The summer of movies...

Friends Jessie and Amy have mentioned, regularly, that my movie viewing history is....well...ridiculously lacking.  Probably every 1 out of 2 movie titles said out loud are followed with this dialogue:

Me: Oh, yeah, I haven't seen that.
Other person: *most incredulous look ever* You've never seen _____?!?!?!???? How is that POSSIBLE??

So, I decided that I need to devote some time to movie love.  Thus began the Summer of Movies, 2012.  The challenge? To watch one movie a day all summer long.  That equals approximately 75 movies.

I created myself a little list.  I still need to add to it, so I won't post it here quite yet.  But, I will say that, so far, I've watched 3 movies in the last 2 days: Sherlock Holmes, The Rum Diary, and Heavenly Creatures.  I watched the latter two tonight, back to back.  I'm pretty sure I'm going to dream about Johnny Depp killing Tim Burton's mother.

Stop making me hate people I love, please.

First it was Rosie O'Donnell.
Then it was Tom Cruise.

Now, with Mel Gibson, I'm putting my foot down.

I don't want to know anything more about these people other than that they are enjoyable to watch on my favorite movies and programs. I don't care if Rosie O'Donnell is an angry lesbian and she's rude to adults and won't give them autographs. I don't care if Tom Cruise is a crazy Scientologist weirdo who wouldn't allow his wife to scream during labor. I don't CARE if Mel Gibson beats his wife, how many children he has, or if he's racist.

What I care about is, did they entertain me in the media form for which I plunked down my hard-earned cash and provide me with the escape, amusement, knowledge, or whatever I was requesting at the time.

That sound harsh, I know. I SHOULD care if Mel Gibson is a violent bigot. And I do--to one level--the same level with which I read about abusers in the paper and think "man, I really wish they wouldn't do that." The difference is, I'm not emotionally tied to those folks in the paper. Rosie, Mel, Tom and I all shared a lot of good memories together (and other celebrities too...I'll just use these three as examples), and the most upsetting part of this whole situation with Mel Gibson is that I can't ever watch a movie with him in it without feeling a) guilty that I'm supporting him, or b) thinking about his violent outbursts.

Do I blame him? Sure. But, the fact is, if he is a violent bigot, he probably always has been. And Hollywood (and all of us) have supported him smiling and nodding the whole way through. But now, because the media has this compelling need to tell me every disgusting detail about every single person who has ever crossed the threshold of Hollywood, now I can't just simply enjoy those celebrities. Mel Gibson shouldn't beat his wife. He shouldn't threaten to hit her with a baseball bat. BUT, we live in an age where there is zero privacy--and that's not okay. A private argument between two people--however combative it may get-- does not need to end up on CNN. Even if it's Mel Gibson. Even if it's Tom Cruise freaking out. Even if it's Heath Ledger screaming at a grip. We all have moments when we lose our shit. And this attitude that the DJ on KDWB knows jack about Mel Gibson's personal life because he heard a snippet of an illegally recorded phone conversation is complete BS. And yes, they are (and should be) held to a higher standard--I teach high schoolers who look up to these celebrities and no one wants the celebs to be good role models more than me. But, the media has to play fair. They have to give people a chance to make mistakes, to pay for them, to listen to all sides before condemnation.

And, you may say, "just don't watch/listen to it." Believe me, I've tried. I can't turn left in my own bathroom without hearing some trash about some celebrity or another.

So, though I turn it off whenever I can, I'm sad that I can't watch 'Signs' and that tragic scene where Graham Hess finds his wife pinned to the tree and knows he has to say goodbye without hearing Mel's latest rant in my head. I'm sad I can't watch Top Gun without thinking "man...too bad he went crazy...".

Can't we leave just a little bit of fantasy in the world? Not to ignore or deny bad behavior...but do we need to seek out the bad behavior? Magnify and glorify it? I don't think so....and I'm irritated.

