What I'm Reading

Hello, friends!

As many (most? all?) of you know, I love to read. In many ways, I don't read books. The action is more similar to inhaling. I read excessively quickly.

I thoroughly enjoy perusing other people's reading lists. I've never methodically read the entire library given by an individual, but I've found a few gems here and there. I'm hoping this little post might do something similar for you!

The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo
Not the sort of book I normally read. In all honesty, I found it rather boring until about 60% of the way through. I just didn't care. I didn't care about the characters, I didn't care for the writing style, it was just sorta... meh. I kept reading it because I was stuck on a train. It did really pick up at about the 60% mark, however. I was actually invested from then on. Big caveat: this book is not easy to read. It describes some really awful, violent, disgusting things in detail. It's brutal and honest. Not for the sensitive ladies in my life.

The Impossible Lives of Greta Wells
Maybe I shouldn't have started with a book that I felt so apathetic about. It might give you the impression that I don't get emotionally involved in books. That impression would be wrong. Because this book? This book I loved. I started it yesterday at about nine thirty at night. I read it straight through. Hello, one thirty in the morning. I laughed, I cried, I dropped it in surprise. I enjoyed this book more than any book I've read in a long time. This book had so many jewel-like sentences. I want to read it again just to sit and savor those statements. To mull them over and, perhaps, write them down somewhere, so that I might be further edified by them later.

On the Musically Beautiful
Non-fiction, not new, not pretty. If I had to describe it in two words, I'd choose these: German Rant. If you have an opinion about what music is or ought to be, you might enjoy this book. I found it to be a page-turner. It was a bit redundant, but that's forgivable since it's interesting and so short. Again, rather rant-like, but I don't mind rants sometimes. I especially enjoy written rants by people who are long-dead. This is probably weird, but I feel at liberty to giggle about their strong, enthusiastic language & uncompromising views.

Doctor Who and Philosophy
This isn't a book as much as a collection of pseudo-academic papers concerning the philosophy of Doctor Who. Not much is explicitly stated in the cult-classic show about the writers' philosophical beliefs, but these papers explore the various prevalent theories and explore their ramifications (both within the show and in our real world). It's a very speculative, wondering, and wandering. Just what this TAC nerd ordered.

Attachments 
Equal parts interesting and fluffy. The major this question raised in my mind (which, to be fair, had nothing to do specifically with this book, but happened to pop into my head when I was reading it) was "How accurate could a book about a man falling in love, written from the man's perspective, be if it's actually written by a woman?" Seriously, this can't be a very helpful portrait of how a man's mind works. This book, overall, was the epitome of a summer novel. It had funny parts, frustrating parts, etc... it isn't a book that will change my life or that I will ever read again. I was content to read it, though. 

The Rosie Project
Do you enjoy "Big Bang Theory?" If so, read this book. It's stitch-in-your-side funny. If you hate Sheldon and couldn't stand to be in his head, rooting for him to find a wife, then you'll hate this book. I read it in a few hours and laughed so hard. This is one I will probably go back to for a second helping.

Someday, Someday, Maybe
Meh. Funny, but not engrossing. Again, I read it because I was on a train. It wasn't a book I would choose over a marathon of "House, M.D." The enjoyment I did take from it came in the form of what I found familiar: a young woman struggling to achieve her dream of becoming a successful actress in New York. No, no, not that I want to be an actress, but I live close enough to LA to have heard many stories and seen many people in the midst of that very battle. The tongue-in-cheek, but also slightly desperate, tone was familiar, yet charming somehow. 

Summer at Tiffany
Memoir, diary, autobiography? All of the above, really. It's the story of a college coed & her summer employment at Tiffany's in New York. Light, non-dramatic, not a proper story with "a hero, struggling against an obstacle, to achieve a goal," but still an enjoyable story. It was like stepping back in time to the 1940s. What was it like to come from a small town in search of summer employment? To have a beau preparing to leave for the European theater of WWII? To spot celebrities and handle their jewelry that cost more than your college education? Reading this book felt like visiting an old lady in her dining room, sitting primly in a chair, sipping properly prepared tea, while you listened to stories from her youth. It was a prettily packaged, highly fascinating, history lesson.

