I am a lone reed

I think there are two kinds of girls in the world: those whose $9.75 made up a portion of the 57 million bucks Sex and the City collected this weekend, and people who love Nora Ephron movies. I mean You've Got Mail, specifically, but Sleepless in Seattle is in 2nd place, and While You Were Sleeping, while not an actual Ephron extravaganza, gets honorable mention for its embodiment of important lessons.

There are a gaggle of girls going looney tunes over the Sex and the City movie, and, like, crying in their heels outside Radio City when their premiere tickets were a big fat PR stunt. Those girls say that their lives are just like S&tC, to which I say, knock yourselves out with your new movie. I like when someone's mom says "Fiddledeedee" and they drop it. And of course, not all S&tC girls wear Manolos, nor do all YGM girls wear sweater sets. The one thing both of our types have in common, though, is that we both get tricked that we are actually like Carrie Bradshaw or Kathleen Kelly, but we'll pretend for argument's sake that it's not pathological for either of us.

Around the middle of YGM, Kathleen Kelly has to shut her little store and she eats some soup next to Eloise and wonders to NY152, "Sometimes I wonder about my life. I lead a small life. Well, not small, but valuable. And sometimes I wonder, do I do it because I like it, or because I haven't been brave?" It's all very existential, Nora Ephron-style and I think of it often when I consider where I have positioned myself in my life. Sometimes I feel like the hugest impostor, like I am out of my body hearing things I say and watching my facial expressions and incessant hair-sniffing and -twirling and wondering how on earth I ever tricked all these people that I am competent, in charge, and anything but a completely ridiculous, not-brave person with unending opinions and a need to be funny. Not unlike a Nora Ephron heroine, who loves books and daisies, who is having a minor/major personal crisis whilst falling in love with her sworn enemy. At least, it seems that's what ought to be happening. What use is a personal crisis without all the kissing in Riverside Park?