Where No Woman Has Gone Before?

I just walked out of “Star Trek.”  I’m embarrassed to say it took me this long to see it, being that I am a fan.  But I am the first to point out my faults.  So let me sum this up quick, as I must retire to bed.

Holy crap!

Whatever your thoughts may be on the film, I was blown away.  I thought it was incredible.  And visually, couldn’t have been more happy with it.  Daniel Mindel is one of my favorite cinematographers.  He insisted that the film be shot in anamorphic format.  Which furthers my argument, you just can’t recreate the look of film yet.  And the lens flares.  Uh, beautiful.  I could go deeper into my appreciation for the visual aspects of the film (and maybe will later), but I have something more important to discuss with you.

I think I’m in love with a Vulcan.  Not Zachary Quinto, but perhaps Zachary Quinto AS Spock.  Pointy ears, bowl-ish haircut, eyebrows up to there. If I saw him in person, with all that hotness, I don’t believe I’d be able to contain myself.  I’ve never really had an attraction to these fantasy-type creatures.  I didn’t get the Legolas thing. Don’t get me wrong, I love Lord of the Rings.  I’m just not into skinny dudes with long white hair, who, if I tried hard enough, could probably take him out myself.  Being that he’s practically the size of my pinky.  And granted he wasn’t packing his trusty bow and arrow.

But… I do get Spock.  I think it’s the smart guy thing.  Ah man.  Gets me every time!  I feel like a man in love with Princess Leia when she was a prisoner for Jaba.  I get it now.  I’m lovesick for Spock.

And doggonit, I was teary-eyed through out the whole film.  Happy tears.  I haven’t felt that inspired or excited walking out of a movie in a very long time.  I was cheering and screaming every time a character was introduced and then began to realize I was THE ONLY person who seemed to be yelling (besides Mila of course who ended up joining me).  But you know what? That didn’t stop me.  I kept going.  In fact, I got louder.  For me, it was the movie going experience that I long for.  We felt like cadets of the Starfleet, walking out of that theater.

Anyway, to wrap this up so I can head to bed:

I’m basically pining for Spock, hoping he’ll be in my dreams.  Where we’ll stay up all night talking of science, solving math equations and playing 3 dimensional chess.  He’ll serenade me with the Vulcan lute, he’ll tell me of his innovations in time travel and the warp drive cold start… And me… Well… Bring out his human side.

And that sounded terrible.  But I frankly don’t care.  Dammit man, I’m in love!

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My Brave Valentine

I went to go see my Dad today.  At the Forrest Lawn Cemetery in the Morning Star section.  It’s quite beautiful there, but good grief, it was a circus trying to get in the place.  Apparently everyone else had the idea to go spend the day with their dead Dads.  Now, I realize I’m sounding slightly morbid, but I think you guys will get used to the way I talk.  I didn’t go see him there today because I think he floats around Forrest Lawn.  Or to have one of those cinematic moments where you look up at the sky and go “Hey Dad, it’s me.  How’s it going up there?”  I go there because it inspires me.  Yes, being around all those dead carcasses inspires me.  What I mean is, my Dad was someone who lived life to the fullest.  And he taught us to do the same.  He was the bravest, most kind hearted soul you’d ever meet.  I couldn’t have had a better father and I mean that with every fiber of my being.

I sat there and I broke down like an old Ford truck.  I miss him like hell.  There are some times where I can’t stand that he’s not here. That I can’t hold him, or he can’t hold me.  I would hold on so tight.  When someone leaves such an imprint on your life, it’s hard not to miss them.  My Dad was an encourager.  He was quality, top shelf goods.  He gave us the courage to go out and try things that to most people seemed stupid, crazy or downright outrageous.  He was fearless.  He would never blow smoke up our behinds and when we were wrong, he would correct us with gentleness.  He seemed to know the answers to just about anything I could think of to ask him.  It was incredible really.  He knew a lot about a lot of things.  Not just a little about a lot of things.  And not just because he was my dad or my hero, but he was honestly good at everything.  He pushed us to give that little extra effort in life.  And I pray that as I get older, that I can develop even half of the qualities he had.

My Dad was not a coward.  And even after he got sick he was not a coward.  He had a quiet confidence that let you know everything was going to be okay.  Even on those last days.  He was one of those guys that made you feel safe.  I always felt that if I was with him, I could somehow survive anything.  A plane crash.  A great white shark encounter.  I don’t know.  Anything.

He passed down that love for old jazz to me as well.  Old Nat King Cole Trio stuff.  The Ink Spots.  All the good stuff.  I got in to it after he passed away, which makes me sad thinking he will never know that he passed that on.  But when I put on those old records in my room and close my eyes, I can see him.  I can smell him.  Always smelling of the sea like he just got home from a sunset sail.  I loved the way he used to listen to music.  He’d close his eyes, take it in, sway his head from side to side.  “Beautiful” he’d say.  Whenever we were in the car he’d always have on 94.7 The Wave (Smooth jazz).  And I hated it.  I still do!  But I would give the world to jump in that truck again and hear that God awful smooth jazz if it meant I could see him again.

