One of the things — one of the many things — that I think about when I lie in bed at night, considering the mysteries of the universe, is Jerry Maguire.
(That’s the movie, folks, not the actor. The night I lie awake in bed considering the mysteries of Tom Cruise is the night I hit rock fuckin’ bottom. That’s ‘seek professional help’ territory, there.)
Anyway, Jerry Maguire (that’s ‘J to da Mizzle’, if you’re tuning in from the hood) provided the movie-peeping public with two enduring quotes, one for each gender. For the men, there’s ‘Show me the money!‘
(Or, if you prefer, as I once did on a game show set, ‘Show me the boobies!‘ But I digress.)
And for the ladies, there’s ‘You had me at ‘hello’‘. Which is sweet, really. And as an agent for big-time sports stars, you’d imagine that Mr. Maguire said ‘hello‘ quite a lot. But what keeps me tossing and turning at night is: what if ol’ Jerry had a different profession? What might he have said to win over the young and emotionally unstable Ms. Zellweger? And, more to the point, how would she have responded?
For instance, what if Jerry Maguire had been about a butcher? Maybe she’d have said:
‘Shut up, shut up — just stop. You had me at ‘sausage casing’‘.
A fireman? ‘You had me at ‘long, high-pressure hose’‘.
A forest ranger, perhaps? How about, ‘You had me at ‘mauled by a big, furry beast’‘.
What if he were a football equipment manager, instead of an agent? Try: ‘You had me at ‘inflatable rubber bladder’‘. Catchy, no?
So that’s what keeps me up at night — and the nonsense that results. Hey, you’re awake and presumably lucid — you got better than that? Lemme have ’em.
Meanwhile, speaking of movies, I’ve been writing a bit more recently. Not quite back up to my preferred daily rambling, but I’m getting there. And finally, after a few weeks of sparseness, the content on the page is again longer than the sidebars. At my screen width and resolution, anyway; your verbiage may vary. But I’m not looking at your screen, so that’s not so relevant right now.
Anyway, I have a question. Am I the only one in this situation — filling the page up again, after a dry spell — who’s reminded of that last scene in The Seventh Sign, when Jurgen ‘Jesus’ Prochnow declares that ‘The Hall of Souls is full again‘?
Oh, c’mon — you remember that scene. Demi Moore’s been pregnant and pitiful through the whole movie, and then she dies during childbirth — and Michael Biehn is the husband, and he’s supposed to be crying and scared, but instead he looks up at the camera with this weird expression, like his mother just caught him sitting on the john flipping his pancake, and Prochnow, in that oddly vague accent that sounds suspiciously like the Highlander — which makes you wonder about whether they edited all the swordplay out of the Bible, says:
‘Eht was you, Abby… just whan pahrson, weeth hope enough for the whole wahrld.‘
Remember that? Hall of Souls? Pregnant Demi? Any of it?
Damn. Guess it’s just me. There’s another thing that’ll keep me up at night. Bitches.Permalink | 1 Comment