My latest fantasy is the only one I have that takes place in my actual house, and it's a three-way. You see, ever since Ian bought me a full-sized, fully functional replica of Tom Servo, I've been watching a TON of Mystery Science Theater 3000. And this, along with my rantings about the sorry state of cinema, lead me back to Kevin Murphy's brilliant A Year at the Movies. Because Jay Sherman is fictional, that leaves Kevin Murphy to be my favorite film critic. Not only is he a genius, but he is also hysterical and has a strong midwestern common sense, which I can respect, probably because it's a foreign concept to me. I believe that most movie critics are wimps paid off by the movie studios (how else can you explain Roger Ebert giving Daredevil "two thumbs up!") but Kevin Murphy is no one's man. He also hated Rocky Horror Picture Show, which almost makes me want to marry him.
The other participant in this little exercise is Geena Davis . . . and they both come over to my house and I invite them in to sit on the couch, and because this is a fantasy, the arms aren't all clawed up from Bosco's constant climbing. I offer them a drink and some spinach triangles and we get down the business of discussing film. I want to hear Geena Davis speak on women in the media. I want to hear some of Kevin's own rantings. I want to add in my thesis and hear them both tell me how smart and perceptive I am for a 28 year old, the exact target audience for drivel like Scott Pilgrim vs. The World and yet, how wisely I eschew the pop culture idiocy of my peers.
We drink some coffee and take some pot-shots at Nathan Rabin. Kevin gives me a high-five. Geena Davis tells me I'm the smartest girl she's ever met and offers me a job at the Institute. Because I want to feel smart. I want to feel well-versed and intellectual and like someone cares about what I have to say . . . I guess that's the fantasy of every blogger.
The other participant in this little exercise is Geena Davis . . . and they both come over to my house and I invite them in to sit on the couch, and because this is a fantasy, the arms aren't all clawed up from Bosco's constant climbing. I offer them a drink and some spinach triangles and we get down the business of discussing film. I want to hear Geena Davis speak on women in the media. I want to hear some of Kevin's own rantings. I want to add in my thesis and hear them both tell me how smart and perceptive I am for a 28 year old, the exact target audience for drivel like Scott Pilgrim vs. The World and yet, how wisely I eschew the pop culture idiocy of my peers.
We drink some coffee and take some pot-shots at Nathan Rabin. Kevin gives me a high-five. Geena Davis tells me I'm the smartest girl she's ever met and offers me a job at the Institute. Because I want to feel smart. I want to feel well-versed and intellectual and like someone cares about what I have to say . . . I guess that's the fantasy of every blogger.
