I saw the movie Jennifer's Body last night, and I was not really expecting something huge. I was a fan of Juno and Diablo Cody's quirky articles she writes for Entertainment Weekly, so why not give her new comedy/horror-flick a try?
The movie opens and what is the premise? A girl, in a mental institution is telling how she got there. After that, I didn't give one care about the movie.
No no no no no no no! Diablo Cody, even I thought you were better than that.
Allow me to explain...
It is my belief that whenever someone writes a story, play, movie, whathaveyou, that focuses on a character in a mental institution, it is just a half-assed story. It is a cop-out. Crazy people are easy to write about because you can give them their crazy flaws without explaination. The characters aren't deep, they just provide something to write about.
What I hate more about these easy characters is the fact that writer's have probably never set foot in such a place, and they build it to fit whatever torture these "characters" are set to endure.
I know that by now you are asking me, "Wait, Rebecca, didn't you write a play set in a mental institution?"
My answer: yes. I did. And I am ashamed of it. I live in agony over it every day! While The Mentality Club was funny, it was a quick production. I needed a play for school and that was easy to come up with. It is, sadly, my cop-out play. It is my bastard child. I just kind of have to put up with it until it's old enough to live on it's own.
I'm confused about my feelings for Diablo Cody now. I know why she wrote this movie, she had a hit with Juno, and she's looking to create her sophomore script. I understand it. I can sympathize with it. But that doesn't mean I will forgive it.
Saturday, September 26, 2009
Sunday, August 30, 2009
When The Movie Ends
She stands behind the counter, dressed as you would expect she would be dressed. Holding a stack of books in one arms she adjusts her glasses. A gentleman walks up to the counter and hands her a book he would like to check out. She informs him he isn't allowed, as he has past due books.
"Sir, you have other overdue books, I can't let you check out this one."
"There must be some way I can pay the fine..." he offers suggestively.
She responds with a snap, "We accept most credit cards."
"Whaddya say we go to the back..." Music begins to play in the background, she is confused. She realizes now just the situation she's in. She tries to shoo him away.
"Really sir, just the cash."
"Well..."
"SECURITY!"
A security guard rambles over.
"Well, well, well....what seems to be the problem?"
The music swells again. She sighs an exasperated breath and gathers her things and leaves the library, not bothering to punch her time card.
"Sir, you have other overdue books, I can't let you check out this one."
"There must be some way I can pay the fine..." he offers suggestively.
She responds with a snap, "We accept most credit cards."
"Whaddya say we go to the back..." Music begins to play in the background, she is confused. She realizes now just the situation she's in. She tries to shoo him away.
"Really sir, just the cash."
"Well..."
"SECURITY!"
A security guard rambles over.
"Well, well, well....what seems to be the problem?"
The music swells again. She sighs an exasperated breath and gathers her things and leaves the library, not bothering to punch her time card.
Monday, August 24, 2009
Cruelty
"It takes years to build up trust, but only seconds to destroy it."
There are some days I don't feel human. Other times, I feel so overwhelmingly human, and it's painful. What makes my humanity painful at times is witnessing the outside world, humanity at it's "best" and basic form.
Faccets make a diamond beautiful. Faccets make people imperfect. Place a person you hold dearly on a pedestal and you've created an illusion of this person you would like them to be. However, discover one flaw, whether it be a past action, a secret, or future intention, and that illusion is shattered. It happens to me constantly. I will hold a person in high regard and keep a strong opinion of them, but it only takes one action to destroy them.
People are, as a rule, facceted. Nice and kind to some, cruel and tortuous to others. It is painful to witness what goes on behind other's backs. Backstabbing and gossiping is used to turn others against you, and it is the worst crime.
I wonder how? How can humans be so evil? We study for years, even lifetimes, to be good and how to do what is right. How, then, can one cruel action pass freely? Is it not our nature to be kind?
Cruelty is subtle, but ever present. Witnessing such harshness makes me strive to be a better person, one rumor at a time.
There are some days I don't feel human. Other times, I feel so overwhelmingly human, and it's painful. What makes my humanity painful at times is witnessing the outside world, humanity at it's "best" and basic form.
