Oct. 17th, 2006

veronica_mars: (Default)
Last night I got subjected to a marathon of The Godfather movies. Technically it wasn’t a marathon, I guess, because we only watched the first two, but since together they totaled up to over six hours and I heard the third one sucked anyway, I’m going to go ahead and say whatever to the dictionary definition of “marathon” is and listen instead to the dull throbbing of my rear end.

Logan’s couch? Only comfortable for so long.

Anyway, marathon? Not a marathon? Not really the point. Watching Marlon Brando and Al Pacino and all of those other people that Logan assured me were understated and brilliant despite the fact that they were shooting each other and putting horse’s heads in each other’s beds (!) only really reminded me of one thing.

Neptune.

Oh, it’s not like we’re under mob rule or anything. If the Fitzpatrick family were anything like the Corleones I’d probably be a lot more worried. As a family of crime lords, they’re bordering on third rate.

The Mars family, however – that means me – what an emulation of the Corleones we are! Not that we’re at all tied into the mob or anything. Exactly the opposite! But the similarities between the relationship between Michael and Don Corleone to the relationship between myself and Dad that it’s really striking! I swear!

Michael was Vito’s favorite son. (I am Dad’s favorite daughter. Only, true, but not the point as we are looking for similarities.) Vito wanted his favorite son away from the family business, so he sent him to the army. (Dad wanted favorite [again, only] daughter away from the family business after she almost got herself killed, so he forced me to get a job at Java the Hutt. Or anywhere but Mars Investigations, really.) Vito almost died several times. (Dad almost died several times.) Michael joined the business. (Dad let me start working back at the agency!) Vito died. There, the similarities end.

It’s true that I am comparing the mob to a PI business, but we’ve investigated that kind of thing before. And the army to Java the Hutt. And Vito Corleone to Keith Mars. And Hearst College to the Senate.

But the similarities are there.

Which of course makes Logan Diane Keaton.

And that final piece of the puzzle just makes complete and total sense.

There is no way in which I am not right. Right?
veronica_mars: (Default)
I've had a couple of close calls. More than a couple, really. I guess you could call it a few, which is just a little too close for comfort. It’s like, once you survive a psychotic movie star, once you just miss a bus crash, once you don’t get killed by the gun-wielding wannabe mobsters, once the deeply disturbed teenager doesn’t manage to push you off a roof, what’s next? How much more can you possibly survive before your number is going to just be up already?

So far I’ve been lucky – if that’s the word you want to use. People have been at the right place at the right time, but somehow I don’t think that my dad’s always going to be around to save me. Neither is Logan. And while I’m capable of many things, I’ve learned the hard way that PI skills and a taser generally aren’t the tools required to extract one safely from a life or death situation.

Lilly died because she was a little too careless about some things but she was still – I almost died for practically the same reason that she did. She stole the tapes that Aaron Echolls had made of the two of them having sex and refused to give them back. Lilly had a smart and sassy mouth. When I found them it was exactly the same deal, only my death would’ve been much worse than Lilly’s. You think a little bit of congealed blood on the side of your head is bad?

Imagine being barbequed alive.

God, nobody I haunted would’ve been happy to see me.

These days I feel like I’m walking around with a gun between my shoulder blades, just waiting for somebody to pull the trigger. Maybe that’s why I can’t just get back to my old self. There’s that soft, gooey center just bubbling down inside of me but I keep quashing it down and pushing people away.

I imagine Lilly, wherever she is, happy and free. Whenever I dream about her the blood is gone, and she’s out of that stupid pep squad uniform. She’s Lilly again, which means that we can all move on down here.

It won’t be for too long, though. I have a feeling I’ll be joining her soon enough.

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December 2007

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