spider-man and me and . . . other

this is the beginning. once upon a time i decided to start every entry with a vacant haiku, in honor of all the girls that all the boys i've ever loved have opted for. definition of a vacant haiku = all form, no substance, for those not following. so.


death to kirsten dunst!
red hair ain't gonna save her,
trash can ho can't act.


i saw spider-man tonight. still, hours later, i am laughing contemptuously at all the silly people who tried to tell me tobey maguire was all wrong, especially since after about five minutes these same people would tell me that they didn't really know anything about spider-man. fools! but no matter, in my heart i never doubted him being The One, and so i am vindicated.

i remember being a little girl and thinking peter parker was the only boy i could ever be myself and happy with at the same time. i mean, when i was eight i stood up in front of my third-grade class and told my teacher i wanted to be a paleontologist; she asked me if i was pronouncing it correctly. all my classmates looked at me funny (again) as i explained to her what the word meant and received my disparaging "oh," and mrs. creighton went on bestowing limitless gushing praise on the surrounding aspiring pro athletes and movie stars and princesses--not that there's anything wrong with wanting to be one of those things when you're eight, but there isn't anything wrong with wanting to be a paleontologist, either. at least, there shouldn't be. anyhow, so here was this boy who couldn't make friends because his ostracized mind was teeming with obscure trivia about insects and genetics and other things nobody wants to base small talk on, and who accidentally became a superhero in a science lab and managed to still be a nerd. soulmates, i was sure. and so began my lifelong love affair with all geeks great and small--because it had to be, didn't it, that someone who had been tripped in the hallways and found a second home in the city library would forgive the flaws in me that other people couldn't? didn't it?

well, no. i can't shake the notion of there being a skinny, pasty bookworm out there who'll love me because i read the dictionary for fun and waste valuable weekend hours watching documentaries on the discovery channel. but truthfully, i know that even my peter, the root of all my adult desires, my first beautiful, downtrodden, four-eyed idol, would rather pine in vain over kirsten dunst in a wet tank top. to lean happily on the arm of my friendly neighborhood dork, to lie next to him late at night as he reads me bedtime stories from national geographic . . . i have not set such lofty goals. still, i get nowhere.

well, i won't be mary jane in high heels for anybody, spidey or tobey or not a one. i'll stick to jeans and sneakers, thank you, because in the end i'm the one who has to walk in them. and i'm gonna take my red hair and march straight down the first dark alley, and the bad guys won't know what hit 'em.

kirsten dunst. my god.