God, schmod, I want my monkey man!

March 31, 2010 42 Comments read Attractions, California, Masticating With Mellzah, Pacific, Travel, USA, West

I spent Thursday morning lounging around and reading Geek Love, a book I’d unsuccessfully tried to mooch on BookMooch for going on three months (I honestly don’t know why I keep trying, every experience I’ve had with that site makes me loathe it and humanity more) and eventually broke down and purchased after bringing terror down on a Barnes & Noble bathroom one afternoon. Around noon, when my camera battery was fully charged, I walked the three miles to Balboa Park to see what I could see. The first area that I wandered around was the artists’ gallery, where visitors can observe craftspeople at work, purchase their work, and occasionally also take classes in the trade. I didn’t see many artists at work, and the area was mostly quiet save for the classical guitarist sitting in the middle of the venue.

After I had seen what there was to see in the artists’ gallery, I walked to the cactus and rose garden areas of the park. I actually expected to prefer the rose gardens, but was struck by the variety of cactus species and the way they were arranged; the cacti were in a more natural arrangement which gave the area a power that the bricked-off roses did not have. Equally amazing was how quickly the power and beauty of the area was sapped when some douchebag decided to bring a boombox and blast Bon Jovi. Go ride your steel horse into traffic, cowboy.

I was really saddened and disappointed to see that people had taken it upon themselves to carve their names into the cacti, to rip up the dedication plates on the benches in the rose pavillion and to tag the hell out of the benches and pavillion itself. What did they get out of it, besides ruining something nice for other people? When I mentioned this to my dad later, he said that one of his recurring fantasies is to just appear out of nowhere with a baseball bat when people like this are tagging, break their legs, and disappear into the night; a different sort of batman. I am pretty much my father’s daughter. I wandered around the park proper for a while, people-watching. The botanical gardens were closed, which was a little disappointing, as I’ve enjoyed that area in the past.

After a time, I went into the Timken Museum of Art, and while I shouldn’t complain about a free museum, I’m going to do so regardless. The staff loomed unpleasantly at every room entrance, and it’s hard to focus on art when you can feel eyeballs boring holes into your back. What’s worse, though, and any decent curator should know this, is that very reflective paintings were displayed high on the walls near the light source, rendering them impossible to see. What, exactly, is the point of having a museum where you cannot actually see the works of art? After the disappointment of the Timken, I washed the taste out of my mouth with one of the pay museums–the Museum of Man, which was currently running three exhibits: one on ancient South American Indian civilizations, one on the evolution of man, and one on the Egyptians and mummification, all of which are right up my alley.

This is Gigantopithecus, the largest known primate. No, they did not have a stuffed Bigfoot inside the museum. Here they showed a series of related primates:

Here I just wanted to take a picture of some caveman wang:

Not all robot feet look like that. This display is discriminatory against robots, I feel. Also, my feet are much daintier than any of those. Then I got to play dig site, which didn’t really have any relevance to anything else in the museum, but what the hell:

After I’d finished with the Museum of Man, it was just about time to walk back and meet my dad for dinner. We ended up going to El Indio, which is one of my favorite Mexican places ever even though I get the totally gringo trailer park of taste California burrito (carne asada, cheese, and french fries all wrapped in a flour tortilla. Yeah, you read that correctly.) and a mysterious beverage called ‘BANG!’. After dinner, we walked down the street and bought some gelato, and I brought up the idea of going to school for makeup special effects. I did not expect my dad to be supportive of the idea at ALL as he’s always discouraged me when I looked at ‘arty’ careers, so I was floored when he said he thought that sort of career would be a perfect fit for me and that I should definitely go for it. So far I’m still looking at schools, but it’s nice to feel like I’ve got a path in front of me and that I’m not in it alone.

My Thoughts On Avatar

March 22, 2010 39 Comments read Everything is Terrible, Movies, Reviews

Obviously, I’m late to the party on this, but when has timeliness or lack thereof ever stopped me from writing a blog post before?

Given that the movie was such a phenomeon, and certain people kept riding my case about not having seen it yet, and stories started cropping up about people being severely depressed after seeing the movie because they were longing to visit Pandora, and then there’s the epic crazy of people who believe they were Na’vi in a past life, I became intrigued and decided I ought to at least see the movie and discover firsthand what all of the fuss was about.

I also decided to hedge my bets by sucking down a couple martinis beforehand.

…I didn’t drink enough. I hated this movie. Loathed it. Involuntarily rolled my eyes, huffed, and squirmed in my seat like a three-year-old for at least the last hour and a half.

I don’t even begin to be qualified to talk about race as it pertains to this movie, save for the way it was handled made me feel unsettled, blah blah blah, shameful caricature of native peoples, blah blah blah, so smart but too stupid to save themselves and need a white man to do it but in every other respect they’re better than evil white people, blah blah blah anti-colonialism, blah blah blah, so everything I touch on is going to be purely superficial.

First things first: All of you people who are depressed after watching this movie, detached from reality, considering suicide, all because you cannot experience Pandora firsthand–allow me to rear my hand back and slap you with the fury of a thousand burning suns. Do you really feel lost, depressed, deeply sad because you won’t wake up some morning in a nightmare world where everything wants to kill you? Is all you need to be happy just some shit that lights up? Listen up, assholes: There’s nothing on Pandora that you can’t get with $50 and a trip to Spencer Gifts.

