I just saw The Box and I don’t know what to do I don’t know what to do.

Okay, look.  It veers off into the ridiculous for a bit, perhaps…but perhaps not.  I don’t know.  I’m going to have to see it twelve more times before I can make that call.

You probably know I’m pretty obsessed with Donnie Darko.  In case you don’t know, Richard Kelly wrote both that and this.  I want to talk to him.  No, I don’t.

I just want to talk to someone.  This movie got me.  It was kind of slow-moving, as movies go, but to my mind, it was perfectly-paced.  It was nerve-wracking.  There were several of the elements of Darko, which lent an eerie familiarity (in one scene, when the main characters are scouring the library for some mysterious call numbers, I was dying for one of the numbers to be for Grandma Death’s book; that might have been a little over the top, though).

Beyond that, though, there was a major Twilight Zone feel; what I was not expecting, though, was the overpowering X Files feel.  And I mean the old-school, first-three-seasons-before-it-got-so-conspiracied-out, CREEPY X Files era.  (Ask me—or anyone I was friends with in high school—about my David Duchovny fixation.  But that’s a story for another time.)

So basically, the Twilight Zone and the X Files had a baby that grew up watching Alfred Hitchcock movies and then made out with David Lynch a couple of times during a youthful dalliance.  And then was granted entrance through a watery portal into the Darkosphere.  That baby grew up to be this movie.

You may hate it, and I don’t care.  I haven’t been riveted by a thriller like this in a long time.  And there’s no—or at least very little—cursing or sex.  Go figure.

Posted in face-rocking, movies Tagged: donnie darko, richard kelly, the box ]]> http://hollywynne.wordpress.com/2009/11/13/the-box/feed/ 6 holly wynne DON'T. DO IT. http://hollywynne.wordpress.com/2009/11/12/feel-good-friday-sleepwalker-the-wallflowers/ http://hollywynne.wordpress.com/2009/11/12/feel-good-friday-sleepwalker-the-wallflowers/#comments Fri, 13 Nov 2009 03:09:58 +0000 holly wynne http://hollywynne.wordpress.com/?p=1910 ]]>

Doin’ a little breaktime-from-class, parking-lot blogging.

I was pretty sure back in high school that I would have to marry Jakob Dylan.  He was so sleepydreamy, and his last name had five letters, one of them being a ‘y’, just like my names do.  It would fit right in.

I loved the Wallflowers back then.  When they came out with an album my very last semester of undergrad in college, I snapped that puppy right up, and Erin and I put Jakob on our Door of Beautiful Men.  “Sleepwalker” was my favorite.  I was fond of playing it—loudly—and singing—loudly—the line “I’m an educated virgin” with a smirk on my face.

(Interpret said smirk however you choose, there.)

For whatever reason, that song has been in my head for a couple of days.  I think, possibly, it could be because I feel like a sleepwalker of late.  (Have I mentioned I don’t get as much sleep as I’d like?)

I think this means it’s my Feel-Good Friday this week.  Enjoy.

I did not have money to go to Starbucks this morning.  I don’t most mornings, but some people are able to, and I like to pretend I’m one of them every once in a while.  This is the case especially on mornings like this when I have to come in early for a 7:30am phone call to a nice lady from a Kentucky county’s Board of Education.

I just thought I could use a little treat, especially since I needed the caffeine—I’ve probably gotten about ten hours sleep, total, since Sunday night.  How do I afford my rock and roll lifestyle?  I don’t.  I’m just doing the best I can, here, folks.

I had $6 and some change in my wallet.  With that and some more change from my little ashtray compartment in my car, I scraped together $7.21 for a breakfast sandwich—which, surprisingly, are pretty good, though I was adamantly opposed to them at first—and a grande nonfat, no-whip mocha.

It was the mocha that I really wanted.  I just knew it didn’t need to hit an empty stomach by itself.

I cannot stress enough how much I know I shouldn’t have spent the last of my cash for the week (Friday is payday) on Starbucks.  But you gotta eat breakfast.  And I really wanted that mocha.

In the left turn from 24th onto Acklen, it was driven home very nauseatingly just how neglectful I’d been in replacing the cupholder that disappeared this past week.  Without it, the little circular indention I’d placed said mocha in just didn’t have the ability to enclose and protect its precious cargo.

The cargo that emptied itself completely—devastatingly—onto my passenger side floor mat.

