Cats!

Every time my boyfriend and I go to Target, we also go to PetSmart because it's right next door and I like cats. On the weekends, PetSmart hosts adoption fairs. They bring the dogs and puppies outside and have cats in just-big-enough cages on the left side of the store. We had visited PetSmart last week but, because it wasn't an adoption day, did not get to pet the cats. Instead, we watched them from behind plexiglass, trying our best to interact with them even though we could not hear or touch them. There were a few cats I remember, including a calico named Candy and a fluffy gray cat named Ghost.

Candy and Ghost were both at PetSmart today, still waiting to be adopted. Candy was still behind the plexiglass, but Ghost was out in a row of four or five cages. No one seemed to be paying much attention to Ghost so I went over and opened up the cage so I could reach in and pet him. He was one of the silkiest and nicely-groomed cats I've ever pet. Ghost took to me immediately, sniffing at my hand and rubbing his face all over it when he was satisfied with the smell.

This is Tigger.

I have two cats at home, in New Hampshire: Tigger and Sergeant Pepper.  I got (and named) Tigger when I was six. (We got Pepper at the same time, but he's not "technically" my cat.) As Tigger has aged, he has become more social with others and less social with me. This may be because I leave for lengths of time for school and he doesn't trust me when I return. When my boyfriend and I visited home a few weeks ago,
Tigger was fairly aloof to me but was all over my boyfriend. Of course, once my boyfriend left a bag of open prosciutto on the dining table, Tigger hopped up the minute we were gone and ate about a third of it. Now, Tigger's a big eater (despite his small frame), but I've never seen him eat anything as excitedly as he ate that prosciutto.  We joke that, next time I go home, I should stuff my pockets with prosciutto so Tigger will come to me more easily.

Anyway, Ghost was very friendly and I fell in love with him immediately.  For a while now, my boyfriend and I have discussed getting a cat.  There are, however, a few problems with that.  Neither of us really make enough money to guarantee that we can take care of a cat consistently well and once I go back to school, he'll be the only one taking care of the cat for a year.  While there isn't a whole lot involved with caring for a cat, I sometimes have to nag my boyfriend to even feed himself -- this makes me concerned for any animals that might join our little "family."  (The names we've picked out for cats, if they haven't yet been named, are Oopsilon and Mr. Giggles.)

I tore myself away from Ghost to pet a calico named Katrina who clearly did not want the company.  After one last look at Ghost and a puppy-eyed look at my boyfriend, we left the store.  I spent the entire shopping trip in Target moping and talking about how wonderful Ghost (or, Ghostie, as I was now calling him), was.  He was soft and sweet and I'll never have another connection with a cat like that again!

My boyfriend could see how badly I wanted this cat. Slowly, his resolve began wearing away and we began to consider the logistics of everything. However, the hope which had started to flicker in me was soon smothered. After the adoption fee (which would be anywhere from $60 - 150) and the initial deposit for owning a pet in the apartments we live in ($200) and the litter box ($10), we'd already be spending a huge chunk of money.  And this is not including food dishes, toys, and a collar (which I typically wouldn't get for a cat given my past experience with my cats and collars, but given the urban-ish environment, would feel safer with).  Oh, and cat litter and food, both of which would be recurring costs.

I consoled myself by deciding that Tigger, my cat back home (who is approaching fifteen years old!), would be jealous if I got another cat. (Trust me, I know Tigger. He totally would.)  So until we're both actually working and we've moved to perhaps a more convenient space (because I'm not sure there's a good place for a litter box in this apartment and it's not necessarily big enough for a cat, either), we probably shouldn't get a cat. As much as I would love one. And boy would I.

I hope Ghost goes to a good family who deserves him and has as much of a connection as I do with him. In addition to having an awesome name, Ghost has an awesome personality. The moral of the story, folks, is this: Don't go into pet shops if you can't feasibly get a pet. It will break your heart.

Just kidding -- moral of the story: Adopt cats (and other pets) responsibly. Consider their well-being before your own loneliness.


Moral of the story image courtesy of Dinah Lord.

Wednesday Blues and Walking Shoes

Days two and three have come and gone now. I woke up this morning and thought, "OH! It's Thursday!" and then I quickly realized it was in fact only Wednesday. After a lengthy two days of mostly filling out paperwork and familiarizing myself with my new environment, I was tired. Still, I got up and got dressed, ate my oatmeal and headed out the door at 7:40.

My black flats -- cute, yet comfortable. An unusual match
in the world of shoes.

