So I finally saw Spider-Man 3 this weekend. It's a mess. I didn't really believe that it was a bad film, despite being universally described as one and despite seeing clips of it, even clips of the worst part of it. After seeing the film, I understand why. The parts of it aren't bad, it's the way it comes together.

Spider-Man, if you recalled, had Spider-Man developing powers and fighting the Green Goblin. Spider-Man 2 had Spiderman dealing with a psychosomatic loss of his powers and fighting Doc Ock. There's more going on, supporting characters and all that, but pretty much one villain per movie.

In Spider-Man 3, Spider-Man fights Sandman and Hobgoblin and Venom. I mean, I do not read comic books, so the only thing I know about Spider-Man is from the movies, right? The only reason I know the names of the villains is because I listened to the audio commentaries. There was no room in the film to actually use their names.

It's more complicated than that, too. Here are the major plotlines of Spidey 3:

• Spider-Man is infected by this little alien creature that looks kind of like the black oil alien from X-Files, which turns his suit black. The movie says the little black guy boosts aggression, and from certain nerds I gather that the black suit is supposed to make Spider-Man evil, but what it actually does in the picture is create a weird personality change in Peter Parkin, making him into an emo-banged jazz-dancing black-eyeliner-wearing megadork - slash - John Travolta in Saturday Night Live impersonator. The point is supposed to be that it makes him a jerk, and he has to deal with that.
• Harry Osborne, having found his father's junk, superpowers himself up and goes after Spider-Man in revenge of his dad, only to hit his head and come down with amnesia.
• Mary Jane Watson loses her job by being a lousy singer and ends up drifting away from emobangs!Peter and back into  amnesia!Harry's arms.
• There's this blonde girl named Gwen Stacey who is flirty with Peter in his chemistry class, kisses Spider-Man when he saves her life, is the daughter of the police chief, is being pursued romantically by a photog played by Topher Grace, and who models in her spare time. She doesn't actually do much, mind you, but she's in the movie muddling up all the relationships.
• Like I said, Topher Grace plays some guy who's name I didn't catch, a photographer who initially seems to be dating Gwen but turns out to be semi-stalking her. He Photoshops Spider-Man being evil, and when Peter Parker exposes his shops ("The pixels are all wrong!"), he develops a grudge against Peter and then is conveniently infected by the little black oil alien thingy, thus becoming Venom. He's very annoying and altogether seems a little underdeveloped.
  
• See, I almost forgot this part. The Sandman is played by that guy from George of the Jungle. He's supposed to be a pretty complex character, sympathetic the way most Spider-Man villains are; his adorable daughter is sick with Comic Book Movie Ailing Syndrome and he has no choice but to turn to a life of crime, because, of course, the press and charities are absolutely no help at all when it comes to adorable little girls with fatal diseases. The movie reveals - semi-spoiler, I guess, I'm not sure - that he is the one who killed Uncle Ben, not the guy with the bad haircut we see in flashback every two minutes. Peter Parker is determined to kill him in revenge, and this story is all about learning that morality isn't in black and white, but shades of grey.

The part that everyone criticized was emobangs!Peter, which was pretty bizarre. Changing costume and makeup is a time-honored way of showing a shift in a character's personality, and I've got to say, I've actually experienced that sort of thing first hand, but ... emobangs? I actually don't know any other way to describe them at all. The movie actually draws attention to the hairstyle by showing Peter rearranging his hair a couple of times. At least they spared us a scene of Peter painstakingly putting on black eyeliner.

The embarrassing part is the idea that no one in the production realized what they were doing because they are all too old to know what "emo" is, both the style of music and style of clothing. Peter himself dances - not just kind of bobs to it, actually dances - to some jazz and that get-on-up song which I think is from the seventies. Peter Parker is, storywise, about my friend Megan's age, I'd say, in other words, definitely young enough to know that brushing your bangs in your eyes isn't just brushing your bangs in your eyes, it's taking on a whole stereotype, and waaay too young to be dancing to jazz music like an incredible douche.

Anyway, emo aside, it doesn't make much sense story-wise because it's not explained how the alien could, like, change his taste in music, clothing, hairstyle, and the appropriate way to walk down the street. It's supposed to "amplify certain characteristics of the host," not bring in totally new ones. Was Peter Parker a closet jazz fan? That's too out-of-character for me to swallow. Still, I'm not complaining too much because it is basically Spider-Man on drugs; not even illegal drugs, like Peter Parker after he borrowed a friend's Ritalin and washed it down with Nyquil and half a beer.

