"Love means not ever having to say you're sorry."

We've all heard this quote before, right? Who hasn't used it at least once in their lifetime? I know I have. Too many to count. It's from the book by Erich Segal, Love Story, which was also made into a movie in 1970.


It's the movie Thora Birch is watching when she is sitting on the roof of her house in Now and Then.

It was referenced in the movie What's Up Doc? starring Barbara Streisand (Judy) and Ryan O'Neal (Howard):

Judy: Love means never having to say you're sorry.
Howard: That's the dumbest thing I ever heard.

And John Lennon countered it when he said: "Love means having to say you're sorry every fifteen minute."

URL: http://able2know.org/topic/138953-1

I literally read this book in a matter of hours. It was short and sentimental. Perfect for the mood I was in after reading Barbie and Ruth. It rigidly followed the drama/chick lit pattern -- witty meet-cute, love, disaster and redemption. It did not surprise me, yet I couldn't put it down.  But, what can I say? I'm a sucker for a sappy romance. It reminded me of my first high school boyfriend. You know the one I'm talking about, right? The one who promises you the world, and fills your heart with so much love you think you're going to burst. M memorized sonnets for me. Wrote me love letters. Made me his muse. Such an unforgettably great first love.

But, doesn't it feel like forever ago when we took ourselves too seriously and chalked it up to being naive and young? I think that's what I liked most about this book. I could revert back to my old ways and hope that everything would be tied up happily, unjaded and pure.

I really liked this little scene from the book. I mean, we've all experienced that inability to concentrate on anything because the person you love is in the room, or sitting next to you, right? So, enjoy:


Jenny (J): You're going to flunk out, Oliver.
We were sitting in my room on a Sunday afternoon, reading.
J: Oliver, you're gonna flunk out if you just sit there watching me study.
Oliver (O): I'm not watching you study. I'm studying.
J: Bullshit. You're looking at my legs.
O: Only once in a while. Every chapter.
J: That book has extremely short chapters.
O: Listen, you narcissistic bitch, you're not that great-looking!
J: I know. But can I help it if you think so?
I threw down my book and crossed the room to where she was sitting.
O: Jenny, for Christ's sake, how can I read John Stuart Mill when every single second I'm dying to make love to you?
She screwed up her brow and frowned.
J: Oh Oliver, wouldja please?
I was crouching by her chair. She looked back into her book.
O: Jenny --
She closed her book softly, put it down, then placed her hands on the sides of my neck.
J: Oliver -- wouldja please?
It all happened at once. Everything.

Audrey Niffenegger ** Double Feature ** Part I

I've now read two of Audrey Niffenegger's books and I think I see a bit of a pattern. First she lures you in with the promise of mischievous fantasy, makes you fall in love with her characters and just when you are getting comfortable she pierces you with a (slightly expected but unwanted) twist.

I am frequently being sucked into bargain book stores, garage sales, and used book fairs. It doesn't matter if I'm running late for something or meeting up with someone for lunch. I can't stop myself from being sidetracked. The sirens call me and I answer. You might be thinking, "Get some self-control, woman!" But if it hadn't been for one of my unanticipated stops at one of these burgeoning blacktop businesses, I would never have stumbled upon my copy of The Time Traveler's Wife.

Normally, a book as clunky as this one would have made me look the other way. The vague description on the back would have waved me along. But something about the image on the cover kept me coming back. The impatient little girl with her pristine, white knee socks and the large brown leather shoes placed neatly on a flannel blanket waiting for the feet to fill them. Circling around the tables of books, I methodically made my way back to the same pile over and over again, the image of the shoes peeking back at me, urging me to give it a chance. So, what else could I do? I bought it.*  I didn't think anything of it. I knew this book would be placed on my shelf where it would wait for me to pluck it from its slumber when the mood struck. What usually ends up happening is, I forget that I own the book, I eventually hear that a movie is coming out based on the book, then I search for said book, plop down and read it.

