I Am Not A Program
December 30, 2010 § 1 Comment
I haven’t blogged about any movies recently, and this is partly because I haven’t been to a theater in a while and also party because none of the movies I’ve seen recently have given me time to gather my thoughts about the movie while it was still playing. Enter Tron Legacy, which I watched in 3D with the extra pair of glasses slipping off my face.
It took me a while to see this movie because I didn’t know if I wanted to. All the hype put me off, the reviews were bad, and I wasn’t very into the original Tron. Finally though, my curiosity got the best of me, and I figured that I needed to watch this in a theater while I had the chance.
Welcome to the Grid, kid.
This review might contain a few spoilers; I’ve tried to keep it as vague as possible, but then again, if you’re worried about the plot being spoiled for you, you’re probably setting your standards too high. I didn’t expect the storyline to be spectacular, but I didn’t expect it to try so hard either. It’s hard to take this film seriously, and I can’t figure out if it wants us to at all.
Films with weak plots leave me with more questions than Inception did. For example, why is the character of Tron so obviously the ONLY one who can wield two discs? Why do programs watch other programs fight each other? What real-life technological situation is this supposed to simulate?
Zoom zoom zoom
Before Tron Legacy begins, it tells us that some of the movie is shown in 2D because that’s how it was shot and “meant to be viewed” or something like that. Why did I pay to watch a movie in 3D if only half of it is? Shouldn’t I just pay half of the inflated 3D price? This whole 3D fad had better be pulling the movie industry out of the slump it seemed to be in a few years ago, because it definitely isn’t benefitting my budget a whole lot.
The acting is stilted and the script is rather shoddy. At one point, when Flynn and Quorra are staring out into the darkness by the pool, Flynn turns away and declares, “Chaos. Good news.” Maybe I just wasn’t paying enough attention, but it was just so…random. We couldn’t help but laugh.
The actor who plays the Sam Flynn, Garrett Hedlund, has a stupefied, wide-eyed expression the whole time, but at least his crying is good. There are a lot of gratuitous shots of Olivia Wilde — tilting her head slowly, stretched out on the couch, staring at things — they’re pretty and pretty useless. I thought I saw a really hot Cillian Murphy in the conference room at the beginning of the film, but since he’s not listed in the credits, I can’t figure out who it is.
Whatcha thinkin’ ’bout? Nothing?
Of course, it’s not hard to get into the action; it pretty much looks like the most awesome video game EVER. The neon stripes, the glowing lights, the immaculately clean lines, etc. The racing scenes were so good; I wish there were more of them. Everybody speaks with autotune, which would definitely be a hit in the American music industry. The soundtrack fit the film perfectly, and it’s hilariously cute that Daft Punk played the DJs in the club scene.
At times this movie is similar to Narnia’s The Lion, The Witch & The Wardrobe: The Creator is on the run from the corrupted entity who is hellbent on evil & is raising an army of destruction…but what exactly is the destiny Clu talks about? To invade the real world and digitalize it? Can his minions be destroyed there? Would they be invincible?
My questions are many, but they don’t really affect the visual experience. Afterward, my mind was reeling from the movie, and it felt amazing just to drive home while listening to good music [in my case, MGMT].
The Asian Lady Beetle
December 29, 2010 § 3 Comments
I’ve had a pet ladybug for a few days. It came out of nowhere, flying by my computer in a blur and landing on the ceiling. I immediately grabbed a tissue to kill the pest, but when I climbed onto my chair and discovered that it was a ladybug [actually I think it’s of those ladybug lookalikes], I got cold feet. Disposing of any kind of insect is usually not a problem for me [I HATE bugs in the house], but I just can’t bring myself to kill ladybugs. So I trapped it in an empty water bottle instead while trying to decide what to do with it.
When my mom came upstairs, I waved the bottle at her and said, “I caught a ladybug.”
“Well, throw it away,” she replied.
“It’s still alive,” I added.
