Well the day is here! Valentine's Day! Anti-Valentine's Day! Singles Awareness Day! (abbreviated S.A.D.) But honestly people, is it so terrible to be single? And aware?
And much to the hearty disapproval of the corporate conglomerates that would prefer us to shell out millions on chocolates and heart-shaped sugar candies, many people have snubbed this holiday and called it a glorified commercialization and mockery of the true experience of love- which is shared between 2 people on every single day of the year. Indeed, for some of us every day is a single day.
Perhaps if we look back at history then we can begin to appreciate the true origins of this heartfelt day. Scholars debate on the actual identity of St. Valentine himself- some even believe he is the "combination" of two or more persons, or two or more persons with the same name. What is known, however, is that some time way back when some random Roman dead dude was put in the ground on February 14th, inaugurating the feast and festival that has evolved into our modern Valentine's Day.
So in reality we are actually celebrating someone's funeral (well love is dead, right? *wink*) with our Werther's and "be mine"s and flowers galore. And just like the deceased St. Valentine himself, what we often bring to the metaphoric casket is a heart that has stopped beating in some way. Either the heart is suspended mid-beat and frozen in some foggy rose-tinted dreamland ... or it's been broken.
Another interesting historical note is the link between Valentine's Day and romanticism. In the 14th century Geoffrey Chaucer and his gang in England began to associate the two together, creating the celebration of love in shades of pink (blush and bashful), red, and white.
Romanticism- ahh, an idea that for some of us has taken a journey 6 feet under (a.k.a. cynicism). After all, if you are dressed in only allegorical black then a bleeding heart can't leave any stains. Still, we usually manage to eventually change out of those dreary funeral frocks and give that bright white suit another chance. Just make sure you bring some Shout or bleach to the funeral.
But should the white suit be blotched and blemished again, don't worry-- like most things, in the end everything turns up roses ;-)
Thursday, February 14, 2008
Wednesday, February 13, 2008
Pre-War Man
Here is a photocopied essay, printed on bright green paper and conspicuously placed in the wedge between seats of a Metro car today. Seems whoever printed and left it wanted to make sure it was discovered. It was so amusing I decided to share the joy with all of you:
The "Pre-War Man"
"CIA GOD FATHER"
"A lie detector test can discover the truth"
To cover up the U.S. Homeland civil war that all began around the middle of May 2006. AND to cover up the fact that I overthrown George Bush the 1st, the 2nd and Donald Rumsfeld back in 2006:
The spies supporting George Bush have been using "CIA spy technology" to mis-lead the public about me and my facts stated. I am also the person that invented the "Pre-War plan". George Bush and other people emulated my "Pre-War plan" and called it "Pre-War Intelligence.
*How it feels when ever someone is being mind washed
1. Sometimes it feels like a smaller version of how your face and head feels when standing up after you did a head stand for at least 5 minutes. Kind of like a head rush.
2. Sometimes it feels like fluid running through parts of your face or head the same tempature as your blood.
3. Sometimes it feels like your head is moving when it's really not.
4. Sometimes it feels like your head or face is shifting composures. You would have to stand still for at least 2-3 minutes after the time a feeling is transfered into your mind in order to be aware of being mind washed. You will either feel these kinds of feelings at our nose, mouth, fourhead, the top of your head or the back of your head.
They will mind wash someone with good feelings about me to cover up how it feels when ever being mind washed. They will mind wash you to feel turned off, bored or out of touch about my info. Even strange feelings can be transfered into someone. They can also mind wash people while sleep.
They also have "CIA spy sound travel devices" used to create people talking in public and over the phone. Sound travels of people talking are usually created to start rumors and negitive talk about me and to stall time. Sound travel devices can record any ones voic......
***
End of transmission from Mars ... *ahem* I mean from the green Metro paper.
Well, I've never been one for conspiracy theories, but if the current administration is resorting to torture and lying about it, perhaps this guy/girl isn't that far off track...
Man- suddenly I feel dizzy ....
