saint-louise's Diaryland Diary
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Movie sign!
I realized the other day that I very rarely speak of current, newsworthy events in my diary. No entertainment comments. No war speak. Nary an opinion on the state of the economy, or even the tremendously disturbing largeness of Cameron Diaz's mouth. I know she's the all-American girl-next-door and all, but only if the girl next door just so happens to be the cartoon judge at the end of Pink Floyd's "The Wall." Except, I'm sure Ms. Diaz doesn't regurgitate shit. Not literally. I'm fairly comfortable with that assumption.
So, uh…yeah! I'm thinking that even if my lack of commentary on current events seals my fate as endlessly uncool – the kids ain't nevah gonna like me, and who dresses me this way, for the love of god? – at least I am timeless.
Shut up. Work with me on this one.
Further along those lines, even if I may be timeless, I'm admittedly not exactly timely. I've seen quite a few movies recently, and I'm only just commenting on a couple that I particularly enjoyed. The first is "28 Days Later," which I saw shortly after its release in the theater. I was hoping to find a movie that would scare all of my bodily fluids right out of me without the movie being disgusting and graphically violent at the same time. I got my wish. I was normalnormalnormal for the first ten minutes or so of the film, but then, from the moment the main character walked into the church full of corpses, I was sweating on areas of my body that I didn't realize could perspire that much.
For real. Main character sez, "Hello?"
One second later, I sez, "Oh, suck."
I gradually squished myself down into my chair throughout the rest of the movie, muttering to OH every once in a while, "I changed my mind. I don't wanna see it. Let's go home."
To which he replied, "Shhh! Hey, why are your elbows sweating?"
Yeah. Creepy, fun movie. Really. It may not have scared all of my bodily fluids out, but my bejeezus is definitely missing.
The other movie that I saw recently, on DVD, was "Wonderboys," and I enjoyed this tremendously. It did have a rather unrealistic, happyhappy ending, but it reminded me of a modernized classic movie wrap-up. The happy ending syndrome was an escape for people of the 30s and 40s, a way of saying, "Wow. Life can be good." Every once in a while, I want to see something come together in a tidy package. I want to see a struggling writer make mistakes and still be able to come out on top. I want to believe that middle-aged professors who are hit on by their nymphish students can say, "You're lovely, but this is wrong and I love someone else." I want to see the representation of all the strange, wonderful, unbalanced, patience-testing, talented people I've known be able to stand up for recognition in front of a room full of cocky assholes and have them see how much they will never be able to measure up to that kind of brilliance.
And I got to say, "Wow. Unlikely, but how many times have I imagined this, and here it is, onscreen."
Now all I have to dislike about that movie is that I didn't write it first.
Yes, I am aware that I'm a glass-half-empty type of person. You don't have to say it. But that doesn't keep me from wanting to drink whatever is left, just like everyone else.
12:25 p.m. - 2003-07-25
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------