Zoltar Speaks

Back in August, I was at a theater conference in Los Angeles. My dear friend Jessica and I decided to play hooky one afternoon and take a cab down to Santa Monica. As we meandered around the boardwalk, we stumbled upon this:

And yes, yes indeed, I nearly shat myself. ZOLTAR SPEAKS! After taking this photo, I quietly whispered, "I wish I were big."

Ohhh, Big. The greatest movie Tom Hanks ever did. See, I am an early Hanks fan. I watched Bosom Buddies with my mom, still laugh hysterically at The Burbs and fell desperately in love with the movie Big when I was eight-years-old. Yeah, yeah he got Oscars for Philadelphia and Forrest Gump. In my mind, he deserves an honorary Oscar (do those exist!?!) for this scene:

Get used to tangents--they happen a lot in this here neck of the woods that is my brain.

Back to Big.

If I recall, the movie Zoltar Speaks had glowing eyes, so this must be the kinder, gentler model. Fine. This seemingly useless artifact ignites a memory. I don't care about possessions much (except my mint condition People magazine the week John Lennon was murdered), but items have the power to resurrect feelings and thoughts you haven't felt and thought about in a long time.

The Zoltar machine reminded me why I adore the movie Big.  The entire premise of the movie is a 12-year old boy wishes he were an adult. Once it happens, he gets to touch some boobies. Heyo!

But seriously, folks. He perceives the world without invented complications or pessimism or cynicism as the other adults in the film. He is frank in conversation, admits when he is wrong and doesn't mind admitting he is confused or afraid. As an eight-year-old I distinctly remember thinking, "I don't know a single grown-up like that."  Where is the balance between the mind of a child and the mind of an adult?

Jessica and I had a heck of a time on the Santa Monica pier. We dipped our feet in the Pacific, collected rocks, talked about the multi-colored houses, ate ice cream and then attempted to walk all the way back to Los Angeles via Santa Monica Boulevard. We made it about five miles before we hailed a cab outside a pawn shop. We believed for a bit there was no road too long, no idea too ridiculous, no story left untold.