JUST A LITTLE SOMETHING

There's something I've blogged about before and it's something I'll probably blog about 1000 times more before I'm done... just because I think it's the most beautiful and worthwhile thing in the entire galaxy. I want to keep writing about it because I want to do it justice and talk about it in an eloquent/meaningful/succinct way. It deserves that kind of justice.

So, what am I talking about? I'm talking about something that I'm forced to contemplate a lot in writing and analyzing dramatic stories; something that I come into contact with every day by virtue of the fact that I watch Grey's Anatomy on instant netflix. Perhaps I'm making a much bigger fuss over this special something than is really necessary. Maybe I don't get out enough and I think the world is one giant movie of which we are all stars... but I don't think so. I think this something is very important.

I'm talking about a little something called "heroic sacrifice" -- the act of putting yourself aside in order to do right by another person. Yes, the notion of sacrifice is pertinent in creating a meaningful work of dramatic art, but I think it's also pertinent in creating a meaningful life.

I believe there's a great misconception floating around out there that big, HEROIC sacrifices are only for characters in stories -- characters who, through their noble/selfless actions, give us clues as to our own morality and how to survive in the world. After all, those who take big life-threatening risks - like jumping into a burning building to save young children from certain desecration - often have movies or plays made about them.

In an existence where doing larger-than-life deeds often bears larger-than-life rewards, it's easy to feel like a bit of a failure -- that in some small regard you're coming up short. If you're anything like me, you often ask yourself...

What am I doing with my life that has any impact or value?

When's the last time I got off my ass to help somebody?

What difference have I made in the world and who needs me?

You know... fundamental questions asked by everybody who has a roof over his/her head and food in his/her tummy. (When we have our basic needs met, we look further for spiritual satisfaction).

Well, what is the value of your life? When's the last time you were in Port Au Prince to build houses for impoverished families? And have you booked your flight to Sendai yet to sift through rubble and help people who've lost everything try to re-build?

Well, if you haven't-- and if you feel insufficient for not stepping up as a giving citizen of the planet, then this blog entry is for you.

Many of us agree that giving help to people in crisis is a good thing. We just don't necessarily go looking for opportunities to REALLY do it. We're scared, we're clueless. Plus it's easier to sit at home and text the Red Cross a $10 donation and quietly cry from our couches as Jennifer Hudson belts out a U2 song on some telethon. The truth is that while we have the best of intentions, many of us are NOT what Grey's Anatomy refers to as "doers," and there's a great self-disappointment that comes with that.


But this blog entry is not about what we can't, won't and have a hard time doing. This is about what we CAN do... what we DO do (so to speak).

I like to believe that for every crazed lunatic that dumps herbicide into the roots of an old tree, there's another person standing by, ready to help out, ready to plant seeds for another tree (Alabamians will get this metaphor).


And we all hear plenty of accounts of the jock who decided to risk is popularity to walk home with a put-upon nerd after school only to find out that the poor nerd had planned on killing himself that very evening. However, because the jock took a little time to talk to the nerd, he showed him that life was worth living. Just by spending some quality time with the guy, he saved his life!

Everyday there are hundreds of thousands of miniature accounts of life saving that roll by completely undetected. Sure, there's desecration and destruction and things so horrible that to know of their very existence might plague us with unshakable depression, BUT the population of the world is nearly 7 billion. I don't think ANY of us would be here for longer than a few days if it weren't for the hope and compassion shown to us at some point by somebody else.

For the accounts of ruin and despair, there are equal accounts of endurance and generosity. There are two sides to EVERY coin -- it's just that the grim side gets talked about more often.

I guess the primary reason I chose to put this rant out there is to say to you and to say to myself that it's the little gestures along with ostentatious ones that matter. Our existences mean something in the grand scheme of things. Watch It's a Wonderful Life if you're having any doubts.

Usually I'd save this message for overkill in some crappy script I'm working on, but sometimes it needs to be said plainly to people who are adrift and just working to get through the day -- which I know a lot of people are.

You do things, things that help people. For that, you're a hero. And that's something. SO PUT THAT THOUGHT IN YOUR BACK POCKET!

All right, I'll go back to my quiet little routine of being awe-inspired by Frank Capra and Grey's Anatomy now.

So, ciao.

MY INTERNET INFERIORITY COMPLEX

Two weeks ago, I was writing this blog fairly anonymously... churning out maybe two posts a month and sharing them only with my 25 twitter followers and a couple of family members. I don't make much of an effort to share this blog with people. Here's why--

It's a hell of a lot easier to write when you think nobody's paying attention. I like the invisibility. In fact, it's become a very close friend.

