Book, err, movie meme

First off. Note to self. Compose your mother a NetFlix picks list so she'll actually cash in the gift certificate you sent her.

Second, a fellow mom tagged me for a book meme. I did a similar book post recently that pretty much covered the same bases, so I will conduct my meme movie-style, hence, the NetFlix reference above. (Like I don't mention movies enough around here.)

1. A book movie that changed your life.
Without a doubt and as embarrassed as I am to admit it, a Dickens adaptation led by Bill Murray did me in: Scrooged, 1988. It opened my heart and warmed my cockles for the long term. You know, I wasn't always this fucking nice.

2. A book movie you've read more than once.
Tombstone, 1993. I remember as a little girl watching Disney and seeing that cuuuuute boy with the beautiful blue eyes who always looks so eager and intense. I didn't know his name. In my age-conscious youth, I decided he was too old for me, but I loved when one of his shows came on. He's grown up beautifully. However, my main draw (ha, get it?) for Tombstone is Val Kilmer, the Val of old, not the Val of today, but then the Cricket of old was a studette... nevermind. I'll be your Huckleberry is one of the greatest lines ever, simultaneously no ego and all the ego in the world. I live that line.

3. A book movie you'd want on a desert island.
Because it would be such good company: Monsieur Ibrahim, 2003 and because I have a new crush on Omar Sharif. He has such charm, such engaging eyes and smile, such warmth and presence. I'm glad I finally realized it. Add to him is the youngster: Pierre Boulanger who is so worldly and suave for his age. The richness of the relationships in this film captivated me. I always seem to like coming of age stories or change and personal growth dynamics. If I could have two, the second would be Waking Ned Devine.

4. A book movie that made you giddy.
I saw Young Frankenstein, 1974, with a girlfriend in HS. It was the evening that my misguided dream guy I didn't know too well dumped me before the Freshman Prom. Mel Brooks was my salvation and I didn't know I could laugh so hard. I also remember feeling very adult seeing it. Little did I know that the yummiest Senior in school would come to my rescue in the coming weeks and escort me to the prom. He'd recently broken up with a cheerleader and that crowd was agog that little ol' me went with handsome Senior. Pristine and knee-knocking nervous, I wouldn't even let him kiss my braced-toothed mouth goodnight.

5. A book movie that you wish had been written. [I read this as you wish you had written and I'll stick with that.]
I wish I were this clever: The Red Violin. The complexity, the history, the beauty. I can watch it over and over. I like movies with layers. Pulp Fiction qualifies, too.

6. A book movie that wracked you with sobs.
I'm not generally the movie-sobbing type, but I could understand the potential when recently saw Born Into Brothels, 2004. Talk about immersion into another culture. In our cushy world, we think, "poor in Calcutta, awwww," but this documentary showed it graphically, while it showed so many smiles of such bright, insightful, and hopeful children.

7. A book movie you wish had never been written.
I will make this general and say anything by Michael Moore. I say this not because he isn't a passionate film maker, but because I wish the things he filmed had not have happened and forced his hand.

8. A book movie you are currently reading.
Again with Omar Sharif. I still have a little bonus material to see with Hidalgo, 2004 still in the player. I had no idea I would enjoy this movie so much. I've been getting action adventures to share with J lately and now I eagerly await them, too. National Treasure, 2004, and Sahara, 2005, are two others we enjoyed.

9. A book movie you've been meaning to read.
My NetFlix queue has almost 300 films in it, all worthy and desired. I think if there's an oversight classic film in there, it'd be Taxi Driver. Oh, yeah. Not so classic, My Name is Earl, Season One, 2005, (discs 1-4, cheating to call it one) would catch me up on pop culture and edgy Jason Lee.

9a, The Infertile Addition. A book movie that you once really liked, but don't so much anymore.
I used to profoundly enjoy Raising Arizona, but now it makes me sad.

10. Tag 10.
If you've commented here in the last two or three weeks, you know who you are and you're it: movies or books or whatever, your choice.

What I don't have to do anymore

1. Be a mom.

Remember, I got Super Phone...

and I don't have to parent any longer! He was at it all day yesterday, except while we were out getting the car serviced - the very reason I got a phone like that, to occupy us while having to wait, but he'd worn down the batteries from being on it all morning. Gaming = auto-pilot parenting! I would say "who knew?," but I am fairly confident everybody else knew and I avoided. I never thought I would hear my 8yo would exclaim, "Mom, these graphics are great!" Where do they learn this stuff?

