I searched this diary for "Joaquin Phoenix" and I read this entry and while I could actually recollect the dream I had, like, more than 4 years ago and I smiled at the last paragraph because it is true once again, the one prominent thought I had was:
"Oh my god, what was with my lousy usage of the comma?!"
Well, in any case, yesterday, moments before I woke up, I dreamt that I was severely molested by someone who was supposed to be a doctor; he was standing behind me and groping me and thinking about it gives me the creeps. That certainly wasn't fun.
And you know what? I've noticed something. When I do get stared at by members of the opposite sex, they are nearly always men in their 40's or 50's. On the bus, getting off the bus, feeling eyes on me and of course I'd look and I'd see some creepy old man staring at me, even this one time at Crystal Jade Holland V. with Agatha and Siming when there was a pretty big lunch group seated in front of our table and some 50-something man in a nice shirt and tie KEPT STARING AT ME. My god. I only noticed when we were nearly finished with lunch; I looked up randomly and saw that old man looking straight at me. Then whilst we were leaving I saw that old man looking straight at me again.
It's freaking disgusting. Ugh. Why does that happen? I mean, I dig older men (i.e. Joaquin <3), but I don't dig old men, especially not people who are as old as my dad! And people more age-appropriate, I hardly get attention from.
It's sad. Maybe it's just this weird-ass country.
Well, whatever it is, Joaquin is my soulmate and we're totally meant to be. My 2002 Joaquin entries are hilarious; just read another one about another stupid Joaquin dream I had. I'm actually glad that I wrote about them, to be honest, because it's nice to remember things that kind of happened, but didn't really; especially if they are things that will never happen in this life or the next, unless some obscure, elusive miracle happens.
Oh my god, I can't believe I actually wrote that my first boyfriend was better-looking than Joaquin. I must've been on crack.
Then again, I was, wasn't I? This thing we call 'love' is really heroin in disguise.
Wouldn't it be cool if someone really smart (me? Hahaha) adapted Julian Barnes's England, England for the silver screen and Joaq is roped in to play either Sir Jack Pitman or Paul and Kate Winslet plays Martha Cochrane? If Martha were a male character Joaq would play with perfectly, but since she's not...Joaq as a megalomaniac (I suddenly can't remember how to spell this word) would be infinitely interesting to watch though. It'd kind of be like his turn as Commodus in Gladiator, only non-incestuous and a hundred times more pompous.
Philip Kaufman may find it interesting enough to jump on board to direct it. In order to meet Joaquin and have him propose, I would write the screenplay (this way, I get to meet Julian Barnes too - OMG!) and impress Joaq with my keen eye for detail and the fact that I wrote a screenplay (like, a real one) without going to film school!
Okay, seriously, I woke up at bloody 8 a.m. yesterday and I'm currently very sleepy and since I won't get to dream of Joaq in my sleep, just let me indulge in my far-fetched Joaq fantasies, okay? Thank you.
Crap, I can't shut up about Joaquin. Oh my god, I have it so bad it's not even funny. I am so totally in love and I'm not even kidding. It's been a while since I was this irrational, but who can blame me, when he represents the things that I look for in a guy? To add the icing on the cake, he's 12 years older than me which is such a turn-on that I can't even describe it. And his eyes, oh his eyes, feral forest green with a dash of yellow, so intense when they are ablaze, so gentle when they are placid. Six years have passed and he's still everything I want in a man, such that I don't care about the smoking, I don't care about the pot belly (he really has one), I don't care about the odd posture. A man's political views matter a lot to me and his are congruous with mine, and the fact that he's vegan always endears him to me even more.
Sigh. How sad is this? I should go to bed.
For the record, I'd just like to say: If I were writing an article on him, I would not mention River Phoenix's death at all. Every single article on him that I've read to date (and trust me - a lot) pull the same old bullshit: They write, "Phoenix doesn't like to talk about his late brother." Then they go on to recount the horrible events of October 31, 1993 (I think it was). And some fucked up journalists go as far as to ask him about River. That's just so self-evidently stupid that I would clobber them if I were him; I really would. It's obvious that his refusal to talk about River is a universal fact, and yet there they are, asking him the very question he doesn't talk about and still failing to mask their retardedness by writing things like, "When asked about his late brother, Phoenix brushes the question aside with a curt 'I don't want to talk about it'."
Can't the man just have some peace? Some people are just bloody incorrigible.
On a slightly different note, I love The New York Times' movie reviews. I was reading reviews of Joaq's films and I was just blown away by how well-written they were. The review on 8MM was blatantly sarcastic and it cracked me up (it also described Joaq as a 'scene-stealer' with which I completely agreed), I was glad to know that I got Clay Pigeons right (that it's really damn funny and ridiculous), and the review on Quills was more a tribute than a review. I also loved the way one reviewer described Joaq's role in The Yards; something about Willie being incendiary, upward mobility running amok, can't really remember and yeah I read it before 6 years ago but reading it again makes me realise just how far I have to go before my writing reaches such standards.
I resort to gushing. That is just bad style, utterly unsophisticated. Skilful writers disguise their gushing behind sophisticated wordplay and phrases and metaphors; me? I just go, "Oh my god Joaquin is so beautiful and talented!!111!!!111~~"
I'm falling asleep. I was going to read a crappy book I picked up from the library just for the heck of it while borrowing books for my bro but I ended up writing this dumb entry. Oh well.
I will write about Saturday in the afternoon, after I wake up.
In short, it was fun.