"Our love is God, let's go get a Slushie."

This morning, as Owen was screwing around instead of hopping in his car seat, I found myself saying, "Hurry up, Owen. We've got to motor if we're gonna make that funeral."

That is the power of a movie I watched in eighth grade. It was 1988. Winona Ryder was still incredibly cool and bad-ass. The movie was Heathers.

It's surprising how often I find myself thinking about or directly quoting this film. Whenever the color red is mentioned, I think to myself, "I'm always red," just like the uber-bitchy Heather Chandler. 

I can't play croquet without dropping references to the film. This results in blank stares and raised eyebrows. Luckily, I rarely play croquet. 

This film was so subversive for its time. Lines like, "Grow up, Heather. Bulima is so '87" or prayers such as,  "I prayed for the death of Heather Chandler many times and I felt bad everytime I did it but I kept doing it anyway. Now I know you understood everything. Praise Jesus, Hallelujah." were so over-the-top and shocking to my eighth grade mind.

Yet, I understood the feelings. The cynicism. The feeling that adults didn't get it, and that there was so much meanness in the world. The feeling of being misunderstood, of being far cooler inside than I appeared on the outside. I got it. I licked it up, baby. Licked. It. Up. 

I doubt the movie would be made today. It's a post-Columbine world, and movies involving plots to blow up high schools and the blatant murders of peers by misunderstood, unpopular peers....it just isn't done. 

And while I've outgrown the teenage angst, I can still appreciate the film for being smart, wicked satire. 

After all, if I am thirty-five years old and still underlining the word "Eskimo" in my copy of Moby Dick, you know that this film has staying power. 

What movie has stayed with you far beyond its natural shelf life?

Jerk Doppelgangers and Housekeeping

I was talking about Napolean Dynamite with Daffy yesterday, and it made me laugh because I thought of the many doppelgangers of my brother-in-law. Stay with me, I'll explain.

My husband is on the left in the white shirt. My brother-in-law, D, is in the gray shirt. They are being silly men, posing with great pride before their arsenal of fireworks. This is before they set fire to D's backyard. No joke.

D is a dead ringer for virtually any jerk in any film. (And yes, before you say it, I know that he and Paul look really, really similar. No, they aren't twins. Anyway, we're talking about my brother-in-law here, people. Focus, please!)

Don't believe me? D looks like:

Johnny from The Karate Kid. 

 

Don from Napoleon Dynamite (see, I told you I would get to it!) 

Steff from Pretty in Pink

It's safe to say my brother-in-law corners the doppelganger market on blond, jerk-face villains.

It must be said that the real life D is a great father, a caring husband, whip-smart, and an outstanding long-distance runner.  I love him. 

But, if you're looking for somebody to play a blond jerk, drop me a line. I can find one for you toot sweet. 

***

Yesterday, thanks to LB, I met the milestone of 100 followers.

Thank you everybody. Thank you so, so much.

I've always wanted to stage dive, at least once in my life. I've never done it in real life, but I feel like through blogging, I've stepped off the stage, and you, dear reader, carry me along. Each voice, comment, joke, and insight lifts me up and helps me see the world more clearly. Your perspective has power.


It's important. You're important. And so, again, I thank you.


I've started a "button" page on my blog, so I'm slowly but surely adding your buttons. If I've missed you or you would like to be added, please drop me a line.


Also, let me talk about awards. I suck at them with a degree of suckitude that surpasses the laws of time and space.

I'm the black hole of blogging awards.

It doesn't mean I don't appreciate them. I do. But, I'll be honest...you should give them to people who have learned their manners and write thank-you notes in an appropriate fashion.


