Admission: Movie Review

To start off I love Tina Fey. You could even call her my idol-- if you're into that sort of thing.

"Admission" is a very heart steady, outlandishly mediocre story trying its best to pass itself as more. Tina Fey and Paul Rudd as possible love interests fizzled into watered down blandness and the movie is dotted throughout with a weak and awkward screen chemistry. Sadly, it's still a better love story than Twilight. I will try my best to not spoil the movie for those so inclined to give their hard earn money for a light napping session, but I can't not talk about certain parts so here we go.

SPOILER ALERT (sorta)

Tina Fey, Portia, plays just about who she always plays: socially awkward, hard working, childless mid 30's something woman (with glasses no shocker there) who is a Princeton University admissions officer; long term relationship with a Princeton... professer? --who knows!-- who are contently unhappy with each other. Paul Rudd, John, plays the cool "there are no rules man" adventurous school teacher / Greenpeace member / Mr. unconventional hot guy running an alternative school that teaches kids to be free spirited and cognitive thinkers-- he also adopted an african kid and is rich. The rest is movie fools gold. While watching it, I felt like the screenplay may have been the final project written by a college sophomore taking his first screenwriting class. The momentum is lacking, and even if it meant to be unconventional in its story arc set up (you know three acts, 2 set backs, and a climax) Karen Croner did a terrible job setting up fluidity. As much as it hurts me to say, I am not a fan of this style (believe me, as a woman in this business, we really should stick together). Maybe it's not even the writer's fault! Maybe it's Paul Weitz, the director of the yawn inducing film. Either way... meeeeh! Let's continue 

Portia's mother is all over the place with her woman's feminist time warp movement. There's a Princeton professor who has no purpose in the movie, it seems, other than to be painfully blunt and to prey on Portia's mother for sexual enlightenment (though I must say his accent is devilishly sexy, and there's a certain sort of allure to the character). Come to find out, there's a possibility John only contacted Portia because he did some snooping and thinks Jeremiah, boy genius who happens to be a student at his school (have I not mentioned him yet?), might be her illegitimate offspring she gave up 18 years prior. That's right, Portia's a whore. Just kidding. It's much deeper than that.  John knows the potential Jeremiah--boy genius-- has and would like to help him get into Princeton. Coming across possible information that points Portia as possible mummy makes him think he has the right to barge into her life. 

Some scenes weren't even necessary, which is always a bad sign. Once you get past the drag, you do however see some of the underlining social issues that the movie is trying to touch on: college age pregnancy, adoption (and if you think about it abortion or the decision against it), what motherhood means to some, life cycle, family, the list can go on; kudos on that. But more scenes were about awkward kissing than real issues. Another redeeming quality of the film is the running gag through out between Portia and her previous boyfriend (that one I mentioned before, he becomes her ex). Portia finds herself constantly running into him at what can be possibly her lowest points in the movie (with his pregnant lover in tow). Those parts made me laugh the hardest because they were hardly necessary and yet very much welcomed for their awkward randomness. Without those little golden moments and the social worker's laundry list of societal problems, the movie would have been beyond tolerable.

Oh I lie. There is another redeeming factor: how the movie ends. Movies are suppose to be this gateway to another world almost. Boy meets girl, boy loses girl, boy gets girl back; happily ever after. I'm a big fan of the movies that have loose ends and reality checks. This movie definitely ends with a pretty forward reality check: if you do something wrong, illegal, or bad there are consequences; you won't magically be exempt from them. There are so many decisions we make in our lives and the consequences that follow may take years before we realize them; and sometimes we don't get a second chance. I didn't see it as the happiest of endings and I was okay with that. It wasn't the happiest of stories. It's not a comedy (outside of the running gag).   

I have a tendency to only write reviews about terrible movies. I'm trying to change that. I want to also write reviews about great ones. Admissions is not a great one. Watch at your own risk... of dying from bordem. 

Sorry Admission; your denial letter is in the mail!

Angels, Demons, and God. Oh My.