Faccets make a diamond beautiful. Faccets make people imperfect. Place a person you hold dearly on a pedestal and you've created an illusion of this person you would like them to be. However, discover one flaw, whether it be a past action, a secret, or future intention, and that illusion is shattered. It happens to me constantly. I will hold a person in high regard and keep a strong opinion of them, but it only takes one action to destroy them.
People are, as a rule, facceted. Nice and kind to some, cruel and tortuous to others. It is painful to witness what goes on behind other's backs. Backstabbing and gossiping is used to turn others against you, and it is the worst crime.
I wonder how? How can humans be so evil? We study for years, even lifetimes, to be good and how to do what is right. How, then, can one cruel action pass freely? Is it not our nature to be kind?
Cruelty is subtle, but ever present. Witnessing such harshness makes me strive to be a better person, one rumor at a time.
Penalty
The leader's fist hit his desk a strict three times, calling for order.
"The death penalty! Who's first?" he boomed with authority.
"When a child throws a rock at you!" a gentleman called.
The leader pondered this for a moment. He knew he hated children, especially rock throwing children.
"Stoning is the only justice for any rock heaving child. Next!"
"When someone pees in the community pool!"
Collectively, it was decided the appropriate penalty would first be torture by waterboarding, then death by electocution.
"NEXT!"
"When a really good idea is rejected and disregarded!"
The group laughed as the leader pronounced, "Don't be stupid, Richards!"
Richards sulked, yet imagined the leader's limbs being torn apart by rabid dogs. A proper justice.
"The death penalty! Who's first?" he boomed with authority.
"When a child throws a rock at you!" a gentleman called.
The leader pondered this for a moment. He knew he hated children, especially rock throwing children.
"Stoning is the only justice for any rock heaving child. Next!"
"When someone pees in the community pool!"
Collectively, it was decided the appropriate penalty would first be torture by waterboarding, then death by electocution.
"NEXT!"
"When a really good idea is rejected and disregarded!"
The group laughed as the leader pronounced, "Don't be stupid, Richards!"
Richards sulked, yet imagined the leader's limbs being torn apart by rabid dogs. A proper justice.
Into The Wilderness
I've always fancied myself a camper. While I may have woken up cold, clammy, and sticky, I've made a habit to tell myself, "Yeah! Camping! This is great!" Hiking up dew covered hills? "Neat!" Upon seeing rodents, bugs, and snakes, I would shout, "How exotic!"
I grew up living close to "the canyon" which, being me, I had no idea what canyon people were talking about. To my knowledge, northern Utah had more canyons than I cared to count and only one I knew I had driven through for sure. Now that I am older, I feel I am able to distinguish landmarks in said canyon and recognize which campgrounds I have been to.
One weekend, my boyfriend recommended we go for a night-camp, we'd arrive early, leave early, and enjoy the scenery. I agreed and he was thrilled. I figured I was the ultimate girlfriend--I would be the girl who goes camping and enjoys it, who enjoys living by firelight and sleeping in a sleeping bag outside. I was, needless to say, awesome.
After driving through "the canyon" for a few hours, I grew weary and I lost hope that we'd find a campground at ten in the evening. To my chagrin and his excitment, we settled on one and set up shop. I realized we had nothing. Just a grill, some lamps, and an air mattress that we wouldn't even inflate. It was dark. It was more than dark, it was a purgatory where nothing existed outside my five foot light-radius. We grilled hot dogs, I staggered to find the camp-toilet, and finally climbed into our sleeping bags in the back of the truck. We watched a movie on the laptop he brought, my only glimpse into the life I've left in the valley, where technology is my security blanket.
I woke up to the sounds of squirrels screaming at each other. Birds cawed only to annoy me. I was, of course, cold, sticky, and clammy. I was ready to go home and sleep on my bed at home. It was an uncomfortable mattress and at an angle where I would roll off if I slept a way my bed didn't like, but it was still a bed with blankets and a roof. Leaving the campground felt like leaving a different world where we could see the road and the signs.
A sign that read "Evanston 48" flew past us. We were headed the wrong way towards Wyoming. The awesome girlfriend in me said, "Why not? A fun day trip." The valley-girl in me said, "Why, God, why?" It was this forty minute trip to Wyoming that made me realize, as we passed lakes, golden fields, trees with bands of light breaking through to illuminate the roads and deer hunters, this simple fact: camping blows.
