you're killing me, woody allen

"well, you are interesting too... in a lost way"

- Midnight in Paris

Dear Woody,

Seriously, aren't you 76 years old?

How are you so on point when it comes to expressing human emotion so well? What ever happened to the adage of old men going senile?

Ive had enough with your enticing brilliance and soul wrenching movies that so perfectly, almost in a creepy manner, express the inner workings of so many people like myself; the hopeless wanderlust. I just cant watch anymore of your damn films without being obnoxiously inspired. Obnoxious in the sense that I'm a goldfish in a glass bowl, not even one of those lame salt water aquarium type of fish. I wont (or better yet, 'momentarily don't fathom') actually doing these things you write of but i wish to so dearly.

I just saw Midnight in Paris. I mean, are we the same person? Its far too bizarre to think there is some over aged man out there that can get into the mind of a 26 year old and relive her Parisian experiences and helplessness of being in relationships (all types: friends family and lovers) that don't understand me and my 'lusts for life'. You send me to a place i don't like to go to because it hurts my brain. Ive been thinking all my life and id like to one day relax, but its merely impossible.

"MOM! I'm THINKING!" I'd yell whenever she tried to disturb me...shed respond with " Uh no you're not, you're just sitting there." but i was thinking and to me, that's action enough. I dont need to be moving or doing anything to actually be doing things. my mind is my best friend, thats why i like to be alone in thought, because i am so highly entertained.

i often lie to people and say someones calling me on me the other line, that i have to do something, that im watching a movie, just so i can sit in silence and wander off. its the most precious gift i own, this WILD imagination of mine. That's why when people needed a ride home from FSU to Miami no one ever bothered to ask if they could ride with me, the answer was NO, thats when i like to think.

My friends used to try to come jogging me with me, NO!! that's when i like to think. They try to call me after work as i drive home, NO!!! its thinking and music time. my life revolves around when ill have time to think.

and then you go and write a movie about a character who revolves his life around where he thinks better and is more creative, and in PARIS of all places?!

The average person thinks 5000 thoughts a day......i think i think 5 million. But it hurts..and i really have tried to stop. Ive tried to distract myself with books and friends and going out and hanging around others to get this weight lifted off my brain. im tired of thinking. the other day i started crying and said "God, shut my mind off...i cant anymore.. id like to rest."

Because when i think, i dwell, and i yearn for my ideas to come to life. and they dont. my movies, commercials, novels, characters, business ideas...they just are growing tumors that wont ever be removed and will have to evaporate because i don't have the time or resources to bring them to life....(for now at least)

then....i go and see Midnight in Paris. Owen Wilson's character Gil likes to take walks at night to think, it helps him become more creative, he drifts off into his imagination and meets Scott and Zelda Fitzgerald, Dali, Picasso, Hemingway to name a few....a quote is mentioned that goes something like this (i cant find it for the life of me, please help) "To know that Paris exists and that not everyone would want to live here is beyond me."

I read that about your deep regret of not staying in Paris after the shooting of Whats New Pussycat? which is where your character Gil stems from. Although i never shot a movie, and was only in Paris for a nerdy study abroad program fully sponsored by my parents, i understand your feelings because some of the people on my program actually remained in Paris. Despite crying myself to sleep every night the last week there and my parents telling me "you better get your ass on that plane"..i wish i would have stayed, at least for a bit.

I also read that you said, “It was an adventure that was too bold for me at the time. In retrospect I could have stayed, or at the very minimum taken an apartment and divided my time—but I didn’t, and I regret that."

How over 40 years later, you can relive those moments in a movie so well is simply inspiring. I guess passions don't fade, so whatever i want to do now, if i really want to to do it, ill still be able to, somewhere down the road.

So, in essence, Mr. Allen, instead of a written complaint, this blog is a love letter to you; i love that you exist...

that you capture the essence of the free/tormented soul and speak their mind so eloquently. Heck, i cant even express myself but you do it so gracefully. i dont know how, you old man, ya big ol' creep, but you are perfect...and your killing me, in the most formidable way possible.

you coined the phrase " a tolerance for pain and lust for combat" and let me know that there are other emotional masochists who thrive on combat and sheer torture for the sake of creativity and excitement. thats sad/enlightening.

"only unfulfilled love can be romantic."

