Saturday, October 22
I've been neglectively realizing that I have been in foul, foul moods lately. Shitty states of mind. Well today it dropped to an all-week low because despite the fact that I just got hired at Pier 1 Imports this morning after an only 10 - 15 minute second interview, I am no longer allowed to rent movies nor am I fully trusted in what I view on TV.
I'd been asking my mom to take me to Blockbuster for a few weeks now, and she said I could get horror movies if I wanted to. (fucking sounds like i'm an eleven year old, but that's how things are in this house) At around 1:00 in the afternoon we head down the place, and I pick up Hellraiser and The Wall. The Wall isn't categorized as a horror flick (even though it's pretty horrendous all in itself), but my first choices were the original Texas Chainsaw Massacure, American History X, and Natural Born Killers. All were out, and while I was scanning an aisle of movies, I saw The Wall, and a lightbulb flickered on in my head, reminding me that I'd been curious about seeing it for quite some time. So I take it off of the shelf with good intention of whack.
At the comedy section, I couldn't resist picking up a Denis Leary movie, so I chose Wag the Dog. When I met up with my mom again, ready to use her membership card, she starts going on about how I'm not going to be able to watch all three movies in time to finish homework and go to school and all that shit for Monday. It was only three movies. My schedule is always to watch two movies in one day and finish the third the next day (Sunday); and calculating that I don't have as much homework, should be able to finish each and every film in addition with completed homework. She still goes on and on and gets angry so I walk back to the comedy section and put back Wag the Dog, because it isn't all that much as significant to me.
Watched Hellraiser alone in my room, being that everyone else in the house either goes to work or is a fucking pussy, and later tonight I decided that my room fucking sucks because I can't smear all of my facial cream off by rolling around comfortably in my bedsheets (and sitting on a bed is pointless because there's fucking nothing to lean on), so I decide to watch The Wall in the living room because there are sofas with pillows and I can sit comfortably without smearing my face on anything.
Bad decision. This decision cost me the right to rent movies for the rest of the time that I am living within these walls. A little into the beginning of the movie, my mother was in the kitchen washing dishes, and one of the most well-known songs, "Another Brick in the Wall Pt. 2" comes on, parallel to its meat factory scene. Since she actually likes the music of Pink Floyd, she decides to come and watch it with me, as opposed to her loathing of horror movies (Hellraiser).
The movie continues and there comes the boob and drug and raping and fascist parts. All with no real dialogue or obvious plot. I could feel her anger, watching her looking tense and infuriated while watching the film. I was fucking dying, waiting for the film to end, so that her anger wouldn't build up and force me to stop it in mid-movie and make me go to bed or something. She didn't, and remained quiet and in the same position all through the whole thing, even after I turned it off when it was over, took a piss, went back out into the living room and took it out of the DVD player.
She still remained quiet after I sat back down and started watching TV. I'd been feeling really guilty, exposing her to such things - things she hates, so I decided to apologize (first time I ever did to her in my life. i actually said the word "sorry" like a goddamn itty bitty pussy), and tried to explain why I would want to watch such a thing, and why I don't think it's the "cool" thing to do, to rent a movie as crazy as that, but because I like to see new and different and weird things just for the hell of it, and that I would never take these types of films or images seriously - I simply watch them for the thrill and the thrill of seeing different things; to open up new horizons of what there is out there.
As usual, being the extremely talkative person that my mom is, she talks for 93% of the time and makes me so fucking nervous from her ability to intimidate someone. I was shaking like a detoxing crack addict, in terrible fear of what my punishment will be and the belittling shit that she'll say about how she thinks how low my intelligence is. She claimed that she completely understood every meager word (meager out of fear and stress, which leads to lack of adequate words) that I said.
Then I asked if I could rent something lighter the next time. She said that there wouldn't be a next time because she doesn't know what light or heavy means according to my standards and my point of view. This means that she doesn't trust me picking out films and wasting our money, thinks that I am too influenced by the television (she had asked where I had heard about The Wall from and I said TV, just to make it short and simple, and hopefully to blot out any further disputes, which it didn't, and caused one that was just as bad). By the way she explained things, she firmly believes that I really soak in every single minute of bullshit I see on TV or movies, and take it as a role model and will copy after these "bad people." Yeah fucking right, woman. I watched The Wall and took it as seriously as I would have taken it if I watched a documentary on wallabies. It meant nothing to me as in guiding my future (if you take this movie into consideration in terms of basing your future upon, then you are officially on my shit list along with Gwar, KISS, and Lord of the Rings fanatics [that is, unless you want to get into the world of psychedelic animation]).
Like I said, I watched it for the mere enjoyment of seeing weird, unusual, new things. There is nothing wrong with opening up a new perspective on how films could be and are made, and knowing that they aren't strictly made after some kind of list of what they must be like according to some fifty year old balding shithead who watches Cold Case Files religiously and works for the Academy.
So in a nutshell, my mother thinks that I take rockstars as role models and look up to them like role models. No fucking way. I look up to myself and I do what I feel is right and logical and what is within reason. I don't listen to some heroin shooter pussy who weighs as much as one of Whoopi Goldberg's weaves and writes songs and plays music like a god. I don't give a shit who they are, how great they are at this or that or how shitty they are at other things. I calculate things within my own boundaries of morality and make up my own fucking style of presenting myself, believing in certain things, and performing certain actions. No fucking way would I do something just because some gorgeous guitar player does it, or some smart-mouthed comedian said it was cool. I base my decisions on what I've experienced and observed in my surroundings and in the past, and from there I decide on whether it is right or wrong or logical or stupid or cool or not cool. It's about time that she knew I'm a firm believer in independence and improving oneself. That way you truly become your own person, and possibly the best you ever could be, because you're not a copy of some other ball sucker who most likely isn't perfect either; Just like I, or you, could never be. You're open-minded and susceptible to any fucking thing that is coming to you, and you don't think in a straight fucking line. I hate those types, those types who think in a straight line and inside a box that is 1 x 1 cm in size.
My opinion on The Wall: I would've enjoyed it 110 times more had my mother not been spreading her wing over my head like that. I saw it as a fantastically illustrated depiction of the subconscious, and the subconscious is something that could be beautiful or horrifying or anything - it is absolutely mysterious, and I always find the mysterious to be extremely intriguing. It also isn't the greatest movie either, because sometimes you aren't in the right state of mind and it could totally scare the fuck out of you, or you're just not in the right mood. To put it in other words, it depends on the individual viewer - whether they see it as a smut film or an artistic masterpiece, this movie cannot really be judged specifically. I mostly like it, just because I could see crazy shit happening for more than two hours. Shit that you don't even have to find out the meaning of. You know how much of a fucking great kick I get out of seeing things get blown up or beaten to orange pulp at the bottom of a juicer - I fucking love it. Just for the fucking fun of seeing some fucker's head get bashed in with a bat or giant walking hammers or an eyebrow-less fascist Bob Geldof who can't find out how to imitate the Village People correctly.
I know I probably took this way out of proportion and too seriously, but hey, writing this shit makes me feel better.
