Confessions of a Movie Addict

I love movies. They're like legal crack for my mind. One of my favorite things to do is curl up in the dark with a good snack, a warm blanket, and a great movie. I love getting wrapped up in a good story and forgetting the real world for a while.

I've never been creative with any kind of visual medium - painting, sculpture, film, etc. So the complexities involved in turning a bare-bones idea into a finished movie that people will actually pay money to see just boggle my mind. When I think of all the things that have to come together in precisely the perfect way - editing, score, costumes, script, lighting, acting, directing, producing, casting, set design - well, it makes the truly great movies seem all the more impressive.

You name the genre, I'll watch it. Except musicals - they just don't do it for me. Something about total strangers spontaneously breaking into perfectly choreographed song and dance is a stretch for even my vivid imagination. I love movies that make me cry, and movies that make me laugh (though I prefer my comedies the way I do the meat on my chicken - nice and dark). I love movies with deep, philosophical messages that challenge me and lift my eyes above the mundane things of life, and I love movies with bulging muscles where lots of stuff gets blown up. Westerns, science fiction, fantasy (though there's precious few good ones in that genre to go around), horror, drama, chick flicks - I can't get enough. If I really, truly love a movie, I can watch it dozens of times and never get tired of it. When I was in high school, I watched "Ferris Bueller's Day Off" so many times I had every line memorized.

Below are some of my favorite movie lines of all time, in no particular order. Not all of the movies they come from are favorites of mine, and one or two I thought skated the edge of the downright ridiculous. A "shining" example (if you'll pardon the pun) is Shelley Duvall in the movie adaptation of Stephen King's classic book. Her performance almost single-handedly ruined what is otherwise a gloriously frightening and creepy film. Watching her wander the halls of the Overlook hotel all emaciated and with those bulging bug-eyes of hers (it's called hyperthyroidism, Shelley - see a doctor!) was like nails on a chalkboard.

But sometimes a certain line is so cool, the delivery so spot-on, that it sticks with you no matter what you may think about the rest of the film. That's the way I feel about these:

"Show me the money!" - Jerry Maguire

"The list is life." - Schindler's List

"Bueller...Bueller..." - Ferris Bueller's Day Off

"What's happenin', hot stuff?" - Sixteen Candles

"Get away from her, you BITCH!" - Aliens

"Go ahead, make my day." - Sudden Impact

"You've got to ask yourself one question: Do I feel lucky? Well do ya, punk?" - Dirty Harry (Dirty Harry gets double-billing because he's just that freaking cool.)

"I'm not going to be ignored, Dan!" - Fatal Attraction

"STELLA!" - A Streetcar Named Desire

"K-Mart sucks." - Rain Man

"Say hello to my little friend!" - Scarface

"May the force be with you." - Star Wars

"I was just in my office and I heard a ruckus." - The Breakfast Club

"Fill your hands, you son of a bitch!" - True Grit

"Shane! Come back!" - Shane

"What we got here is a failure to communicate." - Cool Hand Luke

"Heeere's Johnny!" - The Shining

"You have the handwriting of a serial killer." - Steel Magnolias

"Do I look like a guy with a plan?" - The Dark Knight

"Our arrows will blot out the sun!"..."Then we will fight in the shade." - 300

"As...you...wish...!" - The Princess Bride

"Frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn." - Gone With The Wind

"Get your stinking paws off me, you damned dirty ape!" - Planet of the Apes

What about all of you out there? What are some of your favorite movie lines?

What's So Great About Men?

In re-reading my last post, I started to wonder if I came across as someone who views all men with suspicion and fear with my talk of needing to "weed out" the jerks, etc. I hope not, because that's the furthest thing from what I think.

I know that there are jerks out there, and psychos, misogynists, etc. But I've known far too many good and decent men in my life to believe that most men are like that. Men who display in their daily lives the very attributes that God had in mind when he designed them: servant leadership, courage, strength, integrity, and good old-fashioned masculinity. My father stands out as one shining example: he married my mother, who at the time was a single parent, and raised and loved her child as his own. His constancy, his steadiness, his integrity and silent strength have been a safe harbor to me all of my life, and a guidepost for what I can and should expect a husband to be like.

