Living in a sonnet

I don’t usually tote things on my blog. I am not much of a toter… can you verbize the word tote? Is verbize a word? Anyway, grammar lessons aside, I just watched the movie “Stranger than Fiction”. Apparently this came out last year and was recently released on DVD. I had never heard of it, but it was one fantastic film. An all-star cast supported by a great plot and enough thinking to keep you on the edge of your beanbag chair.

The premise is that a woman is writing a novel, but the main character is actually a real person and is hearing her omnipresent voice everywhere he goes… This made me think… which can be a dangerous thing, because if my brain gets moving too fast my earwax melts from the heat emitted…and cleaning melted earwax out of hair and clothing is just awful.

What is your life is a story to someone? What if someone sat down one day to read your life? Would you be a James Bond novel, Charles Dickens (a true fact, as opposed to those fake facts, about Dickens is that he was the first recorded person to use the word boring, which is ironic as many of his books could be considered as such), maybe it was a romance novel or Nancy Drew?

Regardless whether your life is full of sweaty, heaving bosoms or crotchy, old anti-holiday misers, the simple fact is that life is a story. The interesting thing is the main character in your story (aka. You) is going to die at the end. Classic Shakespearian Tragedy! Except hot, underage, forbidden Capulets will not kill themselves over your death.

So there you have it, proof that life is a tragedy. So basically, fuck it all and enjoy it, ’cause I don’t know about you, but I want a dozen hot, underage, forbidden Capulets on my death bed….