Cinema Therapy, volume 9

Okay, okay. I get it. It's been a while and if some of you have been wondering what happened to Cinema Therapy, don't be alarmed at the length of time it took me to post one. No, I haven't become one of those jags who doesn't believe in feel-good movies being quality viewing. No, I haven't become overly depressed with the world and want to shut out all that is happy and good. I simply have found myself overwhelmed with the schedule lately and Wednesdays come and go, with me remembering by Friday night, and by then thinking, "Oh, I'll do it next week." And then, it happens again. Oh well. I'll try to get better.

So, here it is, volume 9. And my pick for this week isn't just a feel-good drama. It's a great expression of family dysfunction that somehow shows how cohesive the group really is, and how they are better together than apart. Plus, Susan Sarandon makes me want to have all boys in this pic.

Say "hello" to Safe Passage. Even though this film was made in the 90's, it still resonates, especially given the international political circumstances this country finds itself. The story revolves around the Singer family, made up of Mom and Dad, Mag and Patrick, and their seven sons. Though Mag and Patrick are currently estranged, they come together with the rest of their family when one of the boys, Percival, is feared dead after a bomb has been detonated at a military barracks in the Sinai desert where he was stationed. How this film is brilliant is that it is filmed entirely from the perspective of the family awaiting news of Percy and through Mag's memories of her children. You feel that powerless sense of not knowing what has happened and the building anxiety and anticipation one experiences in situations such as these. So, how does this make it a feel-good movie? The family antics drive enough laughter through their fears, as well as a climactic ending that may be predictable, but still worthwhile.

Including an always brilliant Ms. Sarandon, there's also great performances by Sam Shepard, Nick Stahl, Robert Sean Leonard (of "House, M.D." fame), Marcia Gay Harden, and Sean Astin.

Despite the neuroses of most of the family members, I always find myself desiring my own place in the Singer household. It might even remind you of your own family, with it's sarcasm, wit, drama, and above all, love.

The past haunts.

Once again, I find myself at one of those junctures where I must decide to revisit some old wound from childhood or let it fall away as if it never existed.

While the incident in question that has raised my curiosity and reservations is no serious thing for many, it is for me only that I am not willing to relive drama that I hoped was gone forever. Not the people necessarily, mind you. But I fear that welcoming someone from my past will cause an undue emotional distress in the long term.

I am speaking of my stepsister, who I will heretofore refer to as H.

Imagine my surprise to receive word from her electronically this evening. I have to admit that there were times when I wondered what happened, where she went, if she moved on from the ultimately abusive childhood she endured to become a well-rounded individual, or if her life was merely a video looping over and over those things most people would gladly forget. Are these things I really want to know, or is this one of those things best left by the wayside...

Without being a giant bitch?

I spoke briefly to my real sister about this situation, and she is more inclined to leave it alone. Why? Because she was just as hurt by H's disappearance, and because she holds these things longer than I do. We rarely hold a conversation about my dad. And I think this might have more to do with the fact that talking about him inevitably leads to talking about the stepmonster. She infiltrates our memories like a demon, overwhelming and horrific. And we did not even experience the worst of that woman's wrath. So, the thought of introducing one of the few bright sides of those childhood experiences into our adult and current lives is less than appealing.

Still, if the past haunts, so does curiosity.

Stay tuned...

She's alive! (Only just.)

Well, as you might imagine, I fell off the planet - again. I was sailing out to sea, and what do you know, the edge came faster than expected. I was gonna jump ship and try to swim back, but I was like, "Screw it" and reclined as I headed into the abyss.

Okay. It's not as dramatic as all that. I've just been a little busy and really tired.

Went to the sister's a few weeks ago. Came home with the cold that she and the kid had been sporting for a few days. Then I tried working that week on only about three hours of sleep a day (you can imagine how fun that was). Then I met up with my sister in the Dells for some non-child-related fun (cheesy place, but what can you do? It was convenient.) And now she's in town with Lily with my uncle's wife until tomorrow. Oh, and to top it off, after finally shaking the cold, I got some stomach thing that I was sure was originally something I ate and turned into a raging (gotta go gotta go gotta go right now) stomach. My mom got it. My co-worker got it. It's not something I ate.

