juillet has my heart

Ahhh, July. Can a more perfect month exist? Warm weather, summer vacation, trees in full green.... lovely. It's also the real summer blockbuster season and this year is no different: Hancock, Hellboy II and X-Files are all in there; however, as a special Goodbye to the Young Years of my Life, Christopher Nolan gives me The Dark Knight.

But there's so much more.
- July 1st is Canada Day: a whole day dedicated to my favourite country, land of my head, heart and feet. It doesn't matter that I wasn't born here; Canada has adopted me, chosen me... and I love her dearly. So, I'm getting my red-and-white on to take in the festivities in the Civic Centre.
- July 7 comes quickly as well, and with it all the birthday celebrations a girl could hope for (dancing with my peeps at Funhaus to the wicktastic stylings of DJ Dwight? check. Mom-cooked yummy food? check. Dinner(s) with the boys? check, check, and check! and, of course, ice cream cake (this year, I'm looking for a Joker Cake - get on it people!).
- July 14 sees Nish's inclusion into the Late Twenties club. It's also Bastille Day (for us French people, this is a big deal). This year, July 14 marks my first day back with the kiddies as well. Mayhem shall ensue, no doubt.
- July 2008 is made even more special with arrival of my long-awaited condo. After a gestation period of over 27 months, I am ready to welcome my bundle of mortgage into the world. I can't wait to paint, build and decorate the hell out of the place.

Move over Romeo, Juillet has my heart.

trust issues

It doesn't matter how many times someone reassures you of The Truth - if you don't trust them you simply won't believe them. I had a poem in my diary as a kid that went something like "friendship is like a china cup, often both beautiful and rare; but if broken, though well-mended, there's always a crack there" - it's a bad rhyme scheme and china cups aren't all that rare, but the sentiment is bang on. I would be an idiot to believe someone who has played me for a fool before. But how to be friends with someone you wouldn't trust as far as you can throw? How to stop hanging out with someone whose been around for-like-ever? How to reconcile your desire for their easy companionship with your self-preservation instincts? Giving advice is easy: walk the fuck away. Taking advice is a whole other story. I am thoroughly disgusted with myself.

Now Playing: The Incredible Hulk

I'm usually more on the ball with the movie reviews (as in, write them up as soon as I get back to Timmy), but I will admit to a hectic week and a lax attitude to updating. I am sorry gentle readers - I know you wait with baited breath for my posts. ... as if.

some history:
- I thought 2003's Hulk, with Ang Lee at the helm, was an absolute disaster. Most people decided it had been too cerebral for our favourite green guy and tired too hard to be so much more than "Hulk Smash!" Why bother? But I knew it was going to be bad, the minute they announced a certain Banana to play the good doctor. I can't emphasise how much I hate that guy's version of "acting" - he irritates me to no end.
- My personal bias: as a toddler, I simply loved the TV Show and had become a party attraction with my growling, neck-straining imitation (some would think that this may have been damaging to my child psyche... but I digress). Between Spiderman and the Hulk, I spent a lot of my formative years swinging from various heights of furniture. So, you can understand that Mr. Green holds a special place in my heart.

On to The Incredible Hulk! Much much much better. I was as sceptical as anyone else when I heard Ed Norton would be taking on the role but then I remembered the genius that was the TV show - using Bill Bixby and Lou Ferigno instead of trying to get one to play both Banner and the Hulk. So, Ed Norton as a nerdy geneticist? I can handle that (way better than Bana at any rate). Boy, did Norton deliver - I thought he played the doctor with just the right amount of geek and suave. I totally believed he was in love with Betty Ross (the oft-open-mouthed Liv Tyler) and his running scenes were fab. I know Norton wanted to make rewrites and have the Hulk be a thinking man's hero, but I'm glad Leterrier reigned him in and kept the Green Guy where he belongs - roaring and using police cars as gauntlets. But my favourite part of this entire movie? Tim Roth, hands down. Can this guy be topped as the abominable Emil Blonsky? I don't think so ... he fairly oozes villainy. The first fight scene between Hulk and Blonsky on the campus of UofT.. er, I mean, Culver University ... was just gold. In fact, all the actors were really well picked and really brought it to the table.

Weak points? The script definitely. There were some real clunkers in there. The horrible non-disguising of Yonge Street for New York is another. I mean, come on... where in New York is there a Zanzibar and a (now-defunct) Sam's? Plunking an Apollo in the background does not the Big Apple make. But really... that's it. Consider the franchise restarted! Good to see you again, Dr. Banner. 3.5 out of 5 stars.

how to get over it in 24 hours or less

...if you're me.

