quiet evening takes a turn for the puppet

just saw death at a funeral with kim this evening. we had a quiet evening in the neighborhood - geeking out over john krakauer books [kim's reading under the banner of heaven and i've read into thin air and into the wilderness] at telephone bar and then we hit the movies on 3rd and 11th. though we had just had dinner, a movie is not complete without icees. blue icees. i'm not alone on this love, though folks aren't usually as forth coming as i am about it. [my tongue did not turn as blue as i would have liked.]

the movie was delightful. the opening credit sequence was a bit long and thought it was cleverer than it was. [i was not as offended by it as kim was.] the actors in this ensemble did a great job and i was chuckling, if not laughing outright, through most of the film. just truly enjoyed it and felt good at the end. though i was [again] disappointed in the end credits - i felt they fell short. am i focusing a bit too much on the bells and whistles? maybe. but i haven't completely processed the film beyond the fact that frank oz has director more films that we love than any of us realize. imdb him as a director. do it. aside from the fact that his picture on there is absolutely adorable, you'll start to recall that the man directed in and out [oh kevin kline], the score, bowfinger, and seminal films like what about bob?, dirty rotten scoundrels, little shop of horrors, and the dark crystal. that's right. the dark crystal. putting aside my perverse love for ruprecht the monkey boy in dirty rotten scoundrels, the dark crystal was a formative film for me. i remember my parents went out for the evening when it first came out on video, and dean and wyatt and i huddled on the floor in front of the couch watching it. i don't think i slept for about a week. though part of that could be that dean and wyatt kept hiding in my closet and under my bed and making weird noises the minute the lights were out.

the dark crystal, and for that matter the original star wars movies, are more believable and realistic to me even now than all of these cgi computer-generated things put together. maybe it's the nostalgia that clouds my judgement but i think that the use of puppets and models and miniatures gives these films an organic vs. generated feel. these things are REAL. a computer generated movie looks computer generated - even if you know that a mystic is an amazing puppet, it's still a moving, breathing creature [breathing because there's a puppeteer behind it]. there's a depth and a realness to these movies that all the computer programmers in the world can not recreate.

i'm by no means denigrating computer generated things, or the amazing people and technology behind them. i'm just saying that these films are more real, more tangible, than the most fantastical futuristic computer animated/generated one.

my babbling has gone beyond my ken, so i'm going to slip into bed and dream of lush puppet trees and bumbling british boys.

go see death at a funeral. not only because it's funny but because i think we should all support frank oz.

wouldn't you want to have breakfast with him?

so why do we love rock of love so much? why is it that i have no idea when the show actually airs, but definitely know that they show reruns on sunday mornings on vh1?

we love our washed-up stars. or, more accurately, our former mega-starts trying to hold on to some level of fame and notoriety. is bret michaels washed up? beats me. i haven't noticed him doing much since poison was in their heyday, but then again, i'm kind of square when it comes to music scenes [unless we're outside and i've got a blanket on a hill and everyone's well-behaved, i'm kinda not interested. phish concerts have gotten too rowdy for me, even]. anyway, we loved these people who are in that grey area of celebrity. celebs but not actively celebrated. and we love to watch a train-wreck of human emotions. we like to watch the car crash, the train wreck and smile while we're on the couch thinking smugly 'at least i'm not like THAT'.

simply put, shows like rock of love make us feel better about ourselves. do we care this much whether bret michaels finds love? whether he chooses one woman to 'keep rockin' his world' as he asks at the end of each elimination round? of course we don't. it doesn't effect our lives at all. no bearing, whatsoever. what we want is to watch a bunch of women act like drunk teenage morons to win the chance to sleep with someone who used to be incredibly famous. [and who slept with drunk teenagers.] we want to watch these girls act like nincompoops so that we can sit back and feel better about the times that WE acted like nincompoops. shows like this help us cement our perceived places in this world. the whole 'sure i've got a mind-numbing job and the only thing i truly look forward to is getting a seat on the subway so that i can listen to my ipod and pretend that i'm in maui but at least i'm not drunk getting a tattoo of some guy's name on my neck and screaming obscenities at other drunk girls who have all slept with this guy that i want to be my boyfriend because he's more famous than i am.' situation.