Once I arrived I got started on a list of on-going tasks. This is one thing I prefer about work to school -- I don't have to wait on anyone else to get started on something and I can work as quickly as I like.  I dropped off some paperwork -- the final ones, I hope -- and worked until 10:00, at which time I had a meeting.

The other intern (hi, Jameson) came to the meeting, too, because we were both invited. Lots of acronyms were thrown around, but we introduced ourselves with a little more detail earlier in the meeting before moving into other stuff. I find it's sometimes difficult not to space out a little during these meetings since I don't yet have the context to understand what, exactly, is going on. It doesn't make sense to ask questions at this point, either -- I'll learn everything better just by absorbing pieces as we go along. There's too little time in the day to ask all of the necessary questions and I know it will come with time.

I got through the rest of the day okay. Lunch was nice because I was able to be by myself for a little while. That, I think, is something that has made these last few days so draining for me -- as an introvert, it's incredibly exhausting to be interacting with people for eight hours straight. Of course, now that I've settled in some, I'll be able to work more independently and I'll get used to interacting with people more.  As of right now, however, I'm used to either spending the day at home alone or spending a few hours in class with people, maybe a couple of hours in the office, but the rest of the time in my dorm by myself.

I like walking home, though. The weather hasn't been too cruel yet so it's pretty enjoyable, even in business casual clothing -- including my little black flats, which, as it turns out, are comfortable enough to walk to and from work in. While sitting in an office all day gives me a bit of an itch to be outside (why is that, by the way? When I'm able to go outside, I don't care to; but when I can't go outside, I want to.), it's better than standing in a drive-thru window for eight hours straight.

This work makes me more mentally tired whereas McDonald's made me physically (and occasionally emotionally) tired. I don't know if that's a better or worse thing. I have, at least, enough energy in the evenings to take a walk with my boyfriend after dinner. I think we're trying to make it a regular thing, even though we both already walk a little over a mile every day. It's good for us to go out and see things, anyway. Otherwise we'd both just sit inside and stare at our computer screens (me, scrolling through Tumblr and him on Hulu or an online class), which is basically what we both do at work all day.

He said he'll be home late tonight. This is fine with me. I like having the apartment to myself for a little while. I like hearing the traffic outside, watching the light shift throughout the room, listening to my computer keys click and glancing over at Stuart, my toy hamster in his pink ball to the right of my laptop. (Margo, the rubber duck librarian, sits nearby, too.)

Stuart, a hot dog eraser on heart-shaped sticky notes,
 Wonder Woman usb, stapler, pens, and Margo the
 rubber duck librarian.

I'm hoping to finish up rereading Feed for my honors thesis this weekend. Then I can head over to the library and get a library card so I can check out some other stuff for my thesis. I also need to be checking in with my plans as head resident assistant for the first series of programs.

Speaking of libraries, when I introduced myself to the group today I mentioned that I intend to become a YA librarian. One of the women I work with said that they might have some assignments they can give me that will allow me to work with the library and librarians at the National Science Foundation library (which has materials for the people who work at NSF -- both work-related and pleasure reading). I'm really excited to get some more library experience. If I've learned anything today specifically, it's that I don't want to be a copy-editor. I've been going through some training manuals and polishing up the language and, while it's good to have some kind of writing involved in this internship, I'm fairly certain I could not edit anything on a permanent and constant basis.

First Day Jitters at the National Science Foundation

As I was preparing for my first day of my internship today, I had lots of advice flowing in from different sources in the days leading up to it. Many of my friends and family reminded me not to be nervous. I thanked them for their advice, but decided to ignore that specific nugget. If I'm not at least a little bit nervous, how can I be prepared?

The entrance I used into the NSF.

I've tried ignoring nerves for important events in the past. In those instances, when something went wrong, I was totally emotionally and mentally unprepared to deal with the setback. This time, however, I embraced the nerves. In doing so, I felt less nervous. My stomach did not turn the way it usually does before big events, I had a clear mind, and I was able to eat breakfast with ease.

Once I was ready, I grabbed my umbrella and headed out into the spitting rain.  I put up my umbrella, even though it wasn't raining very hard so I wouldn't get even a little bit drizzled on. I stopped in the mall near the National Science Foundation, changed from my sneakers to my black flats, and headed on the rest of the short walk.

When I got into the building, it seemed I had entered the wrong side, which I had. That ended up being okay, though, because the security desk was easy enough to find from where I was. I located the desk, introduced myself and said that I needed a visitors badge.