When books get turned into movies, I become anxious and panic stricken. Will I have enough time to read the book before the movie comes out? Will the book be good? Will the movie be good? Will there be disappointment like there always is when Hollywood tries to recreate something as magical as what an author has created on his or her pages? Those pages that ignite your own imagination? But those aren't the thoughts that went through my mind when I finished Time Traveler's Wife (TTW). I was intrigued and somewhat excited to see how they would portray this epic love story on the silver screen.

It was the first time that I wanted them to Hollywood-ize a book. That's not to say that I was dissatisfied with it. I would even go as far as to say that TTW is one of my favorite novels. But when you are given the opportunity to see a different outcome, wouldn't you want it? It's kind of like watching a movie that gives you the option of seeing the "alternate ending"; don't you click it, just to see what else could have happened?

I was given the chance to appreciate both adaptations of a love story that surpassed practicality and time. I fell in love with Henry and Claire. I appreciated the innocence of fate weaving itself throughout their story. At times it was dark, a habit in Niffenegger's writing, but the dark moments just helped highlight the lighter ones. I really don't want to spoil it by giving away anything about the book, but I do highly recommend it.

In regards to the movie (which I am eagerly awaiting! I ordered it a week ago!!), what can I say? It won me over. The first song accompanying the beginning credits was "Lo, how a rose e're blooming", one of my all time favorite songs. And I think that they cast it well with Rachel McAdams as Claire and Eric Bana as Henry. But I may be biased, because I love them both. Yes, there was some disappointment with certain details, but all in all I liked it.

With all that being said, I would still suggest reading the book before seeing the movie. It is a personal preference, but I like to maintain the authenticity and integrity of the author's work in its original form. It makes it easier to create my own versions of the characters, instead of picturing the actors cast in the roles.

Take two and call me in the morning...

I am experiencing some writer's block. And it's not like I don't have material to write about. I mean, I just finished Her Fearful Symmetry (I'm thinking about a double feature piece, including Time Traveler's Wife, what do you think?), I'm almost done with Traveling with Pomegranates AND just this past weekend I went to Strand Bookstore in Union Square for the first time! I should be pouring out my jumbled thoughts and adventures to all of you, but for the past couple of days, it's been hard to sift through them.

Maybe writer's block is the wrong word...I'm experiencing writer's overflow. My brain is too full. If you looked inside my head right now you would probably see something like that scene in I Love Lucy with the conveyor belt and chocolates. I feel like I have a lot to say, but my pesky inner critic has been coming out to play. She's like the mean girl at school  who comes to knock your blocks over after you've just finished placing the top piece with a proud flourish.  So while I wrestle with my inner bully, I'll share a priceless conversation I had with my parents about my love life:

Me: I'm going to die alone.
Mom: What are you talking about? You are going to find a nice, successful, handsome, wonderful.....(then she goes off on her own tangent while my dad talks over her)
Dad: When it's the right time, you'll find the right man.
Mom: .....sexy man who will make you as happy as Daddy makes me. Maybe you should call your friend, S and go out to the discos with her? You have to put yourself out there!


Me: Ugh, I know all that, but... ***big sigh*** ....men are just big headaches.
Mom (nods in agreement): Yea, I know. But you'll find the right man to give you the right headaches.
Dad (appalled and defensive): What and you think women aren't headaches? Sometimes you just have to .......... learn how to take Tylenol.

"In Jewish Tradition, it is a mitzvah, a good deed, to invite those who are traveling or without a seder. For one night everyone is mishpucha - family."

So I've avoided this post for a while because every time I go to write it, I come off as a crazy person.....kind of like when I debated sending a "support" letter to Britney Spears when she was at her most......unstable. I thought surely, this was the right time to swoop in and become her best friend; get her back on track, you know? But, I could never get the tone right and would come off as a psycho fan who had Hit Me Baby One More Time and Gimme More posters lining her walls.