Last week, after I posted a blurb written by my friend Marcie, something different happened. Marcie has more confidence than I do. When she does something, she rarely has reservations about sharing it with other folks. Naturally, after I posted her "Ugly Betty" article, she told people about it on facebook.

To my great surprise, after Marcie's advertising, a few friends of mine wrote on my wall to tell me that they related to a few of my previous entries. Someone even texted me, asking if he might contribute an article. This made me happy because I didn't think anybody really noticed.

But now I'm in a predicament.

I used to consider implementing facebook to let my friends know about this blog, but something always held me back -- my insecurities. Sharing my thoughts on facebook is more daunting to me than sharing them on twitter just because more people see my facebook. I have a little less than 300 "friends" (modest by a lot of peoples' standards) -- it's a nice handful of potential eyes.

And even though 90% of them would never click on a link I post, I still get very bashful. Why is this? Am I really worried that people are going to laugh at me? Or call me stupid? Or talk about me behind my back, saying "wow, what a nerd-- the audacity she must have to think we care about 10 reasons she likes The Sopranos"?

You BET I worry about that kind of stuff... because I know I'd talk smack about you if you started a blog. I'd think you were a loser with no social life to speak of, so you had to start using the internet to let out your many feelings. You know I'd make fun of you for thinking you had something meaningful to preach about movies or politics or pop culture or life...

I'd criticize and laugh at you to make myself feel better. I'm insecure. The way I build myself up is to tear other people down. It's always been my way of life, BUT I bet it's always been your way of life too. We're human. It's what we do. In some form or fashion, we're always trying to dominate over each other.

And don't get me started about how the internet just helps to perpetuate our social shortcomings. It's so easy to hide behind screens and not have to own up to our thoughts, or even our physical appearances.

It's easy to have fake confidence. We talk up a storm over the internet, even approach people we admire or have crushes on, but when we try talking to those people in person, it's unbearably nerve-wrecking and sweaty.

All this to make the statement - I think I really need to own up to myself and take credit for what I have to say.

Let this be a proclamation. From here on out, you're going to get a story every so often on your facebook newsfeed that says I've written a new blog entry. Odds are you'll probably keep scrolling on down and not give it a second thought... but maybe you'll take a look at it. Maybe it will give you something to chuckle about for a minute or two, even if that something is me and what a foolish dork I am for taking my imaginary audience to seriously.

I don't care. I am who I am. I enjoy writing. I enjoy blogging. I like to share my silly little thoughts on the internet. And I like to make fun of you, just as much as you like to make fun of me.

So, let's all start blogs and say hi to each other when we pass in the street. Okay -- the latter might take a little more time and effort... but that's neither here, nor there.

At the risk of having made myself sound a little too self-deprecating and cynical...

Ciao for now.

UGLY BETTY & ME (by guest contributor Marcelena Mayhorn)

Friends and readers! A milestone is occurring as today this blog welcomes its first guest contributor! Please put your hands together and join me in giving a big Loco-style welcome to Marcelena Mayhorn.

My first college roommate, Marcie is a dear pal and downright lovely individual. What? You've never heard of her?! Okay, she's not Pauline Kael or anything... BUT she does currently reside in Austin, Texas where she's trying to pay rent by doing something that makes her happy, i.e. - nothing that involves cash registers, customers, uniforms or taking out trash. But seriously, she's a self-proclaimed optimist. She also likes UGLY BETTY a lot, which is why for her LOCO MUSINGS debut (and first blog entry ever) she's chosen to write a thank you letter of sorts to that bespectacled TV optimist we know as Betty Suarez.

Take it away, Ms. Mayhorn!



It is 12:57 A.M on a Friday night. One would think I would be out drinking the night away at the usual bar I inhabit, but tonight I wasn't feeling it. Tonight, I decided to stay in and watch the final episode of UGLY BETTY. And now, I can't shake this sadness. Let me explain...