The floor mat that is now lying on the ground, probably souring, out in the parking lot beside my car.

I shouldn’t have spent the money on the mocha.  I was going to enjoy it, though, without guilt.  I was going to nurse it all morning, probably–the nurturing dark chocolate, the seductive espresso roast, both of which I so needed.  So craved.

I would probably have even sighed and stared into the distance contentedly at some point.

The breakfast sandwich was good.  It would have been better washed down with a mocha.

I’m going to get over this now.  (Hold me.)

UPDATE, 12:30pm:  Our Big Corporate Dude We Report To graced us with his presence today.  Along with him brought he cupcakes.  It wasn’t a mocha, but the gingerbread one was pretty fantastic, and I will go ahead and consider it a serendipitous override.

You’d think I were moving.  Again.  Nope.  Just still sifting through all the belongings my folks brought by on their way out of town.  Working full-time and going to school three nights a week (and church one night a week) is not exactly conducive to such productivity.

It’s weird to have all my worldly possessions under one roof, finally.

P.S.  I miss having a real camera.  These cell phone captures just do not cut it.

I’m thinking seriously of deactivating my Facebook account.  I’ve hit this point a few times through the years, but last night I actually clicked the button to see what would happen.  (By the way, one thing that happens is that they manipulate you by throwing a pic of you that one of your friends tagged and saying “____________ will miss you.”  I had both Ginger and Ivy used against me in this way last night, actually.)

I didn’t end up doing it, but I still think I might.  I just worry that I’m forgetting a person or two that I only have Facebook to thank for keeping me in touch with, and I’ll remember them right after I deactivate.  Of course, the fact that I can’t bring them to mind right now might suggest that this really isn’t an issue.

Also…well, I don’t need to be any more of a hermit than I already am.  I don’t want to take some sort of step that might subconsciously be my cutting myself off from that much more of a chunk of the world.

It’s just that it kind of bores me now.  And my interactions on there are rather mundane.  Not all the time—there are some fun moments with status thread comments and the such like.  It just feels pointless otherwise.

If someone wants to keep in touch with me, I’m not hard to find.  You don’t need my goofy mug in the corner of your monitor and some clever movie quotes and a quiz result that tells you what soft drink I am to remind you whom you’re emailing.  You just don’t.  Some of the people I love the most in this world are Facebookless, or they have Facebook but for whatever reason are not my friend on there.

Speaking of which–that’s a-whole-nother issue.  Friends and “friends” on Facebook.  I thin out my list every few months.  I refuse to let it get over a certain number, as I know I don’t actually have that many friends.  I may know that many people or more, but everyone I know doesn’t have to be a part of my daily online life.  In fact, some just simply shouldn’t.  Found that one out the hard way.

I don’t know.  I’ll think about it a little more, maybe, and most likely I’ll end up just doing it.  That’s what happened when I quit Twitter.  I never looked back.  Well, in more recent times, I considered getting back on it because it has exploded since I quit a little less than a year ago, and I’m curious about how many more people are utilizing it and what capabilities are out there for it now.  But, again, what would be the point?  My sporadic 140 characters wouldn’t truly add anything to the great metanarrative.

My activity–or lack of–on Facebook really doesn’t add anything, either—to the metanarrative, to the cosmos, or really to my life.  There was a time when it fed my need for connection.  Now it has become its own need somehow, and I’m not at all sure how healthy that is.  I don’t like my reaction to certain “conversations” I see happening; I love my friends’ baby pictures, but I have a couple of friends on there whom I wonder about—how are they actually mothering these babies in said pictures when their status updates are seven minutes apart?  And, oh, the passive aggression in some status updates…sometimes coming from myself, not gonna lie.  And don’t even get me started on the way-too-easy hypocrisy.

I guess I’ve realized lately how much I have to refresh the page, hoping someone will say something interesting or that they will respond to a private message I sent or that they’ll complete their move in Lexulous.  It’s tiring.  And time-wasting.

But it’s time I’ve quite willingly wasted for…almost 3 years now, actually.  As I’ve told several people in trying to convince them to get or stay on Facebook, it is what you make of it.  You set your privacy settings to your standards, you “hide” the people you don’t really want to deal with, you don’t put up pics or post anything that you don’t want to.  You don’t have to take all the quizzes—though, I admit, I love those things.  If you hate them, though, you can hide them, too.  You don’t have to play Farmville and, like me, you can block the application when one too many friends sends you one too many cows.  It’s pretty flexible.  I like that.

