I saw "Sucker Punch" on the weekend. The title of this entry isn't really in direct reference to the movie, and it doesn't accurately represent my feelings about it either. I just thought it sounded like a pretty good snarky review title. Actually, I'm not going to review the movie, since that's not really the point of this blog.
What I will say about it is that I did not like it as much as I had hoped that I would. That being said, I sort of expected that. In 2007, I went to the movies with my college film class, we saw "300" as part of a lesson on critiquing. And the critique I gave that movie almost fits perfectly with this one: Plenty of style, very little substance. The characters evolve and grow, but we don't get to see any of it, because the action scenes took priority. I'll say this much, there was an internal conflict/plot point that I desperately wanted to see explored, and it was ignored almost entirely.
I had an idea for an invention this morning. Its basically a helmet that would prevent me from being able to eavesdrop on my co-workers and hear their opinions about things. The great thing about the internet is that if you don't really agree with what someone is saying you can either stop reading/listening/watching. But in a cubicle situation you just have sit there and listen to them spout off their ignorant bile about whatever the topic of the day might be. When this happens I really want to interject, because the instinctive part of me is naive and optimistic and think it can change people's minds for the better. Of course history has shown this to be untrue. So instead I keep my mouth shut and fester all day long about what the idiot said, angrily chewing over their narrow mindedness.
Of course blocking out the ability to receive outside view points is pretty much the definition of narrow mindedness. So even if it would reduce my stress ever so slightly, in the long run it would probably be... Oh yeah, of course we should clone dinosaurs so you can hunt them for sport. That makes a lot of sense.
Monday, March 28, 2011
Thursday, March 24, 2011
Not a single marionette in the whole movie
Last night I watched The Godfather Part 1 for the first time in my 29 years. Being a bit of a film buff and avoiding this classic for so long was no easy task. But I've never been all that interested in the Mafia-Action genre, although I do love Goodfellas. I felt slightly let down by The Godfather. What a controversial statement! But seriously, is it just me or was that narrative a little sloppy and loose? And not in the good way either, in the way that acts of vengence are carried out after heinous acts performed by other characters and it gets a bit confusing who's getting whacked for what.
The best part of watching the movie was getting to figure out all the pop-culutre references that I either only have understood before, or completely missed. The horse head in the bed was definitely a highlight. Along with the toll booth killing scene. A surprise was the line "I hope your first child is a masculine child." I had no idea Randall was quoting that, I just thought he was being a weirdo dick-bag.
I understand why the movie is a classic, the character arch of Michael is truly a masterpiece of storytelling, and I thoroughly enjoyed it. That being said the pacing was a little strange as well. At times there seemed to be minute to minute action, and at other times it appeared that months at a time passed and the only thing to indicate this was different haircuts and healed wounds. It's not like I was expecting a little text overlay of "3 months" later or whatever, but maybe a piece expository dialogue? Oh, and I missed half of the dialogue, because I guess I downloaded a torrent that supposed I would be bi-lingual in both Italian and English.
A terrific film that anyone who loves classics will enjoy.
The best part of watching the movie was getting to figure out all the pop-culutre references that I either only have understood before, or completely missed. The horse head in the bed was definitely a highlight. Along with the toll booth killing scene. A surprise was the line "I hope your first child is a masculine child." I had no idea Randall was quoting that, I just thought he was being a weirdo dick-bag.
I understand why the movie is a classic, the character arch of Michael is truly a masterpiece of storytelling, and I thoroughly enjoyed it. That being said the pacing was a little strange as well. At times there seemed to be minute to minute action, and at other times it appeared that months at a time passed and the only thing to indicate this was different haircuts and healed wounds. It's not like I was expecting a little text overlay of "3 months" later or whatever, but maybe a piece expository dialogue? Oh, and I missed half of the dialogue, because I guess I downloaded a torrent that supposed I would be bi-lingual in both Italian and English.
A terrific film that anyone who loves classics will enjoy.
Wednesday, March 23, 2011
Jehovah's Witnesses, penguins, and flamingos.
Around 5 years ago or so, I was staying with my parents in their small farm house that sat on an acreage that backed onto two correctional facilities. As you can imagine there wasn't a lot of foot traffic in this area, or even sidewalks. The neighbors on either side would require a 10 minute walk. In their own way I believe my parents to be slightly misanthropic people, they enjoy the isolation.