I started film school four years ago. At about the same time, the show UGLY BETTY was premiered on ABC. I read about it, not quite sure what its premise was, but nonetheless I went about my business. It wasn't until my mother told me that she was a regular fan only after a few episodes that I started to become slightly intrigued, though I would never tell anyone this. The show revolves around around Betty Suarez, a 22-year-old Mexican-American girl trying to succeed at her job of personal assistant to the executive of a fashion magazine in New York City. Betty of course does not fit the "fashion" mold at all, with her frizzy hair, horrible red glasses and, most notably, her shining silver braces. She fits the description of "ugly". I watched a few episodes with my family, bouncing from season to season with word of mouth descriptions of what was happening and general boredom. Finally though, in the winter of my 4th year of college, I decided to give Betty a shot. I found a used copy of Season 1, and my friends and I embarked on a Betty path. I think it is safe to say that we went for two weeks straight watching at least one episode a day. We couldn't tear ourselves away from it.

The show struck me in a way that I did not think possible, and for one reason only - I could relate to everything that Betty was going through. Here was a girl trying to gain respect in a world so different from her own. She wasn't the "type" of girl that people were used to; she was ridiculed, taken advantage of, and pushed to quit. But Betty didn't... She faced every challenge with her head held high, even if she was afraid. She taught me that it is okay to be different. During my four years at school, I have constantly questioned myself and my abilities, asking myself almost every day if this is what I'm really meant to do. Seeing a show like this gave me hope - that I too, am just like Betty Suarez. Yes, being Mexican-American is part of it, but really that hard work pays off, and that, as cheesy as it may sound, dreams really do come true.

SPOILER ALERT I just finished watching the final episode of the show. It was recently cancelled on ABC, and the final episode premiered this past week. And I must admit - I was a little disappointed with the ending. But then I took a few minutes and thought about it... And, what do you know? I cried. Because in the end, Betty got what she wanted. At first I thought, "Wow, big surprise, Betty runs her own magazine now, that's what she's always wanted, no twists whatsoever." But then I remembered the past four seasons of the show, and how every episode was a new obstacle for Betty to conquer, and how it has taken her four years to achieve this goal. I cried harder because this show is coming to close just as my college career is ending. It's almost as if Betty herself has been embarking on this journey with me, telling me that everything is going to be alright, and that every day is an obstacle we must hurdle in order to achieve that dream of ours.

Betty got what she wanted, and I know that I will too. Because of her, I have learned to also keep my chin up, to battle the Whilimena's and Amanda's and the rest of the world that might not think I am capable of much, and to prove that I am anything but "ugly," just as she did.

I will miss you so much, Betty Suarez. I will never forget your heart and soul, your fumblings and bumblings and your cheesy smile. But I will always carry you in my heart, along with my own Ugly Betty, to show that people like you and I have the world in our hands. And we're not going to let people forget it. - Marcie Mayhorn

SILENCE IS GOLDEN

A couple of years ago, I was sitting in a film school class, receiving feedback for a script that I wrote. Reception was fairly positive and people were nice. However, one particular criticism really crept up on me and kicked me in the butt. My classmates said that my protagonist felt invisible to them -- that she wasn't as out there or interesting as the other characters in the script. This note really vexed me. Okay... she was a quiet, almost silent character, but that didn't mean she was supposed to be uninteresting. She was the protagonist... How could she not be fascinating?

Then, a few months later, I was watching the DVD commentary on the THE LITTLE MERMAID. In it, directors John Musker and Ron Clements mentioned something along the lines of how when they were developing their script, people felt that their protagonist, Ariel, wasn't a very strong presence... that she didn't really pop in the script. Musker and Clements told such doubters to wait and see what happened on screen.

And SEE, they did. After watching THE LITTLE MERMAID, it's difficult to imagine that Ariel was ever a character that lacked "presence," or that she was passive and uninteresting. I think she's one of the most easily accessible characters in all of cinema, but that's just me.

It's fascinating to note, however, that (having traded her voice to an evil sea witch) Ariel is silent for nearly the entire second half of the movie.

I'm not comparing my skills as a screenwriter to those of the Disney story department that birthed an entire animation renaissance...

... but I don't think it's a coinkydink that we got the same notes on our scripts. I DO think it's hard to convey a character who doesn't say very much, and whose primary actions are movements and facial expressions. Limited to mere verbs and descriptive words on a page, it's hard to transmit to a reader or an audience the feelings of silent characters. This is all because the dramatic potency of a person who speaks very little lies in the realm of the SEEN.

Oftentimes, I think we (especially writers) tend to forget that the film medium began in silence without the benefit of dialogue to help get ideas across. In an environment where the ante is constantly being upped with big, loud, perilous action sequences and ever-evolving 3-dimensional lushness, we can forget the sheer power of a person's face -- of glances and stifled smiles.

