Hello Wal-Mart My Old Friend...

(Note: For those of you who are confused as to why there is a pic of a single toothed woman at the top of this post, this is an experiment. I'm taking pics submitted by friends, and attempting to use them to inspire me to write. If you'd like to participate please send me an image and I'll see what I can do.)

So many questions come to mind when looking at this image. First of course is the obvious, "What happened to her teeth?" To this there are any number of plausible and, let's face it, boring explanations for what exactly happened. (i.e. Illness, lack of brushing/flossing, has literally no idea what the word "dentist" means...) But for the moment let's try to think outside the box and see what we can come up with.

1) Jack Bauer was torturing her for information about a loose nuclear warhead held by terrorists in the US. (She finally broke on the next to last tooth.)

2) She's a sexual submissive with a strong fetish for pain and dentists. (Think Bill Murrary in Little Shop of Horrors.)

3) She's in the witness protection program, and her case officer thought this would be the best way to make her unrecognizable.

4) She woke up in an alley in Tijuana missing most of her teeth... And a kidney!

5) She's from Virginia.

The second question that comes to mind is why does she still have the one tooth left. Admittedly I'm no oral surgeon, but I'd think that at this point it would be easier to simply yank that last tooth and just get fitted for a set of dentures.

Even odder is the fact that her last tooth is practically gleaming white. I'm actually willing to bet that she takes better care of that one shiny tooth than I have ever cared for any of the teeth in my head.

(Writing that down has suddenly given me a very strong desire to brush/floss my teeth. This woman could probably have a future visiting schools to warn impressible children about the dangers of tooth decay.)

Also just how does she eat? Is she on a liquid food diet at this point? If that's the case than how is she still overweight? Does dinner consist of a pureed Big Mac and fries? (Wow! That concept almost made me retch in my mouth!)

Perhaps I'm just over thinking the situation. It certainly wouldn't be the first time. Maybe she has dentures at home that she uses to eat. However if that was the case then why the hell wouldn't you just wear them when you went out? Admittedly I really don't care about my outward appearance. (If you've ever seen my wardrobe than you know the truth of this statement.) But even I would have the self respect to try and disguise my empty maw with fake teeth.

Or at the very least I would have kept my mouth shut.

And yet none of these are the main question on my mind. Believe it or not my main question has nothing at all to do with her lack of teeth, or her ownership of just one tooth. No, the most ponderous question in my mind is this, "Why the fuck is she holding her hand up like she's waiting for the teacher to call on her?"

Did someone come over the intercom asking for the toothless wonder to identify herself? Perhaps she was trying to get the attention of whomever had the camera, hoping that this was her big break. Or maybe, just maybe, she really knows the answer and can't wait to tell you.

The world may never know, and is probably better off that way.

(So ends my first part of this experiment. Let me know what you think, and if you have any submissions send them my way.)

You probably don't want to read this.

Seriously. The title is not lying. What will follow will simply be me bitching, whining, and moaning about the current status of my life. This will be the typical self indulgent navel gazing that people normally associate with the blogs and diaries of pre-teen girls.

Wait, if you don't want anyone to read this then why are you posting it online?

Glad you asked. This is once again one of those moments where I think differently than the vast majority of humanity. You see, I've never understood the concept of simply writing for your self. To me the concept of keeping a secret diary is akin to storing a used masturbation tissue in a box so that you can routinely pull said box out from time to time and gaze longingly on days gone by. Really the whole concept seems pretty gross and pointless to me.

No, to me the entire point of putting your thoughts down in verse suggests that you intend for someone else at some point to rummage through your ideas. Whether or not you want to read these ideas is entirely up to you. But I'm warning you here and now that you probably don't really want to read this.

So without further ado let's take a long hard look at the sopping moist tissue that is the product of my mental masturbation.

What it all boils down to is this. I'm not happy. It's not that anything is wrong. Hell, if you put my life down on paper it sounds as if everything's going just fine. No, there's very little that's actively wrong, the problem is that there is very little that is actually right.

Allow me to explain. Currently I reside in southern California, approximately half way between LA and San Diego. I work in the very next town over. Part of the problem is this, there is nothing to do where I live. This isn't exactly a new problem. If you've know me for any length of time then you've probably heard this particular line of whining before. However this time there is a slight wrinkle in this persistent problem. This time I don't have a car.