Dear Britney,
I  love you. I really think we could be best friends. You should really think about getting your shit together.......

Dear Britney,
We should hang out some time.....

Dear Britney,
I'm nuts....

Anyway, I say this because I don't want you to think I'm crazy. Or that I'm being ironic when I say that I love Jewish people. No, I don't have posters of Moses and Woody Allen lining my walls, but I do have a great appreciation for everything that has to do with those I affectionately refer to as the Chosen People. And I apologize in advance if I offend you with my flippant language but rest assured my affection is genuine.

Whenever I meet someone who is Jewish, I am star-of-David-struck. "You're Jewish? Oh my G_d, I love the Jews!" which then prompts the cocked head, inquisitive brow look, "Are you Jewish?" at which point I answer,"Me? *disappointed sigh* No. I love Jesus.....But he was a Jew too, so....." which I follow with a noncommittal shrug.


I don't know where this love comes from. My cousin, A,  is Jewish, and she's pretty much one of the funniest and kindest people I know, so maybe it stemmed from there. Like most Jews, she's been given the gift of story-telling and humor. When we get together, besides the constant playful jabs at each others' religious affiliations, she will have the entire room in stitches, tears streaming down our faces, stomachs aching from our constant giggles due to detailed accounts of her hilariously unique adventures. Unique in that only she would be accosted by a rabbi on her way to class so she could participate in some random Jewish holiday involving a pineapple and a wooden cane. Or only she would get locked out of her yeshiva (in Israel) on a Friday because she forgot that on shabbos they disable the electronic gate; and just as she's hiked up her skirt to try and climb up the wall (a no-no where all the girls are basically dressed like Amish women), the rabbi comes out of the darkness and gently prompts her to freeze in a running man position with a, "Good evening, my child."  Or only she would come home to an unexpected order of a Costco-sized box of KY jelly to go with her new Ab FlexBelt. I don't know why these things happen to her, but I have faith that they definitely have something to do with her being Jewish. :)


Not only is she my favorite Jewish cousin, but she has spoiled me with her encouragement towards my Gentile curiosity. I must confess though, this kind of freedom has made me forget that sometimes my interactions with her may seem.....offensive (?) to other Jews who don't know that my love for their culture is pure. However, rest assured that I do try to keep my chutzpah to a minimum.

Anyway, when I was at a used book fair, I saw this lime green treasure peeking out from the pile and had to have it. The Matzo Ball Heiress by Laurie Gwen Shapiro. Chick-lit and matzo? L'chiam! 

Reasons why I loved it:


Yiddish - check
Self-deprecating Jewish humor - check
Hot Jewish men - check
Girlfriend with the last name Hitler - check


What else could a Jew-loving shiska ask for? Baruch hashem, let the hilarity ensue!

"Food should be a source of joy, not agony. Exercise should be about enjoyable movement, not penitence. We should respect our bodies' wisdom."

I am not going to get all preachy and tell you that you should love your body. Because I would be a hypocrite. But, you should try to focus on the positive things about yourself, and not what you perceive to be the negative. I know it's hard...Lord knows, I know...but as soon as I find myself grimacing in the mirror, I really do try to find at least one thing that I am proud of. Like maybe I feel fat, but my hair looks luscious and shiny... when I'll think to myself, "DAMN, I am HOT!" and it makes me feel great ;)

When I was in college, I was determined not to gain the freshman 15. That dreaded number that every mom, aunt and grandmother warned me about before I went off to Boston. I took to going to the gym everyday for hours, eating only Special K for breakfast and dinner, and having a salad with chicken for lunch. Yogurt and pineapples were my "binge" items. By the time I went to bed, my mouth ached because of all the pineapple I devoured during the course of the day. But that is neither here nor there. I had an unhealthy relationship with the need to get skinny and the need to burn calories.

