I like books. I like movies.
On very rare occasions, I love films that are based on novels. To Kill a Mockingbird is a really great example of a life-changing book-turned-movie.

Hey, everybody, have you heard? Harper Lee's work of art is turning the big five-oh.
And maybe The Devil Wears Prada is not as profound as To Kill a Mockingbird, but I love watching Meryl Streep give Anne Hathaway the stinkeye almost (almost) as much as I enjoyed reading about the psychological abuse Andrea Sachs suffers at the hands of Miranda Priestly.
That On the Road is being made into a movie bothers me no end. This is a big mistake. Huge. The beauty of Jack Kerouac is stream-of-consciousness. Everything exists within the reader and is interpretive to the nth degree. On the Road means something different to everybody, and whoever is directing it, Walter Salles, will probably go with his interpretation, which is probably wrong, and screw it up for people like me, who are right.
Also, is Stewart really the best we can do these days?
Her conversation-starter of choice? "Feline AIDS is the No. 1 killer of cats."
This chick might just be the most miserable person ever. All she does is sulk, mumble and
show up to and win MTV awards. Yet it seems like she has all the opportunities in the world.
Which is really upsetting, because she should
not portray a character from
On the Road. Maybe she could get away with playing some angsty Vampire-lover (all this "Team Edward" and "Team Jacob" stuff is beyond me, so this is anyone's guess), but Stewart was not born to play Mary Lou . . .
like I was. Seriously, Salles, I am just a phone call away.
Until then, I guess I will just keep hitting the books — and throwing mental daggers at the film industry.
AP Photos (Kristen Stewart/Dan Steinberg)