Stuff that makes me laugh lately: A Ramble

Dear Friend,
It is Friday night, I am pumped full of caffeine and a strong desire to write.  I cannot guarantee that what I am about to record will be entertaining or comprehensible.  If you choose to read this entry anyway I will consider you a true friend... or really bored, but either one is fine.

I have been practically devouring comedy lately.  It began with a whim to see some silent films. I chose to start off with Buster Keaton, and that was a success since I now adore the man.  It branched into a little Harold Lloyd, whom I had never heard about before researching silent films trying to find which of Buster's films I would probably like best.  I flatly refuse to watch Chaplin.  I cannot quite explain why. There is a strange quality about the man that I find off-putting and repulsive.  But Keaton and Lloyd films I will happily devour.  What I like best about these silent slapstick comedies is the physicality and stunts involved in the jokes.  I can't count how many times I've felt my jaw hanging open, making me look like an astonished fish when I see what these men were doing.  The best part is the lack of special effects involved in most of the stunts.  Honestly, I've grown tired of reading the rants of silent film fans who denounce the current method of using CGI to make most movie stunts these days, but they have a point.  What movie makers and actors did before computers (and frankly, insurance companies) took over is impressive.  But at the same time, it is incredible that these actors survived some of the shots they put themselves through.

Another great source of comedy for me lately is Drew Carey's Improv-A-Ganza on GSN.  (Red squiggly lines under the last third of that sentence, it's a shame they won't show when I publish...)   It is almost like a reunion of Whose Line is it Anyway, but not quite.  It still makes me laugh, to the point of tears sometimes.  It makes me so happy to see Ryan Stiles, Jeff Davis, Colin Mochrie, and Wayne Brady on TV again.  Drew has improved at improv since Whose Line, too.  (Aside note, I really, honestly like Drew Carey. He's the only reason I started watching the Price is Right again. I don't know why I like him so much... I don't think he's that great as a game show host, but he makes me laugh, and seems to enjoy himself doing it.) 

A friend of mine has been talking a lot about the Marx Brothers lately.  I love the Marx Brothers, myself, and hadn't seen any of their movies in a long time, so I put a couple in to watch this week.  It made me realize that my favorite Marx brother is Harpo.  He always has been, even when I was a kid.  I usually feel like Groucho gets all the attention, and he's definitely funny, but I'll always adore Harpo.

Also, somewhat related to my Marx brothers "epiphany," Wakko is my favorite of the three Warners in Animaniacs.  I thought Yakko was for the longest time, but it was always Wakko.  After all, all those years ago when I was a rather rude "hostess" when a friend was over and I insisted that she watch Animaniacs with me when she wanted to watch X-Men it was because it was a Wakko-heavy episode, not Yakko. 

Goodness, this has been a rambling and silly entry.  If you made it this far, consider yourself hugged.  I'll try to be more intellectual in my next letter. 

Isn't that a little rude, though?

Dear friend,
This past Sunday our family tried a new church.  It was a nice service, the music was good, the people were friendly and the sermon encouraging.  We met the pastor, and it was obvious that he was making an effort to remember us by name, in order either to recognize us if we came back or to pray for us, who knows. During the conversation he asked me a question that I hear far too often, "How old are you?" 

I know that in my case people ask me this because they can't tell just from looking at me.  I know that in a church there are groups separated by age.  I know that he didn't intend to offend me or set off an angry switch in my soul.  Because I know all of this I answered calmly and truthfully, but I made a decision. 

I am not telling people how old I am anymore.

Part of this decision is because I'm definitely old enough to adopt the "lady-like" policy of keeping such information to myself.  Part of it is because I don't feel my age.  I haven't for years, and as they say, you're only as old as you feel. 

So, from now on, I'm ageless.  

It's a bitter world, I'd rather dream

Dear Friend,
My affection for Adam Young, aka Owl City, is well documented.  I've mentioned that in general I will get over a celebrity crush in about a month, but this guy is different.  But I've noticed another difference besides longevity in this crush; it feels like having a crush on someone I know.

Obviously a crush on a "real life" guy is different than a crush on a "fake" celebrity.  As far as I'm concerned a celebrity may as well be a fictional character.  I like it that way.  However, if I'm interested in a guy in real life it is to my benefit to know more about who they really are if there is any chance of getting involved with them.  No one would argue that I have a good chance of having a personal relationship with someone famous, therefore the less I know about them, the better, and the easier it will be to move on when their moment in the spotlight of my affections is over.

