What Are We Gonna Do With All This Trash?: September 2010

September 30, 2010

The Weight of Expectations (UPDATE)

I heard about "the Facebook movie" about 18 months ago. What a terrible idea for a movie, I thought. As the arbiter of all entertainment, I continued to think, clearly suffering some sort of fever dream, I cannot think of a worse premise for a movie. (My subconscious had obviously forgotten about the premise for Gerry.)

I don't have anything against Facebook. Though I have never joined a social networking website, I understand their value, and I get why they are so popular. They're just not my speed.

But the idea of a major film about Facebook seemed laughable. Then I heard about a year ago that David Fincher (The Game, Fight Club) would direct the movie. Wha...? Then I read that Aaron Sorkin ("The West Wing," Charlie Wilson's War) would write the film. Whaaaaaaaa...?

Two filmmakers I usually enjoy seemed to have hit the point in their career when they give up and just start taking work to make money. Then they teamed up to make the world's most boring movie.

But I'm going to see it tonight anyway. From Sorkin's and Fincher's past work, I already know two things about The Social Network: it will look fantastic, and it will feature many scenes where characters display razor-sharp wit during conversations that take place while walking somewhere.

I hope it's good.

Update

The Social Network is good. Really good. Surprisingly really good. Like, so-good-I'm-thinking-about-going-back-to-see-it-again good.

This, though, may be a great example of expectations affecting your reaction to something. Just last week, I saw The Town with a couple of friends. I have pretty high standards for heist movies (it's probably my favorite movie genre), and had seen and very much liked Affleck's Gone Baby Gone, so I was hoping for something amazing. The Town is okay. It's good, not great. But a friend, who knew nothing going into the movie and had no expectations, thought it was great. So there you go.

Expectations: the sure way to always disappoint yourself.

September 03, 2010

On A Much More Serious Note...

...what the hell?!? Does your address work on thewildernessdowntown.com? Mine doesn't.

Apparently there aren't a lot of Google images of Queen Elizabeth Drive. Surprising.

A History Of Trash

Trash, at first, was a pretty cool guy. You know, he’d come over with some beers, and you’d hang out and have a couple of laughs. Maybe Trash brought some weed with him, and you guys tried to sync up Dark Side Of The Moon with The Wizard Of Oz until you remembered you lost your VHS copy of that movie sometime in college and that you fucking hate Pink Floyd. Good times were had, nonetheless.

But then, you don’t know what changed, but Trash started to overstay his welcome. He’d just linger for hours, never taking the hint you wanted him to leave, no matter how many times you yawned obnoxiously or mentioned how early you had to get up tomorrow. Trash just didn’t get it. You were getting older. You didn’t have the time anymore to stay up until 3 a.m. to talk about the Port season of “The Wire” or how much you miss Jawbox. Eventually, you just stopped taking Trash’s phone calls and no longer replied to his group e-mails about sneaking into abandoned mental hospitals.

Last time you saw Trash, he was smoking alone outside a local dive bar, looking down at his decaying and mismatched shoes. You hoped he had been doing well. You hoped he had not been hurt by the disintegration of your friendship. And if he had, you wanted to comfort him. You wanted to tell him that even though people move on with their lives, it doesn’t mean they stop caring. You wanted him to see in your eyes a sincere appreciation for the time you shared, because all the relationships in our lives help make us who we are, and even if you weren’t the best of friends anymore, you wanted him to know that there would always be a piece of Trash in your heart.

But instead, you looked away and crossed the street. You were with your new girlfriend, and you really didn’t want to have to explain Trash to her. She’d never understand.