The woman there looked at me for a moment and said, "Are you here for the intern ...thing?"

I paused. "Um, yeah," I said. I was there for an internship, after all.

She asked for my name again and I gave it to her. Then she searched through rows of paper badges with names on them. She reported that there was no badge with my name on it.

"Um, okay. So...?"

I felt as if I was supposed to have the answer to this problem. I checked through the sheets of paper I had been sent a few weeks before in preparation for this very moment but found nothing that could help me out of this situation. The woman looked around and then said I could go into room 120 and get a badge after. I was doubtful, given that my sheet said I was to report to room 315, but figured if other interns were headed there then it couldn't be the worst option.

When I got into the room, it was full of people who looked a few years older than I am. They were, I also noticed, very ethnically diverse. While I expected the program to be somewhat diverse, I wasn't prepared for the number of accents I heard in the room. It seemed off to me and the agenda on the big pull-down screen on the wall didn't seem appropriate, either. I checked with a woman with a badge.

"Excuse me? I just want to be sure I'm in the right place." I showed her the letter I had received.

"Room 315," she noted.

"Thanks." I gathered my bags and folder and left then, unsure of where to go next. I headed back to the security desk with no other ideas in mind. The elevators were nearby so I considered them for a moment while a security guard watched on.

"I can't let you on without a badge," he said.

Again, I was stuck. I returned to the desk. This time I spoke to a different woman. She was soft-spoken but I explained my predicament. Again she checked for a badge with my name. Then she conferred with others behind the desk. She asked for the name of a contact and I gave her the letter.

She called someone upstairs and they told her to give me a visitor's badge -- exactly what I had requested the first time around. I was told to return the badge at the end of the day and sent to room 315. The security guard allowed me on the elevator this time and I headed up to the third floor.  There, I made my way to room 315. I entered the room and saw a woman sitting at a desk.

She asked me if I was one of the interns and I said yes.

"You just missed them. They went down to the lobby."

I groaned. A man walked through the office just as I said, "Okay."  He said he was heading down to the room where the others were and that he could take me down. I followed.

Don't let the jitter bugs intimidate you. They're here to help!

Once I was settled downstairs (late, because of the chaos of finding the right pace), I looked around the room and realized that, despite how stressful the last fifteen minutes had been, that I had not freaked out. Two years ago, I would have cried in frustration, maybe even gone home. Today, I sat in my chair and waited for the next section of the agenda to begin, as if nothing had happened.

This reaction, or lack thereof, I think is a result of embracing the nerves. I was prepared for emotional and mental upset because I did not deny that I was nervous. So, rather than deny feelings of anxiety, sometimes it's best to greet them, look them in the eye, and say, "I'm glad you're here."

National Science Foundation image courtesy of NSF.
Cute bug image courtesy of Cute the World.

Of D.C., Dunkin' Donuts, and Daring

Tomorrow I will be returning to the Arlington/Washington, D.C. area. I've spent the last week in southern New Hampshire. It was not until now, driving around familiar places and showing my boyfriend around town, that I realized how simple my hometown really is.  Unlike Arlington, there are far fewer main roads in my town.  Traffic is lighter, the food is less exotic, and it's not unusual to bump into a few people you know when you go out (we saw my cousin and cousin-in-law at Applebees for lunch the other day and they do not even live in this town anymore).

Distance between Arlington and Derry (though this isn't the
route I take, because driving through NYC is horrible).

My boyfriend has assured me that, by the end of the summer, I will feel similarly about Arlington. Everything will be familiar and safe. I'm not so sure. Most of my days will be spent within a two-mile radius, I'm unsure about with how many people my own age I'll be interacting, and given that I'll spend most days working, I probably will not have a lot of time to explore the city. Furthermore, the culture is, I already know, very different from what I grew up with.  As of 2011, New Hampshire was 94.6% white. Arlington has a white percentage of 77.3%. Certainly its still the majority, but it will be a fairly significant change. Virginia itself has nearly eight times the number of people as New Hampshire does. I've had roughly eighteen years to acclimate to New Hampshire and my relatively small town. A few short months in Arlington will not be enough to truly feel as comfortable.

There can never be enough Dunkin's
iced coffee in my life. 

