THE LITTLE THINGS: Chasing Amy (Kevin Smith, 1997)

Chasing Amy is best when it stops trying to force its overly-melodramatic (and possibly GLAAD-offensive?) bi-curious plot-twists to work, and instead just lets itself be silly and fun.

(So when Ben Affleck is not in the frame.)

Here are some funny little things:



(Re: the doors, but why do young people in movies always seem have weird, expensive-looking sorts of corporate modern art in their overly spacious pads?)





...In the credit "thanks":



And as a Mallrats corollary:



(There is a direct line of influence between that quote and the three seasons of My Name is Earl I've watched/forced myself through.)

THE LITTLE THINGS: Mallrats (Kevin Smith, 1995)

I want that jacket, and one of these hats:



(Baby-size.)



(The hilarity stemming from how "Woody Woodpecker" sounds more like a porno than "Shannon Hamilton.")

a thing I drew one time

One time I woke up in the middle of the night, and drew something before falling back asleep.

This is the thing that I drew:

THE LITTLE THINGS: Saturday Night Live, S35E21 (Betty White)

Lives Don't Always End Up With a Bang!!! Sometimes They End With a Crash
Also, on the right-hand side: Detective's Endowment Association

And this little detail:

...in a very photobomb-worthy picture in general.

THE LITTLE THINGS: Zodiac (Fincher, 2007)

I was wondering if this is a duplicate of that actual newspaper edition, and whether David Fincher or the production designer or art/set decorators would go to that much trouble, and then I realized that most people are not as obsessive about the little things as I am, and that most people would not care about this, or even think to.



Also, I totally forgot a McPoyle is in this movie!



I totes IMDbd him after seeing it in theatres, too. But I hadn't started watching Always Sunny yet and I guess he hadn't been in anything of note by that point to check out from the library.


And some things that I noticed in the credits, cos I read the credits:

a thing I made

Here's a thing I made, as part of a bigger thing I'm working on:



Maybe you're thinking to yourself, "So what, she knows how to type in Times New Roman."

Look again, my friend.



Yeah, it's fucking rotoscoped.

And yes, it did take about two hours, to trace over every letter six times.

Worth it? Definitely probably not.

(But it still does look pretty fucking cool... y'know, if you even notice the fact that it's animated.)

EDITING HARRY POTTER INTO MY CHILDHOOD: eighth-grade historical fiction

This is a one-hundred percent unadultered story I wrote as an eighth-grader, except that I have edited Harry Potter in as the protagonist.

Here are some of the best bits:

Elizabeth, the red-haired seventeen-year-old Harry Potter had to share a bed with, drew in a deep breath, radiating exhaustion and dreams of a place far away from this Lowell Mill, yet Harry Potter just continued to stare at the ceiling that expressed the shoddy craftsmanship of the boarding-room she had to lay in until it was six-thirty in the morning, time to eat the scanty morning meal and get right back to a mindless task similar to the one she'd had the day before, and she gauged that the awakening time was soon by the length of the sunbeams that lapped at her toes.

Harry Potter released her gaze from the spidery lines on the underside of the roof and slowly rolled over to her side, coming to face with the back of Elizabeth's head. Elizabeth's hair was long and a reddish-brown color; a total contrast to Harry Potter's style, which consisted of cutting her own blond hair off in short and choppy hunks ever since the accident that had destroyed the tresses that were once as beautiful as Elizabeth's.

Elizabeth took another large breath, yet this didn't startle Harry Potter one bit, for she was used to the heavy sleep of the pretty girl she considered such a contrast to her seemingly very ugly self, and just inhaled her own long breath, hers being a sigh directed towards the whole world and how it had treated her, a girl who had once had so many hopes.

And Elizabeth was probably Irish, but Harry Potter was too timid to ask, due to the teachings of her parental figure, and was also a bit afraid of what Elizabeth might do if she, Harry Potter the "Englishwoman," experimented with friendship.

a poem for when you lose things

FUCK SHIT, FUCK SHIT FUCK
COCK, TITS. BITCH, DICK. FUCK SHIT ASS
CUNT CUNT, TWAT SHIT FUCK

-a haiku

Adventureland

I love movies like Adventureland. Movies like Breaking Away and Spanking the Monkey and The Last Picture Show. Coming-of-age movies. How could you not love coming-of-age movies? We're all coming of age. We all love movies. Fucking perfect formula right there.


I love the boys these coming-of-age movies are always about.

Not-a-boy-not-yet-a-man. Man-boys. With their smiles and their noses and their button-up shirts that they wear when they're trying to look nice.


But these movies, these coming-of-age movies make me sad because I know those boys like that, those boys that I like, that make me nice-way-squirm when they talk about their degrees in Comparative Literature and Renaissance Studies, about the novels they want to write and read, when they babble about video games and comic books and lofty hopes and dreams -- yeah, those boys would never fall for a girl like me.

If these kinds of movies showcase anything, it's the kind of girl that boys like that want and expect they'll never get.

But they get them.

Eventually.

Always.

Because those girls that they like, with their surprisingly good tastes in music, their surprisingly good senses of humor, their surprisingly deep thoughts under those shockingly beautiful physiques -- yeah, those girls realize how nice and cute and perfect those boys were all along. Those girls realize what girls like me have known from frame one, and that's all it takes. For them.

Acknowledgment.

And I wonder where I could ever fit into a story like this. Where a person like me could fit into Adventureland, a person who doesn't look like Kristen Stewart but would have Martin Starr over Ryan Reynolds any any any day of the week.

And it just doesn't and wouldn't work.

And it makes me sad, it makes me very sad, but I'm not, and I never will be a part of that sort of equation.

Probably because I'd be at home the whole time watching my surprisingly excellent collection of DVDs.

THE LITTLE THINGS: Twin Peaks, S02E14