I've started probably ten blogs in the last month - since the last one I wrote? - and ended up dropping all of them. Now that I'm here, my topics are about things and people here. Often Brian, but most of the time I discard those because I think he'd blush over the adoring way I write about him, and I'd probably blush over allowing anyone to know the lovestruck way I think about him. I've started a few about school, but this semester just hasn't been inspiring in any actual scholastic ways. I've thought about writing some about the Film Archive, but most of what inspires me there are the old film reels that I bring home and attach to my walls. I don't know if I should be worried because I'm stagnating, but I think I'm going to try to head that off before it begins. More on that later.

The city that you live in is always bigger than you think it is. More layers, more niches, more places to go that you didn't know existed - partially because, once you're in a place long enough, you forget to really look around you. Everything in life is like that to some extent, I think. You live anywhere, see anything, do anything long enough, and it becomes such second nature that you forget to pay attention to it. I feel like part of living life "fully" (if you'll forgive me using such a cliched term) is learning to periodically delve back into the simple, mundane functions that make up our lives. Part of that, for me, is just walking through a neighborhood that I most often drive through. Walking and driving are so fundamentally different to start with. When you're driving, you're watching traffic patterns and stoplights and thinking about fast ways to get where you're going. When you're walking, even walking with a destination in mind, you see the buildings and notice what's in them and study all the ins and outs of the area around you. Even having to be aware of potentially dangerous situations is intrinsically different from the way you interact with your surroundings in a car. This particularly intrigued me today walking around Brian's neighborhood, noticing how few buildings on Devine I really know the purpose of - there are office buildings, residential areas, and shops on the side of Devine that I had only assumed was . . . actually, I'd never even really considered it. Case in point.

I'm bad about stagnating. I'm sure I've mentioned it before, but I've always had significant problems staying interested in . . . anything, really, without sustained stimulation. I can't say it's exactly intellectual, but there's something that I sometimes find lacking - most especially during the summer - that destroys my ability to function well. Maybe it's senioritis, or maybe this semester really is just lacking in some way, but I need something to yank me out of this weird haze that I'm in. I'm incredibly happy, but after last semester, when I was interested and engaged in school, this semester's a little bit frustrating. I've been presented with what might be an opportunity to break free of that, as long as I have the nerve to go ahead with it. But even so, contacting the person you pretty much worship in order to ask for some kind of mentor relationship is pretty daunting.

Anyway. Let's hope I can keep writing some.

Settling In

Things you do when the parents are on their way:

1. Trash - I mean . . . recycle - the empties.
2. Take out the three trash bags you left on the floor because you didn't feel like wandering into your sketchy back parking lot at 2 AM.
3. Hide any and all evidence of a boy staying over (how many tooth brushes are in the holder?).
4. Make/de-dog-hair-ify the bed.
5. Attempt to clear enough floor space in your tiny apartment so they can walk in the door and set down the boxes they're surely bringing.
6. Turn the Cosmo over/to any page but the "Guy Sex Confessions" article.
7. Leave a few school books lying around - preferably open - to simulate studiousness.

I mean, I realize that they know that I have my own life, but at the same time, we don't have to acknowledge that fact. Everyone's at their happiest when no expectations are being blatantly disappointed.

Sometimes the best things you can do for someone are the small, cheap things that just show you care. Words and grandiose gifts can often only go so far - that small gift of thought is in the end the one that people really long for. I've been on both ends of that equation. I've been given little gifts that so clearly say "I love you" - pasta, necklaces, a rambling 13-minute video about life in a state I left - and also tried to give them. I just hope that I offer back these small gifts of thought as often as they've been given to me. So tonight I dragged dear sweet Greg to the 24-hour BiLo to pick up a chick flick (Wimbledon), ice cream (chocolate chunk), and beer (a 40 of Modelo) as a break-up care package. 10 dollar total, but the two hours spent consuming those items really meant more than anything else I could have said or brought her.

Every now and then I'm still caught off-guard by how much I love film. After three years of analyzing it and picking it apart and studying it, those moments of inspiration come fewer and further between. But every now and then I'll start talking to someone about a movie, and I'll find myself again caught up in that rush of excitement that a brilliant movie can give me. Chatting with my parents tonight, it was one camera movement in Gone Baby Gone and the mirror-bridge sequence in Inception that reminded me of the fact that cinema is such a brilliant medium. It can have a visceral impact in a way that few other media can.