So my good friend who lives in the San Fran area (I'm not from there, is it offensive to San Fransiscans to say, San Fran?) told me she almost went to Sideways and after reading my post, decided not to. Thank the lord. I'm not kidding, either. Let me explain more of why I hated it and why Stoker, a guy not offended by tough-to-watch movies like Requiem for a Dream and Monster, also hated it.
First of all, the film appears to be something entertaining: funny, great dialogue, good character development, etc. And it is, in fact, character driven -- our knowledge about the characters increases through their actions and words and is the focal point of the film. For instance, the scene where Miles (played by Paul Giamatti) steals money from his mother, who later asks if he needs money. Only a very pathetic, lonely and desperate man could stoop so low without breaking a sweat or bowing his head in shame. Miles seems past feeling.
In the beginning, there is this hope that the film will be a road trip movie along the lines of About Schmidt with heart tugging moments that force a person to confront the unattractive aspects of a normal life, without crossing lines of decency or morality. Sideways fails in this regard and in the end seems to be more about shocking the hell out of a respectable, adult audience. Granted, I'm assuming the average viewer is like me, willing to go out on a limb, but with limits.
Let me explain further. Sideways ultimately is not about good fun, or two grown men having a bonding, road trip experience. It's about depravity in men and portrays them as everything the media has depicted them to be: liars, unfaithful in their hearts and actions, thinking with their genitals, spineless, weak and unrepentant. I believe there is beauty in illustrating through film the drama and journey of the human condition, the ugly side of things, and how people grow and change. The stories are endless and each is beautiful and illuminating in it's own way. But there is a point when suggestion is more powerful and less alienating than showing. There is a distinction between glorifying debasement and revealing it as the ugly, lonely and hopeless thing it is.
I feel that Alexander Payne (the director) fails at this.
In Sideways, Miles and his friend are both men with no redeeming characteristics. At the end of the film I was completely horrified at their choices. There was no empathy created between me and their roles. To be blunt, I didn't give a shit about them and I honestly thought the woman Miles pursues is an idiot for giving him a second chance. Jack's character is basically a monster, sleeping with anything that will move. That's not the worst of it, though. I've never felt so sick in my guts, so on the verge of vomiting in a theater than I was during the scene where Miles watches a white-trash man having sex with his wife, while they both talk dirty to each other. And the dirty-talk isn't mild. It's graphic and violent and full of expletives. What's worse is that the husband walks in on his wife have anal sex with Jack, and he's aroused by this and is now 'giving it to her' because she was a 'bad girl'. I've never regretted walking into a theater more and I wasn't even watching. Yes, I was closing my eyes, because I have no desire to watch other people having sex. My voyeurism has limits. I enjoy watching a good story unfold. But I don't enjoy watching sex scenes.
Stoker was upset with me for taking him to a movie like that. I was upset with me for taking us to a movie like that. I love Stoker, you know, and maybe I'm just an idealistic idiot, someone who romanticizes sex, but I don't appreciate how the media turns something I consider good and intimate, into something ugly, harmful, and evil. It gets my ire up almost beyond endurance.
After we left the theater, I never wanted to touch Stoker again, or be touched by him. It seemed impossible to ever get past what I had just seen and had caused him to see by suggesting we go see the movie. I felt horrible for thinking he had actually enjoyed what he'd just seen, because why shouldn't I think that? The movie we'd just watched had created that reality for me. That men only care about sex, in all it's forms, and they just want to get their jollies any way they can. As we were leaving, Stoker said to me, "I can't imagine you're any less offended than I am." And we got into a little scuffle because I was so angry at everything, even him. But mostly myself. Well, we worked it out and I realized that it's completely unfair of me to not believe he is good. That he loves me and not because I'm just a nice body he can get his hands on. (Again, the things the media perpetuates that men are.) We both felt sick and the things he said he felt were the exact things I felt and we both wanted to leave the movie, but neither dared to suggest it, falsely assuming the other was enjoying it.
Eventually we both got over being hurt or angry, mostly me because I'd been thinking through the last fifteen minutes of the movie that he didn't care about the horrible, graphic sex scene (and I'm not kidding, it stretched on and on). I recovered. And Stoker said to me, "What gets me is that it's only rated R, not even NC-17 and there are 13-year old girls out there who can watch it." Because there's this awful scene right after the sex scene where you have to watch the white-trash man chasing after Miles completely naked. Huge, ugly penis and all shaking in the morning wind, right along with his flabby, hideous body. And I'll make this clear right now, I'm not horrified by naked men. I don't usually think they're ugly. Just that guy. Just in that moment because it was completely wrong that I was in that movie theater.
Stoker has a cute younger sister, who just turned 14. He cares about his sister and what she sees. And he transfers that to the whole word and all the little girls who might see the trash called Sideways. I'm with him.
For a complete breakdown of why this movie sucks and what other crap is in it that you may not want to see, in forthright, honest terms, visit www.screenit.com or go directly to http://www.screenit.com/movies/2004/sideways.html
Disclaimer: I really try to support independent movies and usually am not disappointed. Sideways is an independent movie and that's cool. But it still sucks.
Wednesday, February 16, 2005
Tuesday, February 15, 2005
Sideways, the Movie, Sucks
Yesterday was Valentine’s Day and Stoker and I were very original in our gift-giving. I gave him some cologne and he gave me some perfume. I know it sounds very boring and predictable, but what’s the point of Valentine’s Day anyway? It’s probably the worst holiday we celebrate, if you can even call it a holiday. No one gets the day off. No one even knows where it came from except for some vague story about some guy named Valentine who supposedly gave a Valentine and was killed and blah blah blah. Typical pagan celebration with sexual overtones turned Christian. Anyway, we can now use it as an excuse to give chocolate-related presents and cologne and sexy underwear. Sadly, Stoker and I did not give each other sexy underwear because we wouldn’t be able to (in good conscience) use it until June 3rd. Yes, my friends, June 3rd, for that is the new Official Day of Our Union. Hereafter referred to as the ODOU. Pronounced, o-doo. Send any gifts, monetary or large packages, to Nicole, P.O. Box 123456, Anywhere, USA. Just kidding, I made that address up. If you send anything to that address you deserve to win a Darwin award.
