Julie and Julia

I had/have no interest in seeing the movie, but for some reason a pre-publication copy of the book, filled with typos and poor editing, called to me from a local used book store this week. I looked down on the book from the start because the movie seems so pop-culture and the story strikes me as so... normal. It's not Tolstoy or Kerouac or even Morrison or Kingsolver; it's nothing anyone will likely remember in 5 years. Why waste my time? Why look so average reading it in public? Couldn't help it. Couldn't deny the pull.

I simultaneously love and hate the author and for the same reason: she reminds me of me and not in the best ways. She's 29 years old, a Texan with a penchant for living in less-than-fancy places, unsure what to do with her life, keeping a blog and started some nonsense project for no particular reason than to find meaning; she has even been linked to Sarah Bernhardt. She is emotional and waverable most with the people closest to her; she cries a lot and laughs for no reason at uncouth stuff. Her writing is average at best with spots of imagery and occasional not-so-laugh-out-loud humor and is very, very self-indulgent... much like my own. I am so annoyed that I like her and that says something very important.

Out of the many things I have understood intuitively about her journey, I have been most inspired by her slightly late New Years resolution: "To Get Over My Damned Self." In other words, to claim bits of herself that are "her" whether or not she wants to acknowledge them. I have a lot of these, A LOT, and they all point to how average and normal and stereotypical I am. I used to hate that. And now... now that grad school is over and I may be entering "the real world" as a permanent member, I am ready to claim it, to own those things that don't set me apart from anyone in particular, and that really, really light up my soul:

1) Getting excited when I see old copies of Readers Digest in a bathroom and spending way longer than I need to in there, catching up on good jokes I'll never remember and sighing happily at their quotes page.
2) Singing overly-dramatic feminine lyrics at the tops of my lungs while stuck in traffic; so into it, eyes closed and head flung back, that I miss when the light changes and get honked at, destroying my bubble of imaginary privacy in giggles.
3) Love for sitting in really, really hot tubs and drinking lots of water and doing it so long that my face turns a frightening shade of red and I feel sick and weak the rest of the day. Without the influence of others, I'll gladly spend an entire vacation centered around this one activity. Or, at home, waste a lot of good, clean water and run up an unfair bill using this precious resource for a slightly worthless high.
4) Shiny things. I love them. Am attracted to them like a fish. Earrings I don't really enjoy wearing and cheap polished metal stuff with crystals in it to hang around the house that are flashbacks to being 5- like butterflies and dolphins. Heck, add to that list fizzy bath salts, expensive chocolate, fancy kitchen doodads and really cute party dresses... and the fact that buying these things can actually fix a bad day.
5) Liking dolphins. I cannot think of anything more cliche.
6) Reading run-of-the-mill girly books I'd probably never recommend to anyone and loving every last word of them. It feels devilish after my high school career and its legacy of snobbish conversations about society's greatest works. Looking back, I took so little from that: existentialism and a few religious ideas at best. On the other hand, enjoying the empathy of a similar woman stranger in brings me a most unexpected and nourishing release and I plan to do a lot more of it.