I believe that these amazing bloggers have, at some point, given me a blogging award. I'm truly grateful and humbly suggest that you check out their little corner of the Virtual World. If you didn't give me an award, you're awesome anyway. If you did give me an award and I missed you, then you're awesome and I am a Talking Turd (please let me know so I can make amends):

Corrie @ Just Because My Pickle Talks Doesn't Make Me an Idiot

My Life in Purple (Please send her some extra love, due to a recent heartbreaking loss).
Eyegirl @ Life as Eye See It
Traci @ 38 and Growing (Also mourning a loss...)
Cat @ Young Old Crone
Stephanie@ Laughing Stars
SamiJoe@ Peek Thru Our Window
Stacy @ Stacy's Random Thoughts

Onward and Upward

Owen went to his first movie today. He and I went to the theater to see Up!

I was in tears ten minutes into the film. I won't give away any details, but it is visually gorgeous, exciting, hilarious, and deeply moving. The opening sequence, which is almost Chaplin-esque, captures the tenderness and risks of lifelong love. Oh, Pixar, you got me again. Go see it, right now. I'll wait.

Are you back now? Here's a Kleenex. Wow, huh?

I believe that songs, books, films, and people enter your life at the right time for the right reason. Call it God's hand, kismet, or fate, it was no accident that Owen and I saw this film today.

As you may have noticed from the last few entries, I've been yearning for...more. More adventure, more time, more freedom, more talent, just...more. Dissatisfaction, like insecurity or discouragement, is an arrow that the devil uses to weaken my faith. I've been feeling dissatisfaction recently, a feeling that I'm on the hamster wheel, and nothing I do is of any real significance.

I don't think I'll give too much of the movie away by describing this scene: The boy in the film, Russell, describes how he and his dad sit on the curb, eating ice cream cones, and play a game where he counts the red cars while his dad counts the blue cars. The boy says, "The little everyday stuff is the most important."

How true. Recently, I've been craving adventure and new experiences, forgetting to treasure the day-to-day magic:

Owen's first taste of movie theater popcorn.
Joel's laughter as he attempts to touch bubbles floating lazily in the air.
Paul and I, sitting on the deck, watching the tomatoes grow.
Owen and Joel, fake coughing back and forth and laughing.
Owen's heavy head resting on my shoulder as I carry him to bed.
As I feed Joel his bottle, watching him grip my finger and gently rub it back and forth on his cheek.

The everyday stuff. It's so easy to imagine another life. This film reminded me to love the life I've got, a life as joyful and buoyant as a red balloon bobbing in the beautiful blue sky.

Oh, you caught me monologuing again!

I'm not a big fan of cartoons. I'm especially happy that as the mother of boys, I will never be subjected to anything with the word "Princess" in the title. If it's pink, frothy, and spontaneously bursts into song, I'll have nothing to do with it.

The exception, however, is virtually anything churned out by Pixar Studios. Now, I know that Pixar, until recently, was computer-generated Disney, but the films are smart, visually impressive, and almost always feature the vocal talents of John Ratzenberger (aka Cliff Clavin from Cheers).

Cars is near Scripture in our home (according to Owen). Finding Nemo will also do in a pinch (there's something about Dude Crush the Sea Turtle that brings a smile to all of our faces). We also rented Wall-E, which is surprisingly subversive and dark for a cartoon. Owen left that film with a fondness for saying "Wall-EEEE" in a high-pitched voice. I left that film with a desire to buy a composter and a hybrid car. We haven't rented any of the "Toy Story" films because a friend of ours told us that the films were "too scary." We'll take her word for it.

Out of all the Pixar films, my favorite, by far, is The Incredibles. Owen has yet to see this film, and I'm convinced that it's not designed for him, anyway. Not only does the film feature superheroes and a flashy soundtrack, but it also features the bit of brilliance quoted below. As you read this, hear the lines of Lucius as read by the one and only Samuel L. Jackson ( in his inimitable fashion):

Lucius: Honey?
Honey: What?
Lucius: Where's my super suit?
Honey: What?
Lucius: Where - is - my - super - suit?
Honey: I, uh, put it away.
[helicopter explodes outside]
Lucius: *Where*?
Honey: *Why* do you *need* to know?
Lucius: I need it!
[Lucius rummages through another room in his condo]
Honey: Uh-uh! Don't you think about running off doing no derrin'-do. We've been planning this dinner for two months!
Lucius: The public is in danger!
Honey: My evening's in danger!
Lucius: You tell me where my suit is, woman! We are talking about the greater good!
Honey: 'Greater good?' I am your wife! I'm the greatest *good* you are ever gonna get!

