I'm a little nervous...this weekend I'm going to go see Spike Jonze's adaptation of Maurice Sendak's Where The Wild Things Are. Really, I've been waiting to see this movie for what seems like a billion years but I'm still worried. Its not that I don't think I'm going to love it...I think it goes without saying that I will. Rather, my fear centers around the dreadful notion that potentially, some piece of the book's magic will die with the closing credits. Even if its a small piece, I'd still consider that a big loss. This book means a lot to me...I mean to the point that I, at age thirty-something (Timothy Busfield suck it!), take it out every once in awhile and read it...just to remind me of the magic and mystery of childhood (sap/yuck/barf). I won't go into further details of my deep-seated obsession other than to say that yes, I've had a tattoo of Max on my left arm since I turned 18 and I occasionally have to fight off the urge to add one of the Wild Things to my other arm. There you have it, I'm incurable. Despite my anxiety, I'm hopeful that the Jonze/Eggers version will only supplement my lifelong enjoyment of the story and not suffocate it. God, I hope so...there's no way I can't go see it, right?
Oh well, I've posted some music that's helping me ease my anxiety.
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