Scattered Thoughts.

Like Raindrops Pricking My Arms.

There are certain times of day that are just conductive to pondering. Usually they are such because they aren’t quite one thing or another. Like dusk (I would have used the word twilight here but unfortunately Stephenie Meyer has sequestered off that word from use by the general public. Without looking like a douche, of course.). Dusk is lovely. Both because it actually is, sunsets tend to be a bit easy on the eye, and because it’s the bridge between day and evening. It’s the time when it just starts getting a little bit dark and times of day click into place. You can go all afternoon without knowing the time, but as soon as dusk hits there’s no longer denying that this day is undoubtedly drawing to a close. And yet still not over, since night is arguably the best part of the day.

Better than dusk is an hour in the morning. It lies between four and five. When even the college students are generally in bed and the earlier risers haven’t even stirred yet. The hour when the birds start chirping and the horizon remains black. I always feel the only one in the world who’s awake. It’s an hour that I like to spend with people, because there’s not another hour that’s more conductive to getting to know someone. It’s sort of magical. I talked about this once with a stranger and I’m pretty sure it almost single handedly got me fallen in love with. It’s my favorite time of day. I’m alone with my thoughts for one hour, when everything slows and I can float. And then it goes on to five o’clock and the world resumes. It’s been awhile now, with my current hours at The Job, since I’ve been able to experience it the way I used to. I’m awake at five, but the hour has just ended and I’m groggy and want to go back to sleep. But, it’s still there and sometimes I can feel my fingertips brush against the edge as I silence my alarm clock.

Similarly, and this is the one that made me think of the others, right before it rains. The sky sort of darkens, the wind picks up, and you know that the rain is somewhere on the horizon, but hasn’t quite made it yet. It’s the same sort of transition time. I always sort of want to revel in it. At camp in New Hampshire we used to have the worst thunderstorms. They would creep up out of nowhere and pretty soon the whole place would be shaking. Since it was at camp they were a little bit of a mixed bag. They might get you out of swim class, but rainy day activities are… not the best. Still, as soon as the leaves started rustling and the temperature would drop we’d know we were standing on the precipice of something.

Today I went out for a walk in that moment before the rain came. I knew it was going to rain, but it seemed like we’d been dancing with the weather all day. I wanted to get out, stretch my legs, think about some things. I put Bowie on my iPod and listened to “Heroes” as I walked. I didn’t get far before the rain came, but being out in that inbetween time is beautiful. It’s something that just doesn’t happen that often. Like going to the beach in the winter you sort of forget sometimes, that things are still there when you don’t see them. The world does not stop and/or dissolve into particles when you leave the room or stop thinking about it. I don’t normally take walks when it’s about to rain, so I wanted to. It’s somehow different then getting caught in the rain, more purposely. Very conductive to thinking.

There’re a couple times a year when similar things happen with seasons. Usually twice, though there are obviously four seasons. The break between spring and summer isn’t so obvious, and autumn can roll into winter without us noticing so well. But there are moments between winter and spring and summer and autumn. The weather brightens or cools. Suddenly you no longer need that extra blanket on your bed; it’s no longer jacket weather. Seasons click in place and one day you realize, it’s spring. This year it was very clear for me. I have two rooms connected together by French doors. One’s technically a porch though the windows don’t really open. I call it my little room, and in the winter I have to section it off to keep from freezing. When the snow melted in March I opened it up. It smelled musty and I my fingerprints left dots in dust. Books and music I had left out there were waiting for me and I felt very very happy. There were memories out there that I had forgotten I needed. The sadness I had allowed to envelope me throughout the winter was shrugged off and I climbed out of depression so quickly I had to start wondering if it had been seasonal after all. My brain felt like it was working again. Like I wasn’t digging around for things I wanted to be thinking about, but rather started up with the things I could help thinking about. I felt like me again. And it was nice.

And, This Is So Not A SyFy Original.