I am so sick and tired of the man-bashing that goes on in our culture today. Oh sure, it's no longer quite as overt as it used to be (how many times have you heard a woman yelling at a man for holding open a door for her?) but it's still there. If I see one more vapid sitcom in which the wife is a beautiful, capable, intelligent woman "enduring" her marriage to a fat, boorish buffoon, I think I'll scream. The men typified in these worthless wastes of film aren't even capable of leading a horse to water, much less leading their families. Where are the celluloid examples of the confident, secure, thoughtful man? To borrow a phrase from Paula Cole, "Where have all the cowboys gone?"

To be sure, we would see a lot more examples of this type of man if women, and society in general, held men up to a higher standard. People live up (or down) to your expectations of them. But that's neither here nor there. The point I'm trying to make (rather poorly, I'm afraid) is that MEN ARE NOT THE ENEMY. I'm tired of the garbage of the feminist movement, trying to turn men into women. We want men to be more like us, then we do nothing but complain when they comply with our wishes! They can't win for losing!

I've watched the pendulum begin to swing the other way over the past decade or so, with great joy and relief. It's about time that we let men be men again. And I'm not talking about shallow, inconsequential issues like whether he leaves the toilet seat up or watches football in his underwear. Come on ladies, stay with me. When a man is walking with God and living his life the way God designed him to, we as women need not fear submitting to him. Sure, he'll make mistakes, as will we. We're all sinners - it's what we do. But a man who has submitted himself to the Lord and committed himself to leading his family to the best of his ability, and loving his wife as Christ loved the church, is not a man to be rebelled against or despised. He's a man to be loved and respected. In today's culture, that kind of man may seem like an endangered species. But there's more of them out there than you may think. I know...I see them every Sunday.

In Defense of "Prudes" Everywhere

I read something the other day while messing around on yahoo that ticked me off (gee, what a surprise). It was a blurb on Kevin Jonas's (of Disney's Jonas Brothers fame, for those of you who either have lives or no daughters under the age of 17 living at home) wedding to his girlfriend this past December. Okay, it wasn't the blurb itself, but a few of the comments people left that made me mad. Some were stupid, most were immature, but some were downright nasty, basically saying that the only reason he married her was so he could have sex.

Huh? you might be saying to yourself at this point. Because (sadly enough) most people in today's culture just assume that if two people have been dating for any length of time, they're also having sex. For those of you who don't know, the Jonas Brothers publicly wear purity rings and have stated that they all plan to wait until marriage to have sex.

This post isn't meant to be a treatise on Kevin Jonas's romantic life, which frankly is nobody's business but his and his wife's. But it never fails to gall me that an individual's decision to wait until marriage is treated with such disbelief - and in many cases outright contempt - in America today. You're either considered a brainless goody-two-shoes or a frigid prude if you don't "put out".

I'm not going to waste my time and give myself carpal tunnel trying to convince those of you who disagree with me that abstinence is the way to go. Neither is it my intention to make anyone feel like a worthless slut. What follows are my personal reasons for and feelings about abstinence and its value.

First and foremost, I believe waiting until marriage is the way to go because the Bible says it is. Call me a hokey fundamentalist, say I've checked my brain at the door - I don't care. I have been bought with a price by Jesus, and therefore cannot disregard what His Word says about the matter (no matter how much my hormones may want me to). I didn't always believe in the Bible - indeed, thought it was utter junk for most of my life - and so I haven't always come down on this side of the issue. Nor have I lived it out in my life up until now.

I plan on waiting until I get married again to have sex. "What's the point?" you may ask. "You've already been married. It's not like you'll be 'pure' for your future husband. So why bother?" Well, for the reason outlined above, mainly. But it's not just about obedience to a "moral code" for me. It's an issue of trust. Do I trust God enough to wait for Him to bring exactly the right person into my life? Do I trust Him enough to not gratify my momentary desires and hold out for something better? Something more? It's also about honoring my future spouse. Waiting shows him that I value him above all other men, that he is so special to me that I wasn't willing to cheapen our relationship by turning sex into something akin to merely scratching an itch.