About the cologne and perfume. I’ve been wanting to give him cologne for some time now. I showered him with gifts at Christmas because I’m into giving gifts, and I couldn’t (in good conscience) give him one more Christmas gift. I had to wait. Sooo. We chose to do it on Valentine’s Day.
In other news, on Saturday Stoker and I went to the worst movie I’ve ever seen. Worse than the movie Maid in Manhattan, and easily the most offensive movie I have ever seen, beating out Trainspotting. I want to explain that I don’t think I’m easily offended by movies or music. But I have limits. And I also want to say that what the hell is wrong with being offended by something? Limits, if they’ve been defined by yourself and based on your own desires and choices and are not enforced by another party, are good. They keep society decent. Others would have you believe that limits are BAD. They’re LIMITING (redundant, I know, but purposely so). And I must say, Hollywood would especially have us believe that being offended is stupid. But I say Hollywood is mainly stupid and most of the fruit they've labored to produce is crap. I had suspected as much upon seeing certain movies, like Maid in Manhattan (which I saw with my sweet, little aunt. She wanted me to go along with her, so I did, being a kind, generous person. And if you cannot sense my tongue-in-cheek tones….) But after having everything good and humane and decent virtually flushed down the toilet on Saturday night, I knew Hollywood was the largest receptacle for sewage and filth in America. I steal my references like Hollywood = sewage plant, from Michael Savage. Yes, sometimes he’s a jerk, but very often he’s right on. And about Hollywood, I think he is.
So, Sideways. There’s all this buzz around about it. Academy awards, Golden Globe awards. But if you believe everything you see or hear, especially when it comes from a group of critics and not an average person like me with nothing to gain from saying it sucks, you deserve to sit through the disgusting film. No one in the media will tell you how awful Sideways is because they’re idiots and paid off -- they have jobs to think about. But I’m telling you. I have no agenda except to be honest about it.
More on Sideways tomorrow.
About the cologne and perfume. I’ve been wanting to give him cologne for some time now. I showered him with gifts at Christmas because I’m into giving gifts, and I couldn’t (in good conscience) give him one more Christmas gift. I had to wait. Sooo. We chose to do it on Valentine’s Day.
In other news, on Saturday Stoker and I went to the worst movie I’ve ever seen. Worse than the movie Maid in Manhattan, and easily the most offensive movie I have ever seen, beating out Trainspotting. I want to explain that I don’t think I’m easily offended by movies or music. But I have limits. And I also want to say that what the hell is wrong with being offended by something? Limits, if they’ve been defined by yourself and based on your own desires and choices and are not enforced by another party, are good. They keep society decent. Others would have you believe that limits are BAD. They’re LIMITING (redundant, I know, but purposely so). And I must say, Hollywood would especially have us believe that being offended is stupid. But I say Hollywood is mainly stupid and most of the fruit they've labored to produce is crap. I had suspected as much upon seeing certain movies, like Maid in Manhattan (which I saw with my sweet, little aunt. She wanted me to go along with her, so I did, being a kind, generous person. And if you cannot sense my tongue-in-cheek tones….) But after having everything good and humane and decent virtually flushed down the toilet on Saturday night, I knew Hollywood was the largest receptacle for sewage and filth in America. I steal my references like Hollywood = sewage plant, from Michael Savage. Yes, sometimes he’s a jerk, but very often he’s right on. And about Hollywood, I think he is.
So, Sideways. There’s all this buzz around about it. Academy awards, Golden Globe awards. But if you believe everything you see or hear, especially when it comes from a group of critics and not an average person like me with nothing to gain from saying it sucks, you deserve to sit through the disgusting film. No one in the media will tell you how awful Sideways is because they’re idiots and paid off -- they have jobs to think about. But I’m telling you. I have no agenda except to be honest about it.
More on Sideways tomorrow.
Tuesday, February 08, 2005
Road Trip (or How Stoker Proposed)
So I have several friends who actually read this blog (I hate that word). And maybe several is an exaggeration, but there are at least two. Or three. Anyway, they said to me, independently of each other, have you posted lately? And I said no, because I haven’t. I haven’t had access to the internet when I’m at home. My mom’s internet is down. And can you believe it, I still live at home. But before you condemn me let me explain. I lived with roommates in SLC before moving home. When I realized that I’d most likely be getting married, I decided to move home. I want to save money to pay off some stupid debt before I get married.
Anyway, no internet=no blog postings. There you have it.
You might be thinking, ha ha, stupid girl, moving home on the slender chance that she’ll get married to Stoker. Ha ha. Well, we ARE getting married. I have a ring and we’re working on a date. There you go, two of the criteria are met (in case you listen to Dr. Laura).
But seriously, Stoker proposed on Friday night on our way to St. George. The kid couldn’t even wait until we actually got there, which I guess was the original plan. The ring was burning the proverbial hole in his jacket pocket. I had no idea and I feel sort of guilty about it because I was in a strange mood, dazed, staring out the window at the scenery. I was kind of out-of-reach emotionally and mentally. He was sweet and adorable and loving and I had the attention span of a goldfish. My mind would settle on a distant house and then jump to the huge bird on the telephone pole. Poor Stoker. I’m sure he wondered if he was making a gigantic mistake. Will she always be like this, he probably thought. But I think that’s how life is. You choose to be with someone and how can a person always be 100% perfect? If someone wants to be with me for a lifetime, the odds of them being around when I’m in one of those moods are very, very high. And vice-versa. I get to be around Stoker even when he’s grouchy and moody and believe me, men can be as moody as women. One time Stoker told me he’d rather be with me when I’m in one of those moods, than not. And that’s a very good point. Usually I’d rather be with him when he’s in one of those moods, than not with him.
