest of my life. Both valid options.

To all of you lounging in your half-unpacked college dorm rooms right now, I wish you the very best. But is there room on that futon for me? It will only be for a few weeks, I promise.

P.S. I've just returned from renting Jane Eyre (new version) from the local Video Vault. If there's anything that can cheer me up, it's a historical romantic drama adapted from a mid-19th century gothic novel.

Each in His Own Tongue

Here's a poem for you, because I love it, and because I have so much to say tonight that I'm having trouble writing it down:

Each in His Own Tongue, by William Herbert Carruth

A fire-mist and a planet,--
A crystal and a cell,--
A jelly-fish and a saurian,
And caves where the cave-men dwell;
Then a sense of law and beauty,
And a face turned from the clod,--
Some call it Evolution,
And others call it God.

A haze on the far horizon,
The infinite, tender sky,
The ripe, rich tint of the cornfields,
And the wild geese sailing high,--
And all over the upland and lowland
The charm of the goldenrod,--
Some of us call it Autumn,
And others call it God.

Like tides on a crescent sea-beach,
When the moon is new and thin,
Into our hearts high yearnings
Come welling and surging in,--
Come from the mystic ocean
Whose rim no foot has trod,--
Some of us call it longing,
And others call it God.

A picket frozen on duty,--
A mother starved for her brood,--
Socrates drinking the hemlock,
And Jesus on the rood;
And millions who, humble and nameless,
The straight, hard pathways plod,--
Some call it Consecration,
And others call it God.

Variations on Treasure Island

I love this song. And the movie that goes with it. Treasure Planet is so very, very underrated. It didn't get great reviews when it first came out, and most people would forget to include it if asked to list Disney movies.

But I happen to love it.

Mostly, I think, because I love the story of Treasure Island in general. My English class was forced to read the book in middle school, by a teacher we felt comfortable enough with to complain about it to. He made us keep at it, though, and would gather us every morning to make sure we understood what we had read the previous day: "You guys get what's happening now, right? Silver is going after the treasure himself. You got that, right?" He would say it not in an anxious way, but in a way that suggested that he didn't want us to miss a minute of the story. It was just too good. And it was.

You know what my all time favorite Treasure Island adaptation is, though? One I like even more than Treasure Planet? Muppet Treasure Island. I laugh at that movie. I laugh like a five-year-old at that movie: "I think I smell something burning...AAAAHHHH!"

Veering away from Treasure Island and all of its delights, I should let you know that you won't be hearing from me in a while. I'm going on vacation to the exotic land of Wisconsin. In all seriousness, though, I am so very excited for this trip. It's the first vacation I've had this summer; I haven't had more than a few days off in a row since the middle of May, and I certainly haven't taken any extended treks during those brief periods (excepting my travels in Little House on the Prairie Land). Now I have a nice large chunk of time, and I'm filling it with a five hour road trip (which I, of course, have prepared for with help from my local library), and with family I haven't seen in a long time.

See you Thursday. Stay gold.

I'm Very Sorry That It's True

***Note: This story is based on true events. I'm not sure if it's even a story, exactly; I just wanted to tell you something and this is the way it ended up. I'm sorry that it's disturbing. I'm sorry that it's not incredibly well written. I'm very sorry that it's true.


The kids down the street are possessed. This I know.

Deena, who lives across from us, caught them beating her dog Ritz with sticks, shrieking all the while. They continued to scream in deafening bursts that rose and fell like hail as Deena brought Ritzy home by the collar. She could almost feel the pellets of noise hit her back.

Deena called the children's mother as soon as she got Ritz settled on her pillow with a hunk of comforting hambone. She explained, in the nicest way possible, that the children had been hitting her dog and screaming like banshees. Deena tried not to convey the full force of her shocked disgust. She tried not to imply that the children could use a few whacks themselves.

In short, Deena asked the mother to forGod'ssakedoherjoband give her children a talking to.

The mother agreed.

The very next day, however, the kids were at it again. Ritz ran from child to child, looking for a way out of the flashing, stinging, shrieking circle. She decided, between a rap at her hip and a thwack aimed at her snout, that she was off sticks for life.

But there, breathless and mint green in her work scrubs, was Deena. Ritz dashed behind her as the children let their weapons fall to their sides. Miraculously, their screaming also stopped, and was replaced with slack-jawed looks of surprise. The younger girl's lip wobbled a little. For a split second Deena felt bad for ruining their fun. Ritz's nudge at her knee brought her back.

But the children were walking away, forming a slumped line across the lawn. Their steps were almost in sync.

Later, with Ritz's head resting in her lap, Deena tried to remember how many children there were. She never thought to count until afterwards. And anyway, they were like a little mob, a crazed band. They were everywhere at once. One couldn't stop to count the rioters; there was too much running for one's life to be done, too many hambones to be fetched in the dusty quiet aftermath.

I see the children every day on my way home from work. Yesterday, it was just one. A girl. She stood at the edge of her driveway, feet nudging against the street where I drove. I braked, thinking she was going to cross, but she didn't. She stared at me, and through my sunglasses and the windshield and all the particles in all the air that hung between us, I could see how very blue her eyes were. I sped up again, breaking her gaze with my 0 to 30 mph.

I Need to Get Out of the Country

I need to get out of the country.
My life has turned into a monotonous string of work days and non work days.

On work days I wake up at 5:15 a.m. after about six hours of sleep. I listen to music on the way to work, which cheers me up briefly, but as soon as I'm facing the double doors of Target, knowing I won't emerge again until 3:00, I lose my courage. I still like my job, but I think it's gotten to the point where not much can sway me anymore. Not much tries to sway me anymore. Every day is the same, with only a few variations: I cover two electronics breaks instead of three, I see a former high school teacher wearing summer clothing and I am strangely embarrassed for them and for myself, I have cherries instead of a peach in my lunch. It's getting more and more difficult to pretend that these variations are something special.

On non work days I sleep in until 9:15. I then have decisions to make: should I watch TV, read, or fiddle around on Mac? Should I do Tae Bo, Gilad, or Gunnar Peterson? How much longer can I procrastinate on replying to that email or depositing that check or putting away my clean laundry?

There are sparks of hope and there are sparks of fun, but I think mostly I'm getting that feeling I get every summer around this time.

I need to get out of the country.

I suppose Austria will do.

Free Movies

I absolutely bless the day when I discovered that my local library allows card holders to check out any quantity of movies for an entire week. For free.

And that library has good movies, too. Here's what I picked out today after work:

1. Shakespeare in Love
2. Howl
3. La Vie En Rose
4. Emma (BBC series starring Romola Garai)
5. Little Women (1933 version with Katherine Hepburn as Jo. I've never seen this version. Seems criminal, I know.)
6. Garden State (This is the wild card movie. But someone told me it's good, and I always love a good Natalie Portman film, so I'm giving it a try.)