don't get me wrong: i watch the show. i was recently in a meeting and we spent the first 15 minutes discussing who we want to win bret's affection. i actually said 'while i like jess the best, i want heather to win because i think jess has more in store for her than just being bret's girl.' i said this in front of co-workers. people who i would like to take me seriously. people who i respect and who i'd like to respect me.

it's the new water-cooler talk. not everyone's a sports fan. not everyone is going to share my enthusiasm over seeing andy pettite pitch his 200th game on wednesday [in fact, it constantly surprises me how many people aren't sports literate, but that's another post]. but i guarantee you that more people know something about bret michaels, poison and his show rock of love. politics and religion polarize people. it's not ok to talk about these things at work. but rock of love and i love new york unite us. whether we're agreeing on how insane laci is, or how tango really does look like a teenage mutant ninja turtle, we're agreeing. we're united.

would i rather unite with people over appreciation of thomas hardy's novels or the sad state of health care this country is in? of course i would. but giggling over heather's use of the word 'tatters' is so much easier.

tee hee. tatters.

why we're all idiots when it comes to love.

i blame hollywood.

easy to say, right? but i've been watching terrible romantic comedies [the next person who calls it a romcom gets hit with a sock filled with pennies] all night on tbs, and quite frankly, hollywood is to blame. take serendipity starring john cusack and kate beckinsale. at what point is this movie at all believable? so far for me, and granted i've eaten nearly an entire box of cereal without milk this evening, the best parts of this dreck have been jeremy piven being his usually malignant delightful self and my pre-teen obsession with john cusack - a man who makes wearing eyeliner an everyday occurrence.

i'm rambling, i know. but i'm in a bit of a kerfuffle on this: of COURSE we're all morons and unrealistic in our relationships! of course people sleep together at the first sign of attraction and then wake up 3 weeks later and realize 'my god. what is in bed next to me? this person offends me on 17 different levels. i've made a terrible mistake.' movies like serendipity teach us, essentially, that all you need to do is be in the right place at the right time and BAM! you'll be matched up cosmically with your soul mate. and if you're not, if you happen to be in a relationship with a perfectly nice person, well when your soul mate DOES pop up [and you know they will and you know you'll know it because you just will. plus, mood music] you'll be able to extricate yourself from the current relationship with little to no fuss. because while there might be tears, there will be no guilt on your part. and your significant other will just fade away. it's picture perfect, really.

i'm being redundant, but it's unrealistic.

the manager at the bookstore i worked at during high school was unrealistic. she'd been married to her husband for 15 years and complained to me that the relationship was over because the passion and spark were gone. granted, that sucks, but she couldn't recognize that relationships grow and evolve into things that don't involve getting slammed into stacks of books in the store room during inventory by the 19 year old delivery van driver. which she wanted. and she did. during breaks. not just inventory.

which ended my ever going into the store room again.

my point is: hollywood has been training us to be unrealistic. so that we continue searching for that soul mate, that perfect person that only exists on the silver screen. my theory is that john cusack does NOT say the perfect thing all the time. he doesn't stutter adorably when he's nervous. he does not always wear a soft t-shirt and blazer and look amazingly natural in his eye liner. i think he can often be found in sweatpants and smelling faintly of gin. i bet he farts and picks at his feet while watching man vs. nature. and he's the john cusack i'm interested in. no need for a boombox.

comment. let's open a dialogue on what love really is all about - because i certainly haven't a clue and i think i'm supremely bad at it. i'd hate to think that what the father character in the wedding date is true, that every woman has the love life she truly wants. that would blow. on so many levels. [i can not believe i'm posting paraphrases from the bloody wedding date.]

but listen, i may not respond right away. i'm throwing in the towel and watching reruns of soap operas on soapnet. at least they're honest in their sham.