I was at my thinnest during my sophomore year. All that exercise had paid off! I was down to my goal weight (give or take 5 lbs). I wasn't emaciated or anything like that. I was not a bobble-headed girl, who was dead to the world. But something was happening. I looked good on the outside, while I suffered on the inside; until one day, my brain and my body went on strike.

Now, I can go back and forth attributing this crash to many things, but the one thing I know for sure is that my perverse lifestyle had caught up to me, and I needed a break.

That break has lasted for almost three years. And there have been times where I have been miserable because I stop and think, "Why did I just let it go?" I naively "remember" being the happiest I ever was, when I was squeezing myself into a size 4. But I guess hindsight is 20/20.

I was happy, because I didn't have to hear comments from my well-meaning family, about losing "5 more lbs", and I was happy because I could go straight to the size 6s and 4s in any clothing store. I was proud of the body I had sculpted. All that hard work, all those hours! It was great. That wasn't the problem. The problem was that I was obsessed. It wasn't my weight that was harmful, it was my mindset.

If I didn't go to the gym at least once a day, I felt miserable. I would beat myself up all day, trying to come up with ways to make up for my "laziness". I knew exactly how my clothes were supposed to fit and if there was anything that I thought was out of place, I would rush to the gym and try to make it right again. I couldn't think of any else. It consumed my every thought.

It has taken me a while to get to a place, mentally, where I am now going to the gym on my own terms. I am not doing it for my family. I am not doing it to prove anything to anyone. I know what I am comfortable with, I know where I want to be, and I know what is healthy for me. If I miss one day at the gym, I don't beat myself up. I balance it out, in a healthy way. I no longer have that aching pit in my stomach, that mean voice in my head telling me I'm not good enough. I feel even better than I did back then, because my joy and acceptance are genuine.

Reading Hungry, it was like having an opportunity to look at who I was back then. Like I said, I wasn't emaciated. I didn't stop eating altogether. So I can not go as far as to say that I know what Crystal Renn went through. But when you have that obsessive body-dismorphic mentality... it's like you are part of a club. A club that has no parties, because you'd then have to worry about whether or not you should eat that awesome guacamole or those delicious empanadas.

The writing is a bit elementary in this book, but the story is compelling. Renn is given an opportunity to model, if she loses weight. On her quest, she enters the obsessive world of anorexia. She slowly realizes modeling is not all it's cracked up to be. She loses her motivation, her hair and herself. And then she has, what Oprah likes to call, an A-HA! moment. She's not happy and doesn't want to suffer anymore, so why not become a plus-size model? Once she makes that decision, her career skyrockets. She gets more photo shoots then she ever did as a "straight-size" model. And most importantly she's happy.

Do you remember this ad? Her story is inspiring for women who have struggled with weight and she is role-model for girls who are suffering in the "straight-size" modeling world. And to top it all off, she is doing her best to break down the barriers for plus-size models.

"It's essential to see that size is only one of the battlefronts. Those of us who want to see more plus-size women represented in fashion should also be supporting the use of more women of color and age. There's strength and solidarity in numbers. Diversity helps us all. And thin people are not the enemy...We have to change the culture by rewarding and applauding diversity in all its forms, not by vilifying individual women."

My Life in France - Julia Child

If we go back to my first post about Julia Child, you will remember that one of my ambitions was to read My Life In France. I was enchanted by the relationship Julia shared with her husband, with France and with la cuisine française. So as soon as I finished Julie and Julia, I requested the book (during the summer) from my library......and waited until December to actually read it! And once again, the love affair between the Childs sent my heart aflutter.

Their quirky sense of humor and the way they manage to understand each other's every peccadillo astounds me. It got my brain thinking...that's what I want...someone who is going to understand all those little things about me, that may annoy an innocent bystander, but that will make them love me even more. I believe that you have to find someone who is going to love your imperfections even more than your "perfections". And I feel like that's what Julia and Paul had. When you read about their adventures and their spontaneity...it's like they brought out the best in each other, in their own unique way. It's a modern day Romeo and Juliet, minus the dying and plus the good food, good friends and good humor.