The "Pre-War Man"
"CIA GOD FATHER"
"A lie detector test can discover the truth"
To cover up the U.S. Homeland civil war that all began around the middle of May 2006. AND to cover up the fact that I overthrown George Bush the 1st, the 2nd and Donald Rumsfeld back in 2006:
The spies supporting George Bush have been using "CIA spy technology" to mis-lead the public about me and my facts stated. I am also the person that invented the "Pre-War plan". George Bush and other people emulated my "Pre-War plan" and called it "Pre-War Intelligence.
*How it feels when ever someone is being mind washed
1. Sometimes it feels like a smaller version of how your face and head feels when standing up after you did a head stand for at least 5 minutes. Kind of like a head rush.
2. Sometimes it feels like fluid running through parts of your face or head the same tempature as your blood.
3. Sometimes it feels like your head is moving when it's really not.
4. Sometimes it feels like your head or face is shifting composures. You would have to stand still for at least 2-3 minutes after the time a feeling is transfered into your mind in order to be aware of being mind washed. You will either feel these kinds of feelings at our nose, mouth, fourhead, the top of your head or the back of your head.
They will mind wash someone with good feelings about me to cover up how it feels when ever being mind washed. They will mind wash you to feel turned off, bored or out of touch about my info. Even strange feelings can be transfered into someone. They can also mind wash people while sleep.
They also have "CIA spy sound travel devices" used to create people talking in public and over the phone. Sound travels of people talking are usually created to start rumors and negitive talk about me and to stall time. Sound travel devices can record any ones voic......
***
End of transmission from Mars ... *ahem* I mean from the green Metro paper.
Well, I've never been one for conspiracy theories, but if the current administration is resorting to torture and lying about it, perhaps this guy/girl isn't that far off track...
Man- suddenly I feel dizzy ....
Monday, February 11, 2008
Why my bank can kiss it
"Welcome to Peoples First Community Bank of Florida, where we always put the customer first ... that is, of course, unless you actually want to DO something with your accounts. In that case, please stay on the line and we will send someone over right away to bend you over and force you to take it brokeback-mountain-style but without the spit. Thank you."
It isn't far from the truth. Peoples First has officially been bumped to the top of my "To Be Eliminated" list, just behind left-standers on the Metro and Splenda-made cookies.
I called PFCBoF today to inquire how I might go about closing my checking and savings accounts with them. After I had personally offended the customer service representative by choosing to close an account -- something apparently as rude as selling her first born child to hungry gypsies -- I had to explain my rationale.
"Well, I no longer live in Florida. And your interest rates aren't very competitive. And the online banking security is a real nightmare and not very user-friendly."
I spent the next half-hour consoling the poor woman as if we had just ended an engagement the night before the wedding. But as we all know, hell hath no fury like a customer service representative woman's scorn ...
"Well, sir, you have to come in in person to verify your identity to close any account. But since you live in DC, when you close the account we'll have to send you your money by mail. Is your address current with Peoples First?"
"No it isn't. I moved to DC"
"Ah, well in that case you'll have to mail in a notarized form with your social security number on it verifying your identity before your mailing address can be changed."
"Can't I change my mailing address online?"
"No, you silly ass. That would be efficient customer service, and at Peoples First we believe that the customer should always suffer, you insolent bitch."
"I see. Well, your online security is very strict (and antiquated), so I'm surprised that Peoples First would ask its customers to send a paper form through the mail which has their social security number printed clearly on it. That doesn't seem very secure."
"Well that's what you get for breaking my heart, you hateful monster. MONSTER!!!" *click*
Immediately after, I entered an incorrect password on their online system and was permanently locked out of my account until I called customer service to reinstate it. *slowly bends over again and winces*
"Please hold, I'll transfer you to the next representative. Yes, I'm speaking in a very cheerful computer voice. That's because I take an unprecedented amount of SSRIs before drinking hard liquor every morning, and I am tickled pink with the satisfaction that you'll be sore every time you sit down today and that you'll be walking somewhat bowlegged. Please hold."
And then I got a voice mail message. A voice mail? A FRIGGIN' VOICE MAIL IN CUSTOMER SERVICE?!?