But, something is weird about Adam.  I think it may be his Blog.  I love the way he writes.  Reading a new entry of his blog (which I get to do, mostly every Monday, like clockwork) feels like having a casual conversation with him.  He writes so well and so easily that you feel like you get to know him through his words despite the lack of precise details.  He's funny and eloquent and manages to write about things that everyone can relate to.

The weird, personal feeling of this famous-person-crush came to its peak when I heard the song Lonely Lullaby.  This song is an extra feature of the Owl City Galaxy app for Ipods or Iphones.  It is a very personal song about a break-up, and it is lovely.  I found out that the song isn't an abstract song about sadness in general, but specifically about his ex-girlfriend Anne Marie.  One night, while I was listening to music and playing video games the song came on and I got that weird, jealous, sympathetic, frustrated feeling that you get when you listen to someone you like go on about how wonderful someone else is.  No one enjoys that feeling.  Let me tell you, it feels even worse when you realize that the feeling is completely unjustified and slightly stalker-like.
I eagerly await the day I can simply listen to the song, enjoy it, and move on when the track ends without feeling this bizarre slurry of emotions. Hopefully this written confession, a sort of emotional exorcism, will speed that day along.

I blame my Dad

Dear Friend,

Would you believe that for awhile, particularly when I was in middle school and beginning high school, I was convinced that any movie made before I was born wasn't worth my time? And heaven forbid it wasn't in color! I'm sorry to admit that, yes, I was that foolish at one time. (I didn't even think about the fact that all those Disney movies I loved so much were made before I was even thought of, illogical thing that I was.)
My Dad has always been a fan of movies, old or new, and I think he probably prefers films to television.  He was a big influence for me to give old movies a shot. Dad always has a copy of a fairly recent Leonard Maltin movie book. I've been known to just flip through those books at random, just to read a quick plot synopsis and on occasion a cast list. Dad's also got a pretty sizable collection of DVDs on hand (though not as big as mine...), being a fan of the $5 or $1 DVD bins in supermarkets.  He sometimes finds some gems in there, amazingly enough.  He introduced me to the Marx Brothers who I found hilarious, despite the lack of hue on the screen. 
But I think the most encouraging part my Dad has played in my becoming a fan of classic films is that he's almost always willing to watch a movie with me.  Sure, there are movies that are decidedly "Mom and Me" movies, like romantic comedies, but most of the other films I want to see whether an animated family film, exciting sci-fi, or critically acclaimed classic or more recently silent slapstick I know that if I want to watch with someone else, Dad will most likely be up for it. 
So, now that I'm a hopeless fan of classic films, who literally turns on the Turner Classic Movies channel every single day, I can blame my Dad.  Or should that be Thank my Dad?

Unexplainable Attraction

Dear Friend,
Some people don't photograph well.  This is, for the most part, an established fact. No matter who you ask, they will probably admit that some people are not done a justice with a simple picture.  There have been theories that these people lose some of their visual appeal because unlike a normal human being with two eyes, cameras only have one "eye" or focal point, and therefore lose perspective and depth.  This, therefore, is the missing "something" that renders a relatively attractive person plain or unattractive in a photograph. 

I don't exactly agree with that theory. If that were the case, a video filmed by a camera with only one lens would also fail to capture their attraction.
I'm more inclined to say that part of what makes a person attractive is more than their mere looks.  Movement and action combine with looks to make a person beautiful.  Yes, there are some absolutely stunning and beautiful people who look amazing in a still photograph, there's no argument to that.  Some people, though, are absolutely brilliant to see when they move and a still picture will never be able to capture that quality. 

I've had this theory for years, but never took time to think about it until recently.  I have three examples. The men I will write about in this entry are all very interesting to watch, but I don't think that photographs do them justice.

A little bit more?

Dear Friend,
I've got the weirdest desire to write a screenplay.  Not just any screenplay, either, no I have a desire to write a musical! Let's face it, if I'm going to write a screenplay, I may as well write something fun, ridiculous and altogether absurd.  If there is any sort of scripted program more fun, ridiculous and absurd than a musical then I don't know what it is.  The logic is sound!

I'm not the sort of writer who does "screenplays." I write stories, with description, proper (as far as I can get it) grammar, and I use quotation marks to denote speech.  I don't even have any desire to anyone to produce a screenplay that I write. Mostly I want to do it because I want to be able to say that I have.  I'd write it, never edit it and share it with friends. 

The same people who run National Novel Writing Month each November also run Script Frenzy each April.  While I have taken part in "NaNoWriMo" as they call it (won two years in a row, baby!) I haven't ever considered doing Script Frenzy before.  It's possible that I was not able to come up with a plot idea for Script Frenzy so "soon" after concentrating on a novel length plot in November, but it's also possible that I just didn't want to write a script. 

