Lisenced to drive, baby!

That's right, I obtained a driver's lisence (1st time) and the roads of Miami better watch out. I get a car sometime between now and next week, and will be wild, mobile, and looking for a good time.

I think that sounded too much like a desperate classified ad, but that doesn't matter.

Greatness, here I come!

On another note, I saw the indie cult classic "Donnie Darko" today, and I must say it did not disappoint. About a troubled teen haunted by a large, frightening rabbit, it includes time travel, romantic angst, and clever jabs at suburban society. So far off the beaten path it's doubtful it's producers ever even glimpsed the beaten path, it's actually is as weird as it sounds. And trust me, that's not a bad thing.

I feel within me discontent, the stirrings of revolution and rebellion. This is most certainly not unnatural - throughout history the waltz of revolution, war, and peace has spun lazily around in a cyclical dance with no known end - but I have previously wanted nothing more than stability and happiness. No, that is wrong; underneath obediance has always lurked the desire for reform. Perhaps I am too attuned to the inadequacies of the world, perhaps even the inadequacies within ourselves, and wish to be the catalyst of change. I have never been a submissive person, but simply a relaxed one, preferring to let events blur around me rather than sweep me into the winds of chance. But now I find that I want to really and truly experience all that life has to offer, I want to take chances and do crazy things, I want to feel the cold air within my lungs and say that when this exhistence is over, when me as Sophia the wise has passed, I can let my body dissove with the satisfaction that I have seen all there is to be seen, and lived and loved without waste, and left my mark upon the world. Death is only feared because we regret not living. Have I been living in an everlasting sleep, with storm clouds rolling past unabated? Am I coward to take an easy road? The world is so beautiful and raw and full of danger, and I wish to stand alone and live for myself, make my own choices, and do what I feel is good. For I know instrinsically that I am destined for something, or perhaps I delude myself that I am, and I know that I am extraordinary, and I need to trust myself and struggle to rise above the material.

Life is about choice, and mistakes, and the reward of living carefully will only be regret.

Last night Carrie, Deborah and I went to see "Garden State", another indie film. It was sweet and humorous in an offbeat, sad kind of way, though its message that life, despite insecurity and fear, is ultimately a beautiful experience was uplifting.

We drove through the night, a mixture of swaying leaves and misty car headlights, sprawled over the backseat at breakneck speed. Carrie must have been pushing 75 in a 50 mph speed zone, and there was a mixture of fear and adrenaline that give you the feeling of endless possibilities and inherent mortality all at once, rushing and overwhelming you.

It is the night before the first day of school. I feel as if it is my last night to experience earthly pleasures before I venture into the land that from no mortal man returns. I have put my affairs in order - organized notebooks, cleaned out purses, and recharged my phone - and now have only left to sleep. To sleep, perchance to dream. Ay, there's the rub.

For what dreams may come when we shuffle off this mortal coil...

The sea water was cool without being at all uncomfortable, and the young girl, in a pink bathing suit that served as an emblem to her innocent and wholly unstained passions, ducked beneath the frothing waves with a thrill foreign to her. It was the thrill of the unknown, of castles and mighty fortresses beneath that water that beckoned to her to grow gills and swim to them as a fish would, emerald and scarlet scales ablaze with the half golden sunlight that lingered upon the water's edge, moving as a rippling hide of an unseen creature whose back was encrusted with diamond. Her white arms, touched by the morning's freshness, clutched at the ocean as if to hold it, to cup it within herself so that she may escape to its roaring and unrelenting crashing upon the sand. It was beautiful in its uninhibited wildness, of its disregard of nature or command, as a falcon or a feral thing is, and she felt that she herself was becoming the rocking waves, tossed in its swirling eddies of desire and longing. A heated blush crept into her cheeks as she threw her hands to the white clouds of heaven, of a chaste world unsullied by change, of golden trumpets and violet gates, a world that all souls prayed feverishly would await them when the crimson banner of death waves in black air in front of their fading eyes.
She gave it a bitter, saccharine smile, for she felt a rising within her, as hot air bubbling and frothing above cold, of a sort of hardening and suppleness within herself that almost desired to curse such probability. The sea had whipped her into something new, something feline that waited in wilderness to stalk unsuspecting prey, something whose white arms and white legs desired more than the gentle longings of a child. The sand was warm beneath her feet when she lifted herself from the cradle of the ocean and looked towards the untamed brush in the distance, waving in cool blue strands of wind.

Two movie reviews (by me):

Before Sunset

The sequel to the all-talk, quirky romance of years ago, the lovers meet again nine years later after their unforgettable one night stand. Poignant, sad, and bittersweet without attaining sentiment, the movie explores world affairs, eventual mortality, and sensuality devoid of the inhibition of an appeal to a mass audience. Shot in real time and ending on a hopeful, if not doomed eventuality, it conveys the longing and intensity of the characters as if one was quietly privvy to an intimate conversation.

The Village

The latest installment in M. Night Shyamalan's line of thrillers, The Village is unconvincing and provides mediocre interest at best. Even Brody and Pheonix could not save this film, whose moral stirrings and thought-provoking insights could best be described as bordering upon the absurd, and the "surprise" ending falling far before the line of satisfaction. Partly prey to poor casting, partly prey to a dry script, The Village was a disappointment in the highest and most noble sense of the word.

Monday we went to South Beach, rather than to other natural beaches nearby. South Beach is like no where else in the world, with its hot beating sun and beautiful people. We parked on tenth street and my short denim skirt was blown up by the wind, and we walked onto Ocean Drive. Ocean Drive is dotted with expensive boutiques, chic restaurants with crisp linen tablecloths and bored, lanky women in designer sunglasses sipping cool drinks, decadent bars and clubs where girls in animal print bikinis welcome men in with a wink and red lipstick and dance on tables, and the inevitable tourists asking for directions. The ocean spray is heavy in the air, people jostle for space on the sidewalk, and the beach is merely a place to reveal tanned bodies and clothes dripping with money.

The sand is white, like sugar, and white umbrellas stand upright over smooth blue chairs. Women lie here, usually topless, accompanied by heavy makeup and a rich man. The sea is half empty - alomst everyone is eager to sunbathe and seem as attractive as possible, which cannot be accomplished through windswept hair and salt and water. We spread our towels out by the shore and stretch under the sun. There are German tourits behind us. Towards the left are two casually topless women in their mid twenties, one reading, the other squinting towards the light.

The sea is cool, the water clear and with bars of golden sun on the green waves.

We went to the beach again today. It was beautiful. The sun played against the water so that, as it rippled, it looked like the hide of a creature alive, golden and encrusted with jewels. The sand was hot and thick, like quicksand, and at low tide water gathered into hollows created by the sand, dotted with black crab holes and warmed by the sun. Windsurfers gathered around the sandbar and their sails whipped in the wind like brightly colored flags, blue, crimson, and orange, and the wild brush rustled as downtown in the far distance was shrouded in rain. As we were walking to where the water turns cold and black and drops into the sea we spotted a giant blue crab, the size of two hands, lurking in the shallows. It gnashed its claws and dug into the sand to disguise itself. We peered at it for a time until it was lost beneath the rolling water and the brightness of the sun's reflection, like crystals scattered. Farther down we saw a large starfish, scarlet with green knobs, and we lifted it out of the water to see its pale underbelly and small round suckers. We set it back gently, and the sky began now to darken with clouds. We marched single file back through the seaweed and then to shore, but as we were in the seaweed thicket I saw a stingray, just a small one the color of desert sand, swimming swiftly back out to sea. Its stinger was long and waved behind it like a stiff dog's tail. As we were driving home the storm began.