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Am I seriously the only person in the world who didn't enjoy this movie? Who didn't think it was WAY too long? Who didn't think that the plot was flimsy and ridiculous? Who thinks James Cameron should stick to sweeping, epic love stories based on historical events?

Time for some lists!

Pros:
*Computer graphics were good
*Acting was good
*Pandora was really beautiful, well imagined

Cons:
*I'm not sure if making the military out to be heartless and unappreciative of nature/indigenous cultures is A) acurate or B) a good idea right now
*The plot was unoriginal- Disney's Pocohontas, anyone?
*Why didn't we hear about these other tribes at the beginning, and why didn't the military/anthropologists try to get in touch with them? They could have been useful in over-throwing/understanding the Na'vi.
*The part where the other scientist gets jealous of the protagonist's success is irrelevant to the plot- why did they put it in there?
*Why didn't the lady pilot get in trouble for turning back during the attack, and why especially was she then allowed to be near the prisoners, thus letting them escape?
*Character development was minimal
*If there WERE other life forms on various other parts of the universe, do we REALLY think they would look and behave so similar to humans?
*The Na'vi culture seemed very African (perhaps Native American?), and there seemed to be some very Blood Diamond undertones...or was that just me? Very white-people-raping-and-exploiting-other-cultures-for-monetary-gain...

Needless to say, I don't think this movie will meet with nearly as much success as Titanic, both in relation to awards as well as future recognition/remembrance.

Overall: C+
Final note: Too long, too simple, too advertised...a let down.

Tan lines

Have you seen those ads that are supposed to make you aware of skin cancer, melanoma and such? They're really gross as they show what it looks like when your skin cells get brown and then pop into your blood stream. They certainly get the point across- at least until the next commercial featuring gorgeous, thin, and very tanned women comes on.

Here's my deal: I live in New Zealand, but I'm from Colorado, and as a college kid I get three months off during the summer. Except for the New Zealand summer is the Colorado winter. Or at least part of it (the last snow hits in early June, and the first in September...a long winter). So basically, for the last two years, I've had nothing but back-to-back winters. No room for a tan.

This summer, however, I'm spending my three months in Australia. Perth, WA, to be exact. And it's a lot hotter, and a lot drier than NZ. Today it got up to 39 degrees. And as an American, I don't have a valid work visa, so I spend my days...you guessed it...beside the pool in the backyard. I spend twenty minutes on my front and twenty minutes on my back, I get in the water regularly and I don't wear any sunscreen. Lucky for me, I don't really burn (thank you, Mexican genes).

But the thing about laying on your back and your front, is that you tend to miss the sides. I'm really not sure how this happens, but it does. If you look at me from the front or back, you'd say, "That girl looks good", but from the side you'd say, "That girl looks like an oatmeal cream pie."

So that's my dilemma: not the struggle of my conscience, to tan or not to tan, but the fear that I'll spend my summer striped. Laying on my side on a deck chair is just too uncomfortable! When I figure out a solution for this, I'll let you know. Signing off...

Little Debbie

My dad and his damn sneakers

My father buys a new pair of running shoes every couple of months. He has been doing this for about the last 30 years. It's like he's obsessed.

When he was growing up, and was playing for his high school basketball team, he needed a new pair of basketball shoes, but his parents (my grandparents) couldn't afford any at the time. My own father wanted to play so badly that he worked all summer and bought himself his own Converse high-tops to play in. And he played Varsity ball in those shoes for four years, kept them until he graduated.

Right after high school, when my father had to complete his Crucible (the physical training test you must complete to be considered for the Marine Corps), he had to run the ten miles in his five year old Converse high-tops, and because they weren't conducive to long-distance running, he twisted his ankle. This caused him big problems, as you could only take the test every so often to join, and because he couldn't afford University without the help of ROTC, he felt he had to finish, or get sent back home to work on the farm until the next semester started.

What was he supposed to do? This was the only option he felt he had if he wanted to get an education, and his sneakers had messed it up for him. Anyways, my dad ran the last few miles with a twisted ankle, and still finished in time. So they let him in, he started getting a steady pay check, and ever since, he's bought over 100 pairs of running shoes. And here's the kicker- he keeps all of them for years and years, although he claims he threw away those original high-tops the same day he bought his first new pair.

Why, as people, do we get so attached to certain material items that were prohibited to us as children, or as teens? Why is my father so addicted to running now? To his damn sneakers. And why does he have such an opposition to Converse high-tops? I wish I knew, and I think I see where he's coming from. I too, have sentimental attachments to various objects from years ago, things that I should have long-since thrown away. But I can't. Guess I'm just my father's daughter.