Even so, the community was largely religious; even though it wasn't the majority, there were Jehovah's Witnesses, and they did eventually make their rounds. It was a fairly bright afternoon, and I believe my parents were outside working in the garden or something. I, of course, was inside on the computer, or watching comedy on TV. They both rushed inside and began peering through the windows apprehensively. It was unusual for them to behave this way, but I recognized the behaviour from TV and movies: a bill collector had come calling. But wait, that didn't make any sense, my parents were fairly well off. What then?
Jehovah's Witnesses, two of them (they often travel in pairs), coming down the long drive way. My parents had seen them walking along the road and decided they could effectively pretend to not be home with 2 cars in the drive way. When I began to question their actions they leapt on the opportunity for me to fill in.
"Hey, you go out there!" My mom urged, "You like fucking with religious types, right?"
"Sure, why not?"
I grabbed the nearest religiously incendiary book I could find, I think it was some sort of subgenius publication of a world religion encyclopedia, and marched out to the driveway to sit on the bumper of my mom's car. Just as I cracked the book open the pair came around the corner and began to grin in a way I imagine a wolf would when it discovers prey. As they got closer their smiles diminished slightly. They probably read the cover of my book hoping to find an in for their conversation, as any good sales person would. Instead they decided to talk about their literature first.
Penguins! I guess starting with Jesus and God had become either boring or too difficult a sell for these people, so they developed side stories to write about in the Watchtower. Strange articles about random things that they could use to segue into tirades about family values. So apparently penguins mate for life. And because of this these people were able to conclude that God intends for everything to pair up for good, like on Noah's Ark.
It was at this point that I mentioned that I had heard that flamingos actually do the opposite of this, and mate with a different partner every year (checking Wikipedia now, I'm not sure the information about either birds is entirely true.) This erroneous data appeared to frustrate my visitors. Under their clenched smiles they said "isn't that interesting?" Then quickly diverted the conversation into their intended subject. Before I allowed them to tell me too much about their group worship I tried to interest them in my own made up religion called Zeoism. But just like any religious type that hears about it, or any salesperson being sold something, they decided to pack up their wares and move on.
At the time I marked myself victorious and went back inside. Thinking back on it, I wonder: Am I a penguin or a flamingo? If you were to make a judgement based on previous observed behaviour (as any self respecting Taxonomist would), it could be determined with certainty that I am a flamingo. But I feel rather strongly that I am not. And even though they're not as bright and colourful, or as thin, I would much rather think of myself as a penguin.
Even so, the community was largely religious; even though it wasn't the majority, there were Jehovah's Witnesses, and they did eventually make their rounds. It was a fairly bright afternoon, and I believe my parents were outside working in the garden or something. I, of course, was inside on the computer, or watching comedy on TV. They both rushed inside and began peering through the windows apprehensively. It was unusual for them to behave this way, but I recognized the behaviour from TV and movies: a bill collector had come calling. But wait, that didn't make any sense, my parents were fairly well off. What then?
Jehovah's Witnesses, two of them (they often travel in pairs), coming down the long drive way. My parents had seen them walking along the road and decided they could effectively pretend to not be home with 2 cars in the drive way. When I began to question their actions they leapt on the opportunity for me to fill in.
"Hey, you go out there!" My mom urged, "You like fucking with religious types, right?"
"Sure, why not?"
I grabbed the nearest religiously incendiary book I could find, I think it was some sort of subgenius publication of a world religion encyclopedia, and marched out to the driveway to sit on the bumper of my mom's car. Just as I cracked the book open the pair came around the corner and began to grin in a way I imagine a wolf would when it discovers prey. As they got closer their smiles diminished slightly. They probably read the cover of my book hoping to find an in for their conversation, as any good sales person would. Instead they decided to talk about their literature first.
Penguins! I guess starting with Jesus and God had become either boring or too difficult a sell for these people, so they developed side stories to write about in the Watchtower. Strange articles about random things that they could use to segue into tirades about family values. So apparently penguins mate for life. And because of this these people were able to conclude that God intends for everything to pair up for good, like on Noah's Ark.
