Sonnet 87

Full disclaimer: I didn’t watch the Super Bowl. My post yesterday will probably hint to you that I don’t care about the Super Bowl, or its half-time show, or the ads. My friends on Facebook and the message boards I frequent were dissecting the ads last night, though, and there seemed to be universal revulsion for the Dodge Charger’s “Man’s Last Stand” ad. So I went to check it out:

Um . . . are you serious? No, really? We women are fun-suckers who make it so guys can only express themselves through a Dodge Charger (Dodges, by the way, are awful cars, so I would fully expect the Charger to fall apart should a man choose to make a last stand in one). Let’s examine the list of things that poor men have to engage in because we harpies have trapped them into a life of quiet desperation:

I will get up and walk the dog at 6:30am. Bzzt. 6:45am, and I’m the first one up, if you can believe it. No dog. I would love a dog. IP hates dogs. Ergo? No dog. (Don’t tell me to get a cat: I hate cats and IP’s allergic.) If we had a dog, I’d run with the damn dog. That’s why I’d want one: instant running buddy I would take care of since I wanted him, not IP.

I will eat some fruit as part of my breakfast. I do encourage IP to eat fruit. But he never really listened to me and has, subsequently, stumbled onto a love of clementines on his own. I had nothing to do with it. On the other hand, he sometimes gently pushes me towards vegetables. What’s that, you say? A woman who doesn’t subsist on celery? The horrors!

I will shave. I do like a clean-shaven man, but should IP really feel the need to go back to his mountain man days, he can go back to his mountain man days. I’ve no authority over his facial hair just like he has no say in how short I cut my hair.

I will clean the sink after I shave. Yeah, I don’t recall ever demanding this at all. He’s done it of his own volition since we moved in together. I’m actually the one who loses hair like nobody’s business and has to keep an eye out for gatherings of my hair here and there.

I will be at work by 8am. Bzzt again. 9am. And I’ll be at work, too. Why does this ad assume that women are at home and are forcing men to be the breadwinners? Do they not realize we’re in a recession? That two incomes are needed to survive these days? I do the commute, too, I dislike my job, too, but I do it because it’s necessary. And I don’t believe women created the corporate and economic structure. Who was that? Oh yeah. Men.

I will sit through two hour meetings. So will I. They’re boring as can be but they’re a part of the job. And you know what makes my job bearable? No, not my goddamn car (which is a great Mazda3), but knowing that I get to end the day with my husband at home.

I will say yes when you want me to say yes. Please don’t be spineless. It’s unattractive in anybody, male or female. You protest? Then protest.

I will be quiet when you don’t want to hear me say no. Why does the media insist on perpetuating the idea of a man keeping his counsel in the face of a shrew? Why is equality in communication so hard to envision? Why are women supposed to always carry the day when we so obviously don’t? I don’t make as much as you do, my reproductive capabilities are always up for legislation, I’ve been of a victim of sexual harassment. All done by very vocal, aggressive men. We’d love to hear you keep quiet about our pay, our wombs, our fine asses (among many other things). But you don’t. So don’t pretend we limit your freedom of speech when it’s men who tend to limit our freedom of movement and being.

I will take your call. And I will take yours. What’s your point?

I will listen to your opinion of my friends. And I will listen to yours. There are a bunch of IP’s acquaintances whom I don’t like. He’s not shy about mocking my friends, either. Guess what? He doesn’t hang out with the ones he dislikes. I do the same.

I will listen to your friends’ opinions of my friends. Yeah, no. That doesn’t happen. And if it did, I’d want IP to point out how inappropriate this is so I could call out my friend (and vice versa).

I will be civil to your mother. IP loves my mother. He loves my dad so much he’s willing to pay $1,000 to call him “Dad”. As pleasant as IP’s parents are to me, I’ll never have the rapport with them that he has with my parents. So yes, I will be civil to IP’s father and mother, thanks.

I will put the seat down. Yeah, IP does leave the seat up at times. But? Guess what? It doesn’t bother me. I am able to put the seat down if need be, just like he pulls the seat up if need be.

I will separate the recycling. I do this, too, macho man.

I will carry your lip balm. Huh? Why just the balm? Anyway . . . When IP sees me balancing my purse precariously for one reason or another, he’ll ask me if I need him to hold my purse. I will usually say no, but sometimes I can’t keep my balance and have to say yes. What’s the big deal? He offered. And? I carry his stuff in my purse all the time.