On another note, I reconnected with one of my dearest friends - Joe. He is one of the highlights of the last decade. If there is a God, and he/she/it is looking out for me, then Joe was definitely a gift. After three years of dating, I finally met his boyfriend (an A+ in my book). I am no longer that horrible friend that Joe mentions in passing and the boyfriend assumes he made me up because I am conveniently unavailable. I am sure that there will be more visits to Madison to visit the two soon. In the meantime, it's good to know that a good time reminiscing was had (and at a needed time). It's always good to know that my twenties weren't a complete waste.

There was a little drama involved after I got my first pay check from the store and found out that they screwed up with my pay rate only to find out they put me in under the wrong job code. I had to wait three more pay checks before it was fixed and now I have to go deal with my incompetent personnel manager who tried to tell me that I might be the only person on third shift not to get a third shift differential in order to get my retro pay. That should be fun. I guess I could have done it this morning, but it takes energy to deal with complete morons. And I didn't have any left.

I'm in the process of figuring out a trip in the spring with my cousin and maybe a bigger one in the fall. Where to go? Where to go? There's such a long list of places I've been meaning to go, and narrowing done a destination won't be easy. But it should be fun.

Anyway, I'm back. Not normal. But I never was anyway.

Oh, check out this lovely article. I've known about this for years. I am one of those people who will show up to work sick just because those days add up, and I need my pay check.

My sister's been bothering me today to go run a brick through my hair and pretend to be alive when I'm really tired. Sorry Shannon. Spending the day at thrift stores - not my idea of a great time on three hours sleep.

Why can't they all be bastards?

So, dear readers, I learned something on my added shift last night. Normally, I don't work on Wednesday nights, but I was called in to cover for my co-worker, so in I went despite a terrible lack of sleep. I knew about this ahead of time, but for some reason, my body was fighting with the schedule I wanted to keep. Screw it. What can you do? It happens. Thank God for Starbucks.

Anyway, I should preface what I'm about to say with a little back-story, to give it context.

There was a guy I knew from the store for years. We were always friendly, and he was such a nice guy (a little younger than me - but cute and funny and we had a lot in common despite having hugely different backgrounds). I will call him EC for privacy reasons. Anyway, there was a time when we might have hooked up. I was still incredibly messed up from a previous break-up (i.e. mega-mind-games), so this probably wasn't meant to be. After a short while, even though he was the first to express interest, he began stringing me along. I didn't see the signs at first. But eventually, it became all too apparent (i.e. he was seeing someone else that we worked with - the DICK!).

When I decided to go back to working at the store, I wondered if I would have the misfortune of running into him from time to time. Being on third shift, I figured this unlikely, but one never knows. It wasn't until after I applied that I heard from friends that he was newly appointed to a position over the front end (including the accounting office - gulp).

I will admit, I was not digging this. Like Miranda from Sex and the City, once it's over, I feel they need to not exist.

The day of orientation, I did a minor freak-out with a very obvious "I'm avoiding you" move. And then, he ended up doing the stupid safety-talk in the orientation. This is my luck. Thankfully, it was just fine. He was perfectly nice, like he usually was, and it was over relatively painlessly. I thought that maybe that would be the end of that. I'd never see him again. Amen. Whew.

I hadn't seen him since the orientation (over a month ago now) until last night, when he ended up closing as a CSM (Customer Service Manager for all you non-Wal-mart people). Just my luck, it was the day that I picked up to cover for my friend. That's just wonderful, right?

This was the first time he'd closed the front end, so he needed a little help, but was over-all okay. Only a couple times did he ask questions. And he was friendly and nice. Which is completely wrong in my book.

A single incident needs to be amplified for all time. He was a bastard once, so that is what he is supposed to be for life, right? This would justify my opinion of him. But of course, he has to be the complete opposite of this. Just to make me feel bad for thinking ill of him. Damn you EC! Why can't you make this easy?

But now, given how things weren't completely awkward, it might be possible to be friends. Can it be? I'm getting too old to hold grudges. Maybe I am evolving.

Cinema Therapy, volume 8

I think it's safe to say that this is one of my very favorite movies. The heroine of this quirky tale makes you fall in love with her and her world from the beginning sequence. She's lovely, and she has no idea how much.