The big problem with the movie was that they had material for three movies, and crammed them all into one. One movie idea is the one with the alien, and it's about Peter facing down his dark side and overcoming it. It's a good idea for a third in a series, also the black-suit versus blue-and-red-suit is easy to market. The problem is, the end of Part 2 pretty much promised that Hobgoblin would be the bad guy for part 3, which itself would make a great movie, but they hobbled the whole thing by ignoring Harry for long stretches of the film. The amnesia, which is the most cliched storyline ever, actually worked very well for the character. I'm - I'm kind of bitter about how he ended up. No spoilers or anything. The last idea was the Sandman and his story in connection with Ben Parker - again, you could make a movie about just that. Why glue everything together?

Peter is dealing with three totally different, and rather, contradictory moral problems here. One is aggression, which is connected with the alien; the other is pride, relating to Sandman, and the last is guilt, relating to Hobgoblin. Separate, they're strong, but put together, they're like when you mix coffee and cheddar cheese and lime juice, three of my favorite foods. And on top of all this, you've still got the annoying Topher Grace and Gwen Stacey!

I'm not surprised to find that some fans are cutting out the Sandman. Too bad their versions will also suck.

From listening to the commentary, it is apparent that this movie was very, very rushed. It was in production before the script was written. Most filmmakers recognize that that is the wrong way to make movies.

This is the best three minutes of Spider-Man 3. Watching it will probably make you want to rent the dvd, which will then disappoint you.

Hair: mousse + blow dry, glossy spray + straight iron, hair wax. That's right, three different products!
Makeup: Nude face except for some coverup on the under-eye circles which are particularly pronounced today for some reason, white & pink eyeshadow I stole from Clara, Intense I-Color Sapphire Blue mascara I also stole from Clara, pink lipstick

My parents are backpacking with the little ones today. I just bought $250 worth of groceries. No, wait, hold on.

$241.11. I did the shopping list and the menu and it's for eight or nine days. Unfortunately I have to cook it all too. I'm tired just thinking about it. $241.11 worth of groceries are just heavy, man, and I've carted all that food around the store and into the cart and home and eventually I'll pull it out of storage and lug it around the kitchen and then into the dining room and then we'll put it all into our mouths and then I'll do the dishes too. I'm really, really tired of living at home.

Basically, I'm depressed that my antidepressants aren't working the way they should be. I don't think I'll get a job just filling out applications. I told that to Dad and he said, "That's how I got my first job!" Good for him. Whatever. I'm not going to get a job that way, I don't think. It would be so much easier to think if I didn't have them around. I have so much performance anxiety going I'm having trouble thinking without censoring myself.

One problem is that I am thinking about getting a job rather than choosing a career. I am putting too much into others' hands. I am thinking about pleasing my parents, an impossible task because they suck, instead of pleasing myself. I just watched "The Big Lebowski" and I laughed because I identified with The Dude more than the Big Lebowski. "The bums lost! Get a job, sir!"

Who am I, really? More importantly, why does everyone else know who I am and I don't? Why are they keeping that secret from me? That seems ungenerous. I admire generosity. I don't know. I feel hemmed in, for one, and nervous because I'm always being watched, and then depressed and tired and little bit freaked out. Maybe I should move to California. Why not? There are Starbucks's in California. There are bums there too. I wonder if I can get unemployment or disability, actually. I really need to move out. My parents are just sabotaging my therapy like they've done since, gee, forever, and there's no particular reason for me to stay.

OMG! I can't access the Internet! Well, I'd better write an LJ entry about that! What, addicted to the Internet? I am not!

So about two - three? - years ago I started working on a screenplay for Les Miserables by Victor Hugo for no particular reason except that I dug the book, and stopped work when my laptop broke down and I couldn't access the files for it. That was the laptop before my current laptop, actually. Something weird happened to the harddrive. I think the computer started cannibalizing itself.

I worked on it while I watched TV for - well, several months, I don't remember; I have no concept of the passage of time; but I didn't get very far at all. I barely got Jean Valjean out of the Bishop's house, and I stopped worked at the bit where Fantine gives up Cosette to the Thenardiers (tl;dr: halfway through volume 1 of 5 volumes). Anyway, I started working on it again when my Internet went down, I don't know why, and a couple days of work later, I'm almost completely done with Volume 1. I could theoretically finish this in a couple of weeks, if I don't get too distracted. I'm amazed and it's kind of comforting to me, because sometimes I forget that I've made any progress at all.

