Wednesday, August 1, 2012

How I wasted my summer vacation. Part I

For ages now, teachers have asked students to write on "what they did over their summer vacation" upon their arrival back to the classroom.  Nearly every August this was our initial introduction to our teacher and our first grade, both of which were important to me:  Type A, People Pleaser McGee.  Begrudgingly my fellow classmates and I would get out our supplies and start writing...something.  Naturally they dug deep within themselves and found the strength to share with the class some anecdotes on the excellent buffet selection on the family cruise through the Caribbean islands, blisters created from hiking in Colorado, and even a family reunions in Galveston where it rained alot.

Whereas I volunteered nothing.  I had nothing interesting,  intelligent or even slighly amusing in which to share.  Um, I drug my little brother to the community pool, watched reruns of Matlock and Murder She Wrote, and read a bunch of books that no one had heard of.

"Um Miss...How long does this have to be?" 

So, in response, I've begun my own adult example. I still haven't done much, but at least I can share it in a better way, which really is the point of the assignment anyway.  

How I Wasted my Summer Vacation
by Jennifer 

I have a confession that will make movie--ahem--"film" buffs shake their heads in dismay.

I don't really like Gus Van Sant movies.   I know I'm supposed to and everybody seems to, but it's true.  
There was that one with all the short film clips about Paris, Paris Je T'aime, which just seems really self-indulgent and relied on all these big Hollywood names to give substance to something that didn't really have any. I'm totally ADD, but even I got annoyed by the shorts.  And then when I wanted story lines to connect thoughtfully like other movies in this genre often do, it leaves you hanging.

No me gusta!

Ok, I admit loving Good Will Hunting but that hardly seems fair.  Everybody ate this shit up with extra large spoons and then went back for seconds.  It's a teaching movie with tender moments mixed with self-deprecation, love and friendships--it's hook, line and sinker.  

However, with that exception, I recently finished watching Drugstore Cowboy and, yet again, I'm not impressed.  I'm probably desensitized to "drug" movies growing up watching films like Transpotting, Blow, Requiem for a Dream, Pulp Fiction, hell even The Big Lebowski, where the use of drugs were necessary for the conflicts and resolutions, but this one just seemed silly.  Case in point: the flying cowboy hat across the screen while Matt Dillon is getting high again.  Come on, Gus.
Next wasted unit of time was dedicated to the seemingly never ending television show predominating the 1990's known as "The X-Files."  My God, where do I start in how much I love this show?  Why am I such a late bloomer on this obsession?  I could have shared this with fellow recluses back when it was the appropriate time.  I could have been chatting it up water cooler style with my full on 90's grunge attire complete with Doc Martins and teenage angst.  Now, I'm forced to hide my infatuation with the inexplicable escapades of sexy and wry agent Mulder and power-suited robot Scully (seriously, she has no emotions) in the secrecy and shame of my own home with no outlet.  

 "I want to believe" too Mulder!  Let's hold hands and find the smoking man together. 

Maybe the story lines are slightly ridiculous and often times don't provide satisfactory explanations at the end. Maybe the action scenes are predictable and not well executed.  Maybe the special effects aren't so special now with CG enhancements and such.  

I don't care. 

The pure joy I have in watching this show overshadows rational criticisms.  I can suspend my disbelief even to allowing the lack of sex that these two should be, need to be, having at this point.  Hurry up with it already!  

And lastly, I've been sailing to the very edges of our internet seas in search of the perfect black bag (that I can afford.)  I've looked over the edge into the infinite abyss of darkness and you know what?  Shit is expensive.   I have fabulous taste and a small pay check. Also, you can blow hours on retail sites.  Here's a few of my favorites if you'd like to join my cult. Prepare to look at the clock and then see how fast you loose hours of your life.  Poof!

Santa, if you're listening, here's what I really want:

It's a Prada bag and it costs $1, 960.  Yes, I just choked on some of my spit, too. How funny!
Here's what I'll probably get.  This bag is from Banana Republic and costs $150.  It's not nearly as cute, but then again it's important to be able to pay rent so you don't have to become a prostitute in order to sleep in  a bed. 

It's all about priorities, kids. 

* Dear Teacher,
I'm sorry this essay is not about a family trip to see the Redwoods or about finding Jesus at a summer camp.  I promise to do better on future assignments so please give me a good grade.  
Thanx! ; )

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