Amelie is one of those films that you love for a variety of reasons. The use of color and lighting is extraordinary in and of itself. But then you factor in the writing (which is superb), the characterizations (which are absolutely amazing), and the on-screen chemistry of all the actors, not to mention the direction, and you have a truly great film.

Even if you're not a fan of foreign films because of the subtitles, I recommend this movie. You quickly overlook what might otherwise annoy you for the simple fact that it is just so engrossing.

On age...

I've been saying for a really long time that I'll probably live to be 140. Chalk it up to the lack of smoking, partying, having wild sex with strangers, just a little drinking, and being a relative hermit for the last three years, but I think it might actually happen. This is wishful thinking of course, but it keeps me thinking that there's plenty of time yet. No rush to actually get back to dating, get married, have kids, actually attempt some kind of career, still time to get to Paris and Buenos Aires, and to clean out my bedroom closet.

We live in a funny time (not funny ha-ha, funny strange) when it comes to age. I still get carded whenever I bother ordering anything stronger than a coffee. Some youngin's at my work orientation thought I was about twenty (yes!) even though there's increasing fine lines around my eyes that I'm growing a little paranoid about. My younger sister (by only eighteen months, but still younger) often passes for older than me. And I have always, always thought my mother looks about ten to fifteen years younger than she really is.

Someone my mom works with just turned thirty-eight. At her birthday dinner, the waitress guessed she was twenty-nine. The co-worker took it. Some time later (I'm guessing days by the story I was told), she was with her young son at Burger King where the woman (not kid) behind the counter told the little boy to have a nice day with his Grandma. She was irked and told her that the boy was actually her son.

My response to this is that we live in the age of Botox and Olay Regenerist. No one knows what 20, 40, or 80 is supposed to look like anymore. We make guesses and try to undercut what we suspect might be the actual age to make the recipient of the compliment feel good. But then there are those who look remarkably younger than their age, to the point of wonder. Is it lifestyle? Is it genes? Is it that great dermatologist you see ads in your mail for? Who knows anymore. Perhaps we should just tell each other "Hey, you look good" and leave the age thing alone. Our society dictates that our supposed youth dictates so much of our self-esteem and, in a lot of cases, our social standing. In ages past, it was the elders that were revered. What happened to that? It's nice to listen to people with wisdom talk about things they actually know about. How refreshing. Wisdom? Forget youth and beauty. That's my aim in life. (Okay, I'm really aiming for it all, but I figured I'd say that to make myself sound evolved.)

I'm only thirty now. What does 50, 70, 90 look like? It's not that far away you know. But as visually oriented as I am, I'm a bit more concerned with how I will feel. Will I be lucid at an old age, or should I be concerned about the amount of aluminum canned soda I've consumed? How about the fat "experiment"? How will that affect my health and mental state? It's nice to look good too, but there are more concerns than that.

Age - just a number? I don't think so. Apparently, it's part of a greater symbol of something else.

Want to live to be 140? Check out this site I just found. Interesting, but true?

I almost pooped my pants!

And I'm not kidding.

The night before last, on my way home for lunch, I suddenly really needed to go. Why does it choose the worst time? Why?! Is it on a timer that says, "Oh, Sam's in the car now. Let's move bowels and see how freaked out she gets."? Really? Is this something that comes with age. I hit the big 3-0, so now I get horrific bodily urges at the worst possible moment?

And to make matters worse, I almost hit a bunny as I was speeding through the neighborhood, trying to get home. A freakin' bunny! Funny how it could've been a squirrel or a raccoon or a cow, and I wouldn't have cared. But a freakin' bunny? I can't hit a bunny and streak its cute little furry body all over the street! I might as well have shot Santa Claus!

When I was a kid, I was in the car with my uncle and he accidentally ran over some baby ducks. It wasn't his fault. They were just past the top of a hill and he couldn't have stopped if he'd tried. Thankfully, he didn't hit any with the wheels, so they just rolled and got a little fluffed up from the cars back-draft. I would've been devastated if any had been killed. I think it would've traumatized me to the point of therapy.

Wait. I need therapy anyway. Scratch that. I would've needed additional therapy.