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Movie Review: No Country for Old Men

Every time someone got killed on screen, a woman behind me in the movie theatre would exclaim “Jesus Christ!” Suffice to say, it began to sound like a Pentecostal revival meeting.

I knew the extreme violence in No Country for Old Men wouldn’t be a typical sort of brainless, desensitizing cinematic carnage. After all, this is the Coen brothers. Nothing is gratuitous. Everything is pervasive, inescapable, and thus haunting.

Jesus Christ!

This movie gripped me, physically. I couldn’t move or, frequently, breath. The crowded theatre would collectively recoil with horror. There are also hilarious moments, if you can relax enough to chuckle.

This movie is still gripping me, mentally. It’ll continue to grip me for quite some time. I haven’t felt this personally affected by a film since, weirdly enough, the Enron: The Smartest Guys in the Room documentary in 2005. I guess stark-raving evil makes an impression on me.

Jesus Christ!

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By Meredith – November 11, 2007

Got Hope?

In an ideal world, Bill Richardson would have a shot in hell. I wouldn’t be bothered by John Edwards. I could live with Hillary Clinton.

But, Barack Obama is increasingly appealing. His much-buzzed-about speech at the Jefferson Jackson fundraising dinner really titillated me. It is striking in the style of great political speeches. It filled me with optimism that I can imagine Americans felt when they heard JFK speak. It was the best speech I’ve heard an American politician give in my lifetime… (yes, better than Bill Clinton.)

“I don’t want to pit Red America against Blue America, I want to be the President of the United States of America.”

The speech made me very against the idea of “living with” Hillary. I proceeded to Barack Obama’s online store and bought a “Got Hope?” t-shirt. Because today, I have hope.

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By Meredith – November 11, 2007

Neanderthal “Feminism”

An article in the Boston Globe points to “Stone Age feminism” as a possible cause of the demise of the Neanderthals. The article cites evidence that females hunted alongside males, meaning there was equal opportunity stomping and goring by big beasts. This high rate of mortality among fertile women “could well have mean demographic disaster” and caused the Neanderthal extinction 30,000 years ago.

“Stone Age feminism?” It makes Neanderthal female sound like a strident crusader, asserting her right to hunt because she wants to be liberated from the cave. But she just couldn’t maintain that delicate work/life balance, bringing her society to total annihilation.

What mammothshit. The article’s writer ignores the logical conclusion that could be made from the evidence of female hunting: That the Neanderthals were increasingly stressed from the appearance of Homo sapiens in Europe 45,000 years ago. The species was struggling to compete for food, and the females had no choice but to join the hunt.

That’s not “Stone Age feminism.” That’s our civilization’s notions falsely applied to an alien society for a catchy headline. That’s drawing a parallel between modern women who are fighting for equal pay, equal opportunity, and affordable child care, and Neanderthal females who were fighting for the survival of their species by hunting elk and reindeer. That’s suggesting that the Neanderthal females serve as warning to humanity, that feminism is degenerative.

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By Meredith – November 10, 2007

Did we save room for dessert?

The food critic for the New York Times wrote a short droll piece about the “patronizing language” used by restaurant staff, typified by “off-kilter pronouns” like frequent use of third-person, “hoary courtesies” like ‘madam’ and ‘pardon,’ and the “semantic pox” that is the word ‘enjoy’: “How are we enjoying things so far?”

I applaud the NY Times for giving attention to this issue. Truly, they are doing a public service for diners who have had it with polite waiters.

Why, just last week, Mr. Pinault and I went to Applebees to use a gift card generously given to us by my father. There’s not too many Applebees in Massachusetts, but there is one in Quincy, not far from the Blue Hills Reservation. So, after a morning of hiking, we arrived at Applebees, famished.

The waitress was overly-attentive from the start. She carefully explained the menu: “These are our appetizers… burgers… steaks,” she said as she pointed to the menu sections respectively labeled “Appetizers” “Burgers” “Steaks” in big bubble-letters. She lauded our selections, saying “Oh, the staff just loves the ciabatta sandwiches! We’re so excited about them!” She repeated our orders twice and came back to verify my french fry seasoning preference.