a must have for the disaffected cowgirl youth

i never imagined that my doc martens and cowboy boots would mate while i had them tossed in the closet. but man, that baby sure is pretty.

i kinda want a pair. it's a steal at $99.99, yes?

when there just isn't enough coffee

well it's monday, right? and though we all know that this happens - every week, mind you - we still show up cranky and crabby and bitter that it's happening. you know when i didn't hate mondays? when i was a bartender. in college. over the summers.

but i digress.

i'm writing this while i wait for a conference call to start. because everyone is in such a bad mood, it was decided that we'd all conference from our desks [no lie] while we talk to these folks in minneapolis. my guess, actually, is that someone's assistant forgot to schedule the conference room, but i'm NOT back-seat assisting. believe me, i'm not.

so before this becomes the most boring blog-entry ever, i will converse with myself about where i've been for the past few months.

so where in the world have you been, bex butler?
i got the death flu in late june. and -

i'm sorry to interrupt, but the death flu? really?
yes, the death flu. i couldn't get out of bed. i had a fever. i couldn't keep any food down, or around, me. i lived on flat gingerale and saltines for 3 weeks. i think i lost some weight.

you have been looking svelte lately.
thank you. you've been looking pretty cute yourself, you know.

thanks.
sure.

so...
right, so, i was just getting over the death flu and was feeling really pretty good and i was in the shower and was listening to the radio and the umbrella song came on -

which you hate.
well...i say that i hate it but secretly it's a damn catchy song. have you listened to it?

i try not to. i can't believe you admit that you like it.
ANYWAY. i was boogying in the shower - because i felt so much better [have you lived on saltines and flat gingerale for more than an hour? it's terrible. seriously.] and the song came on and i was sorta shaking it and i slipped and, um, fell and well...

you hurt yourself, didn't you?
i broke my wrist.

you're an idiot.
that's what my doctor said.

and i don't have an m.d.
you don't even have an m.a.

true. though i didn't fall in the bathtub and break my wrist.
so once i broke my wrist i couldn't really type. i considered getting someone to blog for me, because honestly, i fell in my shower dancing to the umbrella song. it's funny. as soon as i stop being mortified, it's funny. i mean, i went to the emergency room in sweat pants and my pajama top soaking wet.

how IS the emergency room in new york city?
it's both better and worse than you think. there were a fair amount of people there that seemed like this was just how they went to the doctor. granted, gunshot victims probably get a separate entrance than walk-ins, but nobody seemed in any sort of dire emergency. i sat there for awhile watching cnn. in pain. trying not to cry.

admit it. you cried.
a little bit. but on the walk over. not there.

you walked to the er?
i didn't know the address and so wasn't sure what to tell the cab driver.

god, you're an idiot.
hey now.

so...
so my roommate came and brought me gatorade and pretzels and i got a little cast and went home and called work and got some great pain medication and watched high school musical on tv.

i can't take any more of this.
fine. i'm late for a meeting anyway.

with my tail between my legs

well kids, if you're still reading, i reckon it's been awhile. and you know what? you deserve an explanation. no, i think you do. because, goodness, it's been a right long time since i've posted here. and i'd like to make this explanation good [and believe me, i've gotten myself into some pretty hilarious scrapes now that it's september and i can look back on this ridonculous summer from some distance] but unfortunately, it's going to have to wait. why?

1. i'm exhausted. i drank way too much beer friday night with the wacky boys and somehow yesterday's attachment to the couch didn't completely cure me [i think my age is starting to show].

2. i've got an 8 am meeting tomorrow. i know. it IS inhumane.

3. i was at the park all day today playing frisbee with jp and friends and i'm covered in sweat, sunscreen, and park grit.

4. i'm going to ease back into this slowl.

5. i think there's a sliver of glass in my foot and i'm going to try and dig it out with my camping tweezers.

so there you go. it'll happen. i promise. I PROMISE. GOSH.