I watched Julie & Julia today and it was just as endearing as everyone said it was. Meryl Streep was vibrant and she sure did do a good job of sounding like the stereotype of Julia Child. I loved the story of Julia Child’s success and her love of good cooking.
Amy Adams, as ever, was adorable. And the concept of what the character did was, admittedly, neat-o. I couldn’t help but identify with it. I like cooking! I write a blog! Look at me! I’m writing a blog entry right now! So I admired her and what she did, but man, was I jealous.
Just like that stupid girl in P.S. I Love You, I was jealous of Julie Powell, who found a way to turn something she loved into a hugely successful career. People were begging her to publish a book. And then she became A Writer. Or that she was A Writer all along.
I wish I were A Writer!
If it weren’t exceptional, they wouldn’t make a movie about it, I know. There’s not some pot of gold waiting to be discovered for everyone. But I feel so jealous I can literally taste bitterness at the back of my throat. Which makes about as much sense of being jealous of Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman. Except that the cooking blog turning into a book deal was a true story. And also that Vivienne was a prostitute before she was swept off her feet. But still. I know it’s a movie. And I have plenty to be happy about. Unlike Julie, I’m never alone in the kitchen with an imaginary friend. I have a gorgeous boyfriend who does all the cooking with me.
margaret edith 