Last night I lost the entry I wrote on the weekend. It is now Tuesday and frankly time to move on. Suffice it to say, it [the weekend, not my entry, haha] was fabulous, and everyone I was able to spend the time with -- as I always discover when I finally make the effort to participate in social activities -- made it so.

Josh and Lani have been in England for nearly two days now. It was strange saying goodbye to them, but not sad, not really. The overwhelming feeling is one of pure excitement for them, and anticipation for my chance to follow them across the Atlantic in eleven days. And nervousness, because Josh was so nervous, and relief, because Lani's mom was so amazingly sweet and sent me an email update on their adventure so far. It's true, I may only see them once or twice in the next five or six months, but it is too amazing an experience to allow myself to feel sorry for it.

I found I remembered Cleveland Hopkins to the last detail. I navigated my way to the airport and back to the parking lot without incident. And that is a small thing, but realizing I could do that much without assistance and without error gave me a sudden burst of confidence that I won't allow to be overshadowed by the enormity of what I'm about to do. I can navigate an international airport. I'm up for all manner of tasks. Largely on my own. With the aid of many friendly, supportive strangers but nevertheless, on my own.

And god, of course I'm terrified. This is the single scariest thing I've ever done. And the truth is, I'm not at all prepared for it! Not at all. I have no clue what I'm getting myself into. But oh, this terror, this indescribable, consuming terror is more than I have ever felt in my entire life. I am revelling in it. It will carry me through. And in every completely impractical sense, which is the only sort of sense I ever bother with, I am so ready for this.

So eleven days, and there's all these final preparations. I have a list of things to buy and things to pack. There's final paperwork to fill out and arrangements to make. I found out I can take a course in introductory Dutch and if I do well my 120 Euros will be refunded. I signed up yesterday for a Dutch student mentor to help me adjust to the new surroundings, basically tell me what the best sort of beer is, I imagine. :) I'm living in a single room in an apartment with a shared common room, which I think is the best living arrangement possible. And slowly, everything seems to be falling into place.

Well that's all I have to say of substance, but I feel the need to add that no sooner have I finished the entire Emma Thompson filmography than I've begun the same endeavor with Katharine Hepburn's. It started with the recommendation of one of my mother's coworkers, The Philadelphia Story and Bringing Up Baby over the weekend, and continued with four more so far in this short week, and there'll be no stopping me now. Yes, I am immersing myself in the "anti-American," "pinko", liberal Golden Age of Hollywood, and I may never watch another film in color again. In a moment I'd trade gratuitous skin for fully-clothed glamour, butt shots of young hunks for Cary Grant in the shower, cheap laughs for real wit and style, oh the style, slap me now but all those cigarettes sure are sexy. And yes, so many of them are just aching for the influence of second-wave feminism, but those are just calisthenics for my gender studies, masculinity-in-film framework. But then there are all those wonderful "unconventional woman" roles, played always with the great spirit of my now-beloved slacks-wearing, Hollywood-scorning, strong-willed, free-thinking atheist Kate. Katharine Hepburn, I'm not kidding you, is a goddamned inspiration.

And finally, I really am not in the mood to discuss Iowa or the State of the Union, not one bit, except to say, every time I hear a remark like this:

"John Edwards is as photogenic as they come, isn't he? He's electable!"

I just want to cry.

And bury my mind in a black-and-white classic.

Be whatever you like, you're my redhead.
C.K. Dexter Haven, The Philadelphia Story