Don't change your plans.

So last night, a friend of mine told me to meet him at the bookstore so that we could go see IRON MAN. He knew I'd seen it already, but he wanted me there because he thought it'd be more entertaining to spend the evening with me than to be alone.

At 9:15, I showed up at the bookstore as discussed, and he wasn't there. By 10:15, he still was not there.

I left a couple texts, placed a couple more phone calls and then headed to Relapse Theatre, where I'd intended to go before my friend suggested that I change my plans to hang out with him.

The Relapse gang, who had seen me earlier in the week when I'd been forced to vacate my apartment and move in with my mom temporarily, asked me if my week had gotten any better.

I told the gang that, on Tuesday, I was supposed to have wine with someone, but that person forgot. And I told them that a different friend asked me to a movie but didn't show up.

Most of the people said, "Oh, sorry," then looked sideways - trying to find someone to change the subject.

At one point, they tried to suggest that maybe something had happened to my absentee friend.

"Yeah," I said brightly, "maybe he's dead or something."

"Um," a Relapse friend said.

"No, it's OK," I said. "If he's dead, it's probably from a drug overdose, so he probably died happy. You know, one of those moments of pure bliss where it's great up until the moment you realize that you're not breathing."

The Relapse friend was still optimistic.

"I bet death is like that for everyone, not just drug addicts," he said. "You know, like, you get the moment of pure bliss right before you go ..."

"You think so?" I asked. "I always thought my death would be kinda horribly painful."

"Really?"

"Yeah," I said, "I think I'd be screaming right up until I hit the pavement."

Only one person laughed.

I can't let this get to me.

I lost my apartment, moved in with my mother, was asked to drinks by a friend who later forgot that he asked me to drinks and was then abandoned by another friend who told me to meet him. That was last week.

It's a new week.

If you don't like the weather in Atlanta, wait five minutes.

Where did all that earned hope and self-esteem I have go? I swear to you, it was just here, like, a minute ago.

Writing as though no one's reading.

Staying at home with my mom, there is no Internet, so I'm actually trying to write something without the immediate gratification of having it read. I'm sure I'll eventually upload some stuff here - when I have my own home again. But, in the meantime, it's nice to write stuff and have it marinate in my head, solely belonging to me.

I heart Sami.

Is it horrible that I want to go to the Rite Aid Health and Beauty Expo at Cobb Galleria next week ONLY because Alison Sweeney from DAYS OF OUR LIVES is supposed to be there?

The opening credits.

Juxtaposition.

So, because AMBER NASH SHOW is playing really well to XPT's sold-out crowds and the parking lot pieces in XPT AUTO SHOW are fantastic and bring a level of fun and enthusiasm to the audience and to the puppeteers performing them before the show even starts, I've been feeling good about life and mostly satisfied with the work I've done. (My puppeteers and performers, though, are all brilliant and supportive, and I will love them forever for the gift that they have given me this week.)

As something bad must happen to accompany all the good, just to remind me that there are moments when I can feel like a complete failure, I'm being kicked out of my apartment for being packrat messy and for not reporting a problem with mold in the apartment. They had to rip out a wall of my bedroom, and now they've given me seven days to vacate the place.

So, because I'm an adult now, I have a plan. I'm running home to live with my mom for a couple weeks and finding a storage facility to put my stuff. Then, in the next couple of weeks, I'm moving into an apartment with my friend James. (Start praying for him now.)

I'm going to be OK. I'm just freaked the fuck out right now.

I want to get past the worry and the panic and all the bullshit and just deal with the problem, but that's the thing with depression. It causes you to not be able to bring yourself to move, clean, take out the garbage, do the dishes, stay inside the apartment. Depression causes me to not like myself enough to take care of myself, to instead escape into the things in my life that are working, escaping the responsibilities of life that aren't as fun, paying bills, cleaning the apartment, etc.

I'm crazy. I have mental illness. I've got to fix some things. I've been trying to fix them for 30 years, but when are they going to be fixed?

This is a journey. I'm going to try not to worry about it. I'm going to instead fix it.

I have to, eventually. I don't have a choice.

OPENING NIGHT.

Tonight, the show was attended, I swear, by 40 people I knew. It was really, really cool.

Thanks to everyone who turned out.

PREVIEW NIGHT.

This has been the most amazing experience. It was great to see and experience not just THE AMBER NASH SHOW, but several of the pieces that I wrote for the parking lot come alive.

People laughed in all the right places.

