22 December, 2009
I can't think of a title that would do her justice. Truly. I tried.
Gosh, the way she talks! In ordinary conversation she casually tosses out these wonderful words - which, to understand, I have to furtively look up in the dictionary. Watching interviews she's given is... is... I can't think what to say! She makes these amazing comparisons, describes things so well that I'm afraid to describe her! I am unworthy!
Besides that, the woman is a comic genius. Disgustingly witty. Best award acceptance speeches ever. Ever. Ever. Ever. She makes me feel I ought to get up off my rear and read something. Quickly now! Up, up!
Or rent Monty Python, which, to my eternal shame, I have never seen.
I do want to be like Emma Thompson when I grow up - but I'm not sure I will actually enjoy being up when I get there. Because, seriously now, how likely is it that I will ever have anything even a teensy bit close to Emma Thompson's brains and wit and extremely good diction. I don't like being a grown-up nineteen year old now - what will life be like when I have to do my own taxes? I can't bear to think about it. I'm going to be twenty soon, and I'm dreading it. It's not like I'm afraid of getting wrinkles or dying. (I do have sort of an advantage here - my Mum doesn't have any wrinkles, and my Grandma very few, so I think it's reasonable to hope that genetics will give me a boost there. Muwahahaha.) But I am afraid, I must admit, that I might wake up (figuratively) on my death bead and realize I've wasted my life. That would be a bummer.