Directress of My Dreams
I truly thought it was over between us. I truly thought I could move on.
But I was wrong, Dear Kathryn Bigelow, Directress of my Dreams! Your lure has once more dragged me under as if I were a peripheral character in that annoying ocean liner movie your jerky one time husband made.
It was three years ago, Kathryn, I first laid eyes upon you when you made history at the Academy Awards. That very night you and I also made history as you were the first woman anywhere near my own age I'd fantasized about in 24 years! But I knew our affair, torrid as it was, had to end. In other words, I woke up.
Now you are back, your latest movie Zero Dark Thirty having returned you to the national spotlight and to me. It is an important film, a ground-breaking film, one that has sparked serious and articulate debate throughout our nation.
And, Katie, you are still one smokin' hot babe! At 61, you are "astonishingly youthful," said Time Magazine. As, of course, I am as well --- except that I am not 61, not astonishingly youthful, and not called anything by Time Magazine except a "bastard" for defaulting on my subscription.
Why do you torture me by withholding your favors? True, in my mind's eye they are not withheld, darling Kathryn, but frankly it is not my mind's eye that gets awfully sore whenever I think about you over the course of an evening! Why do you not let me possess you, body and spirit? On second thought, I'll take the body and hold on the spirit. You can sell it maybe for cash to finance your next movie.
Oh, Kathryn! I long for you to direct my life! And come to think of it, my life could also use a much better writer and supporting cast, can you do anything about that as well?
Once again, lovely Kathryn, our affair must end. But know this: I would do anything for thee!
Except maybe plunk down nine bucks to see Zero Dark Thirty.