Got stars in his eyes

Non non, this is just the French poster for it. It's in good old West Coast American English, I promise you.

Hello, everyone! I hope you’re all doing fine and dandy. It’s kind of late for me, a whole eight-thirty p.m., but I feel like writing tonight so am going to give it a shot.

This afternoon Scott and I did a very unusual thing… we actually went to see a movie.  I’m super picky when it comes to going to the cinema because 1) I hate spending lots of money on an unknown quantity I might end up squirming through restlessly, 2) watching at home is so much more comfortable, what with the handy couch, kitchen, bathroom, pajama capabilities, and pause button and 3) oh, I don’t really have a third. The first two are good enough.

The reason we went to see this particular movie is because our son Jesse emphatically insisted we see it, said it’s essential viewing for every living, breathing, human being and possibly even for things that are not. He opened his wallet and threw money at us. He can be very persuasive. We followed his advice and man, oh man.

Chronicle was A-MAAZING.  I knew it was going to be great right off the bat because the very first frame revealed an incredible young actor who had been part of last season’s ensemble on In Treatment, Dane DeHaan. I was mightily impressed by him on that show, so to find him in this movie was a real treat. But apart from him it was still amazing.

Argh, I’m so not hip to writing reviews and would rather a million other people talk about movies in a million other, better ways, so I’ll just say that I found it very authentic, and that’s important to me. I don’t like slick Hollywood blockbuster movies. Really don’t. This was gritty and real, the actions and dialogue of the characters absolutely 100% believable. Well, wait. Maybe only 95% believable, and that’s because they rarely cussed, which for non-religious teenage boys nowadays is incomprehensible. I’m 47 years old and even I would have dropped about a thousand F-bombs during all the shit that went down in those 83 minutes, seriously. But I read that they had to keep it PG-13, so that explains that, which is okay because hey, broader audience.

The whole story was filmed via the very clever and varied use of video cameras, webcams, surveillance footage, I don’t know what else…but we saw everything that was going on as if we were right there, as if it were happening to us, too. I want super powers, yo. But I wonder how well I’d do with them myself? And my hormones aren’t zinging all over the place. (Oh, ha, so not true. But we’ll talk about the glorious prospect of menopause later.)

The film was wonderful from start to finish, absolutely one of my favorites in a long, long time. If you have the chance to see it, you won’t be disappointed. Take it from me, the least fan of action movies EVER IN THE WORLD. Plus, it was set in Seattle, the perfect city to house the story, with its beautiful gray skies (go Pacific NW!) and strange yet beloved Space Needle taking center stage.

So, to shift things around a bit, a good friend of ours turned 55 today. She was joking about being a senior citizen now and I thought, ha ha ha! silly girl, and then I thought, OH MY GOD, she’s kind of right! And you know what? It made me happy. It makes me happy that my friend is five years from 60, and that I’m three years from 50, because I’ll tell you what. We have earned every one of these years! It’s very, very possible that I am heading into menopause because I’m stacking up more and more symptoms all the time and you know what else? It doesn’t even bother me. Most of my girlfriends are dealing with it, too. It’s like… a secret society or something. It’s like the Masons, only without blood sacrifices.

And hey newsflash: I feel sexier than ever. That has to do with freedom and confidence, which in my opinion are far sexier attributes than a perky rack and tight skin.

Life is so short, you know? We were watching some movie the other night–oh yeah, it was the Art Carney movie, Harry and Tonto, made in the 70s–and the camera was panning over a series of old folks. I said to Scott, “Just think. Every single one of those people is dead.” He looked at me in astonishment and said, “I was just thinking the same thing!” I think this a LOT. I’m stunned by how quickly time flies, and how my grandparents, who were so young and vital once, who were babies once, are now gone and have been for many years. My little brother is 45. My oldest son is 27. I see these botoxed and lifted actors and actresses trying desperately to hold back the tide and honeys, it just isn’t going to wait. I feel sorry for them. I don’t know… I feel beautiful, and I don’t mean to sound vain or arrogant. I think people get more beautiful as they age.

All people are beautiful, really, at any age–especially if they have the glow of grace about them. Okay, if I’m telling my truth, only if they have the glow of grace about them; otherwise, they’re only symmetrically correct and that’s bo-o-ring. So-called perfect people, if their little light don’t shine, make my eyes yawn.

Alright, I think I’ve yammered on enough for now. Oh though, my big news of the week: the library is reopening on Wednesday! Lawdy, it’s been a long two weeks while they’ve moved from their temporary digs to the brand new state-of-the-art facility that has a huge (albeit fake) tree ‘growing’ in the middle of the children’s area and a tremendous stone gas fireplace in the reading lounge! Among other sundry marvels. I can’t wait to see it and pick up the books I have on hold there. I may just take my sleeping bag and burrow in like a tick. If I’m not back in a month, send someone in with fresh snacks. Love to you all! xo


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Filed under Beloveds, Friends, Old women, Small blue box, Stuff to read

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