I’m a writer

Every Thursday morning, at 7:00 AM, a friend and I meet for coffee.  We’ve become something of regulars, meaning we often hobnob with other regulars. Yesterday, one such regular made a beeline for me.

“Before I leave, there’s just something I’ve got to get off my chest,” he said.

A bit alarming, but okay…

The week before, you see, he mentioned my friend could grace the cover of a magazine. He said nothing of the sort to me. Apparently, the comment haunted him all week; he simply had to make sure he had not crushed my spirit.

Here’s the thing, my friend is always, always, prepared to stand-in for a cover shoot, should the need arise. The week before she had a large red flower in her hair . . . to meet a friend for coffee . . . at 7:00 AM.  She did look as though she could grace the cover of a magazine. I, my friends, did not. Needless to say, the poor gentleman was all a-fret for naught. All the same, my friend decided to help.

Here’s how it went down . . .

Friend: Here’s what you need to know about Amy . . . Amy is a writer.

Me: {nodding solemnly} Yes, I’m practically expected to be frumpy.

Me & Gentleman: {chuckling amongst ourselves}

Friend: But if only you could read her words . . . her words are beautiful!

Me: My beauty, is my words.

Me & Gentleman: {chuckling amongst ourselves}

Friend: And here’s what you need to know about me: I was raised by two hair dressers; I’ve been in performance my whole life; I understand the importance of aesthetics.

Me & Gentleman: {awkward silence}

But oh the gift this conversation has given me, and every other writer, for that matter. Just think of the possibilities: caught in public without makeup; bad hair day; that weak moment wherein you think you’ll sneak out to get gas in your sweats, only to happen upon the man of your dreams.  No longer do we have to slink off in silence. Oh no, my friends. We can stand up tall, look ’em in the eye and say, I’m a writer . . . and all will be well.

A promise

My mom and I were chatting about horrible movies–specifically the embarrassment of having someone catch you emerging from the theatre of a horrible movie–when she mentioned her blood clot.  Apparently, when we were at the theatre watching Twilight she had this weird pain in her leg.  Being the medical professional that she is, a blood clot came to mind. 

Of course, it wasn’t the idea of having a blood clot or throwing said blood clot that terrified her.  It was the thought of dying in the theatre of Twilight.  People would know.  Not only the people in the theatre, but countless others would see as they carried her lifeless body from the theatre.  Good heavens!  She might even make the news!  And she would be dead!  She couldn’t explain that yes, she was old enough to know better–but she was being a good mother.  Her daughter (who, she might add, is also old enough to know better) insisted they give the movie a go!!! 

The mere thought was the more than she could bare.   

She made me promise, right then and there, if she ever dies, in public, while watching a questionable movie, that I refrain from sobbing, screaming, or otherwise-drawing-attention to myself until I have at least dragged her corpse into in the theatre of a decent movie. 

I promised.  As long as she promised not to do such a wretched thing.  I mean really–a bad movie is traumatizing enough!

Les Choristes (2004)

Rating: PG-13 (language, sexual reference, violence)

Genre: Drama

Language: French – English subtitles

The gist: Set in 1948, Les Choristes is the story of Clément Mathieu (Gérard Jugnot), a composer who has all but given up on his music. He accepts a Supervisory position at Fond de l’ Etang (“Bottom of the Well”) – a boarding school for orphans and problematic boys. Despite the fact that the school is administered by the cruel Rachin (François Berléand), problems abound. In an attempt to keep the boys from trouble, Monsieur Clément begins to teach them music. Along the way he discovers the musical ability of the rebel Pierre Morhange (Jean-Baptiste Maunier), the charm of Pierre’s single mother, Violette (Marie Bunel), and the unwavering hope of young Pépinot (Maxence Perrin) – the orphan boy who waits near the gate, every Saturday, for his father’s return. Though not as he might have envisioned, Clement’s brief stint at Fond de l’ Etang will change everyone’s life forever.

My take: Les Choristes is a charming look at a few of the forgotten ones, following WWII. Directed by Christophe Barratier, the story generates laughter one minute, tears the next. Subtle themes speak of the need to feel connected, the importance of a father figure. The boys do their own singing – and their voices are angelic. While all the actors perform well, Gérard Jugnot deserves extra kudos. His portrayal of the kind-hearted Clément Mathieu creates a character both easy to believe and easy to love. More than anything, however, the film is a simple tribute to the human spirit. For that alone I would recommend this film; the talents of the writers, director, actors and film crew are but added perks.

An aside: Don’t pass over a movie simply because it is not in your native language. Sure, reading subtitles may prove a bit awkward at first, but it will come naturally before you know it. Foreign films offer a glimpse into another culture – not to mention, they open a whole new world of great films.

The infamous 25

25_things

I’ve been tagged so many times my head is spinning.  So this is it.  I’m giving in.  I’m saying yes to the almighty internet meme.  For those of you who could care less, I’ve blabbered on long enough for you to take a hint and head elsewhere.  So without further ado, twenty-five FACINATING facts about me:

1. I’m an introverted extravert – the oddball extravert – whatever you want to call it, but I’m right smack-dab down the middle of the two.

