Sophia and I had another late-night chat. 10 615 kilometers between us. She sits in front of a computer sometime in tomorrow's South Korea. I in the office of our house, a room that sits at a ten degree pitch, my desk chair rolling southwestbound if I don't anchor myself to the floor with my feet.
Tonight we talked about gushing. Emotional over-indulgences, compliments, a very specific and thorough expression of praise to a friend. Oscar speeches, eulogies, declarations under the Eiffel Tower, the In Memoriam montage in awards shows, and anything that happens outside Tiffany's. And Sally Field.
We're both suckers for this stuff. I can tell from the opening music of Oprah if it's gonna be a good one. "Today, on an All New Oprah: A little girl dying of a rare blood disorder and her mother, the Gulf War veteran who adopted young Farwah from wore-torn Kuwait." Sold. You got me. Lay it on me. Pass the Kleenex®.
I've always been like this. Human interest stories on the local news, commercials, weddings, or when Tony and Angela finally got together in Season 8 of Who's The Boss. I love it all.
I have vast, gorgeous memories of Julia Roberts' 20 million dollar "I'm Also Just A Girl . . ." speech in Notting Hill. I relive it in my head, sometimes. " . . . standing in front of a boy, asking him to love her . . ." If one Sunday in November, TBS is airing back-to-back-to-back Notting Hills, you know where to find me!
I try to avoid being flowery and over-sentimental, but I have those tendencies. Anyone who's heard me rave about iTunes knows I can get fairly passionate about almost anything. But I mean, seriously, a whole album in my hands in 30 seconds or less, for the bargain-basement price of $9.99? And I can buy it while I'm wearing a towel? What an amazing service! It's the greatest thing since email. I said it.
Really, this blog was designed as a forum for me to gush. About pop culture, interior design and amazing food, the people I love. I like what I like, and I tend to let people know the details. If you think I have a lot to say here, try being my boyfriend. He's five long-winded stories away from faking complete hearing loss.
(Editor's Note: I feel I should point out that I draw the line generously this side of Tom Cruise on a couch. Just for the record.)