Go see this movie! I was a bit worried that it might be too corny or sappy, but it wasn't. I've never been a girly-girl, so I tend to shy away from obvious chick-flicks (or just watch them at home) but I decided to bite the bullet on this one and it paid off.
Meryl Streep and Amy Adams were perfect for the roles. I usually like to imagine who else could've played the part but I can't imagine anyone else being able to successfully pull off their roles as skillfully as they did. Nora Ephron has a definite hit on her hands.
I only left with one real question: How did the Julie character (and her hubby) cook and eat all of those meals without becoming fat?!
Saturday, August 8, 2009
Saturday, July 25, 2009
Sunday, July 19, 2009
Hope: Reality's Mistress
Hope.
Just because I want something to be a certain way doesn’t make it so. This, apparently, is a lesson I fail to learn - repeatedly. When a person wants to believe in something, and she gets told things she wants to hear, she would tend to believe that something is true – or it’s gonna happen. However, I have come to this conclusion: Hope is to reality as alcohol is to a body. Hope is delightfully intoxicating - and I'm an addict.
I should listen to my gut so much more than I do. How many times has your gut instinct told you to do/not to do something and you did the opposite? What usually happens when you don’t listen to your gut? Chances are, Hope seduced you but your instincts were right. The problem is, sometimes Hope wins.
Hope is a game of chance. It’s kind of like behavioral modification. To use an overly simplistic example, let’s say you want a child to make her bed every day. Using positive reinforcement, you decide to reward the child using a variable reward method – defined and known only by you (ie: you reward the child at various, inconsistent times, randomly), as opposed to a consistent reward method (ie: every time she makes her bed she gets a reward). Which method do you think is more effective in achieving the goal (her making the bed every day)? People might tend to think that the consistent reward method is more effective because the child can count on it, but studies have shown the opposite. Using a variable reward method creates the unknown, but known – in essence, she knows she will get rewarded just not when. When she is rewarded, it’s much more appreciated and makes a higher impact than with the consistent reward method. Consistency becomes mundane and easy to take advantage of, or for granted. A variable reward method creates hope. Gamblers are all too familiar with it.
I don’t mean to get too far off track. I’m just trying to rationalize behavior – specifically mine. So, picking up where my last blog left off, Mike left me with hope: Hope that he would sell the house and do what was necessary to reunite with his wife. My gut told me not to believe it – that he was telling me what I wanted to hear so I would quit complaining, thereby buying him more time to not change. But hope is so much sexier than reality.
Now, please don’t think that I am beating up on Mike – I’m not. I’m just depicting behavior – his and mine – that has led up to this moment. Mike is a good man. He is harmless and would never purposely hurt me, or anyone I know. He has a good heart and means well. However, he’s an extremely passive personality and only becomes truly active when forced. He’s perfectly content with the way things are in his life. I am an active personality. I need and seek change in my life as my goals, wants and desires evolve. That’s not to say that Mike doesn’t have goals – he does – he’s the most educated person I’ve ever known. He’s currently working on his dissertation for his second PhD – plus he has a bachelor’s degree, law degree, and master’s degree from Georgia Tech. Obviously it takes action to achieve all of that (and probably some level of insanity). The difference is this: it’s singular – it’s for self-edification and doesn’t require much interaction with others.
Sometimes I think Mike is lucky because he doesn’t really have much need for hope. He is one of those people who can live in the moment – think about the future but actually live and appreciate the moment at hand. He’s self-actualized, calm, cool and collective. He’s rational (sometimes to a fault), mostly reasonable, but emotionally arrested. I don’t know if it’s better to be still, like Mike, or active, like me. My mind is always moving, thinking about things that need to be done, things I’d like to do, places I’d like be, people I need to talk to, etc… I try to live in the moment but I’m not nearly as successful as Mike. Because of this, I think I have a need for hope – which puts me at a disadvantage sometimes.
