not since “snakes on a plane” has an unreleased movie so affected my life. (and really, when you think about it, “snakes on a plane” was more of an ironic, “ha ha, what if this realy DID affect me though obviously it doesn’t i’m just kidding” kind of way.) i’m talking, of course, about juno.
earlier today, while i was looking at this youtube video (wizard as an adjective? still processing that one) for the millionth time, b said to me, “it’s weird that this movie has made such a big impact before it’s even come out.” but i think this might be just normal movie stuff that we never hear about. this time we just happen to be among the twenty obsessive fans that probably every movie has. but as you might not be among those privileged twenty, i will give you the opportunity to join in the fun.
how did i get hooked? i used to work on this show, “arrested development,” and i therefore worked with the greatest cast ever, complete with the nicest and most talented actors in the world (a rare combination, believe me). so obviously i’m interested in everything they do because a) they’re good people and i want to support them, and b) it’s guaranteed to be awesome.
so when this movie came up in my pathetically commercial entertainment magazine, i thought, cool, “michael cera. love him.”
then it started getting these great reviews at festivals.
then i read this profile about the writer, diablo cody (not her real name, but she’s not trying to hide it or anything which is cool), a hot new latecomer to the screenwriting set, via blogging no less (hmmm…).
then i found her blog, which was smart and amazing and funny and basically everything i ever wanted mine to be (though slightly more grown up in the language department, so maybe think twice before clicking, mom!).
then i became addicted to her blog, skulking in the background and never commenting like the little stalker everyone’s always said i could be. eveentually i followed links to the blog of the director (jason reitman, director of “thank you for smoking“–like it or move back to cuba, pinko), and other rabid fans, and basically, well–
this is my world now. one blog leads to another, which leads to a myspace, which leads to…well, it just never ends. and everyone’s slightly cooler than i am. but in a much dorkier way.
…it finally got down to seventy degrees here. I had to pull out my long sleeve shirt. boo!
…the average age here seems to be about twenty-five, but only because the eighty-nine year olds slightly outnumber the fourteen year olds. not because there are any twenty-five year olds. (as opposed to tulsa, where the average age is about ninety because…well, you can imagine.)
…it took three hours to find a place with wireless internet. That wasn’t a Starbuck’s. That didn’t charge twenty dollars for internet time, even if you only needed it for ten minutes.
…there are more hip hop stations than perhaps i have heard in my whole life.
…everyone calls cool things “tight,” and their favorite cars, mustangs, “stangs,” making me overuse the phrase “tight stang” to the point of milk coming out of my nose (metaphorically, of course).
…i have eaten as if i’m some feral cat that’s just been rescued and fed real food for the first time since my real family abandoned me last winter. which is a holiday tradition, i suppose.
…i have seen “survivor” for the first time since the first season. there’s no more islands, but somehow they still starve.
…i have neglected homework. which is, as i now recall, a bit of a holiday tradition in and of itself.
let me tell you why i like dirk nowitzki.
this won’t be about sports. not really.
yeah sure, i will acknowledge that i am from dallas, and have been a dallas mavericks fan since i was a wee lad. and i will acknowledge that i specifically and intentionally forced my sister to go to games when she was still only about seven, and so instilled a mavericks-love so that i would always have someone to share my obsession with. and so it is natural that i would decide and/or learn to love the best player on the team that i have always loved. sure. that’s easy enough of an explanation.
some people say i look like him. so i guess you could see that as a reason. (though you shouldn’t, really. everyone agrees that he is not actually all that good looking, though perhaps in his German way, he could be considered dashing in some european sort of way, whatever that means.)
but it goes much further than that.
he’s this really talented player, really good at playing basketball and scoring points, which is, as you know or at least could guess, is the name of the game. but it’s more about HOW he does all these things.
1. the boy has no grace.
give him the ball, and he dribbles it a little, bounces around, does a little jump, or a scoop, or falls away–it doesn’t really matter, because in the end, you (as someone who has never watched dirk play before) assume he has been hit, and is falling down, has lost control, is about to fall flat on his face, and you scrunch up our face–”oh no ow!”–
–but he doesn’t quite fall down, he recovers, and the ball goes through the hoop, and when you look again, you realize, “well, as awkward and messed up as it looked, i guess that’s what he meant to do! “
the next time down he does it again. cause you see, it’s his thing.
see, dirk is just this dorky-looking, awkward-moving german guy–in short a normal-looking schmoe like you or me (though, ok, he IS seven feet tall). he’s relatable. he makes you think maybe you could be out there. because, i mean, look at this guy!
in short, he’s an everyman. he represents you, the normal person.
except that he somehow manages to be the best european player ever to enter the nba (MVP lat year, but this blog isn’t about that).
2. he’s a pro.
he’s not “a tough guy,” a “badass,” or a “warrior.” he just goes out and plays ball. does he want to win? yes. will he do anything it takes? well, no. he’ll play the best game he can, but he won’t fight, he won’t scream (ok, he’s been known to scream, but way rarer than most guys on the floor), and he won’t whine/cry about bad calls or dirty plays.
the other night, magic johnson, as a commentator on TNT, said that in the rematch against golden state, who knocked the mavericks out of the playoffs last season in what everyone calls (and probably it, so that’s fair) “the biggest upset in nba history,” dirk should go hit someone.
yeah, that’s what he said. he said g.s. had “punk’d” dallas, and the only way to make it right was to go show them how “mentally tough” you are by starting a fight.
and dirk? he laughed.
why? cause if you know dirk, you know that that’s the most ridiculous thing ever. he doesn’t throw punches. he doesn’t talk trash. he just…doesn’t. “that’s not really my kind of mentality.” was all he said.
he’s just the nicest guy in the world. need proof?
ashton kutcher tried to punk him. they brought some kid in to get him to sign a million things. they kept bringing him more and more stuff. the boy signed everything. they even started bringing him other players’ stuff. he signed them. he was trying to eat, and he was signing other players’ jerseys. when the kid brought a baseball bat in, he finally drew the line, and only then when his teammates told him to. can’t call him a diva.
3. he doesn’t want to be the leader.
he doesn’t want to be the star of the team.
he’s not about the limelight. he just wants to play basketball. over and over he’s been told he has to take control, he has to get his teammates in gear, he has to pump them up, etc. and he does that, a little. but that’s not his thing.
ok, so maybe that’s not the best thing in the world, but who can’t relate? all these kobe/jordan types that are dying to have the ball and be in every commercial, and all that, and dirk? he ust wants to win the game and go home.
4. he is the goofiest, gawkiest, awkwardest guy in the world. and he doesn’t seem to care. maybe the it’s the millions of dollars, or whatever, but, well, as the former “goofiest, gawkiest, awkwardest guy in the world,” it feels good to have given up the title.
god bless him.
last night at a stoplight, i watched a girl in the car next to mine put on lipstick (or gloss, or somesuch) for the whole light. which was a couple of minutes long.
today, i watched a guy balance on his ten-speed without touching the ground for a whole light as well.
one was a little bit more impressive than the other.
but only a little.
A Routine Call.
By Matt Frederick
Officer Ryan Black’s heart was pounding like a machine gun, no like a Morse code needle they used to use back in the telegram days, no like a drum, a snare drum, or a drum beating really fast; no, the machine gun was the best way to describe it, he thought to himself as he crouched behind his patrol car.