"She had reluctantly accepted suffering as an inevitable component of deep passion, and was resigned to putting her feelings at risk. If you asked her what it was she was gambling her emotions on to win, she would not have been able to say. She knew what she didn't want, however"

i can go on with so many more that youve written....

Well, my dear old friend ill never meet, thank you for what you have done and hopefully what you continue to do, you inspire me artistically and let me know that constraints and regrets are just a part of life, even the greats have gone through it. its all about not succombing and getting past the hurdles that count, however old you may be.

Forever yours,

Nicole K. Cunningham

Footnote:
Im reading a book "God Never Blinks: 50 Life Lessons" (what can i say, I'm a sucker for inspiration) and one lesson is "If you wish to be a writer, write.

just write. don't dwell on grammar, punctuation, present tense/past tense, just write. so that's what i just did, and it feels good. so often i don't post my blogs because i don't think they are aesthetically pleasing in the literal sense. but i have to stop that nonsense and just write my nonsense.

my grandmother's piano

-"Nicole, I dont know how to tell you this, but this really doesn't go with your apartment."
-"umm..you have to go home now, kthanksbye"


that old, bulky thing taking up valuable space in my apartment? that's my grandmother's piano.

well, not technically.... but for this blog, we'll call her it hers because in effect not only is it hers, but it is her.

One of my most cherished memories, not only of my grandmother, but also of my childhood is the impromptu piano lessons we had on her beautiful, white Baby Grand piano in her apartment on the Venetian. Without having ever taken a piano lesson myself, my abuela took the PATIENCE to teach my 7 year old fidgety self how to play entire songs, all on her own without the help of sheet music (not that i could understand any of that at that time).

Thanksgiving, Christmas, any birthday, any occassion, it was her and I doing our graceful rendition of Heart and Soul. She would of course do the most difficult part (bass clef) but always gave me all the credit for it with the 6 notes (measily treble clef) i was in charge of and so diligently tried my best at. "yayyyy nicki!!! bravoo!! preciosia!! la muneca de abuela!!!"

The piano is something my grandmother and well her 4 sisters were raised learning how to play in Holguin, Cuba. They all played it immaculately, any song, you name it. But instead of Chopin, Mozart, or Beethoven, we often opted for Guantanamera and Heart and Soul. (and id throw in a lil Fur Elise if I reallllly wanted to impress the crowd).

Abuela had four wishes for me: learn a bit of french, perform in a ballet recital, know my way around the court with tennis, and play learn how to play, at least,Moonlight Sonata for her on the piano.

"All young ladies must know, although not everything, but a bit and a pinch of each. "

So i did as she said, I was,figuratively speaking, enrolled in the Cultural Institute of Abuela.

However, French came and went, ballet came and went, tennis came and went (and came again recently), but Piano stuck with me.

She told me if I kept up my lessons, shed buy me my own piano and when I was 15 years old, she fulfilled this promise. I went with her and my grandfather to pick it out.

Okay, now after playing on a White Baby Grand piano which was always impeccably displayed in the corner and seemed like it was straight out of a French museum, I thought id get the same thing.... much to my grand dismay, it was either a grand piano or the chance of perhaps affording college tuition one day.

We settled on a quaint, vertical, Baldwin, cherry wood piano.

I was in love. We were inseperable for those first couple of months. I was eager to practice every song in the playbook and always looked forward to piano recitals, my grandmother sitting in the first row. Tuesdays with instructor Senora Elena were the highlight of my week.

But....as life proves, love can fade away...what was once the shining light in your life may eventually make its way to corner of the garage.

About 6 years ago, once I was already away in College, my parents bought their own black baby grand piano, my sister was now playing and my poor Baldwin was shoved to the garage.

When i moved back down I insisted on bringing it out of the garage and in with chantel to our new uber trendy apartment. I think i lied and made up some excuse about how they moved it "by mistake" and waited for it to grow on her as i postponed the whole "oh man these piano movers dont answer the call....."...she let me keep it. We would gather around and take turns at attempting "Valse D'Amelie"

Then i moved to New York and that ofcourse meant Baldwin was put back in its rusty corner.

It remained there ever since.

About a month ago, 8 months after my grandparents' passing, my parents threatened to give it away. Rightfully so, i mean NO instrument should ever be abandoned and summoned to the garage. They figured I would never bring in that old, rusty, clunky, brown thing into my apartment, which ive meticulously picked each and every decoration in there.