Random Stuff

First of all, 'It's Complicated' is the funniest movie I've seen in a long time. Seriously. Meryl Streep is, of course, a goddess. Always has been, always will be. Adding in Alec Baldwin and Steve Martin? Please. I'd watched about five minutes before I knew I'd be buying it when it comes out on DVD.

Also, the newish Snow Patrol album is now in my possession and I dig it, yes I do.

Third, the new year is almost upon us. This means you can expect an onslaught of "2009 meaningful things" like the top 25 songs, top 10 books read, etc. Most will be posted tomorrow night when I do my annual "Kelly Night" New Year's Eve celebration.

Some things on my mind: a random list

1. I need to blog more often. I used to blog every day. Sometimes multiple times a day! Surely I have not run out of important things to tell the faceless masses? (Not that you, dear reader, are a faceless mass. You are an individual--unique and loved by me.)

2. Julie and Julia is a damn good movie. And, there was no better movie for me (a writer) and my best friend (a cook) to see together.

3. I need to get back to doing yoga. Seriously. I haven't done yoga in, roughly, 20 days. Which is about 20 days too many to be yoga-less.

4. Anna Karenina is a really good book! I'm totally digging it.

5. Melissa d'Arabian's new cooking show, Ten Dollar Dinners, would be a whole heck of a lot more awesome if she actually showed that the dinners actually cost ten dollars. Like, she says that the meal will feed a family of four for under ten bucks. But then she just shows how to cook something, and I'm thinking "Um...there's not a chance in the world that all cost less than ten bucks!" Or, if there IS a chance in the world, then show me. If you're going to have a show where budgeting and saving is an integral part of the show...um...mention it.

Arachnophobia: it's not just for Canaima, California anymore

A few weeks ago at my Social Reincarnation Soiree, I pointed out an unusual spot of nature to a few of my guests. There is a tree outside my front door that lives in the patch of lawn between my house and the neighbor's. Happy tree. In said happy tree, though, something has been growing over the course of the summer. That something is the biggest spider nest I've seen since the 1990 release of a little movie called Arachnophobia. It's actually killed part of the tree. So, no biggie, right? I showed the nest off to the guests, a few appreciative "dude"s were exchanged, and we all went on our way. Never once did I consider where any of the spiders in the Nest of Doom might have gone once the Great Hatching of 2008 occurred.

They came to my front door.

All of them.

HUNDREDS of spiders.

Now, one spider has lived outside my door, by my doorbell, for as long as I've lived in the house. He (and his descendants, probably) and I have coexisted quite peacefully--he stays out of my house and I occasionally leave the porch light on so he can eat. This, however, is completely out of hand. COMPLETELY OUT OF HAND. Sorry to yell, but, well, dude, spiders creep me the FUCK out.

So I did what any self-respecting single woman would do--I took a hose to the bastards. All of them. Even my little guy by the doorbell. I cannot abide an invasion, no way no how.

Hopefully I killed enough of them to scare the rest away....or they're planning a sneak attack and will descend on me in the dead of night.

I want to believe the truth is out there...

Let me say that if I have to point out a single piece of American culture that molded me and shaped me into the person I am today, it was The X-Files. Hands down. It's hard for me to talk about it, though I do tend to joke quite ab it about it as I "come out" to people close to me about my X-Files fetish. I own all of the seasons. I own 90% of the trading cards. I know the most obscure trivia. In short, I am an X-Files fan. To the core.

I expected to go to X-Files I Want To Believe by myself, but fortunately good friends Josh and Michelle humored me and agreed to see XF rather than Batman. The movie was, initially, a disappointment. I sat there while the credits rolled shaking my head and saying "what?". And for two minutes, I hated it. Then, walking out of the theater, I said "It just wasn't what I expected." Because, you see, there are no aliens. Not a one. There's no CSM, no cornfields, no bees, no space ships, and no black oil. Instead, the movie features a psychic pedophile priest and Amanda Peet.

Not what I expected.

And yet...