I grew up living close to "the canyon" which, being me, I had no idea what canyon people were talking about. To my knowledge, northern Utah had more canyons than I cared to count and only one I knew I had driven through for sure. Now that I am older, I feel I am able to distinguish landmarks in said canyon and recognize which campgrounds I have been to.
One weekend, my boyfriend recommended we go for a night-camp, we'd arrive early, leave early, and enjoy the scenery. I agreed and he was thrilled. I figured I was the ultimate girlfriend--I would be the girl who goes camping and enjoys it, who enjoys living by firelight and sleeping in a sleeping bag outside. I was, needless to say, awesome.
After driving through "the canyon" for a few hours, I grew weary and I lost hope that we'd find a campground at ten in the evening. To my chagrin and his excitment, we settled on one and set up shop. I realized we had nothing. Just a grill, some lamps, and an air mattress that we wouldn't even inflate. It was dark. It was more than dark, it was a purgatory where nothing existed outside my five foot light-radius. We grilled hot dogs, I staggered to find the camp-toilet, and finally climbed into our sleeping bags in the back of the truck. We watched a movie on the laptop he brought, my only glimpse into the life I've left in the valley, where technology is my security blanket.
I woke up to the sounds of squirrels screaming at each other. Birds cawed only to annoy me. I was, of course, cold, sticky, and clammy. I was ready to go home and sleep on my bed at home. It was an uncomfortable mattress and at an angle where I would roll off if I slept a way my bed didn't like, but it was still a bed with blankets and a roof. Leaving the campground felt like leaving a different world where we could see the road and the signs.
A sign that read "Evanston 48" flew past us. We were headed the wrong way towards Wyoming. The awesome girlfriend in me said, "Why not? A fun day trip." The valley-girl in me said, "Why, God, why?" It was this forty minute trip to Wyoming that made me realize, as we passed lakes, golden fields, trees with bands of light breaking through to illuminate the roads and deer hunters, this simple fact: camping blows.
Monday, July 20, 2009
Worth
Cold, flat. Cold and flat. How else to describe it? The morning, especially. Nothing but cold and flat. It will gradually get loud. Much louder. The ground will shake, too. Thunder, actually. I will remain still for quite some time. Other times I will slide, roll, and spin to a stop, where I'll feel a sudden drop. A drop much like the time I was abandoned.
Not abandoned, set free! I just wish it wasn't so painful. I bounced and bounced and finally landed flat, my face down in the pavement, hoping I'll see the sun again.
The sun...bright and warm. It really brings out my color. I've almost forgotten what the sun felt like on my face, although my back has definitely enjoyed the rays. Maybe one day my glint will catch the attention of my next owner, and I will finally travel once more!
The day has grown hot and the ground thunders, as promised. It's almost torturous, but I am hopeful. Suddenly, I am picked up! A voice sweetly rings in my ears as she holds me up to catch a better glimpse of my face. Can I help you? I would love to help you!
She sets me back down on the ground, grateful and satisfied. I am face-up.
"Now someone who needs you will find you," she chimes, and continues her journey.
I am thrilled to feel the sun on my face! I wish I could thank the girl who helped me. I can finally fulfill my purpose and change someone's luck, if only for a day.
Not abandoned, set free! I just wish it wasn't so painful. I bounced and bounced and finally landed flat, my face down in the pavement, hoping I'll see the sun again.
The sun...bright and warm. It really brings out my color. I've almost forgotten what the sun felt like on my face, although my back has definitely enjoyed the rays. Maybe one day my glint will catch the attention of my next owner, and I will finally travel once more!
The day has grown hot and the ground thunders, as promised. It's almost torturous, but I am hopeful. Suddenly, I am picked up! A voice sweetly rings in my ears as she holds me up to catch a better glimpse of my face. Can I help you? I would love to help you!
She sets me back down on the ground, grateful and satisfied. I am face-up.
"Now someone who needs you will find you," she chimes, and continues her journey.
I am thrilled to feel the sun on my face! I wish I could thank the girl who helped me. I can finally fulfill my purpose and change someone's luck, if only for a day.
Tuesday, July 14, 2009
Rebecca Goes to Washington pt. 1
Fun fact: I hate flying. There is absolutely nothing fun about it. Turbulence is a nightmare. I know just about every way a plane can crash. Most of all, I loathe take-off. Zack and I were invited to visit his family one weekend in the July of 2009. I was excited to revisit the place I would future call home--until I found out we were flying.
