My Year Of Everything

I’m starting with Julie & Julia because I relate pretty strongly to Julie Powell. Or at least the version of her that’s being played by Amy Adams. Or really the version of that version I’ve noticed on the commercials for that movie, a movie I am unlikely to see.

• A quick word about why I won’t see that movie: I rarely see movies anymore, at least not in theaters. An old friend of mine once told me he doesn’t read books because he can’t stop thinking about other things he should be doing, which I thought was a real shame until about 45 minutes into District 9 when I realized that’s exactly how I’ve come to think about movies. I can’t stop thinking that I’d rather be reading books, and that my dog would love the company. Also, movie trailers just put me in a lousy mood from the get-go. Every action trailer is the same. THUD- a terrifying villain emerges from the darkness. RAAAA- the beast turns and screeches. Action movie trailers are literally thuddingly obvious.
  • A quick word about thudding: I did some reading of the Clay Aiken Internet Message Boards the week he came out of the closet (which I could do every day for a year, believe me), and found that Claymates refer frequently to an activity they call “thudding.” A look at the “Voclaybulary” (no, really) reveals it to be so named because it is the noise they make when they hit the floor swooning at the sound of his voice. Over time, though, thudding has become a group activity. “Hey, Gayle, let’s get together and thud this weekend,” they’ll say. For me, it just evokes a roomful of PTA moms masturclayting.
    • It’s my theoretical book; I’ll be discursive if I want to.

Amy Adams’ 30-second Julie Powell seems a bit stuck in her life. She’s a kooky 30something with a fun haircut, a supportive boyfriend and a kitchen, and she vows to get off her cute ass and make some changes. We have so much in common!

If there are some recipes in here, I’m-a cook them. If you’re in LA and I know you in real life, you may be in luck. Or you may be eating plates of melted butter. Who cares? The moral of the book (or the movie [or the commercial for the movie]) is that there are no mistakes! I might be making that up.

And we’re off!