“See you next year”

There’s something strange and alluring about those glossy yearbooks we hold onto. Even the ones that don’t belong to you. Every cover has the same motif: the annual name, faces of students, or some abstract drawing that looks like a screen saver from Windows. The title is insanely elusive and general, like: ”Beneath the Surface” or ”Make Your Move.” Are they serious? If there were a big room full of all the things in school that made zero sense, obscure yearbook titles, cheesy prom themes, and over the top graduation speeches would galavant in perfect harmony. 

I still remember yearbook photo days – those putrid emerald green or electric blue backgrounds they let you pick, and the middle aged photographer who tried to make you laugh, inevitably contributing to the overabundance of awkward and fearful expressions the camera captured. I went to a K-12 school for half of my education. It was always exciting to see what the older kids were dreaming about and lusting after in the pages beyond the confines of your 3rd grade class: backstage passes to a Guns ‘n Roses concert, plaid interior in a Jeep Cherokee, for their ultra grungy garage band to land a record deal. Senior pages were always crowded with collages of pictures, inspiring quotes and song lyrics. 

I wonder if superlative pages still vote on a “Most Popular.” No, better yet: “Best Looking.” No wonder the concept of peer pressure and teen angst walk hand in hand. If we all wanted to be in a pageant, we’d curl our hair and prance around on a stage. It reminds me of a girl in middle school who always won these popularity contests – and at one of the school dances, she was walking out of the cafeteria with a crown on her head, and she roared, “Ugh. I hate these things.” Okay, so stop crying and give the limelight to someone who wants it? Just a thought.

When I open up my high school yearbooks, a few things grip my attention: football players with tears in their eyes after beating a team we had all been waiting 16 years for, my usual spot in the senior parking lot next to Sallie’s car, the senior table at lunch, uniforms, TPing, Viking pride, black and gold caps and gowns, the last Spellamania, the science wing Freshman year, Treeline, Metro warehouses, hurricane beach days, The Evil Secret Society, and realizing that everything I learned from Mrs. Ficnerski’s class was a life lesson. 

My older brother signed my senior yearbook for kicks, and it reads: “I hope you look back in wonder.” Something was said during the course of my graduation that made me feel like I was listening to Fred Savage narrating The Wonder Years, probably because the word wonder was repeated over and over. But that’s entirely what yearbooks remind you of – those wonder years.

I made you a mix tape

There’s a collection of home movies from when I was a little girl, in which my dad took all of our photos from various cruise vacations and imposed Beach Boys songs onto the film. If my life had its own soundtrack, “Little Surfer Girl” would be the first melody you hear.

The concept of a playlist has come a long way. I still have boxes of mix tapes and CDs that feature a variety of music genres, sometimes catering to a theme, typically given a title; teen angst had a name, take the memorable “I Hate This Townnn!” ‘04 EP, featuring the candid lyrics of Death Cab for Cutie, Interpol, The Get Up Kids, and Sunny Day Real Estate. Hmm, hated the town, loved the music; isn’t it ironic? Giving a friend a mix CD was like gracing them with a friendship bracelet. My best friend once made me a CD chock full of Belle and Sebastian, and with it flows in memories of soft serve from Sweet Things and our days and nights carousing downtown. (Ten minutes to downtown, [will always be] ten minutes too far.) Or, the infamous “Sallie and Kim” mix, written in orange Sharpie, a compilation of swagger, like….”Hypnotize” by Notorious B.I.G.

When cassette tapes grew on trees like leaves, I’d listen to the radio for hours to find my favorite songs to record onto tape. I convinced my neighborhood friends that playing “Radio DJ” was far more fun than rollerblading outside. The station was named: K101.5. It lasted until one of my friends got jealous that I was holding all our tapes, and in a fit of rage stepped on one of them as she walked down my driveway. Crash and burn.

By way of itunes, ipods and other ithings, we can create and edit playlists as quickly as our minds change. I have several, and again, their theme has a focal point. On one end of the spectrum is the “MKC” list. It’s locked up with a metal key that’s been thrown into a burning building. We don’t try to get in. All I know is, Steve Perry and Steven Tyler are in there sipping on wailing juice, and a few of the hits off my “I Hate This Townnn!” mix are indecisively serenading me as if to say, “it’s over; no it isn’t over, but it is.” The Atlantic was not born today. Moving on…

The other list is a collection of chronological moments. I think we sometimes refer to the entirety as “life.” Early songs include the “The Sign” by Ace of Base, Billy Joel’s “Uptown Girl”, and the theme song to Rainbow Brite. Pre-adolescence is marked by “Smells Like Teen Spirit” by Nirvana, the entire Jagged Little Pill album, “Dreams” by The Cranberries, Hanson’s get-stuck-in-your-head “MMMBop”, the only four Gin Blossoms songs anyone likes, the duo that was Oasis, REM, “Kids in America” by The Muffs, all of Radiohead’s The Bends, and the #1 song according to my 5th grade yearbook, “When I Come Around” by Green Day. My awkward coming of age years, when my middle school crush made fun of me for being “too pale” are honored through The Goo Goo Dolls, “At The Stars” by Better Than Ezra, and “Criminal” by Fiona Apple. (Will you dance with me to “All My Life” by KC and Jo Jo, circle yes, no, or maybe.)

