Of Montreal!

So, Of Montreal is playing in Boston tomorrow, for $32. I really, really, really want to go!!!! But obviously I can't. Because it's a school night, and I have stupid Madrigal Dinner rehearsal...Fuck Madrigal Dinner...I'm going to be so glad when it's over. It's a fun memory to look back on when it's all over, but while you're doing it it's pretty much awful because it takes up all your time and (if you're a chamber maiden like me) you have to serve people and be degraded by being called a wench and a servant. A part of me knows that the whole "wench" thing is really a joke, and that I shouldn't care, but my aggressive feminist argumentative side is really offended. It's a really weird sensation, these two sides of my personality battling: my laid back cool side and my belligerent feminist side. I don't know though, I don't want anyone to think I'm one of those crazy feminists who wants to cut up men or who's wicked self-righteous and obnoxious...because I'm not....
Anyway, back to Madrigal. My favorite part is the tights run, after the last show, where the guys run through the downstairs hallway in their tights (yes, ALL the guys wear tights during Madrigal) and the girls all crowd in the doorway and cheer. It's pretty much hilarious.
Oh yeah, this post was supposed to be about Of Montreal...well, I still want to go....gahhhhh, these annoying limitations...

France me manque

I really miss France. When I was over there this summer I got really homesick for America, and when I walked into the airport in Boston in August I was humming America the Beautiful to myself. Now, I feel the opposite way. I could easily walk into Charles de Gaulle Airport humming la Marseillaise.
I've never felt this way about another place before that wasn't Holden. Sure, I've missed other places, but it's never really felt like homesickness. I feel like I have some sort of special connection to France now, like it's my home away from home.
I miss walking up and down my street, even though it took forever, and I had to get up early in the morning to catch the bus. I miss the ridiculous heat and the way the cicadas never shut up in the afternoon. I miss my "French family" and the beautiful house I was so lucky to stay in, with the view of the gorgeous back yard and the sparkling blue swimming pool. I also miss the friends I made there from other countries.
One thing I miss in particular was sitting on the back porch in twilight and talking with Berenger (the woman I stayed with's son). He would light his cigarette, and I would stare out at the back yard and pat the dog Aida while we talked about our day and whatever other topics came up. I'm really grateful for his company because otherwise I imagine I might have gotten very lonely in the evenings.
I always feel very proud when I remember conversations I had in French while I was in France because when I explain them to people, I realize I'm translating conversations from French into English. It's a really cool feeling. The weird thing is, that sometimes I feel like I can't even translate them. It's as though you can't just take French and turn it into English; it's not English it's French! French isn't it a translation of English, it's its own entity. That's what's so fascinating about it which I never understood until I went to France. Being completely immersed in another language is amazing. I'm completely convinced it's the best way to learn a language.
I think the reason I feel so attached to France, and like it's my second home, is because in a lot of ways I had to fend for myself. I had the advantage of staying with my mom's friend and her family, but other than that I had to sort of find my own way. I rode the bus every day and walked to classes and in the afternoon I explored the city and shopped for presents for my friends or I want on excursions with the program I was in. I got lost many times, especially my first few days there. As time went on though, I started to know Aix, and know how things were done, and how to get places. It felt like I really lived there, even though I only did for a month.
Wow, I really miss it.

Perfect Summer Heat

I'm really excited for summer. I love that feeling when it's getting dark out and you're hanging with your friends and you decide to go for a walk in the summer heat. Everything's kind of sticky. You're kind of sticky, your friends are kind of sticky; we're all sweating a bit and everyone sort of smells. But not too much, just enough to be vaguely noticeable and not quite offensive. It's a good kind of smell because it's real, and no one cares anymore because it's so damn humid and hot you can't do anything about it. I love that feeling when you're walking along and you push back your hair, and it's a little wet and a breeze comes along and cools your face and it feels like the best thing in the world. And you're just walking down the street with your friends, not really going anywhere that's an important destination (the Holden Honeyfarms perhaps?) because the destination doesn't really matter much. You're walking just to walk. And you're just singing and walking (and sometimes racing) with your friends. Perfect summer heat.
That's what summer is to me.

Young Victoria

I am writing about a movie again.
I just saw Young Victoria in theaters. I was really moved by it. It was a love story really, about the relationship between Queen Victoria and Prince Albert, but it was one of the most touching things I've seen in awhile. It was really well done; it was casted well and it was beautifully filmed.
I actually cried in the theater. Granted, it doesn't take much for me to cry while watching a movie; I'm a crier, but this movie made me cry more than usual. It wasn't just the few little tears it was actual, real crying. I felt personally affected by it somehow; more empathetic than sympathetic. The last time I cried like that in a theater I think was when I went to see The Lion the Witch and The Wardrobe. I cried during the scene where they cut Aslan's mane before they killed him. It just seemed so awful to me that they had to humiliate him so cruelly when he was being so noble.
I cried this time because there was one of those little write ups on the screen about what happened after the movie ended. It said that after Prince Albert died Victoria continued to lay out his clothes for him every day until she died in memory of him. I like to think that I don't go for sappy romantic things, and I really don't think that is sappily romantic. I think it's sad and beautiful in a real way, not a fake romantic way.
It was a beautiful movie, and it was sweet. It puts a good feeling in you after you see it, and it puts faith in you somehow. Like I said, I'm easily moved, but this movie moved me more than most.

A Streetcar Named Desire-STELLA!!!!!!!!

I've watched A Streetcar Named Desire twice in the past two days. It's just such a great play, and the movie is excellent. I think it might be my favorite play actually; Tennesee Williams was an amazing playwright. Everything he writes is so morbid, but for some reason I enjoy it so much. It's just beautiful poetry.
The acting is really good too. Vivien Leigh is the most convincing crazy person I've ever seen. She giggles at one point, and the camera is showing her from the back. She's all hunched over and gripping the wall and she giggles in this sinister, crazy way. And then of course there's Marlon Brando. He is incredible. He's absolutely perfect as Stanley Kowalski. I feel like no one will ever play that role again as good as he did it. He creates the perfect balance of sex appeal and asshole.
I've never been in a play that I knew beforehand besides A Christmas Carol I think. And I've never been in a drama before. It would be really cool to be in Streetcar but I don't think I could manage Blanche. I'm not good enough. I'd have to be Stella.
STELLA!!!!!!!!!!