Thank you! I think!

So here's the deal:

I was born in (the most glorious of months) May, on the 31st, to be precise.  My boyfriend was born on June 2nd, a mere two days later.  If we get married we have decided to do it on the first so the collected weight of so many things to remember will make it impossible to forget.

But!  On my birthday, I realized that people were probably putting things on my facebook. While turning on my laptop (it makes the most wonderful grinding and moaning noise when I switch it on, as if it is upset that I want to use it) my sister came galloping into the room.  "Have you seen what Craig put on your page??" She asked, grinning manically.

"No" I said.

I went on my page.  This is what I found:



Yep! That's my baby! He's a scruffy drummer studying film who likes hiking, depressing music and cheese.

To explain the "ghost", It's actually a black Santa tree topper that I bought for him (back before we were an item, thank you!) when the Christmas stuff at my place of employment when into really deep sale mode.  We enjoyed that all the white Santas and angels had the traditional red outfits, but the black Santas and angels had these shiny leopard and cheetah print costumes.  Craig imagines that he will be able to sell it to some museum one day for millions of dollars, proving that blatant stereotyping still existed in large-scale chain retail shops in 2011.

But! I was, as you may imagine, touched and possibly a little disturbed by this gesture.  And, obviously, I knew I needed to reciprocate.  With only one evening to throw it all together, I set about making my own birthday tribute.
I knew I couldn't top that for creepy - no one could - so I decided to go a different route.



We're an odd pair.

yes no maybe

I intend to see this.  Like, the day it comes out. And I'm dragging as many people as possible with me.  At least, people who I think will be appreciative.  

And here is my burning question: WHAT on EARTH is that font? I love it. I need to learn my typefaces.

LATER: Just googled "Moonrise Kingdom font" and found that nobody seems to know what it is and nobody seems to be happy about the change.  I may be the only person who likes it.  Don't get me wrong, I ADORE Futura.  But I like that he's branching out, and it was time to do so, and I think it adds.  So there.

Have I mentioned that I love this, blog?  Because I do. Very much.

It's late, I'm sleep-deprived and I'm so nervous I'm loopy. Isn't life grand?

GAAAAAAA! As Dilbert would say.
Okay, I'm sort of freaking out at the moment.
Here's the story, blog.  Or, at least, as much of the story as I'm willing to tell.
There's a certain book I adore.  I never thought I could ever, ever pin down a favorite book, but this book is it.  I love it.  It's the only book that makes me cry every time I read it - and I never cry in books.
I found out recently that this book is being made into a movie.

Now, for your consideration, a run-down of the feelings this discovery created:

Panic/despair:
"NOOOOO! I was going to make it!  ME ME ME!  POOR POOR ME!"
Bitter curiosity:
"Well who the heck are these people anyways?  Why do they get to do it?"
Grudging respect:
"Well, I guess they have money.  It might actually be made someday. And the screenwriter made disparaging remarks about Thomas Kinkade on her blog, so I guess she's okay."
Sudden panic:
"AH AH AH! I MIGHT GET LEFT OUT! I MUST HELP THEM! OH NO!"
Fearful victory when I found the screenwriter's email address:
"YES! Now I can send a begging email!  Er... oh dear. Now I have to send a begging email or I'll regret it forever."
"kill me."

So, basically, I'm terrified.  I've written two drafts of my begging letter, neither of them very good, and after showing it to my mum tomorrow - I'm going to send it.
Oh help.
Probably nothing will come of it, blog.  Don't get your hopes up, blog.  Be proud of me for sending the darn thing at all, because such an act of boldness is entirely out of character for me, blog.

So, that's all I have to say at the moment.
If, you (imaginary reader/dear void/blog) are the praying sort, I wouldn't mind a little "and help Kelsey to find the Chill Pills so her heart doesn't explode before she's twenty-one" prayer, if you'd be kind enough to pray it.

I wish I had someone to send a bouquet of sharpened pencils to, even though it would be out of season. But I need the someone before I can send them, and fall is just around the corner.  Goodbye, blog.  I'm off to find someone.  I've gone round the bend!  Hooray! I'd know him anywhere!



28 June:
Okay, it's been days since I said I was going to email the lady, but two minutes ago I officially did it.
I can't believe it.  I'm very proud of myself.  Usually, I'm an absolute chicken about... well, everything.  I hesitate to comment on people's blogs - think how much will it took for me to do this, blog.  Absurdly shy people of the world unite!

Okay, is it slightly strange that I actually address my thoughts to my blog?  I guess no weirder than saying "dear diary".

Um, hi. My name is kelsey and I'm working with the blah blah blah campaign?