The Reader

I hardly ever disagree with my mother when it comes to movies. Like mother, like daughter, I suppose, however when she told me that she thought The Reader should have won Best Picture over Slumdog Millionaire, I didn't think twice when I said, "Yeah mom, whatever."

I saw The Reader last night. I loved it. No surprise Kate Winslet won Best Actress; she was incredible. Also- the way they aged her throughout the film was very believable, and very impressive.

I want to point out a few of the interesting parts of the movie I liked the most. This might be a little over-analytical but I definitely think it's relevant. Okay, first off, when the concentration camp survivor is talking about the way Hanna Schmitz chose the women she was going to send back, she says that she always chose the ones who were young, and sick, or weak, and she would feed them, or clean them up a little, and then made them read to her. Then she would send them back, essentially, to their deaths. This parallels well with Michael's first few encounters with Hanna. She helps him originally when he (who is much younger than her), on the way home from school, becomes sick. Then, three months later, after recovering from scarlet fever, he sees her again and she asks him if he's always been weak. As the film goes on, before each session of love-making the two embark on, Hanna makes Michael read aloud to her. Just as she made the women read aloud to her before she killed them (albeit, indirectly).

What does this say, then, about the connection between making love to someone and killing them? Winslet's character in the film seems to be as nonchalant about one as she is about the other. She never once apologizes for her actions, either for leaving Michael without warning, or for leaving the screaming women in the burning church to die. She is a wholly self-centered character, however it is impossible for me dislike her. She is passionate, maybe not about people, but certainly about books, literature, and her sense of pride is so strong; she takes the blame for the deaths of over 300 women rather than have the world know she is illiterate. This is no normal woman.

Another point worth noting, something to ponder on further, perhaps, is why Michael seems so detached from all women after Hanna. First there's Sophie, the cute blond with the braids who is obviously attracted to him while they are still in grade school. He pays hardly any attention to her. And his fellow law student. He sleeps with her, but cannot spend the night. As he grows older, his mother mentions that he never comes back to his old town to see her anymore, and even his daughter, Julia, remarks at the beginning of the film that he always seemed isolated from her. He is obviously spending the night with various women, but keeps none of them around long enough to really get to know them. What was it about Hanna that kept him so captivated all those years? Was it the quality of the sex? Surely not. It definitely wasn't her love towards him. Did he lose trust in all women after her? I doubt it. I think it was the idea that he made love to one woman for an entire summer without really knowing her at all. He needed some sort of closure with Hanna to move on with anyone else. I feel that he gained this sort of closure with her eminent release, suicide, and then his trip to New York to visit the same camp survivor that testified against Hanna early on. That closure then enabled him to open up to his daughter about her story.

An interesting quote from the survivor, played by Lena Olin, "If you want catharsis, go to the theatre. You won't get it here." I say interesting because while it might not have been a sort of spiritual purging for her, I feel like it was for Michael, as well as for the audience. At this point, we feel like the guilt of Hanna's actions, her suicide, and Michael's fulfillment of her final will and testament all culminate into a release that allows the audience to sit back, breath a little, and continue watching the film without a sense of desperation that something that needs to happen, won't happen.

Anyways, my mother was right again. As usual. I thought this film was truly worthwhile. Maybe not as relevant in today's world as Slumdog, but certainly a better film overall. I highly recommend it.

Desperate Apartment-girlfriends

I never thought I'd be the first of my girlfriends to have a serious relationship to the point of moving in with a guy. Turns out, at the fantastic age of twenty and 1 month, I am.

We live in a tiny apartment on the top floor of a great building downtown. Location is great, apartment is great, furniture is great, and living with him is great; I just can't stand being so damn domestic. It's like I'm one of these women...


Except not as sexy.

And my life isn't nearly as dramatic or eventful. Also, I can't bake pie. But other than that, I'm just like a younger, unmarried, apartment version of the stereotyped, frustrated, cooped up women who try to balance their social lives, being sexy, school and work, with the grocery shopping, laundry, meal fixing and general housekeeping.

It's hard work. I don't know how most women do it. To me, it's no wonder most women gain weight, or let the house get dirty, or, in the extreme cases, murder their husbands and run away with the postman.

I know I have it easy compared to the women with 3 kids, a full time job, and a huge house, but I guess it's just a simple matter of getting used to growing up. These are the things women have to deal with on a daily basis. So why not start when you're 20? Right?

