Groggy Musings

I was planning to review Anatomy of a Murder today, but watching it was like another day at the office. God knows I deal with enough obnoxious lawyers in my job... maybe later this week.

The past few days have put me in a nostalgic frame of mind. Those of you who'd rather not read something personal can wait patiently for me to see Captain Blood later this week. Or check out Tim's review of Black Narcissus here. This blogger has a few things to vent.

The most awkward confession first: lately, I've been listening constantly to Taylor Swift's Fifteen. The song's specifics I can't relate to, having never been a teenaged girl. In generalities though I can certainly relate to a young adult frustrated in romance and unsure of their place in the world. While my taste in music is reputedly deplorable, Ms. Swift's song dovetailed nicely with a few other things.

On Friday I watched A Man for All Seasons for the umpteenth time. As a teenager I fell in and out love with films, TV shows and books on a weekly basis. They became an all-consuming passion before burning out interest completely. Aside from Flashman and (on a much lower level of intensity) King of the Hill I've grown out of this habit since high school. A Man for All Seasons still resonates strongly if only for the memories attached to it.

If I wrote about my senior year I'd use Man as a framing device, or at least a macguffin. I lived, breathed and ate Robert Bolt's play throughout 12th grade. I studied it for English Lit. with two of my best friends, Alex and Beth. I remember Mrs. Gordon's drama class, wearing a "Harry Potter" robe and a self-made chain of office as I debated Deutoronomy with classmate Anthony. I read it to myself in between scenes of our senior class play. When our Scholastic Scrimmage team reached the State finals, their TV cameras filmed me performing the Tower inquiry scene, a piece I'd done for the Forensics speech team. I spent hours trying to imitate Paul Scofield's remarkable baritone, with markedly less success than my Alec Guinness impression. I signed friends' yearbooks with quotes for God's sake.

High school's now a dim memory but there are still points of light that shine through the gloom. Senior year redeemed a lousy high school experience, with its plays, forensics meets, great classes, debates, awesome teachers (and a few awful ones), disastrous driving tests, unrequited crushes, friendships old and new. As much as I enjoyed college it never topped the sheer fun I had 2006-2007 at Somerset High School. "I didn't know who I was supposed to be" which is why Sir Thomas More so resonated with me. But mostly, I enjoyed it too much to care.

When Paul Scofield passed in early 2008 I wept like a baby. Usually when a celebrity dies I feel a pang of sadness and then move on. But Mr. Scofield's passing brought about a far more intense reaction. All the hours I spent watching his remarkable performance as Sir Thomas More, feeling his warmth, intelligence and quiet intensity, imitating his acting style, worshipping his character's integrity and strength - all a memory. I felt it almost as keenly as a close friend. I've suffered far worse, infinitely more personal losses since then, but Scofield was the first bit of high school to pass away. I still can't watch More's trial and execution without tearing up.

Finally, this past Saturday I made it up to Pittsburgh. Despite some minor driving mishaps (I nearly got in the wrong lane on the Turnpike - yikes!) and the ever-present threat of bombs on campus it was a pleasant trip. I caught up with my friends Havilah and Dan, including Qdoba, a trip to the Homestead Waterfront and of course, watching Leprechaun in the Hood. "Strangely entertaining," Dan called it, clearly flummoxed by the experience. A nice capper on a pleasant day, I felt.

It's been almost a year since graduation. My college experience was mostly positive, if unremarkable. I had an interesting freshman year figuring things out and putting up with a hard-partying roommate. Sophomore year saw my first girlfriend, horrible classes and a nervous breakdown. I prefer to remember as little about that as I can. Senior year was mostly noteworthy for living a half-mile off campus and having to hike to and from class (or work, or what have you) multiple times a day.

It's junior year I remember most fondly. I met two of my best friends, Cathryn and Havilah, in an elevator and an annoying computer class respectively. I had a memorably weird Model UN experience, including food poisoning, dogs in hotel rooms and near-sex with a girl from Georgetown. There were several more missed romantic opportunities in inimitable Groggy style, one which dragged through most of spring and summer term. Then there was the madness of the G-20 summit, where I was trapped in the library while a full-fledged riot raged just outside.

Then there's spring term. It's still close enough in time to vividly remember the choice bits. Two history classes with the same awesome professor. A class on Islam with much spirited debate and a fun teacher. Missing a week of class due to Snowmageddon. A Waterfront trip in a blinding snow storm with a then-huge $100 shopping spree. Painstakingly crafting a paper for my History seminar (more fun than it sounds). Discovering Flashman. A ridiculously-botched Relay for Life event that somehow turned out okay. Reading Conscience of a Conservative on the Schenley Lawn a gorgeous March day while attractive co-eds lay out in the grass. (They've built an eyesore of a restaurant there now, bastards.) Spilling water on my laptop and trying to desperately to dry out the keyboard. Hiking down Mt. Washington with my RA and friends because one of them got their ID confiscated. Joe's 21st birthday at the Waterfront.

More general memories come to mind too. Long nights working at the library. Coming home at 3 A.M. Monday to watch King of the Hill before plopping into bed. Reading entire books, cover-to-cover, on endless Tuesday nights. My Friday night Taco Bell orgies complete with David Lean film. Dinners with Joe and Dan, coffee with Havilah and Elizabeth, looking for a crepes restaurant with Cathryn. Being able to go to Phipps Conservatory or the Carnegie museums for free. Trying to watch films on Netflix, hoping my laptop didn't overheat first. Desperately scrambling for internships. Qdoba.

It's a shame these moments will soon be in the ashcan of memory along with losing my first tooth and my fourth grade field trips.

Looking back, I regret not doing more networking or internships that could have landed me a decent job on graduation. A year ago I would never have thought I'd be typing up court cases 60 hours a week to keep out of debtor's prison. I've never been good at big picture thinking which has certainly come back to bite me. On the other hand, there isn't much I would have changed. Returning to Pitt provided a brief but welcome reminder.

In my current pits of humdrum banality, it's nice to have nostalgia as a temporary escape. Then my boss hands me a stackful of pedophile cases to transcribe and nostalgia evaporates. Hooray Mondays.

Back to films soon.