This movie, Human Centipede. I wanted to see it. Mostly cause it’s called Human Centipede and without knowing anything about it the title Human Centipede sounds sort of awesome. But then last night while at the Cedar Lee’s Late Shift (still miss calling them Cult Film Series) they showed a trailer. I’m not squeamish, and I love horror films. Things very rarely scare me even when I am dearly hoping that they will. So, I wasn’t really taking the warnings of this film being horrifying and disgusting all that seriously. I sort of thought it would probably be about some weird human/centipede hybrid rampaging and killing the shit out of a bunch of people. I didn’t really think about the possibility of it being about a mad German scientist making a human centipede by surgically attaching poor unsuspecting tourists mouth to anus. And, okay, I didn’t give it much thought as I settled in to Road House and watched some punching, but later on as I was trying to settle into bed I couldn’t think of anything else. Seriously. I am so incredibly sickened by this idea that I couldn’t sleep. I had nightmares about being medically experimented on.

I don’t think I can ever see this movie.

This has seriously never happened to me before. Actually, that’s a lie. I’ve never seen the Japanese horror film Ôdishon about a man’s auditioning women for a non-existent movie just so he can cozy up to them, only to pick the wrong girl. Mostly cause the girl is holding a six inch needle on the cover. I can’t do medical shit. I used to not be able to watch medical dramas cause it grossed me out. I’ve watched Torture Porn before but I’ve never enjoyed it. I’ve never seen Hostel cause it looks stupid. Hack someone in half with a machete and I’ll probably cheer, but if you inject them with a local anesthesia first my skin will probably go tender. It’s a bit Nazi for me. And believe me, that was the one bit of the Holocaust museum that I just plain could not handle. Fucking hell. Leave it to the Dutch to come up with the thing that manages to keep me up at night. Mostly cause I think, like most, I’d rather be killed than disfigured and bodily attached to someone in front of me, being forced to suck down their shit day in and day out. The worst part about this is that the director consulted medical experts to make sure this was medically possible and realistic. Apparently they said with supplementary IVs to the individuals in back this creature could live for years. Years. Oh my god, I can hardly move right now.

And, the main character’s name is Lindsay. Fuck you director man whose name I can’t look up cause I’ll see photographs and immediately get sick to my stomach again.

Finally, There’s ‘Splosion Sunday.

New tradition. My life needs more structure. I’m just kidding. No one’s life needs structure. I do, however, need something to do with my time. So last Sunday I decided to make a double feature of Kick-Ass, which I genuinely wanted to see, and The Losers… which had Zoë Saldana with a rocket launcher. It figured it was sort of appropriate; they’re both minor comic books that were adapted for the big screen at pretty much the same time. Mostly… I just wanted to see shit get blown up. I’m a simple girl, I like a lot of things. I like sappy dramas (just not too sappy cause once we get to say… The Notebook I want to rip my eyes out of my head, actually Nicholas Sparks can just disappear and I’ll be well happy), I like comedies, I like horror, I like action, I pretty much like it all. But there is really just nothing like watching those hilarious scenes where things blow up in the background while the protagonist walks away calmly without even looking back. Actually, no, any explosions will do, cause when the protagonists runs out of a building yelling at people to “Get back, get back!” before everyone leaps forward and away from the blasts are pretty good too.

Big guns are fun, but there’s nothing quite like a big explosion on a lazy Sunday. I am pretty sure this could single handedly keep Michael Bay in business. Tits too. Though, I can do without the tits.

So I’ve decided, ‘Spolsion Sunday is a go. Every Sunday I’m going to watch at least one thing with an explosion in it. This isn’t really a tall order these days. Sometimes you’re hard pressed to find something without an explosion, but who said my job had to be hard. This week Road House was the one. I sort of thought it would be much more punching and much less explosion, but who says you can’t have both? With two buildings going up in a mushroom cloud of flames and a car igniting in mid-air, I think it counts. So… what should I watch next week? Any suggestions?

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About Lindsay

I have a C'est Moi page, you should probably just read that.
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