Wednesday, 18 November 2009

Man, we make our own movies.


We're the projectors
We're hosting the screening
We're dust in the spotlights
We're just kind of floating


And I believe that, I think, for the most part and generally whenever I'm sitting on the curb, looking left and looking right, wondering once again how the heck I got myself into yet another mess. It's amusing, the lengths I go to to keep myself amused. I mean, you give a girl enough rope and she's bound to hang herself, am I right? (Don't worry; the answer is "yes".) But mine is more a one-man show, the roles of both hero and villain played by yours truly, and often at the exact same time. What can I say, I'm complicated.

But think and think I did upon which of the great many movies in existence I'd inhabit would that I could, and not a one could I choose. And this is truth.

Oh heck fine. This one:

Tuesday, 17 November 2009

Tom Hanks. Meg Ryan. They get mail and stuff.

Abs
Do you guys know how much I love You've Got Mail? So much. So much that I could probably watch it every day and never get sick of it. It is a mystery to me how people don't like it. It's funny, it's quotable, it has lovable characters. (Plus, Greg Kinnear is in it.)

Living in this film (and being Kathleen Kelly) would be awesome because I'd get to a) live a beautiful, apparently affordable, apartment in New York City, b) own a bookstore(s), c) have Meg Ryan's hair, and d) send the best emails. I would shop at Zabaar's.



And when you're me and the most romantic thing is talking (in the dark, on the phone, you tell me the names of your brothers), then you're favorite romance is about talking. And when you're me and you love computers and typing, then you're favorite romance is about email.



So in addition to having bouquets of freshly sharpened pencils and zany lines by Steve Zahn, I would be in my favorite kind of love. The best kind of love. My kind of love.

Sunday, 15 November 2009

I'm worth twelve of you, Malfoy

heather

"Magic is always impossible. It begins with the impossible and it ends with the impossible and is impossible in between. That is why it is magic." - Kate DiCamillo, The Magician's Elephant


If you ask me what movie (or book) I'd like to live in/visit, you know I'm going to say Harry Potter.

It's not the wand-waving, really, that gets me. It's not that I think life would be easier if I could summon myself some breakfast. No, it's the very Narnian idea that the world is going on the way the world has always gone on -- like, maybe your adopted parents are dicks who deprive you of basic affection, or your boss is a twat, or your country's two-party political system is in fucking shambles because it's run by hacks and PACs and corporate interests and Jerry Falwell's ghost -- but somewhere in the sky owls are up to something.

So you're living your life in your cupboard under the stairs, or in your dimly-lit cubicle, and suddenly you get a letter inviting you to a school of magic. The letter isn't just awesome because it's hand-written in green ink on parchment (and delivered by an owl). The letter is awesome because it means: a) There is something special about you, which b) you suspected all along.

One day you control nothing, and the next day you're in Diagon Alley buying a wand or a toad or spell books or potion ingredients or a broomstick or any number of things you imagined were real, but could never convince yourself to fully believe. (See: cupboard.)

And if magic is true, what else is real? Dwarfs? Elves? Centaurs? Castles? Pixies? Fairies? Puffskins? Mermaids? Hippogriffs? Dragons?

Magic is for kids who took a playground beating for defending Santa Claus, kids who wore Halloween costumes year round, kids who built forts low to the ground so hobbits could rest in them in the night. It's for kids who slept better because Batman was only a signal away, for kids that believed Aslan's sacrifice was redemption for them.

Magic is the silver bell in The Polar Express, deep blue soul stuff. You have to train your adult ear to hear it.

I like a world where where loyalty and humor and intelligence and courage combine to create an unstoppable force. I like a world where an earnest, incompetent, forgetful boy can become a hero. I like a world where you can learn to be brave, because of the way people love you. I like a world where you can be the most powerful, well-respected wizard in history, and as gay as Welsh words are long.

I tell everyone when I get to Hogwarts it will be Hufflepuff, but my secret hope is Gryffindor. I tell everyone it's my empathy that will sort me, but my secret hope is valor. Not because I think I'm brave, but because the deepest, most desperate hope of my heart is that courage, like magic, is hiding somewhere inside of me.

Friday, 13 November 2009

Dunder Mifflin, this is Pam.

Jennie Hi, Pam Beesley here. Jennie's brain, well, it's pretty fried from all the NaNoWriMo writing, so I offered to help her out, even though she keeps hitting on Jim and talking about how he's "on her list" or something. Whatever. I will kick her ass if she tries anything, I don't care how pregnant I am.

Anyway, I could only find one person to interview on such short notice, and I really only had one question.

Pam: Ben Franklin. Do you wear boxers, briefs, or pantaloons?
Ben Franklin: None of the above.
Pam: Oh, zing!

[note from the editor: I promise to put more thought into my posts after November.]

Thursday, 12 November 2009

live from jury duty!





To: Mr. Chewbacca
From: Kat!
Date: 09 April 08
Subject: Interview


Dear Mr. Chewbacca:

Can I please interview you for this Collective post for which I have no time to actually interview you?

Sincerely,
Kat!

To: Kat!
From: Chewy
Date: 09 April 08
Subject: Re: Interview


Pshaw!

Don't ever email me again,
Chewbacca