So to ensure that I always remember my password and avoid future lock-outs from Peoples First, for my password I have selected a string of expletives that accurately describes this financial institution.
However, just to be on the safe side, I'll avoid the use of the word "asshole" in any future interaction with Peoples First *reaches for soothing ointment*
It isn't far from the truth. Peoples First has officially been bumped to the top of my "To Be Eliminated" list, just behind left-standers on the Metro and Splenda-made cookies.
I called PFCBoF today to inquire how I might go about closing my checking and savings accounts with them. After I had personally offended the customer service representative by choosing to close an account -- something apparently as rude as selling her first born child to hungry gypsies -- I had to explain my rationale.
"Well, I no longer live in Florida. And your interest rates aren't very competitive. And the online banking security is a real nightmare and not very user-friendly."
I spent the next half-hour consoling the poor woman as if we had just ended an engagement the night before the wedding. But as we all know, hell hath no fury like a customer service representative woman's scorn ...
"Well, sir, you have to come in in person to verify your identity to close any account. But since you live in DC, when you close the account we'll have to send you your money by mail. Is your address current with Peoples First?"
"No it isn't. I moved to DC"
"Ah, well in that case you'll have to mail in a notarized form with your social security number on it verifying your identity before your mailing address can be changed."
"Can't I change my mailing address online?"
"No, you silly ass. That would be efficient customer service, and at Peoples First we believe that the customer should always suffer, you insolent bitch."
"I see. Well, your online security is very strict (and antiquated), so I'm surprised that Peoples First would ask its customers to send a paper form through the mail which has their social security number printed clearly on it. That doesn't seem very secure."
"Well that's what you get for breaking my heart, you hateful monster. MONSTER!!!" *click*
Immediately after, I entered an incorrect password on their online system and was permanently locked out of my account until I called customer service to reinstate it. *slowly bends over again and winces*
"Please hold, I'll transfer you to the next representative. Yes, I'm speaking in a very cheerful computer voice. That's because I take an unprecedented amount of SSRIs before drinking hard liquor every morning, and I am tickled pink with the satisfaction that you'll be sore every time you sit down today and that you'll be walking somewhat bowlegged. Please hold."
And then I got a voice mail message. A voice mail? A FRIGGIN' VOICE MAIL IN CUSTOMER SERVICE?!?
So to ensure that I always remember my password and avoid future lock-outs from Peoples First, for my password I have selected a string of expletives that accurately describes this financial institution.
However, just to be on the safe side, I'll avoid the use of the word "asshole" in any future interaction with Peoples First *reaches for soothing ointment*
Sunday, February 3, 2008
Hey there, cowboy
Last Saturday I completed a rite of passage that is only experienced by persons who are determined to spin and twirl in style on the country-western dance floor. Yes, I have finally purchased a pair of cowboy boots (to which my mother said "Oh great, now you'll have something to wear when it snows" ... *sigh*, obviously I am not actually her child).
Carol's Western Wear, the recommended outlet for boots and other related paraphernalia (really its sole purpose is boots *wink*), has been Maryland's leading dealer of the only acceptable things to come out of Alabama since 1962. It was charming- except for the "Yay Department of Homeland Security is fabulous!" shirts that instantly smack your attention upon entering the store (gayness added by blog author).
After finding the perfect pair of pumps- *cough*, I mean, burly man boots (yaaaay!!! *claps*)- in black cherry size 10.5, and leaning over my new babies and welcoming them into my world (the shop assistant gave me the strangest look when I stroked them and whispered hoarsely "My preciousssssssss" - weird), I was ready to check out.
BUT WAIT - there was already some checking out that was a foot (*wink again*, love these pedestrian references **wink again again**). My friend and I had stumbled upon a young black guy dolled up in very trendy metrosexual-meets-Mississippi gear, complete with boots, jacket, and cap all in complimenting dark grey, black, and white colors. Amazing smile, friendly disposition, and hopefully gay.
After a short attempt at flirting, my friend and I left Carol's with a slight regret that we had not saved a horse and ridden the cowboy behind us in the checkout line. In a fit of madness, obviously due to sniffing the leather cleaner while in the store, I stormed back into the Boot Palace to fetch the cutie's phone number for my dear friend (something I would never do for myself, unless I had actually been drinking the leather cleaner).
