A Non-Reccomend: Robin Hood 2010

Now this might seem like quite the pretentious undertaking to take on a movie that claims to be the: "Number one movie in the world!" But I've never been one to be easily intimidated, so this is no biggie.

A few nights ago I sat in my comfy pleather cinema seat, munching on over-buttered popcorn and dreaming up visions of epic grandeur as per perscribed in the bombastic previews I had veiwed over the last couple of months. Chalk it up to grandiose expectations or bad movie munchies but the movie really wasn't all that great. It was nothing more than a fancied up introduction to the original and well-loved story that we're all familiar with: Prince John is a cad is ticked off with Robin Hood, kidnaps maid Miriam, exploits the already sketchy and morally grey Sherriff of Nottingham, Prince John challenges Robin Hood to a duel of the archery sort and Robin wins, etc.. etc... Well, you might be shocked to know that none of these events, omitting the Prince John is a cad part, are run over in this film. It all is really an introduction, a pre-quel if you will...a two and a half hour pre-quel.

The whole time I was wanting the movie to just get on with it! Sure the parts where Robin puts together his and of merry men are sorta neat. Little John is portrayed by that brutish slash smarmy, in my opinon ,bad guy from Lost(Martin Keamy.) That was weird. Maid Miriam was sassy, contrary, predictable. Sadly, it was exactly that: the predictability of this movie that really killed it for me. Which was odd, considering I knew nothing of this "back story" in the first place!

Also- funnily- is that a word? While I was watching the movie, maybe in an attempt to entertain myself from the drudgery of the Number one Movie in the World! I kept thinking back upon Disney's rendition of the story, you know, the one where the characters are portrayed by fuzzy woodling creatures? Well I guess not all of them, some were elephants. Yup, that movie was better.

Positives? The Movie was pretty looking.

But don't take my word for it, see it for yourself and be deeply disapointed.

Awhile Away

I apologize ahead of time for apologizing again. I have yet again let a few or more weeks go by since my last update-dge. I'd like to say it won't happen again and that I'll be steadfast and dutiful to my blogging affiliation, I really would! Despite my absence I quite often think about this blog and how I'd like to be writing in it. Does intention count?

Wonderfully, the stage of life I'm in has put me in the midst of a whirlwind of good things, all of which take time and attention and emotional investment at that. You understand how difficult it is to communicate at all when exhausted. Let alone convene your thougths enough to put them down on paper. The sad scribblings in my journal, as of late, can testify to that. You wouldn't know to differentiate the words from the spaces, from the commas, from the doodles. It's just where my brain has been lately.

Some good things:

I auditioned for Glee.

Here's the link

No, I'm not taking this seriously. However! I will say it's been an elephant butt load of fun(the elephant here is to emphasize the immensity of fun. Some butts are just not that big,) not only to do the actual audition, which took numerous takes, but also to see the amount of support I've received. Something like 20,000 gold stars! Thanks guys for voting! I think that's good... though I'm sure in the end, and this is my theory, it'll turn out to be this whole big marketing scheme just to get people to watch Glee and they'll end up casting a professional. They always do. I think I'm the only person who remembered that open casting call they had for Home Alone 3 and how millions of snotty nosed 8-12 year olds swarmed to malls for a chance at cinematic glory. I actually thought Home Alone 3 was a riot. All that...just to hire a kid who was with a talent agency and had a resume. Like I said, marketing scheme...might I say, a genius one.

I had a photo shoot
As some of you might know! I like to dabble in the arts of singing and songwriting. A little more than dabble really. I remember a conversation with an olde, seasoned,famous ragtime musician and I remember him saying, " Honey, you know you're a career muscian when you can't help but do it. That's how you know." I remember being quite impacted by those words and the more I grow as a musician the more I realize how right he was. I truly can't help but do it. It's in my blood and how I was created *Psalm 13.* So I'm recording my ep this July and the photo shoot(s) for the album and website happened a few days ago. Honestly. So much fun! Know for sure that I'll post a link to the website once it launches in August. You'll be able to find it on itunes after September 14th( my launch date.) My muse is an olde, cruiser bicycle. Cannot WAIT for what is in store in the next few months.