How it happened: Out of Salt Lake two hours, the sun is setting, we’re driving southwest and Stoker announces that he wants to get out and walk. He pulls off the freeway on some random exit with nothing around it except a bridge and the top of this mountain pass. His behavior is random and unexpected and I start to wonder if I know him as well as I think I know him. I ask him if he needs to go to the bathroom or something. No, he says. He just wants to walk and stretch his legs. Do I want to go with him? he asks. Is he going to kill me, I think to myself. You hear of things like that. Abandoned roads, distant hills with no one around for miles. I tell him no, I don’t want to go, I’m cold and a little frightened. He gets out of the car and opens my door. I want you to come, he tells me. Reluctantly, I get out and ask him if he’s going to kill me, and I say it jokingly, but he knows I’m serious. Nikki, he says. No. I just want to watch the sunset. We walk up the hill, though sagebrush and weeds and rocks and scattered, roadside litter. We stop at a fence and Stoker wonders out loud if we can get over the fence. No, let’s not, I say. He gestures to the sunset and says it’s pretty and then suddenly turns to me and says, "Nikki, I don’t need to stretch my legs and I don’t need to go the bathroom. I wanted to give you this,” and he takes a little box out of his pocket. Aha! It all makes sense. Now I realize why he’s being so weird. He’s not going to kill me. I cover his face in kisses and break his neck, squeezing him to death. I put the ring on.
Anyway, it was real adorable. He got down on his knee and the whole shebang and the ring is perfect and he’s perfect and sweet. It didn’t turn out quite how he imagined it, or how I imagined it, I got too excited to let him even make a beautiful speech or anything. But if you knew him . . . you’d understand. He’s a sensitive and gentle, like my grandpa. And I love that Stoker.
And now I wear this ring that means all sorts of things. It’s interesting getting used to wearing a ring. I’m going to get him one because who cares about tradition. All those conniving girls need to know he’s spoken for. Because isn’t that what my ring tells the world? They do it in Greece, why not America? Why not Salt Lake City, Utah?
Anyway, no internet=no blog postings. There you have it.
You might be thinking, ha ha, stupid girl, moving home on the slender chance that she’ll get married to Stoker. Ha ha. Well, we ARE getting married. I have a ring and we’re working on a date. There you go, two of the criteria are met (in case you listen to Dr. Laura).
But seriously, Stoker proposed on Friday night on our way to St. George. The kid couldn’t even wait until we actually got there, which I guess was the original plan. The ring was burning the proverbial hole in his jacket pocket. I had no idea and I feel sort of guilty about it because I was in a strange mood, dazed, staring out the window at the scenery. I was kind of out-of-reach emotionally and mentally. He was sweet and adorable and loving and I had the attention span of a goldfish. My mind would settle on a distant house and then jump to the huge bird on the telephone pole. Poor Stoker. I’m sure he wondered if he was making a gigantic mistake. Will she always be like this, he probably thought. But I think that’s how life is. You choose to be with someone and how can a person always be 100% perfect? If someone wants to be with me for a lifetime, the odds of them being around when I’m in one of those moods are very, very high. And vice-versa. I get to be around Stoker even when he’s grouchy and moody and believe me, men can be as moody as women. One time Stoker told me he’d rather be with me when I’m in one of those moods, than not. And that’s a very good point. Usually I’d rather be with him when he’s in one of those moods, than not with him.
How it happened: Out of Salt Lake two hours, the sun is setting, we’re driving southwest and Stoker announces that he wants to get out and walk. He pulls off the freeway on some random exit with nothing around it except a bridge and the top of this mountain pass. His behavior is random and unexpected and I start to wonder if I know him as well as I think I know him. I ask him if he needs to go to the bathroom or something. No, he says. He just wants to walk and stretch his legs. Do I want to go with him? he asks. Is he going to kill me, I think to myself. You hear of things like that. Abandoned roads, distant hills with no one around for miles. I tell him no, I don’t want to go, I’m cold and a little frightened. He gets out of the car and opens my door. I want you to come, he tells me. Reluctantly, I get out and ask him if he’s going to kill me, and I say it jokingly, but he knows I’m serious. Nikki, he says. No. I just want to watch the sunset. We walk up the hill, though sagebrush and weeds and rocks and scattered, roadside litter. We stop at a fence and Stoker wonders out loud if we can get over the fence. No, let’s not, I say. He gestures to the sunset and says it’s pretty and then suddenly turns to me and says, "Nikki, I don’t need to stretch my legs and I don’t need to go the bathroom. I wanted to give you this,” and he takes a little box out of his pocket. Aha! It all makes sense. Now I realize why he’s being so weird. He’s not going to kill me. I cover his face in kisses and break his neck, squeezing him to death. I put the ring on.
Anyway, it was real adorable. He got down on his knee and the whole shebang and the ring is perfect and he’s perfect and sweet. It didn’t turn out quite how he imagined it, or how I imagined it, I got too excited to let him even make a beautiful speech or anything. But if you knew him . . . you’d understand. He’s a sensitive and gentle, like my grandpa. And I love that Stoker.
And now I wear this ring that means all sorts of things. It’s interesting getting used to wearing a ring. I’m going to get him one because who cares about tradition. All those conniving girls need to know he’s spoken for. Because isn’t that what my ring tells the world? They do it in Greece, why not America? Why not Salt Lake City, Utah?