One thing that I learned, that made me fall in love with them even more is that instead of sending out Christmas cards, they sent out Valentine's Day cards. In the book Julia says that Christmas was too hectic, it always crept up on them and they could never send out the cards in time. So their tradition was to take "lovey" pictures of themselves and send those out to their friends in time for Valentine's Day. A sample of their Valentine's Day cards is in the photo insert in the book, and they are priceless.

Since I've started working in publishing, I've realized how difficult it can be for authors to find a collaborator who is going to bring out his or her real voice in their book. Sometimes, an author is not a writer, and finding someone who is going to stay true to his or her own voice and personality is essential. Julia was reticent about writing her story, but when she finally did decide to put it all down, she could not have found a better person to help her. Alex Prud'homme, Paul Child's great-nephew captured Julia in a way, that even though I didn't know her personally, I could feel her presence and fun-loving charisma resonating off the page.

If I closed my eyes, I could hear her high-lilting voice booming joyfully; sharing each one of her experiences with me. I savored the French dishes that changed how her palate tasted life. And I felt my heart leap every time she described her marriage and interactions with Paul.

Her story is inspiring to say the least. Moving to France and diving into doing something that I love, with no regrets? Sounds perfect. When I was in high school my sister used to joke that I was like Gertrude Stein. She'd say that like Stein, “America is my country and Paris is my hometown.” Lucky enough to visit Paris more than once, I was always romanced by the people, the art, the language and the lifestyle. It felt right when I was walking down the street, baguette in hand, Eiffel Tower in the background. French pastries are my weakness, but unlike Julia, my affinity for French cooking is nonexistent.

I guess growing up in a Greek household, my love for olive oil trumps my French ancestry's butter-loving butt.

A bientôt, mes amis!

For a great book review of My Life In France check out this link:
http://www.nytimes.com/2006/05/28/books/review/28riding.html

Austen meets Book meets Girl

Confession: When I was in high school I was a bona-fide theater nerd. I loved singing and acting (sometimes dancing, even though I can't dance to save my life, unless booty dancing is legit, and if that's the case I should probably join the New York City Ballet).

I loved the costumes, the makeup, the incestuous camaraderie and most of all, I loved the moment right before the lights came up for the first scene.

First, the audience members shift quietly in their seats, people backstage frantically whisper to each other on their headphones and make sure everyone is in place, and you stand there trying to remember your first line. But then the atmosphere changes, always just seconds before the bright lights illuminate the stage and bring you to life; the audience settles, those people backstage pause and you all take in one deep, collective breath.

ACTION!

I think that's why I liked this book so much. It kind of reminded me of being on stage; getting to transform into a different person, creating layers and diving into an alternate world.

When Jane Hayes' great-aunt dies, she leaves Jane an all-expense paid trip to a resort in England where she leaves her modern crap behind and immerses into an Austen world; trading in her cellphone for a trunk full of empire waist dresses. Jane realizes that this is her last chance to find her Mr. Darcy before she tucks that fantastic dream away forever.

Those who work at the resort are actors paid to deliver the most authentic Austen experience. At first this place seems like a dream come true, Jane's last hurrah before turning over a new Darcy-free leaf; however, we all know how that ends. Jane of course falls for the wrong guy, when the right one is right under her nose! It's one of those really frustrating chick-lit books that you know who she should (and will eventually) end up with, but she still does not heed your telepathic advice.

I always find that when I read these "predictable" books, I am torn between knowing that in the end everything will work out the way it should and wanting the ending to surprise me and be drastically different. The most annoying thing is that the action always happens in the last 100-50 pages and the really important part, a.k.a when the two people finally realize they love each other and need to jump through a million hoops to reach one another, takes place within the last 10-5 pages. I can't help having a love-hate relationship with this chick-lit template. I love knowing that there will be a happy ending, but what happens after they make out at the airport? Do they get married? Does he turn out to be a douche-bag?

