300 with Rebecca; dogs still grate my cheese

[grrgoyl]

I finally went to see 300 again as promised, though not with Tabby as originally planned. It was a couple of weeks after her excited agreement to accompany me when I had occasion to talk to her again (on a hospital-related issue). I asked her about it and suddenly she was hemming and hawing. She was nervous about all the bad things people had been saying about it. Evidently my willingness to see it a second time wasn't a ringing enough endorsement for her. I explained that some people watched it expecting a historically accurate, realistic dramatization of the Battle of Thermopylae -- adapted from a comic book. I said that, while not being the most accurate depiction possible, it certainly was great eye candy and she insisted that was all she was interested in. Yet still she waffled.

Fortunately for us both I never let myself get too attached to the idea of going with her. That's sadly the cynical defense mechanism I've been forced to adopt in order to make a friendship with her (and others; there, I've said it) possible.

So instead I was struck with the idea to reconnect with my friend Rebecca from RGIS. We lost all contact after I left RGIS, and I usually try harder to hold onto friends than that (having so few of them). This necessitated a call to the RGIS office to get her number, which was met with surprisingly little fanfare considering how long I've been incommunicado. I attribute this to the fact that they've since hired two other Elaines so I might have been confused for them. I'm glad I escaped before the name became so commonplace.

I forgot how much I love Rebecca. Rebecca is me to the tenth degree. Rebecca is me before I went to college and became a reasonably contributing member of society. She would love nothing more than to be left alone with her books and never speak to another soul again as long as she lives, including me. But because I'm persistent and rakishly charming, she tolerates me.

For example, here is a synopsis of our conversation:

Me: Hey Rebecca, it's Elaine. Remember me?
Her: Yeah, hi. (as if we had only spoken last week)
Me: Wanna go to a movie sometime?
Her: I wasn't planning to see anything until July when Harry Potter comes out. (srsly)
Me: Please? I'm lonely.
Her: (sighing resignedly) Fine, I'll go with you.

See? I'm as charismatic as the Dalai Lama in comparison.

So, second impressions of 300: I don't know if it's the difference between Imax and a regular screen or the fact that we were seated way too close, but the print seemed horribly grainy, while revealing facial pores you could park a Volkswagen in. And the night battle scene, which is all blacks and grays with only the muted reds of their cloaks, created a visual effect outlining everyone in blurry red that I'm certain wasn't intended, like watching a 3D movie without the glasses. Very annoying and distracting. Plus, I'll admit, knowing the whole plot and what was coming next made the movie seem much slower moving, something I didn't feel at all the first time. Or perhaps that was because of the two running commentators we had seated behind us, one each to our extreme right and left, who I could hear susserating through the entire movie. It was mostly unintelligible until I clearly heard the woman whisper, "That's Xerxes," when the god-king finally makes his appearance. Really? I would have thought the 9-foot tall, gold-bedecked, arrogant creature borne on a litter by 50 slaves needed no introduction. That she felt he did certainly didn't speak well for the intelligence of her companion.

For the last time, if you just can't keep your mouth shut for more than 10 minutes, DON'T GO TO THE FUCKING MOVIES.

~*~

And this just in: Dogs are still crying, whiny, needy babies. Last weekend after listening to a chorus of about four of them howl out their agonizing loneliness for fifteen minutes straight at 1 a.m., I stomped into the ward, turned on the light and screamed at the top of my lungs, "WILL YOU SHUT UP???? ALL OF YOU!!!!!!!!! WHAT IS YOUR FUCKING PROBLEM???????? OH MY GOD!!!!!!!!!!!!" When I had finished, most of them were eyeing me with sheer terror. Ummm, guys? I think we broke her they seemed to be thinking. Things were pretty quiet after that. And come morning when I started serving breakfast, the incident was forgotten and we were all the best of friends again.

By contrast this weekend I wore my iPod and was feeling good. I danced and sang with my mop and all the dogs sat and watched me, wagging their tails adoringly. Such an appreciative audience, and they didn't seem to mind in the least if I occasionally forgot the words. As I walked by each kennel I bestowed glowing words of praise on each one. I told Abby, a golden retriever who perpetually looks like she's smiling, what a good girl she was. She immediately turned to look at her cellmates as if to say, "Did you hear that? I'm a good girl. ME."

No, I'm no closer to being a dog person, but they do sometimes have their moments.

Comments

[yammerhead.livejournal.com]

Dogs are morons. There, I said it.

[grrgoyl.livejournal.com]

It had to be said.