Also it is much easier to write when I am taking antidepressants because I don't, well, I don't get performance anxiety as I'm writing. Before I would write a sentence and then beat myself up for sounding so stupid and pretentious. If it was bad, I hated it, and if it was good, who was I fooling? I couldn't win. But now I just write.

P.S. Picture I took last night that I like:



I'll argue "Blurriness intentional!" But really it was an accident because I don't know how to work the camera. But I like it.

I actually had a hangover this morning. I haven't been drinking at all lately, but I had a hard day and I ended up having a bloody mary, a drink so delicious I should have invented it, only I didn't have any vodka so I mixed some bourban and some gin in it.

Anyway, I still don't have Internet but I just got on a sec to share with you the works of Lee Roddy, whose books I found in their room.



The small print says "The devastating explosion would change more than the face of the mountain," and I've read the book and that is A LIE!



This book should be called "The Danger of Letting Go" or something. I didn't read it so I can't tell you why the girl (the main character, I can't remember her name) and the guy didn't just let go of the rope when they were just a few feet above the ground. I can't tell what they're hanging off of so I'll assume it's a giant eagle.



This one is funny in relation to the other covers. Lee Roddy covers always show the characters at their most dramatic point, and in this one it's like "Oh no! There is a man riding towards me! I will have to hop on my horse and ride away from him! How ever will I survive!"



The people on this cover are supposed to be the same people on the cover of "Danger on Thunder Mountain," but I think it's a different cave.



This will always be my favorite. I never actually read the whole book because Roddy books never live up to the promise of their covers and are really boring, but I kept trying because I was desperate to figure out how that obviously deaf woman also lost command of her senses of smell and the ability to feel vibration because DAMN that train is like ten feet behind her. I don't know if you can tell from this pic, but she's yawning, not screaming. I also wanted to know how - or if! - she got away because she's in an isolated area, and it looks like she's on a bridge over a gorge.

And then you read the text on the cover and it just gets more complicated! "Was this the price she must pay to stop the robbery?" it asks. Perhaps the "gold train bandits" tricked the rural deaf woman into taking an ill-advised early-morning walk. Or - wait - maybe that's the gold train! Maybe she's walking in front of it to - to - distract the robbers or something. I dunno.

Though that is my favorite, I've saved the best for last. ( Read more... )

Huh. New symptom: anxiety-induced chest pains. I won't say a panic attack because I'm not panicking, I'm just really fucking mad.

Now here's how the conversations are going to go:

Me: I've having chest pains because of anxiety ...
Them: Chest pains? Like what? Like pains in your chest?
Me: What do you mean "like what"? Yes pains in my chest!
Them: Oh, it's probably just indigestion.
Me: Then it's anxiety-induced digestion!
Them: Oh that's nothing. I get those too. You're such a hypochondriac. Blah blah blah.
Me: I am not a hypochondriac you don't even know what that --- aaahhh you're making them worse ...

So I'm not going to bring it up. Then, tomorrow:

Them: Why do you even need those pills? You're fine. You're just a hypochondriac.
Me: Maybe I need them because I'm a hypochondriac!
Them: Oh, please. I'm a hypochondriac, but I don't let it bother me!

I'm going to very calmly read http://photoshopdisasters.blogspot.com/ instead.

See normally I'd say "Mr. Darcy" (hence the icon) but right now I feel like freakin' Cinderella Rapunzel I meant Rapunzel. I'm at a Starbucks having an iced coffee on my birthday giftcard and I should be checking my grades but I don't feel like it. I theoretically be a college graduate right now but I really doubt it. Oh well.

I need to see my grades to see if I should register for spring classes and then worry about the money for that but I am in the process of throwing a fit because I'm mad at my dad for turning off the Internet. I haven't confronted him on this and neither has anybody else; it's not like he announced that he was doing it and explained why or on what terms we could use it again or when he was turning it back on; just *poof!* gone. My parents do things like that sometimes. We didn't have any scissors for three, four years I'd say. So I don't know but I'm guessing that my dad wants me or someone else to come to him about it so that he can give his rationale and defend himself and he's secretly disappointed that no one has so far. My other guess is that he did this because my mother asked him too. No, it's not that he didn't pay the Internet bill; I can see the access privileges for each computer on the system.

