Archive | August, 2013

The Cast Of Good Will Hunting Re-imagined As Characters In Batman

30 Aug

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When Ben Affleck was announced as the new Batman, the world started to beg for Matt Damon as the new Robin. I say, why stop there? Why not use the entire cast of Good Will Hunting in the new Batman, accents and all? Why not make Gotham city Boston, batting cages and bars the principle sets, and Elliott Smith the official muse of the Batman soundtrack?

Why not write a far-fetched list of how this would work?

Here’s the cast of Good Will Hunting re-imagined as characters on Batman, because, you guessed it, why not?

Read the rest of my article for Portable here.

Is there a point where a Good Will Hunting obsession becomes unhealthy?

Never mind, don’t answer that.

Peanuts And Cracker Jack

28 Aug

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Shall we talk about how social I’ve been lately?

Can you even fathom a more exciting topic?

The thing is about me and social events is most of the time I would rather stay inside and read a book than put on pants. Most of the time if I’m moderately social for a half hour period, I’m good for weeks, maybe months.

Some people call this being lazy/antisocial/full of problems.  I call this being a “homebody.”

Doesn’t homebody sound nicer than antisocial?

IMPORTANT SIDE NOTE:  I genuinely hate wearing pants, and if it were up to me they would be done away with entirely.  I was forced to wear jeans TWICE this week and as soon as they were on I plotted ways to burn them and hide the evidence.

Hide the evidence from whom, I don’t know.  But I was pretty serious about my hatred and nothing screams serious more than hiding the charred remains of your jeans.

Where was I?

Oh yes, Social Jill.

Lately I’ve found myself going out left and right. ORGANIZING EVENTS.  Attending things I would have normally half-lied to get out of.  Social social, Social Jill.

I’m curious how long she’ll last.

I give her a week.

Plotting To Burn Her Pants Jill is already rearing her head, and frankly she’s a lot stronger and angrier than Social Jill.

In other news, I recently decided it was time for me to pick a baseball team.  Being from Utah and all, I don’t have a native roster to support so my options were wide open.

I was originally playing around with the Red Sox, because the Red Sox seem like the most romantic of all baseball teams, and isn’t baseball really the most romantic of all sports?

Every seventh inning when “Take Me Out To The Ball Game” plays I grow all romantic and emotional and say things like, “AMERICA!”  ”YES” and “HOT DOG.”

I then tell everyone how one day I will have a little boy and he will go to baseball games and sing along and hold a box of Cracker Jack and that will be my crowning moment in life.

I don’t know when I became this person.

Last weekend I went to a Red Sox/Dodgers game and was forced to buy a baseball hat since I was staring right into the face of a bitter, bitter sun. As soon as I put on the blue headgear, the Red Sox dream was over.

I own Dodgers paraphernalia.  I’m a fan.  There’s no going back.

Is this how it works?  You buy a hat, proclaim your baseball team status on a blog, and then get ready to fight with internet trolls?

Bring it on, people!

Go Dodgers!

America! Yes! Hot dog!

Something Worth Missing

27 Aug

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The note I wrote Caitlin when I left for the summer.  It’s still up.  

Just over a week ago I returned to Malibu, land of the surfboard, home of the celebrity.

I took the long way back so I could see the stars twinkling over the ocean and wax nostalgic about all the restaurants I’ve tried and all the restaurants I’ve been meaning to try and oh no I haven’t tried that restaurant and it’s too late and my life is over!

I grow very sentimental when it’s time to move.

And ridiculous.

Ridiculously sentimental.

As I was driving and being dramatic, “I Don’t Want To Wait” came on shuffle and I just let it play, amplifying the hyper-angsty mood I was in.  By the time I got home I was an “I’ve just driven 11 hours straight and am moving this week and also DAWSON’S” mess.

When Caitlin saw me she rolled her eyes and said, “You wouldn’t be you if you weren’t acting as though this was the end of everything.”

I tried to explain that moving is the end of everything and we must tie up all Malibu loose ends because I want my life in tidy bows.

Caitlin just said, “I look stupid in bows.”

