OH NO! Don't let the kids see the GLOBAL WARMING! Shield their poor, virgin eyes, because after that it's all porn and liquor! All that hot, climactic action in CARTOON, PENGUIN form - is NO INSTITUTION SAFE? The poor babies are being corrupt by evil minions of Al Gore in cartoon form! The far left establishment of the big mega bizillionaires at Warner Brothers are DESTROYING THE FUTURE OF AMERICA THROUGH TAP DANCING PENGUINS! RUN FOR YOUR LIVES!
Brought to you by Jesus Camp.
All right. It was a weekend of much fun and babies and more fun and driving and more babies and more more more more more driving, so let me run through it briefly before I get to the real point of this post:
1. I got to see David in a show. A real one. "Secret Garden." Such is his talent that even though I had seen him right before the show began and knew what he was wearing, and knew what role he was playing, and when he arrived on stage thought to myself, 'Oooh! David!' I was completely fooled by his British accent, suddenly brusque speechand evil JackAssness acting, all of which was helped tremendously by my lack of prescription eyeglasses. So, because I could not clearly make out the lines of his face, I chalked my initial recognition of him up to my not knowing there would be many stuffy Englishmen in this show, and decided I hadn't seen him after all.
Only, a few minutes later, there were no more stuffy Englishmen. Only this one evil-sounding one, who was certainly tall enough and had the right size feet to be my friend David, but had lost all other manner of him. My mouth fell open. It was him after all and he could ACT! And not in that, "Oh, you're my friend and you can act, let me pet you," way, no, in the "Goddamn it I can't wait to see him after the show so that I can smack him for being so evil" way (I did smack him, while hugging him and proclaiming "EVIL EVIL EVIL!").
And then he opened his mouth and sang. I told him after the show that I demanded a sound board recording so that I could have him and that song in my iPod. I've heard him sing before - not like that. I�ve seen him perform before � not like this.
To put it in the ultimate perspective: He was so good that while I was still jumping on him in congratulations, a very cute boy (one of those shiny skinned, tight black top-wearing boys who look like they have Brooklyn in their roots but Vidal Sassoon in their hair) came over and tried to get into his...life. "Ohhh you were sooooo greeeeat," this boy cooed. "That was sooo fantaastic." Maybe he said it like that, but it's more likely that he said it normally and I'm merely recreating the teasing of David I did at Starbucks later as I recounted this episode.
The night ended in David's apartment with his friend Caroline and his female roommates, after the most rousing conversation on feminism, society and other...female and male topics...I've had in quite a while. Those are the Yalies for you!
2. The William. Because after the David, I drove the Hours down the Empty Highway through the Butt Valley of the night, arriving in Salem at 4:30 am and only finding the right house because B.K. and Kirky had remembered to leave the porch light on. I couldn't find my OWN house in that darkness, and it was just like them to think to put that light on before they went to sleep. I stole into the house and tried to get my bag up the stairs without clomping like a clogger, but Kirky was up anyway. "Hi - go get some sleep!" she said in that motherly way only mothers know how to do, so after a brief hello I stumbled upstairs and into my bed, which had been thoughtfully laid out and readied. Drive through the night and end up home, that's how it felt.
So we had a lovely, lovely time watching the William turn one, chasing him around his living room, throwing balls with him, signing with him, eating ice cream with him, getting dirty with him, tickling him, taking pictures of him, laughing with him, kissing his gold-threaded head, and pushing him around in his new red convertible. Poor kid. No one loves him. He gets no attention. No one ever pays him any mind. HAH! Everyone there had dropped their lives to be there on his special day, his first and most important birthitudinal milestone, that had the good grace to fall on a weekend - and his spirits yesterday morning said he knew exactly that. A bright little bundle, he was, though in fairness, usually like that, he is.
3. As that last sentence might indicate, I've got some Yoda on the brain. Yeah, all that, "I'll let the real fans go first" crap went right out the window when I woke up on Saturday to BK's, "Want to see Star Wars tonight?" Hah. Okay! So me and Heather, BK and his parents and Nate and Ally trekked over to the cineplex and waited an hour in line to make sure we got good seats.
And that's what I really want this post to be about. THERE WILL BE SPOILERS! Fair Warning!
I loved it. It's taken a day to sink in, but the more and more I think about it, the more and more in love with it I'm becoming. I want to see it once more, to get it, but what I think I want to do more is go back and watch the first (second?) three.
See, I don't know Star Wars. I was only watched the first three a few years ago, before "Attack of the Clones" came out. Kathleen and I did a nine-hour marathon on a 13" television. We enjoyed ourselves, eating popcorn and twizzlers and marshmallows, but the overall ambience of the experience didn�t exactly smack of the way in which fans of the series are made.
I mean, I did love it, and I could see at that time why it was so popular, why it became a phenomenon. But I put it away, and lost the details. Leia was born where? She's a who? Who's her dad? And Luke - right, right, there was some igloo house and two suns. And Yoda was one of the last members of some order. And there were forces and those light sabers are cool and, oh, Vader's his dad. Okay. Sure, I got this Star Wars thing. Sure. Big fight, evil bites it, heroic redemption, etc etc etc. Am I out of popcorn?
"He is f---ing with us numerically, isn't he...'Children, count up to 10!' 'Uh, four five six...one two three...10!"
"What's that?"
"It's the Death Star!"
"What does it do?"
"It does DEATH! Outta my way buddy!"
-eddie izzard, 'circle'
I'll see Star Wars. I will, in that calm sort of, wait-until-I-can-get-a-ticket way. I'm thrilled about it, because it's been going on for almost 30 years, since before I was born - this is the seventh book of HP for the Star Wars fans - but I'm just not in it like the real fans are. I'll sit back and let them go first. This is tremendous for them, and I'm thrilled for them. A colleague today, who is usually dry and completely unimpressed with everything, was running around counting to everyone who would listen how many times he would see the movie this weekend (four; tonight at 10:30, tomorrow ditto, and two matinees over the weekend). Another came over and showed me the NY Times review, and said it convinced him there was nothing really to see, so he just didn't want to go - and I was sad for him, because he didn't get it.
The movie might suck. If one and two are any indication, it will. But that's not it. That's not it. IT is sitting in the theater while those words disappear into that historic vanishing point, it's 'I have a very bad feeling about this,' it's the force being strong with that one and this other one being the last hope but wait, there is another. It's a long time ago and far far away - and wait! It's not! Because it's over. Goddam, is that exciting.
Have a great time, Star Wars fans. I'll know how you feel in a few years.
This day has started in the best way possible.
Our entertainment editor came over to me. "Melissa, you're into Eddie Izzard, right?"
"Uh, yes!"
"Well, here, we're done with these."
He opens a package and dumps the three new Izzard DVDs on my desk. Unrepeatable, Definite Article and Glorious, all in glorious DVD definition (I've seen them but on bad videotapes or heard them on audio).
How can this day get better, I ask you? I don't know if it can! Ooh, I'll check my voicemail, surely it's not someone screaming and yelling about an article, surely not noooooooooooooooooo...
...it was. My glorious Eddie day has not been damaged, though.
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