some excerpts from reviews of Where the Wild Things Are. I have the feeling that this movie is going to make me tear up.
"...scarier is the prospect of not fitting in. Of not being understood. Of being alone. Of seeing your family group fall apart. Of having change come in and take away everything you know. Of loving so much... and not quite being loved the same way in return. ...every happy moment is bittersweet because you can be sure it will be offset by something hurtful or sad. And Max isn't just feeling the pain, he's inflicting it. In a dirt clod war he eggs on his teammates to keep pummeling a helpless and injured enemy just because they have the upper hand and they can. At the opening of the film Max is reduced to tears when his sister's big friends take a snowball fight too far and smash his snow fort; living with the Wild Things he does the same to someone more helpless than he was. Jonze doesn't comment on this, he doesn't go out of his way to draw parallels.
...This isn't a story that usually gets told in movies - films have a very specific set of outcasts and troubled kids, and well-meaning angry creative fuck-ups like Max and me and Spike Jonze and probably you aren't in that set - and it definitely never gets told from the point of view of the kid. " (chud.com)

"a film that often dazzles during its quietest moments, as when Max sets sail, and you intuit his pluck and will from the close-ups of him staring into the unknown. He looms large here, as we do inside our heads. But when the view abruptly shifts to an overhead shot, you see that the boat is simply a speck amid an overwhelming vastness. This is the human condition, in two eloquent images. " NYTimes

So far the promised G20 protests have been a bust, in Oakland atleast. Lawrenceville/Bloomfield featued some truly exceptional idiots who decided to throw bottles at cops and roll dumpsters towards them. Not amused, the cops fired tear gas back. The march didn't have a permit, so what'd they expect? We'll see what occurs tomorrow.

Waiting to hear back about my job. Thoroughly enjoying my ha&a class- am undertaking a hugely difficult provenance project related to a 1640 Simon Vouet piece, a minor work by a minor artist. All the original sources are unavailable and in archaic French. I suppose I'll be brushing up on the passe simple. Italian teacher is incredibly good looking- fulfilling many of my attractiveness criteria- foreign, older, brown hair. Maybe this all stems from the first boy I ever loved, and maybe not, but I have this desire to for him to tutor me in the ways of amore.

i love you i love you- and why? Some days I feel like a Frank O'Hara poem- I do this, I do that- "I can't even enjoy a blade of grass unless I know there's a subway handy, or a record store or some other sign that people do not totally regret life". And how- I want to be that girl who slinks on the street, platforms pounding, drapey clothes that flirt with the idea of menswear, an Alexander Wang model impersonator.

i thought up this long dramatic message i would send JB over the internet or somthng, assuming i had some balls. friends with benefits doesnt fuckign work kids, eventually the friendship goes away and it's just awkward. or you want to go back to just being friends who didnt touch, and how does one go back from such a thing?

i thought about the way things used to be and whether he ever missed them. simpler times, freshman or sophomore year. when we would all gather at his mother's house on wornall, take the creaky stairs up to his room. all 6 or so of us would fit on the bed, hazy light streaming in from the windows. sporadic tickling matches. watching the computer. sneaking wine and such from his mother- I have a very clear memory of us all sitting around drinking scotch, around the time "anchorman" the movie came out so it was fashionable, and i mixed with red bull. grimacing at the taste of alcohol. Megan would also try to show us her tits, sometimes she and max would drive somewhere to fuck or as they called it "going to McDonalds". once they screwed in JB's little brother's bed and Max came out holding the used condom in his hand and threatened to smear semen on us all. in the fall and spring we'd either sit on the porch or go out back to smoke. we had a leaf fight one- i'm not sure why this made an impression on me. another time James Linnea Nate and I all drove up to Lawrence one day (it was spring break), Nate making us go to blockbuster on the way home to rent Gladiator of all things, yet when we put it on the tv in the little foyer upstairs he and Linnea ended up rolling around making out, while Jb and I watched the movie uncomfortably.

i think about the way he and i eventually slept together, on S's 19th birthday of all days, when we're all drunk in the park and he suggests we go on a walk to sober up with Stephan and the others stay behind. We end up in the rose garden and he slurs at me "don't regret this okay" before going in for the kill. half-fucking on a park bench. Jessica and her punk boyfriend Taylor end up awkwardly driving us back to James' house where I weirdly spend the night with him. waking up at 7am to him getting ready to leave to drive to his mom's house. he leaves first, i leave next but forget my wallet. i called him to ask how to get back in, he doesnt pick up the call. my heart fucking breaks, not because i had any feelings for him but because i felt used. run inside, get my wallet, drive halfway home and call Stephan to make sure he hasn't died of alcohol poisoning (19 shots, apparently walked home, ended up in a hammock with cake on his face). in retrospect i feel like i should've seen it coming, a few weeks before James Steph and I had gotten drunk at my house and J had cornered me and felt my breast, and on the drive home Steph told me later that J told him he "thought" he wanted to sleep with me. and what am i, some fuck-object for these brown-eyed men? when James gets drunk he'll sometimes ask who was better in bed, him or S. do i stroke his ego or tell the truth? who fucking asks that?

how does one fucking go back from that? slept together maybe twice after that, i think because i felt obligated to at that point. everytime he and i would drink alone i'd be on edge worrying he'd make an advance and that i drunkenly would acquiesce. and now nothings the same, there's a tension. i would give the world to go back to before it all happened. i just want my friend back. we've grown apart and i hate that it happened.

paris came and went too quickly, so quick i couldnt keep up the updates. now there's a city i want to live in

 Wednesday- start off by metro'ing to Bastille stop. The newer Opera is ugly. Wander around the Marais. Briefly duck into Musee Carnavalet- too tired to see much. Place des Vosges is sooooooo pretty and I love all the cute little French children who are well dressed- maybe because the French have fewer kids they can afford to treat them well??/ Musee Picasso as well, old townhouse with a very modern interior that doesn't flow well, too many tiny rooms with mirrored walls. Rue de Rosiers for lunch at L'As du Fallafel- sat inside lol had a great imported Israeli beer called Maccabee. 

tbc

 Tuesday-  mom and sonia sent me out to Eric Kayser on Ternes to pick up a lovely baguette aux cereales. Metro'd to the Musee d;Orsay- absolutely stunning museum, I love the quatrefoils on the ceiling, the collection was incredible. Nobody was arround Manet's Olympia or Dejeuner- everyone was crowding around Millet's the Gleaners- yuck!! Loved the Carpeaux bronze of Ugolino and his sons- the Dante fan in me was pleased. Walked to little bistro Le Cing Mars- again only 17e for app plus main. App was some sort of mushroom soup (non cream based? soup maybe isnt the right word). Main was fucking delish veal (which I never mever eat) in a tomato-y herb sauce with potato- the best food yet. Desert was a delightful greek/plain yaogurt (though they called it 'white cheese') with high quality honey. Walked to the Rodin Museum- stunning. It's located in R's old house, beautiful hotel particuliere with a great garden with all of his masterpieces- Balzac, Thinker, Burghers of Calais, Ugolino, Gates of Hell

St Germain des Pres- had coffee and tea at Cafe de Flore- spotted the editor in chief of Vogue Italia walking in (I murmured oh my god to my mom). Bought cute tiedye tights at Am App. Delish macarons from Pierre Herme which again went well until Sonia busted out in English- the guy who had winked at me when we walked in soon turned to cute teasing- we ordered one Isphahan and he says "not three?" non- pour partager. Chercheminippes.  Then to Bon Marche where we saw the singer Pink speaking English and freaking out about all the products- one of her male companions looked excited that we were speaking English