Sunday! Domingo! Sunnuntai! (In all the three languages I could say it in)
Again; for the second time.
How do I do? Well, thanks for asking, Conscience. I’m swell.
Just been rather stressed. Okay, very stressed. I missed a day of school because of a doctor’s appointment. Just when we were driving near the hospital, I came to discover that my appointment was on the next day. Blast.
Sure, my mother drove my brother and I to the beach, which was half an hour away. Sure I got some beautiful pictures. Ate clam chowder. Relished the calamari. It was all grand…until the realities of school dawned on me. What if I missed an important lesson and the things taught were to be included in a test? What if I had an important assignment? What other possibilities can I think of relating to failure?
My finals are next week, meaning the semester is ending. Should I be more clear of how important this is? (I’m telling myself) This is my Senior year and I’ve been working myself to headaches with all the studying and the paying attention and sometimes I must give myself a break. “Isadora, relax. Missing a day won’t kill you,” said my history teacher some weeks ago.
I had always dreamed of getting into a university right after graduation, but due to both emotional and psychological circumstances, I can’t. To be more clear, I was so depressed at the end of Freshman, Sophomore, and Junior year, that I came to be credit deficient. I was ready to give it all up. “I’m never going to get any better,” I thought. So, now I am finally getting my life together and working harder than I’ve done in years. So, after graduation, there’s my Norway/Finland trip, and then community college. Test the waters, you know? I’m frightened of being by myself and am already insecure about being around people. Start small. If I were to attend the university next year, I really wouldn’t be ready. That’s why after community college, I will transfer hopefully to the university of my choice and then on go abroad in Europe to study…and take on a career that hopefully (I hope, yes) will put bread on my table.
I shall just think of the present from now on.
Let’s see…Finals, finals, finals. How’s that going…I probably have a history test next week, a science test, and a persuasive paper. I’m writing an essay on why cigarettes should be banned. I’ll stop myself here…I know people won’t ever stop smoking…but I just hope they realize they’re committing a slow, debilitating suicide and endangering those around them. All right.
My me time? Gilmore Girls and Lord of the Rings.
Gilmore Girls is funnier than ever now that that idiot Jess is gone. I started a new season (cried when Rory was giving her graduation speech) and I’m already in episode 14.
Lord of the Rings is more alive to me in the books. Books have more life than film. I’m a slow reader, but the first book is coming along great.
I’ve been rather cranky. Stress makes me cranky, and then depressed.
Oh, yes! I just remembered why I started writing this. Yesterday I visited my favorite bookstore and picked up this book about Hollywood Exiles, I believe?
Anyway, there was lots of stuff about Ernst Lubitsch and Pola Negri.
There wasn’t such a good feeling when I read it.
I got a bad feeling when the writer misspelled her full name. Common mistake.
Then he said that Emil Jannings should be given more credit in Madame Dubarry or something like that. That obnoxious Nazi supporter? Pola was clearly the gem of the film.
Then, oh sweet lord, the author says that Pola claimed that she was already romantically involved with Rudolph Valentino, even though they hadn’t really met and he was getting over his divorce with Rambova, to the magazines. God, how fucking ridiculous can this author get?
Then how Pola damaged her career by getting engaged to Chaplin. It must suck to have a love life then.
Then the funeral. That fucking funeral! Pola throwing herself to Valentino’s coffin, allegedly choosing where he was to be buried, her expensive mourner clothes, the false floral pattern on his coffin; oh sweet lord!
This book, The Hollywood Exiles, was released in 1976. That gives me the excuse to say that the author’s research is shit. In most of those old film books, writers go and brutally criticize Pola Negri. Hey, at least she and Ernst Lubitsch made the cover.
You can’t accept the fact that she dated two of the most famous actors of the silent era? Too bad.
You criticize her for her mourning clothes? Be more jealous because she earned the money to pay for them. She barely had enough to eat in Poland.
Don’t like her publicity? Thank the studios.
Hate the way she mourned? Picture yourself falling in love, your life being in track, your job is going pretty well, you are confident, and then the person you love dies all of a sudden. And add a tempestuous personality to that.
Think Paramount fired her and see it as a sign of failure? Read a little more and realize she actually retired because of pregnancy.
Also, watch her movies. Before bullying her around, watch her films. See her grace the screen. Just watch her films. I never was against Pola Negri, even when I read she dated Valentino. Instead of being all offended, I decided to watch her films.
And, finally, give her a break. Her childhood was hell. She lost many things in life. Her romances never fully lasted. She died alone and her fame never really revived because of nuisances like rumors.
Well, sorry my dears, I get passionate when my idol’s legacy is sullied.
It’s okay if you don’t like her, but please have reasonable evidence when you decide to accuse her of something. Enough damage has been done.
Now, I’ll be off to listen to Portishead and ready myself for Monday. Waking up at six in the morning…and think, “Is this all really worth it?” Oh my, yes it is. I must not let myself be overwhelmed by negative thinking. The other day I felt inferior among all those thug students. Me? ME? I don’t smoke in front of the school. I don’t behave like a deviant. They’re so rude and it is even a surprise that they are nice to me.
I should really stop surfing the internet repeatedly because it is so very tedious.
(The hardest part about writing a post is choosing a title)