But ive insisted. So Baldwin, which doesn't fit in with anything else whatsoever, now resides with me and always will.


That old thing? .....that's my grandmothers gift to me. A gift I will use to learn how to play Clair de Lune and will attempt to master Moonlight Sonata. Its this gift I will use to teach my own kids Heart and Soul and then one day teach my grandkids the same.

the paint is starting to whither and the keys are yellowing...but its my piano. and I love it, the same way Elizabeth Gilbert described her love for travel...

"because i adore it...because its mine..because it looks like me"

Inaction in Motion.

Its not that I have nothing to say, its that I don’t ever know how to put my words into a fluent sentence. I just have a conglomerate of thoughts that I'm almost positive make no sense to anyone..except for my 5 friends. God bless my friends.

Ive become addicted to running…I like how I call this running even though its not. Its "run 5%/power walk 75%/casually stroll and ponder life's meaning 20%"

I love it so much not necessarily for the exercise but because my mind goes free when I walk outside, listen to music and am by myself. Those ingredients to me are a recipe for mental euphoria.

Except that I ALWAYS think someone is going to push me over the edge of the bay into the water. I really need to speak to a licensed therapist about this. This thought pops into my head at least 3 times every single time. Not that they will necessarily do it in purpose but maybe by mistake? And you know what?! There is no ladder anywhere in sight. The only thing protecting me from falling into this black abyss is a measily linked chain. So I've mapped out my escape route, not that id last a second in that polluted bay in the dark but I will swim to the left area where there is ALWAYS a couple sitting on a bench crying. Then ill cry for help and they’ll save me. There that’s it.


Another thing about my ‘walk’ is that I realized I'm a creep that likes to eavesdrop on conversations. Every time I walk by a group of two or more people walking, like clockwork, I turn off my ipod sneakily and just listen in. I just love to hear what people say. Always. That's why I would never mind being anywhere alone cause id have a better opportunity for people watching and listening. Truly though, people are awesome. So awesome. Everyone.

But yes, I think everyone needs to take that the time to walk,run, stroll, skip, whatever. If I didn’t have that moment to myself every hour of the day I think id lose my mind. Endorphins are highly necessary to function and so is clearing your mind. Exercise stimulates the brain cells more than anything (source: Brain Rules) (as if thats breaking news but whatever)


I keep attempting to start CrossFit but its so harsh the whole having to start on Monday and doing Crossfit 101 the entire week. I have one or two free days every week and way too many hobbies at that.

On Saturday I'm taking my 12th tennis lesson with Maximo. The way he described my tennis playing was very philosophical, he said I never go after the ball if its too far out of reach but I'm REALLY good when it comes right to me and hit it dead on with intense vigor.

Go figure, lazy ass.

After hearing two graduation speeches this past Wednesday, it only reassured to me what im not doing. Im really not seizing opportunity, but strolling along the way. "Nothing worth having comes easily"…..but it has. So im complacent.

I've breezed through school doing the bare minimum and getting B's so i assume i can breeze through everything else. I always told my parents whatever job I ever had in life wouldn’t come to me because of my grades but because of 'luck', being at the right place at the right moment, positively thinking things into existence.

Everything I think of or imagine happens, in some way or another. Ive been reading The Secret for the past 3 years as if its the first time i pick up the book. But is that really enough? Or am I just not thinking of things above and beyond because i dont think it may happen.


I read about people that do these magnificent things (<- great word) and the only difference between them and me is that they went out of their way to do it. I never go out of my way, im stuck in a mental labyrinth quotes and poems and lala land. One of my bosses once said "Whenever I walk by someone in the office they are secretly looking at clothes or gossip blogs, but Nicole is always secretly reading poems". I think I'm an escapist to distract myself from my own inaction.

But i really want to do something great for civilization. Something Oprah would have wanted to interview me for. I'd really like a killer eulogy read by a complete stranger whos life i affected in some positive way when I die.


As 8th Grader Suzy McSuze (not her real name, whatever) uniquely said at my sisters graduation, "There is no "try" there is only "do"......but what to do?

Ill get back to you on that one.


and in the spirit of escapism....

"I like to imagine that the world is one big machine. You know, machines never have any extra parts. They have the exact number and types of parts they need. So I figure if the entire world is a big machine, I have to be here for some reason, too.

- The Invention of Hugo Cabret by Brian Selznick