Wedding(s) Glore!
Tis the season to be married! Fa la la la la, la la la la. Honestly, I have four this summer...maybe five. I'm not entirely sure if I'm invited to that one. I've sang in one and am in another( my bff Elaine is getting married!). The othes are fairly low key though there is still traveling to be had, gifts to be bought and bridal showers to attend. The way I've viewed weddings has changed over the years, at first with mild disdain for the amount of time required for me to sit still, then with weepy longing as a teeenager wondering mournfully if my time would ever come! Now, I like them! They're beautiful and I'm so into the late night dance parties. I like weddings...for the most part. All but the bouquet toss. I find myself finding an excuse to run to the bathroom whenever that dreadful occurrence happens. Why you might ask? Well! I don't know about you, but if you're single, weddings have a knack of reminding you of your single-hood about every .2 seconds. It gets even worse when most of your friends are also married and feel the compulsion to set you up with people, at the weddings, as to not make you feel as exposed, and to somehow commiserate in the sometimes awkwardness of this friend's existence in the midst of couplings. Another slightly uncomfortable occurrence is what happens to guys at weddings. Those of the male sex, who are normally footless, fancy free not wanting to be tied down kind of men outside of a marital celebration, once taken to a wedding suddenly seem to realize their impending biological clock. "Wow, this marriage thing is sorta Awesome! I want to get married!" Enter the bouquet toss... and every man, now with a heightened awareness of their single hood starts looking at the single ladies and wondering, " Ooo, is she wife material??" Nuhuh, don't act like you don't know what I'm taking about men. I know, because I do it too...that is exactly why I run to the restroom.

There really is so much more... but I gotta go. Check ya laters!

Recommendation #6

#6 Look it up!

This might shock some of you(:p) but I do, regularly, use a dictionary and a thesaurus! It is true. I realize that this might get me in trouble with some of the more serious bloggers who use the words "sagacious" and "dendrite" on a regular basis and would be thinking I'm playing a part when I use words that are more of the impressive genre but I'm not embarrassed to say it, I do look things up! Those who would judge once opened their Websters as well, whether they admit it or not, and I'll tell you why.

1) Because reading, where we often stumble upon new words, is not only an opportunity to use one's imagination but to expand one's knowledge. If I were to simply graze over the meaning of "presentiment," without a glance at my dictionary, I might just lose the meaning of a sentence, completely, which is a travesty in it of itself. The author used that word for a reason. But by not investigating it's meaning I am also limiting my current vocabulary and my ability to engage readers as similarly in my own writing. This leads me to my next point.

2) Why? Because a vocabulary adds to the beauty of composition. A sentence could read," The little boy was sad" but where is the luster, the pow, the piece de resistance in that? It is far more glorious to say,"The child was inconsolable, despondent, doleful," and I have inferred that dutiful inspection of a word as well as how that word is used is more than vital to one's writing. Otherwise, one finds their writing to become dull and tad bit boring, full of commonplace descriptors and analogies.

I have become more aware of the ever rarer population of word lovers and just simply, literature lovers nowadays and it sadly shows. It seems that one need only to listen to two people converse in a coffee shop, a bar, the gym, at Panera to know that we have become nothing more than primordial sloths limited to uninspired discourse: " And like, she didn't have to say that, it was completely rude and stupid." " Ya, she was a total !@#% to you." Now please, don't get me wrong, I am not a grammatical nazi who gets hacked off every time someone uses the word "like" too much or uses a word incorrectly. I'm guilty on both counts of literary negligence. However, it does cause me to wonder about our future children whose vocabulary will be nothing more then a collection of primary sentiments and colorful expletives.

So I guess there are two recommends here, in one. 1) Read more folks! 2) And look up your dang words!