Fearless and uninhibited by asking a question that would definitely get you whipped in the Bible Belt, I began my hunt for digits and potential embarrassment.
"Hi there. Yeah ... Um, I'm not really sure if this is your thing, but my friend is very shy and he kinda wants to have your phone number."
Huge grin (awkward or flattered???).
"Yeah um ... so he wants your number ..." (scanning face fervently) "... but uh, I don't know if that's how you roll so ... um ........." *cough*
Missi-Metro responds: "Oh, haha ... well, you see, about 4 or 5 years ago-------------"
In the span of a few nanoseconds I had already completed his thought with a million hypotheticals::: "----I used to be in the closet." or "----I had a near-death experience that made me realize that penis is hot." or "----my heart was broken by this queeny bitch and I've been looking for a soul mate ever since."
Instead, it was "----I started going to church and was saved and all ...."
Me: "Ah, I see. Well, you know, you can be saved and be gay all at the same time."
*uncomfortable laughing* "Haha well *random words of little importance as I had already given up*" .... blah blah blah basically he keeps his donkey parked in the stable where it can't (or won't?) do any man-bucking and thus he is dead to me *spit Jack-style*.
A very interesting response, wouldn't you say??? It's like asking "Hey there, sir, do you like chicken sandwiches?" and getting the answer of "Well I started eating tofu a while back." Notice that the question goes mysteriously unanswered ...
The only shame I experienced, since apparently I don't have much at all, was returning to the car to inform my red-faced friend that Mr. Poser- ahem, I mean Mr. Random Cowboy Man, had rejected his request on account of a religious experience.
My only conclusion on this ambiguous man is this: obviously he's never done any proper riding while in stirrups.
Carol's Western Wear, the recommended outlet for boots and other related paraphernalia (really its sole purpose is boots *wink*), has been Maryland's leading dealer of the only acceptable things to come out of Alabama since 1962. It was charming- except for the "Yay Department of Homeland Security is fabulous!" shirts that instantly smack your attention upon entering the store (gayness added by blog author).
After finding the perfect pair of pumps- *cough*, I mean, burly man boots (yaaaay!!! *claps*)- in black cherry size 10.5, and leaning over my new babies and welcoming them into my world (the shop assistant gave me the strangest look when I stroked them and whispered hoarsely "My preciousssssssss" - weird), I was ready to check out.
BUT WAIT - there was already some checking out that was a foot (*wink again*, love these pedestrian references **wink again again**). My friend and I had stumbled upon a young black guy dolled up in very trendy metrosexual-meets-Mississippi gear, complete with boots, jacket, and cap all in complimenting dark grey, black, and white colors. Amazing smile, friendly disposition, and hopefully gay.
After a short attempt at flirting, my friend and I left Carol's with a slight regret that we had not saved a horse and ridden the cowboy behind us in the checkout line. In a fit of madness, obviously due to sniffing the leather cleaner while in the store, I stormed back into the Boot Palace to fetch the cutie's phone number for my dear friend (something I would never do for myself, unless I had actually been drinking the leather cleaner).
Fearless and uninhibited by asking a question that would definitely get you whipped in the Bible Belt, I began my hunt for digits and potential embarrassment.
"Hi there. Yeah ... Um, I'm not really sure if this is your thing, but my friend is very shy and he kinda wants to have your phone number."
Huge grin (awkward or flattered???).
"Yeah um ... so he wants your number ..." (scanning face fervently) "... but uh, I don't know if that's how you roll so ... um ........." *cough*
Missi-Metro responds: "Oh, haha ... well, you see, about 4 or 5 years ago-------------"
In the span of a few nanoseconds I had already completed his thought with a million hypotheticals::: "----I used to be in the closet." or "----I had a near-death experience that made me realize that penis is hot." or "----my heart was broken by this queeny bitch and I've been looking for a soul mate ever since."
Instead, it was "----I started going to church and was saved and all ...."
