Benjamin Button
I just saw The Curious Case of Benjamin Button, or, as Scott likes to call it, The Curious Case of Joe Black. I thought it was really good! I'm also pretty sure we could develop some sort of alternative energy based on the luminosity of Cate Blanchett's face.
Why do we own this?
I am reading Sloane Crosley's, I Was Told There'd Be Cake, and in one of her essays, she details how mortified she would be if certain DVDs were found in her apartment should she die today. Clearly, she's been reading my mind.
Scott and I are pretty movie obsessed. We rent at local mom n' pop stores, get dollar new releases at those newfangled vending machines, and walk to second-run movie houses. We own a Blu-Ray and Scott even has one of those genuine Regal Crown Club cards. Once, although I admit it with shame, we watched all three made-for-TV movies based on Gary Paulsen's Hatchet and its companion novels. White wolves can be very compelling. The bottom line is, we are movie people. However, we don't really own a lot of movies. We just don't accumulate movies the way we do, say, magazines (me) or increasingly fancy kitchen knives (Scott). So the fact that we own the above title is even worse.
Its lack of company makes it stand out even more garishly. I imagine it's like walking into a stunning art gallery with only three paintings, and one of the paintings is just that old Budweiser poster, with three girls wearing swimsuits, and their swimsuits spell out "Budweiser." Come to think of it, that might be a poor metaphor because that poster's campy value would for sure trump the campy value of the sequel to Analyze This.
You've already noticed the best part I'm sure. Not only do we own a copy of Analyze That, we own a VHS cassette! Seriously. Who are we? Why do we own a tape of anything? I'm pretty sure our VCR is busy at work holding up a box of worn L.A. Gears and charm necklaces, so what would we even watch it on?
More importantly, why is still here? It's existence means we've moved it from Bellingham, to Seattle, to Tacoma, and now to California? I mean, I'm pretty sure we sold half our furniture when we left Tacoma, but were we like, "No, no put that in the 'save' pile, I want to watch that tonight."
Let me just analyze this for a moment if I may -I know, good one right? - let's explore how in the world this object weaseled its way into our home and subsequently followed us through four cities exactly like that giant Costco-sized container of Nesquik Scott inexplicably came home with one day. I've literally never seen him drink it in his life, yet one day, he just bought 85 servings of it. I find it hilarious and weirdly endearing. It just sits in the back of our cupboard, forgotten and silent like some sort of yellow, plastic monolith. We keep getting to this point when we move, where I imagine we are too tired to discern what goes in the box and what doesn't, and that's when, invariably, the Nesquik gets packed once again. We never, ever drink it; We just move it. Apparently, same goes for obscure movie tapes.
I know for a fact I didn't buy it, but does that mean Scott, whose flawless movie taste I trust wholeheartedly, was the one who made this questionable purchase? If so, I like to think that Scott had been in Montana, or Alaska perhaps, some sparsley populated locale where video stores were only accessed by dogsled. Maybe his mom was sick and her only request was a movie, just a little film to lift her spirits.
Once Scott had tied up the dogs and wiped the steam from his goggles, he saw that the Inuit purveyor was only offering two films, one was My Best Friend's Wedding, which his mom had just seen last weekend. The other was a worn copy of a mad-cap Billy Crystal, Robert DeNiro adventure. But, there was just one catch. Scott couldn't rent the movie, he had to buy it. So, thinking of his poor mother, up to her ears in Kleenex and VapoRub, he did the valiant thing, purchased the tape, and mushed all the way home to save the day!
I really can't imagine any other scenario that would bring this into my life. Once, Scott and I went out to our favorite Italian restaurant in Fairhaven, Bellingham's impossibly adorable district. As we ate our tortellini, we slowly started to notice all the waitstaff was staring at us. Well, we thought they were staring at us. It turns out they were staring at the couple next to us. "What's going on?" I asked, my mouth full of garlic bread. The closest server leaned in and whispered, "He's going to propose!" "Wow!" Scott and I said and just as we turned to spy, the guy, who looked approximately fourteen, got down nervously on bended knee and offered his ring to his lady.