I expect to feel perfectly safe. My safety isn't an issue. But will I feel like myself? I don't know. This is what has been plaguing me the last few days as I drive by my local library, the familiar buildings of my high school, and making trips to the mall twenty minutes from my house. I know the exact location of all of these things. If I need a gallon of milk, I can immediately name three nearby places to obtain it. If I want some Dunkin' Donuts, I know there are at least six of them in my town, and two more not much farther off. I have a vague idea of where I can find one Dunkin's in Arlington, but I couldn't tell you how to get there.  With gas prices what they are, particularly near the city, it doesn't make sense for me to just drive around until I gain my bearings. I could study maps, but I doubt it would do much good for me -- my brain doesn't take in maps very well, it seems.

Just as I was several months ago when I originally decided to stay in Washington, D.C., I am scared. I am confident that I will survive, just as I always do, but a little fear is healthy.  We don't admit to our fear frequently enough. We see it as a weakness, rather than what it really is: just the awareness that we are entering a situation in which we will be uncertain or in potential danger. This awareness is an excellent feature evolution has fashioned for us to keep us safe. Why do we continue to reject it? Why do we tease people who experience fear? We should be embracing fear.

My boyfriend and I were talking about bravery the other day. It occurred to me that it is impossible to be brave without being afraid. By my definition (and perhaps the dictionary definition), you experience bravery because of fear. Acting despite the fear is bravery. Ignoring fear or denying fear is not bravery. Accepting fear and using it to propel you is bravery.

This summer I will be afraid, but I will also be brave. Despite the sense of unfamiliarity and disorientation, I will take on Arlington just as I took on Roanoke when I began college at Hollins University three years ago. I know it will be a challenge but recognizing that its a challenge is half the challenge itself. Every day I will take time to praise myself for successfully completing another day, for taking risks, for doing something that is challenging and scary.  I will take the time to recognize that I was brave that day, even if I "chicken out" on in some circumstance.

Maybe if we all accept that fear that plagues us, we will be able to claim it for our own use and overcome it. Nothing is ever accomplished if we don't first acknowledge our challenges and obstacles. Fear is that first obstacle.

The Assassins Continue to Fail

In late August 2011, I began a blog called the Discomfort Zone. The aim of this blog was to detail things I had done that made me uncomfortable, such as the flash mob which resident assistants and members of the student government association prepared for the first year students. I ended up forgetting about the blog after two or so posts.

For the 2011-2012 academic year, I did not embody much of my plan.  Being an RA was something that I had pushed myself to do and knew I would struggle with, but there were few specific instances of me trying

Me, Gatsby'd up for the NEFA party.

things that I knew would put me out of my comfort zone.  This year has been different.  I applied for a Library of Congress internship, submitted my work to a dozen or so literary journals, took two classes that are notorious for being some of the most difficult English classes, applied (and was accepted) for a position as a Head Resident Assistant, explored Washington, D.C. by myself, accepted the challenge of an Honors Thesis for next year, spoke to strangers when I didn't want to, went to a NEFA (Near East Fine Arts -- a specialty house on campus dedicated to the arts) party, flew on an airplane by myself, drove seven hundred miles by myself, took an unfamiliar route from New Hampshire to DC and from DC to Roanoke and back...you get the idea.  This year, I pushed myself.

And for the most part, I was okay.  I survived.  I won't say it wasn't hard, because it was.  Especially because I've been going through a lot of personal issues this semester.  But I tried and I lived.

My current desktop background is wood with a post-it note that reads, "Good morning, I see the assassins have failed."  I originally selected that image just because I thought it was funny.  But looking at it the other day, I realized it means more to me than that.  It means I have survived another day.  Whatever the world has thrown at me, I have gone to bed and woken up alive and safe.  Whether the assassins were personal problems, new challenges I thrust upon myself, school work, or changes in the weather, I have made it through.  The assassins continue to fail.

I can't say what, exactly, got me through this year.  Maybe it was the support of family and friends.  Maybe it was sheer determination.  Maybe it was late nights on Tumblr and Pinterest.  Maybe it was my guitar, or my books, or the thought of my cats curled up at the foot of my bed.  Most likely, it was some strange recipe of these things.  And a hell of a lot of nerve.  Sometimes, I think I have nerve in spades.

For those of you still struggling, nerve isn't something that you can buy or just happen upon.  Nerve comes with ages of suffering.  Nerve comes with finding role models and knowing that they made it through (whether those role models are real or fictional is irrelevant).  Nerve comes with accepting that sometimes you are going to lose, but it doesn't mean you are going to die.