Cool camera moves or 3-dimensionality can only be as riveting as the subject matter that they are capturing -- and few subjects are as engaging (or confounding) as a human being in conflict, particularly if that human being is in conflict within him/herself.

The main purpose for my writing this blog entry is not to preach or nag, but to celebrate and advocate. Though they may not necessarily "pop" on the page, silent or quiet characters are a total asset to movies. And darn it, I just love watching them. I feel more for a character who I SEE trying to hide his tears than I do for one who tells me that he feels bad. This is the very nature of subtext (you know that thing where people never say what they mean, or mean what they say). The whole reason for subtext and the like is that we don't trust what we're told. Rather, we glom onto what we see -- what we can interpret for ourselves... the very stuff that makes film a truly splendid medium.

If you've made it this far into the entry, you're probably scratching your head, wondering if these ramblings have some sort of REAL point. Here--

Recently, to increase my Disney buff-dom, I watched all the studio's 2D animated "classics" in chronological order. Of the many staggering conclusions that I drew from this study, one left a nice impression on me.

Plain and simple -- many Disney films are among our culture's most memorable. Why? For the same reason that Charlie Chaplin's films endure today. They rest their hats on non-verbal communication -- the physical language, the universal language... the language that can easily be dubbed for release in other countries. It's facial expressions, body language and glorious songs that reveal the contents of one's soul and innermost desires. The reason Disney films (at their best) are so undeniably resonant and popular is that they utilize the two original facets of filmmaking -- image and music. No punches pulled.




After thinking about Dumbo's self-esteem issues, about Tinkerbell's quiet shift in morality, about Dopey's puppy-like innocence, and yes... about Ariel's voiceless yearning... I came to the conjecture that the movies of today should each have at least one silent (or quiet) presence...

But then I thought about some recent awesome film characters like SLUMDOG MILLIONAIRE's Jamal Malik, or Benjamin Button, or even BLACK SWAN's Nina Sayers -- characters who keep it on the inside, who have feelings and desires that are ripping at the seams, waiting to come out...

And through all of it, I realize that most of the people who can get a movie made have some sense of what they're doing. They pepper their films with brilliant silent moments -- even if it takes a little more effort to spot them. So maybe I should stop theorizing about what's best for cinema and, like the characters that I so cherish, just keep my yap shut.

On that note, ciao for now.

EVERYTHING I EVER NEEDED TO KNOW ABOUT LIFE, I LEARNED FROM SIRIUS, HERMIONE AND DUMBLEDORE.

Ah, the Fall and Winter months. They're cold and lonely -- a time for inward journeys and self-reflection. While the Summer is a place for ass-kicking and rising to the top, Fall is for discovering what you're truly made of before you're called to face your destiny. Fall and Winter are about planning for the battle that lies ahead.

Some people might say that the decision to break-up the 7th and final chapter of the HARRY POTTER saga is a total ploy for Warner Bros. to make more dough, but I say it's one of the smartest decisions the studio has ever made. Sometimes it's necessary to journey into the woods, or as Joseph Campbell might call it, "the belly of the beast," in order to truly prepare yourself for an oncoming life-or-death struggle. I find it beyond fitting that the first installment of HP7 dropped in November and its successor will drop in July because, for the reasons described above, HARRY POTTER AND THE DEATHLY HALLOWS, PT. I is the perfect cold-weather movie.

Our pals Harry, Ron and Hermione take a detour into the woods to gather necessary tools and plan for their eventual showdown with the Dark Lord. What ensues is a fascinating two and a half hours of on-the-road self-meditation and some of the best acting (and dancing) scenes the Harry Potter franchise has ever seen.


Upon seeing this movie, I realized that NOW is the perfect time to journey into my own metaphorical woods and do some meditating... not on how I will triumph over Lord Voldemort, but on what HARRY POTTER means to me. I'd rather think about it now (in chilly desolation) than in July when I'll be squealing with delight at seeing Ron and Hermione's repressed romantic feelings finally come to fruition... not to mention Neville Longbottom whooping some major butt.

Remember when the final book came out a few summers ago... and coming to the last chapter, feeling majorly bummed, but then consoling yourself with the fact that at least you still had the movies to look forward to? Well, the movies are almost over. For folks my age, the franchise we all literally grew-up with is coming to an end. And it's a bit depressing (like we needed a wake-up call that it's finally time to become adults!!)

What I'm saying has probably been said before 1000 times over and in a more eloquent way, but I still feel the need to say it -- if only for my own homage-paying purposes..