Our sandwiches arrived in about five minutes, and appeared to have been assembled by a one-armed monkey. I have never eaten a sandwich that tasted so purely of mayonnaise. Still, hunger drove us to quickly demolish the food. “Well, it looks like someone enjoyed their lunch!” the waitress said, beaming at our near-empty plates. Something about the maternal way she said it just made me want to archly snarl “Who, bitch? Who enjoyed their lunch?” I think the food critic at the NY Times knows what I’m talking about.

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By Meredith – November 7, 2007

The Hollywood Writer’s Strike

I considered not posting today, to show my solidarity with the striking Hollywood writers, whose demands include increased share of revenue from DVDs, increased residuals from internet distribution, and an end to their Dickensian working conditions.

But then I reconsidered… do I want to show solidarity, or should I turn scab and become a writer for The Daily Show with Jon Stewart? Since the quality of The Daily Show has dipped to the point where the loudest laughs are roused by Stewart flubbing a line or making a funny face, I think I can easily handle the snide absurdity… or, if needed, the absurd snideness.

In addition to talk shows, it was announced today that the strike has halted production of the three sit-coms: “Back to You,” “Til Death,” and “Rules of Engagement”. Since I’ve never seen or even heard of these shows, I don’t know if this development will spook the television studios into returning to the bargaining table. Like 99% of Americans, I’m waiting until the strike retroactively affects re-runs of “Seinfeld” and “Friends” — the last truly good sit-coms on TV — before I give a shit.

Les Moonves, the CEO of CBS, has said that he foresees “no material impact” from the strike on the network’s financials, which makes me wonder… if the writers aren’t making anybody richer, then why are they employed in the first place? Why not just continue to stock the airwaves with dance contests for fat people judged by former 1980s Glam Rock stars, who all confined to a haunted ranch and are in sub-contest to win the affections of Katie Couric?

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By Meredith – November 6, 2007

The Needle Flu

Today a nurse came to my office to administer flu vaccines. She set up a makeshift clinic for the entire floor, including other companies, not far from my cubicle. I overheard about 50 people get flu shots. Amazingly, nobody seemed phased. If someone said something before receiving the shot, it was “Is it going to hurt?” Some girls who I recognized from the communal restroom giggled excessively, but that’s normal for them. One man yakked on his cell phone.

I didn’t sign up for a flu shot because I’ve suffered my whole life from needlephobia (or, as the Ancient Greeks called it, belonephobia). If I had received a flu shot, to avoid fainting, I would have had to: Put my head between my knees, take deep breaths, and recite a Gentile joke (here): A Gentile goes into a clothing store and says: “This is a very fine jacket. How much is it?” The salesman says: “It’s $500.” The Gentile says, “OK, I’ll take it.”

What’s it like to faint, you wonder? As someone who has fainted over a dozen times, I am a self-proclaimed expert.

Prior to fainting, I will be light-headed and spacey from anywhere from 2 minutes to 10 seconds. I’ve improved with age, so now I can usually talk myself “back to Earth.” By the time I realize that fainting is imminent, it’s too late.

Suddenly I’m in a dream. It’s a vivid, marvelous dream that takes place outdoors. Once I rolled down a grassy hill. Another time I jumped up and down in a shallow lake. Sometimes other people will be nearby. Never have my fainting dreams been bad or unpleasant.

I awake, always with someone touching or shaking me. This moment is always scary. Imagine waking from a deep sleep, in public, surrounded by staring strangers, with no recollection as to what just happened. I’m absolutely confounded. What happened to my wonderful dream? Why am I on the floor?

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By Meredith – November 6, 2007

These Legs were Made for Walking

Most of my townsman would fain walk sometimes, as I do, but they cannot. No wealth can buy the requisite leisure, freedom, and independence which are the capital in this profession [of Walking]… You must be born into the family of Walkers. Ambulator nascitur, non fit. Some of my townsmen, it is true, can remember and have described to me some walks which they took ten years ago… but I know very well that they have confined themselves to the highway ever since, whatever pretensions they may make to belong to this select class.
-Henry David Thoreau, “Walking”

November is the last month that I’ll be living in Natick. On December 1, Mr. Pinault and I are moving to a spacious two-bedroom in a town on Boston’s posh periphery that boasts urban perks like walkable main streets. Celebration! My household is a continual source of joy, but I do not hesitate to call the past year and 3 months of living in Natick a failure.