He was also an incredible musician.  He played for the New York Philharmonic when he was 13.  His mother was a concert pianist and as he grew up, was pushed and pushed to practice and practice.  My dad never did that with us.  I’m sure people say “When I have kids, I’m never going to do what my parents did to me.”  And they might forget and end up treating their kids that same way their parents did.  But my Dad always made adjustments within himself.  If there was something he didn’t like, he worked to change it.  And he never forced us to do anything unless we were passionate about it.

I started playing piano after my Dad died.  And I get so sad sometimes knowing that I’ll never be able to play for him.  Even if I sucked, he would have done that thing.  Close his eyes, take it in, sway his head.  “Beautiful.”

I seem to be picking up pieces of my dad that I never knew existed when I was younger.  Perhaps it’s me desperately trying to be more like him.  Or maybe it’s my attempt to keep him alive still.  Through music.  Through pictures.  Through paintings.  The only way I know how to keep him here.

As I was sitting there today, so many thoughts went through my mind.  Did he get everything he wanted out of life?  What were things he didn’t get a chance to do?  Would he be proud of us right now?  Would he be proud of me?

When I go seem him, I always walk away with these thoughts.  Make no small plans.  When it’s your time to go, it’s your time to go.  And you never know when that is.  Love with all your heart.  And I know we hear it all the time, but for God’s sake, let your family know you love them.  Be free with your affections for them.  One thing I will never ever question, is the love my Dad had for me.  Ever.

He was the ultimate Valentine.  And he will forever be my #1 Valentine.

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The New Chapter

I realize how cliche it sounds to start a blog with a title as cheesy as “The New Chapter.” And even more cliche to point that out.  But I believe it’s appropriate. So bear with me.

As many of you know, I had my heart broken (Cue violins).  My world had fallen apart, upon the decision he made.  My love for him was paramount.  A love that had no bounds. My love was real.  My love was unfaltering, and my love was limitless.  I seemed to love him so much it hurt, but so wonderful at the same time.  He was my first love.  I thought I could never change where he was concerned.  I thought my life was over.  “How could I go on! How could I live with this rejection and pain?  How could I bear the thought of ever moving on?  I’m never going to date again!  It’s not worth it.”  Blah blah blah.  I made every dramatic statement a girl can make in a despondent state.  I seemed to build my personality and whole being on this heartbreak.  “Oh, I’m sorry, I can’t date! I’ve had my heart broken worse than any other soul on this entire earth!”  It seemed to define me.  Define everything I did.   Hardships can do a number on the soul and can, at times, wreak havoc on your state of mind.  But it also builds character as they say and Lord knows I’ve got plenty of that.  But as I’m sure all of you who’ve had your heart broken at some point in your life realize “Oh.  Lookie here, I’m still alive.  I guess my life’s not over.”  You get rid of certain paradigms and discover that things happen for a reason.  And they ain’t so bad.  And dare I say it, better than you ever thought and dare I go even further… Better than they were before?

I’ve come to realize that this person did me a major solid.  I’m made of different stuff than when I began.  I can love violently.  Laugh uproariously.  Cry pitifully and all at a moments notice turn on or off my emotional faucets.  Don’t put me in a box.  Don’t give me rules and limits or I’ll jump.  Don’t tell me I can’t, ’cause I will.

I’ve been in a place I like.  Or rather, returned to the flaming hermit that once burned inside me.  I’m a loner in every sense of the word.  I like being alone.  I play video games until the wee hours of the morning and frankly, I like the least amount of human communication and connection as possible.  I like going to see movies alone.  I like eating at restaurants alone.  So what. I don’t want anyone in this bubble to ruin that.  I like it.  Someone said to me that you have to like yourself to spend that much time alone and that people who hate to be alone don’t like themselves.  So I guess that means I’m in love with myself.  Hey, at least I don’t have self esteem issues.

A couple nights ago, I was hanging out with a friend.  An older and wiser friend. And she said to me “Ashley, you are too young to be in this state.  Now is the time to get out there and live a life of passion.  Don’t waste your life away on a couch!” Hmm.  I guess I’ve forgotten that I’m still young.  This is the time to grab life by the horns, or rather drag those horns around on a wild ride.

So this is my new chapter and I invite you to join me.  To get off the detour that I’ve been on, and back to the road less traveled as I’d always planned.  I am setting out to find my passions.  What turns me on.  Not in a weird way, but what turns the porch light on upstairs.  Whatever that may be.  And I’m going to push through until I feel I’m living the passionate life that I was meant to.  We place such a particular value on things we have to work so hard for and that value can never be substituted.

I’m in search of  my Valentine.  Or perhaps Valentines.  I have a feeling I might find many.  And I’m excited.

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