We don't get to see the real part. The part after the honeymoon months....but maybe that's the point. These books are meant to help you escape the mundane, every-day seriousness that is real life, right?

The one that got away?

Thank goodness that my reader's block went away! I thought I was seriously broken!

You ever wonder about the one that got away? Honestly, if you say no, everyone knows that you're lying, unless you married your first love and you are one of thooooose people ;)

The first book I read by Harriet Evans was Hopeless Romantic. Her writing style was similar to that of Sophie Kinsella's and it was one of those books that gives you that extra spring in your step because it reminds you that love is possible and waiting at the turn of every corner.

The Love of Her Life was exactly the kind of book that I needed to get me back in the reading ring. It was full of love, mix-ups, self-deprecation and secret trysts. Yes, I know these books are predictable and some may say shallow. But don't you remember the days when you would day dream about fairy tales and really think that prince charming was going to come and sweep you off your feet? So, why not bring a little of that magic back into your adult life? I know I'm tired of the cynicism that comes with age regarding love.

Being 20-something, we're bombarded with new ideals on how love should be, how we should meet, how we should act, how we should live, etc. Why can't we stop texting and emailing and facebooking and barhopping long enough to jolt a little romantic magic into our lives? Even if it is through fiction. I am not saying we should stop everything, hole up into our reading nooks and never come out because we'll never meet anyone like the guys in the books. All I'm saying is that sometimes I feel like romance is low on the list of thing we look for nowadays.

Maybe I'm wrong, and should listen to my sister when she tells me that I won't find the guy of my dreams by bumping into him in a bookstore or spilling coffee on him at a Starbucks. Maybe I should just suck it up, buy a slutty Halloween costume, pay the $25-$50 cover charge and prowl Manhattan on Oct. 31st like the rest of my co-eds.

Am I expecting too much or too little?

"You can't explain love, that's how it gets ruined."

pg. 169, Love Begins in Winter



For some reason, I tend to shy away from (read "avoid like the plague") short stories. I don't really know why; could it be residual from my high school English classes, where A Story and Its Writer was a runner-up to the Bible? Who knows?!

All I know is that up until now, an overwhelming feeling of dread overcame me every time I saw the words, "compilation" or "collection" paired with any title.

However, the short stories in Love Begins in Winter rid me of my aversion and satisfied my unknown need for an unique definition of everyday "love".

Things I liked (excuse my over analysis since, I was an English major):

1. Each story is a love story between strangers

2. Since the title is "love begins in winter", it is fitting that the stories are not typical girl meets boy (boy meets boy; girl meets girl), fall in love and live happily ever after. Spring is the time for rebirth, new life, new love. It makes sense when a pair falls in love with the flowers in bloom and the birds chirping. But winter is different. Winter is cold and dark. The sun does not come out to remind you that love is in the air or that your day is full of possibilities. Van Booy broke that stereotype and made love happen when there was nothing but the minimum nourishing it.

3. In their brief encounters, these strangers find connections with one another through personal experiences and memories.

4. The stories were authentic; the perfect mixture of jade and happiness.

Maybe I liked it because it was realistic. I mean, don't all relationships start off this way? You meet a stranger and then as time passes you become acquaintances and then friends.

I know; So perceptive and deep. It surprises me too sometimes.

It is a truth universally acknowledged....

Typically, Lady Luck is not on my side. I don't win things in raffles or sweepstakes. And unfortunately, this is not a success tale, where I tell you all how I won a car or a trip to Italy.


Have you heard of shelfari.com or goodreads.com? These websites are awesome! They are kind of like virtual libraries where you can organize your books into categories (books you've read, are reading now, and want to read). I guess you can say it is like facebook in the sense that you can friend people with similar book tastes, ask for others' opinions on books you want to read and join groups that discuss books/genres that you are interested in.