Brilliant.

I bring this up because I was listening to Owen talk to himself while driving home from the gym. Like the hapless villian on The Incredibles, Owen was monologuing his planned nefarious deeds. He's so pleased with the evil he's about to do (or at least, imagine himself doing), that he gives his entire plan away.

His Plan:

(Mumbling to himself). "I'm not going to take a nap. Mommy is going to put me in bed, and I'm going to get out of bed. Then, I'm going to go into Baby Joel's room and say, 'Boo' and make him cry. Then, I'm going to go downstairs and play, play, play with Mommy and I'm not going to take a nap!"

He's smiling to himself as he says this, hoping for a big reaction on my part, or at least a halfhearted, "You have to be nice to your brother." Generally, my reaction is no reaction, which doesn't bother him like you think it would. Just saying the words out loud is enough for him, because, in its own small way, it makes it real.

People attempt to gain power by making other people feel small. Owen is generally kind enough that he doesn't actually do anything; he just talks a good game.

But... in his mind, he is capable of doing dark, dark, things. Then, he will go downstairs and play with his Mommy.

Secret Language

Back in high school, my brother and his friends were into the movie Dune. I mean, really, really, really into the movie. Obsessively so. To this day, I guarantee that Tom could recite the entire film, in order, without faltering.

I recall sitting in church, counting the minutes to freedom, and Tom would turn to me and whisper, "I must not fear. Fear is the mind-killer. Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration. I will face my fear. I will permit it to pass over me and through me. And when my fear is gone I will turn and face fear's path, and only I will remain."

I probably didn't even blink. There was a period of time where neither Tom nor I were capable of original thought, preferring to speak in a flurry of film references, song lyrics, and dialogue from TV shows. We were kinda like a pop-culture Nell, with our own secret langauge.

A sample:

Tom: Hey Nancy, "Now I know what you're thinking. 'What could be stranger than a big fatass floatin' cupcake?" Heh. How about one that spits tobacco?'" (Reference: The Chris Elliot classic, Cabin Boy.)

Me: My love for you is like a truck, BERZERKER! Would you like some making fuck, BERZERKER! (Reference: Clerks.)

Again, note that the actual words are meaningless. I was not coming on to my brother; likewise, Tom was not a cupcake. The purpose of this exchange, which was never put into words was, "Aren't we clever that we like the same things? Isn't it great that we have the same sense of humor? There are a lot of people out there that try to make us feel less important, but we can defeat them through our inside jokes and random references. I'm so glad you're my brother/sister."

Tom and I still fall back into this pattern sometimes, because it is easy and because it prevents us from having to Talk Seriously. You don't always want to talk about money or life choices or love or fear with your sibling. Sometimes, you just want to use a shorthand. I may call Tom today, and the conversation might go a little something like this:

Me: "That's Nonsense, I Invented Electricity. Ben Franklin Is The Devil!" (Reference: Waterboy. Meaning: Hey Tom, I'm feeling a little down and feel like escaping from my life for a little bit.)

Tom: O-Kay. How's this, "They're only monkey-boys. We can crush them here on earth, Lord Whorfin." (Meaning: Hey, sis, I'm feeling the same way. It seems like we're on a hamster wheel sometimes, doesn't it?)

Me: Nice, a Buckaroo Banzai reference. You know, "They don't advertise for killers in the newspaper. That was my profession. Ex-cop. Ex-blade runner. Ex-killer." (Meaning: I know that you know that I hate the movie Blade Runner. I'm quoting it to let you know that I'm glad to talk to you.)

Tom: Nice. "I used to bullseye womp rats in my T-16 back home. They're not much bigger than two meters." (Meaning: I'm glad to talk to you too.)