It was at this point that I mentioned that I had heard that flamingos actually do the opposite of this, and mate with a different partner every year (checking Wikipedia now, I'm not sure the information about either birds is entirely true.) This erroneous data appeared to frustrate my visitors. Under their clenched smiles they said "isn't that interesting?" Then quickly diverted the conversation into their intended subject. Before I allowed them to tell me too much about their group worship I tried to interest them in my own made up religion called Zeoism. But just like any religious type that hears about it, or any salesperson being sold something, they decided to pack up their wares and move on.
At the time I marked myself victorious and went back inside. Thinking back on it, I wonder: Am I a penguin or a flamingo? If you were to make a judgement based on previous observed behaviour (as any self respecting Taxonomist would), it could be determined with certainty that I am a flamingo. But I feel rather strongly that I am not. And even though they're not as bright and colourful, or as thin, I would much rather think of myself as a penguin.
Tuesday, March 22, 2011
Sometimes its best just to ignore people
Scratch that. Let's say "It's almost always best to just ignore people." At least that's true of office environments, especially this office environment. I know how much that makes me sound like a misanthropic hermit, but the people here are literally trying to leech out each other's time to save themselves from boredom.
On the way to the breakroom where you get to spend 15 precious minutes not chained to a telephone any one of your co-workers may say something to the effect of "What's that on your shirt?" or if they can't even muster something specific they'll make a vague statement in an accusing tone like "I see what you're up to!"
All you see is me going on my break to eat sugary or salty junk food (it would've been sugary this time around) and I don't need you getting in my way. It would seem as though some people actually like these disruptions, as they probably have even less to do on their breaks than they do when they get home to their depressing little lives of repetitious decay.
And maybe I don't have so much to do that I need to shun all social interractions. But I do have a brand new episode of the WTF Podcast to listen to, and I'm dead certain that whatever Marc Maron is rambling about today is infinitely more interesting than whatever comments they might be trying to make about my t-shirt. This just happens to be the shirt that I'm wearing. You see Maron actually gets paid to talk, and I know we get paid to talk too. But we only get to talk about how to fix printers, not the cognitive dissonance one experiences being a consumer and a counter-culturist taking a tour of the World of Coca-Cola.
I hadn't really started this entry intending to advertise the WTF Podcast, with Marc Maron, I had meant to rant about the idiots I'm surrounded by how much I hate them trying to interact with me. I guess what I'm trying to say is: Leave me alone, and listen to the podcast. It's good.
On the way to the breakroom where you get to spend 15 precious minutes not chained to a telephone any one of your co-workers may say something to the effect of "What's that on your shirt?" or if they can't even muster something specific they'll make a vague statement in an accusing tone like "I see what you're up to!"
All you see is me going on my break to eat sugary or salty junk food (it would've been sugary this time around) and I don't need you getting in my way. It would seem as though some people actually like these disruptions, as they probably have even less to do on their breaks than they do when they get home to their depressing little lives of repetitious decay.
And maybe I don't have so much to do that I need to shun all social interractions. But I do have a brand new episode of the WTF Podcast to listen to, and I'm dead certain that whatever Marc Maron is rambling about today is infinitely more interesting than whatever comments they might be trying to make about my t-shirt. This just happens to be the shirt that I'm wearing. You see Maron actually gets paid to talk, and I know we get paid to talk too. But we only get to talk about how to fix printers, not the cognitive dissonance one experiences being a consumer and a counter-culturist taking a tour of the World of Coca-Cola.
I hadn't really started this entry intending to advertise the WTF Podcast, with Marc Maron, I had meant to rant about the idiots I'm surrounded by how much I hate them trying to interact with me. I guess what I'm trying to say is: Leave me alone, and listen to the podcast. It's good.
PMS - Methylphenidate: Day One.
With a misleading title like that I should probably start out by saying that this is not going to be a completely earnest journal of my adventures with prescription medication. It just so happens that I am beginning this blog on the first day I have started taking Ritalin. And that happens to be what I have decided to blog about today. Tomorrow, who knows, maybe something about my lamentable inability to draw complex robots.
Yesterday I actually went to the walk-in clinic. I had been talking about doing it for about 9 months, for a range of conditions from severe depression to possible schizophrenia. Because I'm currently living in a small town and am not particularly inclined to begin a patient-therapist relationship with whatever marginally talented empath that allowed failure to drive them to begin a practice in a wasteland such as this, I decided to begin with a fairly benign issue: My inability to focus and the panic that results from being faced with numerous "ordinary" tasks.