And, hilariously, this also happened.

Thank you, Matt. I didn't know it was possible for my night to be any better, but you just made my night better.

And, in college, I liked you, too.

Oh wait, my night just got even better.

A thank-you note.

While AMBER NASH SHOW's been in development (all 10 minutes of it), I've not been blogging about the progress, the difficulties, the hangups, the problems and the thrills of the process I've learned about trying to stage something and what I've learned about my own control-freak tendencies and inability to relax all these weeks. I didn't want to sound pessimistic, particularly when I knew that the process, though it's probably interesting to hear about, matters little in comparison to what the final product looks like.

For the record, I'm starting to get really, really excited about what we're doing for XPT this year. I'm very happy to be part of XPT, for it's through this blog that I suppose this accomplishment started. If I'd not attended that ANATOMY OF MELANCHOLY puppet show ages ago and blogged about it with Brad Fairchild, then I wouldn't have met the wonderful Sydney Ellis and become familiar with XPT.

I've wanted to be part of XPT since I saw that show in 2005. I saw the show then, found it amazing and thoroughly entertaining and wanted more than anything to one day bring something to the stage. I hope that I bring a bit of fun to all the people who entertained me back then, some of whom I now know and expect to be in attendance.

More than anyone, I think I want to entertain the hell out of Sydney Ellis, who actually is involved in my production. She wrote the AMBER NASH SHOW theme song with her father, and she performed it. And that song - and the vote of confidence in my writing that Syd always has given me - may be the best thing that this blog has ever brought me. (Thank you, Syd. Love to you and Abby.)

I stopped blogging regularly a couple years ago. It faltered a bit when I signed up for writing classes at the Margaret Mitchell House so that I could focus my efforts there. Thanks to the people who helped me there. (Thank you, Sarah Shope, Frank Ciccone, Lynda Hawkins, Betsy Crosby, Monica Cox, Kat West and the absolutely wonderful Marianne Lacey.)

When I started taking improv comedy classes at Dad's Garage about 18 months after that, the blog slowed even more. But what I was learning about acting and about characters and about how to tell stories was spectacular. And, more than that, the people that I met through improv have been fantastic and supportive. (Thanks to people like Tom Rittenhouse, Eve Krueger, Josh Wilcox, Ed Morgan, Matthew Grove, Matt Myers, La Schaffer, Z Gillispie, Chris Rittelmeyer, Jenny Clark, Rueben Medina, Heather Starkel, Nick Tecosky, Casey Childers, Berny Clark, the Write Club, the wonderful Spencer Stephens, George Faughnan, Linnea Frye, Matt Stanton, Dan Triandiflou, Mary Kraft, Steve Platinum, Matt Horgan and Amber Nash, of course.)

And then, through my improv home at JaCKPie, what I've learned about myself - in addition to learning more about how I want to approach stories, make theater and the kind of improvisor that I want to be - has been life-changing. Though I'm still wary about God, I'd say JaCKPie is the closest thing to a godsend I've ever received in my life. (Heartfelt thanks to Jim Karwisch. Thank you, everyone at JaCKPie.)

Even the people in my new office have been incredibly encouraging through this wacky process. (Thank you to Brit Tennant, Lisa Federico, Armando Tirado, Brandon McCarty, Jay Alexander and Phil Koehler.)

Larry Corse, a long time ago, told me that I had the talent to be a very good writer, and he said he'd do whatever possible to nurture and encourage me. And he has. Over and over. (Thank you, Larry.)

Thanks to the artists who've helped my puppet show become what it is. (Again, thanks to Amber Nash. I hope that you like what we've done. Thanks to Mauree Culberson, one of my best friends. Thanks to Jillian Fratkin, Wes Parham and Emily Tsuboi. You all impress me with your dedication and commitment to the project. Thanks to Jeremiah Prescott. Thanks to Michael Haverty for the chance. Thanks to Amy Rush and Raymond Carr for the support.)

If this week progresses the way I expect it will, I think I'm going to be crying happpy tears a lot and laughing a lot.

I keep thinking of how I should thank everybody, but I honestly have no idea how to do that. I feel hokey, like I'm giving an Oscar speech in my head at all times. (Thank you, Liz Perry, Dena Waggoner Beck, Jessika Coon, Shalewa Sharpe, Vickye Zarbrook, Bonnie Davis, Steven Igarashi - yeah, I said it - and C.J. Spraggins. Thank you, Solenn Pigree. Thank you, Carrie Gibson. Thank you, Marley Angel. Thank you, Eric Black. Thank you, Jennifer Resendez. Thank you, Kate George. Thank you, T. Kyle King. Thank you, Doug Gillett. Thanks to the Phi Kappa Literary Society. Thank you, Paul McCurdy. Thank you, Kurt Summers. Thank you, Chris Brandon. Thank you, intentionally unnamed ex-boyfriends of note.)