Me: You lost me there. Hey, I've got to go. (I love you.)

Tom: Star Wars, Nance. Come on...and I'll talk to you soon. (I love you, too.)

Monkey See, Monkey Do

For the last several days/weeks, I have had the special pleasure of having my words thrown back in my face. My firstborn will regularly let delightful phrases such as "You stop that right now!," "Mommy, go to your room," "Give me my__________ RIGHT NOW!!!," and "Move, Get out the way!" escape from his lips.

We couldn't be more proud.

Paul and I, of course, discourage such behavior by telling Owen to "Stop it right now!" or to "Go to your room!" When he takes something from us, in an attempt to seek attention, we tell him, "Owen, give me my towel/remote/phone/toothbrush/dinner RIGHT NOW!" When he crowds us, attempting to perch himself on the millimeter of space not already occupied by baby/stacks of essays/laundry/groceries, we snap, "Owen move! Get out of the way!"

The pattern seems so obvious when I write it down on a computer screen. It's classic monkey see, monkey do. Paul said the most obvious, yet insightful thing last night: "We need to talk to Owen like we talk to each other."

Ohhhhhh. Well, duh. It's so obvious, yet so easy to miss when things are hectic and the boy is annoying. We need to treat him like a person, like somebody deserving of dignity.

I think about the scene in Pulp Fiction where Samuel L. Jackson and John Travolta's characters are in trouble. They have accidentally shot a teenager, and now need help to clean up the mess. Happens to all of us. Thus, they summon "The Wolf," played by Harvey Kittel. He is barking out orders to Travolta and Jackson, and Travolta's character mumbles, "A please would be nice."

The Wolf replies, "If I am curt with you, it is because time is a factor." Curtness may be required when blood is spilled, but thankfully, that has not happened with Owen--yet.

Paul and I need to remember our inner Travoltas, and remember that as annoying Owen may be, a please is still nice. Even if you're three.

***For those of you who now wish to recall the scene from Pulp Fiction, read on***

The Wolf: Jimmie, lead the way. Boys, get to work.
Vincent: A please would be nice.
The Wolf: Come again?
Vincent: I said a please would be nice.
The Wolf: Get it straight buster - I'm not here to say please, I'm here to tell you what to do and if self-preservation is an instinct you possess you'd better fucking do it and do it quick. I'm here to help - if my help's not appreciated then lotsa luck, gentlemen.
Jules: No, Mr. Wolf, it ain't like that, your help is definitely appreciated.
Vincent: I don't mean any disrespect, I just don't like people barking orders at me.
The Wolf: If I'm curt with you it's because time is a factor. I think fast, I talk fast and I need you guys to act fast if you wanna get out of this. So, pretty please... with sugar on top. Clean the fucking car.

Random thoughts, mostly linked by films

1. Joel is four months old today. Good growing, Joely.

2. I have just completed a six hour drive. Tiiiiiirrrrrrred.

3. Note to self: When your brother-in-law suggests a marathon viewing of the Lord of the Rings trilogy, excuse yourself from the room or you will get sucked in. Doug and Erin traveled to New Zealand a few years back, so with every breathtaking landscape splashed across the screen, one or the other would say, "I saw that!" Luckily, they did not recall seeing hobbits, elves or other such creatures. If so, I would suspect that they were dipping into my precious, precious cough medicine (see yesterday's post).

4. Thank God my in-laws drove Owen to and from North Carolina. While I'm writing this, Paul is relaxing with a beer and Joel is already asleep. My in-laws and Owen, on the other hand, are still in the car, Kung Fu Panda blaring. Owen, I'm sure, is having difficulty remembering the difference between his inside and outside voice. That, my friends, is love. Driving a toddler across state lines without complaint. 100% pure love.

5. We've decided what movie will be the topic of the annual Campbell Family Movie Trivia Contest. As the winner of last year's contest, which focused on A Christmas Story, it's my turn to come up with the questions for this year's film: Airplane! Suggestions are welcome.