The human element, though, is the rub.  For those of us who grew up “in our shells,” it’s SO easy to de-shell online.  That’s one reason we blog.  But it’s also way too easy to shoot some wall post or status thread comment from the virtual hip and then end up in real-world regret.  I’ll give myself enough credit to say that I’ve rarely done that in recent times (at least on Facebook).  I watched two of my friends this past week have a catty exchange and de-friend each other publicly, though, and it made me a little ill.  I’m not above that.  I just want no part of it, especially knowing I’m not above it.

Quite simply, I don’t like that the description of many of my social interactions begin with phrases like, “well, he wrote on my wall…” or “I saw on your profile that you…”  It works for some people, but for me–I like face time.  I like the sound of a voice.  If I’m going to be upset or happy or have any sort of emotional reaction to people, though, I’d like for it to be about an actual interaction with them—not their ersatz virtual incarnation.

Incidentally, if you’re one of those people who can easily let things roll off your back, this is not a problem.  Facebook is ideal for that.  Me, though—I’m an internalizer.  As much as it grieves me, I’m on of those people who investigates the nuances of word choice, of the absence of words, of tone; I then make grave diagnoses about people’s opinions of me and the future of my relationships with them.

I’m too old for this.

I’m preaching a lot here about something that I’ve been an avid participant in for the majority of the time I’ve been on it.  I think it’s a good thing, I do.  Just not for me right now.

Okay, I’ve convinced myself.  Off to do some deactivating.

I really do have dinner plans, but while I’m waiting for my dinner company to get off work, I thought I’d play on the internet at one of my coffeehouses of residence.  The problem is, the internet is boring tonight.

Blogging seemed the next natural choice.  The problem is, I’m boring tonight.  Soooooo…I haven’t meme’d in a while, so let’s try this.  I found this on a nifty Friday meme website.  It’s World-Series-themed.

According to the cliche, if you “spare the rod,” you “spoil the child.” Who in your life was probably spared A Rod while growing up?

Mmkay.  I know the capitalization is supposed to reflect a cute pun, but I’m going to ignore it and go straightforward with my answer.  The answer is this guy at work.  I cannot stand him.  You know how you can have these irrationally negative reactions to people?  I don’t even know the guy personally, but the way he struts through the office, “singing” (or making these abominable noises that he thinks people want to hear), and in general making an absurd display of arrogance lets me know he was not put in his place much growing up.  If he had been, he would know he doesn’t need to force his awesomeness on the rest of us all the time.

And yes, every time I say something like the above about someone, I find out they have cancer and are using their last months of life volunteering at the soup kitchen.  I certainly hope this is not the case.  So…obligatory disclaimer:  I don’t know the guy.  He could be a great person.  I’m just kinda petty about certain things.  And I just betcha he could have used “A Rod” at some point.

In how many directions this week did you feel you were being Yanked?

Really?  This week wasn’t that bad, especially compared to last week.  Going to school and working full-time is definitely a yank-prone situation.  I’m feeling it, but it’s not too violent.

On whom have you depended for relief this week?

I guess I really haven’t.  I ended up telling a small group of people I don’t know very well about something that’s weighing on me—something that took a LOT to reveal—and only one responded.  That was weird.  It didn’t really hurt, but it did reinforce yet again that my relationship situation these days is quietly bizarre.  The ones that have always been the default “close” ones are no longer close, the truly closest seems to equal the furthest away, and well, I end up telling stuff to groups of people I might not even hang out with otherwise my deepest feelings.

This will equal out eventually, I’m sure of it.  Okay, “sure” is a strong word.  But I’m learning more and more that intent is a huge part of reality, so we’re going to go with it.

Who deserves a standing ovation this week (or even a ‘hip-hip Jorge’)?

In my personal life, my friend Wade for reasons that shall remain undisclosed for now (but that are completely on the up and up—he’s happily married, yo).  In general, my cousin’s husband Robert and the other members of his SWAT team that responded to the terrible thing that happened at Fort Hood.  They have my deepest appreciation.

When did you last have a taste of Champagne?

I…think…I never have, actually.  It’s true.

And this has successfully taken me to dinnertime.  Woot, and have a good weekend.

I rarely use a new song for my FGF, much less a song that’s getting so overplayed.  For me, though, it’s really not overplay–I just really, really like it a lot.  I can’t get it out of my head, actually.

