The Fast and the Furiously in Love

December 17, 2014 at 7:32 pm (In So Many Words) (, , , , , , , , , , , , )

It may sound ridiculous, but one of my favorite love stories of film is in The Fast and the Furious franchise.  And it’s not pretty boy Paul Walker’s character Brian O’Connor and his little family-style romance with Mia.  They actually annoy me a little.  It’s Dom and Letty (Vin Diesel and Michelle Rodriguez) that make me swoon.

dom & letty“I know everything about you,” Dom says, leaning into Letty as she’s backed up to the side of her car.

And that’s the hottest thing, isn’t it? Being known and still being loved so completely.

Want a panty dropper, date scene at the movies?  Leap out of a speeding car on a bridge into the abyss of open air to catch your love as she hurdles to her death – not knowing that either of you will be saved – just knowing you have to catch her.  Oh yeah, and she doesn’t remember you, and she shot you in the shoulder earlier, but… you know her, and you love her, and you have a history…

Screw flowers and diamonds, Dom has grand romantic gestures on lock down.

Noooo, I’m not an adrenaline junkie.  Not. At. All.

“How did you know that there would be a car there to break our fall?”

“I didn’t.  Some things you just have to take on faith.”

Maybe  that’s my problem.  I swoon over movies like Fast 6. Literally, I swoon.  Cars, racing, fight sequences, love that survives gun shot wounds and absences.  Sheer will power and stubbornness.  This is what romances me.  These are the things that speak to my heart.

gisele and hanAnd yes, I’d let go and fall to my death just to take a shot at the douche bag trying to sneak up on my lover. And for that, I find Han and Gisele utterly romantic as well.  What can I say? I’m a sucker.

Other favorites in movie history:

UP: The old man and Ellie. The first 15 minutes of that movie make me bawl like a baby. I love it. I’m living it. A romance born of childhood dreams and companionship.

Persuasion: Based on Jane Austen’s book. Another story of will power and waiting. Add to that Emma and you have the friendship and affection I sought out when I started dating my husband.

tonight you're mineTonight You’re Mine: This is probably one of the rare love stories I am into where the characters have not known each other half their lives. It’s epically reminiscent of my college years, minus being handcuffed to a super star, mind you. But the movie feels as much like home as 1327 does when I see it on screen.

I’m not a speed demon criminal by a long shot, but Dom and I have very similar values. The ultimate romance is always one with your best friend and playmate. Just like Dom and Letty, who met at 15. Things like Titanic – that whole whirlwind of meeting that day and then feigning passionate love forever – never quite do it for it. It rings false every time. I remember seeing Titanic for the first time in the theatres and thinking, “She went on and had babies with someone else, why is she pretending he was the love of her life? He’s just someone she screwed on a boat. What a slut.”

Tonight You’re Mine is the only whirlwind I can get behind… mostly because it was very Pride & Prejudice in nature, there was bickering before companionship, there was an established bond before love.  That and there’s the mad rush of music.

My husband thinks I’m a little ridiculous.  But if I had amnesia, I’d want there to be someone to fight for me.  Someone to tell me where my scars came from.  Someone to let me know it’s ok to be me, and that the me I was before was someone worth loving.  And if there’s fast cars, a nostalgic house, stubborn wills, and music… all the better.

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Literary Journal Monday…

March 4, 2014 at 6:06 am (Reviews) (, , , , , , )

…became “figure out how to make my car run by book club tonight” Monday.  Sort of.

This involved coercing my husband into taking the battery out – because I hate dealing with the stupid under-the-hood-cover they throw on new cars these days.  I am one of those truly-85-in-every-aspect-not-just-books-and-my-FLIP-phone people.  In that I was more than happy to work on my car myself… alternators, spark plugs, shocks, struts, the whole shebang… as long as it was from 1987 or older.  This business I’ve driving now… well, it might be all nice and cushy and have air conditioning and defrosters that work; and maybe when it rains my feet don’t get wet because there’s an actual floor board, not just a carpet… but I HATE IT.  I hate it because as soon as I pop the hood it looks like a Russian space station from a disaster movie set in the future to me, not a car.

So, yes, despite women’s lib and all that – I coerced my husband into unhooking the dead battery for me.  I still took it to AutoZone, carried it in myself,  and had it replaced (for FREE! It was under warranty, thank goodness).  But I still came home, handed my husband the keys to his truck and told him the new battery was where he’d left the old one.  Pretty sure he wasn’t too keen on hooking the new one up, but neither was I.  I married a mechanic for a reason! I CAN work on my car, but I’d rather read a book.

Or, in this case a literary journal off my personal shelf.

McSweeney’s Autumn 1998

My copy is a 3rd printing from 2006, “Created in darkness by troubled Americans. Printed in Iceland.”

I always like their little subtitles and witticisms.  Reminds me of Monty Python’s Search for the Holy Grail and the majestic moose biting their sister.

quarterly01I’ve read McSweeney’s before, issues one through three in their entirety to be exact; the rest of the issues I’ve just peeked through.  I collect them and have a whole shelf of them all my own to be perused at my leisure and today I picked up issue one again.  How can I not when it’s filled with goodies like this:

“Come close […] because I’m going to tell you a secret.  Ready? Here it is: Each and every one of us, and I mean everyone, has a tiny little troll who lives in our heads and controls our thoughts.” – pg. 12

The letter section just kills me.  It’s too wonderful.

Neal Pollock’s bits are always fun, too.  Like this one from issue one:

“My  life is not private any longer, but neither is it really public.  Rather, it’s a kind of quasi-private-psuedo-public life that could only exist in the netherworld of the Internet.  I have given myself up to the web, and like a beast in a cage that eats meat all the time, the web insatiably demands more.” – The Burden of Internet Celebrity, pg. 22 of “Gegenshein”

quarterly02And the Paris letter in issue two (“Pollyanna’s Bootless Errand”) that I just can’t bring myself to try to sum up; you simply must go read it yourself.

All in all, it wasn’t a bad day spent, despite the hiccups.  I got to re-read an old essay involving Man-Bats on the Moon by Paul Collins (featured in issue two as well), whom I love, and that is never time badly spent.  And yes, I said Man-Bats.  On. The. Moon.  If I haven’t imparted some sort of desire in you to go discover the glory that is Paul Collins’ knack for discovery weird history, then I have seriously failed as a book blogger over the last few years.

The kiddo and I also ate through nearly an entire crock pot of corn chowder, half a block of Swiss cheese, and a container of cayenne pepper.  (Also there was a vat of coffee and a jug of V8 Fusion involved, so you KNOW it was a day well spent.)

Oh, and then, I went to book club.  Because we got my car running just fine and in plenty of time.  I spent a little under two hours discussing Herodotus with book clubbers.  And now, moments after midnight (moments in Tuesday!), my brain kind of hurts a little.

 

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