The next year, for me, looks like it might be even more difficult than this year.  But now, unlike before this year, I know I am equipped to handle these things.  What's more, I can handle them in healthy ways.  I've had people around me say that I'm taking things too far when I try to deal with things.  But I'd rather be over-prepared than not prepared enough.  I know what's best for my mental health and if it means going too far in the eyes of someone else, then so be it.

Don't let the ninja assassins get to you.

This blog post has been less organized than I intended, but I won't apologize for it. Self-discovery is rarely (if ever) an organized process and hardly ever intentional.  Still, if you have the opportunity, make yourself do something out-of-character, something scary, this week.  And when you tell yourself you want to stop, give it
just a little while longer before you quit.  This is the trick to learning about yourself and to learning about the world around you.

If you can, reflect on it. Write about it or draw a picture. Sit under the sky and contemplate what, specifically, about the event made you uncomfortable.  Then you can conquer it, then you can be better, then you can take on the world.

But only one step at a time.

Ninja image courtesy of How to Draw Funny Cartoons.

Half There, Half Gone: Living like a Ghost

The academic year at Hollins University is drawing to a close. Today will be the last day of exams, I finished everything on my academic to-do list on Friday afternoon, and graduation is in less than a week. Many students have already gone home for the summer, and I, along with seniors, their friends, and the other RAs, will be through the 20th.  Then I will finally be heading to D.C. for a few days, then up to New Hampshire for a week, then back to D.C.  But, while excitement for the summer has been filling me, I've also been struck with moments of a feeling of uncertainty and loss.

Tinker Day, 2011

I have one year left at this place.  Just one.

I have climbed Tinker Mountain three times and will do it once more.

I have lived in Tinker Hall three years and will do it once more.

I have suffered the perils of Moody food for three years and will do it once more.

I have completed fall finals three times and will do it once more.

Soon, the Hollins bubble will pop for me and about a hundred more of us.  We will move on from this place and encounter old friends and new friends, old jobs and new jobs, old homes and new homes.  Maybe we'll be back in two years for our two-year reunion -- maybe we won't.  Maybe, three years after that, we'll be back for our five-year reunion -- maybe we won't.  By then, some of us will have families, will have jobs, will have obligations that will keep us from the Blue Ridge Mountains which surround campus.  Things will hold us back and we will sit at our windows, watching the sky overhead and wondering how Hollins has changed, because change it does -- just as we change.

The other day, I packed up some boxes and put them in storage. Since then, I've been staring at the posters left on my wall and wondering when the appropriate time to take them down is.  Maybe I should have done it then.  Maybe I should wait until the day before I leave.  I hate taking posters down.  Doing so makes the walls look bare, the room less cluttered -- it makes me feel like a ghost living in my own space, half there and half gone.

I expect that is what a lot of next year will feel like.  I didn't have this problem in high school.  High school was horrible for me.  It was not, as many of my classmates expressed, the best year of my life.  Friends were few and far between, classes were not challenging, traditions were silly and meaningless, there was no sense of community.  But here, I have all of those things in abundance.  Despite the challenges I've faced here and the challenges I've faced while I've been here, Hollins is home.  As much as I am eager to start life in the "real world," I'm just as eager to stay here, keep taking classes, continue to learn, make more friends, participate in more traditions.

We are all just ghosts.

A lot of colleges seem to advertise that they will prepare their students for life after college in the sense that they will learn a skill they can use in a job.  At Hollins, I've learned so much about not only writing, but also how to be myself, how to have healthy relationships, and how to take care of myself.  I'm not convinced I would have the same experience at any other institution.  Maybe it's the size of Hollins that makes a difference.  Its population is about a quarter of what my high school had.  Maybe it's that it's a single-sex school. There aren't many out there and the bonds of sisterhood are great indeed.

Whatever it is, Hollins is an incredibly special place for me.  I am dreading leaving next year, though I know there are many great things ahead of me.  I have accomplished so much here, from being published for the first time to working as a head resident assistant.  Nothing could ever replace the experiences I have had here.  I have had amazing support from friends, faculty, and staff.

I have one year left to really immerse myself in and appreciate this place.  All I can do is do my best not to take it for granted, savor every moment of my time here, and celebrate not the end of it all, but that I was fortunate enough to experience it to begin with.

The Great Gatsby is Great Indeed

Warning: Potential spoilers.

If you don't like the recent film adaptation of F. Scott Fitzerald's The Great Gatsby, I'm judging you. Hard.  I know a lot of you have concerns about the modern music in the film and the sense of extravagance and the fact that it's adapted from a book (because those never go well, I know), but let me tell you, this film is phenomenal.