Maybe I’ll talk about my on-and-off relationship with the Foos some other time.  (I’m pretty sure you know how I feel about “Everlong.”)  For right now, though, I’m just extremely happy that their latest stacks up against several of their best.

When the wheels come down

When the wheels touch ground

And you feel like it’s all over

There’s another round for you

Gram would have been 63 today.  I found this AWESOME capture of a live performance of “Big Mouth Blues” on YouTube today.  Lookit Emmylou!

Gram became a pretty major influence on my musical tastes a few years ago when I was working backward from my Ryan Adams obsession.  Without him, a pretty hefty chunk of the artists I hold dear wouldn’t be doing what they’re doing.

And if you don’t know the weird circumstances surrounding his death, you should check them out.

One of the first things I did upon moving to Nashville was attend a special showing of this documentary at the Belcourt.  In attendance were its director and members of the Parsons family, as well as the always-classy Phil Kaufman (who staggered up the aisle at one point to “set things straight” during the Q&A session).  That night is one of my favorite memories, and I met Leeann that night, too, so lots of good vibes there.

Most likely, even if he hadn’t died, he’d still be dead.  You know what I mean.  Still, though, he gave us lots of beauty in a few short years.

I really, really wanted to do NaBloPoMo this year like I did last year, but since this is the second time I’ve written in our four-day-old month, I guess that’s not going to happen.  It was odd, when I visited my page on the site upon receiving the email notification last week, to see my abandoned profile and my picture and friends from last year.  My hair’s a little longer.  Some other things have changed, too.  Some have not, at least not really.

Massage school is fun.  I’m tired.  My teacher was an anus to me last night, and in a freaky flash, I saw myself acting the same way as a teacher.  It made me want to apologize to some knuckleheads, but then again, not really.  In that moment, though, I did gain some insight you don’t always get into how other people see you—he’s a nice enough guy, and I like for the most part how he does things.  I even appreciate his sarcasm.  I felt he crossed the jerk line when I was asking for some help at one point, though, and it was in a way that could have affected my grades on a couple of quizzes.  I’m afraid I crossed that same line in similar circumstances for some of my kiddos.  Not much I can do about it now, but it was still—as I used to call them in the classroom—an “aha!” moment.

(I aced those quizzes just for spite, btw.)

As I was saying, I like my classes, but this life is exhausting.  I’m hoping for respite in a few months if I can save and borrow enough to go full-time.  I’m not doing so hot financially, though, so we’ll see.  Speaking, sort of, of which, my gracious mom is going to get me a basic internet setup at my apartment in a couple of weeks so I don’t have to keep doing this in parking lots.  It’s getting too cold.

I really like November.  I’m still not ready for Christmas decorations.  They are currently setting my teeth on edge.

Also, I had an improper draping faux pas while practicing on a (female) classmate that almost made me run out of the room and abandon this new plan.  It was awful.  And I’m not as magic-hand-y in class and under pressure as I am in the situations such as led me to choose this for my (next) profession.  My intuitive touch seems to be hanging back.  Hopefully it—like I tend to do—will get comfortable enough to come on out and play.

I want to see The Box (um, HELLO, makers of Donnie Darko) and The Fourth Kind.  They both come out this weekend.  Doubt I’ll get to do it that soon, but I’m still on a spooky kick even though Halloween is over.  I wish there were a movie theater that would let me come in pajamas and provide me with a couch and a cuddle partner to watch them with, though.  It’s just that time of year and I’m in that kind of mood.

I’ve not seen my bug in over a month—possibly two—which, of course, is unacceptable.  We’re all gathering at my parents’ new place this weekend, though.  I miss her so much, every day.  It’s hard to sustain that kind of miss, which is why I don’t for many more people on this earth.  She’s one of the tiny handful, though, and a pretty substantial one.  She’s really cute, by the way:

Well, I wanted to tell you all about my Halloween a lot sooner, but I started feeling wonky Sunday afternoon (after the obligatory nap) and by Monday morning, I felt like someone had pumped wet cement into my sinus cavities and it had hardened overnight.  A day of doping and resting and watching awful/awesome movies later, though, I was a new woman today.  Or, at least one who could be at work in manageable condition.

Now, I’m a woman who’s really sleepy but is still sitting in her car jacking some wifi from TedNKristy right before midnight.

SO, all that to say—best Halloween ever, or at least in recent memory.  Let me tell you it.

