movies and Mookie, part one

First, can I please apologize for unwittingly spawning these serializations? It?s not my intent. However, as the lovely Selkie pointed out--- at some point I?m gonna have to take ownership of this behavior of mine. But how will I do that? I can?t even imagine sitting down with the intention of doing a serialized piece. Hell, most of the time when I sit down to write I haven?t a clue as to what will spill forth.

My last post is a perfect example of this. I had nothing to share?no pics, no thoughts, no ideas, no links--- nada. And yet, the urge to blog was upon me, so I thought about the film I?d watched the night before that I adored, Chacun cherche son chat, and that set me off to tell you how I had a new movie to add to my collection but then I would have to tell you about my collection and somehow that led to me introducing you to Mookie.

Ya falla?*

So where were we? Oh yes?Mookie had moved in with Bob and started a new job at the super high-tech software company. Mookie made short work of the projects he was given and in no time leapt like a salmon up the ladder and had a fancy-schmancy title and was (may I add, at the tender age of 22) making the big bucks AGAIN.

Meanwhile, his adored older sister was decamping from her first post-college gig where she had been teaching French to the teenage progeny of Hollywood television stars and New York millionaires in a decrepit estate that had been refashioned as a progressive college preparatory school. The progressive part being the children could dress like homeless hobos (replete with the lack of bathing), academics always came second to personal drama, and the headmaster was in psychoanalysis three days a week and had to drive 3 hours round-trip to his shrink (and this had been going on for years and years).

It wasn?t a bad gig, as gigs go for ambitionless creative types, but Mookie?s sister--- WAIT, am I actually talking about myself in the third person?

Okay, this sh?t has to stop.

How did I end up living at my baby brother?s condo? Easy. He was rich. I was broke. He had a 3 bedroom condo (Bob had moved on). I had a futon. You get the picture.

So there we were--- me living off my brother with no shame whatsoever since back when Mookie was in second grade (and I was in fourth) I got off our school bus two stops early so that I could beat the sh-t out of Jeffrey Fasy because he had been picking on Mookie.

Yeah, I had some big chips to cash in with the Mookster.

Life with Mookie was good. As the youngest two of five kids, we had always been the two who had to ride backwards in the way back of the station wagon. We always got sent to bed earlier than the big kids. It was always the two of us up early on Saturday morning to eat Cap?n Crunch and watch cartoons. So we were tight. And, most importantly, Mookie still had the big hero worship for me as his older, cooler sis and that made everything grand as he pretty much did whatever I told him to.

One day, Mookie came home with a brand new compact disc player and a half dozen cds. I was not impressed. CDs offered none of the tactical pleasure of record album with their large inserts, photos, musician notes, etc. Also, I had lived through the 8-track tape phenomenon. I knew from flash-in-the-pan technology. So I teased Mookie. A lot. For wasting so much money.**

Because Mookie? He was like Amalah at Sephora?he just kept BUYING MORE CDs. It was out of control. Everyday he?d come home with more. He?d buy them 10 and 20 at a time. It was crazy stuff. And still, I scoffed.

Except for when he showed me how to make dance tapes from them onto VCR tapes so that I could have 6 hours of uninterrupted dance music for the kick-ass parties we would throw?that I liked. But it was years, YEARS, before I bought a cd player and cds myself. And no, I?m not ashamed. Luddites are born without shame. (We?re not even going to talk about what it took to detach me from my typewriter and hook me up with a Mac. Yea verily, there was the kicking. And the screaming).

So, my movie collection. Not being much of a collector (my nature is to purge? once a year I go through my clothes and anything I haven?t worn is jettisoned. I keep nothing--- I?ve thrown away journals, photographs, old letters--- it?s brutal. I know this because T has seen me in action and he has actually said, ?woman, you have no heart.? To which I reply, ?no heart, no clutter!?) coupled with my skepticism about the longevity of technology, it is rather amazing I have begun a movie collection.

But I have. And I?m quite excited about it. This past Christmas T gave me a copy of Lost in Translation. That?s what started the whole idea about having a collection. And now, I have a new one to add to my collection: Chacun cherche son chat.

So, is it okay to use the word collection since until I get a copy of Chacun cherche son chat, I really only have one movie in my collection? Hmm, maybe the collection is more in my head than on my shelves. Either that or I?m a very discriminating collector and it will take me awhile to amass the dvd caboodle.

*Kudos to anyone who can name the movie that phrase references.

**In today?s market?Mookie?s cd collection is worth a mint. The brat.

got 2 cents?