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It’s a conspiracy

I had just gone to bed when the lightning storm started around one last night. I got up to watch it, knowing I’d never be able to get to sleep anyway with all the wind and thunder. As I pulled the curtain away from the window, lightning struck and the power went out.

Oh well, I thought. I was going to bed anyway. Who cares about electricity?

And then I realized that the air conditioner had stopped too.

Damn. Not tonight.

I did a silent prayer to the god of fresh air. Please please please. I can’t sleep in the heat. And it’s hot as hell. Please please please.

The god of fresh air speaks in mysterious ways. I got an answer in the form of electronic beeps, the stressful kind you get when the batteries are about to go out on your gadgets.

It’s a bit scary, you know. Weird beeps in the dark. Like there’s a bomb somewhere in the house but Jack Bauer is never going to be able to find it because:
1. he won’t have enough time
2. it’s freakin dark in here

It was so dark that I couldn’t even see my cat. He’s a very black cat, you see.

Kitty? You still here?

Kitty?

THUMP…

Jack? Is that you?

MEEEOOOWWWW!

Shit! Sorry kitty!

Then the power came back and all the clocks, VCRs and cordless phones started blinking like crazy, doing their naggy « we got power » dance.

But the lights kept flickering, threatening to go out again.

I ran to Blork’s bedstand, knowing that my always-ready-for-a-catastrophe man would have what I needed.

Yep. There it was. One of the dozens of flashlights that my beau has hidden in drawers around the house (because you never know where you’re going to be when you’ll need a flashlight). I also grabbed the phone and put it by the bedstand. I jumped under the cover. The kitty joined me in bed but turned his back to me, still mad that I stepped on his tail.

Flashlight. Phone. Pj pants by the foot of the bed in case I need to evacuate quickly, should a tree fall on the house. A fridge full of food just in case somebody decides to bomb us for no reason (hey, it happens these days). I was armed and ready. My beau would be proud of me.

If only he were here.

Sigh…

I’m a big girl. I’ve lived on my own before.

But why does the power have to go out every time he’s out of town?

A knuckle-dragging retard giant

Salon just published an interesting analysis of the Snakes on a Plane movie phenomenom:

This reveals the meaning of the cult classic. The C factor lies not in the shittiness of the film but in the agreement between moviemaker and moviegoer on the film’s shittiness. The moviegoer goes to see a movie and thinks, « Wow, this movie is going to be terrible for X, Y and Z reasons. » The bad movie delivers reasons X, Y and Z. The cult film responds, « Oh yeah? You think you know X, Y and Z? We’re gonna show you some X, Y and Z! »

« Snakes on a Plane » is an agreement, but one born of an unlikely power shift. It’s an agreement between moviegoer and Hollywood. It’s an agreement between David and Goliath, where Goliath slips up and calls himself a knuckle-dragging retard giant.
[…]

In this sense « Snakes on a Plane » is more than just a title and more than just a cult movie. It’s an exposure of the inner workings of Hollywood. It’s an admission on the part of movie writers, directors, producers and distributors that this movie is, as Samuel L. Jackson has put it, « Motherfucking Snakes on a Motherfucking Plane! » Through a tiny crack in the façade of the movie industry, moviegoers saw that the industry itself doesn’t believe in its own magic. It’s not just that the emperor wears no clothes when he parades through the streets; it’s that everyone inside the palace freely admits that he’s naked.
[…]

Americans don’t just love the culture industry; they fetishize it. But Americans are also savvier than most theoreticians believe. The lamest and most transparent attempts of the culture industry to deceive us are defeated not by outright rejection, but by assimilation. The worse the slogan, the better the T-shirt. A secular humanist wearing a T-shirt that says « Jesus Is my Homeboy! » is the same as a movie fan loving « Snakes on a Plane. » It’s an act of dissent that also strangely supports the establishment. It’s like cheering for the emperor’s nakedness.