Reeling 3

I saw a movie today called Change in the Air. I am starting to feel freer about making these viewing choices (as opposed to feeling like a dreadful commitment, and the pressure of picking something that is not "a waste of time").

Well earlier I did see one that was a complete waste of time, called Love Wedding Repeat. I love weddings. I know, it's such a cliché for women. But weddings have always filled me with hope - not hope that I, too, could be hitched someday, during my most jaded days, but hope, that, humans are capable of love, such depths of love that is the one redeeming quality of humankind. That maybe we are not, as a species, destined for doom.

But this movie, seemingly promising at first, with beautiful people including Olivia Munn, whom I love, had no redeeming quality. It was stupid. Period. Sadly, concluding this half way through, I still needed to know how it ended. Thank goodness for the fast forward button. Trust me when I say the integrity of the film was not lost.

Back to Change in the Air, though. It was a bit slow-paced at first, but there were enough twists to pique one's curiosity. In the end I was pleasantly surprised. It is one of those art house productions that are subject to interpretation. It could be spiritual, religious, paranormal... a little bit of each? Use your imagination. Is it a fairy tale? Does it defy labeling? There will not be one finite answer, but it is thought-provoking and uplifting in a refreshing, non-Hollywood way.

We watched films like this in art school. We were encouraged to discuss our personal take. I loved those assignments. I could easily write an essay (and get an A, too) while others struggle. Symbolism was my cup of tea. I could guess what the writer was thinking and feeling. I could get in character, be those characters, feel the interaction and emotions. To feel abundantly is both a blessing and a curse.

Incidentally, the person who wrote the screenplay of  Change in the Air also directed. What's with writers who feel the need to direct? I guess no other candidate could share their vision quite so.

Mostly I am turning to movies these days, I suppose, to be reminded of what life used to be, when it was "normal". When people could go outside without fearing for their lives. When we weren't all confined in our homes so that we wouldn't kill each other with the simple act of breathing.

My therapist used to say when we use entertainment or a hobby as an escape, even if it is something seemingly innocuous and "healthy" as reading a novel, it can become a crutch. And we are not dealing with the real issue. Well, to that I say, "Pick your battle!" There are worse crutches. Bite me.

Reeling 2

Saw a movie this afternoon that was quite moving, called The Perks of Being a Wallflower. Usually I see "coming of age" in the synopsis and I cringe and run, but Paul Rudd was in it, and I fucking love Paul Rudd, so I went for it.

Really was quite good. Managed to surprise me, which is not easy these days. So kudos to the writer, who had based the screenplay on a book, which he had also written. Oh, and he directed the film, too. Overachieve much? (Ha!)

I like that the characters were believable. The acting was subtle and genuinely connected. My favorite line, of course, was the quote: "You get the love you believe you deserve." SO true. Many of us learned it the hard way.

And my favorite scene, not for the scene itself, but the sentiment, was when the doctor, played by Joan Cusack, assesses the protagonist, and he tells her, "There is so much pain." Not about him, but, "All around."

Being able to observe and feel pain ALL AROUND, in everybody. Relate.

BTW, notice my first line? "A movie that was quite moving". Ha.

That's what a good movie does. It reels you in, and moves you, when you least expect it. (I'm just glad I'm not dead inside.)

My Least Favorite Expressions

6. At the end of the day

5. When you think about it

4. When you really think about it

3. If I’m being honest (Brit: If I am honest)

2. It is what it is.

1. … and whatnot.

Quote 276

Thank god for anyone under 12 years of age
[After that,]
everyone goes to pieces.

- Ursula Nordstrom, book publisher

The Descendant

Today I met with Martine to bid her farewell. It was a dreary day: rainy, windy, gloomy.

She was 10 minutes late and a part of me wanted to leave. I was starving and the server had failed to bring bread at my request. I don't do hunger well.

But she did show up. She had gotten lost, arrived at a wrong lot and had to go all the way out to almost the freeway before she was able to turn back.

As I mentioned in my last post, we'd had only 3 workshops together. This was our 4th meeting. And pretty sure our last one.

She was asking me a lot of questions as if we were meeting for the first time. She had completely forgotten all these background inquiries had already been covered previously.

On the topic of friends, I made the casual (and true) statement "I don't have friends". And Martine's reaction couldn't have been more traumatized. Not having friends is that unimaginable to her.

Then I had to explain (again) how moving around means fewer friends, and friends move away. And coworkers don't stay friends. I've been on Meetup; I've tried. Nothing sticks. Etc., etc., etc.