That's all for now... what are you reading?

{To My Birthday Buddy}

Dear Rosie,

Happy birthday! It's your first celestial birthday! I don't mean by that, of course, that it's been a year since you were "born into eternal life," as those funeral prayer cards often say. I mean it's your earthly birthday & you're celebrating it for the first time as a member of the Heavenly choir.

We always made elaborate party plans for our shared birthday. Your family certainly knows how to throw a fun party and you know I am always up for a fun party. Given the close proximity of our birthday to the end of the TAC academic year, however, it never happened. Perhaps if God had deigned for our shared birthday to be in July, for example, I might have been able to plan the trip. Or, if in His wisdom, He had ordained that we have a birthday that fell during the school year, it would have been a breeze to throw a marvelous party together. As it was, we never did have a party together. We did have enormous fun dreaming and scheming about them, though.

Now we get to spend every birthday together. Call me a sap ("You're such a sap, Bridget!" "I know... but at least I'm cute!" "...and predictable."), but I find this incredibly consoling. Without my faith in our all-good God, all I would be left with would be a huge Rosie-shaped hole in my heart. I have enough trouble dealing with that as it is. Every time I walk into the choir loft at our alma mater, I have to fight the urge to cry. I miss you. It's always worse when one of my visits corresponds to one of your sister Augusta's visits... I have so many memories of standing with the two of you, singing in that beautiful space, leaning on each other (physically and musically), sharing moments of pride ("We sound awesome!") and embarrassment (how many sheepish grins did we exchange as we hacked our way through a piece with great messiness?). That space is not the same without you.

My sappiness & sentimentality overtook me with great force at Luke & Jenny's wedding, which was just a few days ago. That Bollywood song, to which you knew every. single. dance. move (and, I'm sure, the name of it, too. I just label it with a pronoun.) came on, and we all rushed out on to the floor. Your cousin led us with great spirit and competence, but I missed you. Bollywood was your thing. Maybe it was the beer, maybe it was the great emotion of the day, maybe it was the fact that I was tired, but I started bawling. No, not pretty, dainty tears, but ugly crying. The kind that no ladylike person ever does, but I did. They were hiccupy, violent, and downright gross. Someone asked me what was wrong, and I managed to squeak, "I miss Rooooosiiiiieeeee..." In a moment of what I'm sure they deemed helpfulness, they gestured in the approximate direction of the town cemetery and said, "She isn't far. She's just over there."

Oh boy, did I stop crying then! I was livid. "No, she's NOT over there!" Because you're not. They may have laid your body to rest in that cemetery, but you - my beautiful, talented, lively, joyful, sassy, kind, generous, and awesome friend - are with God. You're with the Heavenly hosts. You are not in the graveyard. (In all fairness, I'm sure our mutual friend meant well and knows you aren't really in that cemetery, but the verbal slip-up had the effect of snapping me out of my self-pity-party, which we should be thankful for, I suppose.) You weren't far. That was true. Because you were there. (I know this for a fact due to that little miracle you pulled out for Lauren earlier that day. Thank you!)

Rosie, I miss you. So much. But it's our birthday. And for the first time, we can really celebrate it together. You, in your new role in the communion of saints, can celebrate with me today in a way that wasn't possible before. We've always been united in the love of Christ, but your union with Him has been perfected. I like to imagine (forgive me if this is heretical, but I don't think it is, so it isn't formal heresy, at least) that since your union with Him is perfected, that somehow our friendship has been made better & closer.

And today, we are going to PARTY! Because, you know, it's our BIRTHDAY!

Much love,
Bridget

Never Forget

It's that time of year again. Once a year, this day rolls around, and I admonish you to remember.

Yes, you may enjoy your BBQ. Take care that you remember our fallen soldiers and the enormous sacrifices that they made.

Never forget.