“My dad offered to fly us up,” Zack said.
“Oh…that’s cool.”
He noted I lacked enthusiasm. What enthusiasm could I muster when I kept thinking of all the things I would need to take care of before my demise? At least my bed was made.
As was customary, Zack and I arrived as close to the minute as possible, being part of the last ten people to board the plane. We got to choose our seats, which meant all the people who had boarded before us had chosen seats with a buffer seat in between, leaving no place for us to sit together. I took the last seat in the back of the plane while Zack had to ask a woman to hold her baby instead of giving it a personal floatation device (you know, in case of emergency).
I was seated between a sports-nut who read Sports Illustrated the entire flight and a woman who, put delicately, left me half a seat. She had chosen that seat to be less of a burden, which I can admire, and I felt bad for imposing on her space. After the death riot I call take off, she pulled out a Cosmopolitan magazine, one I happened to carry also. I figured it would be a nice way to bond with her, an unspoken friendship, a way for me to say, “hey, we’re all in this together.” I’m sure she thought it said, “I’m going to stay on each page you do to freak you out.”
Later on in the flight, a flamboyant male flight attendant took our drink orders.
“Diet Coke,” the woman next to me ordered.
“D-Sprite. I will have a Sprite,” I blurted. I didn’t want her to think I was that creepy.
At last, at long last, we arrived at SeaTac. Landings I actually enjoy. The thrill of a controlled hurtling to the runway gives me reassurance I will live to die another day. I met up with Zack who described to me his flight, in which he sat next to a three-year old who sang the latest pop songs. I told him I held my arms at ninety degrees in front of me for two hours.
Since I had to settle for less-stalky Sprite, I darted to the bathroom. I settled into my booth and proceeded to, well, booth. I heard a woman walk in with her young son in tow. I normally don’t have a problem with mother’s bringing their little boys into a public restroom, but I do when said little boy takes a peek through slats in the door while I’m boothing. Zack found it hilarious, of course. I found it violating and annoying.
Later, at baggage claim, I saw the boy with his good-parenting deficient mother and, surprisingly, father. I pointed him out to Zack and swore vengeance.
The offer still stands.
“My dad offered to fly us up,” Zack said.
“Oh…that’s cool.”
He noted I lacked enthusiasm. What enthusiasm could I muster when I kept thinking of all the things I would need to take care of before my demise? At least my bed was made.
As was customary, Zack and I arrived as close to the minute as possible, being part of the last ten people to board the plane. We got to choose our seats, which meant all the people who had boarded before us had chosen seats with a buffer seat in between, leaving no place for us to sit together. I took the last seat in the back of the plane while Zack had to ask a woman to hold her baby instead of giving it a personal floatation device (you know, in case of emergency).
I was seated between a sports-nut who read Sports Illustrated the entire flight and a woman who, put delicately, left me half a seat. She had chosen that seat to be less of a burden, which I can admire, and I felt bad for imposing on her space. After the death riot I call take off, she pulled out a Cosmopolitan magazine, one I happened to carry also. I figured it would be a nice way to bond with her, an unspoken friendship, a way for me to say, “hey, we’re all in this together.” I’m sure she thought it said, “I’m going to stay on each page you do to freak you out.”
Later on in the flight, a flamboyant male flight attendant took our drink orders.
“Diet Coke,” the woman next to me ordered.
“D-Sprite. I will have a Sprite,” I blurted. I didn’t want her to think I was that creepy.
At last, at long last, we arrived at SeaTac. Landings I actually enjoy. The thrill of a controlled hurtling to the runway gives me reassurance I will live to die another day. I met up with Zack who described to me his flight, in which he sat next to a three-year old who sang the latest pop songs. I told him I held my arms at ninety degrees in front of me for two hours.
Since I had to settle for less-stalky Sprite, I darted to the bathroom. I settled into my booth and proceeded to, well, booth. I heard a woman walk in with her young son in tow. I normally don’t have a problem with mother’s bringing their little boys into a public restroom, but I do when said little boy takes a peek through slats in the door while I’m boothing. Zack found it hilarious, of course. I found it violating and annoying.
Later, at baggage claim, I saw the boy with his good-parenting deficient mother and, surprisingly, father. I pointed him out to Zack and swore vengeance.
The offer still stands.
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