The manner in which we communicate separates us from the animal kingdom. Those of which are limited to grunting, barking and a variety of other noises. I don't know about you, but I much prefer words.

P.S. If you're reading this, odds are you hold some respect for literacy. I realize I'm preaching to the choir.

Recommendation #5

#5. Writing in your blog

So, just as I was about to rest my weary feetsies from a hard day's work of cooking and burning a traditional Puerto Rican meal(yes it did take me all day;) I remembered a statement I made this morning to my buddy Steven: " I will write in my blog today;" and integrity prevented me from taking my Nyquil and hitting the hay. Yes, I do realize it is no longer today where I am in Texas but it is in California(where Steven resides) and this blissfully means I have two more solid hours before it is, in fact, no longer today. Woho!

Time Zones are sweet.

So hello guys! Aw, it has been way to long. Some of you might be wondering, "What happened?" "Did you die!?" What dramatic occurrence awakened you from your blogging sleep to, gasp, post in your blog? Well, no, I didn't die. That's a dumb question. I came back because of a comment ole Stevo, as previously mentioned, made on his Facebook Status:

"The World is Full of Neglected Blogs."

Reading that dug a spear into my heart engraved with the words, Conviction. It's been awhile. Of course, as many, I have a list of very acceptable excuses! I have been busy, I have been distracted and I have been pre-occupied with to-do(ery.) It is a very affirming feeling to have checked off your way through your day. *Write in Blog never seemed to get crossed out though and why?

Because I was scared.

I know! It may sound ridiculous and I'll concede, maybe somewhat confusing. But this blog became an ominous cloud of intimidation. A dutiful occupation that had begun to suck me dry of all my literary inspiration, as minuet as it may be. People liked reading what I wrote (imagine that!) and the knowledge of that grew into a grappling fear of possibly producing material that people would not want to read. "Would they still like me?" I asked. Really, Nichole, are you five years old? The more I grow older the more I realize that we all are still snotty nosed children fearful of not being chosen. But that's for another time.

So, you're right Stevie. There are a whole lot of neglected blogs floating around our internetary hemisphere and thanks for the reminder. I don't want to be one of them. I gave this blog the title that it has because of my commitment to being true about myself. I guess I mentally got away from that, from me.

Here's to you, Blog, you winding array of musings and ruminations. I've ignored you far too long. I'm still Nichole, nonetheless.

Cat Whisperer

My Grandpa is finally home! Hurray and Hallelujah! Although the past two weeks have been fraught with stress and tribulation and more to come, there have been many bright rays of funnies to lighten up the dreariness. Here is one of my favorites.

Being here in Puerto Rico is always an "experience." I say that because I never leave without a armful of memorables and hysterical stories. What can I say, the Island's good to me. As you might have assumed I have been staying at my Grandparents house. There are so many shadows of childhood scattered about this place and finding myself lost in thought is not uncommon. However, for all it's charm, it comes with it's fair share of interesting.

Their house is in fact situated in the bustling metropolis of greater San Juan; Otherwise known as, the Jetto or Ghetto for all my literal folks. As a child I don't remember it being as it is now, a sprawling collection of bus driving, reggaeton blaring, poultry raising crazies but it is what it is and at least my Grandparents aren't in want of company.

My moment of enlightenment came my first night. I was exhausted from my non-stop flight from LAX to San Juan earlier that morning, which was quite a unforgettable affair enough as it was. There I was, in the middle seat. To my right the businessman, nothing too exciting there but to my left a women sporting ski pants. What an absorbing choice considering we were Caribbean bound. I had been catching up on LOST and even considered the ludicrous notion that perhaps she too had ventured into an icey room, spun the magic wheel, moved the island and hadn't yet had time to change. For those who are not as ridiculously addicted as I am to the show and have no idea what I'm talking about. I apologize. I eventually decided against asking why she had curiously chosen that trouser, for fear that perhaps I was just seeing things and then that would just be awkward." Uh, these are jeans." Anyways, I digress.