Everyone was staring. We were literally a foot away from them. I seriously could have reached out and stolen a breadstick if I wanted to, but out of deference to the romantic moment at hand, I refrained. What happens next is surreal and unbelievable. The girl, an equally youthful redhead with ballerina arms and pale skin hissed through her clenched teeth, "GET UP!" She was sitting on her hands tightly, her ring finger couldn't get any farther away. Suddenly the waitstaff had cheese to grate. Scott and I were trapped, so close to all the heartbreak.
We immediately tried to pretend like we had no idea what had just happened, and just like I might in any uncomfortable moment, I began nervously tittering and talking loudly, "Ho, this is some good wine!" I bellowed "I agree!" Scott shouted back awkwardly.
The boy was understandably confused and frozen. "GET UP!" probably wasn't the phrase he was expecting to hear. He fumbled the box back into his coat pocket and took his place in the booth beside her. They proceeded to have a hurried and hushed conversation. Scott and I smiled weakly and made sad eyes at each other. We felt so bad for them. They were so young.
I felt especially terrible for the guy, because he clearly thought he was getting a "yes." I mean, you don't ask, unless you're certain you are going to get a "yes," do you? Or maybe that wasn't the case at all, maybe some other entirely unique motive prompted this kid to get a ring, take a knee, and ask the redhead for her hand. As we left the restaurant, it was all I could think about.
What events could have possibly led up to that? I wondered. What series of small moments led them to this one we and the servers of Mambo Italiano so awkwardly witnessed? How did those kids, those little kids, get from point A to point "No" the way they did?
I still wonder. Long after this has become a cocktail party story. "She said NO!" Gasp! "Yes! We felt so bad!" Still, still after I take a sip of my drink and sit in that quiet that follows a story, I wonder, what led up to that?
While the situations are completely different in their gravity, I feel the exact same way about our battered VHS copy of Analyze That, the sequel to the Billy Crystal, Robert Deniro collaboration, Analyze This. I hold it in my hands. What led up to you? I wonder. I look over at Scott. "GET UP," I say, "We're going to the movies."
Also Strangely Terrifying: The Last Unicorn
I loved this movie as a little girl, renting it constantly from Mountain View Video. Then, I watched it again in 7th grade and its creepy animation flooded me with a nameless sense of impending doom. Why? No one knows. The cover above certainly looks inviting to the My Little Pony set with its devil bull of darkness on the cover. The unicorn is in a total Black Stallion rear right there.
On a related note, I can't count how many times, as a little girl, I mentally weighed the merits of the unicorn vs. the pegasus and came to only one possible answer. The unisus, which blows them all away. When it comes to comparing tattoos, I arrive at the exact same conclusion. All paths lead to unisus. Unisi?
vs.
WINNER:
Domino Toppling Rules
I could watch domino toppling mazes all day long. Especially ones with cool themes like this.
This one is so soothing.
Lilly McElroy
Lilly McElroy is a performance artist who throws herself at men in bars, while her friend snaps a shot of the moment. Check out the surreal images at this site. I think it's such a funny idea! She should take it to the Jennifer Grey level and get the guys to do a Dirty Dancing lift, too. 
My little student came running up to me today, so excited to tell me something!
Me: Hey, you!
Student: Ohmygosh, guesswhatIsaw?
Me: What?
Student: I love it I love it I love it. (spinning around) It's a musical!
Me: Oh, was it Grease?
Student: No.
Me: What was it?
Student: It's that one. You know! About the hairdresser!
Me: Um, Edward Scissorhands? I guess that's not really a musical though...
Student: No! They filmed it in London? The hairdresser lives there? (whispering) They take flesh and make pies?
Me: O000hhhh, Sweeney Todd!
I loved it because she so genuinely enjoyed it. It's her new favorite musical. Plus, how sweet is it that, to her, Johnny Depp is a hairdresser?
I Wish Lit'l Smokies Were Somehow a Factor
Did anyone else catch this story about the guy who broke into a house belonging to two farmworkers where he "rubbed one with spices and whacked the other with a sausage before fleeing"? I guess they just woke up to the burglar "applying spices to one of them and striking the other with an 8-inch sausage." Seriously? What would you do if you just woke up to the pungent aroma of corriander being slammed into your face and then, you opened your eyes, and WHAM! A huge sausage blow right to your cheekbone. You would be so torn, alarmed by the violent attack, and yet pleased by the deli-like aromas. Every time you ate a salami sandwich, your face would just twinge right where the robber nailed you.