Thursday, January 27, 2005
Stoked on Stoker
Stoker lives an hour and a half away from me. While he was in California, a very difficult time for me because I'm such a sap (in case you didn't notice), he decided to take the bull by the horns (as he put it) and move to Salt Lake. I'm thrilled about that, really I am. It's difficult to properly convey 'to be thrilled' through words, so it sounds like I'm just being sarcastic. But I'm not.
Anyhoo, he's been putting this plan into action with a little help from me since he arrived back in Utah on Sunday. I don't want to pressure him, though, you know. So when he expresses dismay or doubt, I suddenly get aloof and say things like, "Well, do what you want. You don't have to move down here." Which is not true, because now that he has said he's going to move down here he absolutely has to. And by down here, I mean both in terms of latitude and elevation. He lives north of here, in Logan.
So I'm the worst when it comes to disappointment. Let's be honest, who is good about disappointment? No one, not really, but I'm more terrible than the average person. If Stoker tells me that his flight arrives at 5:45 (to pull a random example out of the air), then it damn well better arrive at 5:45. Because I'll plan everything around that schedule and when he tells me the night before his flight that it actually leaves at 5:45, it will take me about 24 hours to recover from the disappointment. That anyone anywhere is willing to deal with me and my overwhelming complexity (compliment disguised as self-deprecation) never ceases to shock the hell out of me.
I don't know what's going on tonight with all the colorful language.
So tonight Stoker is approximately 2 hours away from me (his parents live a half hour away from Logan), telling his parents that he's going to move to Salt Lake and quite possibly marry me. I don't know how they're going to take this news. They could be happy about it, they could be disappointed about it. I'm not sure. But I haven't heard from him for approximately 2 1/2 hours. This could be a good sign or a bad sign. It could mean that he's enjoying a long, deep, comfortable conversation with his parents about the choices he's making and everything is great and wonderful. Or it could mean that he's enduring a painful, vulnerable and arduous conversation with them and they're telling him he's making awful, deplorable choices. They could be telling him that they don't like me, they were just faking it and hoping he was just going through a phase with me.
I hope they're not telling him they hoped I was just a phase.
I've never had much good luck when it's come to any of my boyfriend's parents.
I really love Stoker and I hope his parents can see that and appreciate it, because you know, it's really something when a person loves you and you, amazingly enough, love them back. How that ever happens is completely magical. Especially when you get two great people together who are not abusive or murderous or incredibly dysfunctional (Stoker and I are both very functional in a healthy way). Stoker's great and I'm not bad myself. It would be an amazing match. Our children would be beautiful geniuses. I'm not even exaggerating. Fine. So maybe just a little.
Let me tell you some of the things I love about Stoker.
1) he likes to read. But it's not just reading literature. He likes to learn about things and he'll read some random book just to learn something new. His parents gave him a subscription to National Geographic for Christmas and he loves it. Anyway, to me a genuine thirst for knowledge is incredibly sexy.
2) and by the way, these are not in order. He loves his family and those are the relationships that matter the most to him. I've never met a guy with so much sincere love for his family, and plus, they're usually very supportive of him. As far as I can tell, he has this amazing sense of self and security that I think comes from loving and kind parents. I hope that if we do get married his feelings about the importance of family transfer to the family we start together.
3) he has a really beautiful smile and great laugh. I talk to him on the phone a lot, obviously since he lives a million miles away, and so I've listened to his voice more than experiencing any other sensation of him. I like the dimensions of it and the way it curls around words and then his laughter--how it develops in his throat and then lifts out into the world. Getting to know someone's laughter is a beautiful thing.
4) He likes to talk to me about how we met, the things we said and what we each were thinking, and then how everything developed. I like remembering those things by myself, but that he wants to talk about them and reminisce with me. That's really great.
Anyway, this list could go on for forever. I'm going to call Stoker.
Anyhoo, he's been putting this plan into action with a little help from me since he arrived back in Utah on Sunday. I don't want to pressure him, though, you know. So when he expresses dismay or doubt, I suddenly get aloof and say things like, "Well, do what you want. You don't have to move down here." Which is not true, because now that he has said he's going to move down here he absolutely has to. And by down here, I mean both in terms of latitude and elevation. He lives north of here, in Logan.
So I'm the worst when it comes to disappointment. Let's be honest, who is good about disappointment? No one, not really, but I'm more terrible than the average person. If Stoker tells me that his flight arrives at 5:45 (to pull a random example out of the air), then it damn well better arrive at 5:45. Because I'll plan everything around that schedule and when he tells me the night before his flight that it actually leaves at 5:45, it will take me about 24 hours to recover from the disappointment. That anyone anywhere is willing to deal with me and my overwhelming complexity (compliment disguised as self-deprecation) never ceases to shock the hell out of me.
I don't know what's going on tonight with all the colorful language.
So tonight Stoker is approximately 2 hours away from me (his parents live a half hour away from Logan), telling his parents that he's going to move to Salt Lake and quite possibly marry me. I don't know how they're going to take this news. They could be happy about it, they could be disappointed about it. I'm not sure. But I haven't heard from him for approximately 2 1/2 hours. This could be a good sign or a bad sign. It could mean that he's enjoying a long, deep, comfortable conversation with his parents about the choices he's making and everything is great and wonderful. Or it could mean that he's enduring a painful, vulnerable and arduous conversation with them and they're telling him he's making awful, deplorable choices. They could be telling him that they don't like me, they were just faking it and hoping he was just going through a phase with me.
I hope they're not telling him they hoped I was just a phase.
I've never had much good luck when it's come to any of my boyfriend's parents.