As I walked to my car, I got nervous. There was a man walking in the next aisle over, no doubt toward his car, yet I got nervous. I watched him, and he watched me (probably thinking 'what the fuck is that girl staring at me for?') and when I got into my car I locked the doors. Because, you see, rather than use aliens to frighten us, this time the X-Files addressed not the fears we do have, but the fears we *should* have. The monsters that are not of other worlds but from this one. Terminal illness, stem cell research, religion and faith, animal experimentation, illegal organ donation, even car accidents on snowy roads were the featured monsters of this movie and they worked. They worked on a level that only Chris Carter could produce.

We got a good dose of Scully and Mulder's relationship, and some excellent name drops from the series. Gillian Anderson, David Duchovney, and Mitch Pileggi, the three "most important" characters from the series appeared and, though they were older and wiser, the movie grew with them.

So, though the movie was not what I thought it was going to be, I think it actually ended up being more than what I wanted. It left me thinking about issues that are very real and combined that with my absolutely favorite group of characters. All in all, not too bad for eight bucks.

My inner alien

I've named her Betsy. Little Betsy Tropwood, from David Copperfield. I don't know why. I should name it Sigourney.

My inner alien is a tap tap tapping that is coming from just behind my ribs. It isn't a stomachache, it isn't gas, and it isn't a fetus (or if it is you can call me Mary II). It's a spot right behind my right ribs, and it just.....taps. Against my ribs. In a tapping movement. If I put my fingers to my ribs I can feel it.

I won't be freaked out unless it continues for another week or so. Or a fetal alien comes bursting out of my chest. That would also be cause for freaking.

Alien, Aliens, and more Aliens

Last night Encore played all three Alien movies in a row. My understanding is that there is a fourth Alien movie that came out as well, but Encore did not play that one. That was kind of them, as it allowed me to sleep.

Because I watched all three Alien movies. For the first time. I don't know exactly how I've missed them before, but I've gone through all 28 of my available Alien-watching years blissfully unaware of the bounty of Alien goodness.

So, here are some observations from a deflowered Alien virgin:

1. Sigourney Weaver is freaking hot.

2. Had I seen Alien when it came out nearly 30 years ago, at any age, I believe I would have been scared actually to death.

3. I don't remember the last movie that actually made me involuntarily bring my hands up to my face to cover my mouth. Nor do I remember a movie actually making me flail my arms around as I sat in my chair.

4. Watching all three Alien movies back-to-back right before bed can give a person some seriously messed up dreams.

5. James Cameron is one seriously messed up dude.

6. I am equally amused and saddened that Carrie Henn, the girl who played Newt in Aliens, is now a school teacher and never made another movie. Saddened because I thought she was a pretty decent actress, amused in the same way I am when I think of Stephen King being a high school teacher. "Who's your English teacher? Stephen King." "Who do you have for homeroom? That little girl from Aliens!"

7. Aliens is on again now and I'm fighting the urge to watch it because I think doing so might be suggestive of an addictive personality.

8. How could that dude breathe with that thing on his face?

9. A backward swan dive into a pit of fire and coddling an alien to your breast like a newborn baby is, not only "seriously messed up", but there's a beauty to it that creates the inevitable ending all us writers want to produce in our fiction.

Serindipity and all that

Tonight I watched 'Conversation(s) With Other Women' staring my beloved Helena Bonham Carter. I do so adore her, more and more every time I see her.

The movie is about two exes who run into each other at a wedding and briefly flirt with returning to the past. The whole thing is about age, loss of opportunity, regret, experience and maturity.

So I log into my email and there's a message from a guy I went to high school with...who was always in love with my best friend who was always unavailable to him. And I crushed on him my entire freshman and sophomore years...junior year too, when I went to prom with his best friend and he went with mine. We had a smashing time.

And he's married now and lives in another state and that's totally fine because I do not live in the movies. Thank God. But, still, it's an interesting thing to wonder--how many different people I've known in my life and how many paths I turned away from either by choice or because they weren't options to me.

