March 15, 2005

• I am typically silent in the mornings. It wasn’t until I said, “excuse
  me,” in a voice that closely resembled the Crypt Keeper while shoving
  my way onto the subway yesterday morning that I realized I was sick. I
  left work early due to my inability to speak or eat (which was causing
  me to feel faint and dizzy) and I’m at home today. My cousin (who
  stayed in our apartment this past weekend) called this afternoon to
  warn me she has strep throat. I’ve found no white dots breeding on the
  back of my throat yet, so let’s pray for an inexpensive (read: orange
  juice curable vs. pricy antibiotics and dr. co-pay) virus.

  Anyhow, when I am sick I like to watch my favorite movies. I started the day with Election and I’m just about to put on The Wonder Boys.
  These are two standbys that are always sure to make me feel a bit
  better. It is good that movie watching, one of my favorite ways to
  spend time, is still available to me in sickness, as my other favorite
  pastime, kissing, is not. With those things in mind, I bring to you the
  following essay. I hope you enjoy it, and stay healthy ladies and gents!
  ________________________________________________________________________
  The Kiss of Death
  © The Author, 2005

  My first real
  kiss was with Brett Jerdon. I was in eighth grade and he was in
  seventh, although he seemed older due to his chin length hair, his
  eyebrow ring, and his infinite knowledge of the band Rancid.

  I
  was not Mr. Jerdon’s first kiss. I could tell this by the way he so
  casually invited me to see a movie with him after having met me only
  once at a band and choir spring concert rehearsal. He, naturally, was
  the skateboarding drummer from the middle school across town. I was the
  girl whose growth spurts left her knee length choir skirt prancing
  inappropriately an inch or two below her bottom. My legs, which were on
  full display to the drum line due to the positioning of the choir
  podium, were taller than most of the students who were gawking at them.
  Although they resembled twigs more than legs, I overheard a certain
  Brett Jerdon describe them to someone behind me in that single,
  pathetically sought after phrase; Hot.

  It was decided. The
  theater was to be local. The movie was to be inconsequential. The kiss
  (with tongue!) was to be expected. I readied myself. I perfected sexy
  poses in the mirror (no small task when you have yet to grow boobs),
  and called every girl friend I had to gain advice. “Tilt your head to
  the side like in the movies,” they all said. I rolled my eyes—I already
  knew that much. If only my kissing partner could say the same.

  I
  stepped out of my mom’s mini van (she was convinced I would be meeting
  friends), and bounded into the theater lobby. Mr. Jerdon was waiting
  there with a bucket of yellow popcorn. I smiled and took a few kernels.
  “Hey,” I said.

  We made our way down the aisle and picked a
  seat snuggly in the back, in a section of the theater historically
  known as Make Out Central. The previews began and we munched popcorn
  and shot each other a few “meaningful” glances. Soon the movie began.

  Before
  I continue my story, it is important to know something about me. I
  suffer from a hideous symptom that my family refers to as “TV face.” I
  was first diagnosed while watching my favorite show, The Wonder Years.
  During the second act of the show, my mom noticed an alarmingly ugly
  look of concentration taking over my otherwise sensible face. According
  to her, my brows furrowed, my eyes retreated deep into their sockets,
  my chin burrowed into my neck, and I was staring with an intensity that
  could burn a hole through the screen. She burst out laughing and I felt
  my muscles shift back to normal, “what?” I asked. “You’ve got TV face,”
  she answered. And so it was.

  Although the name implies it,
  television is not the only cause of this dreadful facial expression. I
  can become enraptured with any form of storytelling to the point of TV
  face: theater performances, concerts, books, and paintings. But nothing
  quite brings out my TV face like television or movies. I become so
  entranced and so gripped by the story at hand, that I loose all sense
  of my surroundings. My TV face is an impenetrable shell, a warning to
  those around me that I do not wish to be disturbed.

  With that in mind, perhaps I shouldn’t have chosen a movie to be backdrop of my first real
  kiss, let alone a movie that was actually good. My passion for story
  swept me away from my hormonal self sitting next to the hot boy beside
  me and threw me into the drama that was Mr. Holland’s Opus .

  So
  good was this movie, that my TV face warded Brett off for the better
  half of the film. It must have been my stuffed bra that did him in,
  because just as I was ready to burst into tears when Richard Dreyfuss
  sang to his deaf son a personalized version of the Lennon song,
  “Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful…Beautiful Cole,” Bret Jerdons face
  attacked me.

  A slimy tongue was lashing this way and that.
  Popcorn spilled onto the floor as I was startled back into the reality
  in the theater. Snot that had accumulated from choking back tears
  streamed down my face. He was nearly on top of me while I struggled for
  breath beneath his wormy mouth. And worst of all, he did not know how
  to tilt his head properly. Perhaps if he had been watching more movies
  instead of making out during them, he would have known this.

  After
  our tragic kissing episode, I was always sure to warn my subsequent
  dates about TV face and my preference to be left undisturbed during
  movies. I knew my husband was for me when he waited until the
  commercial break during the Rue Paul Show until we kissed for the first
  time. The mere fact that he would watch the Rue Paul Show with me seems
  reason enough to marry him.

  Like any two best friends, stories and I proclaim with pride, “we’ll never let a boy come between us. Never!” And no fitting boy has ever wanted to.

  _______________________________________________________________________
  And
  now, because I am bored and unable to communicate verbally, here is a
  list of recommendations. I just got Netflicks (I am CRAZY about it), so
  any additions to my list are more than welcome. Just add them in the
  comment box. Also, all kissing stories are welcome as well. Come on
  people—where can you kiss and tell if not a blog?

  A list of Good Eggs:
  (In no particular order)

  Movies:
  Election
  The Wonder Boys
  Sling Blade
  Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory
  The Nightmare Before Christmas
  Edward Scisorhands
  The Usual Suspects
  Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil
  American Beauty
  Y tu mamá también
  The Omen I, II, III
  The Exorcist
  From Dusk Till Dawn
  Pulp Fiction
  Jackie Brown
  Shrek
  Snatch
  What Dreams May Come
  Hedwig and the Angry Inch
  The Who’s Tommy
  Lilo and Stitch
  Mulholland Dr.
  The Shining
  O Brother, Where Art Thou?
  Talk to Her
  Stanly Kubrick’s Lolita
  Garden State
  A Clockwork Orange
  To Kill A Mockingbird
  Rocky Horror Picture Show
  Citizen Kane

  Television Shows:
  Any and all of the Buffy the Vampire Slayer seasons on DVD
  Twin Peaks, season 1 on DVD
  Freaks and Geeks, season 1 on DVD
  Best of the Muppet Show
  The Family Guy

  Stand Up:
  Eddy Izzard
  Margaret Cho
  Dana Carvy

  Now get to watching! ::smile::

  • 5:18 pm
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