Like the author, I found the realism of the character a refreshing jaunt. Not that big of an Eva Green fan, but found her performance wasn't lacking. When it comes down to, even the displaced time-line was easily consumed because of the smooth elegance of the story.
How crazy is it when you find someone who hurts you attractive?
When the woman who filleted your soul and routinely rips out the stitches you are pathetically attempting to hold yourself together with and pours battery acid in the gaping hole…when desperately trying to ignore her, you realize that she's still kind of hot. Especially now that she's doesn't resemble Kate Moss on a diet after back to back colonics.
It's a shame really. Why would my normally level head present such twisted symptoms of lunacy? Maybe I'm under too much stress. Maybe it's just been too long since…well just too long. Maybe I'm just a guy who from time to time can have his head spun by just about anything for any reason whatsoever. Yeah. That's it. The testosterone defense. That's my story and I'm sticking too it.
If we ever do have a chance to converse, please, never, ever, bring this up.
From time to time I find myself drowning in the sea of over-sensitivity. Other times, it is like I'm wearing flame retardant underwear, a concrete helmet, and beer googles. It's like my personal sensitivity just goes right out the window.
Don't get me wrong, I work hard to be empathetic. It's just hard for me.
I used to follow the stereotypes and excuse my void of empathy as an outworking of my objectivity. As if the tradeoff for being able to accurately perceive the perspectives of others removed the ability to adopt any one position and subject yourself completely to it. Being objective and quick and practicing rigorously the art of being able to see all the sides of an issue, and still act with deliberation takes skill. To be able to routine avoid analysis paralysis, you must hone your sense of forwardness to to such a point that sometimes you can lose the ability to wallow. That is a fatal flaw.
How can I be both objective and subjectively emotional at the same time? Do you know?
I really try to see what troubles others so, but when I see through their eyes, my conclusions are found wanting. As if my head just gives up and says, I see you struggle, but your prision is your own production. If you listened to your own voice you would see the cage is your own construction.
Can one be objective and empathetic? Are those just words that waft about, ethereal and ghostly? Why is it that when I am being most precise, most helpful, I am often most aloof? Is there some balance that tilts when too much is placed on quadrant of the relationship or another?
If that is true, then my challenge surely is to shift swiftly and surefooted from quiet listener to patient guide. And suppose a transition successfully is made, who then will provide the prodding poke when time it is again for people to produce?
You can have it quick, you can have it correct, or you can have it easy. Pick any two.
The last few weeks (months!) I've been blessed to spend my time in very temperate climates...India, Hawaii, Southern California. This week I'm back in Seattle and loving it. It was interesting to me how much I brightened up at the idea of coming back to the land of grunge and rain.
Of course, having spent so much time in warmer tempatures I was caught a little by surprise by the volume of rain when I got on the ground. It wasn't that I didn't remember to bring a jacket. I actually reminded myself to pull it out of the closet. Then I promptly left it on the couch in the apartment.
So now, I've been running around in the rain freezing my little tush.
Speaking of which, I saw the movie Babel last night which was possibly the worst movie I have seen since the Thin Red Line. I wanted to poke my eyes out just to stay awake. Even the gratuitous use of full frontal nudity (something I would normally applaud) was unable to quell my desire to intellectually vomit. See this movie at your own risk.