Scarlet Johansson is adorable. The extraordinary talent she displayed in 'Love Song for Bobby Long' has secured her as a keeper, really it has. So why am I so disappointed to read the dialogue in this interview? Why does she come across as completely disjointed and, well, 9 years old? It makes you think of the reporter as an exceptionally obsequious special-ed teacher.

"Where do you call home, Scarlett?"

"I bought a house in L.A., but I got lonely and sold it and moved into the Chateau Marmont. Then I got a fish, because I was lonely there. He was a Japanese fighting fish named Cassius. I cleaned his water every three days, but somebody took care of him for a week and they let his water get dirty. He got a skin disease and died. I was mortified. I dug a giant hole in the garden at the Chateau Marmont and buried him. I know it was just a fish, but somehow he became a good friend of mine."

"Very Good, Scarlett. Now why don't you tell me about your new puppy, Maggie?

"She's this little bitty thing. The first three days, she didn't make a sound. Then the fourth day, she started barking incessantly. It was irritating, so I taught her not to bark. You spray them in the butt with a water bottle. It doesn't hurt."

"That's wonderful, sweetie. Please stop eating your glue."

Today I received a post that was written in the casual yet ornate script I recognized immediately to be my mother's. Inside was a birthday card and white tissue paper that held my present. I had asked my mother for a cash gift, simply because I'm 18 and in need of a new cell phone. When she reluctantly agreed to consider it, I thought she was being somewhat selfish in wanting to buy me a dress or some such gift. As I unfolded the tissue and saw the glistening of an exquisite necklace tumbling from the wrapping, I felt greedy and pathetic. Money is easy; my mother wanted to give all that she could by ransacking salt lake for the perfect gift before delivering. I left a thank you on her voicemail, and felt proper and polite, but softly distant. I miss her.

"I bought you the most elegant necklace I could find for your 18th birthday. What an important day for you. Just as you have far's wedding ring and the golden heart pendent from mor- both priceless heirlooms- this necklace can become an heirloom for your posterity that is handed down again and again. It's so you and it's the one way you can always be remembered. But...until then, wear it when you want to be especially beautiful. I love you and miss you terribly. -Mom"

My eyes stung as I thought of my previous selfishness, of my eternally animate pessimism, of my ingratitude. Half of the cutting beauty of growth lies in the flippancy from which we grow.

Mom, you are a phone call away, but it's late and I don't mean to wake you. Hopefully my need to tell you this will not dwindle with the passing time. Be happy, darling. You are so dear to me. All hallmark cards aside, friction and tribulation is what makes us appreciate what we have. I have my issues that I've allowed to push me to thanklessness, but please excuse the crimes of a child; I know, and will never deny, that you are a fantastic mother.

I saw Batman Begins. I hesitate to critique, but simply because the painful recognition of Batman and Robin springs to mind. I still can't talk about that catastrophe; it insulted my very being and left scars carved deep into my fanatical batman-loving skin, and I'm simply not ready to talk about it. Batman Begins was, well, better, but I still had plenty to complain about.

I am an avid devotee of the crusader and the massive amounts of money he utilizes as opposed to crazy super powers. This is mainly because of the brilliant, beautiful, breathtaking perfection of Batman TAS - never before has an animated series done such justice to the original idea; the dark, deco animation and eloquent screenplay converted me into an active aficionada- reminds me of what can be done. It glorifies its hero, but doesn't stop short of pointing out the fact that the dude's a wack (for example: batman's penchant for dealing with the death of his parents by fighting strangers and donning spandex). The villains are ostensibly metaphoric yet superbly developed, conveying the gamut of human obsession and vice, equipped with stylish dress and moderately bad puns.

Imagine my dismay when a multi-million dollar movie with Michael Cane, Morgan Freeman, Gary Oldman and Liam Neeson fell short of doing half as fantastic a job as the crew of TAS. Come now! The batmobile was a hummer? Does that not fight the very existence of batman? Katie Holmes, a romantic interest? Ra's Al Ghul the principal villain?

Poppycock! The movie put me right to sleep.

Just in: My 'profile views' have just topped 1000. That means that a year and a half of piddling about on the intrarweb have resulted in 1000 people stumbling upon my rants, reading a couple words, and promptly returning to cosmopolitan.com to see what Jen is really feeling about Angelina's progeny and his crazy hair cut.

W00T.

I awoke this afternoon with tears in my eyes. They glistened with the sheen of broken defeat and slid down my face and onto my pillow, drenching the cloth and cementing my torment in physical condition. The light did not welcome me; I had retired the night before pleading that the sun would never rise.

Is this the experience I've begged for? In my foolish conquest for adventure did I silently bargain to cripple myself? Will I rise, will I find courage, will I inch forward towards whatever it is I want to be yet can't fathom becoming? I've glorified deceit, cunning and duplicity because I fear that I can accomplish nothing more. Where will I find the strength to change when I've outgrown the witless antics of the insecure? My pretension has distorted who I am; I haven't the courage to discover what that is because I'm too afraid nothing is there. Surely there's a hidden compartment from which I can draw support. Surely behind these masks and lies stands a woman worth cherishing.

May I do justice to the affection that has been showered upon this undeserving little girl. I stood thirsting, starving for acceptance under a cascade of devotion and tenderness, but instead of scurrying to collect every sacred drop I allowed it to run off me and I rendered it useless. How thankful I am for the pain my tears sear into my being; may they stand a reminder of the unconditional love I've taken advantage of.

I am weak. I have no option but to beg for mercy that extends above justice.