So! I watched Julie and Julia last night with my fiancé and my lovely soon-to-be mother-in-law last night.
The movie is based on two true stories. Julia Childs is the famous chef and cookbook author from the 1950's. And Julie Powell is a young blogger who adored the famous chef and tried to cook through Julia's recipes in a year.
I both love and hate movies that remind me of me.
Julie is a writer. I like to fancy myself as one.
Julie writes about what she is passionate about. I like to write about what I am passionate about.
People love listening to Julie... And THIS is the part that both perks me up and depresses me.
I am blessed to have a very personal "fan" base (if you can even call it that). And while it's flattering having fans, I don't really WANT fans. I just want to be heard. And just as I don't want fans, I also most certainly don't want enemies. Google search "Gingi Edmonds" and you'll be appalled at what you see. Apparently blogging about opposing butchering babies isn't very popular on the WWW. Unlike blogging about cooking.
The unfortunate part about having a creative, free-spirited, passionate heart trapped in a conservative, common-sense, life-loving brain is that the topics that consume me are not happy, fuzzy, feel good things. Everyone loves reading about the joys of poaching an egg. No one gets self-satisfied and fulfilled over detailed battle-plans combating dismembering babies.
There is much more to me than just pro-life activism. I love cooking. And stargazing. And art. And I have a perplexing fascination with butterflies. But I can't in good conscience embrace these artful oases's of calm and joy and completely ignore the good that I COULD be doing in the pro-life movement.
Sometime I feel bitter about that. Why can't *I* be a Julie? Why does MY consuming motivation, MY "Julia" have to be a twisted old man in a dirty clinic tearing apart a small child with forceps instead of a warm-hearted middle aged woman stuffing a duck?
God give me the courage, the strength, and the ability to take my art-craving, culture-driven, romance-loving heart and apply it appropriately and appealingly to the masses for the unborn. Seriously people, this is much tougher than it looks.
Anyway, the ho-hum happy storyline in Julie and Julia turns out to be a complete farse. Julia Childs read Julie Powells cooking blog, and fully loathed it. And unlike what the movie portrayed, Julie isn't a sweet young housewife doting on her adoring husband. In her newest book that released in November 2009 she writes in her own words - in graphic detail - about a two-year affair with a man she refers to as "D." She then describes their sexual encounters and even having sex with a complete stranger.
So, basically, the fun and happy movie is based more in fiction than fact. I absolutely hate that. But it just reminds me that deep down, I AM glad that I'm me, and not some random Julie.
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