Do not be friends with this girl
Because I believe that movies should be watched and pondered alone, I don’t tend to attend movies with friends just for the hell of it. The movie has to be one that I know will captivate me or I have to be threatened by said friend and/or promised pitchers of sangria immediately after the viewing. Those stipulations are carefully articulated and highlighted in my friend contract. Right under the section that provides instruction on how to react when I’m about to flip my shit. I’m complicated.
My presence was requested at a viewing of Pan’s Labyrinth. When Kimber suggested it, I said, how about we just head straight to the drinking part of the evening and do not pass go, do not collect $200 anywhere near a movie that involves a talking tree. Though at the time, I didn’t know that there was an actual talking tree, I just guessed. In fact the only way she got me to go see the movie was by mentioning the word “Franco”. Because up there with the fervor that I exhibit when speaking of Trader Joe’s and wine, is my interest in European dictators. Which isn’t to say that I agree with totalitarian regimes or facism, or propaganda against an entire group of people based on their religion, creed, or where they purchase their shoes; but for some reason it all fascinates me.
To pinpoint the exact moment that I decided to read up on Mussolini, is something that I’m unaware of. Though I think it was about the same time that I had my mother read Poe to me before bed. I’m assuming 8 or 9 years old. Calling me an odd child, would be putting it mildly. There’s also no reason for it nor did it come from any source. Kind of like the way that I’m obsessed with Congress and can tell the difference between 250 white men over 50. Thinking about it now, it’s the entire history of Europe that I find ridiculously intriguing, especially dictatorships (how it’s possible) and...uh...the House of Bourbon.
In sum: I am weird. So very, weird. And mentioning a dictator will get me to see a movie. A movie, which was a spectacularly weird feat of vivid imagery and violence rolled up into two hours of a talking tree, a puking frog, and a girl who doesn’t know how to fucking listen. Oh and another guy who was the spitting image of Voldemort.
Next up on my tour of oddities: I woke up crying after a ‘nightmare’ that ended with the death of Hugh Laurie.