My inadvertent John Voight-a-thon

They say good things come in three's (or is it bad things?). Perhaps that explains how I found myself nestled into the third installment of a weekend long John Voight Trilogy. I know what you're thinking "Sarah, with all the wonderful movies Mr. Voight has given us how could you choose just three?!" Well the answer is I didn't choose them, they chose me.

Yesterday I was watching my Netflix. After polishing off Shrek: the Third I moved on to Bratz: the movie. Can it, all of you. This brings us to act one of our J.V. saga. Although he only had a small supporting roll (with an inexplicable prosthetic nose) he did not disappoint. Whilst I was watching this great cinematic accomplishment I received an invite to see 4 Christmases at the movie theatre. I was excited to see this fine holiday flick, but I was even more delighted to discover Reese Witherspoon's father was played by none other than *drumroll* JOHN VOIGHT! Twice in one day? Christmas had come early!

The two events individually meant nothing, it wasn't until tonight that the trifecta was complete. I decided to toss in a movie for some background noise. Having recently purchased National Treasure 2 I thought this would be a nice choice. The previews didn't even run their course before I realized what I'd done - that's right. John Voight... you omnipresent bastard. As my findings began to soak in I experienced a whole 'nother kind of enlightenment....

Jack Skellington danced before me, his big black eyes staring through the tube....

As I glossed over the preview I was flooded with memories of the first time I saw The Nightmare Before Christmas. I was 10, and I had just been released from the hospital (true story, although it does add a nice dramatic effect). In the children's hospital patients are allowed to choose their menu in an effort to make things just a little more exciting. Unsure of what to order I turned to my mom for guidance. Chicken strips or meatloaf? Jello or ice cream? There were plenty of acceptable options, but one I didn't recognize. I asked my mom what "chicken teriyaki" was. All of the sudden the room grew dim and a spotlight beamed down over my mother. It's as if God himself were describing this delectable dish..... the brown rice was nestled all warm in it's sauce while visions of snap peas danced in my head...That's sounds good. I'll have that. I grabbed my orange crayon and drew a thick circle around the words. Crayola approved, and so did I.

The next day I was released... without warning, and without my chicken teriyaki. At this point I should've been happy I was going home, but all I could think about was my taste of the Orient lost. That weekend my mom, being the grand mother that she is, allowed me to venture out of the house. Still fragile and worn by my two-week stay in the hospital, Nan and I went to Movies 16 to see The Nightmare Before Christmas, but first we grabbed some lunch. There was a new restaurant in the mall called "Mandarin Express". It was there I tasted my first chicken teriyaki; it was there my love for fine Asian cuisine was born.

...Jack Skellington danced before me, his big black eyes staring through the tube... What did it all mean? Was it Tim Burton that lead me to one of the great loves of my life, or was it my mother who lead me to John Voight? It all flowed together in a David Lynch-ian sort of way, and it tasted good.