Random thought of the day:

If consciousness comes in a stream, what does unconsciousness come in?

Obviously, a box.  With a Priority Mail sticker on the side.  It's that important.

Dear Cody, I'm afraid there is another.

The first time I got a crush on someone in a movie, I was five.  His name was Cody, and he hailed from The Rescuers Down Under.  He had something I truly wanted - needed - as a five year old:  A giant eagle that you can ride.  Yes, my girl's heart went aflutter every time I watched that movie.  Actually, now that I think about it, I probably had a bigger crush on the eagle than on Cody.

Next in my line of fiction crushes was, yes, Simba!  I was nine.  The Lion King was, in my eyes, the best movie to grace the silver screen.  Simba was, without a doubt, the greatest character ever invented.  Royalty.  Tragic childhood.  Learns to face his destiny, save his people, and has an AWESOME slow motion fight scene.  Yeah, it was epic.  Then, the cherry on the girlie cake.  I found out that the voice of Simba was done by Jonathan Taylor Thomas, whom my best friend was madly in love with!  Clearly, it was destiny.

Ah, but destiny only lasted as long as it took me to discover the Tarzan books.  Tarzan and I had a rocky relationship.  He wasn't really my type, but his books got me through an atrocious literature class in the 6th grade.  Rather than read about racial violence, hatred and intolerance, I'd simply slip my little paperback novel into the cover of the "high art" we were supposed to be inflicting on ourselves and get lost in tales of adventure, battles with lions, and rescuing poor, helpless Jane from both man and monkey.  Then I'd turn to that same best friend who had once been so in love with J.T.T. (that was SO two years ago.  She had graduated to a Leonardo Dicaprio phase) and ask her to sum up the racial stuff so I could pass the test.

Then began my Star Wars phase.  Pretty sure I sorted through crushes on just about all of them.  For lack of something better to do, I even decided I had a crush on Luke... sort of.  I tried.  Sorry, Luke, but I really did try.

One day, my best friend (different one, actually) was reading a goofy story I'd written about my current movie obsession, and made a suggestion. 
"You're really good," she praised (quite generously, I might add.  I went back and read the story later.  Heh.  That was VERY generous of her).  "Why don't you write a story with your OWN characters?"

What a bonnie and novel idea!  My next character crush took a while to form.  Since he existed only in my head (and in the stuff I wrote) he sorted through different forms and occupations.  When I was 14 he was a musician (famous, of course), and then he was really smart, and then he wasn't so smart but was really sweet, and really it just depended on the story.

Then, just when I thought I was done getting crushes on fictional characters, Narnia came out.  I just about wilted over Peter.  Now, on that one, I'll admit it was 100% his looks.  Blonde hair, baby face... yeah.  I was helpless... and kinda hopeless too.

For the record, while I did really like reading Twilight, I never had a crush on Edward.  I always thought his character was emotionally abusive and pretty much a jerk.  Yeah, that's right Edward lovers.  I said it.  For the same reason, I detest Bruno Mars. Thhhpppp.

*ahem*

Anyway, I'm pretty sure Peter from Narnia was the last one.  Thor, Flynn Rider, and the guy from I Am Number Four were definitely close calls, but I haven't had a real fictional crush since Narnia guy.

Oh wait.

Until tonight.

Yep, Captain America.  Midnight showing.  I walked out of there feeling giddy, giggly, and desperate to get home so I could look up the trailers, tv spots and whatever else I could find.  It was amazing!  That whole movie was just plain awesome, and I haven't seen a character as cool as Captain America in a looong time.  Courage, goodness and blonde hair.  Yes, he had a stupid costume with goofy, little wings on his helmet (honestly, the comic book designers didn't give the filmmakers much to work with), but how can you hate on a guy whose weapon of choice is a shield?

So, what can we learn from all of this?

Not much, really.

I feel like blogging something.

But honestly, I don't have anything to say.

Let the Flames Begin.

There's a lighter in my hand. 

I flick it a couple times, watching the spark... the flame.  I passed a fallen gas truck a while ago.  I don't know what happened exactly, but it was leaking a steady stream of fluid in the general direction of the ocean.  I was almost tempted to find some way the bring that much fuel for my purposes.  While the thought is amusing in a macabre sort of way, I know better than to entertain destruction of that magnitude.  I probably wouldn't survive the blast.

The bridge where I stand hangs between two cliffs - the mainland and the island.  The waters between are treacherous.  The bridge is the only way from here to there, and I could cross if I wanted to.  It's a rickety, dangerous thing - ropes and wooden planks.  It's not like the planks are rotten or anything - no, they're all in quite good condition.  But, somehow, some of them just aren't tied down.  Maybe they were just never put right in the first place, or maybe someone pulled them up and didn't bother to fix it all the way.  I'll never know.

I sit at the edge of the bridge, looking at the other gorgeous side.  Warm, sunny, white sands.  There's a little shack there with boogie boards, swim wear and even a plastic shovel and bucket shaped like a sand castle's turrets.  I'd had a fun visit.

Fun, yes.  But the island only had one coconut tree, and the sandwich I brought only lasted so long.  I'd had to cross that awful bridge to get back.  I remember the fun times, and it is tempting.  But no, I'm not stupid enough to cross that bridge again, no matter how fun it was on the other side.

I flick the lighter, running it along one of the boards.  The wood is surprisingly dry, and ignites quickly.  I watch the flame spread, consuming the first board.  It's nearly to the ropes now.

A spray shoots up as a wave crashes against the cliff beneath.  It drenches the board, putting out the flame.  The bridge is still in tact.  It's crossable, and the barren island looks so warm and inviting.

The ropes are still dry.  I could still burn it down if I really, honestly wanted to.

I flick the lighter.  The flame dances in front of my face.  It's a little flame, but all it would take is one quick brush against the brittle strands of those dry ropes.