memoir

We are excited.

Let me state for the record that I hate movies. They bore me. Very few movies retain my attention mental and physical attention. Mental, because I have the imagination from hell, which inclines me to prefer books. Physical, because sitting in one spot in a cramped theater is borderline torture for me. The last movie I watched from beginning to end completely in a theater setting was The Dark Knight, and only because I was dragged there by someone I respect enough to put up with my rebellious body. Someone please remind me to ask my doctor about restless leg syndrome when I go back for my checkup. Other than that, I am pretty much apathetic to Hollywood.

Last night was a bit different.

I have been waiting, very impatiently, for two years on this movie. So when I finally took my seat to the far left of the second row because the theater did not have the foresight to open more than one office window and only started taking Fandango reservations about ten minutes before the movie started, I was ready to explode. By the time the credits rolled, all my expectations had been met with accuracy an oracle couldn’t even match. I left my seat with two powerful truths:

The movie was absolutely horrid. The film behind the movie was too awesome to be described adequately in words.

Impossible conclusion, right? No. See, there are some things you have to accept about this film: It’s not about a story. It’s not about characters. It’s not about development. It’s not about all the other points movie reviewers use as dissection tools to earn their living. This “movie,” the cartoons, the comics, the entire franchise has always been and will always be about one, single, very simple concept:

Giant transforming robots. No more, no less.

If you have or plan to watch that film for any other reason than watching giant changing robots beat the slag out of each other, then you have:

A) missed the point
B) wasted your money
C) wasted valuable seats in the theater
D) enjoy torturing yourself
or
E) all of the above.

Movies like this are supposed to be mindless, juvenile, escapist masterpieces, and Michael Bay is the master of this. For two and a half hours, he assaults you with a visual and audio war zone of the likes you have never seen, with such an artistically chaotic precision that it will make you lose your mind to the point where in addition to the digital carnage, you are actually enjoying the over sexualized shots and the potty humor as if you were a hormonal fifteen year old male. For two and a half hours, I forgot everything. My bills, the economy, our government, Iran, global warming, your bladder, everything. My entire life ceased. I even managed to block out the screaming voice emanating from my legs that we must move immediately or you will not be able to walk properly for three hours. And trust me; it is very difficult to shut that voice up.

In short, I felt like a kid again, sitting in front of a TV, where everyday objects came to life and did battle over this silly planet. Only this time, instead of going outside after it was over and glaring at my parent’s old beat-up Bronco because he simply refused to “Transform and Roll Out” as I imagined he could in my head, I left the theater, looking across the parking lot with the stupidest grin on my face. That childhood imagination of mine was right all along; it just didn’t have ILM talent or rendering power behind it.

This wasn’t a movie. This was my inner self daydreaming.

Charlie Anders explains it better than I do, though.

_______________________________________________

That was my spoiler free review. If you are a masochist and you really want to be disturbingly enlightened to how embarrassingly huge my Transformers nerdness is, wait until after I see it on IMAX Sunday and you will enjoy spoilers and nitpicking that you will not fully understand.

Dear John Darnielle,

Please add Florida to your “Going to” series. Because I can only play “Going to Georgia” so many times before I have to pass the state line.

Thanks bunches.  See you soon.

apple.

Inferno finally came in the mail today, almost two weeks after I got him insanely cheap. He joins the other recent aquisitions on the mantle until someone whines hard enough for the kid and I to make room on the shelf for them. Except for the ROTF toys, which have been banished by the kid (Borderline GEEWUN! She’s going to hurt me). They currently piddle on my desk.
Inferno himself is probably my favorite voyager class. I am a bit miffed that his right arm is waaaay too loose, but I think I can fix that. I’d like a Gears of War kit so he can have his ladder, but that can wait until we acquire Mirage and Red Alert, whenever that is. I’ve already caught much hell because I “bought fiertrukk w/o  waambulance.” Sorru, kid. No plastic prons for you until I can find someone who actually has spazzy.
Breakaway, hanging out in the upper left, is by far my favorite ROTF toy. The peek-a-boy cockpit is beyond words. I wish he was voyager class instead. Sideways below him is just fugly in his bot mode. Fugly enough for me to consider gluing him into his alt mode. And only the gods know what is going on with the ROTF bike girls on the left. Starting to understand why they are banished to my stash at work.

…banished to be bastardised into awkward positions and random shenanigans while I am on a call. Insert kekeke here.

Okayokayokayokay. That’s the last toy post for awhile. Promise. No I’m not crossing my fingers under my desk.

The phone buzzed and I rolled over, staring down the pink intruder with slight annoyance.

New message, it said.

Flip.

“Love you, my lobster.”

I rolled back over, minding my newly red shoulders, and smiled before I drifted back into my nap.

I dreamt the sun was on our backs.

• finish landscaping logo prototypes
• begin outline layout of landscaping project
• attempt #4 of CG badge
• buy new pencils and sketchbook (do I need watercolor paper?)
• classes w/Bell on Mondays until… 10?
• finish the rest of the background on the floor downstairs
• wash poor ‘ol Heatwav
• replace front tires and rotate
• oil change
• mail out stupid work affidavits
• finish that damn picture of Inferno
• lunch with Twig
• dreaded swimsuit shopping
• haircut (yes, you did read that correctly)
• catch up on reading DB (hiatus? mixed blessing)
• not go insane

You can’t be serious.

Reposted from tegaki because I am too lazy and too… frustrated to type:

Yes, I realize I have a problem. No, I am not going to ToysAnon. Not until I at least until I get Drift.

Sigh.