"Safe Food"

I have an interesting relationship with food. In a way, it isn't much different than your relationship with food; some things are good for your body, other things are bad for your body. Same here. Things that are good for my body keep me healthy. The big difference between you and me (except for you people who are subject to food allergies, too, in which case, you have my pity) is that food that is bad for me can kill me very quickly. Within minutes, in fact.

This reality has a few of effects. First, it makes me terrified of food. It isn't that eating food in itself is bad, but I just have to be very careful about it. I cannot afford (i.e., I won't continue living) to skip the precautionary label-reading & cross-questioning before eating. I only engage in eating when I know it is 100% safe.

Second, it makes me incredibly protective of my Bridget-proof foods. I have a bit of a hoarder mentality, a remnant of my college days where every bite of food was like a game of Russian roulette. Once I found something safe, I wanted to keep it and save it for the next week when there might not be any other safe options. I became what you might call, erm. possessive. My family doesn't appreciate this residual quality.

Third, since I have done extensive reading on the subject, I will talk your ear off. Actually, forget that. I will talk both of your ears off. I have so many opinions that are all fueled by very strong personal feelings. (When it's a matter of life and death, I tend to get a bit passionate. It's probably the Italian in me. Oh, wait, maybe it's just the human in me.)

Now, let's take a tangent. Where shall this tangent go? Oh, sex. (Food. Sex. Italians, you know you love to hate us. We are so inappropriate, so often!)

As a good, straight-laced, obedient Catholic, I don't have sex. I'm not married, ergo, I don't have sex. As someone who doesn't live under a rock, I am aware that there are "safe" and "unsafe" ways to engage in sex. (This mostly means "prevent pregnancy and the spread of STDs" as far as I can tell.) It struck me the other day, in a moment of extreme exasperation, that my approach to "safe food" has a lot in common with the general approach to "safe sex."

They're both about preparation. Never go in to a situation without thinking through it. Don't put yourself in a tight corner.

If you forget to make adequate preparations, it isn't a little matter that you can dismiss easily. There are serious repercussions for lapses in responsibility.

Tongue-in-cheek, I know. It's how I handle stress and frustration. It's better than yelling at the server, "I DON'T FLIPPING CARE IF IT'S GLUTEN FREE!!!!! GLUTEN AND SOY ARE NOT SYNONYMS. FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THAT IS HOLY, STOP WITH THE GLUTEN!!!!!," which was the alternative to this post.

Object of Admiration

This weekend was incredibly good for my self-esteem. I was evaluated and found worthy of admiration by two different gentlemen. Winning.

The first was an adorable little blondie, age five. This guy could not have been any cuter. I asked him if he remembered my name (we had met briefly the day before). He said no, I told it to him, and he thought for a moment. Then he said, "That's a verrrryyy pretty name. And you're a very beautiful and nice person."

My heart hasn't un-melted yet. The fact that he brought me a flower later in the evening didn't help the liquid state of my heart. Everyone say it with me: awwwwwwww.

The second was a middle aged man on the train. He stopped next to the empty seat beside mine, looked at me and said, "You're beautiful."

Then he stood there for about ten seconds, just looking at me.

"May I sit?" he finally asked. I nodded.

He sat and reached over me to plug his phone in the outlet. He had his eyes on his phone as he blindly fumbled with the plug. After he successfully got it attached, he simply dropped his hand. It landed in my lap. He left it there, completely absorbed by his screen.

He clearly wasn't 100% there, so I didn't make a fuss about it. I figured he'd move his hand eventually.

Not quite "awwww," but at least he thought I was beautiful. A bit of a win, in my opinion. :)

They Lived Happily Ever After

Wedding days are the best. Yesterday was no exception.

Oh, love.

Happy Sunday & Happy Mothers' Day!

YSF Big Show | Marvin Ave Elementary

I wish a set of photos could do the Young Storytellers' shows justice. They are so funny. 10 year old kids write stories under the mentorship of WGA members & then SAG actors perform them in front of the whole class. It's nearly two hours of stitch-in-your-sides laughter.