Me: "Ah, I see. Well, you know, you can be saved and be gay all at the same time."
*uncomfortable laughing* "Haha well *random words of little importance as I had already given up*" .... blah blah blah basically he keeps his donkey parked in the stable where it can't (or won't?) do any man-bucking and thus he is dead to me *spit Jack-style*.
A very interesting response, wouldn't you say??? It's like asking "Hey there, sir, do you like chicken sandwiches?" and getting the answer of "Well I started eating tofu a while back." Notice that the question goes mysteriously unanswered ...
The only shame I experienced, since apparently I don't have much at all, was returning to the car to inform my red-faced friend that Mr. Poser- ahem, I mean Mr. Random Cowboy Man, had rejected his request on account of a religious experience.
My only conclusion on this ambiguous man is this: obviously he's never done any proper riding while in stirrups.
Thursday, January 31, 2008
Interpreting
30,000 professional sign language interpreters across the United States experience something on a daily basis that most other professionals do not have to face. Like a mouse in a maze, ASL terps are sent through a dizzying array of twisted passageways, dead-ends, frustrations, and conflicting instructions before we finally reach the end of our hunt and secure our prize. Although instead of a piece of cheese, interpreters get a person who is deaf.
David's Story: Deaf patient at a medical facility
"Oh what a good day to be a communication facilitator and provide access to language!" David takes in a deep, satisfying breath and asks the front desk attendant where he can find Mr. SoNso to provide him with the interpematation.
"You're a what?"
"A sign language interpreter."
Blank stare.
"I interpret for people who are deaf."
"Dead people? Why do they need an interpreter? They're dead!"
"No sir, DEAF ... as in a person who cannot hear? Namely yourself?" (last question was interior monologue)
"Hmm ... yes ..." *ruffles papers and tries to look knowledgeable* "Yes ... oh here we go. Yes, go to the part of the hospital called 'International Relations'."
Blank stare ... this time from David.
The interpreter, puzzled and quite confident that International Relations has nothing to do with deafness, spends a significant amount of time hunting down the IR office. Upon entering, David sees flags of multiple nationalities adorning the wall, as well as informative pamphlets on foreigners' rights (or non-rights?) to medical care in the great U.S.of.A.holes.
Two individuals, speaking with accents that are definitely of foreign nature, turn with helpful expressions to the interpreter.
"Ah ... yes ... I'm a sign language interpreter and I'm here to interpret for a person who is deaf."
Blank stares.
"Is this the right place?"
They look at the interpreter as if he had just undid his pants and started using Jim Carrey ass-speak. "Sir, what you want is Patient Advocacy."
Another 10 minutes later David finds himself in the Patient Advocacy office, only to find that the assignment had been cancelled.
This cheese stinks.
David's Story: Deaf patient at a medical facility
"Oh what a good day to be a communication facilitator and provide access to language!" David takes in a deep, satisfying breath and asks the front desk attendant where he can find Mr. SoNso to provide him with the interpematation.
"You're a what?"
"A sign language interpreter."
Blank stare.
"I interpret for people who are deaf."
"Dead people? Why do they need an interpreter? They're dead!"
"No sir, DEAF ... as in a person who cannot hear? Namely yourself?" (last question was interior monologue)
"Hmm ... yes ..." *ruffles papers and tries to look knowledgeable* "Yes ... oh here we go. Yes, go to the part of the hospital called 'International Relations'."
Blank stare ... this time from David.
The interpreter, puzzled and quite confident that International Relations has nothing to do with deafness, spends a significant amount of time hunting down the IR office. Upon entering, David sees flags of multiple nationalities adorning the wall, as well as informative pamphlets on foreigners' rights (or non-rights?) to medical care in the great U.S.of.A.holes.
Two individuals, speaking with accents that are definitely of foreign nature, turn with helpful expressions to the interpreter.
"Ah ... yes ... I'm a sign language interpreter and I'm here to interpret for a person who is deaf."
Blank stares.
"Is this the right place?"
They look at the interpreter as if he had just undid his pants and started using Jim Carrey ass-speak. "Sir, what you want is Patient Advocacy."
