So I finished the latest Harry Potter book a few days ago, and I'm still rather revelling in it. Every night I concentrate on little Harry Potter real-life scenarios in the hopes that I'll have a really vivid HP dream, fly on broomsticks, and hang with HP and the posse. (I totally love Luna Lovegood, by the way.) It hasn't been successful so far. Last night I had this crappy dream about getting a flat tire in, like, the worst situation possible. I don't remember what the situation was, I just remember that it sucked.

Oh, totally random story: I backed into a curb a few years ago, puncturing my tire. As I did it, a little Asian man wearing one of those stereotypical, wide-brimmed, semi-conical straw hats was very slowly walking by on the culprit sidewalk, and saw the tire puncture and deflate. He turned to look at the tire, opened his mouth into a sympathetic, "oh that sucks" O-shape, slightly covered his mouth with his flat fingers, and did a very slow-motion little bow. I'll never forget that.

Anyway. Last night, I rented this documentary called "American Movie" that won all sorts of jury awards at the 1999 Sundance Film Festival, about this Wisconsin mullet-head whose dream/obsession is to make the Great American Movie. It's really funny, and sort of heartbreaking. I mean, the guy featured (I don't remember his name, let's call him Jim) really isn't a totally terrible director. He could definitely use some guidance, and his scripts, acting skills, and storylines totally suck, but he's pretty OK with a camera from what I could tell. All he's ever done with his life, though, is incur debt and obsess over making this movie.

One of the movies Jim is wrapping up is a 30-minute horror flick (horror flicks are his specialty, big surprise) called "Coven," which he insists on pronouncing "Cove-in", with a long "O", because the correct pronunciation "sounds too much like 'oven.'" Also, it's taken him, like, 6 years to make this 30-minute film. I suppose that would explain why he still has that heavy-metal hair still goin' on, that was slightly more acceptable in the early 90s: maybe he refuses to adapt his "look" for fear of disrupting the continuity of the film. Yeah.

So anyway, Jim enlists his family, friends, and various crappy local actors to make his movies. His friend, Mike, a loveably fried burn-out who bounces from one 12-step meeting to another, is fucking hilarious. His relationship with Jim started out entirely because they were ideal drinking buddies, their tolerances being so much higher than everyone else's, but it's evident that they really have come to care about each other. Mike is almost completely braindead because of excessive drug use, it seems, and has this cute little smirk on his squashy, hair-framed face all the time. His only goals in life seem to be winning money off of scratch tickets, buying alcohol for Jim, ripping off Black Sabbath tunes, and generally acting as Jims good-natured toadie.

Jim is obviously a raging alcoholic who convinces his family to give him money and calls everyone "Dude" and "Man", often both in the same sentence, but you know, he's really not a bad guy. He's very good to his kids, from what the movie shows, good to his friends and family, and he's not stupid. He's just ... weird ... and very single-minded. That's not always a bad thing; if his passion had been for the stock market, he'd fucking own Bill Gates. Unfortunately, his incredible drive is focussed on making shitty movies in his parent's kitchen.

I must say, the local actors that Jim hires for his film are extraordinarily patient, to be giving up their weekends for MORE THAN SIX YEARS to help this determined redneck achieve his dream. Or maybe they're just bad actors who can't get any other jobs.

It really is sad, though, because this guy really is so determined, and it's pretty obvious that he's not going to make The Great American Movie. Also, he probably doesn't have a clue that the viewing audience are totally going to laugh at him. His closest brush with fame will be mockery from the Sundance crowd. That's so sadly ironic.

Have you ever noticed that Alanis Morisette has a really crappy grasp on the actual meaning of "ironic?" I, for one, wouldn't describe rain on my wedding day, or a black fly in my chardonnay, or getting free ride when I've already paid, as ironic. Disappointing situations, sucky coincidences, perhaps. Ironic, not so much. Alanis probably didn't do so well on her SATs... or, do they not have SATs in Canadia?

I have a voice lesson tonight, and I really don't want to go. And why? you may ask. OK, singing is one of my favorite activities in the world, and I love my teacher, but I blatantly haven't practiced and I have to sing some Eye-talian aria that I don't fucking know. So it'll be me going:

"Deedee deedee avanza, deedee deedee dee deedeedee blubliblubla ..." and making up words and generally desecrating the Italian language.

That, and I really do feel like I might vomit if I have to use my diaphragm too much. (No, not THAT diaphragm. Pervs.)

~ Last Five Entries ~

Moths, and Relative Nonsense - 08.18.05

I Finally Have Internet Access in my Bedroom. But, No Ashtray. - 08.09.05

Here I Am - 08.02.05

One-Armed Paper Hanger Earns her Wings - 07.29.05

Sugar & Lemon - 07.28.05

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BUY JEN'S BOOK! BUY IT! DO IT!

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BUY DEAN'S BOOK, TOO! YOU KNOW YOU WANNA! SERIOUSLY.

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