Third time's the charm and New Year's Resolution #2

Yeah, I saw Sweeney Todd three times in the theater. And yes, if I was in a position to fund Helena Bonham Carter's salary, I'd probably see it a fourth. But, I'm not, sadly.

Since it's the end of January it's time to unveil New Year's Resolution #2 (of 12, one per month). This month's was to stop smoking, and so far so good. Except for when Jessie was up this weekend. Now I don't have any other cigarettes in my house. Guess I'm really done.... because February's resolution is to not spend more than $20/week on anything fun. No books, no clothes, and only a few meals out with friends. It's time I addressed my finances for real, and so February's resolution is to begin to get a handle on it all.

Heath Ledger

Face down,
face up,
in bed,
on the floor,
naked,
clothed,
a "bottle of pills on the nightstand",
"sleeping pills strewn about the room",

blah blah blah.

The rumors and semantics of it all abound, but one fact remains constant: Heath Ledger is dead. There's a great shot of his body being wheeled out of the building (great in the sense that it shows how ghoulish we are as a culture--hundreds of people gathered to see the body bag get carted out on the stretcher).

Overheard in biology lab tonight: "Hey, did you hear that gay guy died? The one from the cowboy movie?" (Yeah, this is the level of intelligence I'm studying with.)

A great quote from Ledger: “People always feel compelled to sum you up, to presume that they have you and describe you,” Mr. Ledger told The New York Times in an interview last year. “But there are many stories inside of me and a lot I want to achieve outside of one flat note.”

Considering most 28 year olds I know are still reaching to achieve "one flat note", I'd say he was successful. Great movies, a beautiful daughter, too bad his life was cut as short as it was; he was on his way to a symphony.

Sweeney Todd

*sigh*

I am in love with Johnny Depp, this much is known by pretty much everyone on earth. But, never have I heard him sing. And putting Johnny Depp in a horror musical with a huge singing role is pretty much my dream come true. Sweeney Todd is gory, funny, scary, gross, and fantastic from beginning to end. And Johnny Depp sings. He's seeking revenge, he's pissed, and yet still sensitive and romantic all the same, with a Broadway singing voice to boot.

When I said I was totally in love with Johnny Depp before, I was wrong. NOW I am completely in love with him. And his voice.

Closer

I'm watching it right now, it's fantastic. Hanging out on the great red chair of sleep with a fire going, the dog at my feet snoring away, a glass of wine by my side....my life simply could not be better.

I stand corrected

I have waged an Anti-Will Ferrell campaign for a few years now. It's hard to put into words why I dislike him so, aside from the simple fact that I am not a fan of physical comedy, or of comedy which involves a middle-aged man running down a street in his underwear carrying a bucket of chicken (I did laugh the first time he ran around in his underwear...but not the subsequent billion times).

However, I need to be fair and let the world know that last night while I watched Stranger Than Fiction, I discovered a different side to Will Ferrell than I had ever seen before: the talented side. He really is a good actor. This might seem like a big 'duh' statement to anyone but me, but rest assured, I had never seen this side of him. When he was sitting on Maggie Gyllenhaal's couch and he played the guitar and sang, well, it was pretty much the most romantic thing I'd seen in a long time.

I don't expect Will Ferrell to give up his "running in his underwear" side...why would he, it's making him a millionaire. But I was pleased to see that there is more than just that angle to his work. So, I stand corrected: Will Ferrell is not a hack actor. He has talent, and I have more respect for him today than I did yesterday (which I'm sure will be very meaningful for him).

Johnny Depp times Two

I went to see Charlie and the Chocolate Factory tonight for the second time. This time we saw it at the Minnesota Zoo IMAX. Johnny Depp has large pores. You wouldn't know this unless you saw the movie in IMAX screen size. You might even think that Johnny Depp has the perfect face with perfect skin. You would be wrong. His skin is, in fact, quite flawed. But that's okay, because he's still brilliant and gorgeous and I would bear his children later this evening if I was allowed.

