Nothing special to report today. It can all be summed up with the phrase, "doing shit on the computer." My late night Battlefield escapades really caught up to me, forcing me to take a nice ten-minute nap. The funny thing about naps is the time distortion. Sometimes, ten minutes go by in a flash, and other times, it feels like a freakin' eternity. I probably lived an entire second life by the time I got up.
After that, I tidied up an old story idea and published it. I'll probably never write it out fully, but putting out ideas in some form is a good way of purging my system. Then I watched Captain Phillips and Lone Survivor. They both mirror each other in that the main character has to go through a harrowing situation and the audience feels a collective relief and uplifting of spirits once they reach safety. The only difference? In Captain Phillips, the antagonists are actual people while the Taliban might as well be faceless goons pulled from 80's action movies in Lone Survivor. Don't get me wrong, I like both movies, but I can't help but catch the "Murrica, fuck yeah!" vibe. It's weird, because when the operation turns sideways, it turns into a fucking nightmare, but when it's time for them to die, they do so gloriously in slow motion against the sunlight with sad music playing in the background. If you want to see a movie that wipes all trace of sentimentality, look no further than 12 Years a Slave. That's how you play it straight.
I admit, I teared up at the end of all three movies, but 12 Years almost had me sobbing, along with the rest of the theater. It's been a pretty strong stretch for movies in the last few months. You got American Hustle, Her, and Wolf of Wall Street, all great contenders for movie of the year. My choice for best picture? 12 Years a Slave. It's the safe bet.
I also had a short chat with my co-conspirators, of which one of whom has recently adopted a new identity. If you can figure it out, then you have absolutely no life considering you're reading this entry on some random blog in the darkest corner of the internet. I merely ate dinner and watched them chat back and forth. I feel like I'm a half generation ahead. I can follow their conversations easily, but is it really necessary to pump your words chock full of memes and netslang? Then again, even among my peers, I hold an unnatural inclination towards class and classy behavior.
Just call me a gentleman.
/eventlog