^{Holy shit, it’s like I’m on Pandora!}

Now, let’s take a peek into James Cameron’s brain.

“Hmm. The last really big overblown movie I made that sold a shitload of tickets involved a jillion dollars worth of CGI, had an obnoxious on-again off-again romance, had something REALLY big that got destroyed in a vast expanse of terrain inhospitable to human life that allowed for no outsider rescue, and ran about an hour longer than any other movie in the theater. What if I did that again, only in outer space? Outer space is also vast. And included a reprisal role for Paul Reiser’s character in ‘Aliens’, the evil one who was only interested in profit and military benefits, regardless of human cost? Hmm. What else could be really, really big? Pseudo-environmentalism is pretty hot, what about a really big blade of grass? No, that’s not right, too ‘Honey I Shrunk The Kids’. A big meadow? No, too ‘Little House on the Prairie’. Wait. Yes. A BIG TREE. Lord of the Rings had big trees and made an asston of money. People like big trees. The Giving Tree, now that’s a tree with staying power. A big tree that’s also an ecosystem and here comes Paul Reiser in the vast expanse of space to destroy this really big tree in the name of profits and break up the romance. Making this movie will cost at least a jillion and a half dollars in CGI and can’t be cut much below three hours. I also want to include a strong anti-corporate message. Can we get Coke and McDonalds on the phone for sponsorship dollars? God, I am such a genius. I bet I can get people to buy the same movie over and over again forever.”

^{James Cameron’s next project: Clifford The Big Red Dog Gets Killed}

For as ‘advanced’ and in tune with nature as the Na’vi are supposed to be, women are portrayed to be as shallow as ever. Ladies, is your intended a pretty ugly dude? It’s perfectly fine to pair up with a more attractive guy especially if your excuse is that you see a person’s soul. We all know that attractive people have the most attractive souls, even when they’re double-crossing liars with bad intentions. Whoops, I guess you’re not as good at soul-soothsaying as you thought! You should cast this beautiful man away until he pimps his ride, at which point it’s acceptable to take him back because you want to be seen riding bitch on that impressive vehicle.

^{“Yeaaaaah, holla atcha boy!”}

Speaking of the ladies, why do non-mammalian creatures have breasts? What must their function be? Wouldn’t they get in the way of all the bow-hunting they do, especially if they’re merely decorative? There’s a lesson to learn in this: Even if you hate everything, you don’t hate boobies. Or hula hoops.

^{I got nothin. Did you really think I was going to google image search boobs for you?}

Verdict: Predictable, boring, too long, but it does have boobs. D+

An Open Letter to Skechers

March 18, 2010 49 Comments read Everything is Terrible

This is the fax that I actually sent to Skechers Customer Service today. Any bets on whether I get a pair of replacement shoes?

To whom it may concern,

I purchased a pair of D’lite Raptures (Style#11469) on December 19th, 2009. They quickly became my daily-wear shoe, as I find them light and comfortable, which is important as I average five miles of walking per day. However, within the last week, one of the shoes has developed an enormous hole on the upper stitching along a seam, a hole so gargantuan that it can easily accommodate two fingers, though three are as of yet right out. I know what you must be thinking, that surely my monstrous gorilla feet caused undue pressure on the sides of the shoe and thus the seam had no choice but to burst open—a five pound sack of shoe with ten pounds of foot crammed into it, a veritable thunder lizard foot packed into an airy shoe, and that the outcome was as inevitable as taxes and even death, should science fail and robot bodies not become readily available by the time the cheese eventually settles into my heart. I assure you this is not the case. My feet have been described as dainty, petite, and even smelling of a spring morn. Sonnets may have been composed about my feet; I’m unsure as I’m not around other people twenty-four hours a day and it is possible that someone has dedicated a portion of their off time thoughtfully considering my feet and their place in the universe. I do know that someone on Myspace has offered me one hundred dollars American in the hopes of having a ‘go’ at my feet, and although my disgust at the offer is palpable as I would never defile my delicate tootsies in that manner, I do believe it speaks volumes about their general appeal. My feet would be the superstars of the foot world if only they weren’t hopelessly attached to an unattractive cankle. Therefore, the trouble must indeed lie with the shoe.

Is it reasonable for a shoe to wear out in under three months? Are these shoes perhaps designed for someone with a more sedentary lifestyle, as foot accessories, akin to a tiny dog in a purse (It is my understanding that those, too, wear out during walking)?

If you should read this letter and feel compassion for my wonderful feet attached to the unattractive cankle attached to the bloated calf attached to the dimpled knee (the picture only gets worse as you look higher, like staring at a hideous burning sun) and want to replace their beloved D’lite Raptures, they wear a size 5.5 and would be ever so grateful.

Thank you most sincerely for your time,

Mellzah Dildarian (address here)

I also included a picture of the damaged shoe and the attractive, sad foot, as demonstrated by a sadface drawn in MS paint and the word ‘NOOOOOOO!’ circling its head. *I* would give me a new pair of shoes. Maybe even twelve pair.

Update: It has been four years and still no response. I haven’t given up waiting, though. Surely those shoes are coming any day now.