“Oh,” she said, walking away. “Well it wouldn’t last very long outside anyway.”
Not very helpful. So I brought it back into my room and set it on the desk next to me, examining the little creature as it explored the interior of the bottle. It was so small yet intricate, and as I stared, I could feel a one-sided bond forming. Thus, I decided to keep it as a pet. Then again, when there’s no consent given from the so-called pet, what’s the difference between a pet and a prisoner?
I haven’t given the ladybug a name [I don’t even name my stuffed animals], but I send it good feelings every time I pass it while walking in and out of my room. Sometimes it crawls around on the sides, sometimes it sits on the bottom, and other times the bottle looks empty, and I know that the ladybug is sitting in the darkness right underneath the cap. I surmise that it’s sleeping.
The water bottle had a bit of water still inside, so the ladybug has something to drink if it wants. Apparently these things eat aphids and larvae, which is your fun fact of the day. Without anything to eat, it will probably starve to death soon, which I’m trying not to think about. I have necrophobia, which is the fear of dead things — seriously, I’m more afraid of dead spiders than live ones — and I definitely don’t want a dead pet on my hands.
Occasionally I hear a very slight thud coming from the water bottle, which indicates that the poor thing is flying around in that constricted space. I wish I could let it fly freely, but not enough to liberate it in the house. And if I put it outside, it will most likely freeze within hours — after all, isn’t that why it came inside in the first place? [Unless we have a large brood of delicious larvae somewhere that I don’t know about..]
I suppose the larger question that I’m pondering is whether I have any right to take a being captive, even a tiny insect, and decide what’s best for it. This is one of the reasons I’m reluctant to own a real pet. To keep a dog on a leash or a cat in a house…I wonder if they are truly content that way.
The Family That Saves Together
December 26, 2010 § 3 Comments
The last time it felt like Christmas in my house was when I was in middle school: The morning sun shone into our living room as we gathered in front of the Christmas tree. I shrieked when I unwrapped the gift from my parents:
The other present, from “Santa,” was Pokémon Silver [how did he know?! Just kidding; I’m pretty sure I stopped believing in Santa by the age of 7]. At that point in time, my brother Larry was still young enough to be somewhat obedient and willingly join our family for pictures and stuff. After opening all our presents, my dad went to go put a Christmas CD into the stereo system, and we played contently with our new belongings as the sounds of a children’s choir echoed throughout the house.
Since then, many things have changed. We’ve spent Christmas at Disney World, at our new house; the past four years have been spent skiing in Wisconsin; I ordered my past two Christmas presents “from my parents” online for myself; we’ve become disillusioned with the enchanting idea of a cohesive family.
Yesterday, I started reading The Hundred Secret Senses by Amy Tan. I love reading her books not only for obvious reasons (she’s an amazing writer whose stories about Chinese-American women relate directly to me), but also because they always remind me that cherishing family is extremely difficult yet extremely important. And so I write.
This Christmas, I was awakened at 11AM by a heartwarming text from DP. I could’ve slept for another two hours, but I figured it would be rude to wake up so late on a holiday. When I peeked into the hallway, only Larry’s bedroom door was open; I could hear faint sounds of him playing Call of Duty downstairs. I tiptoed down to wish him a Merry Christmas and took it as a good sign that he didn’t respond with his usual “Shut up, fatty.”
My mom came out of her room as I was entering the bathroom, and when I came back out, I could hear the rustling of tissue paper from the living room.
“Thanks, Laura,” she called up to me.
“Are you not going to wait for the rest of us?!” I responded loudly.
“Oh, sorry!”
Sigh.
I went down to the living room as Larry was examining his gift from our aunt in New Jersey; it was a navy blue American Eagle sweatshirt.
“I already have two navy blue sweatshirts without zippers,” he said. “And I don’t wear American Eagle…”
Our aunt had sent me a Christmas card containing $40, and I looked at it for a while, thinking. A week ago, our other aunt [the one who lives five minutes away] had slipped my brother and me a pair of red envelopes, each holding $200. The two of us were left agape, and he handed me his envelope to deal with. Later, I gave both of them to my mom.