Who wants to buy me this poster?

I will start off with addressing the music.  Yes, the film uses almost exclusively modern music.  However, I think there is a (very valid) reason the choice to include modern music was made.  Think, if you would for a moment, of Elvis (forget that he is not relevant to the 1920s or today, just think of him).  For his time, he was pretty scandalous, right?  I mean, pelvic thrusts, singing "black music," he was practically the Devil's son.  But looking back today, we just shrug our shoulders and point to Lady Gaga.  She's a hell of a lot more scandalous than Elvis.  And sixty years from now, there will be some other character on stage who trumps Lady Gaga.

Much of The Great Gatsby (the book, that is -- and from now on, if I'm referencing the book, it will be denoted with an asterisk [*], if I'm referencing the film, there will be no denotation) is about excitement and extravagance.  If the filmmakers had decided to use jazz-age music, that excitement and extravagance would not have come across as well as it does with recognizable songs that we associate today with clubbing, hundred dollah bills, and Hollywood.  Sure, there would have been the visual aspect, but I highly doubt the effect would be the same.  Essentially, jazz music would have acted as Elvis -- extravagant in its time, but no longer as exciting.  In order to really depict the chaos Fitzgerald writes of in his novel, modern music was entirely necessary.

Now, a note on the camera work.  (Which is my one complaint with this film, but only one part of the camera work.)  For the rising action of the film, the camera work is chaotic.  Prior to Nick Carroway meeting Jay Gatsby and at the party where he does, it's almost stomach-turning how quickly the camera cuts and swoops and dances around the actors.  As the time goes on, however, the camera work becomes more traditional.  I think this shift exists for two reasons.  One, the calming of the camera work indicates Nick, who was originally anxious in this foreign world of lavishness, has settled in it.  He has found his place and is no longer feeling such anxiety as he was before.  Therefore, the camera reflects it.  Second, part of the point of The Great Gatsby* is that the characters become disillusioned with the Jazz Age.  As this disillusion occurs in the course of the film, the camera reflects this as well.  The Jazz Age becomes increasingly serious throughout the film, and so does the camera become increasingly serious in its movements.  All of this I have no problem with and, in fact, (although it troubled me some to begin with because I couldn't keep up with the chaos of it all -- which is the point), think it rather clever.

The part I do take issue with, however, is that some of the scenes were clearly included  or set up for 3D viewing.  When I arrived at the theater, the woman who sold me my ticket asked if I wanted to see it in 3D.

F. Scott Fitzgerald says, "NO!" to 3D.

Knowing that I get headaches when I see films in 3D and not really seeing the point in it anyway, I opted for 2D.  Some of the remnants of the 3D filming were clear.  Daisy, lying in a room in which gauzy curtains blow about.  Streamers, bursting from all corners at Gatsby's party.  The reckless driving of Gatsby himself.  A number of other scenes.  It's not that each individual scene exists that bothered me, but that some of them were clearly only included for the sake of 3D and that there were so many of them is what bothered me.

The sense of extravagance depicted in the film, meanwhile, is absolutely crucial to the book.  If you disagree with me, go reread the book.  Because you missed some things.

I can't praise this film enough.  There were so many clever things going on with dialogue, lighting, set design, choreography, and a million other things, that it's impossible to catch it or even make not of all that you do see in the first run of the film.  The chemistry between all of the characters was fantastic, the acting superb (someone please give Leo a damn Oscar for this -- it's about time), the casting spot-on.  Oh, and let's not forget that this is one of the most faithful film adaptations of a book I have ever seen (it's not word-for-word, but very close).  Everything was reflected so perfectly that it felt like reading the book all over again but with fantastic visuals.

I will even say that, as someone who has read The Great Gatsby* twice (three times?), I never quite understood the geography involved.  This film makes it a million times clearer.

After the film was over, I walked out of the theater feeling a little drugged.  Outside, everything looked sharper but somehow hazier.  This could've been the misty rainy weather, but I think it had something more to do with the frame of mind the film puts you in, the way the visuals toy with your brain, the way the themes creep into your subconscious and hold on with tight, golden fingers.

Even if you're not into film analysis, go for the visuals themselves.  I don't know how much money they spent making this film, but it must have been an amazing amount.  While some CGI was evident, plenty of it is "real."

Just, go see the movie, okay?  You can thank me after.  In fact, save me a seat -- I'll go with you.

Movie poster image courtesy of Business Insider.
F. Scott Fitzgerald image courtesy of Find a Grave.