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I'm such a hypocrite, I pride myself in consistency -- yet in actuality I'm so far from it.

I watched 500 days of summer yesterday. I wish I could have paid for it since it was really wonderful, but nobody was going to take me and I can't take myself yet. I'm perfectly okay with the concept of going to the movies by myself, screw feelings of social oddity. But anyway, I really really really loved the movie, if I didn't make that clear enough. It was hysterical, beautiful, had great music, and really well done. Though I don't think it had its intended effect on me. I think I was supposed to end the movie feeling hopeful, and anticipatory for the future. Instead, the entire thing just kind of fucked with my idea of the concept of love.

I don't think I understand that word entirely yet. I was listening to my grandparents and aunts and uncles and parents all talking a few months ago, they were discussing how loosely the world love is used, and how it's really lost some of its meaning. Which I suppose could be entirely true. On a daily basis I say love an infinite number of times: I love this song, I love this class, I love you, I love him, I love them, I love your shoes, I love your smile, I love that, I love their ideas, I love that picture.. but does it really mean anything? Am I just diluting the word until love becomes synonymous with like, and you lose sense of the differences between the passion that's supposed to be associated with love, and the simplicity behind like? I'm thinking of it more along the lines of not really knowing what love is. In my mind it's this school-girl shit.. an over dramatic buildup of butterflies in the stomach, the presence of some special closeness, a connection well beyond feasibility to any outsider looking in.. but what if that really doesn't exist? I've been stupid enough to think I was "in love" before or whatever, but now when I look back I see only sheer stupidity and shallowness behind it all. That wasn't anything tender or lovey, it was infatuation with something I primarily created in my own head. A build-up ideals that could never exist in reality, but just took shape in the closest, tangible possibility. I think I was so desperate for the existence of something, that I just willed it into being, then, willingly overlooked the realism behind it all.. and I guess I think that's what I figure love to be too. Love is just an imaginary, ~magical~ ideal that doesn't really mean anything, but everyone seems to strive for it because they've built it up in their minds as being something completely unreal, something completely out-of-this-world beautiful ... oh, I don't know.

On a slightly less bitter note, I put some pictures up on flickr and one of them has been viewed 18 times over the past 3-ish days! This is very exiting to me considering I've had stuff up their for a few months now with only 6 views. The only thing that bothers me, is that my most viewed picture is of cake. Now, I have pictures that I think are much better of scenery in Paris and Venice, yet the most noted thing I've done on there is snap a picture of my brothers birthday cake, awesome.