I still recall very vividly my first encounter with the bespectacled boy wizard when I was in the fifth grade. My teacher had purchased a classroom copy of a book entitled, HARRY POTTER AND THE SORCERER'S STONE, for kids who forgot to bring reading materials for "super silent reading." All Spring long, I watched classmates of mine randomly pick the book up. By recess, they were so hooked, they would be READING rather than playing on the playground. It was at this point, I knew something crazy was going on and I decided to start perusing the story myself. That afternoon when I got home from school, I demanded my mother take me to Barnes & Noble so I could purchase the book and finish it.


Harry Potter made (at least temporary) literary nerds of a generation who very vocally loathed reading. And what a splendid, bookish ride its been -- the horror of realizing Tom Marvollo Riddle to be Lord Voldemort, the surprise and relief at discovering Sirius Black NOT to be a terrifying mass murderer, but Harry's godfather. These are but a few of the twists and turns on an erudite roller coaster made of solid gold.

Then there were the movies.

For me, seeing a Harry Potter film is not unlike experiencing a broadway show. I remember every detail of the experience -- who I was with, what we had for dinner beforehand -- all of it.

The movies really started to get to me with volume 5. Don't ask me why -- something about Harry having a dark night of the soul. I also felt a great deal of compassion toward loopy Luna Lovegood and her crazy ideas. What really got to me, however, was something uttered by Sirius Black toward the middle of the film. He says,

"I want you to listen to me very carefully, Harry. You're not a bad person. You're a very good person, who bad things have happened to. Besides, the world isn't split into good people and death eaters. We've all got both light and dark inside us. What matters is the part we choose to act on. That's who we really are."

I was never really able to put my finger on it... what it was about Harry Potter that I (along with a billion others) really jived with... but I think the above quote says it all. It's not the powers you have, but how you choose to use them. Do you choose to be in Gryffindor or do you choose to be in Slytherin?

When witnessing Harry Potter (in any medium), it takes little effort to put yourself into the story. To subconsciously ask yourself, "if I were at Hogwarts, what kind of person would I be? Where would I fit in?" In fact, it's difficult not to contemplate these questions. It doesn't matter if you are 11 or 86 when you first pick up the book, the story is about you -- about US... discovering the "powers" within ourselves and, more importantly, how to use them -- how to be good people.

Go back and watch the "Wingardium Leviosa" sequence from the first movie -- how Hermione gets cocky with her superior intelligence, flaunting it in front of her classmates... only to realize that her cockiness has cost her her only friends. Consider that J.K Rowling based Hermione on herself in middle school and it becomes all the more poignant to see the little know-it-all take the bullet for her pals-- to watch her transform from self-serving to self-sacrificing within the span of a minute.

Then, read the epilogue for DEATHLY HALLOWS. Read what Harry tells his son about "choice."

I suppose when it comes down to it, that's what is most meaningful about Harry Potter to me. As you grow-up, you discover what you're truly capable of -- both good and bad. If you're lucky, you learn that all the riches, all the strength, all the immortality in the world mean nothing unless you choose to live in a way that is loving and kind... because when push comes to shove, as Albus Dumbledore says, "we must all face the choice between what is right and what is easy,"

and

"it is not our abilities that show what we really are. It is our choices."


So make good ones. And ciao for now.

QUOTATION TIME!

Ordinarily, I reserve this blog exclusively for my own profound thoughts, but during some internet soul-searching this morning, I came across this Maya Angelou quote and... well... I find great satisfaction in sharing stuff that stirs my emotions. With all the negativity and cynicism that pervades the news, I'd like to give you something inspirational to put in your back pocket.

Take it away, Dr. Angelou...

“I don't know if I continue, even today, always liking myself. But what I learned to do many years ago was to forgive myself. It is very important for every human being to forgive herself or himself because if you live, you will make mistakes- it is inevitable. But once you do and you see the mistake, then you forgive yourself and say, 'well, if I'd known better I'd have done better,' that's all. So you say to people who you think you may have injured, 'I'm sorry,' and then you say to yourself, 'I'm sorry.' If we all hold on to the mistake, we can't see our own glory in the mirror because we have the mistake between our faces and the mirror; we can't see what we're capable of being. You can ask forgiveness of others, but in the end the real forgiveness is in one's own self. I think that young men and women are so caught by the way they see themselves. Now mind you. When a larger society sees them as unattractive, as threats, as too black or too white or too poor or too fat or too thin or too sexual or too asexual, that's rough. But you can overcome that. The real difficulty is to overcome how you think about yourself. If we don't have that we never grow, we never learn, and sure as hell we should never teach.”

