Nothing beats a good movie. Or a good book. Depending on how much time you have.
I mean, come on:
I am a bibliophile. This means I don’t like borrowing or renting. I must own. My book collection is my pride and joy. Despite having next to no money and a Masters of Information Studies that I should be…you know…studying, I am always looking to expand my collection. I keep all my snobby and socially acceptable books in my living room so all guests can marvel at my intelligence and cultural superiority. I keep the shitty embarrassing books in my bedroom so that only my closest friends are able to witness my love of young adult fiction (NO I DON’T OWN TWILIGHT, STOP JUDGING ME).
It is my dream that one day, my house will be like this:
Maybe a little neater than the second one. I am a tad OCD and I think it would bother me that I would be struggling to move and…well…breathe in my own home.
Most of the time if people speak to me while I’m reading, I don’t even hear it. However, if I do hear you, don’t expect me to be willing to converse. In fact, I’ll probably be feeling like this:
Right now I’m reading The Name of the Wind by Patrick Rothfuss and loving it. However, nothing will ever knock Jane Eyre of the 1 spot in my mind. No matter how good a novel is (and I’ve read some amazing ones) it will never be as wonderful as Jane Eyre.
Mr Rochester can unlace my corset any day!
Mmmmm…so much smouldering. And angst. I do love a good romance. And not in a badly written Mills & Boon sort of way. The adaptations are always a disappointment though. No matter how many of them there are, they never EVER include my favourite passage:
“Every atom of your flesh is as dear to me as my own: in pain and sickness it would still be dear. Your mind is my treasure, and if it were broken, it would be my treasure still: if you raved, my arms should confine you, and not a strait waistcoat–your grasp, even in fury, would have a charm for me: if you flew at me as wildly as that woman did this morning, I should receive you in an embrace, at least as fond as it would be restrictive. I should not shrink from you with disgust as I did from her: in your quiet moments you should have no watcher and no nurse but me; and I could hang over you with untiring tenderness, though you gave me no smile in return; and never weary of gazing into your eyes, though they had no longer a ray of recognition for me.”
I mean, holy shit, did you not just melt inside when you read that? Yes I know it’s a long passage but is it not totally worth it?
Speaking of adaptations…I have an incredibly impressive DVD collection. I usually fall asleep most nights to one of my mindless films. The sound of talking soothes me to sleep. It’s wonderful.
I find that cheesy movies help me get through really stressful periods and they tend to distract me just enough that I don’t suffer from as many panic attacks when I’m particularly anxious. As a result of this, every time someone new sees my collection, the first thing they think, is that I have the movie taste of a 12 year old. A really immature one. I’ll prove it. Kelly Clarkson and Justin Gweuiwhwewjhk from the first season of American Idol made a terrible musical film together and I OWN THAT FILM ON DVD. I PAID MONEY FOR THAT FILM.
I do own some good films too though. Don’t judge me too harshly please. At least I know that I’m watching rubbish movies. I did study film at University. I can tell a good from a bad film. Unless you don’t consider Blues Brothers to be good. Then we’re going to have a problem.
Everybody considers The Breakfast Club to be a classic though, so I think I’m good on that front. I think we all know where I’m going with this….
THERE IT IS! Classic.
Before I continue, I just have to put this up:
I do realise that it has little to do with anything other than Tim Burton but it’s strangely mesmerising….
…………..just one more minute……….
…so wibbly wobbly…
Right. Back to the topic at hand. Films and books. They’re great. I love them all and if they weren’t inanimate objects, I’m sure they would love me back. Whenever I meet somebody who doesn’t share my undying adoration, I just think, what happened in your childhood that caused you to be so devoid of true happiness? The kind of happiness you can only find in a good book/film. Those people like to think that I’m some sort of sad, pathetic loser; but really…
I will simply brush off your ignorance because you clearly don’t know any better.
You know what? Screw talking about this. I want to go read my book now.
So I will now grab it and do this:
What could be better?
That’s all. You can go now.