That all changed, however, when I realized that every song I love is pretty strongly associated with a story in my head.  My mental music videos could easily all be meshed into a single plot-line with some creative thinking on my part.  Combine this with my love for old movie musicals and an idea seed is planted in the fertile ground of my mind. 

So, will I abandon all inhibitions and settle down to write 100 pages of screenplay next month?  I can't decide yet.  I've been having a rough time of it emotionally this past week, and honestly I was going to try to do something in my life other than sit down with my laptop, making clacking noises with my fingers on the keyboard.  I just still don't really know how to do that.  Still, when meeting new people they inevitably ask you what you do, and rather than staring blankly at them, making them very uncomfortable I could instead tell them I'm writing a movie script, and then let it drop into the conversation that I've written two novels.  The sad thing is that the next question would be if I've had anything published, and the answer is decidedly no.  But hey, I'm working on it, right? That's got to count for something. 

Spring Cleaning?

Dear Friend,

Despite the drop in temperature today, I feel that lovely feeling of Spring.  I know it's still only February, and the weather can still throw us a few cold and uncomfortable days, I know that soon it will warm up, flowers will bloom and trees will be green again. 

Unfortunately, that also means that bugs will return, crawling through the house and flying at the windows, driving me to distraction.

One thing I've never really "gotten" about this time of year is Spring Cleaning.  Yes, I understand that it is generally a time that people can open windows and air out the house, change seasonal wardrobes and generally a good occasion for making things tidy, I get that.  What I don't get is why Spring, exactly?  No matter where you are, what the weather is like, the tradition is Spring Cleaning. 

Spring Cleaning has never been my favorite task.  I wouldn't call myself a slob, exactly, but I tend to be on the, let's say relaxed spectrum of cleaners.  I keep my workspace very tidy, but otherwise I won't cringe at the sight of a little dust.  The idea of going through my things and organizing them isn't palatable. 

For this reason, I'm almost alarmed at my actions for the past week.  I've been going through everything from my Netflix queue to my followed Twitter accounts and "pruning."  I think every set of lists and links that I have has been significantly cut down this week.  And the urge to minimize has not been satisfied yet.  I imagine in the next few days I will resort to pulling out entire drawers and storage bins and chucking possessions willy-nilly. 

This is not like me. I'm the woman who has toys that I can't bear to give up scattered about her room, to the extent that small children think I'm about twelve years old.  I have shirts that I got when I was ten. (Very few, possibly two, and they were very large for me then) I have two dresser and two closets, for heaven's sake!

The only time that I've ever noticed people ridding themselves of possessions to this level has normally been before moving.  I'm not moving, am I?  I'm almost afraid that my spirit or subconscious are subtly telling me that something is about to change.  I don't feel like anything is about to change, and in a way that worries me.  Change always comes when you least expect it.

Does my wondering about change qualify as expecting it, therefore meaning that nothing will change?  Hmm...

Blog title change, here's why

Dear Friend,

If you are particularly observant, you may notice that the official name of this blog has changed from "Letter to You, My Friend" to simply "Dear Friend."  I've been addressing my blog entries Dear Friend for years, and may not have given a thorough explanation of why I do.  If you are, as I said before, particularly observant you probably noticed various references to You've Got Mail around the blog.  I have, on the top right column of the page, a quote from that movie, and my tags list is under the heading "Fox Books" which was the book store owned by the character played by Tom Hanks.  My links list may prove more difficult to understand, though, since it's not from You've Got Mail, it's from The Shop Around the Corner, the movie that inspired You've Got Mail. Also, instead of listing followers and friends I have "Box 237" which was the post office box number in In the Good Old Summertime.

Those movies are the reason that I begin my blog entries with "Dear Friend."  A plot that despite being done three times over on film still touches my heart each and every time.  In each of these movies two people begin corresponding, either through letters or e-mail, and feel a strong connection, building up to love, with each other; while at the same time, they work with or interact with each other in their everyday lives and don't get along.  They don't know that the same person that lifts their spirits with their letters is the same person who drives them crazy. 

The first film, The Shop Around the Corner with James Stewart and Margaret Sullavan, is set in Budapest Hungary and the main characters work in a leather goods shop.  In the second, In the Good Old Summertime with Judy Garland and Van Johnson, is a period film and in a way a musical with the characters working in a music store. The third, You've Got Mail  with Tom Hanks and Meg Ryan, is set in New York and instead of the characters working together, they are rivals in the book business.  Each film has its own setting, feel and situation, but the plot, and heart, are the same. 

