Is there anything better in life than cultivating an obsession and then dragging your friends down with you?
I’ll answer that. No. No, there isn’t. There is nothing as gloriously satisfying as introducing someone to something and watching it slowly consume them. Soon they know all the actors, and they’ve watched all the behind-the-scenes footage, and then they’re knee-deep in fanfiction at 3 AM on a Tuesday and they’re sending you messages like this:
In this particular case, I sat back, stunned, and realized… yes. It was all my fault. As with most things, I hadn’t meant to do it. But I wasn’t sorry.
Allison has a penchant for ruining things in movies or TV shows. And she loves it. She loves doing it. She’ll point out something about a character or something that you didn’t notice before, and once it’s been pointed out to you, you can’t un-see it. She was responsible for introducing me to the whole J.J. Abrams lens-flare in Star Trek thing, and she’s ruined several Teen Wolf characters for me. When we went to see Star Trek Into Darkness the other day (which I LOVED… I whispered to Tara, “This is the best day of my life,” and then approximately two hours later I whispered to her, “THIS IS THE WORST DAY OF MY LIFE,” so you know it was good), Allison pointed out that somebody had a butt chin. I don’t remember who, but she whispered it, and it was out there. Forever. It was like in that episode of How I Met Your Mother, Spoiler Alert, where they ruin Ted’s girlfriend for him by pointing out that she never stops talking, and you can hear the breaking glass sound effect of shattered illusions.
Tara and I simultaneously turned to her with pain in our expressions and hate in our hearts.
I just said, “Why would you do that?”
And Tara said, “Some people just want to watch the world burn.”
For Mother’s Day on Sunday, I bought my mom Grease on DVD and the whole family agreed to watch it with her because it’s her favorite movie ever. So now I can cross that movie off the list of movies I tell people I haven’t seen and which prompts them to shout aggressively, “HOW HAVE YOU NOT SEEN THAT?” (Also on that list are The Matrix and The Sound of Music. I’ll get to them some day, I swear.) My favorite part of that movie was the rival gang “the Scorpions” whose car had like a jet-powered engine.
On Tuesday I went to a funeral for a distant relative, and I realized (too late) that I don’t have “funeral attire.” I have black, but it’s like sparkly black or black with words or black with polka dots. I don’t have a lot of solemn black. So I improvised.
Yesterday Liam and I went back to our old high school to visit our French teachers, where we failed to foresee the awkwardness of informing them that we had both quit French. For some reason all around our school there were pictures of jellyfish and, like, beaches and stuff, and I still have no idea why.
Tonight is the series finale of The Office AND I’M ALREADY A MESS.
…and I LOVED IT. I’ll be seeing it again whenever my dad’s schedule permits, because I’ve decided he’s seeing it too. I wasn’t a fan of Iron Man 2, and also right before I saw Iron Man 3, I read a review someone posted about how it was almost exactly like The Dark Knight Rises in terms of plot. So maybe I just had low expectations, but I don’t think so. I loved it. I loved Don Cheadle. I loved the writing. I loved Gwyneth Paltrow being a badass. I loved RDJ and Ty Simpkins, the little boy who I just realized was also in Insidious so now I think I need to breathe into a paper bag or something. And now I just looked at his IMDb page, and there’s going to be an Insidious 2? What the hell? Why is this happening? Why is my past coming back to haunt me? When I watched Insidious the first time, the power went out and the TV froze and I almost peed myself for the first time since the tender age of five when I did it on purpose just to spite my mother.
Happy Mother’s Day, by the way, Mom. You had a rough job, because I was the kind of kid who pissed herself out of spite. This post got off-track. Here’s what we can take away from it: I was a terrible child and Iron Man 3 was spectacular.
The other day in class my professor showed us the trailer for the first Iron Man movie to make some point about American ideals of superheroes, or something. A lot of it went right over my head, because I started getting excited for Iron Man 3 and the point was pretty much lost on me. I started paying attention, however, when some girl raised her hand and said, “We idealize this arrogant, overly self-confident archetype of a completely unrealistic superhero! I mean he flies around in a suit of armor and has a battery for a heart!” And it was the best thing, another girl didn’t even raise her hand, she just shouted out, “IT’S NOT A BATTERY, IT’S AN ELECTROMAGNET KEEPING THE SHRAPNEL FROM KILLING HIM, AUDREY, GOD!”
I wanted to start a slow clap, but that kind of thing isn’t really all that impressive when nobody else joins in.
Last night I continued my foray into Aaron Tveit’s filmography (this has been an ongoing project for months) and I watched Girl Walks Into a Bar, which… wow. I’m not even going to say anything. HOWEVER:
Elodie: I’m having that problem again where I can’t look at his face because it’s so beautiful.
Tara: I’m imagining you meeting him someday and just covering his face with your hands and going “sorry I can’t.”
Elodie: Oh dear. This could happen.
Tonight I watched Catch Me If You Can (the 2002 movie version) and I texted my dad to tell him I was watching it, because it’s one of his favorite movies. And he did this massively impressive thing where he’d text me lines from the movie mere moments before Leo DiCaprio or Tom Hanks said them. And I said, “Dad, how many times have you seen this?” and he said, “Once, maybe,” and I said, “Or twice? Or three times?” and he said, “Maybe.”
And I think it mostly amazed me because I’ve never thought of my dad as being a super obsessed fanboy about anything before. As it turns out, my dad is in a fandom. The Catch Me If You Can fandom. HE WAS IN A FANDOM BEFORE I EVEN KNEW SUCH A THING EXISTED.
He’s read the book version also. My dad is not big on reading. He’s not against it; he just doesn’t read often. But he loved the novel.
Maybe I should introduce him to the musical. You know, the Broadway version of Catch Me If You Can starring a certain revolutionary actor-future-husband-man (cough) named Aaron Tveit.