House of Jennifer Connelly's Legs

So I'm watching House of Sand and Fog, and I feel like I'm having sex with Jennifer Connelly. And since I wasn't expecting it and I know she doesn't know, I'm feeling really weird. And used. It's like watching someone through a window. I wonder if she was weirded out when she watched in and saw the angles they shot of her. And since I'm only watching because of her, the movie is all kinds of boring, I have some thinking to do on what kind of person I am.

Oddly, I don't feel like I had sex with Ben Kingsley.

Another year older

So my birthday's this weekend. Entering the Jesus year, and I feel like I should be somewhere else in my life. Last year this time, my mom came down to watch The Boy so E and I could take a trip. A couple of my friends who also have birthdays this weekend are going to try and get me to go out tonight, and there will be boys I'll have to talk to. God, what a horrible prospect.

But then Dwight Yoakam comes on the iPod, and the rain starts to fall harder, and somehow I feel better. I might have to just turn off the phone and spend the weekend on the couch in a Kurosawa marathon. Or, you know, CI. 

The Great Brain

The ways my brain can distract me never cease to amaze. Tonight, it was noticing how many movie covers/posters feature a person and a rearview mirror (Silkwood, Driving Miss Daisy, etc.), went through the best movie moments (this summer Heath Ledger bumped Superman out of the top five: Jason Lee figuring out he's in a lesbian bar in Chasing Amy, Harrison Ford and Kelly McGillis dancing in the barn in Witness, Giovanni Ribisi daring Keanu Reeves to shoot him in The Gift, Chazz Palminteri (two Zs, whatever dude) dropping his coffee cup in The Usual Suspects, and The Joker in the cop car), and, because I don't think these are the best movies, just the best movie moments, on to my favorite bad movies, most of which are Roman Polanski joints. It's funny how almost all of his movies can be boiled down to "Wait... did I just sleep with the devil?"

E has a little obsession with Polanski, I think because the man just cannot fail. He could be standing in a pile of shit and the stink just wouldn't stick. I honestly wouldn't be surprised if he was the devil. But the devil has to be taller.

Not Again

So I'm at the end of a four-year relationship, and though I'm wondering what happened and feeling like shit, I'm also wondering what to do with all the random, stupid thoughts and ideas I used to shovel off on my significant other because I knew they'd make him laugh. I'm in the "everything reminds me of him, and I have to remember not to call/text/etc" phase. It sucks.

So I'm doing what everyone does now: Instead of keeping my remarks to myself and getting on being depressed and eating a whole gallon of ice cream, I'm torturing complete strangers with them. Hey, I just finally lost 10 pounds and can't afford to get depressed. Loss of back pain and fitting into all my clothes is about all I have going for me.

So instead of sleeping (because if I have one more dream about him, I'm going to actually wake up crying), I'm watching Grand Prix and wondering if the director had a stroke when he saw this incredibly serious and artistic movie with the madcap, Cannonball Run cover art it sported when I rented it. Of course, it's not artistic in a completely good way: Split screen! Three! Six! Nine! Too small to see! Sex in a brandy glass! A minute ago I thought it was finally over when the screen went dark. Intermission? Holy crap.

If E were watching with me, he'd have some good story about why James Garner is starring instead of Paul Newman or Steve McQueen, both, coincidentally, in the other long-ass movie I rented, The Towering Inferno, and co-starring everyone from O.J. Simpson to Fred Astaire (and that does include everyone. Seriously, I think I'M in this movie). I don't think it's taken a whole country this long to burn down. It's much like another long-ass movie E made me watch about the exact same thing happening on a cruise ship. Towering Inferno at Sea, I believe it was called.

I could be watching my favorite detectives battling murders, but that's ruined since it just reminds me of E passed out in a beautiful Dallas hotel room while I rang in the new year in the bathtub watching a CI marathon.