Now don’t get me wrong, I think hope is great at times. It can provide strength and power to get one out of a horrible situation. One of my favorite philosophers, Soren Kierkegaard, claimed: “Hope is passion for what is possible.” Hope has definitely helped me through difficult times in my life, but it has also fallen short. I guess the best rule of thumb is still “moderation in all things.” Let me see how many idioms I can use to try and teach myself a lesson in distinguishing the difference between hope and reality:
Well, I didn’t exactly impart the message I had intended, but it’s a start. More to come……..stay tuned.
PS
If you want to learn more about conditioning via behavioral modification techniques, click here.
Just because I want something to be a certain way doesn’t make it so. This, apparently, is a lesson I fail to learn - repeatedly. When a person wants to believe in something, and she gets told things she wants to hear, she would tend to believe that something is true – or it’s gonna happen. However, I have come to this conclusion: Hope is to reality as alcohol is to a body. Hope is delightfully intoxicating - and I'm an addict.
I should listen to my gut so much more than I do. How many times has your gut instinct told you to do/not to do something and you did the opposite? What usually happens when you don’t listen to your gut? Chances are, Hope seduced you but your instincts were right. The problem is, sometimes Hope wins.
Hope is a game of chance. It’s kind of like behavioral modification. To use an overly simplistic example, let’s say you want a child to make her bed every day. Using positive reinforcement, you decide to reward the child using a variable reward method – defined and known only by you (ie: you reward the child at various, inconsistent times, randomly), as opposed to a consistent reward method (ie: every time she makes her bed she gets a reward). Which method do you think is more effective in achieving the goal (her making the bed every day)? People might tend to think that the consistent reward method is more effective because the child can count on it, but studies have shown the opposite. Using a variable reward method creates the unknown, but known – in essence, she knows she will get rewarded just not when. When she is rewarded, it’s much more appreciated and makes a higher impact than with the consistent reward method. Consistency becomes mundane and easy to take advantage of, or for granted. A variable reward method creates hope. Gamblers are all too familiar with it.
I don’t mean to get too far off track. I’m just trying to rationalize behavior – specifically mine. So, picking up where my last blog left off, Mike left me with hope: Hope that he would sell the house and do what was necessary to reunite with his wife. My gut told me not to believe it – that he was telling me what I wanted to hear so I would quit complaining, thereby buying him more time to not change. But hope is so much sexier than reality.
Now, please don’t think that I am beating up on Mike – I’m not. I’m just depicting behavior – his and mine – that has led up to this moment. Mike is a good man. He is harmless and would never purposely hurt me, or anyone I know. He has a good heart and means well. However, he’s an extremely passive personality and only becomes truly active when forced. He’s perfectly content with the way things are in his life. I am an active personality. I need and seek change in my life as my goals, wants and desires evolve. That’s not to say that Mike doesn’t have goals – he does – he’s the most educated person I’ve ever known. He’s currently working on his dissertation for his second PhD – plus he has a bachelor’s degree, law degree, and master’s degree from Georgia Tech. Obviously it takes action to achieve all of that (and probably some level of insanity). The difference is this: it’s singular – it’s for self-edification and doesn’t require much interaction with others.
Sometimes I think Mike is lucky because he doesn’t really have much need for hope. He is one of those people who can live in the moment – think about the future but actually live and appreciate the moment at hand. He’s self-actualized, calm, cool and collective. He’s rational (sometimes to a fault), mostly reasonable, but emotionally arrested. I don’t know if it’s better to be still, like Mike, or active, like me. My mind is always moving, thinking about things that need to be done, things I’d like to do, places I’d like be, people I need to talk to, etc… I try to live in the moment but I’m not nearly as successful as Mike. Because of this, I think I have a need for hope – which puts me at a disadvantage sometimes.
Now don’t get me wrong, I think hope is great at times. It can provide strength and power to get one out of a horrible situation. One of my favorite philosophers, Soren Kierkegaard, claimed: “Hope is passion for what is possible.” Hope has definitely helped me through difficult times in my life, but it has also fallen short. I guess the best rule of thumb is still “moderation in all things.” Let me see how many idioms I can use to try and teach myself a lesson in distinguishing the difference between hope and reality:
- Don’t put all your eggs in one basket (I should always make sure I even have the damn eggs)
- Everything that glitters is not gold
- Beware of wolves in sheep’s clothing (all things are not as they seem, regardless of what I want)
- If it looks like a duck, swims like a duck and quacks like a duck, then it probably is a duck
Well, I didn’t exactly impart the message I had intended, but it’s a start. More to come……..stay tuned.