She was right.

All week I’ve been reassuring myself that change is a part of life.  That Caitlin and I can still have lazy Sundays where we make up monologues for Miss Meredith Grey. That I’ll still be in Malibu several times a week and Nachos Roberto will live on and David Beckham is in the world and the sun will come out tomorrow.

But I’m still so oh-so-jolly-bad sad.

And you know what? I kind of enjoy reveling in that feeling, at least for a moment.

It’s the feeling of a year well lived and a year well loved and having something worth missing.

Something worth missing.

I like that.

11 Characters Who Left A Show Too Soon

22 Aug

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Last week, rumors swirled that Laura Prepon is leaving Orange is the New Black.  I immediately contacted everyone I know for emotional support.

Sure OITNB is an ensemble cast and, sure, one person may not make or break the show. But Alex?? She’s kind of make or break. She’s kind of one-third of a very interesting love triangle. She’s kind of a big deal.

While the future of Alex Vause remains unclear, the tale of a character leaving a show before their time is all too common. Actors go for a variety of reasons — to make it on the big screen, to address “personal issues,” to hurt me. It’s never pleasant. It never feels natural. I’m never okay with it.

Here are 11 other actors who left a show too soon aka 11 other departures I’m still not over.

ALSO, my latest from SheKnows:

Make your own elephant stilts or “The last time I will ever craft.”

Every Once In A While You Are A Rock Star

22 Aug

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Most of the time life is life is life.

But every once in a great while, life is doing karaoke with Owen Wilson and dancing until you can’t breathe and yelling, “This is unreal!”

Every once in a while you are young and single and in Malibu, and for just for one night, you are a rock star.

Back In The Malibu Saddle

20 Aug

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This morning I threw on a cover-up, grabbed my Rainbows, and went out to face a gloomy, quiet Malibu.

After a couple of errands and no Dick Van Dyke sightings to speak of, I ended up at Zuma Beach watching the surfers and debating if I should go out and join them.

Surfing has always scared me a bit.  There are things like “surfing etiquette” and “surfing lingo” and “waves” and such.  I’m always afraid I’ll break code without quite knowing what code is and then I’ll be beaten up by crazy surfing aficionados.

My cousins tell me this is unlikely as I am a girl.

I know this is unlikely as there were about two people out surfing this morning and I wouldn’t have been near anyone.

But still.

I spent half an hour watching a dolphin happily bob in and out of the gray water and wondering why I didn’t bring The Yeti for warmth.  The surfer I was looking to for guidance never even got up on his board, the waves were so lackluster.

Look at me, discussing waves.  Maybe I’m more accomplished at this surfing thing than I think I am.

The ocean does something to me. It reminds me that I am relatively small and insignificant and yet part of something bigger than myself.  It forces meditation.  It brings me dolphins.

The ocean is good for my soul.

After a good while of freezing on the shore, I decided it wasn’t my day for surfing.  The waves were dull, the sky was hazy.  No one was getting up today.

I trudged back to my car, shivering a bit, and thought, “Maybe tomorrow.”

Yes, maybe tomorrow.

This Is What Happens When You Watch Too Much Grey’s Anatomy

15 Aug

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Jill: I am dying of an ear infection.

Michael: Oh hell, call a code and push one of epi.

Jill: This isn’t ER worthy, is it?

Michael: If it’s Avery have him meet me in the on-call room.  I’ll brief him there.

Jill: I am paranoid I’m losing my ear.

Michael: I’m sure plastics can put it back on.

Jill: MCSTEAMY.

————————————–

McSteamy, indeed.

McSteamy, come back from the dead.

McSteamy, I just started watching Grey’s again and oh no and oh yes.

Can’t Buy Me Love

13 Aug

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As I write this post, I’m sitting in my high school room listening to “Can’t Buy Me Love” on a forgotten record player.

It’s strange being back home and in this room.  In some ways it feels like I never left.  Like I’m forever 16 wearing floppy Winnie the Pooh slippers and declaring, “No one understands me!”