I'll give him a few days, warning him that it will not be the routine because I have to earn my mothering frequent flyer wings somehow. He's been coached and hopefully the fascination will wear off. Humph. And tomorrow morning he won't wake me up rooting around for another game card like today.

Which makes me say wooooooo at it occurs to me to fuck with him and call while he's on it. I could turn the volume really high and scare the bejesus out of him, except see number 2.


2. Feel smarter than my phone.

I can't even figure out how to turn the ringer off, much less make it loud. It is humbling to find that your phone is smarter than you. Things just aren't evident, even for the intuitive. I turn it off if I don't want it to ring. I turn it off because I can't figure how to close the web window and I don't want extra charges. (You hear the one about the American soldier in Germany who passed out drunk and left his phone off the hook? This was at least twenty years ago; charges were incurred whenever the phone was off the hook, +/- being in a call. His bill was large, because somehow it became days off the hook. Okay fine, somebody tell me it is Military Urban Legend. Doesn't matter; I do not want to become Web Phone Urban Legend.)

The phone came with a CD-ROM instead of a booklet. I am frugal with my printer ink and I do not care to print out 200 pages. I do like being about to do an electronic 'find' but believe it or not nothing comes up using anything like ringer or off or silence or shut the hell up thing. I wish I could thumb through it electronically. Maybe I'm really tactile; need the paper, man. Maybe my phone is smarter than I am. ETA: Wait. Glen sent me a link to try when I get it back in my hands; see the phone is smarter than he as well. Okay, the phone is smarter than he is while tipsy on a grassy knoll.


3. Wait for Norma or feed the guinea pig.

They got in last evening bearing a couple gifts for J, one being for his collection of elongated/flattened pennies and a real hit to him. We will resume walking tonight.


4. Weigh more than when I had my son.

Last night I borrowed a 9V battery from Norma for my scale this morning. Mine said I've lost a quick little chunk, as in knocking through a plateau I've held for months, and I figure it has to be the scale, not me. ETA: Nope, it's me. Down into another decade and over 20 pounds since last Thanksgiving. Hope the after effects of a hangover hold.

Powerful forces

You know how it's so much easier to do something if someone does it with you? Or goads you? Or guilts you? Or merely asks you? Yeah, me, too.

My Mormon friend, Norma, got me to start walking with her a few weeks ago. We gad about 45-90 minutes four or five times a week. She, however, went away weekend and will be gone over a week. Essentially, that meant I had to motivate myself to get out there.

Instead, I borrowed other motivations. For one, J loves this walking stuff. In practice, it is actually scootering or biking stuff for him. He pesters me all day to confirm that we'll go. For another, I'm going to have to report to Norma about the walking when she returns. She's very rules-oriented and structured, whereas I'm the flighty artist, and she'll want to know exactly how I kept up the routine. I'll admit I didn't maintain one of her prescribed other mandates activities; she instituted a rule that after walking we need to do 15 minutes of cleaning once home. Um. Kinda.

Norma is a dear, dear person. I can't wait until she gets back in a few days; I've missed her. We'll also turn guinea pig duties back to them, although that has been amazingly delightful (J loves holding her and she doesn't mind), particularly considering that the four year old, decrepit-in-guinea-pig terms rodent usually hits the trail with them on trips, yet Norma trusted us and da pig is still alive!

No guinea pigs were harmed in the making of this week.

Unattached: one DVD player

 Was this fun or what? Even better than mud pies or sling shots.

Last week, I would have self-deprecatingly joked/lamented/whined that this gift from P is shattered just like my heart. Sending that email Tuesday was hugely cathatic and I, instead, feel more intact than I have in a long time.

Progress, people! That and a new portable DVD player. 

Swimmingly

J's last swimming lesson was today. He kinda passed. His butterfly was sub-par and I wondered what the heck he was doing. It was kind of a breast stroke; he said got confused as he was starting out. I wish he were more verbal and could speak up about messing up and request another try. He passed everything else and his teacher said he could go up to the next level if he works on his butterfly.

Today, I was swimming, too. Enjoyed the hot tub, but earned it doing a good number of laps, too. J is so happy when I'm in the water with him, but it's not so cool when he smothers me with himself in 12' of water. Finally, I had to institute a 'no touch' rule. So we raced. And I always won, because I am a Bad Mom.

I'll admit to enjoying the sights while at the pool. J's teacher is delish in a more serious Greg Kinnear kind of way. Yummy especially when he's fresh out of the water. The swimming trunks are stuck in all the right places and I'm such a perv. A dirty old lady oogling. Or maybe I'm overdue for some affection.