PS
If you want to learn more about conditioning via behavioral modification techniques, click here.
Saturday, June 27, 2009
Playing Chicken
Okay, so a friend told me that my previous blog, about my kids leaving, was safe - that I was holding back. It's true. It was safe, but I needed it to be safe, just to be able to get something written down. I knew if I could start with something a little safe, I would be able to progress into less-safe writing.
So, two years ago, I decided to get a place in Atlanta to stay during the work week and drive home to Monroe on the weekends. Even though Monroe is only 50 miles to my office, with Atlanta traffic I was regularly making a 15-20 hour/week commute. I had talked to Mike about moving to Atlanta but he was dead-set against it. I had looked for jobs in and around Monroe but couldn't find anything - anything worth doing, anyway. So, we talked it over and decided it would be best for me to stay in town through the week.
At first, it was very awkward. After going home to Mike every day for a few years, I was "going home" to my little rinky-dink hotel room, that I rented by the month. The place did the job, it had a bed, TV, closet and bathroom, but the hotel smelled a bit like moth balls - or as I liked to describe it, "old people." I rented the hotel for a few months but that eventually got old - going to an old-people-smelling hotel room, with none of my pets, Mike, or any loved ones. I still loved my job but still couldn't stomach the commute. I decided to approach Mike again about the possibility of moving from Monroe into Atlanta. My ammo - renting a studio apartment and signing a one-year lease. Mike argued that if I eventually got tired of my job, I'd come back to Monroe and all would be fine. I told him that the job market in Monroe was not likely to change and even if I did change jobs, it would most likely be for another job located in Atlanta. Well, he decided to take that bet. And like that, the game of Chicken was on. Who would budge first?
I signed a lease on a cute little studio apartment. For furniture, I used Mike's mom's old bed, couch and TV. Basically, I just raided her apartment downstairs and took what I needed to furnish it. Mike really didn't like me taking the furniture (he abhors change) but he also understood that I needed furniture and purchasing new was not an option. I felt much better in the studio, simply for the fact that I had a kitchen (even though I'm not an avid cook) and more squares for my feet. Coming home to an empty place after work was still somewhat difficult though. I used to meet a friend or two for dinner once or twice a week but that got to be a bit costly. I also think Gabe might have felt a little sad for me and started Sunday and/or Thursday night TV watching at his and Trin's house. Dan would go too.
The first few months were the hardest. Mike would drive into Atlanta on occasion, for dinner or a movie, but he didn't like making the drive. (I know. I had the solution for him, too.) Eventually, Mike's drive into Atlanta became much less frequent - once or twice per month, instead of weekly. As the festival became closer and closer, I worked weekends in addition to my regular hours, so my trips to Monroe also decreased. Then, his ventures into the city slowed to once every other month and my hike to Monroe was somewhat similar.
I started to get really angry - for many reasons. I was angry that my husband was completely fine with his wife living elsewhere (especially since he worked from home, so the location shouldn't matter); angry that he made no effort to try and rectify the situation; angry that he wouldn't spend the night when he did make it into Atlanta; angry that he seemed to lose interest in my life (stopped coming to events/parties); and angry that he wasn't angry. I knew that this inadvertent separation was pretty serious. When I expressed my concerns to Mike he brushed them off and assured me that things were fine. I told him I thought we should seek marriage counseling, but he refused. I once again asked him about moving and he told me that he'd give it some thought and we'd talk about it in six months or so. He gave me that one thing I was looking for: Hope.
(This blog is one of a few parts, more to come.)