The lack of a car is huge. Where before I was stuck in places I was less than happy with, at least with a car I could leave to visit home or a friend when I was desperate for something outside of my self imposed pattern. Without this mode of transportation I often feel trapped. Locked in this area without means of escape.

Of course none of this is actually true. You see, my roommate is one of the nicest human beings I've ever met. Chances are that if I were to ask to wake up one morning and drive me to LA to go see a movie, he would probably do it. However even this concept comes with a pitfall. You see when I go out to do damn near anything I like being self sufficient. Also I often like to be on my own.

Believe it or not, I love people. I love my friends and family. Hell I even love watching strangers go about there daily lives. That being said I am extremely protective of my "me" time. I often choose to do things with little or no planning. I try to let my impulses take me wherever they will. This is a concept that is very hard to pull off with most people.

Well then, why don't you just get a car?

That does seem to be the question doesn't it? The reason is stupid simple. I don't want one. Why? Well that's a little more complicated. The easy answer is that if I had one I would use it. And I would use it for everything. No longer would I walk to the store, to the gym, or wherever. Hell, chances are that I would stop walking all together. It is amazingly easy for me to become a slave to convenience, and I don't want to give myself the opportunity. Seems silly I know, but at the moment I'm not willing to budge on this particular issue. Maybe one day, but not now.

Also this is not the only problem that I'm having at the moment.

Secondly, I'm tired of my job. Once again I need to interject a point here. I do not have a bad job. Hell, my job is actually quite good. I'm working in the field that I love, and many days doing exactly what I'd like to be doing to make a living. The problem is in the details. (Note: The following will be difficult to describe, because I really don't want to say too much about my place of employment, yet still will try to convey my current issues. If this section comes across as incredibly vague I'm sorry.) The main problem stems from my focus when it comes to work. You see I've spent a decent amount of time and money to focus myself in a particular direction in my chosen profession. However at my job there is rarely need for my style of work. As such I often find myself doing things that do not interest or fulfill me at all. The work that I often find myself doing usually makes me feel brain-dead to perform it. Anymore when I do most of my work my mind is off in the either, with little awareness or care as to what my body is doing. For the record this makes me HATE myself.

Wait. What?

Allow me to elaborate. I love what I do for a living. Not like, love. I adore this work and what it can do for people. And when I find myself feeling apathetic to this work that I love, it hurts. Even worse is that I know what I'm doing, and yet I won't stop it. Not can't. Won't. This choice, this conscience choice, is what makes me hate myself. It makes me feel dirty, and it makes me feel like a liar and a cheat. And all because I often find myself put into a position that I simply don't believe in.

Once again I'm sorry for how vague all of that was, but it's really the best that I can say it at the moment.

This last bit is going to be at the same time the easiest, and the hardest part to write. Easy bit first. I'm lonely. This is hardly a new problem for me. I don't relate well to most people. There is a very good reason that most of my best friends I've known since grade school.

Don't get me wrong. There are plenty of people that I am friendly with. Lot's of really awesome people. Yet, there are few that I can honestly say that I truly connect with. And the people that I could see dating? At the moment I don't think there are any.

The dating thing shouldn't be such a big deal to me at this point. Even under the best of situations I almost never date. I think this is because a bizarre combination of being incredibly picky, and completely unaware when it comes to the opposite sex. What I mean by this is that I have no idea that a girl is interested in me unless she flat out says, "I'm interested in you." The problem here is twofold. I won't ask out a girl unless I think she's interested, but I don't know if she's interested unless she is ridiculously blunt about it. Sadly most girls aren't interested in a guy that can't make the first move. This is something that I have no idea how to change.

So, yeah, dating shouldn't be that big of a deal. Yet somehow it still is. And at the moment I don't see any chance of that changing.

Well, if you don't like where you live, are unfulfilled at your job, and are unattached why don't you move and try again somewhere else?

That's actually the same conclusion that I've come to.

So what's the hold up?

I'm afraid.

What the hell are you afraid of?

I'm not sure. Every time I think of looking for a new place to live/work I start to panic. Suddenly my fight or flight reflex kicks in and all I want to do is think of something, anything, else.

Why?

I think I'm afraid that things will get worse somewhere else.