The thing is, I know more about computers that mom or dad and yeah, I could definitely hack into the system. But I won't. I could also probably fix the TV but Dad doesn't like me fixing stuff, I think he feels emasculated by it.

Anyway, I don't spend that much time online but I don't have any friends in town - at all - I don't get out of the house much, I'm not allowed to watch TV, though not deliberately it's just sort of broken, and I'm on the one-at-a-time Netflix plan. I'm bored! I'm lonely! I know I'm supposed to get a job but how can I do that without the Internet? I was born in 1987, I don't know how to do stuff without the Internet. I do my banking on here. I get my mail here. I socialize here. I job-search and apply here. I'm supposed to be finding a volunteer position - I don't know how to do that without the Internet.

So I told my parents I wanna be a copy-editor. My dad wants me to work for AT&T because he works there. Frankly, I'd rather die. And this is a real comforting thing for me to realize. I actually have preferences for what I want to do and where I want to work. But I guess I can work at that hellhole of a phone company for a while if I have to. I'd be working retail too, which is not my dad's part of the company and I wouldn't even get the benefit of narcissism. If the money's green, though, I can use it for an apartment where I wouldn't be driven nuts by my family walking in my room when I'm trying to change. Or maybe I can put it to a new doorknob.

MEGAN: THANKS FOR BEING A GOOD ROOMMATE. Now, did you have to move to California? I'm gonna have to go down to MTSU and put up signs or something. I don't know how this works. I don't know anyone in my freakin' hometown, could this get any more awkward?

No pretty today and likely none tomorrow because my father will be home helping me get a job.

(I forgot but when my seretonin levels aren't elevated I have a lot of insights all the time. Not very useful though if you can't write them down.)

I've been frustrated with my dad lately because he put the Internet blocking thingy on again - without telling me he was going to, mind you, or offering any explanation for his behavior - so the internet's going to die at 9 and I'm racing to type this. I could just ask him why he did that, but that would be too easy. He meanwhile is frustrated that I haven't got a job or graduated like I said I would. I understand where Benjamin gets it now.

You see, Benjamin (who is 6) uses the denial method whenever he's soiled himself or wet his pants. "Hey, Benjamin, c'mere, it looks like you've peed yourself." "No I haven't!" "Yes you have and what - what is that smell?! Benjamin!" "It's fine, it's fine." "It's not fine. Get over here, I need to change you." "No I'm fine! I don't need to be changed!" "Ben, you're not in trouble, you just - you're filthy. Do you really want to sit in filth all day? I don't understand you at all." "I said I'm fine!" "You're not fine! You've pooped in your pants!" "No I didn't." "Yes you did why are you lying when I can see that you didn't do you think it will fool me." "I'm just fine! O.k., fine! Leave me alone!"

That's me sometimes. "So, Rebecca, how's school going?" "Fine! Just fine!" "Can I see it then?" "No!"

No pretty party today; it's Sunday and God told me not to. For your amusement, I'd like to draw attention to some comments that my sisters have been leaving on my LJ recently; usually they don't actually read it and when they do, it seems like I only get in trouble with them. Especially Kristina, who doesn't approve of ... well, lately she doesn't approve of pretty much everything I do, but anyway:

Subj: attention
quit whining. and why are you bragging about singing, anyway? Mary didn't say SHE was good. She was just being honest, about YOU. YOU don't sound good it's true, but you weren't meant to be a singer. Just write a novel already! I want to read it!

That's from Susanna, my 16-year-old sister, on Mary Grace's account (Mary's 12), which made me go WTF at first. I'm not sure who wrote this one, either Susanna or Mary:

Subj: wonky eye??
I was never this extreme when I talked about your eye. I didn't think you'd ever take me seriously! Seriously there is nothing wrong with your eye, except when you chew, then it bothers me. I just said it was crooked.

And then this from Mary:

Sorry, but you look twelve and also like Shirley Temple.
Which is okay considering that she is adorable, but I am not sure you want to look like a little kid.

Oh yes, and PLEASE stop wearing my make-up.
You probably have some sick eye disease.

Actually, I wouldn't mind so much if you PUT IT BACK!!!