My younger cousin clone Ashley arrived late Friday night—”late,” here, meaning “sometime after 11:30 when I went to bed and left the door unlocked for her.”  Let me say a couple words about Ashley here.  Ashley is my first cousin’s daughter.  I knew Ashley for years as one of the random kids at family reunions/funerals, but not much more.  Somewhere along the way, she ended up in college—where she is currently—at my undergrad alma mater, and at some point during her tenure there, we ended up Facebook friends.  There are very few people who have spent much time around both of us, but the few who have have remarked upon some odd similarities.

I could tell she was a cool kid the time I visited her grandmother—my aunt—several years back and Ashley was there, wearing the exact Beatles tee shirt I also owned.  This weekend was the first time we’d spent any time together at all.

It was weird.

I don’t know how genetics works, but I have to admit hearing my very same intonations out of and seeing some of my own gesticulations from this person I’d barely even talked to before was pretty odd.  Disorienting, even.  But, ultimately, quite the compliment, as she’s adorable, sweet, and so very interesting.

Back to the weekend.  Sarah had come down Friday evening and we’d watched Night of the Living Dead.  I’d never seen it, but I really liked it.  I didn’t know it was actually a good movie and not just a campfest.  Saturday morning brought cinnamon rolls and three girls in PJs watching a Thai film, Dorm.  It was good, but I liked it better when it was called The Devil’s Backbone.

BUT, the scary movies were just going to be the beginning.  BECAUSE, oh yes, we were going to go play with REAL ghosts…and a WITCH!

Let me explain.  As a kid growing up in middle Tennessee, I was all too familiar with the Bell Witch.  I mean, she was our “Bloody Mary” in the mirror at slumber parties (or so I’ve heard—I wasn’t usually invited to them).  I’ve mentioned before that I don’t scare easily—the Bell Witch has always at the very least creeped me out.  If I think about it too much, it does actually scare me a bit.  I won’t go into the whole legend, but the thought of something so inexplicable causing so much unbelievable craziness—it at least gives me pause.

As such, I’ve always wanted to go to Adams to visit the Bell home.  Sarah has too, and Ashley was enthusiastic, and James joined us Saturday around lunchtime.  We ate and headed up the road.

Now, we’d had a much bigger group, but with the news that the cave would be flooded, the rest of them—you’re about to be shocked—lamed out.  It was disappointing, but there was so much else to do—gift shop, cabin, grounds, cemetery, overall spookiness?  We were still in.

It was a lovely drive.  We felt the dread as we approached the property…and the punch in the gut at the gate when we realized it was closed.  As in the whole flippin’ thing.

(Do they know how much money they lost that day?)

Dejected, we decided to keep driving to see what we could see.  Originally, we decided to visit some other cave park Sarah found on the map.  Somewhere along the way, the words “corn maze” were tossed around.  So, I pointed the car back toward Springfield, which was where the only corn maze I knew of was.

Just a few minutes after this decision was made, though, the sign for Boyd’s rose up to meet us on the left.  It was a big ol’ piece of the unexpected puzzle of the day, just dropped right there by the side of the road.  And Boyd himself?  Awesome.  Go join his group on Facebook.  

We finished in 41 minutes, just before dark.  I’d actually never been in a corn maze, but despite the disorientation, I enjoyed it.  It definitely felt like the right thing to do on Halloween.

In the midst of it all, I sure did have a nice time with my friends.  Sarah and I have been close since college, and though I’d really only become acquainted with Ashley in recent times, I couldn’t have asked for more comfortable, easygoing company for my Halloween.  (James’s cheesetastic jokes just kind of capped off the whole thing, but I won’t go into that.)

Finally, I’d been wanting to watch The Blair Witch Project again, but Netflix had it under “Long Wait” status.  I knew renting was not an option, but once I found out Ashley’d never seen it, I had no choice but to try to find a copy.  We stopped at McKay’s before home and…no luck.

UNTIL, the best luck of all.  Behold:

Okay, that’s kind of small.  What it is is the cover of Bell Witch Haunting, a 2004 locally produced movie about the legend.  It was in the bargain bin.  $1.95.  It is now one of my prized possessions.

It’s also an epic, by the way.  I cannot even begin to describe it.  And I will leave it at that.  Let’s just say it ended our Saturday exactly where it had began—three girls, a couch, pajamas, a movie…and the Bell Witch, absent from our Halloween no more.