Yesterday was the school show at Marvin Ave Elementary. The stories featured talking animals, royalty, and superpowers. Oh, and a creepy kidnapper.

Even 5th graders realize that great swords must be soliloquized to.

Ok, when the script calls for characters to kiss, it makes a room of 10 year olds go CRAZY. Seriously. Crazy.

And this is what you do when you get married. It's like winning a boxing match.

This next photo looks like a fight, but it's really a dance party.

Just because a man has a bag on his head does not mean you should automatically dismiss him as being mean and evil. This particular man was just misunderstood. We learned to share with him.

It was a small car...

Writers & actors taking a final bow!

And since we were all the way in LA, we decided a trip to The Grove was in order. We'd never been. It was fantastical. So was my Manhattan.

Ugh. Awkward.

My life is totally awkward. Not in a good way. Like in a really awkward way. It's a good thing that my only emotional response to awkwardness is laughter, or I would spend a lot of time being upset, shocked, or whatever other emotional responses to awkwardness that exist. I don't even know what they are, that's how consistently I giggle over them. I'm not sure if that's a good thing or a bad thing. Anyway...

Last Saturday, my sister and I went to the symphony. One of the greatest things about going to the symphony is that it's an opportunity to wear pretty clothes. You can put on a nicer outfit than just something that's "cute." You get to put on a dress and heels. I usually wear makeup. (Gasp, people. This is shocking & rare.) We were dolled up as usual.

I was sitting calmly in my seat (also quite the feat for me!), when two men filed into the row in front of us. One of the guys looked at my chest (oh, don't even think about noticing a girl's face! Start with her chest!) and then proceeded to bend over, still looking. He was bending over at the waist, looking for an angle to look up my skirt.

Yes, you read that right. He was trying to look up my skirt.

It became especially funny because he kept having to bend farther and farther over because, you see, my skirt was knee-length. He wasn't terribly smart because it took him a while to realize that no amount of bending over was going to give him the right angle to see up my skirt. My skirt was simply too long. He wrinkled his forehead, straightened up, shrugged (never looking at my face, mind you) and proceeded to sit down next to the other guy. Then, imagine my surprise when he began blatantly publicly displaying his romantic affection for the other man. Dude, you were just trying too look up my skirt. Don't try to pretend that this makes it all ok. It's still weird.

But whatever. Pervy dude. I moved on.

After enjoying a couple of hours of Beethoven and Brahms, my sister and I headed back to the parking structure. We were in the throng of well-dressed, symphony-departing, generally middle-aged and downright old crowd, but we ended up waiting at a corner for the "white man of walking" (as I affectionately refer to him) to give us permission to cross the street. As we stood there, the line of cars turning right slowly passed us. A car, one away from the light, suddenly turned on some very loud, very percussion-heavy, melody-lacking music. The driver rolled down his windows. Then he drove past us reeeeeally slowly, while intently staring at us. He was also smiling. He was in an old, but fuzzy-interiored car. He was wearing one of those perky hats, a sweatsuit, and had generously accessorized major bling. And he was black. I don't say that last part to be racist, but it's integral to this guy's image, I think. He nodded at us, winked, and proceeded on his way.

Me and my sister and I looked at each other, mirroring each other's shocked, but highly amused expressions. This is the conversation we had:

me: "We just got checked out by a pimp."
her: "Yeah."
(short pause)
her: "Maybe he wasn't a pimp..."
me: "You know what they say about ducks? Looks like a duck, quacks like a duck...?"
her: "Well, maybe that doesn't apply to pimps."

(You can tell even from this short exchange how nice my sister is about people that are different than her. I'm like Judgey McJudger over here.) 

Yes. So that was our Saturday night. It was awkward. The end.

Sew Cool!

I have to brag a little bit about getting my first paid sewing commission! :)

It was a new pattern (never done toddler-sized dresses before - just me-size & baby-size), which always kinda freaks me out, but I love, love, love how they turned out! (the blue one is a 12-18 month & the orange one is a 2T)

Dan, your nieces are going to think you're the coolest guy ever.