27 July 2008

The Origin of Best. Morning. Ever.


"It's sort of thanking and making fun of T all at once, as

all titles inspired by the most beloved friends should do."


Why the hell did I come up with this title? Well, let me tell you via email transcripts, having received an email with the subject line "BEST. MORNING. EVER." this morning.

[BEGIN TRANSCRIPTS]

T: FOR MORE REASONS THAN I CARE TO DESCRIBE, BUT HERE'S A LITTLE PIECE OF WHY TODAY'S SO GRAND:

(This colon is followed by a long pasting about Hugh Jackman (Wolverine) at the San Diego Comic-Con and the excitement of the crowd viewing clips from the upcoming X-Men Origins: Wolverine (2009) movie.)

Me: Um...fanboy rave reaction does not mean a good final product with a worthwhile story. If there's no emotion, nothing really at stake, then it's simply fanboy hype, fight scenes, and special effects sequences.

T: UM...YES IT DOES.

IF THERE'S HYPE, FIGHT SCENES AND SPECIAL EFFECTS BUT NO EMOTION NOR ANYTHING AT STAKE, THAT PRETTY MUCH SUMS UP MY LIFE. THEREFORE FANBOY REACTION (WHICH, AHEM, DESCRIBES YOU AND I BOTH) IS EVERYTHING.

Me: Sigh...You're a fucker, you know?

X-Men 3 would have been totally worthless if it weren't for the emotional investment we have in those characters, and of course, if the first half of the movie did not exist, because most of the fights and special effects in the second half were worthless. Half a hundred mutants with super leaping power? WTF?

Me (again, without waiting for a response): PS: Next time you title an email as you did your initial one regarding the Wolverine movie, it better be because you just had the best sex ever.

T:
YOU KNOW WHAT I LIKE ABOUT YOU. YOU READ BETWEEN THE LINES.

[END TRANSCRIPTS]

Mind you, T always types in all CAPS.

Apparently what makes a good movie is fights and explosions and leaping mutants. There need not be character development, emotional impact, or any inkling of drama. Fuck me if I, and all those dead Athenian playwrights, been wrong all these years.

Inspiration

The idea to write a blog where I can selfishly rant and rave with little thought for purpose and consequence has somewhat been inspired by a bloke I've just met via Bookmooch. This guy Ethan Kaye (who likes to Google himself) writes for Toyfare Magazine and
comic book magazine Wizard Universe (online). I now enjoy reading Ethan's blog, Feed Me a Kitten, which I have bussed in via RSS feed every time he posts.

I also cannot forget to mention writer Warren Ellis. Finally able to latch onto a fraction of the web-based technology which he uses to broadcast his mind across the electronic world, I can read everything from his site on my nifty feed. He's like the mother's breast I could never suckle at as a child, so now I insert the feeding tube from his braintips (his brains likely number at least ten and are located in his fingertips) into my stomach directly. Last night I went to bed in hunger. Tonight I sleep a nirvanic sleep like all his other bastard cyber-children. He once responded to an email I wrote him, but that post is for another day.

Behind it all

This is simply a space for me to be my weird self, whether or not I am ever original or truly creative. There's a whole philosophical debate raging in my head at the moment about the definitions of these terms and whether or not they can even possibly be applied using the generally accepted definitions.

I am a product of my environment and all your environments which can't help but interact with my weather systems. Cheers to that.

Thanks

So to friends new and old, real-life and internet, and of course real or imagined, I thank you all for past, present, and future inspiration, as the definition of inspiration should include all time designations.

1 comment:

R. Argyll said...

Love these lines:

He's like the mother's breast I could never suckle at as a child, so now I insert the feeding tube from his braintips (his brains likely number at least ten and are located in his fingertips) into my stomach directly. Last night I went to bed in hunger. Tonight I sleep a nirvanic sleep like all his other bastard cyber-children.