Another 10 minutes later David finds himself in the Patient Advocacy office, only to find that the assignment had been cancelled.
This cheese stinks.
Metro responds
Last week I wrote a blog about a very disturbing Metro experience that apparently isn't all that uncommon. After reading through some other blogs and news sources, it seems that Metro has faltered in several areas of customer safety. I wrote Metro with a formal complaint, and then forwarded that email to the Blade, Metro Weekly, and the GLBT Liaison Police.
I received a phone call from Metro 2 days after my email, and a very VERY professional and courteous man spent a good amount of time discussing the situation with me.
Basically, the Metro transit police has about 400 officers employed to monitor over 80 Metro stations, 1,600 bus lines, and over 100 miles of railways throughout DC and the metro area. He explained that their resources are spread thin, and so every Metro station cannot be manned with an officer at all times (I just realized how sexist the verb "to man" is ... correction-- "every Metro station cannot be person-ed with an officer"). Therefore, it is sometimes faster to get the train to the officers rather than get the officers to the train.
Staffing, budget constraints, etc. etc. etc. and certainly not the answer I wanted to hear. Unfortunately, there was absolutely nothing this man could do to magically fix the problem.
So money and staffing aside, my biggest concern was the lack of communication on the part of the train operator. If the train is being moved and transit police have been (or will be) notified, shouldn't the passenger(s) know about it? Wouldn't an announcement by the conductor potentially deter the harassers?
Mr. Red Line Security Manager Man said that this was definitely a concern of his, and they were currently using the information I provided to identify which operator was running the train at the time. I think he'll get in trouble, which I'm not too happy about, but safety supersedes my guilt and hopefully this operator will not make the same mistake again.
Metro's advice? Ride in the train car closest to the operator.
I feel so safe.
I received a phone call from Metro 2 days after my email, and a very VERY professional and courteous man spent a good amount of time discussing the situation with me.
Basically, the Metro transit police has about 400 officers employed to monitor over 80 Metro stations, 1,600 bus lines, and over 100 miles of railways throughout DC and the metro area. He explained that their resources are spread thin, and so every Metro station cannot be manned with an officer at all times (I just realized how sexist the verb "to man" is ... correction-- "every Metro station cannot be person-ed with an officer"). Therefore, it is sometimes faster to get the train to the officers rather than get the officers to the train.
Staffing, budget constraints, etc. etc. etc. and certainly not the answer I wanted to hear. Unfortunately, there was absolutely nothing this man could do to magically fix the problem.
So money and staffing aside, my biggest concern was the lack of communication on the part of the train operator. If the train is being moved and transit police have been (or will be) notified, shouldn't the passenger(s) know about it? Wouldn't an announcement by the conductor potentially deter the harassers?
Mr. Red Line Security Manager Man said that this was definitely a concern of his, and they were currently using the information I provided to identify which operator was running the train at the time. I think he'll get in trouble, which I'm not too happy about, but safety supersedes my guilt and hopefully this operator will not make the same mistake again.
Metro's advice? Ride in the train car closest to the operator.
I feel so safe.
Wednesday, January 30, 2008
Field of Clovers ...
Movies movies movies ... Hollywood never ceases to disappoint. Well ... except for Million Dollar Baby (I dare ANY of you to explain why that movie was popular, as I literally began plucking the hairs on my arm during the movie to entertain myself). But generally there is at least $10 worth of entertainment from anything that brightens the silver screen.
And so it goes with Cloverfield- the newest thriller that shows the buildings of New York City being tossed about like the Lego's of a temperamental 2-year-old on speed. First of all, why is it always NYC? Between The Day After Tomorrow and Artificial Intelligence there are hardly any buildings left to destroy! I guess it's more exciting to watch human beings running and screaming for their lives instead of cows going for a swim in a tsunami. But still, let's give NYC a rest and wipe out an area of little worth ... like, um ... Texas (minus Austin)?
