The Puffy Chair

I saw the movie "The Puffy Chair" (2005) this evening. What follows is an attempt at a movie review without giving up too much away, while still trying to analyze the piece.
In an effort to stick with a binary opinion system such as the one originally outlined by Siskel and Ebert (I don't buy into this whole 'an apprehensive thumbs down, but if you want to see this movie you'd probably like it' crap), I'd have to say it was worth watching. Thats it, a movie can only be worth watching, or not worth watching. That's my binary system for rating movies. It should also be on the record that a movie not worth watching is also a movie not worth writing about. You won't see too many negative reviews from me.
Fundamentally, this movie examines a relationhip already on the rocks, sent into the pressure cooker that is the cross country road trip. Superficially, the movie could be described as 'a dude buys a chair with certain centimental value on ebay for his father and delivers it while bringing his girlfriend and eventually his brother.'
I don't feel like doing this anymore, so I'll stop trying to think of how a movie should be reviewed and just finish up without any unnecessary big words. See it if you have netflix. You might hate it, but at least it was genuine. The writer/director set out to make a movie that describes a relationship that many of us probably have been in or will probably be in at one time. It was shot entirely on a hand held camera for two reasons (it was all they could afford, and the unsteadyness added a little extra reality to the story), so if you are easily perturbed, take your dramamine about a half hour before watching. The Puffy Chair was unsettling at times, but get through it. There'll be plenty of post film convo.

Clock Radio

My alarm clock is about 12 years old. Of all my stuff, it has to be the oldest. It has a nine minute snooze button, but I can hour-snooze with a dexterous flick of a thumb. It has a conveniently placed volume knob. Its got am, fm, AND tape. I could wake up to any of those media, yet I still choose to wake up to that old standard. A sound so horrible, it had to have been engineered by satan.
I wake up every moring to the furious pulses of my alarm clock. Gee gosh, that sound is irritating. Seriously, worst sound ever. It represents years of deep-seeded psychosomatic torture. I hear that sound and immediately, a full body shudder tears through me. Fear, horror, dismay, panic...ugh. There is no pavlovian response stronger than this.
Waking up is the worst part of my day. And its too bad it has to happen every day. I remember when going to sleep used to be the enemy. I remember absolutely refusing to go to sleep. Now waking up is far, far worse. When did this paradigm shift occur? My best estimate is about 12 years ago.

Radio Static

I once listened to radio static for a good ten minutes because I thought it was a piece of new music. Let me tell you, it was the most interesting radio static I have ever heard. It wasnt repetitious at all, through-composed probably. I wonder what was causing the static to be so virulent. "What was the motivation behind such fierce energy?" I mulled, and mulled again. After about the 10th minute or so, I became suspisious. I eventually flipped the station.

Today I reminisced to that day long ago. There could be a chance that it wasnt static, and it was some sort of Cage-ian revival. Or maybe even an Andy Kauffman tribute drawn out to considerable length. We'll never really know the whole story. Damn my impatience.

The Real Me

I used to put a lot of thought into trying to figure out myself. Its probably been two years since I last pondered. This leads me to believe that I did indeed find myself. But here I am, in my mid-early twenties (23), and I don't know any more about myself than I did back then. What has changed? Its not the answer. I guess the question has changed entirely. I no longer dwell on who I am. I now wonder if I like this person I've become.
I really don't understand why I spend time thinking about this. Its not because I'm vein enough to care what other people think about me. And I don't think it stems from an unconscious motivation to change my personality.
I really like solving those tricky mensa word and number problems. Its not because I'm especially good at them. Solving the problems isn't my favorite part. I really love the feeling of looking up the answer after unsuccessfully trying to solve the puzzle. I love the feeling of being enlightened of the solution. They're usually quite elegant and simplistic. Yet the problem was so devious, I had to completely surrender myself to it.
That is who I am. That says it all. Draw your own conclusions.