Hold on. You just spent, God only knows how much space, bitching about how everything sucks, and your excuse for not doing anything about it is that it might be worse?!!!

Yeah.

Pussy.

I really don't think that's fair. Any number of things could go wrong. I could hurt myself, I could not be able to make enough to survive, I could completely lose any sense of security that I've built up over the last year, I could...

Could, could, fucking COULD!!! That's all you're saying! This could happen! That could happen! Hell, a piece of meteorite could fall from the heavens smash though your ceiling and kill you right now! But it probably won't. The truth is you have no idea what will happen. You can never know what will happen. That's life. That's part of what makes it so exciting. That's part of what makes it worth living. The not knowing, the adventure. Life will take many turns. Not all of them will be good. But many of them will be fantastic! Just stop for a moment and think. Nearly everyone of you're happiest moments came from you doing something that you were terribly afraid of.

Like what?

Well let's see. There was the time you when to China. Getting specialized training, after you finished college. And then getting even more training after that. Rock climbing. Trail biking. Swimming. Every time you've ever moved. Not to mention every girl you've ever been with. Face it, everything that you've done in your life that you are particularly proud of has come directly from you stepping outside of your comfort zone and doing something that you were afraid of. Have all you're choices been good? Hell no! But many of them have been glorious. If you have to think about what could be then think about just how wonderful it could be.

You might be right.

Look. I know you won't listen to me. You're stubborn like that. So let's leave you with someone you will listen to.



Think about it.

My Obsession with Troll 2.

Troll 2 is not a good film. In fact I could go so far as to say that it is one of the more painful films I've ever forced upon myself. And yet despite that I've watched this movie over, and over, and over again. I'm not kidding when I say that I've probably seen this movie about 30 times now. The question is why? Why would I constantly keep re-watching a movie that I have verbally trashed time and time again? Well that's exactly what I'm hoping to explain tonight.

Warning. This will be long. This will be convoluted. This may or may not ever reach a truly satisfying end. This will not be as good as Inception, which also meets all of the above requirements. But, with a little luck this will explain my obsession.

Believe it or not this story starts long before the movie Troll 2 even came into existence. Hell we're going back before Troll 1 was even conceived. Do we have to do this? Probably not, but it's my story so I get to say where we go. And I say we look back to a time when I was a child.

A very serious child.

Very serious.

While I did have some sense of humor as a kid, it was a tightly guarded secret. I very rarely let it out. If anyone from back then thought that I didn't know how to laugh at all I really couldn't blame them.

Fun Fact: As those of you who know me currently already know I often plaster this horrible, toothy, fake smile on my face every now and then. That smile comes from this point in my life, because people kept telling me I should smile more. So I came up with that hideous Joker grin to shut them up. Oddly the smile stuck.

Editor: What the hell does you being a kid with a stick shoved firmly up his ass have to do with Troll 2?

Wait. You're back?

Editor: Back? I never left. I've been waiting here for you. But do you ever show? Do you ever write? No. So I've just been here waiting.

Wow... I'm sorry. I had no idea.

Editor: Don't be! It's been the best time of my life! Days, weeks, months have gone by without me having to listen to your incessant bitching! It's been bliss. Plus I've had time to catch up on my crocheting.

That is a nice sweater.

Editor: Thank you. But now you're back and my purgatory has begun once more. So let's get this over with so you can go away again.

(Vaguely uncomfortable.) Yeah, you're right. Um...

Editor: (Annoyed) What is it?

What was it I was talking about again?

Editor: Oh for fucks sake!!! You were talking about being a little shit who was attempting to turn coal to diamond using only his ass!

That's a little rough don't you think?

Editor: Just get on with it!!!

Okay. Fine.

The point that I was trying to make before I was interrupted was this. I was very serious, and often had a hard time understanding why people found many things fun. I often looked at peoples' reactions and found them to be incredibly immature, or terrifying. One example of this was horror films.

For the life of me I just couldn't understand why people enjoyed horror films at all. More often than not all I could see were overly graphic depictions of truly disgusting events. Lovers were impaled, heads and hearts were removed, tendons cut, and many more truly disgusting events paraded on the screen for the viewer to enjoy and cheer for. To my youthful, and overly pragmatic, mind the only conclusion was that everyone who enjoyed horror was a sadist. To a point that early conclusion still holds true. But you know who else enjoys horror movies?