I like watching how other classes are conducted and seeing the teachers. There's the one with about five tattoos who looks like a middle-aged Dead Head. J's youthful teacher has a bar through his eyebrow. Others wear very odd combinations of clothing.

The water aerobics instructors seem to rotate. Yesterday was a new guy and I actually took a couple videos from a distance, but I haven't downloaded them yet. This guy was an absolute hoot, a flamboyantly gay hoot with limp wrists and bouncy knees. Who else would choose show tunes for a water aerobics class? Some teachers do along side in the water, but he chose to grandly gesture and wildly shimmy on the deck. He would crack jokes and give silly instructions to little old ladies, i.e. "Now go all the way round and do this up side down." Or as the next instruction, he'd demo the 60's nose-holding-going-under-water dance move. I was captivated. I wanted to buy him lunch so he could perform for me.

I like this pool better than the one J had for lessons two months ago. I hope I can keep him up with it. I asked him today about more lessons and swim team and he said he'd rather take art classes again. Go figure.

Charting the hits

This song made me cry on Sunday, but certainly not because I feel that way about crawling across the floor... or begging.

Bell Bottom Blues
by Eric Clapton

Bell bottom blues, you made me cry.
I don't want to lose this feeling.
And if I could choose a place to die
It would be in your arms.

Do you want to see me crawl across the floor to you?
Do you want to hear me beg you to take me back?
I'd gladly do it because
I don't want to fade away.
Give me one more day, please.
I don't want to fade away.
In your heart I want to stay.

It's all wrong, but it's all right.
The way that you treat me baby.
Once I was strong but I lost the fight.
You won't find a better loser.

Chorus
Chorus

Bell bottom blues, don't say goodbye.
I'm sure we're gonna meet again,
And if we do, don't you be surprised
If you find me with another lover.

Chorus

I don't want to fade away.
Give me one more day please.
I don't want to fade away.
In your heart I long to stay.

.

The following song made me cry on Monday. It must be in heavy rotation, because I have cried to it no less that half a dozen times in the last two months. It represents the acceptance I had of P in our relationship. I saw his faults and stayed despite them. I saw the glory of the sun and great potential. Little did I know how that potential would be applied as I still miss his way, everyday.

BABY, I LOVE YOUR WAY
Frampton 1974 [one of the most expressive songwriters of all time]
Almo Music Corp
Nuages Artists Music LTD (ASCAP)

Shadows grow so long before my eyes
And they're moving across the page
Suddenly the day turns into night
Far away from the city
But don't hesitate 'cuz your love won't wait
Ooh baby I love your way (everyday)
Wanna tell you I love your way
Wanna be with you night and day
Moon appears to shine and light the sky
With the help of some fireflies
I wonder how they have the power to shine, shine, shine
I can see them under the pine
But don't hesitate'cuz your love won't wait
Ooh baby I love your way (everyday)
Wanna tell you I love your way
Wanna be with you night and day
But don't hesitate'cuz your love won't wait
I can see the sunset in your eyes
Brown and grey and blue besides
Clouds are stalking islands in the sun
I wish I could buy one out of season
But don't hesitate'cuz your love won't wait
Ooh baby I love your way (everyday)
Wanna tell you I love your way
Wanna be with you night and day
Ooh baby I love your way (everyday)
Wanna tell you I love your way
Wanna be with you night and day

.

Glen told me something that I might actually apply. He said he was having trouble after a break up, that songs were making him miserable.

:Aside: For me, it's not so much 'our song' as it is P saw every Rock 'n Roll group in existance... three times over. He has the quickest mind and the best memory that one note would tell him song and group. I'm good, but I was in awe of him, especially because most of his memories were generated in party-influenced hazes. A year ago, I experienced/heard about him downloading about three thousand songs into his iPod thing. (I do take comfort that he's probably being tortured emotionally with much Blues - Lang and Shephard in particular - and World on it due to my influence.) He introduced me to a Clapton song that I'd never heard before; it was his favorite Clapton and it immediately became mine: The Core. (Lyrics far below.) I've been a longtime Clapton fan. In fact, J was born to Clapton Unplugged. Now I am having trouble enjoying Clapton. Sad. :/Aside:

Back to Glen: he'd told his sister after his painful break up that songs were making him crazy. She said that there's a simple solution. Start listening to Country. There are no memories chasing or ghosts haunting there.