Everyday, I think of new people who taught me aspects of all the stuff I needed to learn to get here.

If this were a book, I would write some kind of personal dedication. But, though I feel like thanking people for the puppet show, I really want to thank people for how blessed I feel right now, which is harder to do.

Luckily, I do know which dedication I would consider the most important.

Thank you, Jon Lupo, for supporting me and holding me more accountable than anyone ever has. Thank you for teaching me how to return your kindness through a friendship that is the most precious, reliable, rewarding thing I carry with me everyday. Thank you for believing in me. You've played a role in my happiness. It makes me proud to think that I've done even a fraction of the same thing for you. I'm very proud of your accomplishments. I believe in you. Thank you for letting me play witness to your life. I'm so excited about what good things the future will bring for both of us. I think we're both still learning how to cultivate the good in our lives. And, as good as I feel right now, the fact that I know there's more joy to be found strikes me as the most remarkable thing.

Hope is hard-won. But I do have hope. It is here.

Is it bad that I love this?

THE FOURTH SEASON PREMIERE OF 'THE AMBER NASH SHOW'

Please come see XPT: XPERIMENTAL PUPPETRY THEATER at the Center for Puppetry Arts.

I know that, in years past, I've promoted this show before as an excited audience member and fan of the Center. But, this year, I've got a more personal stake in the success of the show.

I wrote the script and have worked for months now on one of the pieces to be presented, THE FOURTH SEASON PREMIERE OF 'THE AMBER NASH SHOW,' and several of my very talented friends have worked and continue to devote their time to making it a rather entertaining piece of theater.

XPT is a great, great program, and I am beyond thrilled to be a part of it.

Please come out and support us. The show runs from May 15-18 in the Basement Theater of the Center for Puppetry Arts.

Even for me life had its gleams of sunshine.

I've been reading JANE EYRE. It's pretty good. At the end of Chapter IV, though, there's the sentence that I've chosen as the subject line of this post.

Reading that sentence during this week of life changes, as though it were highlighted by magic, made me smile.

I'm leaving McGraw-Hill on Friday. And I found out that a short script I wrote is going to be staged at the Center for Puppetry Arts as part of "XPT: Xperimental Puppetry Theatre" in May.

These here things make me glad.

Trying to figure out how to play a happy character, I'm making a list of small things, props and memories that might help me change my mood and build a character. I'm keeping this list here so that I'll be able to add to it or refer back to it in the future. I got this idea because my mom used to have this collection of Peanuts cartoons in a book called HAPPINESS IS A WARM PUPPY.

