I was sitting here very very idly watching The Misadventures of Margaret, because it has naked men and the most luscious, most gorgeously dressed Parker Posey ever, and then all of a sudden--Alexis Denisof, with a mustache and toned bod, stripping down to his boxers! And oh my god, now I'm seeing Parker Posey's breasts! Jesus, she's adorable. I don't know who to lust after more. And did I mention that this has Jeremy Northam? And, dragged from the deep-freeze of hasbeenitude, Brooke Shields. And, huh, I've just realized that's Bronson Pinchot I'm looking at.
On rare occasion I love cable.
Somehow discussion of The Sound of Music came up recently, and I hadn't seen it in twenty years, so I bought it on tape today, on a whim. What a wonderful movie. I think it's one of those you have to see when you're a kid, otherwise it's probably like how I feel about West Side Story or The Wicker Man, which is, uh, yeah, nice and all, but what's the big deal? I think my pysche was deeply shaped by the Nazis and the nuns and the Alps and the romance. Maybe you don't think of cheery singing and children when you think of me, but somewhere there is a layer of sugar-plum musical in my soul.
Soon, on SciFi: Puppet Master Vs. Demonic Toys. Ah, so many great movies.
Because I can relate almost anything to Spike, I was about five minutes in, with Julie Andrews trilling in the meadows, when I remembered someone who'd screencapped Spike's crypt mentioning that among his LPs was the soundtrack to Sound of Music. Which at the time was just hilarious, but now...when I was watching, for a few minutes I had a different slant on Spike than I've had before. I was seeing him in a movie theater, watching motion pictures in color for the first time, and I was thinking how amazing it would be if you were a vampire, doomed to live in darkness, and along came this medium, film, that could capture the daylight world and blow it up to gigantic proportions and project it onto a screen. It would be amazing to see the world lit by sunshine and be right there in it, almost--mountains and trees and sky. And I can just see it affecting him, giving him all these nostalgic, romanticized visions of the sunlit world that he could never inhabit again, until one day everything was all bundled up in Buffy. Everything brilliant and golden and out of his reach.
So you're this dead shell of a person, and you see all these projections of life that you're not living, because you're sitting in the darkness, stuck watching something you can't join--I think I must identify with that.