People with a sense of humor.

This may seem like a rather large jump but try to follow me here. People go to horror movies. They sit in the chair, and watch the parade of horrors. Their palms sweat. Their muscles tense. Their breathing becomes erratic. And then...

They laugh.

Watch a group when they leave the theaters. Faces full of smiles. Oddly jovial recollections of scenes of gruesome violence. The horrors vividly remembered and laughed at hardily.

The ancient Greeks called this catharsis. A feeling of relief that what you just witnessed did not, in fact, happen to you. (I now feel my college degree was totally justified.)

I however did not laugh. It took me a long time to learn to truly laugh. And so I silently judged those who did.

Then something happened. People I knew, trusted, and respected began enjoying this genre. This flew in the face of everything I had assumed. These people were not sadists. They were not sociopaths. They were friends. And they knew something I did not.

Of these friends, one deserves special mention. Jerry. Or as those of us who have known him for a while like to refer to him, "The Corrupter." A dubious title to be sure, but apt in many ways. Jerry was really the first one to open my eyes to many of the things that judged from a distance, and horror movies were one of those things. Hanging out with him it became clear that it was okay to laugh, ever if there was no punchline. That sometimes the truly horrific could be truly funny if you would simply let it be. While I often refer to him as The Corrupter in order to yank his chain, if you will, the truth is it's a title given with a smile. I needed to be corrupted.

That's not to say that it happened over night.

Which brings me to Troll 2.

Editor: 'bout fucking time!

Shut up.

Troll 2 came into my life during a period of transition. I had begun trying to watch horror films, but not yet learned to laugh at them. I was also still young. In high school, but still the early years if I remember correctly. Troll 2 seemed perfect to cut my teeth on. You see HBO had recently started playing the film, and the film was rated PG-13. In case you've never had HBO let me translate. HBO played this movie to death. Nearly everyday, about three or four in the afternoon Troll 2 was on.

It seemed perfect.

Typical horror themes, (i.e. innocent family, horny teens, monsters out to kill them) easy to digest rating, and during daylight hours. That daylight thing was really important because when you don't know you can laugh, and take the film way too seriously, things seems way more frightening than they actually should. Light helps with this. But then something happened that I was ill prepared for. Troll 2 sucked. Bad.

If you've ever watched a horror film then you kind of expect this. Stupid and horror go together like PB and J. For every scene of violence in a horror film there are usually at least three others of people being complete and total fuckwits. While there are exceptions, in many ways this is the unspoken horror code. This also explains why you need a sense of humor to enjoy these films. Half the time these unbelievable moments of dumb are the best part. But as I stated earlier, I had not yet learned to laugh.

Had circumstances been different I might have never watched the film again. Content to call it crap and move on with my life. However HBO had other plans. As I mentioned earlier they kept playing this movie over and over again. In these days I simply couldn't understand why this movie would get so much play. Perhaps the men in charge at HBO simply knew something that I did not. So I gave the film another chance. And another.

And another.

After a while it had become some sort of bizarre tradition for me to turn Troll 2 on every time it played. Every time. And I never laughed.

Blissfully HBO stopped playing it (and I quit watching broadcast tv altogether) and life returned to normal. Troll 2 was a distant memory.

In the time since I have learned to laugh. These days I can laugh at almost anything given the right context. And I love to laugh at bad horror films. Yet to this day I've never laughed at Troll 2. In all honesty I'm not sure that I can. As strange as it sounds those scars run deep.

Which brings me to this little documentary called "Best Worst Movie". When I first heard of this all I wanted was for the makers of this movie to apologize. I wanted them to say, "I'm sorry" to me personally. While I never knew I wanted it I needed closure. Then I watched the trailer. What was contained within shocked me. There were no mobs wielding torches and pitchforks. No screams of righteous indignation. What were there?

Smiles.

Laughter.

Entertainment, pure and simple.

These were people that loved the movie. Not in spite of it's faults, but because of them. It made me wonder. I've watched Troll 2 repeatedly, but I don't know that I've ever truly seen it in the right light. I do not expect the film to ever be good. It will never be one of my favorites. But maybe this is the catharsis that I need.

Maybe I just need to laugh.