The first night I fell asleep to the sound of chirping frogs, various insects... my neighbors off pitch Luis Fonsi memorials. I was too fatigued to care. However, at about two o'clock in the morning the fun began. At first, it was a dwarfish moan, and then another equally so would follow after a few seconds. It sounded like someone was calling for help. I turned over and drew my teddy closer, telling myself I was just hearing things and "don't be ridiculous." Yet there it was again! This time the pleas weren't spaced apart but were becoming all the more rapid. High pitched and feverish I buried my head in my pillow in attempt to escape the screams now that were filling my ears. As they reached a climax I sprung out of bed and like a ninny, rushed, well more like hobbled, to my Aunt and shook her awake. " TiTi. Do you hear the voices!?" I demanded. You could just imagine the look on her face as her dreary eyed neice shook her awake because she claimed to be hearing "voices." She handled it well I think. " No, Nichole, those are just some cats. Go back to bed." I didn't believe her, instead I opted to sleep with my Aunt. I was a tad shaken up and made a pact to lay off the LOST marathons.

As our neighbor drove us to the Hospital the next morning my aunt in the midst of lighthearted and cordial conversation mentioned the story to Dona Erma. As my Aunt recounted the prior night's events Dona Erma began to laugh and laugh...and laugh some more. As my spanish was a little rusty and I was still weary from my lack of sleep I couldn't make sense of my eldery chauffeurs response. What's so funny? I asked. She paused from her delight and responded: "Los gatos esta enamorado." Which translates to: They were doing the do.

In fact, I wasn't awakened by desperate pleas for help but instead by they orgasmic cries of some neighborhood cats. I couldn't help but laugh right along with her. Since that restless night I have purchased "ear seal" earplugs which although will keep me joyously traversing through dreamland might perhaps kill me if ever there was a situation where hearing was necessary, burning house, shrouded intruder for instance. I would have done anything to keep from being awakened by those feline wails again though. So that's a risk I'm more then willing to take.

To be honest though, a small part of me still wonders... if maybe, I'm a cat whisperer.

Press Pause

Mi Abuelo

As some of you might know, I was called away to Puerto Rico due to my Grandpa's recently failing health. I have, since Wednesday, been back on the island and the next few posts will most likely be about my time here.

Her voice had cracked...

of all the things that brought the severity of my Abuelo's condition into reality it was this that began the journey.

My aunt has never been one to be completly forthcoming with her emotions. As the eldest in her family as well, she and I struggle with the same condition. For us, it is a matter of caring for the family and feelings must come later. At that very moment I knew...I knew that the following days would change my life forever.

Arriving at the hospital Abuela ushered my Aunt and I into his room, his bed was a mess of tubes and wires. I gingerly made my way to his side as though my steps might somehow add to the obvious pain he was in. There he was: Abuelo. Each breath a struggle and as his heart monitor did beat at an irregular pace I grabbed his hand to steady my own. I gazed upon a frail and tiny man, his body covered in sun spots and his skin appearing oddly yellow. When his eyes would open periodically to gaze at the ceiling I thought perhaps he was seeing Angels. Hanging upon every unintelligible word that he uttered we hoped he would emerge from the medicinal sleep he had been put under for his benefit.

I couldn't help myself, I began to cry. My Grandpa had been the one to hold my bicycle secure, he had clasped my hand in his as we crossed the street and he had been the one that, as I child, I had looked to for strength. He had never looked helpless in his life. Yet, here he was, weak and close to breakable and I was powerless to help him.

A story that Grandpa loved to tease me with came to mind and I share it now with you.

I had come to visit Puerto Rico when I was five years old and, at the time, loved to play house. What five year old doesn't? So, I had taken Grandpa to the bedroom, as it was way past his bedtime, and proceeded, in gustapo-like fashion, to refuse to let him get up. "Can I get up now?" He would plead. " No!" Would be my stern reply. This went on for a good few minuets; he would implore and I would similarly deny each request. Finally, daddy came in to distract me with ice cream and bedtime was soon forgotten.

