I've still got it.

As Mona Lisa Smile was beginning, I heard the score and thought, "Hm. That's either Rachel Portman repurposing her The Cider House Rules theme, or it's someone else pretending to be her." Sure enough, it was Rachel Portman. And it made me feel a little lackluster. I did so used to love the main titles from The Cider House Rules. I did so love it. The main titles for Mona Lisa Smile are so similar, though, it's almost like when The Simpsons parodies some well-known theme. Like that episode with Shary Bobbins in it. The tunes are nearly the same. Just the end tacked on the front or up when it used to go down and vice versa. It's brilliant when it's a parody. Less so when it's supposed to be something new altogether. Disappointing, in fact. And I hope James Horner is reading this.

Anyway, I guess I'm still able to spot a film music composer's work in a note or two. There are just fewer people in the world who will be assigning me any extra points for that. I should be more choosy about the circles I attempt to crash, shouldn't I?

What the fuck is Tori Amos doing singing in this movie? I mean, there's a lesbian in it, and I haven't been watching long enough to see if anyone gets raped or objectified, but that's borderline at best. I used to take her seriously. Sheesh.

I guess this movie means well, as so many do. But it's really just so obvious. And false. Like the seminal moment when they get to see the Jackson Pollack for the first time. Just like when Rose is all on about Picasso in Titanic. I love how movies want me to believe that people are ever forward-thinking without having to be. I have begun to believe that forward-thinkingness comes from being unable to artfully exist in the present. Progressive ideas come from dissatisfaction with the now. Dreamers don't like what they see, so they spring forward into what lies ahead. But so few of those dreamers are the pretty ones or the well-to-do ones or the ones for whom everything was always easy. I guess there are the Jacqueline Bouviers to consider. But I prefer to crankily dismiss movies that want me to believe that Julia Roberts can change the world. She can't. At least not until she learns to walk like a lady.

My MySpace friend Aaron messaged me this evening and expressed concern over my possible neck tumor, and I said this:

How serious can it be? I told my mom about it today, while laying in bed and feeling like utter crap, and she got off the phone in thirty seconds to take another call and didn't call me back for five hours. At which point she scolded me, saying she was teaching someone how to crochet. As if I should know better than to expect to supersede that.

Then she suggested I seek out Chinese medicine. Ha ha ha. If laughter is the best medicine, she may have just healed me.

I can crib from myself, can't I? I can repurpose my junk. At least I'm up front about it.