1. If someone offers to buy you ice cream, graciously accept; then, order two scoops in a waffle cone.

2. Play a ridiculous party game with a bunch of people; play until it hurts to talk for all the laughing and screaming. If the rules don't include a round of charades, make up new rules. Get to the point where people yell "Twist!" for the correct answer "Chuck Barris" and where someone undulating an S-shape somehow leads to guessing "Stephen Soderberg".

3. Participate in a geekfest (aka TCG tournament) and don't suck; in fact, come in not last and rank not the lowest out of all your team-mates to get the best bang for your buck. Also: wear a shirt that proudly proclaims you have "no time for losers" in sparkly pink lettering to highlight the fact that you're the only double-Xer in the room.

4. Get dressed up in your favourite purple silk top and attend the symphony; go with someone who appreciates it being Star Trek night as much as you. Play "Where's Worf" while waiting for the show to begin. Afterwards, wait like a groupie outside the artists' entrance to get John de Lancie's autograph. Giggle like schoolgirls all the way home.

5. Chat well into the wee hours with your best friend and remind yourself that life is pretty damn sweet.

Bonus
6. Have dinner with a work friend who'll tell you why not getting the job of your supposed dreams is probably only going to work to your benefit.

predictable disappointments

I hate giving myself the chance to hope, to dream a little, about something I know is impossible. I don't know why I do it. I'm better than that, more logical than that. I should just be happy with what I have and let the rest go. Why pin any hopes on what could be when I can just as easily focus on what is? Sometimes, I feel like what's the point of even trying... like lining up at the starting line and looking around you and knowing - just knowing - you're out of your league. I should have pulled out before they said "go!" and saved myself the heartache of hoping.

I'm giving myself 24 hours to wallow and to feel sorry for myself. You will simply have to bear with me, poppets. The usual sunny DissovledGirl will return. Watch this space.

walking the Valley

I often think: "oh, to be young again!" It must be easy, being 24, facing life with all its possibilities and adventures, knowing you have all the time in world to do stuff, mess it up, try again, rinse, repeat. It must be easy having all that energy and enthusiasm that life has only just begun to wear away, layers of disappointment and heartache between you and jaded middle age. It must be wonderful waking up and appreciating that today, after work, you'll hang out with your buddies at the bar or take your kids to their first baseball game or tinker with your favourite hobby. It must be easy... but really, only if you have the foresight to appreciate what you've got at the time.

But, being 24, facing death... that can't be easy. Knowing you'll never blow out 30 candles or be a dirty old man ogling young girls in the mall. Knowing your kids won't remember you outside the picture frames of their lives, because you'll be gone before they make any formative memories. It can't be easy lying in a hospital bed, your once strong body turning against itself, eating you inside out, surrounded by well-meaning friends who've started to visit more often than they ever did. Knowing those same friends - with their forced jocularity, quickly averted gazes and worry lines - are here to keep vigil with you until you close your eyes and just don't open them again.

I can't empathise with facing death; hell, I can barely sympathise. I've never walked down that path, never even contemplated it with any real seriousness. At 24, Ross (LilBro's good buddy from before their voices changed) was dragged kicking and screaming into the Valley. He leaves behind a wife (for whom he worked so hard) and two children (3 years and 6 months) for whom his entire heart was reserved. He leaves behind grieving friends who are too young to have contemplated mortality with anything more than a passing thought. He leaves behind a a life that, though unfulfilled, was yet brimming over.

Yes, to be young again but only with the wisdom of age and the gift of time.

art attack

So... I have a confession to make. I not only suck at art, I once received... a pity pass. in Grade 7. for art. yes, I am that bad. I couldn't draw a human body to scale for my life. As a result, I never picked up a paintbrush or pastels again. I mean, why try at something I'm going to fail anyway, right? I have since relegated myself to colouring books (I kid you not) and the brown paper table coverings at restaurants. This is all well and good... until you have a creative itch you just can't scratch. I really want to paint. Photography, writing, spreadsheets... nothing quite relieves it. Finally, after years of ignoring the urges, I broke down and bought myself paint and vases upon which I would unleash all my horrible, terrible non-talents. You can see from the first one, that it was a dark and swirling mass of garbage. The second one, I decided, would be different, clever. Quoting Amelie, I wrote "Sans toi, les émotions d'aujourd hui ne seraient que la peau morte des émotions d'autrefois"- I was speaking to my newfound crush: forgiving cold ceramic. By the time I hit the third vase, I longer cared about Mrs. H and her insistent "F" or about people saying "honey, you just don't have the talent" or even about messing up and making the vase uglier than when it started. There they are. Transformed from plain janes into something with a little character. Are they perfect? Hell no. But they're mine. Hello art... nice to see you again after all these years.