Because today is
Mother's Day, I spent an inordinate amount of time yesterday shopping for the perfect gift
(3+ hours). This could be blamed, in part, on how
she is difficult to shop for, but really, I just like to look at stuff. Perhaps I'm just a little naive or sheltered or whatever, but I am always amazed by the sheer diversity of
consumer goods.
Whoa, they make that? What is that for? Hey, look at that thing! No, that other thing! Oooh, that thing has numbers on it! I don't know why, but I find it highly enjoyable.
Plus, I like to roll around on
the smooth tile floors. I took some pictures of some of my favorite items
for you, the reader! I'll upload these
later with some snarky commentary.
I like shopping alone because I can go at my own leisurely pace and take all the detours I'd like without inconveniencing whomever with my impulsive erraticism. I also tend to wander off in stores and that can be a little awkward at times. But I don't really like attending events alone. In my experience events like the
Faux Film Festival are enhanced by the presence of a peer. I can recall easily
(perhaps painfully so) a time when I won tickets to the
Dew Action Sports Tour for being a
Glorious Bastard and could find absolutely no one* willing to take the second ticket. Although I try to spin this as a dislike of
extreme sports coupled with the short notice I gave the invitation rather than evidence of some hidden and unsavory characteristic
(s), I found myself in a similar situation last night
(perhaps lending credibility to the later?). While I initially found this quite disturbing, it proved to be a boon as open seats were difficult to find, especially in the dark theater, a trouble which would have been multiplied by multiples
(I was able to get an amazing seat during the BMX Park finals at AST because of this issue and a last minute seat at a Blue Man Group concert). I had also been very nervous as I don't usually hold up very well under tense situations or intensely dramatic moments
(I stopped watching Desperate Housewives a few years ago to reduce my intrigue intake; also because my then-roommates thought it was too decadent for our sanctuary from sin or whatever). I'm both very jumpy and slightly ticklish; a poor combination
(I'm using a lot of parenthetical remarks today) and it is my understanding that horror films are generally best viewed in the company of the fairer sex.
So, yeah...I've written
a few times about my fascination with zombies, even writing
a rather poor paper on the mythological nature of the undead for an English class
(which received the comment "when will they rise???" on a peer review sheet). It is a morbid curiosity and, in actuality, I am rather terrified of
zombies and
what they represent. Terrified is the wrong word. If I were really concerned with apocalyptic preparedness, I'd have planned and prepared for a
Stage 3 Outbreak by now
(also probably the whole spirituality thing). Given my Mormon family's
emphasis on food storage I think we could handle up to that point although we'd only have melee weapons at our disposal. I've pushed for a domestic firearm for disaster situations, but nothing yet. Maybe I'm more concerned about
Z-day than I thought, or it's just a residual affect of
scouting.
In any case, once I found out about
Zompire, I
had to go. Given that my prior experience with zombie film had been
Shawn of the Dead,
Fido, and
the thirty second re-enactment, I wasn't sure what to expect. I know it should be more given how much I liked
World War Z (a must read!) and everything, but I believe I've mentioned both the mild stigma I feel watching movies alone
(supposing they can hold my attention long enough to finish) and that I'm kind of a huge baby, but
not like that. I don't actively avoid watching movies alone, although it is always preferable with company, but I'm not sure I will ever be able to shake the image of my father watching
Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants alone in his room when no one else would join him. It still strikes me as all sorts of weird
(even after hearing him ask my mother if a certain pair of jeans "made his butt look fat") and remains a pinnacle of pitiful that sadly remains married to the thought of solo film delectation.
Anyways, I ended up going alone and I staved off my apprehension through compulsive text messaging. So-much-so that my mobile blog was flagged by a security feature meant to prevent
blog spam and reduce server stress through use of a
captcha, which I can't do from my phone. The timer has expired so I can once enjoy my mobile post masturbation
(yay for text message post delivery confirmation!). Luckily, a majority of
the short films were lighthearted, comedic, and
even satirical. Did I mention
weird? They were
all weird. A couple were incredibly gripping, and most all were entertaining, though there were a few others which were trying hard to be
something, with various levels of success. You can tell from some of the directors' comment on the festival's website how lofty a metaphor they think their zombies can stand, hobble, and moan for. Example:
Burying the Ex is a metaphor for a seemingly ever-present ex-girlfriend or ex-boyfriend and the baggage we must deal with when a relationship comes to an end. In Burying the Ex even the grave can't hold a jilted lover who's learned that their ex has found someone new...
That's not fair, because I kind of enjoyed that one
(Danielle Harris is a very attractive woman) and it had
the kid from Freaks and Geeks. These
(figurative) zombies elicited more groans of horror than screams of fright, but that could not be said of the
2004 remake of
Dawn of the Dead, which I enjoyed, but
Oh God, why are they running? Oh God, they aren't supposed to be running! Make them stop! Ahhh! For the record, I never actually screamed and no one can prove otherwise. My only regret, besides arriving slightly late, was that I was not able to watch the entirety of
Wasting Away (stupid public transit schedules!) and it will be difficult to procure.
Anyways, that is why I did not sleep well last night. Also, I didn't get home until 2 am and then
Liane Hansen woke me up at the ungodly hour of 6 am.
*That I wanted to hang out with.
