I don't know why that amuses me so much.....must be the attitude of it!

Umm....I guess that's it for now.  I suddenly went entirely blank.  Hmmm........

What impressed me far more than his acting ability was his refusal to embrace the stereotypical Hollywood scene.  I've always admired people who go against the grain, who refuse to conform.  Brando, from what I've heard, was one of these people.

And for that, he has my eternal respect.

Oh, this is kinda neat news -- I guess there's a weeping willow tree at my dad's house.  I was talking to him on the phone the other night, about trees, and he told me there was a weeping willow out there.  I freaked! ahahaha Those are my FAVORITE trees!!!!  I've always wanted one, and he told me that if he'd known that, he would've taken some pieces off it to bring to my place to plant them.  So that's what he's supposed to do next time he comes to visit -- bring me a piece of weeping willow tree to plant on my lawn! YAY!!!! :)  I'll get my tree afterall!!

Anyway, blah blah blah -- not much else shakin' right now.  I have to go fix something for supper before I keel over.....

Let's see, I read the King novella "Secret Window, Secret Garden" back in, oh, I think it was 2000.  And of course I loved it.  I'm a big admirer of Stephen King's work.  (I used to think it was just a 'Maine' thing -- but it's clear the world loves King!)

So I was very happy when I heard that a movie was being made about one of my favorite novellas.  And I was ecstatic to learn that Johnny Depp -- the most talented actor of his generation, IMO -- was to play the main character, Mort Rainey.

This is what it was like growing up with a USMC Sgt. -- a Viet Nam veteran:  My dad didn't go off the deep end.  He came back home without any body parts missing.  I don't know what he was like before joining the Marines (which he did eagerly and willingly at age 17).  My mom didn't meet him until he was back home in 1968.  She only knows a couple of things from his time in that hell hole -- little things that could've happened to anyone over there, i.e. from sleeping in mud/water during the monsoons, to watching their buddies get killed right before their eyes.  When my parents married, he could have been called back at any time if they'd needed him, since he was on Active Reserves for 2 years.  Thank God that call never came.

I was born in 1975 -- ironically, the year that our gov't pulled our troops out of Viet Nam and declared it "over".  I've often pondered what that year might have meant to my father -- perhaps relief, another chance at starting over...."hope"..?  And did somehow, my coming into existence at that time, play a vital part in my need to know the truth about Viet Nam?  That's more of a question for the Big Guy Upstairs -- but it's something I often think about.

While I was growing up, my dad was (and still is, for that matter) a pretty laid-back kind of guy -- great sense of humor (I inherited mine from him -- he's the one who taught me to do voice impersonations, afterall), never one to panic about anything, he played a lot of practical jokes (another thing I inherited), and he was always in control of situations.  He didn't talk a lot -- he was more reserved.  He didn't run the house like boot camp -- but he commanded respect and hard work.  We didn't break the rules with Dad -- Dad was the name for GOD in my childhood home.  Even as a child, I was amazed at what an oxymoron it all seemed at times:  my father, the goofball -- who also happened to be the quietly proud Marine.

And "quietly proud" is just the way it was.  There were no extreme reminders of my father's USMC service.  Just a b&w photo on the wall of Dad and 2 of his superiors, when he won the "Old Gunner" trophy for expert marksmanship.  Just a USMC satin pillow that sat almost unnoticed on a trunk in the corner of the livingroom.  Just a USMC coffee mug in the kitchen cupboard.  Just a USMC Devil Dog tattoo on his left forearm.  And just a good lambasting from an arm swinging out (to the phantom enemy) if you were stupid enough to touch him when he was asleep.  We were taught immediately to NOT touch him if he was asleep -- we had to stand far enough away and yell at him to wake him up.  He was that 'jumpy' from the hell he'd been through. 

I was never "told" that Dad was a Marine.  We didn't discuss that when I was a kid.  We consciously avoided the topic of Viet Nam.  My Dad is the type of guy who, if he wants to talk about it, HE will say something.  He remained silent about it.  I still don't know how I came to know -- it's as if I had just always known....somewhere inside of me, like a psychic connection to his life.  (Another example: I had never seen pictures of Viet Nam when I was a child, and I never heard about it, but I had this mental picture of what it all looked like -- the land, the trees, the war, etc.  Just over a year ago, I finally saw my father's pictures from there.....they were IDENTICAL to what I had pictured in my mind for over 20 years.  It's something I can't explain, and no one probably believes me, but it's the truth.  I KNEW what everything looked like.)

