Shamelessly Hussified from onthetide
If a movie were to be made about your life, who would direct it, and who would star in it?
My Life in Pop Music (yes, it has a title...does that mean I can tell people it is in pre-production?) would star a young Fairuza Balk to represent my teen years and, naturally, Jennifer Jason Leigh as the contemporary me.
Because it would be a Jane Campion film, the fact that the younger and older Me don't much physically resemble each other would go unexplained - but viewers would spin this tidbit into profound subtext theories endlessly debated on the Webbertubes.
I would attend the Oscars with my new gayboyfriend, Augusten Burroughs and when JJL's name is called to win for Best Actress, I would gracefully accept on her behalf. And then she would beat me up with that thin-lipped look of rage she gets after I let her out of the trunk of my car and gave back her Gaultier gown.
Augusten would find me charming and alluring, taking me on as a pet project, but later we'd feud over hurt feelings caused by my ascension in the literary world and his plateau as people lose interest in his 17th memoir and begin to wonder who could possibly have lived enough to warrant so many bestsellers.
I only write the one memoir and retire to my luxury Yurt compound in Rice, Washington. Literary pilgrims flock to the end of my driveway and erect a shrine there, but respect my privacy enough to never come any nearer. I spend the rest of my days answering fan mail and raising chickens. Not to eat, just because I find the clucking soothing to my frayed nerves. In the summer I amuse locals and tourists by projecting Billy Wilder films off the far wall of the Columbia River Gorge. I found a writers colony, get old and die in my sleep murmuring It's the words that got small...
A tasteful ginger jar with my ashes ends up in my accountant's file cabinet for thirty years, after which time my blog is rediscovered, published as an anthology, rising to cult status - I am then interred under a fountain on Capitol Hill by the grateful students of the Queer High School I left all future royalties to in my will.
Not that I've thought about it much.
And see - Fairuza could totally play me, no?
My Life in Pop Music (yes, it has a title...does that mean I can tell people it is in pre-production?) would star a young Fairuza Balk to represent my teen years and, naturally, Jennifer Jason Leigh as the contemporary me.
Because it would be a Jane Campion film, the fact that the younger and older Me don't much physically resemble each other would go unexplained - but viewers would spin this tidbit into profound subtext theories endlessly debated on the Webbertubes.
I would attend the Oscars with my new gayboyfriend, Augusten Burroughs and when JJL's name is called to win for Best Actress, I would gracefully accept on her behalf. And then she would beat me up with that thin-lipped look of rage she gets after I let her out of the trunk of my car and gave back her Gaultier gown.
Augusten would find me charming and alluring, taking me on as a pet project, but later we'd feud over hurt feelings caused by my ascension in the literary world and his plateau as people lose interest in his 17th memoir and begin to wonder who could possibly have lived enough to warrant so many bestsellers.
I only write the one memoir and retire to my luxury Yurt compound in Rice, Washington. Literary pilgrims flock to the end of my driveway and erect a shrine there, but respect my privacy enough to never come any nearer. I spend the rest of my days answering fan mail and raising chickens. Not to eat, just because I find the clucking soothing to my frayed nerves. In the summer I amuse locals and tourists by projecting Billy Wilder films off the far wall of the Columbia River Gorge. I found a writers colony, get old and die in my sleep murmuring It's the words that got small...
A tasteful ginger jar with my ashes ends up in my accountant's file cabinet for thirty years, after which time my blog is rediscovered, published as an anthology, rising to cult status - I am then interred under a fountain on Capitol Hill by the grateful students of the Queer High School I left all future royalties to in my will.
Not that I've thought about it much.
And see - Fairuza could totally play me, no?