So, two years ago, I decided to get a place in Atlanta to stay during the work week and drive home to Monroe on the weekends. Even though Monroe is only 50 miles to my office, with Atlanta traffic I was regularly making a 15-20 hour/week commute. I had talked to Mike about moving to Atlanta but he was dead-set against it. I had looked for jobs in and around Monroe but couldn't find anything - anything worth doing, anyway. So, we talked it over and decided it would be best for me to stay in town through the week.
At first, it was very awkward. After going home to Mike every day for a few years, I was "going home" to my little rinky-dink hotel room, that I rented by the month. The place did the job, it had a bed, TV, closet and bathroom, but the hotel smelled a bit like moth balls - or as I liked to describe it, "old people." I rented the hotel for a few months but that eventually got old - going to an old-people-smelling hotel room, with none of my pets, Mike, or any loved ones. I still loved my job but still couldn't stomach the commute. I decided to approach Mike again about the possibility of moving from Monroe into Atlanta. My ammo - renting a studio apartment and signing a one-year lease. Mike argued that if I eventually got tired of my job, I'd come back to Monroe and all would be fine. I told him that the job market in Monroe was not likely to change and even if I did change jobs, it would most likely be for another job located in Atlanta. Well, he decided to take that bet. And like that, the game of Chicken was on. Who would budge first?
I signed a lease on a cute little studio apartment. For furniture, I used Mike's mom's old bed, couch and TV. Basically, I just raided her apartment downstairs and took what I needed to furnish it. Mike really didn't like me taking the furniture (he abhors change) but he also understood that I needed furniture and purchasing new was not an option. I felt much better in the studio, simply for the fact that I had a kitchen (even though I'm not an avid cook) and more squares for my feet. Coming home to an empty place after work was still somewhat difficult though. I used to meet a friend or two for dinner once or twice a week but that got to be a bit costly. I also think Gabe might have felt a little sad for me and started Sunday and/or Thursday night TV watching at his and Trin's house. Dan would go too.
The first few months were the hardest. Mike would drive into Atlanta on occasion, for dinner or a movie, but he didn't like making the drive. (I know. I had the solution for him, too.) Eventually, Mike's drive into Atlanta became much less frequent - once or twice per month, instead of weekly. As the festival became closer and closer, I worked weekends in addition to my regular hours, so my trips to Monroe also decreased. Then, his ventures into the city slowed to once every other month and my hike to Monroe was somewhat similar.
I started to get really angry - for many reasons. I was angry that my husband was completely fine with his wife living elsewhere (especially since he worked from home, so the location shouldn't matter); angry that he made no effort to try and rectify the situation; angry that he wouldn't spend the night when he did make it into Atlanta; angry that he seemed to lose interest in my life (stopped coming to events/parties); and angry that he wasn't angry. I knew that this inadvertent separation was pretty serious. When I expressed my concerns to Mike he brushed them off and assured me that things were fine. I told him I thought we should seek marriage counseling, but he refused. I once again asked him about moving and he told me that he'd give it some thought and we'd talk about it in six months or so. He gave me that one thing I was looking for: Hope.
(This blog is one of a few parts, more to come.)
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
Life without my kids - Not work/movie related
I haven't written a blog entry in quite a while. When I first started writing in this blog I was going to try and keep it just work related. My plans were to use my MySpace blog for my personal blogs, but that didn't really take. I never visit MySpace anymore so I transferred a bunch of my blog entries from there to here several months ago. But then, I felt odd about writing personal stuff here, so I just stopped writing in general. I've missed writing so I decided to allow myself to use this blog for personal entries as well as work-related issues. I think I should denote the entry in some way though in case people don't really give a flying fuck about me personally, but do tend to read my movie reviews or industry thoughts - hence the title. It's quite a lengthy denotation, so I've gotta come up with something simple and effective.
My life has gone through a lot of changes over the past couple of years and I'm finding myself in that place again where it's time to re-evaluate everything. One of the biggest changes was having both of my children leave home. I've been finding it a bit difficult to find my place in the world in again, since my kids are now on their own. I gave birth to my son, Shane, a month before my 18th birthday. Two years later, Shelby was born, and at 20 years old, I had two kids. I was also alone with two kids because I had left my abusive husband.