My mother is very religious. She prays daily (hourly) and is always doing something with/ for her congregation. She can be found at the Hall meetings albeit a few minutes late, but just about every day they are held, rain or shine. She looks to God and believes he is her lord and savior; the one who can save the souls of all who inhabit the earth now and past. She talks about it whenever she can.

It drives me nuts.

I've wanted to write about it for a while now. But I thought it would be in bad taste. After all, religion, politics, and money (?) are all things you should stay away from in conversation.  But for me, it was because I didn't know how to really approach it. A little depressed about my life, I wrote a short quip online about how "being an adult sucked," which in turn my father stumbled across, causing him to give me a call to "check up on me."

I love talking to my parents. I don't like talking to them when I'm depressed. I don't like to worry them. But mostly, there's nothing I can say that won't spark a talk about God. No, about my mother's religion. It always starts off the same way: like a salesman who slightly has his foot pressed against your front door, "There is a way to be happy. Eternally. God wants all of his children...." I immediately throw up my walls. I don't want a lecture on God and what he wants for me. I don't want to hear the spiel. I've heard it countless times before. I become defensive, almost antagonistic really; willing and ready to pick apart her theory, her belief. I assume it's probably unhealthy to want to crush your mom's hopes and dreams. 

I'm not really that bad a person. It's not that I don't believe. It's that I feel it's generic. Her immediate answer for all that happens is so generic. Why can't you give me a pep talk about something tangible AND not based solely on faith alone. I don't think that's really my issue though, I think my problem is my mother, at the age of 50, has found her faith. That part is great, anyone should be so lucky. My problem is that because she has found her faith, she feels the need that everyone she cares about --and a lot of people she probably doesn't purely because she has no clue who they are before knocking on their door-- should share in that said faith. I feel it's unfair to ask me to catch up in her faith game.

Spirituality is a very sacred thing. You may feel the need to boast and banter about it, (and from what I hear the Bible even tells you to accost people and "preach the good word.") at the end of the day no one can truly form a relationship with God until they are ready to. And what about those who already have a relationship. I don't go to church, or hall , or masque. But that doesn't mean I'm not exploring my options with God. 

I personally feel like my mother doesn't even see the many options available. She's  not allowing me to follow my path and grow. In fact she's doing the oposite; she's stifling me and causing me to shun the very thing she had hoped I would embrace. Some times I feel like religions is just a coping mechanism. A way to deal with the inevitability that is death and unknown. It places a possibility of happiness in a world, a physical world where it would not happen in any other situation.

I remember a time in my childhood, when I first asked about God. I was sitting in the passenger seat up front in my mother's van. I'll never forget that conversation. No more than a minute in length, but so much information I have kept with me since then. I asked my mom a very important question: how do you know which religion was the right religion.  There are so many in the world. It was boggling my mind.

My mother was driving the car. She paused and thought. I remember I looked at her, then I looked at my feet. I was about seven then; preoccupied with some candy I had in my pocket, but still worried enough about my mortality. My mother took a breath and answered, "As long as it is worship of one God, it is the right religion."  I know how hard that had to be for her. Years later, in my 20's when I told her she told me that, she rebuffed it, saying she should have told me the truth. But I know better. That was the best answer she had at the time. And way back then, as bad as she wanted to shape my thought process with her own beliefs, she gave me the most precious gift a person could give: the ability to think and feel for myself.

Sometimes I think to myself, there is no doubt there is a God above. Other times I can not be sure. I believe there is nothing wrong with questioning the "all knowing." God gave me the ability to think freely. I just feel like a lot of religions say God gave you free thought, but then turn around and ask you to not use that free thought because it will lead you away from his grace; but really from their dogma. How hypocritical....

My Aunt told me a story when she was visiting my parents this past December. She told me a story of strength and of triumph and of faith. I smiled throughout the entire story. I knew within seconds of her beginning it was a Bible story. My aunt had so much excitement in her voice as she told the story and I nodded in agreement as she told that story and I felt at ease. She didn't push it on me, she just said it. She sounded like she believed it. Every word. She didn't give me a spiel afterwards, she left it at that and I got to think about what she said. Before I had to fly out, my mom passed out booklets and pamphlets. I took them and thanked her, knowing I wouldn't read them. Anything I needed to know then, at that exact moment in life, I had already discussed with God himself. No middle man, just me and him.