"Well, that's all fine and good, Miss Prudy-Pants," you say. "But what if you never get married again?" The answer to that is simple: then I will never be with anyone else again. On the surface, even to me, that sounds abysmally depressing. We are physical creatures, made for physical intimacy with each other. It's a natural longing. But again, for me, this is where trust in God comes in: do I trust Him enough that I still believe He has what's best for me in mind, even when He might not grant me what I so desperately wish for? Do I believe that He is good, and sovereign, or don't I?

Beyond the obvious points that waiting until marriage drastically reduces your risk of STDs and 100% eliminates your risk of an unwed pregnancy, there are other, unseen dangers it protects you from. Like the danger of sex losing its meaning as the most intimate, God-ordained and therefore holy means of a husband and wife expressing their love for each other. When you are not made to wait for something, when you can have it every day whenever you want, it ceases to be special. It's just another something you do. You are in danger of seeing it not as a way to give yourself completely to your spouse, but as a way to "get your rocks off".

Closely related to that, having sex too early (whether in life or in a relationship) can destroy your self-respect and cause you to get involved in relationships and situations that further erode your sense of value and worth as a person. If you don't see yourself as worth waiting for, you will attract people to you who feel the same way. I speak from bitter experience here. For far too long I didn't see myself as someone who deserved respect from other people. I wasn't promiscuous like, say, Carrie from "Sex and the City", but I made my share of mistakes. I gave myself to men (boys?) who were only using me, and I convinced myself that they cared about me on a deeper level. On a level that, I now understand, can only be reached by requiring something more of the other person AND yourself. How I wish I could take those days back and start over!!

So abstaining is (for me, anyway) in part a selfish act, I guess. I need to protect myself. I need to weed out men who only want something superficial and physical, so that when I do give myself to someone I can know for certain that he'll take the gift I give him and treasure it. I deserve that.

And so do you.

Think Before You Ink - Warning: NOT for the Squeamish!!

I debated for a while whether I would post this, mainly because I didn't want people gagging whenever they came within 50 feet of me or dropping off my facebook friend list like flies. But then I decided, what the heck, what's a little more TMI?

The issue of whether to get a tattoo in the first place is an extremely personal one, and an issue on which I won't take sides. It would be hypocritical of me to tell people not to get a tattoo since I myself have two others on my back that I have no plans to get rid of. I know people who have several tattoos (heck, Craig had lots of them) and people who have none. I know people who are deeply against tattoos, and I understand their feelings and have the utmost respect for their convictions. I also have a friend from high school who is a tattoo artist and whose artwork blows me away it's so beautiful.

The whole "to tattoo or not to tattoo" issue is irrelevant to this discussion. What I want to emphasize here is to THINK before you ever get a tattoo in the first place. So let's get down to the nitty-gritty.

The pictures in this post are the results of my 4th tattoo removal session on Monday, January 11th. They were taken on January 12th. Yes, they are completely revolting. And yes, that great big puffy thing you see on my ankle is indeed a blister. Most of my ankle is covered in blisters, though that is the largest one. And notice how my ankle is so swollen that you can't even see the bone...sexy, huh?

For those of you who know nothing about the tattoo removal process, this is the lowdown: a laser is used on the tattoo to break up the ink particles, which your body's immune system then absorbs. The laser coming in contact with the ink is what causes the pain - if the laser touches skin without a tattoo, it doesn't hurt at all. Weird, huh? And let me tell, you, it is EXCRUCIATINGLY painful. No joke. The only other thing I've experienced that was more painful was childbirth. Even with the so-called anesthetic cream, it was horrible.

Then there is the healing process. I've decided to go against the advice of the dermatologist's assistant, which was to prick the blisters and drain them. I did that the other three appointments and healing was EXTREMELY slow and painful. After the blisters heal, the area scabs over and starts itching like crazy. Again, very sexy...