I really love Stoker and I hope his parents can see that and appreciate it, because you know, it's really something when a person loves you and you, amazingly enough, love them back. How that ever happens is completely magical. Especially when you get two great people together who are not abusive or murderous or incredibly dysfunctional (Stoker and I are both very functional in a healthy way). Stoker's great and I'm not bad myself. It would be an amazing match. Our children would be beautiful geniuses. I'm not even exaggerating. Fine. So maybe just a little.
Let me tell you some of the things I love about Stoker.
1) he likes to read. But it's not just reading literature. He likes to learn about things and he'll read some random book just to learn something new. His parents gave him a subscription to National Geographic for Christmas and he loves it. Anyway, to me a genuine thirst for knowledge is incredibly sexy.
2) and by the way, these are not in order. He loves his family and those are the relationships that matter the most to him. I've never met a guy with so much sincere love for his family, and plus, they're usually very supportive of him. As far as I can tell, he has this amazing sense of self and security that I think comes from loving and kind parents. I hope that if we do get married his feelings about the importance of family transfer to the family we start together.
3) he has a really beautiful smile and great laugh. I talk to him on the phone a lot, obviously since he lives a million miles away, and so I've listened to his voice more than experiencing any other sensation of him. I like the dimensions of it and the way it curls around words and then his laughter--how it develops in his throat and then lifts out into the world. Getting to know someone's laughter is a beautiful thing.
4) He likes to talk to me about how we met, the things we said and what we each were thinking, and then how everything developed. I like remembering those things by myself, but that he wants to talk about them and reminisce with me. That's really great.
Anyway, this list could go on for forever. I'm going to call Stoker.
Tuesday, January 25, 2005
Surviving without the Sun
I haven’t seen the sun for days. We’re stuck here under the most oppressive inversion EVER. I’ve closed my office window blinds to avoid the glum and cold of the gray sky outside it. To alleviate the pressure and lack of vitamin D (I miss the sun), I’m listening to “Sun King,” (from Abbey Road), possibly one of my favorite Beatles songs. What a great bass line. What great, mellow, guitar work. I love it. Listening to it over and over again. It doesn’t feel quite like the sun and isn’t really as healthy as sunlight, but it feels good to hear something so sweet.
Sunday, January 23, 2005
Reuniting would feel so good
Stoker comes home tomorrow.
Finally.
I was expecting him at 7 or so, but it turns out he won't be getting here until later, like 9 or something. It was incredibly disheartening to hear that I'll have to wait so long, but I've recuperated.
I read about the giant squid washing onto the shores of beaches in Orange County, so I sent him to Newport Beach. He went Friday evening, but they were already cleaned up. I just wanted him to get a picture of one. I've been interested in deep sea life for a few years now. It's kind of a fear/fascination thing, because honestly some of that stuff is completely freakish. In an alien/extra-terrestrial way. I'll never understand why some people are more interested in UFO type crap when we have completely alien lifeforms living right here on earth. I don't know, I guess it makes some kind of sense. After all, I am interested in both.
Another thing that boggles me is why authorities and experts don't have explanations for why giant squid have washed ashore in California. Can they be called experts or authorities if they won't even propose a hypothesis? Anyway, I initially thought it had something to do with oceanic distuburances as a result of the earthquake that caused the tsunami. But then I read that the squid are usually found off the coast of South America. I also figured that the 30+ beached pilot whales in North Carolina were somehow related. I'm not a marine biologist by any means, but I like to think about these things. Interestingly, scientists have been measuring smaller vibrations in the earth, something like echoes from that major earthquake (the article appeared on cnn.com on the 10th). So is it entirely impossible to think that ocean life is sensitive to the earth's groans, even if they are on the other side of the world? People have always allowed for the fact that animals are more sensitive to the invisible currents of the earth's activity. But maybe I'm just up in the night.
Well anyway, Stoker is going to be back tomorrow. I'll be able to talk these things over with him. If I have any breakthroughs, I'll be sure to record them here.
Finally.
I was expecting him at 7 or so, but it turns out he won't be getting here until later, like 9 or something. It was incredibly disheartening to hear that I'll have to wait so long, but I've recuperated.
I read about the giant squid washing onto the shores of beaches in Orange County, so I sent him to Newport Beach. He went Friday evening, but they were already cleaned up. I just wanted him to get a picture of one. I've been interested in deep sea life for a few years now. It's kind of a fear/fascination thing, because honestly some of that stuff is completely freakish. In an alien/extra-terrestrial way. I'll never understand why some people are more interested in UFO type crap when we have completely alien lifeforms living right here on earth. I don't know, I guess it makes some kind of sense. After all, I am interested in both.
Another thing that boggles me is why authorities and experts don't have explanations for why giant squid have washed ashore in California. Can they be called experts or authorities if they won't even propose a hypothesis? Anyway, I initially thought it had something to do with oceanic distuburances as a result of the earthquake that caused the tsunami. But then I read that the squid are usually found off the coast of South America. I also figured that the 30+ beached pilot whales in North Carolina were somehow related. I'm not a marine biologist by any means, but I like to think about these things. Interestingly, scientists have been measuring smaller vibrations in the earth, something like echoes from that major earthquake (the article appeared on cnn.com on the 10th). So is it entirely impossible to think that ocean life is sensitive to the earth's groans, even if they are on the other side of the world? People have always allowed for the fact that animals are more sensitive to the invisible currents of the earth's activity. But maybe I'm just up in the night.
Well anyway, Stoker is going to be back tomorrow. I'll be able to talk these things over with him. If I have any breakthroughs, I'll be sure to record them here.
Tuesday, January 18, 2005
Weak, weak, weak
I'm off to a horrible start. So far I've only eaten a granola bar all day. Not the sugary Quaker Oats kind, the Nature's Harvest hard, crumbly kind. About seven plain Pringles, a 32 ounce Coke, and then later, a can of Coke. I'm weak, tired, and depressed.