She's in her twenties. She goes to church. She'll always have friends. I forgive her for not being able to fathom the older you get, the harder it is to make friends. In my experience, in this part of the world, it is true.

She was genuinely touched that I insisted in buying her lunch as her going away present since I had nothing else to offer.

"You are so nice!" She exclaimed. "Why don't you have friends?!" She sounded wholeheartedly incredulous.

In my mind I said to her, "Ask yourself. Why aren't I your friend?"

Such irony.

I would also like to know. Am I too old? Because I am not Christian? Wrong vibe?

Some things you cannot quantity to analyze. You will only drive yourself crazy.

No acrimony though. She's not my friend. I can accept that.

As we were parting ways in the parking lot, Martine mumbled that she'd be back in this area as they hadn't sold their house yet, and she had cousins here...

"I'll bring you pastry from Le Ciel* when I come to visit," she said as she walked away.

She did not even ask to take a selfie with me.

And I knew that this would be the last time I ever saw her.


*Not its real name

Reeling

RJ watches a lot more TV than I. Often he has it in the background while surfing on the net. He's an intellect and needs intellectual stimuli. He's selective.

There are days when I feel if I never watch TV again I'll be okay.

RJ is constantly coming up with recommendations of what I could watch. I exclaim, "A lifetime is not long enough to watch all these shows!"

It takes me a long time to give a new show a shot, and when I do, it takes a while for me to warm up to it. Sometimes RJ is all excited about a show, and I'm just meh.

RJ has been described as stoic by his ex-wife Amelia. While that's a bit harsh, it is true that RJ does not exactly burst out laughing, for instance. I have asked him where his joie de vivre is. (This does not by any means he is not affectionate with me, however.)

I have mentioned that it is rare I capture his (very endearing) smile on camera. Heck, it is rare to get him to crack a smile out of amusement. It's a real accomplishment in my mind.

The other night, at RJ's suggestion, I was ready to, as he likes to put it, "audition" a British series called The Coroner. I love crime and mystery as a genre, and RJ has watched his fair share of such shows. We delight in hollering "Muurrdah!" the way we deem the Brits pronounce "murder".

S1 E1 was instantly gripping. The writing was good. The acting was good, in that subtle, believable, relatable way that American shows often lack. I applaud the U.K. for letting women star in a show, and having more than one important female character per series, and portraying women in a real, messy, gutsy, human way. They're people, interesting people. And they just happen to be women.

I once read an article in the NY Times which theorized, in essence, the better the actresses' hair is, the less noteworthy the story will be. Conversely, the worse the actresses' hair, the better the show.

I have tested this theory in real life and it does seem foolproof. Try it out yourself! You'd be amazed. It's quite eye-opening.

But I digress.

At the end of E1 of The Coroner, I announced to RJ, enthused, waving my right arm in the air, "This is a winner! Good choice!"

With a slight chuckle, RJ replied, "That means more to me than my smile means to you."

I didn't hear him right at first. When I realized what he had said, I was astonished. I had no idea my "approval" would carry any weight. Definitely not this kind of weight.

That my opinion matters is such a breath of fresh air, in stark contrast to my experience growing up, I am not sure I'll ever get used to it.

If my delight means RJ's satisfaction, hey, win-win.

Elusive

Friday morning I woke up to some bunched up tissues on the nightstand, as if I'd been crying. I had no recollection.

I asked RJ if I may have overindulged the night before. He said I'd been a bit chatty.

That was the worst hangover in a long time. I don't usually get the classic symptoms. But on this day, my fact hurt. My brain was dragging. I longed for quiet.

By afternoon, some memory returned. I remember ranting about a business associate who had made assumptions based on my ethnic background when she had no idea how I'd grown up or who I was.

When I was ready for my evening routine at my desk at home, I found a handwritten note. I was taken aback for a second, but then I remember hastily sitting down to scribble it before the thought fleeted. I had laid it there to be found by future me.

It read:

I didn't feel right
Until I took a swizzle and then I realized:
That's where
all the tears hid.

I grabbed the missive and waved it at RJ. "Here's a clue to my mental state last night," I declared, and read it to him.

Didn't know I still had poetry in me.

Again this is why writers and musicians and otherwise creative types need to be under the influence one way or another to unleash the beast.

I want to say I didn't know I still had such profound sadness in me. But who am I kidding? It's always gonna be there. Just sometimes I forget.