It's a long, slow process, as well. My dermatologist estimated this tattoo would take between six and eight treatments to remove, but I'm leaning towards more than eight. And you have to wait at least five to six weeks in between each treatment for the site to heal. But here's the real kicker: each appointment costs between $250 and $300. Yep, you read that right. I get to pay through the nose for the privilege of enduring agonizing pain every six weeks. Oh, and did I mention insurance doesn't cover tattoo removal? I toyed with the idea of trying to convince the doctor it was a gang tattoo so maybe he'd reduce or eliminate the fee (just kidding!).

You may be asking yourself at this point, if the tattoo removal process is so awful, then why am I doing it? And that brings me to the crux of this post: I WAS STUPID. I repeat: I WAS STUPID. I didn't give nearly enough thought to this tattoo. And every time I've looked down at it for the past 16 years that I've had it, it makes me feel embarrassed and ashamed. It's not who I am anymore, if it ever really was. I want it gone so badly that I'm willing to endure the pain and the expense.

So I want to urge everyone reading this post who either wants a tattoo themselves or knows someone who does: THINK BEFORE YOU INK!!! My personal recommendation is to think about any prospective tattoo for at least six months: what it is, how big, where you want it, etc. And when you're absolutely sure you've got the details right, wait another six months -minimum - before you go under the gun. You might find you change your mind. And viola! you've just saved yourself tons of money, embarrassment, and pain.

Take a good, long look at these pictures, because this is what you'll have to go through if you wake up one day and realize your tattoo wasn't such a good idea after all. Is it really worth it?

Okay, time to wax sanctimonious...here are some personal recommendations/opinions if you've thought long and hard about it and you're absolutely sure you want a tattoo and nobody's going to talk you out of it:

• Check out the tattoo artist thoroughly beforehand. But don't just ask to see a photo album of previous work - how do you know the person you're considering actually did those tattoos? People do lie sometimes (gasp!). So hang out at the tattoo shop. Ask if it's okay for you to watch them give a tattoo to somebody else - as long as you stay out of the way, a reputable tattoo artist should have no problem with letting you observe, or at least with checking out people's brand-new tattoos as they're leaving the shop.
• Make sure they use sterilized equipment EACH AND EVERY time they tattoo. Laser removal bites the big one, but so do hepatitis and HIV.
• I believe in true love and that marriage is a covenant made before God and is meant to last forever and all, but still...don't get your spouse's or boyfriend/girlfriend's name tattooed ANYWHERE on yourself. Bad idea. Just don't.
• Ladies, please...no more tramp stamps. 'Nough said.
• Be very careful about getting a portrait tattoo - they're extremely hard to pull off, and when done wrong, they just look ghastly.

Have I irritated you yet? Maybe. Grossed you out? Probably. But just remember, the next time you see me and feel the bile rise in the back of your throat as you look down at my ankle...I did it out of love.

A Dog Person Sings the Praises of Cats

I hate cats.

Okay, that's not really true. But as a self-described "dog person", I've always had a very different attitude toward cats than dogs. I like all dogs as a general rule, unless and until a particular dog gives me a reason not to. Cats, I evaluate on a case-by-case basis. I always found cats to be aloof, standoffish, even downright snobby, if that's possible. I wondered how people could feel such affection for a creature that didn't seem to give a rip whether their owner lived or died, as long as it had food and water and a clean litter box.

Then, last summer, Tyler and Sydney each got a kitten. Or, more accurately, I felt guilty for giving away their outrageously rambunctious and destructive dogs and so allowed myself to be suckered into it. My motivation was simple: the girls desperately wanted something soft and fuzzy to cuddle and love on, and I didn't want to get another dog and jump right back into the whirlpool of chaos and stress I'd just escaped from. I checked out bunnies, and it turns out they're not recommended for small children as they don't like to be picked up very much - a deal-breaker with a child like Sydney, whose immediate instinct is to hug and squeeze anything with fur until its eyeballs practically pop out of its head. I looked into guinea pigs, but wasn't confident I could keep the house from smelling like a pet store. Ditto ferrets - plus they just creep me out. So with a somewhat resigned sigh I took the girls to WalMart to stock up on kitten food and litter boxes and cat toys before driving to a friend of a friend's house to pick up the newest additions to our household.