I've discovered that I need to get at least 7 hours of sleep a night to have a good outlook on life. I think I got 5 hours last night. I don't know if I'll go running after work now. I'm feeling weak and lightheaded. Originally I had planned to go see my friend Beaux, but I'm scratching that idea. I wouldn't be good company. I'd be horrible company. If I don't go running, I'm just going to go home to hide in my dark room. That's a very good idea for someone who's depressed--surround yourself in darkness.
I'm sure I'll think of something else that's fun. Maybe I'll go to that French movie, A Very Long Engagement. Or House of Flying Daggers. I've got to do something fun. There's also a lecture I could go to on the bald eagles wintering in the Farmington Bay.
Anyway, I'm sorry I'm such a piece of work today. Tomorrow will be better.
I've discovered that I need to get at least 7 hours of sleep a night to have a good outlook on life. I think I got 5 hours last night. I don't know if I'll go running after work now. I'm feeling weak and lightheaded. Originally I had planned to go see my friend Beaux, but I'm scratching that idea. I wouldn't be good company. I'd be horrible company. If I don't go running, I'm just going to go home to hide in my dark room. That's a very good idea for someone who's depressed--surround yourself in darkness.
I'm sure I'll think of something else that's fun. Maybe I'll go to that French movie, A Very Long Engagement. Or House of Flying Daggers. I've got to do something fun. There's also a lecture I could go to on the bald eagles wintering in the Farmington Bay.
Anyway, I'm sorry I'm such a piece of work today. Tomorrow will be better.
Stupid California
I took Stoker to the airport this morning. His flight left at 7:10 am, and we were an hour and half away. So, we left at 4:30 am. He texted me at 9 am to tell me that they were on the ground in L.A. and they’d get their luggage and whatnot and then he’d call me. That was an hour and a half ago. Why hasn’t he called?
I feel like a nutcase. I can’t take this. All I can think about is that he’s forgotten me. He’s in sunshiney Los Angeles, city of angels, surrounded by beautiful surfer girls in a very Beach Boys-esque way, and I’m the frumpy mountain girl from boring, cold Utah. He probably met some hot girl in the airport. He probably got off the plane and it was like in the movies when you go to Hawaii, with the gorgeous natives draping a lei around your neck saying, “Aloha,” with a dazzling, straight-toothed smile and dark, exotic skin. California airports have probably started welcoming tourists like that now, and the girl with the lei probably fell in love with his adorable, boyish face and asked for his phone number and how long he’ll be staying. She’ll probably take him to the beach in his spare time and teach him how to surf. Then they’ll sit on a blanket in the dusk with a little fire going (do they allow fires on beaches? I don’t know) and she’ll kiss him. What a bitch.
Okay. Stoker just called me. He didn’t say anything about a girl with flowers at the gate.
But I’m still a nutcase. Last night I told him that this trip will be the final test to determine whether or not I’ll marry him. If we pass this, great. I have my doubts. I’m already crazy and he’s only been gone four hours. I kind of thought I’d be fine. Kind of thought I’d be so busy I’d hardly notice. He lives an hour and half away from me anyway. We only see each other once during the week and on the weekends. I guess it’s not the distance that’s killing me. It’s the idea of where he is and who he’s with.
I have these ideals about love—that it’s not putting chains on someone, but finding freedom in the ability to trust someone and have their support. I have a friend, an older woman whose children are raised and she’s remarried. I really like how her relationship looks from the outside. It’s redundant to say that I don’t know what it’s like from the inside. But anyway, they get along very well. She’s a poet and her husband is always there to support her. He’s a carpenter and owns a dry-wall company—they’re from completely opposite worlds, in a way. Yet they love and support each other. They’re not trying to shape the other, make them into what they think they should be. I like that. I want that for myself. I want to trust Stoker and have him trust me. I want to grow because he supports my desires and dreams and I want to do that for him. It’s just difficult to feel like maybe he’ll forget me. Maybe he’ll be having so much fun and he won’t miss me and calling me will be a burden for him.
So I think that and then I push him away.
I have this other friend who’s been married for less than a year. She’s a year or two younger than me (I’m 26) and she just found out her husband has been living this whole lie, this other life. They’re getting divorced, and not because that’s what she wants. I think she’d work it out with him. It’s pretty nasty, what’s happening to her and I worry about my own life. I’m a worrier, I guess. I think in some ways I’m better off staying single. I’m not such a nutcase when I’m single. I don’t have to feel lonely and achy about being left behind, like I feel right now. I don’t have to worry about naked women on the covers of magazines at the 7-Eleven, or the fake-breasted (or not fake, you decide) woman with the thong hanging out walking past me on the street. I don’t have to worry about the gap I sometimes feel between me (a woman), and men. Sometimes I think it’d be easier to be a lesbian, except I’d be forcing that.
Anyway, I’m sure I can overcome the desire to push Stoker away, just because he’s in California and I’m not. Tonight I’ll run a million miles at the gym and I’ll exhaust myself. I’ll get enough sleep and eat healthily, take care of myself. I’ll get my hair trimmed. I’ll tie up all the loose ends that are flapping in my face all the time and distracting me. It’ll be like in the movies. Stupid movies, they’re always ruining my life.
I feel like a nutcase. I can’t take this. All I can think about is that he’s forgotten me. He’s in sunshiney Los Angeles, city of angels, surrounded by beautiful surfer girls in a very Beach Boys-esque way, and I’m the frumpy mountain girl from boring, cold Utah. He probably met some hot girl in the airport. He probably got off the plane and it was like in the movies when you go to Hawaii, with the gorgeous natives draping a lei around your neck saying, “Aloha,” with a dazzling, straight-toothed smile and dark, exotic skin. California airports have probably started welcoming tourists like that now, and the girl with the lei probably fell in love with his adorable, boyish face and asked for his phone number and how long he’ll be staying. She’ll probably take him to the beach in his spare time and teach him how to surf. Then they’ll sit on a blanket in the dusk with a little fire going (do they allow fires on beaches? I don’t know) and she’ll kiss him. What a bitch.