I found the local country station this morning. So I can officially cry in my beer with some twang.

.

The Core is probably my very favorite song, lyrics optional while listening to all the instrumentation, as you can't understand much. However, finally reading the words today provides a swift kick in the pants.

The Core
By eric clapton and marcy levy

Every morning when I wake, a feeling soon begins to overtake me.
Ringing in my ears resounds through my brain; it finally surrounds me.
There is fire, there is life, there is passion, fever and fury.
There is love and there is hate, there is longing, anger and worry.

Oh, I am a flame; feel it touch my heart.
And down at my core is the hottest part.
I can run without fear.

If it should become too cold, I know I can endure the frostbite.
Oh, a blanket then Ill wrap around me; I keep myself so close to my sight.
No one then can cause me harm, just as the river runs into the sea.
cause every day, a fire alarm is deafening the silence all around me.

Chorus

It is burning.
It is burning.

You can trust me; we can laugh.
together we can share our sorrow.
I will give you secrets too, an attitude that you may borrow.
Gypsy woman said to me, one thing you must bear in your mind:
You are young and you are free, but damned if youre deceased in your own lifetime.

Oh, you have a flame; feel it in your heart.
And down at the core is the hottest part.
We can run without fear.

It is burning.
It is burning.

And a chance of what?

As we were out and about this morning:

J: It's supposed to be wet like this tomorrow, too.
C: Hmmmm.
J: This morning, the radio said we'd have scattered showers today.
J: Tomorrow, it is supposed to be like this, plus ice.
C: What? Ice? It's probably too warm for ice just yet.
J: Well, that's what he said on the radio: isolated showers.

Check it out

[Ha! I crack myself up. You know, clerks check things out all the time. Shit, if you have to explain it...]

Last night I went to see Clerks II. [No major spoilers ahead.] [website, myspace with some trailers not G-rated]

I laughed throughout the entire thing. It was low on plot, but high on lumbering, twisting banter, as anticipated.

I cheered when Jason Lee appeared in his finest Earlesque repose.

I was a little grossed out with Jason Mewes' moon, although all the other things in (technically) poor taste wasn't so bad.

It was funny to see Ben Affleck slumming it again.

I have a little crush on goobery Trevor Fehrman. He was born after I graduated HS; I could be his m.... don't go there.

For the record, Silent Bob did not remain silent, plus he had his wife and kid along in it.

I need to see it again. The nuances were many and I wonder what I missed laughing so hard.

Next time, I shouldn't watch it with two mini bottles of Absolut Citron in my movie Sprite.
~~~~
ETA:
I was just reading at Kevin Smith's blog. Go to the Photos of My Life (whatever it's called, at the top) to see a couple Jason Lee pics for you fellow fans. On one, Kevin Smith even commented on Jason's million dollar smile. Ahhhhh.

On a recent post and unrelated to anything in my post here but on a subject dear to my heart, he discussed his business model in reaction to a critical film journalist:

Let me put it another way: I was not gifted with a big dick and I grew up fat (and grew to be even fatter). Because of these shortcomings, I learned to eat pussy really well. That way, ultimately, I can provide a satisfying enough sexual experience where whatever chick was feeling charitable enough to get horizontal with me might reason “He did make me cum once, so I’ll give him another shot,” somewhere down the road. I took that logic into filmmaking, too: my stuff isn’t wildly popular in the mainstream, but if I make up for the lack of audience by spending less, ultimately, I can turn someone a profit.

Sweet Jesus, just how many guys feel this way? If a guy tells me he likes to eat pussy, that's a neon sign over his head saying, "BROKE DICK! BROKE DICK!" It is (needed or not in perception) compensation, at least, and I appreciate the intent and the effort, well, P's in particular. He was my only success in that regard. (Glen touted his abilities, but we didn't go there. Heck, I was too happy to have a dick in my hand, among other places.)

Guys are too paranoid and perhaps they don't realize it is standard talk, a red flag, but then I guess their paranoia comes (ha) with an added bonus for us.

Guys:
I EAT PUSSY (even spray painted on a brick wall like in the flick) screams, "There's something wrong with my dick (too small [but I like 'em not large] or broken somehow: injury, premie, no blood) and I compensate by eating pussy."

That I can recall, there's only one substantially dicked guy I've dated who talked about munching as a hobby. One. And we never slept together, so I didn't find out any of his skills.

Guys, bragging "I eat pussy" ultimately becomes a warning. There has to be a better way.