And so far, s/he thinks I'm doing okay... For now.  

Lucid Dreams. God. And The Pursuit of Ordinary.

I have been practicing lucid dreaming lately. I've always thought, in the past and even now, that maybe I could figure some things out if I just got inside of my own head... Walked around a bit, you know, take in the sights... 

When I go to sleep at night-- not every night but at least 50 percent of the time-- I've attempted to lucid dream. So far I haven't been able to (I think); but I come close... I often do fall into sleep paralysis so there's a start. The problem seems to be right as I reach the edge of awareness, something very dark, very scary.... very unnerving lashes out at me and I sit straight up in my bed. When I say sit up I mean 90 degree angle, heavy breath; racing heart. If I'm not too terrified I do a reality check to make sure I'm not dreaming.... I never am; though once I may have been... When I started I didn't do reality checks and only recently realized without doing so, I might not be able to tell if I was awake or dreaming. It's not necessarily an image or a creature, but whatever it is frightens me.

 There are other ways to reach lucidity though. Once I had fallen to sleep listening to binaural beats, that music that changes your brain wave pattern. I can't remember much about that experience out side of seeing the purple moon from the video and then the words, "You are dreaming!" blaring into my sub-conscience. I immediately sat up in my bed (there's a pattern in that it seems) and took my headphones off. Why was it so loud? I listened to the music ahead of time to make sure it was low.... I assumed I was just dreaming and managed to infiltrate my own dream with music. Truth is the song wasn't even playing anymore and I had turned down my screen brightness so it was dark, so... yeah confusion. 

I fell back asleep fast and dreamt of biting into a boiled egg only to find a tiny half alive half dead baby chick inside. I had taken a little piece out of its body, a little pink line formed where my teeth had been. I spit it out upset, and had a string of baby chick flesh stuck in my teeth that I had to manually dislodge. As gruesome as that image might seem... It wasn't so much while I was dreaming. It was more comical than anything else. Disturbing... but comical. 

I guess I'm looking for answers; I'm always working towards self improvement. Every time I think I've built myself a steady foundation, I later find it to be missing key pieces I thought it had. I want to fix it. I want to fix me.

A few people have told me I should be looking to religion for help. I say, it's not my time to discover that. God and I already have an understanding; a spiritual connection and it has been an integral part of my survival thus far. Other people say it's all in my head. I kind of agree with them.... (duh! that's why I'm trying to get in there!). I just feel... that if I can manage to get off of my self loathing rear and do a few things with my writing, I could be...

I bet you would like to know how that sentence was suppose to end. Just know I wrote it; rewrote it and rewrote it again. There was no possible way for me to write that sentence, without giving it a morbid ending. How terrible of me.

Collegiate Postpartum Depression

Hi,

My name is Bree and I suffer from Collegiate Postpartum Depression or CPD for short. What is that you ask? Oh, it's just a terrible horrid disease that is currently afflicting my every being. Symptoms include loss of hope in finding an actual career, boredom at current job, anxiety about the future, excessive hobby joining behavior and --sometimes-- extreme procrastination.

How's that for an opening paragraph. Sometimes I feel like I have little to nothing when it comes to talents. There was nothing special about me in elementary school. I remember my best friend back then loved to draw. Even if she's not a well know or even a struggling artist now, I remember that being her passion and she was pretty good at it. Not so for me. High school came around and once again no special talent fell upon me. 

 Now that I have put in the four... five... oh let's not play the counting game... but the numerous allotted baccalaureate years in order to get my adult green card, I feel even more further from my life purpose than ever before.