I also got these comments from Lillian. So you know, I was thinking about maybe jotting down some banter one day to make a representative sample, but they've suddenly started speaking for themselves so -- there you go. They pretty much talk like that. Put lots of emphasis on the capitalized words and you'll have it right in your head.

I got my brother to sign up for an account too (cudgel_boy) so he might start posting, but probably not because it doesn't involve football or basketball. Anyway, sibs, I totally don't mind your reading my LJ but I'd prefer if you kept things civil online and abused me to my face. It's best to put on a good face for public appearances. And if you're gonna leave anonymous comments, sign your names so I know it's not a spambot and I don't delete them, 'cause I've gotten some weird spambot comments. At least I think they were spambots.

Incidentally: I still think I have ptosis. Maybe I can get a discount on plastic surgery when you become a doctor.

Clara was the photographer, the memory card was almost full, and my dad was acting suspicious so we only took one shot. First take, y'all!

Clothes: "Mary Grace shirt," denim skirt
Hair: Blown dry with a brush, but not particularly straight, with a zig-zag center part
Makeup: Matte powder for shine control, subtle black mascara, blush, pink lipgloss but it's long worn off by now


Oh, lookie here. Eatin' oranges and making IDs.

So I'm eating ice cream and watching Beowulf, a movie so deranged it includes lines such as "Swife me, I swear he has no pintard!" with so little irony I think it's actually supposed to be ironic. But I'm not really paying attention to it. I like it and I've had it for a week, but I haven't watched it. My thoughts swirl around my head like I heard one guy explain EMDR therapy once, making connections and disconnecting again - there's constant back-and-forth, theories, countertheories, concerns and worries, terrible obsessions and constant incessant ruminating, while there's a heaviness in my chest that tells me not to go get my TV from the little girl's room and watch Beowulf in my room where I can properly concentrate, a heaviness that says that even finishing this entry will take too much effort. In short, I am anxious and depressed again. I think it's switching meds - I don't know that this new one will work out for me.

My therapist today tried to figure out why I am not well again, discarding the idea that it's just switching meds as being too simple, I guess, but there's honestly nothing going on. I am the same as I was Wednesday, only Wednesday I didn't have this horrible feeling dogging me. The Myrtle is giving me the side-effect of constant dizziness, which I recognize, but this going beyond it. Triggering things are triggering again and they weren't last week.

How can I tell if I'm a good singer or a bad singer?

I was watching this performance of "Green Finch and Linnet Bird" from Sweeney Todd and laughing at it with the kids; I'm not sure if it's supposed to be funny or not, but the way she shrills out "BECKONING, BECKONING!" cracks me up.

Watching it I remarked for no reason "I can definitely hit those high notes, well, if I'm warmed up; what is that, a G?" Mary Grace replied "Yes but you don't sound good. You can't sing." And Mary Grace (who is maroon556 on lj) has been saying stuff like this to me all week, not sure what I did to her other than borrow her makeup. But is that true or what?

I've always wanted to sing. I don't think I can sing it as well as her or her but I might be able to sing better than her or her. At least I could hit all the notes and sing the song properly. I know I can do it better than this. And by the way in looking up those videos I have become thoroughly sick of "Green Finch and Linnet Bird" so don't say "Hey, you sing it and we'll see."

OK I'm starting to make silly mistakes now which means I'm tired and I should go to bed. But my mom also said something to me today to make me nervous. I feel myself becoming anxious again, neurotic and insecure. But today sort of sucked; I felt really lightheaded from my meds, which isn't cool. We'll see how tomorrow goes when tomorrow comes.

I'm definitely going to need another one of those:








I'm not complaining or anything; it's my own durn fault for taking it apart in the first place.  It didn't work, anyway, and I've been meaning to get a new one.


And I shouldn't've been working in the afternoon anyway, when I get drowsy. It's like one of those hypothetical problems that drove me nuts in college: Given the choice and if you had to choose, would you rather be a) full of nervous energy b) lethargic or c) anxious?

Today I went to therapy very early in the morning, mailed a package, fought with my parents, and got my hair cut. It was spur-of-the-moment planned-for-four-months.

I look strange in that photo; my eyes reflect a hopefulness that I don't feel. I might cut it shorter, but I'm going to try this haircut for a while and see if I like it. Best $3 haircut I ever got. (They give you it for free if you donate to Locks of Love.)