But seriously, awkward things seem to happen to her at a very high rate. Consider last Tuesday, for example. Megan was in Las Vegas at a convention for random technology stuff. (I didn't understand it and I didn't ask questions. I just know that the iPhone wasn't featured and people were P.O.'ed.) She sent me a text message that afternoon reading, "I just accidentally walked into a 3 Doors Down concert." Honestly, do YOU know anyone who can accidentally walk into a 3 Doors Down concert?
Megan introduced me to Ian McEwan, author of Atonement, which is one of my favorite novels. Megan has a somewhat unnatural obsession with McEwan. She's read everything written by him. She let me borrow one of his first novels, The Cement Garden, recently. Neither of us were particularly impressed with it (it's kind of a literary version of Flowers in the Attic, but the "flowers" do it all throughout the house), but when Megan found out there was a film version starring Charlotte Gainsbourg (NEPOTISM ALERT: Jane Birkin's brother directed it), she immediately put it at the top of her Netflix queue. She emailed me this morning with her thoughts on the film, and it's one of my favorite emails. Ever.
I watched the movie last night. WEIRD. Poorly filmed with weird colors and bad mics. The protagonist has tons of zits but the most beautiful hair since Jim Morrison. In contrast, Charlotte Gainsbourg had butchered hair, and when they showed them in silhouette, it was difficult to tell who was the boy and who was the girl. The brother who dressed up like a girl looks like ET in the blond wig which freaked me the fuck out. Everyone had British accents but they looked like they were in Australia. I realize the heat was part of the story, but it looked like they were in a desert somewhere. Charlotte Gainsbourg spontaneously orgasms while being tickled. I want that superpower. Despite all this...I was entertained. In kind of a sick way. You know, when you're watching a movie about incest and a pimply boy with beautiful hair prances around in the rain. I didn't enjoy it, but my attention was captured.
Megan clearly needs a gig as a film critic. Fuck the bloggin'.
Also, I'll admit that I sent her a draft of this for review because I am a GOOD FRIEND. She told me I should go into customer relations. "And by that, I mean the non-Urban Outfitters kind. The kind where maybe you wear a suit, or maybe just an ironed shirt." Thanks, Meg.