Anyway...my friend* entered a contest on goodreads and ended up winning According to Jane by Marilyn Brant. Funny thing is, out of the whole list of books that she tried for, that was the only one she chose thinking that I might like it because it had something to do with Jane Austen. Heehee...

(Personal Note: I love anything Jane Austen. Pride and Prejudice is one of my all time favorite books. I can't turn down any book that has Austen in the title. As an example of my weird addiction; currently I'm waiting for the books Austenland and Jane Austen Ruined My Life from my library. Yes, it is that bad.)

She received an uncorrected proof with an inscription by the author. Very cool.

After the glow of winning wore off, she told me it was my job to read it as fast as I could and write a review of it for goodreads so that she could be in the good graces of the goodreads gods (say that 3x fast!).

So, here are my efforts towards being a critic:

"According to Jane is an intriguing spin on a typical piece of chick-lit. For those hard-core Austen fans, like myself, it will cause you to instantly be jealous of Ellie, the lucky protagonist who has the honor of being the vessel in which Austen's spirit decides to reside. Austen is depicted as I would have imagined; sharp-witted, slightly stoic with a dry sense of humor, and, at times, dark and ominous.
The relationship that grows between the two women, starting from when Ellie is in her early teens until she reaches the ripe age of 34, is similar to any other friendship. There are ups and downs, fights and calm discussions, proclamations of admiration,a genuine love for each other's company, and respect for their advice and role in each other's lives.
Marilyn Brant's juxtaposition of Austen's Victorian ideals and Ellie's "modern" decisions is brilliant. It gives Brant the opportunity to show how ahead of her time Austen was even with her reservations and tight-lipped warnings.
Yes, it is a little weird and far-fetched that a famous author would somehow take up residence in a person's mind, and that person does not end up being a bag lady mumbling to herself in the middle of street. But it was fun to suspend reality and think, "What if?"
All-in-all, this book was a great read, not only for the Austen fan, but for any fan fond of friendships, true love and self-discovery."

Bon Appetit!

I had a movie date with my mom on Thursday and I went to see Julie & Julia.

First, I must say that Meryl Streep is a genius. She goes from Devil Wears Prada to Mamma Mia to Doubt to Julie & Julia. Is there a role this woman cannot do?

Julie and Julia (the movie) was entertaining. The Julia parts were funny and endearing. I loved the relationship between Julia and her husband, Paul. They met later on in each others' lives, but they were meant to be together from the start. The love is palpable and original. It was a testament that love is out there for anyone and it can come into your life at any moment. A scenario where "better late, than never" is definitely fitting.

It was a little weird seeing Streep and Stanley Tucci as lovers, after seeing them work together in Devil Wears Prada. It was hard for me to really get that out of my head during the movie, but they are both such exceptional actors that it was easy to appreciate their performance nonetheless.

Amy Adams was very good too, but the Julie in the movie was a little different from the Julie in the book. A bit darker and a tad more self-pitying. Now, I must admit, I love to read; but like the Standardized Testing people know, my Elementary school English teachers know and my friends that I force to read books in my none-existent book club know --- my reading comprehension kind of SUCKS. But reading comprehension aside, I don't remember Julie being so sad and cranky. High strung and stressed, yes. Maybe the Julie in my head is like the Julia in her head? Sweet, quirky, and supportive. Happy that she is doing something that she loves regardless of the challenges.

Just another reason why I like books better than movies. I can create my own version of the characters in my head and they can be as nice or as mean as I want them to be. However, this time the Julia in the movie surpassed even my greatest leaps in imagination. She was charismatic, optimistic and a real spit-fire.

I think that what I liked the most about the juxtaposition of Julie and Julia was that even though they were different, they were still similar in a way. Both women inspiring to cook, to love, to live, to commit to a project until the end; both igniting something from within.

AMBITION: Find my life's "bread and butter".

Oh, and read My Life in France by Julia Child (with Alex Prud'homme)