Bearing that in mind, maybe I should get a job or do something remotely productive... rather than blogging at 10:42 A.M. Either way, I'm going to try to respect myself a little more. You should too.

Ciao for now. :)

A TRIBUTE TO TEARJERKERS

Over the weekend, I saw NEVER LET ME GO -- an ambiguous movie about repressed clones whose sole purpose in existing is to donate their organs so that the rest of humanity can live disease-free. It's a brilliantly acted meditation not about the immorality of cloning or organ harvesting, but about the value of a person's life... and how to make the most of the short time that one is given. It's also an unrelenting sob-fest. Below is the trailer.



During the middle of the movie, I wanted to cry, but couldn't because the woman in the row behind me was sniffling so hard, I got distracted (apparently Roger Ebert had a similar experience). However, by the film's completion, I felt a huuuuuge gush of emotion come over me... and I couldn't really contain myself. I tried to hold it all in, but I ended up making a weird noise -- a mix between a gasp and a moan. My mother, who was also crying pretty hard, turned to me and laughed.

It was one of those movie experiences that will likely never let me go (pun intended).

Anyway, as I've been thinking about it the past couple of days, I've been recollecting other tearjerker movies that have had a huge impact on me... as well as my experiences with other big-time movie criers like myself.

The first movie I ever cried during was BEAUTY AND THE BEAST in 1991. I remember the tears falling down when the beast died at the end and Belle was all alone. I recall the feeling quite vividly. As a four-year-old, I was almost confused by it. Since that time (with the exception of some "dry" spells), it's been quite a wet and teary film-watching ride -- a ride for which I am entirely grateful. Why? Because despite a carrying a certain stigma, crying at movies is totally good for you...

Here's the basic gist of movie tears: you're not crying for the characters on screen, you're crying for yourself and the people you know. Don't believe me? Try it the next time you're watching a movie and feel the sniffles coming on. What's the image that pops into your head just before the tears fall down? Odds are, it's something to do with your life and your various relationships...

But it's okay -- this is what movies are good for. It's good to watch actors actualize grief... it helps us to actualize it within ourselves. It's good to see characters finally getting what they need... because it's like we're getting what we need. It's good to catch little glimpses of the truth... little hints of people's souls. It gives us hope for ourselves and the people in our lives. Not to sound really corny here, but it gives us a glimpse of our own souls.

Movies call attention to the things we don't say to each other in real life because we're too afraid. Fiction in general reveals the emotional truth of life and helps us to purge ourselves of feelings that have accumulated inside of us -- feelings that need to come out.

Bursting into tears in the middle of the street is not generally considered socially acceptable in American culture. But sometimes life and love and the world make you feel like crying the middle of the street. Fortunately, most of the time you're able to control yourself and keep it in check... but those feelings and those tears are still locked deep within you. Where do they go? Well...

The tears you refuse to cry during your everyday life come spewing out of you during THE GREEN MILE. And after you take a deep breath, even though you feel a little sad, you feel a great sense of relief because you've just disposed of all those pent-up emotions. That's catharsis... and that's why it's important to watch a "depressing" movie every once in a while.

How do people who refuse to watch sad movies rid themselves of their overwhelming feelings?

If you're a guy, screaming your head off at the NFL on Sunday and Monday might help you let off some steam, but... I think, whether you admit it or not, to prevent from having a wild outburst, even you need to shed some tears -- and films are the perfect protected outlet in which to do that.

People who refuse to watch sad movies are more likely to have some sort of breakdown. Note: this isn't proven in science... it's just my guess. Take it for what it's worth.

I want this blog entry to serve as my formal apology to those I've mocked when they've cried at movies. If I told you to calm down when you blubbered like a baby at TERMS OF ENDEARMENT, or if I pointed and laughed at you when you were still crying (even in the lobby) after seeing THE NOTEBOOK, or if I got into a fight with you because your incessant sniffling annoyed the crap out of me when we saw BABEL. I'm very sorry. Though I have sobbed at movies before, I didn't really know what you were going through until this weekend... when I experienced one of those explosive crying moments for myself.

If you're made curious by this blog entry and looking for a good tearjerker, I highly recommend IN AMERICA. I've known people who thought they were incapable of crying or in a dry spell (including myself) and then they watched this movie and were quickly proven wrong. Try it.

And keep crying those cathartic tears.

Until next time. Ciao.