Revenge of the Sith

Dear George Lucas,

It is 3:06 AM, and I just got back from my local theater. Now that I’ve seen every Star Wars movie in the saga, I have a few suggestions that could make it even better than it is.

# Can we please see Queen Amidala’s boobs?
# You should remake Episode 1 so that Jar Jar Binks does not talk.
# Perhaps an intellectual Wookie? You know, one who wears glasses and gives the British equivalent of a hearty grunt. All of the current Wookies just sound retarded.
# Can we please see Queen Amidala’s boobs?

Love,
Casey

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Bittersweet beauty

Last night I went to see The Phantom of the Opera with (in alphabetical order) Egle, Kyle, Mills, Sarah, and Vince. You wouldn’t expect any guy, much less a sans-strawin’, tree-choppin’ guy like myself, to enjoy a musical. However, upon the end of the film I was actually quite impressed at how beautiful the production was.

And trust me when I say that I know beautiful isn’t the most masculine of adjectives. Really, though, the music was eloquent, the acting was superb, and the general aura of the movie struck me as one of bittersweet magnificence.

When I say bittersweet, though, I mean it. After leaving the theater, I didn’t have much to say to anyone; I just couldn’t stop thinking about all the bad luck that all the characters had to face.

First of all, there were two new owners of this opera house. All they wanted, like any entrepreneurs, was to turn a profit. They didn’t, however, know the complexity of the situation they were buying into, and inevitably faced disaster through no real fault of their own.

Next, there’s old Christine. I don’t pity her much, primarily because she had two guys after her. But she was tricked, I guess, by that Phantom fellow, so she earns a bit of my sentiment.

But what gets me the most is the fact that in the end, the one fellow who wanted a little compassion – a little love – in an otherwise dismal world loses out and succumbs to the reality that he has made for himself. I imagine that most folks view it as his realization of contentment in happiness of that person whom he loved. But I see it as a loss for him. The one emotion for which he has striven for during his entire lifetime was denied to him. I guess his misfortune stuck with me the most, as I couldn’t stop thinking about it and how I never, ever want to end up facing either his circumstances, or the depressing culmination to a life of heartbreak.

So, I return to my main assertion: the cinematic version of The Phantom of the Opera was a beautiful interpretation of a sad, sad story. Thus ends my girliest blog entry to date.

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These go to 11

I feel ashamed to say that before last night, none of may family has been privy to the wonder that is This Is Spinal Tap.

What’s even worse is that after buying the VHS version of the movie from Walgreens for $3.99 and watching it after our sojourn to Monty’s, the neighborhood pizza place, my father and mother did not give off vibes of extreme excitement for having been shown the light after 20 years of darkness.

I am seriously now considering that it is entirely possible that I was adopted.

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