2. I hate to be the center of attention. Hate it, with a capital “H” – as a matter of fact, there’s probably not a strong enough word to describe how I despise …  

3. If my voice carried – at all – I would be on stage.

4. Books make me giddy. Seriously … giddy.

5. I love stories. I love to hear them, watch them, read them, and write them. Before I could write, I would dictate stories, my grandma would pen them and I would illustrate; the first story I wrote myself was called “The Love Sick Frog” – I still have it.

6. I have never had a burning desire to be published. Which at the rate I’m going, is probably a good thing.

7. If I ever do get published: 1) it will be in large part due to the tireless encouragement of my family and friends; and 2) it will be under my pen name, A.J. Ikenberry – which is made up of my first and middle initial (obviously) and my great-grandmother’s maiden name.

8. There just aren’t enough opportunities for me to use my fountain pens and wax seal. Sigh. Pity.

9. My first “boyfriend” was a little towhead named Jesse; we fell in love on the playground in second grade.

10. In third grade, I moved to “the big city” and informed Jesse – over the phone – that we could no longer “go out.” What I didn’t tell him was I was already going out with two other boys. (In my defense, the boys were best friends and they bet one another who I would choose … then handed me the notes at the same time. I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t choose one over the other, so I checked “YES” on both. Personally, I think they were secretly relieved because it was a very jovial threesome.)

11. I’ve worked a wide variety of jobs – including one that could be featured on an episode of “dirty jobs.” The things I had to do were definitely not right – but I like to think the work added to my glowing character.

12. If I ever get a tattoo, I’ll have my brother design it and get it on the small of my back. That’s right, a tramp stamp … which is a little ironic.

13. I tend to avoid pain like the plague. Ere go, #12 will probably never happen.

14. Tony Bennett may have left his heart in San Francisco, but I left mine in Copenhagen.

15. In elementary school, I once saved my friends from most certain death when I kept two of the-most-vicious-Dobermans-in-the-neighborhood at bay with my violin case – all while humming my own theme song. Okay, I didn’t really hum. But only because I was too busy yelling at my friends for leaving me to die alone.

16. My family keeps me strong. We may not always agree. We may disappoint. We may even occasionally break one’s heart. But we always love each other. And we laugh. A lot. When we get together I can usually count on laughing until I cry.

17. When it’s just the two of us, my mom and I like to make-up dialogues from various encounters throughout the day. It may consist of putting words in someone’s mouth – or maybe it’s something we wish we could have said. Yes, we are hi-larious … thanks for asking …

18. When I was a teenager, I awoke one morning convinced God had told me Hollywood was my calling. It wasn’t the fame, or the fortune, it was just the way it was. I didn’t think it impossible, or crazy – even when my friends and family looked at me as if I was – because God had told me. And that was that.

19. I think it’s sad too often “maturing” means we no longer believe God has grand plans for our lives.

20. Graceful. Wouldn’t that be lovely? But, alas, I’m a klutz of such magnanimous proportions that I’m a danger to myself and others. I actually smacked into a pillar during an interview once. I kid you not. Wrapped my arms around the sucker and everything. Thankfully, it was a non-profit; compassion must have won out because I still managed to get the job.

21. One of my far-off dreams consists of having my own clothing line – vintage inspired, naturally.

22. Despite the fact that my life seems to be made up of lessons-in-patience, I fail miserably on the subject.

23. I cannot imagine life without music. I love all sorts and varieties, from classical to reggae – however, more often than not jazz gets on my last and final nerve.

24. The first two songs I learned to sing were Jesus Loves Me and The Gambler. Really, what more do you need to know in life?

25. My life to date is nothing of what I had envisioned. Yet looking back, there is nothing I would change. All the people I’ve encountered, all the moments that have made up my life – the good, the bad, the ugly – they’ve made me who I am today; and that may be just the person to change a life tomorrow…

Merry Christmas

“But the angel said to them, ‘Do not be afraid. I bring you good news of great joy that will be for all people. Today, in the town of David a Savior has been born to you; he is Christ the Lord.” –Luke 2:10-11

There they were, in the darkest of nights, keeping watch over their flocks. They had no idea that the God of the Universe had His eye on them. Who would? They were shepherds. Most the younger sons of peasant farmers, they had no land to call their own. No family. They lived a life separate from society; a life focused on the flock in their care. But God knew everything about those shepherds – from each hair atop their heads, to the grime on the bottom of their feet. He knew each name, each face, each scent. He knew from whence they came and the direction they were heading; He knew their hopes, disappointments, worries, and regrets. He knew they needed saving. He knows the same of us. He could have rescued us from afar. Instead he sent His most precious possession to the muck and mire of our lives – tangible proof that He’s in our corner. We turn our backs on Him; he continues to pursue us. We work ourselves into a wretched state; He sends salvation. And He’s never closer than in the darkness of night; when all seems lost, that’s when His light shines brightest. If we but take our eyes off our circumstances and look up, we’ll find the message is the same: Do not fear; I bring you good news of GREAT joy…