Archive for September 9th, 2009

Unlikely G: Travis Birkenstock tardy acceptance speech edition

September 9, 2009

“I would like to say this. Tardiness is not something you can do on your own. Many, many people contributed to my tardiness. I would like to thank my parents for never giving me a ride to school, the LA city bus driver who took a chance on an unknown kid and, last but not least, the wonderful crew from McDonalds who spend hours making those egg McMuffins, without which….I’d never be tardy.”

Secretary of State of Mind

September 9, 2009

Mr. Kite’s friend Brian and I just became imaginary friends on facebook (I am now imaginary facebook friends with the entire Trio: be jealous of my imaginary popularity) and I did that thing where you flip over to your new pal-oh’s profile to make sure there is not some detail of their life like jail time or a broken marriage that you have missed in conversations so that you do not inadvertently do something socially gafferiffic the next time you have a real actual live encounter like joke about the shocking divorce rate among convicts. In doing so, I noted that he had a recent status update about a favorite movie of mine, Secretary. Gobsmacked, I totally abandoned facebook and began what would become an hours-long reacquaintance with a thing that had used to resonate so strongly with me that apparently the repressed rides again.

It had been a while, a few years at least, since I’d watched it. Since before I met my husband at the minimum, I know that much. So that’s like five years, at least, I suppose. Four? Five? Whatever. Not the point, unless it is. It might be; I don’t know.

I found truckloads of screencaps from it and was rereading the script while following along in the screencaps because I have not updated my divx codecs in basically ever and can’t play DVDs even if I did go rent the movie, and I was not up to streaming or bittorrenting it and getting some kind of folkloric virus on top of my other shit today, so I figured I was doing the next best thing.
I found myself totally sobbing and deeply affected, even more than on prior viewings or, like, after-the-fact contemplation of the material. (Saying “like” distances me from the fact that I have indeedy thought at length about a film after watching it; it makes me sound less intelligent so that in case I am wrong it’s okay for you to correct me because what do I know? These are the sorts of things I was noticing about myself while reading and thinking today.)

“Mr. Grey…thank you so much for your helpful suggestions. Because I am trying to be the very best secretary that I can be for you.”

What I realized was that this is definitely one of those movies that is a movie about love done my way. It is actually pretty much exactly what. My kind of love, my kind of problems, my kind of change that is needed. I definitely have to buy this now, probably as soon as I pick my daughter up from school. I don’t know when I’d watch it. It’s a problem that a movie in which I see myself so nearly down to the last detail, recognize so many parts of myself, a film which I find wholly healing and uplifting in its tragic and touching way, is one I have to hide from my family: what does this mean. This means I must be ashamed of how I love. Yes? I think. All I know is that that’s wrong, somehow. Either I’m wrong or my shame is wrong. This is a problem.

“It’s your behavior.”
“What about my behavior?”
“It’s very bad.”

Advice for the day: Daily Batman

September 9, 2009

Give ’em the old razzle dazzle!

You are spectacular, don’t you know that? Razzle-dazzle ’em today. The worse you feel, the better you should look. Even if you aren’t feeling up to it yet, just gently put some karmic check-me-out into the universe and watch it pay off positive dividends. I can use economy-type words!

It happens: Ghostbusters edition

September 9, 2009

Dana switches on the radio and starts unpacking groceries. She sets a loaf of bread and a carton of eggs on the counter and begins putting other items away in the pantry.

The top of the carton pops open. Then, one by one, the eggs erupt and spill over onto the counter. As the liquid contents hit the counter-

top they sizzle. The eggs begin to fry on the formica surface.

She hears the sizzle, turns and sees the eggs frying. She gasps, then recovers and inspects the mess. She touches the counter gingerly, but it’s not at all hot.

full script here

As kitchen possession headaches go, food that cooks itself is less of a hassle than those chairs from Poltergeist. Try and stay upbeat, Miz Barrett. Does the counter do frittatas? Cube up some ham and take it for a spin; you don’t know ’til you try!