Okay. Stoker just called me. He didn’t say anything about a girl with flowers at the gate.
But I’m still a nutcase. Last night I told him that this trip will be the final test to determine whether or not I’ll marry him. If we pass this, great. I have my doubts. I’m already crazy and he’s only been gone four hours. I kind of thought I’d be fine. Kind of thought I’d be so busy I’d hardly notice. He lives an hour and half away from me anyway. We only see each other once during the week and on the weekends. I guess it’s not the distance that’s killing me. It’s the idea of where he is and who he’s with.
I have these ideals about love—that it’s not putting chains on someone, but finding freedom in the ability to trust someone and have their support. I have a friend, an older woman whose children are raised and she’s remarried. I really like how her relationship looks from the outside. It’s redundant to say that I don’t know what it’s like from the inside. But anyway, they get along very well. She’s a poet and her husband is always there to support her. He’s a carpenter and owns a dry-wall company—they’re from completely opposite worlds, in a way. Yet they love and support each other. They’re not trying to shape the other, make them into what they think they should be. I like that. I want that for myself. I want to trust Stoker and have him trust me. I want to grow because he supports my desires and dreams and I want to do that for him. It’s just difficult to feel like maybe he’ll forget me. Maybe he’ll be having so much fun and he won’t miss me and calling me will be a burden for him.
So I think that and then I push him away.
I have this other friend who’s been married for less than a year. She’s a year or two younger than me (I’m 26) and she just found out her husband has been living this whole lie, this other life. They’re getting divorced, and not because that’s what she wants. I think she’d work it out with him. It’s pretty nasty, what’s happening to her and I worry about my own life. I’m a worrier, I guess. I think in some ways I’m better off staying single. I’m not such a nutcase when I’m single. I don’t have to feel lonely and achy about being left behind, like I feel right now. I don’t have to worry about naked women on the covers of magazines at the 7-Eleven, or the fake-breasted (or not fake, you decide) woman with the thong hanging out walking past me on the street. I don’t have to worry about the gap I sometimes feel between me (a woman), and men. Sometimes I think it’d be easier to be a lesbian, except I’d be forcing that.
Anyway, I’m sure I can overcome the desire to push Stoker away, just because he’s in California and I’m not. Tonight I’ll run a million miles at the gym and I’ll exhaust myself. I’ll get enough sleep and eat healthily, take care of myself. I’ll get my hair trimmed. I’ll tie up all the loose ends that are flapping in my face all the time and distracting me. It’ll be like in the movies. Stupid movies, they’re always ruining my life.
Monday, January 17, 2005
Stupid Traveling
Stoker is going to L.A. for a week. Stupid traveling.
Is it better to have loved and lost, than to have not loved at all? I’m sure that the poet who coined that brilliant phrase wasn’t feeling heartache when they wrote it down. It’s so easy to think positive thoughts when you’re already feeling good.
Well. I’m trying to be supportive of Stoker’s travels. I really am. But if you asked him, he’d probably tell you I’m not very good at it. And I’m not. I admit it. I’m horrible. We went on a walk yesterday in the beautiful foggy, smoggy, Sunday chill, and he was talking about the cool things he’s going to do while he’s there and I got sulky and silent. It’s really beyond me to seem happy about something when I’m not. I’m terrible and I have no poker face. The one time in my life when I got a royal flush, everyone folded before I could even raise the bet. It may not have been a royal flush. It might have been just a straight flush. But still, what are the odds of that? I was only 9 or something and it was my first time playing poker. (We were camping in the mountains and I was playing with my infamous cousins, Justin and Greg, and their dad, Larry.) So, I can’t hide a royal flush—we’ll just keep calling it that—and I can’t hide jealousy, fear of loss, or any serious emotion. Even the silly ones, like glee.
Stoker is going to L.A. with a bunch of friends from work. Maybe not friends, exactly, as in the best friends, buddies-you-grew-up-with kind of friends. But not me, and that can be a rather terrible feeling. Ok, there are worse feelings, like if he was going to L.A. and he’d just broken up with me. That would be worse. Or if he was going to L.A. and he wasn’t going to miss me and he actually said, “I won’t really miss you.” Anyway, he’s going to a music retailer’s convention and I’m jealous that I won’t be there to see all the cool things with him. I hate jealousy. It’s awful. I also hate NAMM, the music convention. How can I hate a music convention? you ask. For several reasons, the first and foremost being that I won’t be there. I’m really like that, able to hate a large, faceless entity. Secondly, there will undoubtedly be music retailers selling their wares with scantily clad, big-breasted women. Classless. I’m sure of it. I heard all about the retailers who did it last year. Stupid women who let themselves be objectified like that. Anyway, I know I can’t shield Stoker from the world. I know I can’t stop him from looking at other women and appreciating them. I don’t like it that he does and will, and I never will like it. I will grow old and stop being sexy with tight skin, healthy breasts and a skinny, fit body, and there will always be younger, more beautiful women. And he will notice. And that will hurt. I know our relationship is based on more than looks and sexiness. But I still want to be attractive and desirable.
Anyway. Stoker isn’t a guy who gapes. He doesn’t stare at other girls when I’m around him. Really, as far as I can tell, he’s perfect. He doesn’t objectify women and he’s a very forward thinker. I believe in him and in his heart. He has three sisters who he’s very protective of, and a good mother who taught him that girls have feelings too. My point is, is that these things are all MY fears, not based on anything Stoker has done or said (also, I don't trust other women--they're conniving and evil....sometimes). I really love that boy. He’s the best. I just hate it that he’s going to be gone for a week. I will miss him. It sucks, not being in the same time zone as the person you really really love.