Throughout my early teen years, I tried to find different ways to ask my father about Viet Nam.  I was curious, and I knew he'd been there.  We certainly didn't learn a damn thing about it in History Class in school -- and I wanted the TRUTH.  I only managed to ask my dad one question, while he was watching a war movie -- and he was in his trance-like thing, staring at the tv screen, and I still don't know if he was really answering ME....or if he was just unconsciously nodding an answer to a question he may not have even heard me ask.  And I'd observe him as he watched these war movies, watching him tense up, watching him stare at the tv as if in a trance, and watching him 'jump' when something broke through the trance and seemed to startle him.  ("Startle" seems like a minor word for what could feel monumental on the inside -- even if he doesn't show it as strongly on the outside.)

And now getting to my point -- my point of enlightenment.  Just last weekend, I sat at my sister's house with my dad, sisters, and brother-in-law, visiting for Father's Day.  And I felt like I needed to say something, to see if my dad was more open now about things.  So I said something to my brother-in-law about the movie "Platoon", describing how I thought my DVD was defective because subtitles kept popping up on the screen halfway through the movie.  I thought,"This is neutral territory.  It's not directly to Dad, but maybe he's seen the movie and will comment, even if it's to ask me how I managed to stomach a war movie."  But he (Dad), whom I was sitting next to, kept his head turned to my little sister, and asked her a question when I was talking about my DVD.  And that sent a sinking feeling into the pit of my stomach:  my father is not -- and I doubt will EVER be -- ready or willing to talk about that part of his life.  And then I felt horribly guilty for my attempt to learn the truth via his eyes, even if it was a harmless attempt with a sincere urge to know the truth.  I came home and cried.  I cried for what felt like my own selfishness, and I cried for my dad, because I knew he was avoiding the conversation -- even though it was just about my defective DVD.  I knew he was still haunted by that hell, and it broke my heart.

And tonight, came the "Full Circle" effect.  I had rented the movie "Windtalkers" -- I'd wanted to see it for quite a while.  I'd forgotten that it was about the Marines -- I was thinking it was the Army or something.  Most things I've seen are about the Army.  But I was intrigued by the Navajo code and the story behind it, so I wanted to see it.  So I sat down and began watching.  I won't tell you the plot summary -- it's something you gotta see for yourself.  But what made things come "Full Circle" to me tonight was what happened to ME during the first 5 minutes of the movie.  I was sitting there watching the movie....things onscreen seemed calm, but you know in a movie like that that it's just a matter of time until all hell breaks loose.  Well, out of nowhere, explosions and rifle shots....and it was as if I had left my body for a split second, and was watching my father react to the scene.  I 'jumped' within my 'trance' with each shot of the rifle -- something I have NEVER done before, but it's something my father ALWAYS does.  For a split second, it was as if God allowed me to step into my father's shoes and feel in some small way what he must feel.  And then I became aware that I'd done the same exact thing my father always does, and everything became clear......

I don't need to know about Dad's experience in Viet Nam anymore.  Just knowing that he was there -- that's enough.  That's all that's necessary for me to know.

And I guess there are times that I feel like everyone will think I'm a huge dork, too.  And well, yeah, they'd be right, ahahaha But really, I just don't think I'm interesting enough that strangers would want to sincerely talk to me.  Sure, I attract the creeps who PRETEND to be intrigued by my mind (and who turn out to be users or wackos or something!)....but that's not really the type of person I'm interested in having conversations with!

A friend (I think still? I don't know -- I haven't heard from her in ages) once told me:  "You attract creeps because you're a good person.  Bad is always attracted to good.  Darkness is attracted to light."  Well that made sense -- not that I think I'm great, because God knows I'm NOT!  But it made sense that people take advantage of the unsuspecting...

So anyway, this entry is going nowhere.....except maybe into the abyss of my own insecurity...........

I've just never been good at making friends....I've never felt that many people have truly liked me as a friend.  A couple here and there (you know who you are) -- I know those ones are sincere.

Guess I can thank the G.I. Joe wannabe for helping that last ounce of trust I had go directly down the toilet.  (And despite what he did -- sonofabitchbastard -- I can't wish bad things on him.  How warped is that?  Well, I can call him names, but that's about the extent of my maliciousness towards him....)

Really, I'm not a feel-sorry-for-myself kind of person.  I despise "pity".  Guess I'm just trying to wrestle myself here.  I wonder who will win? (hardy-har-har!)

On a completely different note, I heard a lovely quote in the preview of a movie called "Pavillion of Women", starring Willem Dafoe and Yan Luo.  It went like this:
"Love is the most beautiful feeling we can have."

It most certainly is.