is the word 'diary' better than the word 'blog'? probably not.
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Dear THE BOURNE ULTIMATUM
I have this practice (though it is so passively undergone that it seems strange to call it a practice, but maybe that's just a larger point about the limits to human action anyway) of composing letters to people in my head when I first wake up in the morning, before I get out of bed. (And sometimes this can keep me in bed for way too long, but let's not fool ourselves into thinking I'd get out of bed faster if I weren't composing unwritten letters.)
Anyway. The letters get composed, but rarely do they later get written and sent to their intended audience. Often the things I "write" don't even get said to the addressee. The letter-writing is more like a way for me to think-without-thinking about what it is my mind is fixated on at present. Some of the letters will proceed like: "Dear Frankenstein, I am currently so very happy that you are in my life because of X, Y, and 56, that I just wanted to say that A, B, C..." Others will be more like: "Dear Stegosaurus, I am so annoyed by the way you X'd that it has changed my mind about you, in fact it has reached back into the past and rewritten everything I ever thought about you, you dumbass. (Love, Jill)"
The letters will usually be much longer than the above abridgements to my dear friends Frankenstein and Stegosaurus. Sometimes they will be poetic and inspiring, and I think I should jump out of bed and write them. Other times they are just imagined rants. And of course there are letters between love and ranting, about mundane things, like: "Dear SPF Factor, Wow, wasn't that hilarious when you said that that girl was so hot that she was making you sexist?" (I stole that from Flight of the Conchords because I couldn't think of any example that wouldn't be an example that would identify some real person in my life. Or maybe it just is the case that Bret and Jemaine once sang a song to me about getting naked with some food, OK?) (Since I'm obsessed with Jemaine, it's strange to me that I just linked to two Bret songs, so here's Jemaine for you.
And then there's the kind of letter that is about processing realizations about people who are dear to me, but who aren't going to change for the better, like: "Dear Texas Two-Step, I hope you will remember that you promised me you would do X. I know you sometimes are forgetful, and I hate the way that makes me nag you as if I always expect that you won't remember, but, man, just think about how awful it is that all of your friends know that they can't really rely on you to remember anything. In the end it isn't about my nagging anymore, it's about whether or not you are even capable of friendship! (Love, Jill)" That one is harsher than anything I'd actually say, and harsher than would be deserved, but that's the beauty of thinking one's way through a letter but not sending it.
So, yeah, it's not a failure that most of these letters don't get written. Most of them don't need to be sent. Some of them show me what I should say to people, and that helps. (Though knowing I should say something is not the same as knowing how or when to say something, or getting me to say it.) It's like an inexpensive form of therapy that puts me in touch with my thoughts-upon-waking, and what they might be telling me about my current emotional life and my relationships with people and the world.
This morning, about three letters into the routine, I was composing a note to a friend about whom I've been worried lately. Then I rolled over to check the Sidekick for email and I not only had an email from her, explaining a silence, but I also had a text message from someone else to whom I had "written" this morning, and he confirmed that things aren't so good with him. And that means I should call him, instead of writing a letter.
In other news, last night Evany, Marco and I saw THE BOURNE ULTIMATUM. Man, did we enjoy the shit out of that or what? Oh, how I love those movies. And this one was, like, incredibly excellent. It was an almost perfect combination of heart-poundy suspense, awesome chase scenes, and crazy I'm-going-to-beat-you-up-with-whatever-the-hell-I-can-get-my-hands-on, like a book, a kitchen towel, or a broom and fan.
However, this just in: Matt Damon is not sexy. He's hardly even cute, if you ask me. But his character in these films is strangely compelling, even though if you back up and think about what the Jason Bourne character is really like, you would know in an INSTANT that he would be the worst romantic choice you could ever make in your entire life. That is another piece of magic performed by these films--making you like someone who also HAS TO be uncompelling as well, because of what he does.
So I say you should go see THE BOURNE ULTIMATUM. It will satisfy your need for a summer blockbuster, and will even dish out some snide political commentary on torture policies and decisions-made-without-regard-to-government-accountability, for you to put on top of your popcorn to make it more crunchy.
(However, I can no longer watch any of those kinds of sideways-message political plotlines or statements without feeling nausea and catching sight of the abyss. It's not funny, and there's no reason or justification for anyone to feel self-righteous about anything, given what "we" have become in the United States. The best you can hope for from such a vehicle is that it makes more people think about the bankruptcy of the "end justifies the means" argument... or even makes you reconsider your ideas about how much free will is involved in volunteering to give your life for your country, but, once again, is it really THE BOURNE ULTIMATUM that has to teach us that? Really?)
10:44 a.m. - August 04, 2007
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