Is it better to have loved and lost, than to have not loved at all? I’m sure that the poet who coined that brilliant phrase wasn’t feeling heartache when they wrote it down. It’s so easy to think positive thoughts when you’re already feeling good.
Well. I’m trying to be supportive of Stoker’s travels. I really am. But if you asked him, he’d probably tell you I’m not very good at it. And I’m not. I admit it. I’m horrible. We went on a walk yesterday in the beautiful foggy, smoggy, Sunday chill, and he was talking about the cool things he’s going to do while he’s there and I got sulky and silent. It’s really beyond me to seem happy about something when I’m not. I’m terrible and I have no poker face. The one time in my life when I got a royal flush, everyone folded before I could even raise the bet. It may not have been a royal flush. It might have been just a straight flush. But still, what are the odds of that? I was only 9 or something and it was my first time playing poker. (We were camping in the mountains and I was playing with my infamous cousins, Justin and Greg, and their dad, Larry.) So, I can’t hide a royal flush—we’ll just keep calling it that—and I can’t hide jealousy, fear of loss, or any serious emotion. Even the silly ones, like glee.
Stoker is going to L.A. with a bunch of friends from work. Maybe not friends, exactly, as in the best friends, buddies-you-grew-up-with kind of friends. But not me, and that can be a rather terrible feeling. Ok, there are worse feelings, like if he was going to L.A. and he’d just broken up with me. That would be worse. Or if he was going to L.A. and he wasn’t going to miss me and he actually said, “I won’t really miss you.” Anyway, he’s going to a music retailer’s convention and I’m jealous that I won’t be there to see all the cool things with him. I hate jealousy. It’s awful. I also hate NAMM, the music convention. How can I hate a music convention? you ask. For several reasons, the first and foremost being that I won’t be there. I’m really like that, able to hate a large, faceless entity. Secondly, there will undoubtedly be music retailers selling their wares with scantily clad, big-breasted women. Classless. I’m sure of it. I heard all about the retailers who did it last year. Stupid women who let themselves be objectified like that. Anyway, I know I can’t shield Stoker from the world. I know I can’t stop him from looking at other women and appreciating them. I don’t like it that he does and will, and I never will like it. I will grow old and stop being sexy with tight skin, healthy breasts and a skinny, fit body, and there will always be younger, more beautiful women. And he will notice. And that will hurt. I know our relationship is based on more than looks and sexiness. But I still want to be attractive and desirable.
Anyway. Stoker isn’t a guy who gapes. He doesn’t stare at other girls when I’m around him. Really, as far as I can tell, he’s perfect. He doesn’t objectify women and he’s a very forward thinker. I believe in him and in his heart. He has three sisters who he’s very protective of, and a good mother who taught him that girls have feelings too. My point is, is that these things are all MY fears, not based on anything Stoker has done or said (also, I don't trust other women--they're conniving and evil....sometimes). I really love that boy. He’s the best. I just hate it that he’s going to be gone for a week. I will miss him. It sucks, not being in the same time zone as the person you really really love.
Friday, January 14, 2005
The Associated Press Employs Crap Writers
I usually don't concern myself too much with politics. I read the paper and listen to talk radio occasionally. I wouldn't consciously identify with a specific party, though I'm sure I sometimes have conservative leanings, but conversely, I have liberal leanings. It depends on the subject.
I generally read the headlines, and today I read an article posted on CNN.com, but it came from the Associated Press. There was no writer attached to the article and so there's no one to hear my complaint. The article was about a round table discussion President Bush recently had and here's the link. Anyway, what bothers me is the way the writer tastelessly handles the subject. Is there no objectivism left in modern journalism? Does every columnist, reporter, commentator, talk show host, etc. have to present the news through their biased lens? Is it so hard to say something without obvious undertones of disgust?
Personally, I'm in support of different political views, of a people who can healthily disagree. Not everyone has to agree with everything our current president does or says. What I see as wrong is the blanketed lack of support for him in the press. Clearly I'm not the first to say it, but a nation divided cannot stand. I don't care if CNN or The New York Times or any corporation hates the president's guts. That's their right. But I hate feeling like those corporations are thrusting their views down my throat. Whoever compiled the data for the Associate Press article does not belong "reporting" anything, especially writing supposed unbiased news articles. Anyway, the point is that I'm entirely disgusted with the news media. Leave your biases when you leave your house so I don't have to hear your crap opinion when I try to stay updated on current events.
Don't make me stop reading the news.
I generally read the headlines, and today I read an article posted on CNN.com, but it came from the Associated Press. There was no writer attached to the article and so there's no one to hear my complaint. The article was about a round table discussion President Bush recently had and here's the link. Anyway, what bothers me is the way the writer tastelessly handles the subject. Is there no objectivism left in modern journalism? Does every columnist, reporter, commentator, talk show host, etc. have to present the news through their biased lens? Is it so hard to say something without obvious undertones of disgust?
Personally, I'm in support of different political views, of a people who can healthily disagree. Not everyone has to agree with everything our current president does or says. What I see as wrong is the blanketed lack of support for him in the press. Clearly I'm not the first to say it, but a nation divided cannot stand. I don't care if CNN or The New York Times or any corporation hates the president's guts. That's their right. But I hate feeling like those corporations are thrusting their views down my throat. Whoever compiled the data for the Associate Press article does not belong "reporting" anything, especially writing supposed unbiased news articles. Anyway, the point is that I'm entirely disgusted with the news media. Leave your biases when you leave your house so I don't have to hear your crap opinion when I try to stay updated on current events.
Don't make me stop reading the news.
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