THINGS THAT MAKE ME HAPPY

* The color blue.
* A bouquet of flowers.
* A new Moleskine notebook.
* The time I met Michael Chabon on his birthday and managed to impress him.
* Meryl Streep's disco number at the beginning of DEATH BECOMES HER.
* White chocolate banana creme pie from Buckhead Diner.
* The time I met Parker Posey at a Q&A, and she was drunk and crazy - and then she called me "hostile."
* Just the right music.
* The time I met my friend Emily, who came into the bookstore to buy the first copy of her very first novel on the day it was released.
* Henry Fonda falling down in THE LADY EVE.
* The day I spent fulfilling my duties as a "bridesmaid" for my friend Kate by driving her around and helping her try on wedding dresses. I took photo after photo of the dresses she tried because her mother wasn't able to be there. Later, at the wedding, I wore a periwinkle vest and stood on the bride's side during the wedding. It was the only wedding I've ever been in, and I was a male bridesmaid. (As an added bonus, my tux meant that the other bridesmaids could stuff tissues into my pocket so that, should anyone on the row start to cry, I could quickly supply relief.)
* "Dyslexic Heart" by Paul Westerberg.
* My sister-in-law Samantha is an elementary school teacher, and she puts these dots on the stems of every letter she prints longhand. Her voice is always chipper, too, and encouraging in that sweet, easy way I can't manage.
* The monologue that Parker Posey delivers in the deleted scenes on the DVD of WAITING FOR GUFFMAN.
* One time, I ran into a Kroger, grabbed a rose from a refrigerator case, ran to the Express Lane and bought it. A pregnant woman in line said that she wished someone would buy her a rose like that. So I ran back to the refrigerator case again, grabbed another rose, ran to the Express Lane, bought it and handed it to the pregnant woman.
* The performance of "Stonehenge" in THIS IS SPINAL TAP.
* My nephews DJ and Andrew, particularly moments when they were born or moments when I got to carry them around and talk just to them so that they wouldn't cry when they were babies.
* Bright colors.
* That fake swing-dancing move that I do sometimes, either in a scene or just standing around talking to a girl.
* One time, I tried swing-dancing with my friend Vic in the middle of Parisian at Gwinnett Place, but my footing was off. So I tripped her, and she fell into a display of shirts in Mens Wear.
* The essay reading I did in April 2006 at an academic conference, where friends from all different aspects of my life came together at the Marriott Marquis to see me read. My best friend Lupo was there.
* At the bookstore, I had to dress up as this giant puppy dog named Biscuit for children's storytime. It was hot in the suit, and I couldn't see anything. But I got mobbed by little kids hugging me.
* Listening to Sarah Vowell read her essay "Shooting Dad" on a CD of NPR's THIS AMERICAN LIFE.
* Playing Scrabble with my friend Daniel.
* The callouses on my friend Daniel's fingers, which he's gotten from meticulously repairing string instruments in a workshop for years.
* Playing Rum 500 with my Grandpa.
* Playing Trivial Pursuit with Lupo.
* The final 10 minutes of CHINATOWN are devastating, but it's also the best movie ending maybe ever.
* The time I visited Lupo and tripped over a stick within five minutes of arriving, and he flew into this panic, rushed me into his house, treated and bandaged my arm. Then, he made this joke about these WWI-era Maisie Dobbs mystery novels he reads. It was cute. You had to be there.
* The Jimmy Stewart-Katharine Hepburn drunk scene in THE PHILADELPHIA STORY.
* Beef stew.
* Sitting with my friend Carrie on the member balcony on the roof of the Tate Modern in London.
* WONDERFALLS.
* THE MUPPET SHOW.
* PRIDE AND PREJUDICE.
* Episodes of GILMORE GIRLS.
* Every August at the family reunion, my cousin Holly and I break away from our parents and everybody else, and we head out to whatever dive-bar we can find and talk about all the inappropriate things we can't say in front of other relatives. And we gossip. And, this last year, for some reason, we played mini-golf and rode on go-carts.
* Smiling.
* Laughing.
* Talking Heads' "Once in a Lifetime"
* Listening to my mom - who's now suffering from severe hearing loss - sing the way she used to when she was a church choir director.
* My mom told me this story once about singing at a fraternity formal when she was in college. They hired her to wear a pink cocktail dress, stand in a spotlight next to a grand piano and sing "I Will Wait for You" from THE UMBRELLAS OF CHERBOURG. She was maybe 19 years old. I wish I could've seen her do that. I bet she was pretty. I bet it was fun.
* Awkward phone calls with my brother Dan, when we're clearly both trying and trying and trying to connect.
* "Sit Down, You're Rockin' the Boat" from GUYS AND DOLLS.
* Singing in my car.
* Those moments with friends when you can discover the means to a great evening without making a single plan.
* Dancing in my apartment.
* When I walk around humming.

Nostalgia isn't what it used to be.

I look at the blog now, and I'm reminded of how the blog used to be. Since it once was my primary outlet, it was updated constantly and featured all sorts of links and chatter about books and movies and such. But then I joined a writing class, and then I started taking improv classes. And then I learned that sometimes it's easier to live life if you're not constantly introspective about it. Life is so much nicer now that the blog is less current.

I suppose an unexamined life is sometimes - in spite of what the adage says - easier to live with.

I had an interview today, and I think it went all right. I was nervous, but I liked the people at the company.

A door that keeps revolving in a half-forgotten dream.

When Amie and I went to a Chinese restaurant this weekend, my fortune cookie message was a dud.

You will be getting new clothes.

Meanwhile, Amie's promised her a life of success in the entertainment industry, so she said she would rather have my sucky fortune than her own. Maybe she realized that being a modern celebrity was a taxing, annoying prospect that she didn't want to bear. She maybe thought of photographers chasing her like Britney Spears, having to live up to the hype. She probably didn't want to shave her head in open defiance of her "image." She likely imagined the ROLLING STONE covers that would predict her downfall, saying things like "Amie: An American Tragedy."

