If you ask me what my favorite movie was when I was a kid, I’ll say Star Wars. And it’s true, that was the movie that I had the most toys from. But in reality, my favorite movie was Dirty Dancing. My brother and I went through a phase (that lasted at least two summers, maybe more) where we watched that movie Every. Single. Weekend. We’d go over to my step-grandparents house, have a big Italian lunch and then watch Dirty Dancing.
As I’ve mentioned before, I was formally diagnosed with ADHD (Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder.) The general reaction has been duh, even from me. But that response is to the stereotype of ADD/ADHD. Even I just assumed that all the diagnosis means is that I’m high-energy, talkative and scatterbrained as all hell. All of which are true. But now that I am finally (after much procrastinating and foot-dragging) learning about the disorder, I am discovering that it is a sprawling, underlying sensory clusterfuck that gives me both awesome benefits and terrible drawbacks. I am feeling crazier and saner and more hopeful and more regretful than I ever have before.
I’ve mentioned I’m a movie buff, and I’ve decided to throw in some movie reviews and film discussion here. I’m not changing this to a “movie blog,” but since this is my blog and I can’t shut up about this stuff, here we are. I’m calling them Spoilerific because I will totally wreck the endings of every movie I review, so don’t bitch to me later; you’ve been warned. Today I’m going to discuss why Hostel I is a brilliant genre piece (in the genere of “torture porn”) and Hostel II is a damn near perfect sequel.
All of my “spiritual journey” to this point was reasonably normal. Various flavors of Christianity, followed by exploration into Wicca and assorted other Earth-based or Eastern-influenced faith paths that were not entertaining or enlightening enough to blog about. I was not ready to accept my own non-belief; the idea that there wasn’t a God felt too empty. Without an alternative, once I’d exhausted all the “normal” options, there was no choice but to go abnormal.
So. I don’t have to tell you what today is the anniversary of. You can’t look anywhere, online or IRL, and not see some kind of red-white-and-blue reminder that this is the tenth anniversary of the attacks on 9/11. I am of two minds on this. On the one hand, I have family that is (or was) in the military and feel very strongly about this date. I have friends who lost people they loved. I am generally (despite my penchant for mockery) a pretty compassionate, kind person. On the other hand, there’s this:
And Lexapro, Citalopram, Xanax, Zoloft, Paxil, and all the other anti-depressants and anti-axiety medications! Three cheers from those of us who wouldn’t be able to function without them!
I’m still working on Why I Don’t Believe In God, Part Four, but it’s definitely going to be a few days. There’s so much information to condense. It’s like pruning down to a Bonsai; this tree has so many branches that it takes a while to trim it down to a potted plant.
Religion stopped being of much importance around the time D stopped writing to me. I started actually dating, hanging out with friends, being a normal teenager. Even getting into trouble now and then. Nothing serious, mostly just sneaking around with my friends or breaking curfew.
I’ve had a few days of not writing. Sorry about that. The house is still kind of a mess, but I’ve enjoyed taking some actual time off. Not a whole lot, but E hung out at Grandma’s house for a few hours, and it was my day to sleep in yesterday, and then today we took a trip out to Siuslaw Falls for some wading. Now the wee boy is asleep, Uncle Chris caught up on season 4 of Breaking Bad at our place and we ate and watched Hell’s Kitchen over at their place. I didn’t buy, cook, or clean up after anything. And Chip made blackberry milkshakes in the garage for dessert.
This blog isn’t my first writing exercise by far. Aside from the ill-fated website I ran, I have library of fanfiction that ranges from “pretty good, actually” to “terrifying gay hobbit porn” and circles back around to “huh. I guess I don’t get fanfiction.”