The Silver Screen...

The silver screen.

Why is it called that? Well, because the screens used to be silver - duh! Back in the days of black and white film, when a flickering feature was the highlight of the week, screens were silver for the better reflections and contrast. And now 3D movies are growing, they might make a comeback. Same deal.

And anywho, the White Screen just doesn't have the same glamorous ring to it as the Silver Screen, now does it?

If a movie were to made of your life, would you go see it? Would there be enough in your day of waking, working, soaps and snoring to enthral the viewer? Would a red carpet be laid out, flashing photographers shouting out your name?

"Look here!" "Smile!"

And who would play you? Someone dashing or alluring? Brad Pitt? Matt Damon? Ryan Reynolds? Jennifer Aniston? Penelope Cruz? Or someone more... normal. An actor without the perfect skin and face and nose? Who would you choose?

Me. What do I think?

Is my life worthy of a movie? I doubt it. Even in the days of Avatar and Harry Potter, or where werewolf and vampire vie for the love of a girl, the story of a man who can kill people with his mind. Not entirely believable, is it?

Saying that, it's not even my mind. I don't actually know what it is. It's something inside of me. Evil? A demon? Ask me another.

I really don't know. But that's why I'm here. That's why I eat the slop and spend my days in a single recreation room with only MTV and puddles of Mickey's mucous to keep me company.

Who'd want to see a film about that?

But. Who would play me?

Now I'm not vain enough to believe the like of Pitt or Damon would want to step into my shoes. Maybe Mark Wahlberg. He's not the clean cut action star. He's played the comedic and the calamitous. Or Kevin Spacey. Sure I have a little more hair. No. He draws attention to himself. Even without intending it (though he is an actor and that's what he's there for), you're drawn to him. I'm an everyman - and I believe that is glorifying myself.

Ordinary Joe. That's me. A little more ordinary than most. Or, at least, that's what I'd like. But the deaths. The screams. Maybe that's a little more than ordinary. it doesn't change me, though. It simply drags me out of my shoes and throws me about in the grumbling storm clouds above. And the deaths rain down.

A movie about me, on a screen silver or white.

Hardly Oscar material.

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