Scotch Tape

Whirrrrl! Is it Monday again? It goes by so damn fast. On Thursday, my friend/editor sent me a PDF to proof before blueline. My infamous project is on press as we speak. Then on Friday, my favorite postal worker brought my copy of the DBJ with the insert I created. It's not the glitzyist. In fact, it looks like a newspaper. But that's the point.

An update to my three readers (yes, I've declined in readership from 6 to 3, it's true): we spent Cubicle Liberation Day on the slopes. Er, well, we tried. Four hours on the slopes, in freezing snowiness. Met up with our friend George and his latest girlfriend, Danielle, around 10 a.m. The lasses with frozen toes hid out in the warming hut for a half hour while the men did a few runs. Broke for lunch with said friends. Broke for drinks immediately after lunch. It was cold. I was celebrating. George's latest is, of course, adorable, sweet, nice, funny. The kind of girl I could see shopping with, getting pedis with, skiing with. But I can't get too attached. The last one, Becky, was also adorable, nice, friendly, funny. She lasted about 6 months before they called it quits. Something about fear of commitment. He's moving to California in a few months, so there's the end of that one. I just can't put too much into these relationships. I've been hurt far too many times.

We left the mountain early to get home in time for take out Mexican and the foosball game. Our celebration came to an end around 9:30 p.m. when hubby dragged my comatose butt off the couch to go to bed. Wooo hoo. We are rock stars. No pictures, please.

Fast forward to Sunday night, the hounds, hubby and I sat down for some prime unwinding. Our todo list todone with the typical Sunday-around-this-time-of-year list: sent cards, made fudge, entertained neighbors. Mmm. What should we do with the rest of our evening, we pondered? Let's On Demand something. Torn we were between Shark Tale and an unheard of to us film with Ewan "Swoon" McGregor. Young Adam it is, we decided.

This was no Star Wars, no Down With Love, oh no, not even a Big Fish. Quirky, not so much. Dark. Different. Somewhat French in a way, with no neat little ending and a clear idea of what the hell is going on. No noticeable soundtrack to cue the tension. Non-linear flashbacks. It really should have been titled, "The Many Ways Ewan Has Sex." With full frontal. God Bless the Scots. It's in Glasgow, which I adore. With a cast of Scottish people, whom I adore more. But it's really all Ewan, all of him, that steals this show. And there's a crime/punishment/murder/mystery element to it. He's a character with no redeeming qualities, I may add. You want to like his character, because it's Ewan, nekid, really, really nekid. But we soon learn that he has what today we would call "issues." He's not a nice person, really. But he's nekid, did I mention that part? (Pun intended.)

As unAmerican cinematographic as it was, I enjoyed it..? With a question, I guess. It lingers. It reminds me of people I know, in a place I once lived. I was 16 and lived with a working class family on exchange. A half hour by train from Glasgow. They are so delightfully different from my own experience in a middle class American family. My family's not bad, mind you, just different. The movie captured some of the hard life of the people I fell in love with during my time in Scotland. It failed, perhaps intentionally, to show the joy, the welcoming hand of friendship, the sense of family that I experienced. It's almost 16 years since I saw them, but we could meet again and feel like time never left us.

That brings me back to my point. And I really do have one. Saturday. Cubicle Liberation Day. My anniversary of the end. My anniversary of my beginning. I think that I've always had this sense of adventure running through me. It's bred into me from immigrant grandparents. It explains so much about my desire to go out on my own. At 16, I dared to leave this country, on my own, to a place I'd never been, to live with people I never met. But it turned out to be fantastic. Life changing. Life shaping. Because there, in a place so far removed from what I knew as comfortable were people who cared for me, guided me, loved me. Going out on your own is terrifying and exciting, all at the same time. It is made easier by the people who are there to help you become the person you are meant to be. There is great love in this world. You just have to let go to find it.

And did I mention I saw Ewan nekid?