Natick is a sprawling middle-class suburb not unlike the one in Pennsylvania where I grew up. Age has given me enough wisdom to be able to articulate my dislike for suburban living in a manner untinged by teenaged angst: Walking is not pleasurable. (15-year old Meredith would liken the suburbs to a prison where all the other inmates are gleeful Earth-raping oil and money addicts who delight in their solitary confinement from global reality and moral imperative).

I find cheer and therapy in purposeful walking, but the suburbs makes it difficult, not only because of prohibitive distances, but because it’s just not meant to be done. Who wants to walk on a sidewalk or, more likely, on the side of a road amid cigarette butts, coffee cups, and squirrel guts while speeding SUVs with tinted windows whiz by at 50 mph? It’s stressful. It’s demeaning. It’s scary. The only option is to drive to a dedicated path specifically meant for exercise.

Walking is human. It’s what we evolved to do. It defines us physically and mentally as a species. It keeps us and our planet healthy. Walking is freedom. It’s not having to rely on oil cartels, the automobile industry, or taxpayer-funded public transportation in order to procure a load of bread. Walking is relaxing. It allows us to slow down and regard other pedestrians in recognition of our common humanity.

I can’t wait to leave Natick and its steel-encased citizenry, and get back to the urban sidewalks! Should I ever move back to the suburbs, it’s probably because my legs fell off.

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By Meredith – November 5, 2007

How Bout Those Pats?

Rugby is a beastly game played by gentlemen. Soccer is a gentlemen’s game played by beasts. Football is a beastly game played by beasts. – Henry Blaha

The potential of football to incite depravity in its viewers became clear today while watching the New England Patriots tussle against the Indianapolis Colts. And I sat there with white knuckles, praying that Peyton Manning’s pasty oblong face would get smeared into the artificial turf of the RCA Dome in front of those pasty oblong Indianapolis fans and that ridiculous cartoon blue horse mascot. Like, I really wanted Manning to get injured. I was bloodthirtsy.

What a game, though. Not only did the Patriots finally play against a worthy challenger, they vanquished them after trailing for three nail-biting quarters. Perfect. The only better outcome would be if Peyton Manning left the game paralyzed from the waist down.

Maybe I should stop watching football. Maybe I should stick to LOL Cats.

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By Meredith – November 4, 2007

Movie Review: Gone Baby Gone

Okay, I was determined to hate this movie, just out of Bostonian self-loathing. And I was kinda not loving it up until the last five minutes, when the ending (which I will not spoil even though it’s a understated mental zinger rather than a spectacle) taught me something about movie endings: Sometimes the ending that you’ve been rooting for isn’t the happiest. And those last five minutes were brilliant.

Anyway, on the shallow end of the pool: There are exactly three attractive people in Gone Baby Gone: Casey Affleck, who plays a private investigator in Boston’s Dorchester neighborhood; Michelle Monaghan, who plays his partner in work and life; and Amanda, the four-year old girl whose disappearance they are hired to investigate in conjunction with the Boston Police Department.

Everyone else is so ugly that it made me re-think my post on October 27, 2007, in which I denounce Boston’s rank of 16 out of 25 on Travel and Leisure’s attractiveness survey. I mean, where did Ben Affleck find such wretched people? The thought that such repellent-looking humans may be existing in the same geographic vicinity as myself is so unsettling that I’ve decided to move back to Philadelphia… where the beautiful people are.

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By Meredith – November 4, 2007

The Grind

I’d tell you why I’ve been so busy at work in the past week, but you’d probably die of boredom (which is better off anyway, since I would have to kill you).

But whatever. No one likes a whiner. There’s a woman about my age in my biweekly French class who attends maybe 1 in every 3 classes. I would have expected her to stop coming, but she’s shown a consistent half-assed commitment to learning the French language.

Once we were paired in a partner exercise, and I asked her delicately what keeps her away so often from class. “I have a really important job,” she said. After more quizzing, she professed to be a software engineer in charge of keeping the company’s most profitable web site ‘going.’ “I just can’t make it to this class twice a week,” she said with a faint Valley Girl twang that gave the impression of an aggrieved college girl forced to fulfill a language requirement.

Out of an effort to maintain an agreeable social exchange, I avoided the obvious: That this is a twice-a-week adult education class that she signed up for on her own free will. And that the busiest of people are never too busy to point out how busy they are.

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By Meredith – November 2, 2007