My Review of Baz Lurman's, "The Great Gatsby"

I saw the Great Gatsby today.

Some thoughts:

There was a crazy lady in the theater sitting behind me. Her running commentary throughout the movie was delightful. A few gems from her "not-remotely-involved-in-the-production point of view" were as follows:
"I'm goin' out for a cigarette."

(upon returning to the theater after her cigarette some 30 minutes later)
"Oh! Leonardo Dicaprio!"

(reading out-loud every word shown on-screen)
"The Great Gatsby. Oh!"

(during any intense background music)
"Oooh, something bad's gonna happen."


Here are my thoughts:
Blink, or "Banana Girl" from An Education once dated Jack, presumably after he drowned in the Arctic judging by his old face. Blink's cousin, Spiderman has a bromance with Jack and Jack likes to toss shirts around. Apparently, dude bought a house across the bay from his ex girlfriend whom he never got over. (Dumb move, weirdo.) He said he couldn't be with her because he wasn't born into a wealthy family. We don't know this for a while. We all think Jack's an heir to a fortune or something, but really he just sells alcohol. Oh no, he's not a cool home brewer or anything, he bootlegs whiskey or some crap.
Blink's husband (no idea who the actor is) is cheating with her on a girl who wears a lot of colors. This is how you know she's low-class. Blink accidentally hits her husband's mistress with a car, killing the mistress. Then the mistress's husband thinks it's Jack, shoots him so he falls in a pool and dies. Then he shoots himself, or maybe THE BUTLER DID IT!?!
Sometimes when there are scenes with driving cars, the movie looks like that weird "Speed Racer" movie with Christina Ricci. It's disturbing.
Also, sometimes there are African Americans singing and dancing. Yeah.
All that said, my new goal in life is to go to a party held at Gatsby's house. It looks totally kick-ass.

"Leo always be drownin'"

To: Empty Spaces

Here's something that's been rattling around in my head all day. It's about family, houses, graves, contracts, and daughters.


One and one left their homes
set out young to create their own.

One and one filled up what they could
of an empty space.

So I'll raise a glass, to these empty spaces.
Raise a glass, there's room in empty places.
Fill these spaces up with the memories of us...
Raise a glass, it's not enough.

Two by two, these empty spaces
seem to grow smaller with every day.

Two by two, in empty places
we try to hold out but we can't stop time.

So I'll raise a glass, to these empty spaces.
Raise a glass, there's room in empty places.
Fill these spaces up with memories of all of us
Raise a glass, but it's still not enough.

Watch all three grow up and leave: empty rooms will fuel the grief.
Watch all three change their names: create spaces of their own.

Side-by-side, two empty spaces

in the ground - space enough for two.

Side-by-side, two empty spaces

on the contract - room enough for two.

Hey man, nice luggage

Emotional baggage.
I gots it.

My childhood home is going to sell. It doesn't matter who buys it, but it matters who buys it.
I need the new owners to understand. This house is "home base." I sit here, typing this in the master bedroom: the room in which I was most-likely conceived, the room in which my father died peacefully after a long illness.

How can you let new owners know what a house means to your family? There is so much history here. It's us. It's my family. But I shouldn't let this house define us. It really doesn't. We are so much more.

I can't think about this anymore. It's too much. I thought writing it out would help, but I don't think I'm properly expressing my thoughts.

Words escape me. Why am I so bothered?