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Jul. 11th, 2007
Oh. Oh, Harry.
My relationship with your films is like a progression of romance. The first film was an awkward adolescent crush. All first kisses and braces getting tangled and slimy hand-holding. No one knew what they were doing but we soldiered on, learning as we went.
The second film was like hooking back up with an ex, after he said he'd changed and he'd be much better this time, and you trusted him. Except that he still did all the stupid shit he did before and it was just as young and awkward and poorly-edited and his mom had to drive you two everywhere.
The third film, oh the third film. Your first college boyfriend. He was smart and exotic and knew just what buttons to push, but still felt like he was holding something important back from you. You're still good friends with him.
The fourth film was totally hot and funny and took you out to nice places, but when you'd introduce him to your friends, he'd always reference private in-jokes, and you'd have to tell them, "Well, you really have to read his blog to understand a lot of what he says."
But oh. Oh Harry Potter 5. You're the man I'm going to marry. You're sexy and good-looking and really good in bed. And you're charming and funny and have a summer home in Cabo. After we make love in candle-lit rooms with rose petals on the bed, you always spoon-feed me Ben & Jerry's afterwards. I want to see you again and again and show you to all my friends, and get to know every last inch of you in IMAX. You had me at hello and you complete me and as you wish and all that junk.
I think I'm in love. Except for Emma Watson. Sweety, eyebrows are good for emoting. But there is a time and a place and that time and place is not every word out of your mouth.
My relationship with your films is like a progression of romance. The first film was an awkward adolescent crush. All first kisses and braces getting tangled and slimy hand-holding. No one knew what they were doing but we soldiered on, learning as we went.
The second film was like hooking back up with an ex, after he said he'd changed and he'd be much better this time, and you trusted him. Except that he still did all the stupid shit he did before and it was just as young and awkward and poorly-edited and his mom had to drive you two everywhere.
The third film, oh the third film. Your first college boyfriend. He was smart and exotic and knew just what buttons to push, but still felt like he was holding something important back from you. You're still good friends with him.
The fourth film was totally hot and funny and took you out to nice places, but when you'd introduce him to your friends, he'd always reference private in-jokes, and you'd have to tell them, "Well, you really have to read his blog to understand a lot of what he says."
But oh. Oh Harry Potter 5. You're the man I'm going to marry. You're sexy and good-looking and really good in bed. And you're charming and funny and have a summer home in Cabo. After we make love in candle-lit rooms with rose petals on the bed, you always spoon-feed me Ben & Jerry's afterwards. I want to see you again and again and show you to all my friends, and get to know every last inch of you in IMAX. You had me at hello and you complete me and as you wish and all that junk.
I think I'm in love. Except for Emma Watson. Sweety, eyebrows are good for emoting. But there is a time and a place and that time and place is not every word out of your mouth.