What is your worst fear? Dogs? Bees? Dogs that when they open their mouths, bees fly out? I am obsessed with a new phobia. It's called koumpounophobia, and it's the fear of buttons. You heard me right - buttons.
Okay, at first I didn't believe it. I was like, what is the least threatening item you can think of? A button, right? So, how could it scare you? I just pictured people like, opening a drawer and seeing one lying in there, and then their eyes would just bug out and they would shriek and run away. It turns out, it is sort of like that.
Some people are afraid that if they see one, they'll swallow it. Or, if they touch one, they immediately must wash their hands. I found a blog post about it online and one lady described her worst nightmare as seeing a plastic button, in a puddle of water, with the water coming up through its four holes. She said she was shaking as she was typing the words. Seriously? That's the worst thing you can think of? Not like, dying in an avalanche or being eaten by a lion? Just, seeing a button in some water? I sort of wish that was my worst fear.
It got more interesting as I read. For nearly all koumpounophobics, metal buttons are no problem, it's just the plastic ones. Especially the marbled clear ones. They induce a sort of immediate nausea. Many will actually feel so nauseous when they look at one for an extended period of time, that they throw up. Can you imagine?
Of course, my first instinct was to make fun of these folks. I was laughing out loud as I read their tales of terror, but then - the strangest thing happened - and this always happens when I really want to make fun of someone- as I immersed myself in their world, the stories became less and less funny, and more and more sad and legitimate. As children, if their mothers picked them up while wearing a button-down shirt, they would just fling themselves wildly out of her arms and scream. The phobics online were so grateful that they weren't alone, they were finally connecting with other people who had the same problem. So, my desire to make fun of them really disappeared and gave way to not just a true sympathy for them, but an empathy. I feel kind of like I'm one of them. I mean, don't get me wrong, I'll put my hand right into a bowl of buttons no problem, but I am kind of an irrational fear afficionado. You should see me walk into a spiderweb. I mean the button people would just laugh in my face. And like me, they really can't control it- they hate it. They just want to be able button up a shirt without puking.
Some people think it's an evolutionary instinct, like the buttons remind them of something dangerous, and so they are programmed to avoid them. What out there was button-shaped and predatory, I'm not sure. I actually heard that Steve Jobs hates buttons, not necessarily the shirt kind, but the ones you push, and the elevator in the Tokyo Mac store doesn't have any. Hello iPhone touch screen.
I kind of wondered if one might create a "buttonless" clothing for these poor people. Then I remembered someone already invented T-shirts. And turtlenecks. Steve Jobs actually loves turtlenecks, so maybe his button fear really is all inclusive. In any case, I wouldn't want to make money off other people's phobias. Like the guys on The Big Idea With Donny Deutsch. They invented "The Handler." It's a keychain that opens door handles without you having to touch them.
You should have seen how uncomfortable one of the inventors got as he was describing door handles. He was like, "Well...there are all sorts of ...um...germs...on every surface that we see andthat'swhyIinventedTheHandlerDonnybecauseIhategerms."
He was just totally sweating thinking about. You know so many people were relieved to see something like this on the market. So, these kind of products can be valid and helpful, but I also think it's kind of enabling and lousy in a way. It's like capitalizing on a problem that one should be motivated to cure, not accommodate. I mean, you don't see me trying to sell people spider suits to arachnophobes so they can avoid spider bites while they sleep. Although, I kind of do want to invent that... immediately. It would be sweet if it actually looked like a Spiderman costume because it would totally cover all surface area and be delightfully ironic at the same time. See, what I mean, how can I make fun of the button people when I am such a nerd?
I think that at first, when it comes to crazy phobias, you are incredulous - like how could anyone be scared of a button? But then, when you think of your own fears, maybe you can relate. We all have these strange brains and memories and triggers and we're just trying to make it through the day without having a brown recluse give us a flesh-eating venom bite. All I know is, I'll make sure the spider suit has a zipper. You're welcome.
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