Moving stuff

I have a lot of stuff. I just do. I don't even know where it all came from. I have an entire luggage set, filled with stuff, about 8 boxes, filled with more stuff, and a few random bags, also filled with stuff. For the record, let me define stuff:

Stuff:

Clothes, books, writing utensils, CDs, DVDs, bed linens, photographs, previous assignments, coat hangers, 1 mug, 1 matching bowl, old calendars, jewelry, a collection of big hats, portable iPod speakers (with AM/FM radio, woot!), make-up, wrapping paper, shoes, boxes full of old notes and ideas, and an entire line of Clinique skin care products.

ACK!

What ever happened to living simply? When I first came to New Zealand, I didn't have nearly this much STUFF! Where on earth did it all come from? The sheer volume of it all has recently been brought to light due to the fact that I am moving into an apartment today. I didn't even realize how much I had myself, until I looked into the van we're using and saw how little room I had left my boyfriend for all his clothes/books/writing utensils....

It frustrates me that I accumulate so many unnecessary items, and it saddens because, after a recent trip to India, my eyes have now been officially opened to the poverty and the desperation that so many across the world are living in. Not that an Indian child would like a 2008 calendar, but still. I'm just saying, there are people who will never see the amount of money it would take to buy all this stuff in an entire lifetime. And I'm over here in my comfortable new penthouse apartment, forgetting that I even own it all. I feel guilty, and I feel like this materialistic obsession endorsed by myself and so many others of my generation is slowly deadening us to the pain and suffering of our fellow man. Wow, I know that's a pretty big statement, but I wholeheartedly believe that by living simply, we would more easily be able to relate to, and therefore help, those around us with less.

I'll end with a quote from one of my favorite saints, St Teresa of Avila,

"It is love alone that gives worth to all things."

Jesu Christo (Spanish Jesus)

Once upon a time, a 17 year old girl spent a week in Barcelona and found God. Among other things...

I feel like I have to describe this night somehow, because I'm sure if I don't, one day I'll forget some of the details. I think it's already started though, so forgive me if I take some poetic license and fill in some of the blanks with my imagination. 

I was wearing this light blue-ish, pink-ish sort of beachy Roxy halter that I had bought for way too much money the same day because I didn't have anything to wear to go clubbing. It was long past midnight and I was sipping Champagne on a huge marble balcony overlooking the Mediterranean. 

Okay. Pause. I have to tell you about this house. It was owned by a retired French businessman, it was three-stories, all in white marble, and immaculately decorated. I have never seen a house (I mean, someone's actual residence) that beautiful, before or since. Pieces of extremely valuable art hung on the walls and littered the shelves. Pristine collectibles from all over the world were on display as if they were family photos taken last summer at the Grand Canyon. Four bedrooms, each with it's own study, bathroom and large balcony; it was more like a hotel than a house, really. 

Anyways. Unpause. I'll fast-forward through a couple of scenes from there. Not that they're not interesting, only that they're unimportant. So, at the point where the ambiguity of whether it's the late hours of the night or the early hours of the morning is at its highest, I come back out of the bedroom. (For the record, NOTHING serious took place in there between me and someone else) I am completely naked and wrapped in a white top sheet I had taken off the bed. I'm standing on the balcony, overlooking the sea, sipping now stale champagne, and watching the moon's glitter on the water. It was like I had been cast as Lucy Honeychurch in a modern day, Spanish version of Room With A View. At least, that's what I felt like. 

It's hard the describe the actual amount of beauty and peace I felt with myself and with the world at that moment. I realized then and there that God must exist, because a world made out of chaos and completely coincidental events just isn't possible. Although my idea of God at this point highly differed from that of any religion I had been introduced to. I started to believe in a God that recognized the beauty of precise moments, of nudity, of stale champagne, of the reflection of a full moon on the water. That perfection was not finding that one man to spend a summer with, and that leaving him was not that big of a deal. Perfection is standing on that balcony, and simply knowing that your soulmate, and your ultimate happiness is out there marveling at the same moon somewhere.

Sister's Plight

I recently had a conversation with my younger sister, and she described to me a few events that had taken place over the weekend between her and her "friends." I use quotes because I doubt the levels of honesty, loyalty, and trust that the friendships contain. She is part of the (again, I use quotes) "popular" crowd. The people she calls her friends have been mocking, backstabbing, and demoralizing her, with, in my opinion, no other motive than to make themselves feel better.

One girl, in particular, seems to be driving this wave of dismissal towards my sister. And earlier on in our discussion, we both came to the conclusion that this girl was very insecure, and that we, in fact, felt sorry for her. She used the term fake, this girl is fake, covering up her insecurities with attacks on other people. She then went on to say that she thought all girls were fake. That she was, I was, and a whole list of all her other friends were as well. I did not receive this generalization very well. I asked her if she really thought I was, or if she was, and I listed quite a few of my own friends and asked her again if she thought they were indeed fake. The conclusion she then came to, was that she has been surrounding herself with the wrong group of people. That maybe the "popular" crowd, isn't all it's cracked up to be. That maybe she should have spent her time with a more genuine lot of people throughout high school. 