In other ways, this room feels more like a museum than a current living space.  A place where all the cast-offs of my old selves remain, scattered and unorganized and asking me if I’m really, 100% sure that they don’t deserve a place in my future.

“I don’t know,” I answer.  I don’t know.  I don’t know.  I don’t know.

There’s the Polaroid of a boy I can’t quite seem to throw out.  The snapshot of my Snow White hair. The stuffed animal won by the boy I can’t quite seem to throw out.

There’s the white swimsuit that should have been recognized as a mistake.  The purple snuggie.   The Scarlett O’Hara Barbies that I will never, ever get rid of, but may never, ever know what to do with.

And then there’s the silly, hip, wonderful, abandoned record player, requested for Christmas one year when I was sure I could be “that person.”

It’s funny.  I don’t even know who “that person” is anymore.

Bagels And Sisters

9 Aug

photo-173I’m back in the great Beehive State this week, enjoying a delicious cold front.  I don’t even need air conditioning here, I just roll down my car windows, bask in the 100 degree heat, and scream obscenities about Arizona!

Fine, I don’t scream obscenities.  I just think them.  Sometimes. Often?

Don’t miss you, Arizona.

The parentals are out of town, which means I wasn’t welcomed home in the grand funfetti way I’ve grown accustomed to, but which also means I’ve spent some quality one-on-one time with the baby sister Jessica.

Jessica and I are often told how much we look alike and, as good sisters do, we vehemently deny these claims.  “Who, us?  PLEASE, I look more like that red-headed 80-year-old man across the street than her!”

It’s all very unconvincing.

Jessica and I have been lounging and bageling and Dawson’s Creeking all week and I miss this so.

The hardest part of adulthood is the reality that all the people I love are never in the same place at the same time anymore and I have to take them in scraps and pieces and bagels.

And even when the bagels are smothered in homemade apricot and almond cream cheese, it’s just never really enough, you know?

You know.

Dream Home

7 Aug

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Yesterday I found the house of my dreams.  My forever home.  My forever dream home of magic and wonder.

Breanne and I spent the day in Heber and Midway because we wanted to and why not and also TONY’S TACOS.

After a plate of carne asada and some solid wandering, we stumbled upon my future McHome right on the corner of town square, all run-down and perfect and begging to be loved.

Maybe it was the fact that I had just spent several hours in a used bookstore and was good and whimsical, or perhaps it was the Town Hall’s “Edelweiss” glockenspiel speaking, but there was something about That House.  I instantly saw past its crumbling foundation and straight to a future where I had sunk millions of dollars into repairs and was throwing Great Gatsby-style parties on the grounds.

From zero to Gatsby in less than two seconds.  A new record, guys.

Bre and I peered through the warped windows of my future, trying to make out the floor plan.  “THIS IS THE LIBRARY. THIS RIGHT HERE!” I yelled. And then we discussed fireplaces and crystal knobs and how exactly one might match the wallpaper to the original pattern.

As we eagerly planned the restoration project, I had a vision of my future.  A future where I’ve sold a series of novels and made enough money to buy my McHome, so we’re talking a very soon and very realistic future here.

In this future, I am fully enmeshed in the Midway culture, the slightly batty character who wears a few too many scarves and is followed by children’s whispers,“You can always find her at the glockenspiel at 2:00.”

I’ll be invited to speak at the local high school on career day (because, hello, successful), but instead of talking about writing or books I will bring “Rumours” on vinyl and sit in silence as it plays and the teenagers fidget uncomfortably like, “I heard she was weird, but this?”

When the album finishes I will abruptly announce, “Field trip!  To the glockenspiel!” and force the whole school out for a round of “Edelweiss.”

I really, really, really love the glockenspiel, in case you can’t tell.

I also really, really, really love saying the word glockenspiel, which everyone can tell.

I’m so excited for this eccentric future of mine and hope I sell a novel soon so it can begin. I also hope Midway retains every ounce of its charm (and Harry Potter train) and that the bookstore is looking for volunteers when this all happens.

And Tony’s. May Tony’s tortillas be a part of my life from now until eternity.