I've had an interesting week, sort of like I've been living in some sort of parallel universe where I do and say things that I wouldn't normally say. It's exhausting, and the worst part about it is that I can't seem to write. I have a story due in a week (less than, actually), and I can't seem to get it to come together.

I start school next week. I can't believe summer is over and I have to go back to work. I haven't figured out my impression of school for this upcoming year. I'm hoping it'll be good, but there are some things that will need to get worked out in the next few weeks in order to make that happen. In the meantime, I need to make the most of the next few days because they are, in fact, my last days of freedom.

I read and I read and I read some more

Yeah, so I know I haven't written in like a week. I was in the Bahamas. It was pretty fuckin' sweet. Mom took me on a mother/daughter vacation. We laid on the beach almost the whole four days (with the exception of taking an hour out of the day to get massages). I've never been to the Bahamas before; I'm a pretty big fan.

I finished the Brain book in a flourish after one day of beach reading. Then, having already watched The Ninth Gate with Johnny Depp, maybe the most kick ass movie ever, I began the short story reading marathon.

I read:

1. "Beverly Home" Denis Johnson
2. "Epstein" Philip Roth
3. "Open House" Charles D'Ambrosio
4. "The Hoaxer" Walter Kirn
5. "The Story of My Life" Kim Edwards
6. "A Record as Long as Your Arm" George Garrett
7. "China" Charles Johnson
8. "Smorgasbord" Tobias Wolff
9. "Rich" Ellen Gilchrist

My favorites were....well I pretty much liked them all. Very different stories. I liked the Edwards story because I think it matches my style of writing the most. This surprised me, but some of the lines as I read them I was like "hey, that's how I would write that." Gave me hope. I obviously loved D'Ambrosio's "Open House." I also really loved "Rich" and "A Recored as Long as Your Arm." Yeah, good short story reading session.

Now I need to bury myself in George Saunders. I also got D'Ambrosio's new collection of essays, Orphens. I hope I live to be a thousand years old so I can read everything I have on my list.

Johnny Depp

The man is brilliant. Flat out, completely unequivocally BRILLIANT. But let's not forget Tim Burton. The two of them should get together and have lots and lots of babies.

That's all I can manage at the moment. I think I actually blew a sparkplug in my brain tonight watching Charlie and the Chocolate Factory.

Self-preservation = procrastination

In the spirit of licking my wounds following last night's writing class and a less-than-stellar review on my latest story, I'm holing myself up for the entire day to watch High Fidelity, Donnie Brasco, and Gia (in that order) and play The Sims 2.

There are two problems with this. One, I have tons of shit to do. My house is a disaster, I have to send out a writing sample today for my writing group so we can critique it this weekend (another critique--can't wait for that. Christ.) and I have two classes to finish work for. Two books to read. That's what I should be doing.

The other problem is that I'm being a big baby. My review last night wasn't bad. It was just less than what I expected. This is the pitfall of writers (I hope)--that no one will ever know how much work you put into a story. I wanted reviews from four people who had read the story before I revised it that said that it was so much better than it was before...something to show that the two months I spent revising it every day weren't in vain. Two of the four said it was kick ass, much better than before. One said that yeah, it was cool. All good. The fourth, the one whose opinion is in the top five of those I respect the most with regards to my writing (and pretty near the top at that) said it was better before. Ouch.

So, yeah, today is a comfort day. Because I'm being a baby. But because I know that, it's okay. So there.

Netflix is my new boyfriend

Three shiny red envelopes (well, not literally shiny, but definitely red) showed up in my mailbox this morning, as promised, and I was struck nearly breathless by the reliability of this great program called Netflix. They said when they'd ship, they shipped, and I received. I'm presently curled up with Sideways, Ed Wood and Donnie Brasco. Yes, I have a neverending supply of Johnny Deppage at my fingertips.

Sideways was funny. Highly recommend. Plus there's some full frontal male nudity...this dude running down the street, and he's got chick hips but anytime a guy runs with his dick hanging out it's funny.

Okay, moving on to four hours and fourteen minutes of nonstop deppage. Fasten your seatbelts.