Anyway, Cloverfield is effectively the combination of Godzilla, War of the Worlds, and The Blair Witch Project. Persons who are motion-sickness-challenged, please be advised- the blurred images and jostled scenery feel quite like Mel Gibson out for an evening drive. The lady behind me in the theater said "I'm gonna puke", and that is the kind of immersing movie experience that I would prefer to forgo (leave the surround sound to the speakers, sweetheart). Luckily she kept it together.
The characters of Cloverfield, however, had some trouble keeping it together. When I say "it", I'm really talking about their friggin' common sense and decision-making abilities. "Hmm ... my girlfriend is trapped in a region of Manhattan where an unidentified biting object is reeking havoc on the city, certain to result in death and unpleasant dismemberment of all appendages.... LET'S GO !!!!!" Sigh ...
It could be the love of my life trapped in the Trump Towers- I am out of there, bitch ... Well, now that I say that, I have to wonder... If it's the love of your life, is life worth living without him/her? Even if your exit to the afterlife involves a considerable amount of bleeding and tangled limbs?
Regardless, the characters were silly and had delusions of grandeur when they thought they could take on the UBO without losing a few friends along the way. But hey! Lady friend is stuck in the tower. Screw the dragon and rescue the princess!!!
I enjoyed the effects and the 1st person perspective of Cloverfield. Scenes of mass panic and the psychology of crowds has always been fascinating to me, and so I got my fill with this movie. I was also able to leave the theater without being afraid of the sunset, which I cannot say about I Am Legend.
As I stepped out into the (comparatively) quiet streets of Washington, DC, I had to wonder: what would happen if some ginormous monster started causing destruction all around me, ruining lives and crushing the world without a care for the consequences?
Hey wait ... how did I get started talking about the Republican party??? (oooooooh COLD .....) Sorry, that one just seemed too easy, and I'm not clever enough to REALLY insult the beast.
And so it goes with Cloverfield- the newest thriller that shows the buildings of New York City being tossed about like the Lego's of a temperamental 2-year-old on speed. First of all, why is it always NYC? Between The Day After Tomorrow and Artificial Intelligence there are hardly any buildings left to destroy! I guess it's more exciting to watch human beings running and screaming for their lives instead of cows going for a swim in a tsunami. But still, let's give NYC a rest and wipe out an area of little worth ... like, um ... Texas (minus Austin)?
Anyway, Cloverfield is effectively the combination of Godzilla, War of the Worlds, and The Blair Witch Project. Persons who are motion-sickness-challenged, please be advised- the blurred images and jostled scenery feel quite like Mel Gibson out for an evening drive. The lady behind me in the theater said "I'm gonna puke", and that is the kind of immersing movie experience that I would prefer to forgo (leave the surround sound to the speakers, sweetheart). Luckily she kept it together.
The characters of Cloverfield, however, had some trouble keeping it together. When I say "it", I'm really talking about their friggin' common sense and decision-making abilities. "Hmm ... my girlfriend is trapped in a region of Manhattan where an unidentified biting object is reeking havoc on the city, certain to result in death and unpleasant dismemberment of all appendages.... LET'S GO !!!!!" Sigh ...
It could be the love of my life trapped in the Trump Towers- I am out of there, bitch ... Well, now that I say that, I have to wonder... If it's the love of your life, is life worth living without him/her? Even if your exit to the afterlife involves a considerable amount of bleeding and tangled limbs?
Regardless, the characters were silly and had delusions of grandeur when they thought they could take on the UBO without losing a few friends along the way. But hey! Lady friend is stuck in the tower. Screw the dragon and rescue the princess!!!
I enjoyed the effects and the 1st person perspective of Cloverfield. Scenes of mass panic and the psychology of crowds has always been fascinating to me, and so I got my fill with this movie. I was also able to leave the theater without being afraid of the sunset, which I cannot say about I Am Legend.
As I stepped out into the (comparatively) quiet streets of Washington, DC, I had to wonder: what would happen if some ginormous monster started causing destruction all around me, ruining lives and crushing the world without a care for the consequences?
Hey wait ... how did I get started talking about the Republican party??? (oooooooh COLD .....) Sorry, that one just seemed too easy, and I'm not clever enough to REALLY insult the beast.
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