She said she'd rather have my fortune because, faced with the alternative of having her face on US WEEKLY, it seemed infinitely less stressful to get a new pair of socks.

***********

I'm here at my desk, looking over some other fortune cookie messages that I've collected. I save the ones that I like or the ones I cannot understand.
_

You will make many changes before setting satisfactorily.

This one is taped up in my cube at work because it reminds me whenever I look at it that I'm not satisfactorily settled yet and that my future is ahead of me.
_

You will soon be crossing desert sands for a fun vacation.

If I think of this one as a metaphor, it makes me think of keeping hope in spite of challenges. If I think of this as literal, I'm bummed out. I can't stand the sand and cannot imagine that crossing a desert would make for a fun vacation for anyone. Chevy Chase certainly didn't make it look fun in that first NATIONAL LAMPOON'S VACATION.

_

The constructive use of riches is better than their possession.

This one is my current favorite. I got it around the time in November when I interviewed for a job that I didn't get, but my preparation for the interview showed me that I was capable - when properly motivated - to do some really extensive research and really good work. I was proud of how I prepared for the job interview, even though I didn't get the job, and that seemed like a decent enough accomplishment since I feel inert most days. The fortune reminds me to use the tools I have, that it's not merely enough to know you have talents. You have to use them.
_

I did not save my worst fortune cookie message ever, but I do remember it verbatim.

This biscuit pleases you.

No, it really didn't. And, if I was one of those people who put 'in bed' at the end of all my fortune cookie messages, the biscuit still wouldn't please me.

The lovers, the dreamers and me.

Written to the JaCKPie improv troupe:

The first thing I ever wanted to be was an actor. At the point where little boys were encouraged to embrace "fireman" as their dream career (maybe because of the wicked-cool hat), I decided that I wanted to be famous and on TV. I didn't really consider that there'd be work involved with acting. I just liked, when I was 4, the opportunity to get really, really emotional or really, really histrionic. I liked that you could try and do funny voices. I wanted to come running on THE PRICE IS RIGHT when Johnny Olson yelled "COME ON DOWN!," so I would yell "COME ON DOWN!" myself and run from room to room. (I'm old. When I first watched THE PRICE IS RIGHT, Bob Barker's hair had the tint of dark brown shoe polish.)

I liked the variety shows, where singers like Barbara Mandrell got to do scenes with her silly sisters and giant puppets or Donny Osmond would stop flirting with his sister long enough to sing me a song.

But, more than anything, I wanted to host THE MUPPET SHOW. I wanted to wear glasses like Scooter. (For some reason I didn't figure out until later, I really, really liked Scooter.) I wanted to meet Kermit the Frog and sing a song with him. I wanted Miss Piggy to come karate-chop me in a dressing room that had a star on the door. (I maybe convinced my mom, at the time, to put a star on my bedroom door. The memories are vague.)

Eventually, one day when we were riding in the car to my physical therapy, my mom probably thought it would be a good motivator to tell me that, to be an actor, I'd have to be able to walk as normally as possible, that there aren't regular roles for people who don't walk like regular people. The goal of telling me this was to encourage me to work harder at the therapy. But the advice had the adverse effect on me because I refused to accept that I was flawed.

One of my great flaws - in conjunction with my disability - is that I stubbornly resent that I have to work harder for things that come so naturally to other people. (When I was a kid, I didn't understand that everyone has to do this sometime.) I thought that the disability was neither my choice nor my doing, so I couldn't figure out why *I* had to be the one to deal with it. Even as an adult now, I occasionally exhibit this childish ego. My ego can't figure out why I'm just not given things straightaway from people because I'm clearly the most special person on Earth who deserves everyone's undivided attention. Work for things? Bah! (As I said, it's a huge flaw. Someone once asked me how I could have a huge ego and no self-esteem. This might explain it.)

Hearing from my mom that a disabled person couldn't be accepted as a regular actor led me to immediately reject my dream as impractical. (The only person on TV with cerebral palsy, at the time, was Blair's cousin Geri on THE FACTS OF LIFE, and I remember not understanding the way she spoke or how the two of us could have the same disability because her afflictions seemed so much worse than mine. I didn't want to be like her, but that's apparently all that people like me got to do.)

