This hate is fucking real. (Day 123)

My head is throbbing.

I went over to a friends house last night, and we watched Planet Terror which...she couldn't get over I hadn't seen before.

See, I'm one of those guys. Those film nerds, who latches on to certain directors, and has to see everything they write, direct, make a cameo in, co-direct, produce, or even look at while it's being created. It all started with "Pulp Fiction", and as such I've seen everything Tarantino has had his hands on (or in, in the case of Uma Thurman--oh no I di'nt!) and some how I just haven't seen Grindhouse.

Don't ask me why, I'm not quite sure what I was doing two or three years ago that made it something less of a priority. I knew how they'd filmed it, as far as the style of it and what they were aiming for. Gory, cheesy and grotesquely funny. That's what I'm all about!

So I revealed last night that I'd never seen Planet Terror, which is the second half of Grindhouse. It's Robert Rodriquez' contribution to Grindhouse (Death Proof was Quintin Tarantinos', if you somehow didn't know, which I still haven't seen) in which Tarantino makes a cameo. God, I love the guy, but he needs to stop pretending he can act. His death in Planet Terror is proper, because it's quite gruesome, and truth be told...he had it coming for his atrocious acting.

But the movie is AWESOME! They added gritty film pieces, and there are just so many nuances that I couldn't help but LOVE.

I also realized like...holy shit, my friend and I are going to Hell.

There's a part in Planet Terror where a mother, who's like a nurse or doctor as well (he husband is a doctor) and she gets caught with her tongue in the heart shaped box so to speak. So he stabs her with this numbing agent (It's one of three needles--I won't explain further) and she winds up escaping when one of the EMT's calls the doctor over to see that the corpses had come back to life. She was stabbed in the hands, and she barely makes it back into the car when all Hell breaks loose at the hospital. Her hands are all numb, and she can't use them, so it's interesting what happens there.

But where I found out we're going to Hell (and also very grotesque) was when the mother had picked up her son, and they were going to escape. They make it to her fathers house, and she gives her son a gun and tells him, "Be careful where you point that thing--you'll blow your face off." And then she goes to knock on the door. Then the camera pans over to the car and you see a flash and a bang, and I don't know why, but we both started laughing!

Like, okay...the audacity of it. She told him he could blow his face off, and he did. I don't know, there was something ludicrous and preposterous about it, I mean...she did warn him! And I know that Rodriguez and Tarantino are fucked up like that, and they put it in there for a spot of black humor (the whole film is basically black humor) but I can guarantee no one else laughed at that kid blowing his head off. I feel kind of bad, but then I realize two things: 1) She told him. He was a kid who wouldn't listen to his mom, and brought all his pets, including putting a scorpion and a turtle in the same cage, even when she told him not too. He didn't listen, and thought his mom was retarded, and paid the price. And 2) He was better off dying. all the crap he was lugging around, with all these mutant zombies (including his father) trying to eat his brains, or kill him...and they have no faces and stuff...he was bound to have a more horrible death being eaten alive. Or, he could have survived and been scarred for life at what he saw that night. Especially his father.

I realized we were grotesque when a scene in the movie had some gooey blood splatter, and she said out loud: "That makes me want one of those 59 cent cherry pies" and I had been thinking the exact same thing. I mean, it LOOKED exactly like the filling, and those pies are delicious!

I had no idea some people were as fucked in the head as I am. I'm just glad there's still people who enjoy cheesy slasher/gory funny horror films as well. I know Austin does, but I never get to see him. I hate all the CGI nowadays for the most part. Give me buckets of corn syrup and special effects that look like pancake batter falling off a face any day over the vampires in Will Smiths' I Am Legend (for the record I really liked that movie, but the fact that they CGI'd everything, including the vampires really made me want to hate it). But I don't know. I feel like I've revealed a lot about myself here, and I think a lot of it is really alienating, but whatever...don't judge me.

Karma already paid me back for laughing.

Like I said, I woke up with my head pounding. Now, it could do with the fact that I drank a lot of Gin and Juice last night, true. But, I've never had a hangover in my life, so I suspect it has more to do with the fact that when I was sleeping (and what woke me up, coincidentally) I moved my head.

Now, anyone who's ever shared a bed with me knows I just...do. not. move. It's like I got shot in the back of the head. Blam! Done. In that respect, I'm a good person to sleep next too, because I don't do the fucking cha-cha when I'm sleeping. I know you might be thinking, "Come on, everybody moves a little." But I promise you I don't.

So I heard the phone ring, and I looked over at it, and then decided I'm not paid to care, this is why God invented answering machines. So I moved my head back over, and miscalculated.

Let me set it up for you. I sleep on a futon on the floor. When I moved to New York, my parents turned my room into a sewing room. As a result, there's a big, huge metallic (made of fucking steel) drawer right next to where I sleep. I've banged into it a few times, but never anything terrible.

Except for this morning. For a second, I didn't realized what happened, except my ears were ringing, and I wanted the number of that truck.

This is the second time I've sustained head trauma whilst sleeping. Earlier this week, Arizona had winds reaching up to over 90 mph. I sleep with the windows open, because it's still really nice out. Also, on my window sill are glass bottles. Empty glass Jones soda bottles. The wind blew the window so hard, that the shades hit a glass bottle, and caused it to land on the back of my head.

Why, Sparticus...why?


-Until tomorrow.