Everything I'm good at EVERYONE is good at. I honestly don't feel special in any shape or form. In fact, I have plenty of things I need to work on; so many I don't even know where to start. Ancient Bree Confucius wisdom states, "In order to have a hand in being successful, one must have a hand in successfully having a hand in being successful." 

No one ever said it made sense. 

Even though I am not suppose to measure my success with any one other person's, I can't help but feel like I fell asleep before the big race and now am playing 'catch up' for what will probably be the rest of my 20 something life. Even Hank Hill from the well accepted television show 'King of the Hill' felt he had a life purpose in selling propane and propane accessaries. As mediocre as it may have seemed, well, those items weren't going to sell themselves.

I just feel like 'we', whomever we are, have this destined for great things feel about our lives, but overlook the fact that we are missing a few key components when it comes to making it to said destination:

1. Tried and true belief in ourselves
2. An actual path to follow
3. The willingness to work hard for our dreams
4. Dedication
5. Ability
6. Luck and the list goes on...

And on and on it seems. That list goes so far on that I think I'm afraid to see where it ends. Maybe Hank and I have more in common then I give credit. I don't want to be an actress, or an orchestra music... player person ( I'm sure there is an actual name for it). I just want to have something, a piece of that pie. Start something, work hard on it, and reap the benefits of it; just like you would a farm. Plant a seed, nurture it, and harvest the crop. I honestly just don't know how I'm going to get to that point.

Posting and What Not I Guess, Maybe Ugh!

I need to post more. tell your friends, to tell their friends to tell my friends (wait I don't want all of them reading this) so tell someone else's friends to check me out, and maybe I will start writing more. (she typed feverishly). I'm just so.... not happy with myself right now. I need.... something to hold on to...

Like Used Paper Towels

Like Used Paper Towels

Your love,

Is like used paper towels

All crumbled around, to see

There's nothing

Nothing

Left, to clean

There's nothing

nNothing

Left for me.

And I find myself wondering

Why

Oh why, else could there be?

And why oh why me?

Do you think, that I, would ever

Be free?

From your love

Your love....it's using me

Your love, oh

Is using me,

What belongs to you

And what belongs to me

Whomever

Wherever

These tears are to be

No warmth

No,

Nothing for me.

To dry my tears on

No 'sort of'

Just nothing.

For me

Your love

Is like, used paper towels

Nothing

Nothing left for me

To dry my tears

Nothing, nothing

For me.

Your Woman

I can't believe I'm still in love with him.... I have been dreaming, thinking, hell craving a chance to just say all types of things to him....and even though I will be getting the chance to later this month, I don't think I can even get out 10% of how I feel about us. How unfair. I refuse to be a harlot. To throw caution and the foundation I've recently built to the wind just because your feet are finally planted on the ground. Why is this happening? For a short while I thought it was a gift, but I'm starting to believe it is a test. To see how faithful I can be. To see if I can move past the world that is the past into the present and future.

I think I'm over thinking it (definitely). I think I'm also setting myself up for failure. But why? why do I want things to fall apart? I know what's good for me, but I also know what I personally would like. Too often are those two things in contrast of each other.

I definitely need to have a conversation with a few different parties, ie all of the parties involved. Not necessarily together. Plenty of my friends roll their eyes at me now. They are tired of hearing my story. I guess it could get very annoying after such a long time. But I feel like, if my friends had this issue, they would understand why its such a long winded problem. Why It's so hard to throw away 6 long years of waiting, longing, and wanting. And even if they did understand. They will never feel the way I feel, just like I can never feel the way they feel. I know my actions and feelings are being judged. I don't care to hear the many opinions of those who can't get the simple parts of their lifes together. Though, those seem to be the ones with the most knowledge on the subject....

I will be a perfect host for him. I managed to set up two friends simultaneously visiting over the weekend, that way I will be too busy to sit down and sin. Though... three days alone with someone is more than enough time to become a different person.

I pray every night that things can be resolved and I can move on to bigger and better things. I know I will eventually...just not in an easy going sort of way. Everything happens in a kind of difficult sort of way. In a way I'd rather not deal with. Someone always gets hurt.