Now, I'll be the first to admit that kittens are pretty darned cute. You'd almost have to have a heart of stone not to think that, despite your feelings about what a kitten grows up to be. So I found myself unable to keep from going, "Awwwww!" along with Tyler and Sydney as we watched Whiskers and Blackie's antics around the house: investigating every nook and cranny they could squeeze their tiny bodies into, crying like babies when one got out of sight of the other, pouncing on their plastic toys as if they were mighty lions prowling the plains in Africa. Against my will, they started to grow on me.

Fast-forward seven months. These darned animals have me totally wrapped around their little paws. I actually caught myself the other day saying to someone, "MY cats..." I walk down the cat aisle in the grocery store whenever I'm there just to check out the toys and treats they have. I bought them a gigantic kitty condo, telling myself it was so they'd have something to climb on other than my furniture, but down deep I'm not so sure that was the primary motivation. My heart melts when I see how patient and sweet they are with the girls - especially Sydney, who can't let either one of them walk by her without picking him up and cradling him like a baby in her arms. I actually get a little bummed out when they don't come in my room and sleep on the bed with me at night. And when Tyler and Sydney talk about taking the cats with them when they're grown and out of the house, I do the best I can to ignore the tiny prick of sadness in the center of my chest.

Oh, they do things that drive me up the wall, too, like chewing on my houseplants and getting on the kitchen counters and clawing the pool table cover to shreds. Thinking about all the things I could've done with the money I've spent on vet bills doesn't exactly put a smile on my face. And why is it that whenever a cat pukes, he has to do it on the edge of the carpet, SIX INCHES away from the linoleum?! But still, my perception of cats has changed a lot since living with them for the past seven months.

I no longer think cats are necessarily snobby or aloof - just selective in the company they choose to keep. (Something us humans would do well to imitate, I think.) When Tyler or Sydney have been sick and didn't feel like getting out of bed, Whiskers and Blackie both have stayed with them all day, only leaving long enough to use the litter box or get a drink of water. When we were gone for a few days over Thanksgiving, they were so glad to see us back that they followed us around the house, meowing like babies, for at least a week. They greet Tyler and Sydney at the foot of the stairs every morning when they hear their alarm clocks go off.

It used to seem dismissive or rude to me when a cat that I was petting would just suddenly get up and walk away. But now I see that for what it really was: my own insecurity. It's not the cat's job to feed my ego, for Pete's sake! How sad is that?

I still love dogs, and probably someday will get another dog (after Tyler and Sydney take my cats away from me, that is). But for now, I'm happy with meows and purrs and the occasional hairball. What can I say? I'm a sucker for a cute face.

I've Gone and Done It

Yep, I finally joined the 21st century and started a blog! Those of you who know me really well probably saw this coming, maybe even wondered why the heck it took me so long. I'm not really sure myself.

I lay the blame for this blog squarely at the feet of facebook. That seemingly innocent site drew me in like a supermodel to Dexatrim. I loved (and still love) almost everything about it - becoming reacquainted with old friends, checking out everybody's pictures, leaving snarky comments, and eavesdropping on people's lives without getting in trouble for it. But the "what's on your mind?" paragraph sometimes just isn't enough for me. Especially since half the time I'm not sure exactly what is on my mind. I just want to babble. But babbling in under 420 characters is next to impossible, like taking only one bite out of a piece of turtle cheesecake.

This blog will be a work in progress for a while, so bear with me. I might even change its name at some point down the road. In case you're wondering, it's the title of a song by an obscure group called "Prefab Sprout" that a guy I dated in high school was almost pathologically addicted to. They're not bad - sometimes I still pull out the cd and give it a listen. Anyway, the title seemed appropriate given the events of the past year.

Time to hit the hay and dream about all the things I can blabber about in the weeks and months to come...goodnight!