As I sat studying my Grandpa as he slept. I couldn't deny the knawing throb at the back of my heart. The knowledge that there would be no such discussion this time. I would not be granted to gift of acquiescence.

If it was his time to go, it was his time to go... with or without my permission.

Right now Grandpa remains in ICU. Though his body is slowly improving his mind has not. He is in and out of lucidity. Please continue to pray for his increased health, body, heart and mind. I find great comfort in Psalms 147:1 & 3 and Psalms 34:1.

"Praise the LORD. How good it is to sing praises to our God...He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds."

"Taste and see that the Lord is good. 'I will bless the LORD at all times; his praise shall continually be in my mouth.'"

The Lord is the great physician and whether He calls my Grandpa home our heals him completely I know that in every circumstance He is good. Thank you for your prayers.

Recommedation #4

#4. Not trying to cut your own bangs.

For my fourth recommend I thought I'd switch it around a bit and rather then suggesting, I would not suggest cutting your own bangs. For most, the prior statement might be a no-brainer. I can barely cut in a straight line, why would I take that risk with something on my face?

Well, for me it wasn't that obvious and I eagerly took it upon myself to redeem the otherwise terrifying notion. I would cut my bangs and do a smashing job! My choice to attempt the alteration on my own was influenced mostly by my boredom and my pocketbook. Seeing as my mother had taken me to the hair salon not two weeks prior and paid for a trim of my swooshy side bangs, it seemed wasteful to pay another thirty dollars for my new desired look. Also, I was po' and had no monies. So, armed with my brothers comb and a pair of scissors, I absconded from my mothers sewing basket, I set out on the grand adventure of hairstyle(ary).

So far the only instruction I had received on the cutting of bangs was a brief, though thorough, lesson from a family friend last summer. I'm sorry to admit but I remembered very little of the seminar except that cutting bangs is a lot harder then it looks. I amended this misfortune by watching many a youtube video. I learned quite a bit. For instance, one should never cut straight across, remember the whole inability to cut a straight line deal? Turns out it applies to hair too. My favorite tutorial involved a charming Asian women warning of the dangers of bang alteration with: "Ma Sur tu cuh na tu fah, o you wi hae coconut head." Translation: If you cut too much hair you will look like Friar Tuck. I'll admit, this scared me a little. I surely did not want to walk around with hair resembling a tropical fruit, or a monk for that matter, so I made sure not to get too trigger happy. I would only cut what I needed to.

To be honest, the whole deal went on without a hitch. Other than getting hair everywhere and cutting off a piece of my eyelid we were smooth sailing. I made sure to cut whilst heeding every bit of instruction and was quite proud of the results. The problem, occured a day later. I was putting in my contacts in the morning and soon thereafter checked on the wounded eyelid. It was healing up nicely. Imagine my shock when I glanced above the cut and saw a wide gash in my eyebrow; I had sliced off the middle of it. As I mentioned before, because you are not advised to cut straight across, hairstylists encourage the vertical technique. This is where the sissors cut upward into the bangs rather than side to side. Seems I got a little over zealous and decided to trim my eyebrow as well.

I partially blame my mother's sewing scissors for my slip, they were unexpectedly sharp; even though it was either them or the scrapbooking option that would have made my hair look like lace. I don't even know if it would have been possible to use those anyway. Eh, it was a thought. So, really I had no alternative. Funny, eyebrows, though small, when missing makes one look almost inhuman. If anything, I can now sympathisize with dear Wormtounge from Lord of the Rings and that guy in Arrested Development who had that hair condition, though I'm sure I'm being dramatic. Anyone remember that guy's name by the way? To clarify, I still have both eyebrows. It's just that one looks a tad more devil may care. I'm bound to draw it in for the next four months it takes to regrow.

If you're willing to risk cutting your own bangs ladies, be my guest. In the wise words of my Asian friend: "Ma Sur tu cuh na tu fah"... or you will slice off your eyebrow.