High school began with Backstreet Boys love ballads, sliced through songs like SR-71’s quintessential “Right Now” and ended in the beginning of epiphanies with The Cure, New Order, Led Zeppelin, and The Doors. “Welcome to the Jungle” relocates Friday night football games, and “Freeeee Fallin’” can still be heard from the many *Volkswagens once cruising into the weekend. (*My friends and I all had Jettas; it was unplanned and incredibly odd.)

“Mr. Jones” by Counting Crows remains the anthem of of my four years in college, followed by Elton John’s “Crocodile Rock” for sentimental sorority reasons, Madonna’s “Like a Prayer”, “Come Sail Away” by Styx, a stand-on-your-chair type of song, “One More Time” by Daft Punk, and “Mr. Brightside” by The Killers. “No Rain” by Blind Melon was my ringtone for a year and a half. And The Thompson Twins’ “If You Were Here” paired with “Head Over Heels” by Tears of Fears are classics I could play on repeat until the end of time.

My life’s infinite playlist has hundreds of songs. Some of them scream at me and tell me to turn them off right away, and others send me flying into a maze of memories I never want to let go. What’s your soundtrack?

Oh, hype

A few months ago, a friend of mine told me she’d read a story I’d without a doubt love. Four books and thousands of pages later, I became the zillionth Twilight fan. To simply say I love this series would be a vast understatement. Although, I must, must clarify this: I am in my twenties, and therefore do not have that chemically burning gene in me that wants to stalk Hot Topic for a “Team Jacob” hoodie (since, I am absolutely not Team Jacob.) Secondly, Twilight is not the new Harry Potter. Banish the thought from your head. HP is gooey and infantile compared to Twilight. While for the most part, brilliant author Stephenie Meyer keeps the pages seemingly PG-13, her skill for describing a heart pumping teenager swept away by an unfathomably gorgeous vampire leaves much to the imagination. Feathers, anyone?

Edward Cullen. Bella Swan. We know three things: Edward is a vampire, Bella falls in love with him and it is her blood that he thirsts after the most. Within the complexities of this forbidden love, his presence in itself is enough to bruise any mortal, non-fiction boy’s ego. He’s only perfect, and far from human.

I recently read an interview in Entertainment Weekly with lead stars of the upcoming Twilight film, Robert Pattinson and Kristen Stewart. Equally, they have the same ideas on the fame and glory this movie may or may not produce. When Stewart signed on for the role, she simply thought it was going to be a little unknown vampire film. And I have to side with her apathy for all of the media attention. After diving into the second and third novels only a few nights after completing the first in the series, I suddenly realized I was not alone in my fantasy world of Forks, Washington. It hit me, that if asked about the nature of vampires, and the difference between werewolves and shape shifters, I could teach a class on this material in my sleep. Vamps and wolves 101.

And so, where does this leave us? Would Twilight have been left better suited for the corner shelf in a book store, a gem to be discovered by curious readers? The would-have-been 5th book in the series was put on hold when versions of its rough draft leaked online. Meyers was rightfully devastated by this act. It’s so tasteless and typical of us to be so gluttonous. An avid fan who understands the mindset behind Meyer’s books should know that the story is not meant to be cooed over. It’s a modern day Romeo & Juliet. But as we have seen in the past, something classic can be turned into something branded. This cues visions of Leonardo DiCaprio and Claire Danes “collectors cards” I had taped to my 6th grade locker.

No matter where you stand – whether you adore the books for the torrid love, adrenalin induced breathing, or simply because you just can’t help but be fascinated with this rainy world of fast cars, cold skin, and thirsted blood – heed its invaluable message: some things are not always what they seem.

The lost art of the silver screen

There is one thing I subconsciously look for whenever I’m passing through a town. It doesn’t take much exploration, it’s usually right infront of you on the main street, jutting out from the pavement on a corner or in a square. Some of them are illuminated by letters, angled up the side of the building, deep torqoise and ruby red, marigold and pearly white, marquees larger than life, entry ways paved in checkered tiles, and a box office trimmed in gold.

Some movie theaters are just too charming to tear down. They are visionary artifacts of a time when “going to the movies” was magnetic and romantic. Motion pictures brought people out of their home and into another world, a world lined with velvet seats, curtains, and ushers in uniform; where kids threw juju bees at the screen and couples held hands; a thick scent of butter under the sound of rolling reels, an electric buzz of curiosity followed by a wave of laughter, tension, and then a single shriek.

A note about this photo. It was taken in downtown Fort Myers, Florida, a city I lived in for 14 years. If you’re asking yourself, “Why does this look familiar?” And you’ve never been to Fort Myers, I can only answer that it’s probably because you’ve seen Day of the Dead, the 1985 zombie film.

In the Rhetoric of Film class I once took, my professor would tell us, “In a movie theater, you share in a film’s comedy, in its tragedy; there’s a collected emotion you can’t achieve if you’re at home watching it by yourself.” I still remember sitting on a bench, waiting for my parents to get out of Schindler’s List, and witnessing an outpour of adults, all with tears in their eyes; I can feel the sheer success of sneaking into a R rated film with my best friend and sitting as low as we could in our chairs for fear we’d get caught; I can still picture myself sitting next to my mom when Star Wars IV was remastered, and when Titanic was overflowing (no pun intended) with people in the aisles. I remember when going to see any movie was purely social: a weak attempt for a date, or a reason to get a large group together.

As a testament to my eternal appreciation for the simple art of “going to the movies”, I encourage you to continue to do just that. To quote Spielberg, “Every time I go to a movie, it’s magic, no matter what the movie’s about.”