I Just Drove in from Phoenix, And Boy Are My Arms Tired

To say that the year that was the last ended with a bang would be, more or less, the understatement equivalent of saying that Adolph Hitler was a bit of a jerk. I won't go into all the details (some wonderful, some heart-breaking, and some just downright odd), but suffice it to say that coming back to this blog is a welcome return after a too-lengthy vacation. Much like the normal return from a big trip, the days after include the unpacking, the discovery that sand truly does get everywhere, and the attempt to re-assimilate yourself back into a routine that seems as foreign as the clerk at your nearest gas station. Be it happy, sad, bittersweet, or just plain exhausting, this welcome home party to the information dirt road is long overdue, but thankfully existent.
Sitting at this desk with my laptop staring me down, reminds me that I've had my share of close calls in the last two months. Close calls are nature's way of saying "hey, douche bag, you're flying too near the sun!" These little daily reminders of our own mortality are enough (usually) to take put your hands back on the wheel, and turn off the cruise control. I thought it only prudent to use this first post to get myself reacquainted with the art of digital wordsmithing, and just talk about a motley skid row of topics. For those of you who know me, when I occasionally slip into the coma that accompanies the habits of a workaholic, I generally surround myself with as much pop-culture until I either receive divine inspiration, or the couch sores develop couch sores of their own. This being said, I have spent some good ole' quality time with my new roommate's movie collection. Finally, someone with a bigger DVD problem than mine! Within a matter of a few days my humble collection (exceeding 500) nearly tripled in size with the arrival of his personal video library. Thus, the cause for my latest venture: I am going to watch every movie in this house that I have never seen.
I am a lover of all art (and yes, Police Academy 3 is art....Police Academy 4 is not art). I feel that if a book has been written, it should be read. If a song has been recorded, it should be heard. And if an independent film company practiced the shameless self-promotion of making a low-budget film, then, by God, I should watch it. So far, I've added nearly 30 movies to a list of previously "never seen" flicks. I am learning a lot about my own tastes, but I'm also learning that perhaps not all art is truly best for public consumption. In the succeeding posts, I am going to chronicle some of the films I have have had the pleasure/fortuitous distaste of viewing. But before we get into that, I did want to share a fun little anecdote to end today's resurfacing.
One of my cinematic guilty pleasures (other than Skinemax) is to watch some good horror movies. The irony, as has been touched upon in previous posts, is that I am also a gigantic scaredy cat. The white whale du jour of my scary movie watching sail has been the frightfest "Paranormal Activity". Generally, I am one to listen to every bit of feedback from those who have gone before. For every average joe that tells me "man, that movie scared the pants off me", I am greeted with equal parts fear, interest, and disgust at picturing said joe with no pants. I anticipate seeing the movie, but also fear that its' frighteningness will be the death of me and my shivering heart. So, usually I must be coerced into watching this movie. Enter Sexy-Viewing Companion.
One night, Sexy Viewing Companion decides that I need to overcome my growing fear of this movie, and that we need to watch it together. Her plan is two-fold: 1.) that I will squeal like a small girl, thus giving her hours of entertainment at my expense, and 2.) that watching this movie with the lights off will force me into confronting the non-reality of a movie (i.e., I should really have nothing to fear, and should stop being a big baby). I reluctantly agreed, though I was somewhat pleased to have Sexy Viewing Companion with me for moral support....and I was not going to show any weakness.
Out go the lights. In goes the disc. And here comes the grainy magic.
Within minutes, we are introduced to cinemas' newest horror couple. Granted, I was inching myself closer and closer to SVC with every bump and noise that was heard onscreen as I imagined hearing something more fierce and demonic coming from the dark recesses of my own home. The sweat was cold, and my hands were now prey to the shaking and shivering of one in the presence of pure evil (brought on by the movie, and not SVC, mind you). I was feeling that old familiar feeling of a movie that was too scary to watch!
Thankfully, I was not alone. And by not alone, obviously I was with SVC, but she was starting to get just as freaked out as myself. At this point in the narrative, a new sensation began to take over: machismo. As my beautiful female friend was experiencing the thrill of watching a movie between the slits in her fingers, I was feeling empowered by the fact that I needed to remain calm so I could protect her should these demon beasts escape from their laser-manufactured home, and begin terrorizing us. Hellbeasts, be damned!
Right about the time this rush of masculinity hit me, I also felt the familiar tug of logic pulling on my sleeve. I began to realize more and more that, were I in the designer shoes of those poor saps on the screen, I might tend to act a little differently. Step 1: CLOSE THE DAMN DOOR. I think once I realized that something eerie was this way coming, I would shut the door to the bedroom, lock it, and let that be the test. If I awoke and the door was open, then it would be time for a new house, and possibly for a new bed mate. Movie over, head still attached. Life is back to normal.
We finished watching the movie (which I was now able to enjoy as a conscientious observer). While my fear had ebbed away, SVC was letting hers completely run away. We popped in a mindless comedy, tried to talk about something other than demon possession, and we eventually decided it was time for bed (though since my mother sometimes reads this blog, I will maintain that we did go to bed without "knowing" each other). I made a few jokes about what would happen if either of us were to wake up in the middle of the night and see the "Kate" character standing in my bedroom. For that illusion, I received some not-too-friendly punches on the arm.
Then, I closed and locked the door.