“The greatest thing you’ll ever learn, is just to love and be loved in return.” -Christian (Moulin Rouge!)
I recently learned that Christian Bale and then girlfriend Sibi Blazic eloped in 200o and were married in none other than Las Vegas, Nevada by none other than Elvis Presley himself. (ok it was impersonator, but that’s almost worse.) The two have been happily married for 14 years, have one child, and are expecting their second. So if they’re so happy, why am I still hung upon this?!
I don’t know why, but I felt let down by this knowledge. I’d always imagined the Bales having a nice small wedding, very modest and humble, somewhere remote but nice. Maybe Brazil. Not running away to Vegas and getting married by an ELVIS IMPERSONATOR. It just seems so…. trashy? Lame? Un-romantic? It feels like something Katy Perry would do. Not Cristian flippin’ Bale. It felt less than perfect. But then I’d stop and think to myself: why do I even care?
The truth is it matter because he matters. I don’t actually know that much about Christian Bale. I know some random facts, like that he was married in Vegas, but I don’t know what kind of person he is. I don’t know if he’s nice, or naïve. I don’t know if he’s considerate or condescending. And, in truth, I don’t really want to know. The reason he means so much to me is because some (SOME) of his characters mean so much to me. He’s been n movies that have completely reformed my brain. Some of the movies he’s been in mean more to me than he could possibly know. So my selfish, entitled teenage heart was broken when I realized that Christian Bale didn’t have the wedding my twisted mind dreamt up.
But he’s been married to the same woman for 14 years, and they’re expecting their second child, so I mean, I guess he’s happy. And does it really matter if he got married in Vegas? No. If that’s what he wanted then that’s what he should do. We love to criticize and judge other people’s actions, but what would we have done in their shoes? A whirlwind marriage does have a sort or allure. And c’mon, Elvis? That’s not so bad. It’s better than some cranky priest. Besides, Christian Bale makes a lot of movies. He’s never shied away from something that was too tough or too challenging. I respect him. I adore his films. I don’t know where I would be without Jack “Cowboy” Kelly. So I should respect his choices. I know that in my life, I’ll make some choices that my mom will say “Don’t you ever,” to, and I know that I wouldn’t want people who look up to me saying “What the hell, man?” I’d want them to either say “Right on sister!” or get out of the way. There’s enough anger and disappointment in this world to add any more to.
Don’t forget the glitter- iamtheseventies.
“Little brothers are the worst. They are uber annoying and annoying is ugly.
I usually don’t give credit to the people who say these quotes because I thought that would be rude, considering my blog is about proving people wrong. I have one rule, and that’s the one I’m going to have to break. You see, the only sensible way to live in this world is without rules. So- out with it already- I said this.
My brother, Max, graduated from pre-teendom today and is on the cusp of puberty, discovering that girls aren’t so gross, and that growing up isn’t so great; of finding his place in the world and what he has to offer up to it. He is just beginning to taste freedom, new levels of excitement, individualism, wisdom, and maturity. (Naw, scratch the last one.) But at the same time, he’s about to enter a cold, harsh place where the truth isn’t always easy, where his heart will be broken by those he least expects it from, and where he will be defined and constrained by test scores and a severe class load. He’s about to find out that wisdom doesn’t come purely with age, but with experience and pain. He’s about to peek into the void of adulthood and see what a drab place it is. All his expectations are about to fall, threatening to drag his dreams down with them.
Max skates several hours every day. It’s what he loves, it’s what drives him. A friend of mine recently told me that he doesn’t know anyone who skates as much as Max. That’s a big deal because my friend knows a lot of people that skate. Max goes down to Skater’s Point (better known as the skate park) every weekend. He wants to get sponsored so that he can skate professionally. He also doesn’t want to have a real job or ever do actual work.
One of the biggest regrets I’m going to have when I leave for college (because believe me, I’m leaving) is that I didn’t spend enough time with Max. We used to hang out, go run around, do whatever we wanted. But then we grew up. Or I should say, I grew up. With raging hormones, wicked emotional expression on a scale of “Yes” to “Nope”, an insane homework load, stress up the whazoo, and a knack for screwing things up, the last thing I want to do is go watch Max miss seven tricks in a row and finally land the eighth then be begged to stay longer. But sometimes a little brotherly annoyance is the first thing I need.
Other times, my darling little brother can be witty, sarcastic, dark, and snarky. And I mean that in the worst way possible. He’s always got some remark in his pocket that he’s ready to pull out and stab you with. At times he can be rude, condescending, evil, snarling, devilish, and straight up mean. Still, I can’t help but think that when I look back on my childhood and even teen years spent shooing him away, I’ll always remember the time we ran up to the top of the street without raincoats and played basketball and held puddle jumping contests. (wow that was last week.) I guess I was born to play the part of tough older sister who was always too busy to care and Max was born to steal the show with his quick jokes and ice cold looks. Oh what a strange world we survive in.
Don’t forget the glitter. -iamtheseventies.
(all photos by your truly)