It saddens me that her friends drink at 18, that they have sex in their parents houses while they're still in high school. Not that I'm against either of the two actions themselves, but I just think they should be saved for University, when you're at least 500 miles away from your parents. It saddens me even more to think that I didn't set a good enough example of what a strong, free-thinking, unpopular and still very happy young woman should act like. 

We are very different, my sister and I, and I understand that she was never going to turn out exactly like me. But throughout high school we definitely had a higher than average fight rate, and I think that itself turned her away from trying to follow the path I did during those critical years. But I do wish I had had more talks with her like the one I had today. I wish I had told her that in two weeks, none of this drama will matter, that in two months, you'll be laughing about it, and in two years, you won't even remember it had even happened. 

I think overall, I can just give her this advice now, because I'm sure this kind of drama follows some people to college as well. I love my sister dearly, and I hope she finds the kinds of friends that she deserves.

Is the left right?

I think one of the most confusing things about living here is not that they drive on the wrong side of the road, but that they walk on the the wrong side as well. There's construction going on at the University I attend, and a part of the side walk has been significantly narrowed due to this. So I'm walking towards my class, like any good American, keeping to myself on the RIGHT side of the sidewalk, and I run into this huge stream of people walking directly towards me, while the left side is completely empty. 

I don't know what to do. Because, unlike driving, there are no rules against walking on the right hand side, I am inclined to keep doing it, to force people out of MY way instead of getting out of theirs. At the same time, though, I'm not sure I can be bothered fighting off the hordes of students rushing to get to their next class, or the ones that are just lazing around, texting their friends and therefore not looking where they're going. 

Maybe it's all part of the Kiwi Experience. Learning to be versatile. Learning to walk on the left, have people pass you on the right, and then doing it the other way around when you get home. I think sometimes that being a citizen of the world is more about that kind of thing, and not just speaking a language and being aware of global attitudes. Embracing the culture isn't just learning Poi and eating fish 'n chips in your flip-flops (excuse me, jandals). It's walking on the wrong side of the side walk, and smiling while you do it.

Thank you for calling...

Alright, here's the low down on what I do.

My job, when I'm not at school, is working as a front desk receptionist at a Towne Place Suites. I think it's pretty much an ideal occupation for someone with my age, interests, and disposition, but that being said, it's not always that rewarding. You'd be surprised (or maybe not so much) at how much drama and gossip fester within a staff of only twelve. Also by how many lonely business men invite pretty, young receptionists to their room each night, or out to lunch, or for their phone number. All in all, though, this is definitely the kind of work I want to be doing, I mean, hell, it's a Sunday morning, and I'm getting paid to sit around and blog.

At the front desk, there are three shifts a day. The first starts at 7am and goes to 3pm. That's the shift I'm on now. The second, from 3pm to 11pm. And lastly, the Night Audit shift, from 11pm to 7am the following morning. On the first shift, you deal mostly with check-outs, take reservations, call other hotels, and deal with the housekeeping staff. The second, you check guests in, deliver extra towels or blankets to whomever needs them, and recommend good restaurants and the nearest grocery stores and movie theatres. The night shift, you backup all the property files, doing general organizing tasks, and print out daily audit reports.

My preferred shift, of the three, is the second shift. Because we are a long stay hotel, we attract mainly business men on week long trips, people who are relocating to the area, and contractors who are here for many months working on certain projects. This allows us to get to know some guests quite well; we see them five days a weeks, a couple times a days, for a few months. Or, in some cases, one or two days a week, every week, for years. When you check people in, you are their first impression of the hotel, and the way it is run. If you are nice, you are likely to have made a friend in the process. We get people from all over the world, from Mozambique to Malaysia, Germany to Japan, Colombia to Connecticut. And most of them are always willing and happy to talk about where they come from, what brings them, how they like it here. And I'm always willing and happy to listen. I love hearing about these people's lives, their homes, their cultures, and what they think of the cold and dry.

The shift I'm on now, is hands down the most boring. Even on the night shift, I can bring a book and sit and read for hours upon end. But now, I have to always be up at the front desk, at attention, ready for anything that comes my way. These hours pass so slowly, no one to talk to and nothing to do. But still, it beats waitressing. I wouldn't change this job for the world, and I would totally recommend it to any student.