One of the elements that is shared by each film is the fact that each letter sent is begun "Dear Friend."  I love that touch.  I am enchanted by the possibility that two people can get to know and love each other through letters.  It almost seems like an idealistic fantasy, which could almost be a little of the point since the characters originally don't get along in person. 

Another aspect of these films that I like is how these films illustrate that your impression of another person can be wrong.  You can disagree with them but that shouldn't be the basis of how you think of them in every other aspect of their lives.  Most of the time the characters met and initially liked each other, but somehow got on each others wrong side.  It's nice to watch people take a second look at what they thought they knew and reevaluate it. 

So there you have it, the reason I begin all of my notes to you with "Dear Friend." I've seen these movies so many times that it rubbed off on me.  I can definitely recommend that you see each one of them.  (My personal favorite of the trio is Shop Around the Corner)

The Art of Being Friendless

Dear Friend,
I find it extremely ironic to begin a message about being without any friends with "Dear Friend," but that is how I begin all of my entries, so there it is. 

I've been living in Virginia for over four years now, and I don't have a single friend here. I don't even have acquaintances. I realize it can only be my fault, that it takes a special sort of hermit-like person to go that long without forming any type of bond with another human being.  The problem is I have no clue how one goes about making friends.  I came to the realization one day that every friendship I ever had was practically placed in my lap.  I've had to put in the effort to maintain certain friendships, but it has never been an effort to make them.  That isn't normal, is it? 

I keep in contact with people who I used to be friends with, but it never is quite the same, talking through e-mail or Facebook, as it was speaking face to face.  Conversations always become shorter as time goes on, and each of our lives get a little farther apart, no matter how hard I try. 

I'm not complaining, exactly, I'm an air force brat, I'm used to leaving friends behind.  I'm an introvert, I prefer to spend a certain amount of time alone to recharge.  I'm simply beginning to think... I've overdone it. 

There is an art to being friendless. I think I've got a good handle on it.  I'd like to try life the other way, though, for awhile.

That Voice!

Dear friend,
It has been a very "Frankie" week for me.  I'm not complaining at all.

I don't have a celebrity crush on Frank Sinatra, mind you.  This isn't a case of "protesting too much," I just want to clear that up. A few years ago my Dad was under the impression that I had a crush on Cary Grant, when I didn't.  This is the same sort of thing; I love them, but I don't love them. (I do have a silly, little crush on a member of the Rat Pack, but it isn't Frank, and I'm not telling you who it is, so don't ask)

Anyway, as I said, it's been a very Frankie sort of week for me.  Turner Classic Movies aired a movie called the Kissing Bandit, which I just had to watch, since Frank was in it.  I have a fondness for Frank's early movies, ones where he played a lovable dork who was so nervous around women that he had no idea what to do.  He was such a little, skinny, silly looking dude that the roles fit him very well.  In my opinion, the only thing this movie had going for it was Frank. It was silly, beyond the point of being able to be taken seriously. The costumes were ridiculous, so much so that I burst into laughter at the sight of some of them.  Frank didn't sing nearly enough, either.  Still, I enjoyed watching it. 

A few other Frank movies were on but I, unfortunately, didn't catch all the way through.  I did, as I mentioned at the end of my birthday post, watched Ocean's 11.  I got it out of curiosity about the Rat Pack.  I enjoyed the movie, enough to look past it's ridiculousness.  (And like I said, I now have a crush on someone in the Rat Pack. Just for fun, use the process of elimination, it's not Dean or Sammy, either.)

The day after my birthday, I used some of my abundant supply of itunes money to buy a few "Essential" albums by Frank and Dean Martin.  I love them both. I don't know why it had taken me so long to get actual CDs from either of these two amazing singers, instead of picking up a song by them here or there.

My brother and my sister-in-law sent me a few musicals on DVD as birthday presents.  They sent me Singing in the Rain and Guys and Dolls.  The smile on my face as I opened the package was considerable. I love both of these movies but had never gotten around to buying either one.  As I write, I'm gleefully watching Guys and Dolls, enjoying the fact that Nathan Detroit, and so many others, aren't using contractions. Or should I say, are not using contractions.

I used to love those cartoons making fun of his screaming and swooning fans.  They were really my first indication that Sinatra existed.  Perhaps they were a strong influence on me, since I consider myself something of a Frank Sinatra fangirl.  I was amused to learn that some of those screaming fans were actresses hired and paid to make him seem more popular.

I don't think I could ever get tired of hearing that man sing. It's been an enjoyable week.