Amanda's Blog
you may say that I’m a dreamer, but I’m not the only one
I added a widget for the Wisdom countdown. Apparently, it’s only 32 days away. Egads!
I’m working on some fun things for the release of that, and I will be asking for beta readers/editors soon. I’m not asking yet, so don’t offer yet, cause Wisdom isn’t quite ready for betas yet.
Last night, I had a super bizarre, sometime frightening dream. I had to hide under a bed to avoid getting shot at one point. What I remember clearly: The song “Purple Rain” played in the background the entire time, but like over the loudspeaker at a mall – very background noise. And Joseph Gorden-Levitt was there, helping me, I think.
So I blame the entire dream on Inception.
As a writer and a frequent-owner of very, very bizarre dreams, I often wonder if given the option to live entirely in a fantasy (i.e. a made up world in my mind or dreams or what have you), would I choose it?
That’s not say that I don’t love my friends or family or many parts of my real life. Most of them in fact. But if I could live in a place where I always control everything, where I can do anything, look fancy, frolic with unicorns and Heath Ledger, would I take it? Even if I knew it wasn’t real?
That’s a pretty fundamental question, though. Is real pain better than false happiness? Not that my life is pain pain, but it’s not perfect. Maybe that’s a better way of phrasing it – are real flaws better than false perfection?
Obviously, the correct answer is to choose reality vs. delusion. That’s the right thing. The moral thing. But the right thing is for me to exercise 30 minutes day and save at least 10% of my check, but I don’t do those either.
I can’t honestly say that I would pick the right thing in that situation. I’d like to spoiler alert at least three movies with Leonard DiCaprio – no, wait, I’ll make that four – to help support my hypothesis, but I can’t. I mean, I can. But I don’t want to “Rosebud is the sled” them all for you.
The point is – I’m an honest person. And I like anybody that tells the truth. I have more respect for people who come out and say they’re an asshole than people who pretend to be nice.
But I think if given the chance, I might choose to dream over real life. Even a bad dream. I hope that doesn’t make me a bad person. I’d like to think it makes me a dreamer, but it probably just means I’m lazy.
Probably, I’ll never be given the chance to find out.
Inception was a pretty good movie but Robin Williams as Riddler is the worst thing in the world
so it goes
I just learned that Guillermo del Toro is set to direct a remake of Slaughterhouse Five. I don’t know if this will ever happen, but I squeed when I found out. Putting one of my all-time favorite books with one of my all time favorite directors is very exciting.
On the subject of which, tomorrow I’ll see Inception. I’m already excited for its brilliance. Christopher Nolan is totally completely brilliant. I’m a little in love with him.
Here’s something people don’t say but I think is true: Leonardo DiCaprio can only play sad. Watch him cry or yell or get really upset about something, and it’s believable. But when he’s happy (or does an accent), it takes you out of the film. He can always make me cry – he can never make me laugh.
I’m also in love with Michael Caine. Completely. Have you seen Michael Caine? He’s the best ever. Him and Eric Idle. Give me a funny British guy, and I am so there. I think that’s the main reason I’m afraid to move to England. It’d be far too much for me to handle.
Although I’m hoping to go to England next year. I’m hoping to do a lot of things, of course, but my great-uncle Tony -who’s pretty much the only person I know in England – is getting older, and I’d like to visit while he’s still vibrant.
I’d also want to make my mom go with me. She hasn’t been to England in over forty years, but I’d feel better if she were there.
In semi-fabricated news – my grandma and Michael Caine were born in the same part of London around the same time. They both evacuated when they were very young because of the bombings from WWII – but who’s to say they didn’t know each other? They might’ve been friends as small children. My gramma can’t remember now. But how cares? I’ve decided that they were friends.
I imagine that if Michael Caine and my gramma had known each other, they would be friends. Very best friends, probably. Honestly. This isn’t just me touting my gramma’s horn. They would be the very best friends.
In fact, if Hitler hadn’t gone about destroying London, Michael Caine and my gramma wouldn’t have evacuated. They wouldn’t grown up together, maybe even fallen in love, gotten married. Michael Caine could’ve been grandfather.
And that’s just another thing Hitler ruined for me. Honestly, that man never did anything good.
my brain is broken
Yesterday, when I took a shower, I stepped out, thinking I had completed my washing ritual, only to find my head still completely full of soap. I hadn’t even slightly rinsed it out.
Things like this have been with increasing and somewhat startling frequency lately. I feel like I’m forgetting the most basic things.
I couldn’t remember Robert Downey Jr’s name last night, which is a very big deal since I always remember every celebrity’s name and Robert Downey Jr is also my all-time favorite actor. (Tied with River Phoenix and narrowly beating out Christian Bale, because I’d actually enjoy spending time with Roberty Downey Jr instead of being terrified like I would with Christian Bale, who does terrify me, in a very loving way.)
Anyway – the point is, I think my brain is broken. It’s clearly on vacation. It feels mushy and sleepy and does not want to conjugate anything ever.
It’s also having a very, very hard time remembering to reply to emails. I feel like I’m forgetting people – like there’s something I’m supposed to tell them. But I don’t know who or what it is. Because my brain is broken.
So, if you emailed/tweeted/commented/reply to me, and you’re going, “Why hasn’t she responded? That seems awfully rude. What an odd, rude person.” Please, please just email/tweet/comment/reply to me and say, “Hey, I asked you about such-and-such a thing at such-and-such a time, what gives?” And I’ll respond as quickly as I can.
I don’t mean to ignore you. I’m being abnormally forgetful, and I’m naturally assuming something horrible like Huntingon’s or early onset dementia or schizophrenia or brain tumor. Or I might just be a tad overwhelmed by everything I’m doing and having going on lately.
Either way, I’m sorry. And I hope you forgive me. And remind me of what it is I need to do for you.
if you wanna view paradise, simply look around and view it
Amanda Hocking