“How much did she give you guys?” she asked.
“Two hundred each.”
“What?? Is my sister crazy??”
“I…don’t know. Maybe you should take $200 to give to my cousin and then leave me and Larry with $100 each,” I suggested.
The aunt who lives in New Jersey is a lawyer and lives in a million-dollar house with her family. The aunt who lives near us lives in a house smaller than ours, and she and her husband make much less money than the other aunt and her husband. I’m not sure if there are any implications deeper than one aunt probably loves us more [I say this objectively, without sarcasm], but it’s interesting to think about.
My mom did exactly as I suggested, and I took my $100 to the mall with LC on Monday to do some Christmas shopping. This past semester, I’ve helped upgrade the wardrobes of approximately three guy friends, which in turn helps me become more purposeful in my gift-giving.
I bought a thin belt for my mom. I tried buying her clothing once during high school, spending a whole hour agonizing over the racks at H&M only to have her return everything a few days later. Women are picky about their clothes, I know, so I didn’t take it personally but still felt somewhat crestfallen. Thankfully, there were no complaints about the belt.
I was going to buy a pair of dress pants for my dad because he has this awful pair of brown corduroys that he wears pulled up to his waist like my grandpa, but I didn’t know his pant size. I bought him a warm beanie instead, to replace the scruffy white one I’ve seen him wearing for years.
When he unwrapped the hat, I asked him how long he’s had his other one.
“Your mom gave it to me when we were dating,” he responded.
When we were dating. When we were dating.
His words echoed in my head. “It’s THAT OLD?!” I said incredulously.
“Your mom had a matching one,” he reminisced. “It was blue with white stripes.”
“Actually, I think it was green,” my mom cut in.
“Her second sister made them for us,” dad continued.
I almost died. To think that my dad still owns and uses something from more than 20 years ago…it’s utterly amazing.
I guess my dad didn’t expect anyone to get him presents, because he bought himself a bag of stuff and left it by the side of the tree LOL. He seemed pretty pleased, even proud of his purchases as he pulled out the six t-shirts and two pants show me.
“Guess how much this one cost,” he said, holding up a Chicago Bears shirt.
“Did you go shopping with mom?” I responded.
“No,” he told me. “I went to the outlet mall in Pennsylvania on my business trip. This shirt cost less than $2!”
My mind was still reeling from the thought of my dad doing retail shopping by himself.
“Wait a minute,” I said suddenly, poking at his pile of clothes. “Did you buy two of the same shirt?”
“I bought three, actually,” he replied happily, showing me the other one. “I’m planning to replace my old t-shirts with these.”
I nodded, thinking about the raggedy shirt my dad currently sleeps in, which has holes at the seams.
When my mom had asked me what I wanted for Christmas, I replied “Nothing” [I already feel like enough of an unemployed burden], so that’s what I got. As a miracle upon miracles, Larry actually gave me something — Apples To Apples On The Go. Seriously unexpected, but it reminded me of the good old days when we played board games together instead of merely sharing the same Internet connection.
I think Larry also asked for nothing from my parents because that’s what he received too. I suppose it’s refreshing for a child not to pester his parents for an expensive Christmas gift, though they might be willing to pay that expense in order to have a son that gives respect instead of verbal abuse. When my dad took Larry to China over the summer, my relatives plastered him with birthday money, so the brand new XBox 360 & COD Black Ops that he plays was purchased with his own funds.
Larry seemed to like the two shirts I bought him from PacSun, but insists that he wears medium instead of small. UGH. He might still be growing [I mean, I hope so because he’s still shorter than me], but the progress is slow and size small clothing definitely fits him perfectly at the moment. I don’t want him to be another case of boy-who-never-wears-clothes-that-actually-fit!
