Sunday, June 23, 2013
Or, Why I’m Fed Up With the
Posted by Emma at 6:49 PM
Friday, May 03, 2013
Let's take a moment to enter an alternate universe where I am the casting director. Notice that I said the. Because in this alternate universe, I am the only person in charge of casting movies that I want to see. And just at the moment, in this alternate universe, I am casting The Scarlet Pimpernel.
Percival Blakeney: Ioan Gruffudd
|somewhere in this parallel reality Benedict Cumberbatch is crying|
Marguerite Blakeney: Natalie Dormer
|i think she knows a lot of secrets ok|
Chauvelin: Martin Freeman
|hedgehog filled with rage|
Armand St. Just: Aidan Turner
|googling him was a real trial|
Sir Andrew Ffoulkes: Tom Hiddleston
|a puppy is born every time he smiles|
Suzanne de Tourney: Imogen Poots
|ignore the fact that her name sounds like a cute way of saying "fart"|
The Comte and Comtesse de Tourney: Colin Firth and Elizabeth McGovern
|you'll always be Darcy to me|
Posted by Emma at 9:12 PM
Friday, March 29, 2013
So I started a new job on Tuesday.
Now, don't get me wrong -- this is good. Like, super good. It means I'm in the home stretch of paying my dues. It means I have the potential to grow and grow and grow. It means in many ways, I'm now my own boss. It means better hours, better pay, better clientele.
But it also means a new job. Ugh, scary.
One quick thing you should probably know about me: I'm scared of everything. I'm scared of burning my lips on hot coffee and I'm afraid of talking on the phone and I'm terrified that my car will be stolen. Don't get me started on being home alone when it's dark out. Ghosties and gremlins and filing my taxes. Most of all, new things frighten me. New faces, new places, new stages. So a new job is a mingled thing. It's good, and it's scary.
After a tepid first day, in which I was pretty much an unpaid receptionist, I felt a little spooked. Oh no, I thought. This isn't going to work. There were layers upon layers of insecurity all starting to boil and bubble and stir. I won't get into all of it, because it's ugly. The point is, I was not a happy camper on the drive to my second day of work. The only things I could think about were how alone I felt, how insignificant my contribution seemed to be, and how much I wanted to go back home.
God works in funny ways. This time, He reached through the radio and put His arms around me by means of a song that has been very comforting many times before -- Home by Phillip Phillips.
I think God can redeem what might have been intended as a frivolous, worldly song and use to to speak directly to us. There have been lots of times when I've heard songs on the radio and felt the voice of God saying "Hey, listen up, the rest of these lyrics are not applicable, but I'm saying don't you worry child directly to you." So hearing settle down, you're not alone, you might feel lost and overwhelmed but I know exactly where you are while I was wallowing in self-doubt -- well then!
I wish I could say that poof! That made all the difficulties of a new job just disappear, or that my fear completely evaporated, or that I'm now raking in fistfuls of money. Those things haven't happened. But I serve a God Who not only has the grand design in place, but also paints with a fine brush. I am grateful that my God cares for me in even in such a little thing as being afraid of new places.
Tuesday, January 01, 2013
Not too long ago I went to a contra dance at State. Once upon a time, I went with a a big group of people so it was quite the social event, but in later years that group has dwindled and often I go alone. When that happens, I like to bring a book to read during the twenty-minute intermission because a) I don't want to talk to anybody and b) books are awesome.
This time I had Fahrenheit 451 laying face-up next to me as I sat during the first waltz of the intermission. I was on the floor, huddled over my cell and obviously not interested in human contact. Mid-text, I noticed a pair of sneakers walk up purposefully and then stop, facing me. I gave it a hot minute, hoping the sneakers would go away, but after a moment I realized I shouldn't be rude. I glanced up with my practiced combination of a winning smile and a questioning quirk.
"That's some pwetty heavy weeding matewiel," said the person attached to the sneakers -- a somewhat acneic, soft-featured manboy that had gotten lost in the gap between puberty and adulthood. I wish I could say that I'm making the lisp up, but I'm not.
Stunned by his gracious opener, I fumbled for words. "I...? enjoy... it?" I finally managed, every syllable a question.
"That's pwetty sewious weeding matewiel for yow fwee time," he elaborated, as if reading classic novels outside of school is either to be commended as high learning, or shunned for pretension.
Still reeling from the sheer awkwardness of the whole situation and struggling to control my wild fight-or-flight instinct, I too attempted to clarify my side of our conversation. "I'm... re-reading it?"
"That's pwetty sewious weeding," he said again with a sanguine nod. "I myself am mow into manga."
In that moment, time slowed down and everything came into crystalline clarity. He is actually chatting me up right now. This is genuinely his actual real-life pick-up line. Bless.
"Ooh," I said slowly, closing my eyes and tilting my head back in a thoughtful yet mildly horrified gesture. I have to emphasize the fact that I closed my eyes for no more than one second, because in that second that it took me to close my eyes and then open them again...
HE HAD STARTED RUNNING AND GOTTEN THREE FULL PACES AWAY
I CAN'T EVEN
He didn't acknowledge me for the rest of the night.