There was something else that was itching... bothering me, as well, so I asked the doctor to address that. And its not an venereal disease, hooray! Then I asked him about the itchy thing in my head. The thing that refuses to allow to work on any one thing for more than a few minutes, the thing that forces me to watch cartoons I've already seen over and over, so I don't get anxious about not knowing what's about to happen. The thing that made me stop trying. Sorta, that thing plus something else.
No sooner had I told the doctor that I actually feel panicked when I'm left alone in a room with nothing to do, there's a knock on the door. The receptionist/nurse person (nurson?) tells him that something is ready for him, and he tells me he'll be right back.
Alone. In a room. With nothing to do. The amusing irony of it was the only thing that kept me from scuffing a giant happy face into the floor with the soles of my shoes.
When the doctor came back he told me that he would have me try out Ritalin for a couple of weeks and see how it works. He asked me if I had heard anything about it, I had. Obviously, even if I hadn't taken psychology in high school, and had a teacher who wrote his thesis on ADD, I'd still have heard about it. It was that awful side project Nivek Ogre did after Skinny Puppy, right? I didn't say that, but if I had I imagine I would've got an even stranger perturbed stare from the doctor than the one I got only a few minutes later when I started babbling about his mini-PC.
Under the desk was a Sun Microsystems mini pc, connected to his monitor, keyboard, and mouse. I pointed out how genius the Sun Microsystems logo is, about how it spells "SUN" over and over, and looks vaguely like a microchip. The doctor politely feigned enthusiasm at having this brought to his attention, then went back to typing up my prescription. If anything I think I cemented in his mind that I really did need the medication.
I picked up the pills late last night after work. And I didn't take one until I was already at work this morning. The fear was that if I took it at home I might just want to stay at home and draw all day, which I definitely wish I was doing right now instead of sitting here with this headset on. Things are going fairly well so far I suppose. Perhaps I'll write another blog post later in the day with more of an overview, or summary of how things went. Then again, maybe I'll be too busy drawing.
Yesterday I actually went to the walk-in clinic. I had been talking about doing it for about 9 months, for a range of conditions from severe depression to possible schizophrenia. Because I'm currently living in a small town and am not particularly inclined to begin a patient-therapist relationship with whatever marginally talented empath that allowed failure to drive them to begin a practice in a wasteland such as this, I decided to begin with a fairly benign issue: My inability to focus and the panic that results from being faced with numerous "ordinary" tasks.
There was something else that was itching... bothering me, as well, so I asked the doctor to address that. And its not an venereal disease, hooray! Then I asked him about the itchy thing in my head. The thing that refuses to allow to work on any one thing for more than a few minutes, the thing that forces me to watch cartoons I've already seen over and over, so I don't get anxious about not knowing what's about to happen. The thing that made me stop trying. Sorta, that thing plus something else.
No sooner had I told the doctor that I actually feel panicked when I'm left alone in a room with nothing to do, there's a knock on the door. The receptionist/nurse person (nurson?) tells him that something is ready for him, and he tells me he'll be right back.
Alone. In a room. With nothing to do. The amusing irony of it was the only thing that kept me from scuffing a giant happy face into the floor with the soles of my shoes.
When the doctor came back he told me that he would have me try out Ritalin for a couple of weeks and see how it works. He asked me if I had heard anything about it, I had. Obviously, even if I hadn't taken psychology in high school, and had a teacher who wrote his thesis on ADD, I'd still have heard about it. It was that awful side project Nivek Ogre did after Skinny Puppy, right? I didn't say that, but if I had I imagine I would've got an even stranger perturbed stare from the doctor than the one I got only a few minutes later when I started babbling about his mini-PC.
Under the desk was a Sun Microsystems mini pc, connected to his monitor, keyboard, and mouse. I pointed out how genius the Sun Microsystems logo is, about how it spells "SUN" over and over, and looks vaguely like a microchip. The doctor politely feigned enthusiasm at having this brought to his attention, then went back to typing up my prescription. If anything I think I cemented in his mind that I really did need the medication.
I picked up the pills late last night after work. And I didn't take one until I was already at work this morning. The fear was that if I took it at home I might just want to stay at home and draw all day, which I definitely wish I was doing right now instead of sitting here with this headset on. Things are going fairly well so far I suppose. Perhaps I'll write another blog post later in the day with more of an overview, or summary of how things went. Then again, maybe I'll be too busy drawing.
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