How can you possibly be just four days away? December flew by so terribly fast-- in a way I loved the hectic-ness (hecticity?) of it all, but I'm also glad things are slowing down now. In fact, very glad. :D
I would like to request that you stop being so fascinating. I do not wish to be perpetually broke, and if I continue browsing your shops with such avidity, I will be. Well, of course, I could exercise restraint and not purchase anything. (Yes, thank you, Mary.) Which is what I've been doing because I currently am pretty much broke. But... yeah. Release your hold upon me, Etsy.
Dear Renaissance Tailor,
You are a lifesaver, did you know that? Fitted bodices have always been the equivalent of Beechen Cliff in my mind. (That's the literary alternative to Mount Everest, FYI.) Your instructions are so easy to follow--and now I'm recommending your site to all my blog followers. Voila, it's the hyperlinked salutation at the beginning of this letter.
|Yes, yes, this is a movie poster, but it's prettier than any|
of the book covers.
Dear Les Miserables (the book),
You are amazing. I mean that in the most literal sense. You still can't beat Jane Austen's novels for overall wonderful-book-ish-ness, but you are probably the most powerful story I've ever read. I'm awed. And even though I have five-hundred-some pages left, I don't want you to end.
Dear Hugh Jackman,
Please do a fantastic, stupendous, incredible job with your part as Jean Valjean in the Les Mis movie. From the clips I've seen so far, you're going to be pretty great (aside from the voice that's not as strong as some might like... ahem...). But please, be phenomenal. You owe it to Victor Hugo, to Boublil and Schonberg, to all the Mizzers everywhere and especially to Colm Wilkinson. Which brings me to...
Dear Colm Wilkinson,
You are still the one and only Jean Valjean. Period. End of story. To me, you will always be the face of Les Mis, no matter what Hollywood has to offer. (But you're a great Bishop Myriel, too.) And I'm glad you're being such a guiding presence in the making of the movie. I like what Cameron Mackintosh said about the figurative and literal passing of the candlesticks... but in my mind, you're still THE Valjean. Always.
Dear Music Man,
(That's what I've decided to call you, you see, because "the adorable baby I take care of every week" is too long to type out on my blog every time.) You have no idea how grateful I am that you've finally accepted me, that you don't scream when your mom leaves the room anymore, and that you're even trying to say my name. I completely melt every time you hug me with your little one-year-old arms; you know that, right? Little Drummer Boy always makes me think of you now-- I love how you try to sing along whenever we listen to it together!
Dear Celestial Seasonings Raspberry Tea,
You are the best alternative to hot chocolate--indeed, any kind of hot drink--that I have ever met in my entire life. Please continue to exist forever.
Dear A Christmas Carol (1984),
You are now on my list of favorite Christmas movies. Thank you for sticking to the book. That's a rare thing in this day and age. (Okay, so you're twenty-eight years old... but still. It's a rare thing.) I'm planning to review you soon, I really am.
Dear Irish Tenors,
Thank you for recording some of the best Christmas albums ever. Er, some of the best albums ever, bar none. If you wouldn't mind releasing another one (or several...) sometime soon, I would be very much obliged.
Dear Eddie Redmayne,
Michael Ball is still the best Marius ever. Period. End of story. And yet I've become so reconciled to your role in the movie that I'm almost willing to say you're going to be just as good. Is this rank heresy? Because you seem to be capturing everything about Marius that was in the book and didn't make it into the concerts. I can't wait to see the whole thing-- and from the wee snippet of your Empty Chairs that appeared in this video, I think you're going to be splendiferous. But Michael Ball still sings better, okay? Okay.
Dear Jeanne Birdsall,
Please hurry up and write the fourth Penderwicks book. My sisters will back me up in this, I know. Only do leave out the whole Rosalind-and-Tommy hoopla. It's unnecessary and is in great danger of becoming the object of ridicule in my family. Much obliged.
Dear Margaret Hale,
I can't believe I ever said you were one of my least favorite literary heroines. I apologize. On bended knee, no less. Daniela Denby-Ashe did a great job of portraying you in the miniseries, but nothing compares to your depiction in the pages of North and South. You are one of those people who appear to best advantage in the book, and I'm so glad I finally re-read yours. I truly feel that I understand you now. I regret to say you're still not up there in my top five, but you've moved into the top ten, and I apologize for previously not considering you much of a heroine.
Dear video editing,
You are a pain in the neck. I will never have a career in movie-making, and that you may tie to. Don't get me wrong, I'm truly glad my siblings and I were able to make videos as Christmas presents for our grandfathers this year. But when you have eight characters appearing in one scene of Much Ado About Nothing with just five actors playing those eight roles... ay yi yi yi. The amount of shooting, stopping, changing positions, getting unruly little brothers to stand still on their masking-tape floor marks, and then all the cutting and pasting at the end... let's just say this was a one-time-only venture.
Thanks for being such good sports in the abovementioned ordeal. You have no idea how great you all are. I'm looking forward to our newly-made tradition of a Christmas Eve slumber party together--and it's so cute how some of you are so incredibly excited about my first exposure to Eugene and Connie when we listen to Adventures in Odyssey early on Christmas morning. I can't wait!
Miss Amy Dashwood