I am, officially, that annoying, extravagantly spotted young person you avoid at all costs.  I am a PRECINCT WALKER!  One of those earnest twerps who come to the door trying to get you to vote for things you don't care about.  I honestly can't believe it.  And guess what else?  I did phone soliciting for like three hours tonight.  I HATE phone solicitors.  Gaah.  Many people at their now cold dinners are loathing me right now.  It's a funy feeling.
It's one of those bewildering jobs, so confusing and ill-organized that it will make me laugh when I tell my children about it in twenty years. But right now, it just stresses me out and makes my feet hurt.  For nine hours and 45 minutes I worked, and during that time I ate one bag of fruit snacks. And that's all.  And I'm one of those people who buys bags and bags of overpriced airport food to bundle onto planes just because I am so afraid of going hungry for four hours.  Boy oh boy.  If I didn't loose weight today, I am going to be sincerely upset.
How am I, such a committed idler, possibly doing this? I have no idea.  The mercenary side of my nature has reared its greedy head.   To be honest, I am completely broke.  "More than usually hard up" as they say.  It would be nice to have a little cash.
The work is not that bad, just a bit tedious sometimes.  I did enjoy talking with an English lady on my walk.  And, in the evening during the phone calling, when a soon-to-be 86 year old wanted to chat about her family for a while, I didn't stop her.  It made me feel like a human again.
But I feel sorry for the people I'm bothering.  Particularly when they're older.  I try to be as brief as possible, but I still hate making them stand there or listen to me for so long.  Erg.  I CANNOT believe I'm doing this.  Emily and I are supposed to go again on Friday - we'll see what happens.

Completely random, but - I found this through Jane Austen Today, and Helena Bonham Carter reads excellently.  I adore books on tape.  Or, audiobooks, I suppose they ought to be called.  I'm so used to calling them 'tapes'.

I really like Helena Bonham Carter.  And in Alice in Wonderland She wasn't some roaring, gigantic, over-the-top character.  And, strange as it sounds, it was totally believable. "I love a morning execution, don't you?"  Ah! Perfect!

Anyways, I'm exhausted.  If only I had a warm pig belly for my aching feet. 

S.O.S.

I just figured out how to imbed youtube videos and want to try it out.  So... yep.

I have a question - why is Reader's Digest called Reader's Digest? Because when books are abridged they are easier to digest?  I cannot explain it.

Personally, I hate abridged books. If you're going to read the darn thing, read the whole darn thing, what?

And then you say, "Yes, you are right.  I bow to your wisdom."

And then I say, "Thank you." And then I say, "Come on, Barbie. Let's ride in your new Ferrari and go shopping."

P.S.  If you have never played Barbies with a four year old, the above conversation will not make a shred of sense to you.

P.P.S.  Clarification:  four year old girl.  Playing Barbies with a four year old boy is a very different thing.  It sounds more like, "And then her car goes KABOOOOOOOM! And she EXPLODES! WA HA HA! Bye bye, Barbie!  Now let's play legos." 

A Midsummer Night's Dream. 7.

Isn't this fabulous? I am dying to see The Continuing and Lamentable Saga of the Suicide Brothers just to see it.  The sped-up, skittering thing they did with the fairy godmother looks fantastic. (FACTOID: Keira Knightley - the fairy - did all her acting and movements very slowly. When the film was sped-up, any little movements she made at normal speed looked totally inhuman.  If that makes any sense.  It's incredible, really.)
That's how I always imagine Titania looking. A bit less winter-y, but very similar. In my head, the fairies in A Midsummer Night's Dream look just like this - not a bit human.
Assuming I had a zillion dollars to toss about or some naive young producer to give it to me - because that's about how much money I'd need if I wanted to do it well - I'd love to put on a really, really good stage production of A Midsummer Night's Dream. Like, the most ethereal, fantastic Midsummer Night's Dream you can imagine. (I'd also like to see how many times I can write A Midsummer Night's Dream in one blog post. That's 5 so far.)
I recently saw the film of A Midsummer Night's Dream. Stanley Tucci (Puck) and, of course, Rupert Everett (Oberon) were good. And Michele Pfeiffer has the perfect look for Titania. But - surprise, surprise - the fairy costumes bothered me.

Hey! The Starbucks Christmas cup is in!  It's very cheery. (at right is my sloppy tribute.) I heard a man snort and mutter disgustedly in Target the other day while passing the "holiday" section. I don't like the commercialism that's been tacked on to it, but I do love Christmas.

And a Midsummer Night's Dream. 6

P.S.
Now that I know how to imbed video, the best way to explain the whole fairy stop-motion thing is not to.  A lot of this is blah blah, but at a minute 50, you see the fairy and at 2:40 or so they talk about the skittery film style.  The close-up is really neat.

FYI - I think they show a bit where the brothers spit out their own hearts.  If you're squeamish like me, this is your official warning.  I am such a wimp.  But at peace with it.