At the time, I managed my life day to day, depending on my grandparents to help out with childcare while I worked. I didn't think about how unusual my life was or the various and numerous hardships my decisions placed, and were going to place, on my children's lives. I was still just a kid myself. Twenty years later, I look back on those times and find it hard to believe that was me. But, living each day as it came and pushing forward in spite of all the hardships a little bit at a time, I was able to obtain my GED, go to college and finish with an MBA. I am pretty proud of myself for those accomplishments, but my kids also paid the price. Nonetheless, all of this, I did with two kids in the house. My life was nonstop - I was always busy.
Today, I feel like it's just the opposite. Sure, I work all the time, but I rarely feel like I'm moving at any comparable rate of speed compared to three or four years ago, with some sort of tangible benefit awaiting me. Some people tell me that now it's "my time," that I got my kids out of the way early and I'm still young enough to really enjoy my life. The problem is, I don't really know how to do that. I always imagined that I'd go to the gym, get in shape, read, etc... But I don't really do any of that - on a consistent and effective basis anyway. I've had people to care for since I was 17 years old and now I don't. That's hard to deal with sometimes. Sure, the freedom is nice, but all of the other stuff, not so much.
During a recent trip to Las Vegas (Cinevegas), I had dinner with a couple of friends. Both have kids - one with a small child and the other with two tweenagers. They both talked about life with their kids, watching them grow and appreciating their respective daughters for the interesting and unique individuals they're growing into. I didn't mention my kids because mine are already out of the house, with children of their own. Once people discover that my kids have kids, they tend to not know what to say. So, I usually leave it alone. Anyway, that's just one of the many things I'm trying to deal with in my life - just trying to redefine and find my place again.
(I know the grammar and word usage in this entry is pretty bad but I just wanted to get something written down, so please excuse it.)
My life has gone through a lot of changes over the past couple of years and I'm finding myself in that place again where it's time to re-evaluate everything. One of the biggest changes was having both of my children leave home. I've been finding it a bit difficult to find my place in the world in again, since my kids are now on their own. I gave birth to my son, Shane, a month before my 18th birthday. Two years later, Shelby was born, and at 20 years old, I had two kids. I was also alone with two kids because I had left my abusive husband.
At the time, I managed my life day to day, depending on my grandparents to help out with childcare while I worked. I didn't think about how unusual my life was or the various and numerous hardships my decisions placed, and were going to place, on my children's lives. I was still just a kid myself. Twenty years later, I look back on those times and find it hard to believe that was me. But, living each day as it came and pushing forward in spite of all the hardships a little bit at a time, I was able to obtain my GED, go to college and finish with an MBA. I am pretty proud of myself for those accomplishments, but my kids also paid the price. Nonetheless, all of this, I did with two kids in the house. My life was nonstop - I was always busy.
Today, I feel like it's just the opposite. Sure, I work all the time, but I rarely feel like I'm moving at any comparable rate of speed compared to three or four years ago, with some sort of tangible benefit awaiting me. Some people tell me that now it's "my time," that I got my kids out of the way early and I'm still young enough to really enjoy my life. The problem is, I don't really know how to do that. I always imagined that I'd go to the gym, get in shape, read, etc... But I don't really do any of that - on a consistent and effective basis anyway. I've had people to care for since I was 17 years old and now I don't. That's hard to deal with sometimes. Sure, the freedom is nice, but all of the other stuff, not so much.
During a recent trip to Las Vegas (Cinevegas), I had dinner with a couple of friends. Both have kids - one with a small child and the other with two tweenagers. They both talked about life with their kids, watching them grow and appreciating their respective daughters for the interesting and unique individuals they're growing into. I didn't mention my kids because mine are already out of the house, with children of their own. Once people discover that my kids have kids, they tend to not know what to say. So, I usually leave it alone. Anyway, that's just one of the many things I'm trying to deal with in my life - just trying to redefine and find my place again.
(I know the grammar and word usage in this entry is pretty bad but I just wanted to get something written down, so please excuse it.)
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