After lunch, my dad and I made a sponge cake with the recipe he had enthusiastically obtained from someone at my aunt’s house last night. Both of my parents were awed by my ability to separate an egg yolk from an egg white LOL.
Whew…I spent all of yesterday writing this blog post. It’s filled with mostly daily minutia, but to me, any time I spend with my family that doesn’t involve fighting is worth recording. The closer I get to leaving this house, the more I have to cherish moments like these.
Residual
December 25, 2010 § 2 Comments
Eight years ago, my family was on our way home from a family dinner at the home of some friends who lived in Hoffman Estates, a good 45 minutes away from our own Chicagoan suburb. It was a cold and blustery night; snow and ice covered the ground as more of it blew furiously from the dark sky. My family & my aunt’s family crowded into our green Dodge Caravan, with my parents in the front, my aunt and uncle in the front, and my brother sitting between my cousin and I in the backseat.
We settled in for the customary long drive home. Some of us had probably even fallen asleep somewhere along the endless highway with the other bright headlights.
Suddenly, our world spun, my mother yelled, and just as quickly, everything stopped. We found ourselves on the left shoulder, pressed against the concrete wall of the median, facing oncoming traffic. The van had slipped on ice, swung from the rightmost lane across three lanes of traffic while turning a full 180 degrees, and crashed into the divider.
We sat, stunned.
“Are you guys okay?!” my mom asked urgently, turning around to look at us. My cousin had a bloody nose from thumping his head into the window, but we were otherwise unscathed.
The three of us sat quietly in the back as my dad and uncle went outside to assess the damage and probably call roadside service. I couldn’t properly process what had just taken place.
“What were you thinking when it happened?” my mom directed toward the backseat.
“God, please save us,” I blurted. I don’t think anything was actually going through my mind when we spun out, but that’s what I probably should’ve been thinking.
“Oh, that’s good,” she murmured, turning back around.
Soon enough, a tow truck showed up, its headlights shining into our grounded vehicle. There was a sizable dent on the right side of our minivan, but the car was otherwise okay, so we slowly made our way back onto the road.
“Imagine if there was a semi truck right behind us,” my mom mused. “We could’ve been dead right now. Thank goodness the road was somewhat empty.”
Yes, we could’ve been mangled and bleeding on the highway. It’s probably my closest encounter to a near-death experience; I don’t really count it because it’s not like someone saved me from drowning, but I guess the possibility of death was still pretty high.
Nobody received any visible trauma from that night, but I don’t ever remember being afraid of being in a car before that, even though I had once banged my nose on the hard plastic armrest of our old sedan because I wasn’t wearing a seatbelt when my dad braked.
We’ve been on the road many times after that, and in worse weather too. Hard ice crusted on the road on our way to Florida in 2004, and I was almost too tense to sleep for fear of another accident. I lay awake in the backseat despite the 20-hour drive and prayed fervently to God that He would keep my dad awake and alert. When we drove up a mountain in Hawaii in 2007, I pictured our car sliding over the side of the curving road, tumbling into the empty space below.
Even on our trip to and from Wisconsin these past few days, my mind buzzed with stress at the feeling of the snowy, uneven road beneath our tires. My overly active imagination uncontrollably envisions the worst-case scenario. Our car is going to slip the next moment. Or the next. Maybe around this bend, where we’ll cause a pile-up of Final Destination proportions.
I don’t think I realized this lingering insecurity until the drive back from Wisconsin. Our windshield wipers worked to clear our window of snow particles as my dad made jokes (“Come on, truck, drive faster!”), and I cast my gaze about nervously while typing these words onto a Microsoft Word document, afraid that even as I wrote, my MacBook would be ripped out of my hands by the force of another car smashing into us, bracing myself against the possibility of being the sole survivor of a tragic car accident.
My imagination is morbid, but I guess I’m emotionally preparing for the worst, whether it’s deliberate or not. I wish I just had peace.
auradis 