I hate my disability. I try to ignore it, even now. I don't like that I have to accept that there are some things I'll never be able to do without extreme amounts of work that would involve me having to accept - to know in my soul, rather than in my mind when faced with obstacles at different moments - that I'm damaged. In my soul, I still want to sing and dance with Kermit the Frog. (I even went to the Kermit display at the Center for Puppetry Arts a couple times this year and just stared at him, gleeful and daydreaming that I was finally getting to meet someone I'd wanted to meet my whole life.)

I was a child when I developed these opinions of myself, and they're deeply rooted. Much of my mind has changed. I even have something of a work ethic now, achieved begrudgingly. But some things are there forever.

I became interested in arts journalism as a kid through extensive study of my babysitter's TV GUIDE collection. Every Saturday when I had to visit my dad, I would read the Weekend insert of The Atlanta Journal and study the movie reviews. Seeds were planted in my head, combining old ambitions with new ones, that I could still be involved with a community of actors and artists, even if I wasn't one myself. I could stand on the sidelines, watch and make comments. I could ask questions and critique. It didn't matter if I was a cripple - as my father once called me while also trying to get me to take physical therapy seriously. (All it made me do was cry.) As an arts journalist or theater critic, I could fulfill different dreams that still looked a lot like the old ones.

So I went to college and did exactly that. I became a pretty good journalist and a good writer, and I spent time with the art and theater students as much as I could. Eventually, I started writing features for newspapers. Then, even later, I started to blog about entertainment stuff. But I perpetually wanted to belong more, not be on the sidelines. Even though I'm disabled, I want to perform. I wanted to contribute as an artist, and I still do.

I'm 31. And I'm finally getting to do things I've wanted to do since I was 4. I'm performing. I'm writing (and rewriting and rewriting) a script where an actress is surrounded by puppets. I'm finally using the tools and skills that I've acquired over a lifetime, and these achievements are so much more valuable to me now. And I'm getting these things because I'm working (and working and working) for them, not just expecting them to be handed to me.

And I'm accepting - as much as I begrudgingly have to accept it - that I have special needs. I need that step next to the JaCKPie stage, and I really, really appreciate that you guys put it there. Moreso, I appreciate the lessons that I'm learning about myself - ridiculous flaws and all - through this work that we're all doing together.

So, having achieved this, I want more. I want to act. I want to stage projects. I want to show off. And I still want to host THE MUPPET SHOW. And if someone could get me Scooter's phone number, I'd be eternally grateful.

THE GODFATHER ... for girls.

My friend Jenipher shocked me several months ago with the confession that she'd never seen THE GODFATHER and that her husband hadn't seen it either.

I didn't take this well. I told her that I was sorry that, by neglecting the film, her family had failed to bring her up right and that her husband wasn't a true man.

Eventually, she told me that she'd probably watch THE GODFATHER if it were more her taste, i.e. if it was about shoe shopping, a school dance or falling in love.

So I wrote her this description of THE GODFATHER, leaving out the parts about the Mafia, and she's finally decided to watch it:
___________

All-American girl Kay Adams is in college and in love for the first time, and her GI boyfriend Michael - home from WWII - wants her to FINALLY meet his family. His sister Connie is getting married, and Michael's family is super-rich and powerful! Kay's excited that she's gonna have a well-dressed soldier on her arm, but then she realizes that Michael's brothers and extended family are all attractive, intelligent and maybe a little bit dangerous!

Michael's brother Sonny is married with kids, but Kay catches him flirting with all the bridesmaids! Michael's other brother Fredo seems like he'd be a charmer if he weren't so nervous. Meanwhile, Connie's groom sure seems to have a temper! And the Father of the Bride is running late to the wedding because he's in secret meetings all day ... including ones with the dreamy Johnny Fontaine, the singer and big-time movie star!!!

Will Kay catch Connie's bouquet? Will Johnny Fontaine perform a song at the wedding? Is Michael and Kay's special, special love meant to be? Or is Michael a little bit dangerous himself?

To find out, watch Diane Keaton fall in love in THE GODFATHER ... also starring Marlon Brando, James Caan, Al Pacino and Robert Duvall.

Top Ten Films of 2007.

10. LA VIE EN ROSE
9. LARS AND THE REAL GIRL
8. ONCE
7. ZODIAC
6. RATATOUILLE
5. THE DIVING BELL AND THE BUTTERFLY
4. MICHAEL CLAYTON
3. JUNO
2. THERE WILL BE BLOOD
1. NO COUNTRY FOR OLD MEN

Golly gee gosh.

Why am I twittering? I have 14 other potential blogs as it is.