I will watch your vampire TV shows with you. I hate vampires. We don’t have a TV. Yet I have plenty of shows I like, but I don’t force IP to watch them with me on YouTube, Hulu, or iTunes. Why? Because I don’t need to have him there 24/7. We’re both introverts and like to have some time to ourselves, and that sometimes includes mindless media for the both of us.

I will take my socks off before getting into bed. Is this really an issue? I wear socks to bed. My feet get cold. IP does not. Is there some kind of gender imbalance that we’re currently unaware of, a social norm we’re violating? Someone please explain!

I will put my underwear in the basket. Another thing that I think IP was doing of his own volition before I showed up, I believe. He’s pretty organized. I’m the clutter person. He gets exasperated at me. How’s that for role reversal?

And because I do this, I drive the car I want to drive. So . . . a man is willing to put up with so-called emasculation and inequality (which, in most cases, are just examples of the responsibilities all adults have, not just  men) just so he can drive a Charger. I don’t know about you other couples out there, but we like to do things on equal terms around the WordNerdia-IPia household. And we all have to do chores that add up, yes, in order to bring some semblance of order to our lives. We all engage in routines because, hey, that’s adulthood, and I’m sure most guys were on a similar daily schedule before they coupled off with their partners (or were they just smashing beer cans against their foreheads? Somehow I think not.). IP and I are also quite kind to each other, and like to bright each others’ day, be it little stuff like IP visiting me at work for lunch or me going to the deli to pick up some beer for the weekend.

Being together means cooperation, and that means that one side is not always on the triumphant side, changing the things she hates about the man and making him into a good, pliant husband. The best thing about IP is that he makes me pause, evaluate, sometimes modify my beliefs, attitudes or actions. I know I do the same for him. A good partner makes you grow, and I’m willing to bet that the people (men) who made this commercial have no idea how to communicate with a woman as a person—we’re probably just little ladies who are fun to have sex with, but take away their fun in exchange. So what’s the only escape? A car! The only place of sanctuary.

Except that men dominate and run the private and public sectors of our lives. The fact that this even aired speaks to the dominance of men; the female version would never air (let’s see . . . I will let you sleep when you can’t get out of bed with your mild, spring cold; I will let you take your mother’s side even though you’re supposed to back me up; I will raise our children single-handedly while you play Xbox; I will wear makeup so that you don’t have to see the real me; I will attend all school meetings without you because you’re tired from your job [never mind that I am, too] . . . shall I go on?).

What is with the anger? What is with the need to revolt (sometimes violently) against half of the population when you basically control the world and there’s really nothing against which to revolt? The whole Michael C. Hall narration on the Dodge one was creepy. It’s like, hey, let’s see how far we can push this suburban family man/serial killer to the edge with the humdrum of everyday life that applies to everyone but that women obviously imposed. Must kiiiiilllll perceived domestication, even if it’s only while driving a car.

Don’t even get me started on the Bridgestone Tires one. That one was just. sick.

Nice one, advertisers. You just managed to offend half of your consumer base on the most-watched night of the year. I  never pay attention to the ads and even I’m pissed.

Stop the video at 5:07 if you don’t want to continue watching Daria; that’s where my point ends.

*whispers* In case you couldn’t guess, I don’t care about the Super Bowl!

As I begin writing this, snowflakes of death have been descending for over a day from the heavens and wreaking their vengeance on my fellow D.C.ers and me for our vanity, blasphemy, and worship of the god that is the Beltway. Or, we’re just getting a really big and unusual winter storm.

Since it looks like hibernation is the order of the day, how about some random observations to tide us over, hmm?

• Soon you’ll be seeing the debut of a new feature on Sonnet 87: actual sonnets. I get all kinds of crazy sonnet searches ranging from zombie sonnets to Ann Arbor sonnets to sonnets 2010, so I figured why not? Using the searches as inspiration and varying between Spenserian, Shakespearean and Petrarchan, I will slowly but surely write the sonnets. However, since they will be creative works, I’ll be placing the blog under a Creative Commons license. Which one, I don’t know yet. Will my sonnets be good enough to steal? No, most likely not. Will they be funny? Hopefully so, and not in a painful way. Are they copyright worthy? Yeah, since it’s my work. I can’t help it if some kid wants searches for my non-existent analysis of Shakespeare’s Sonnet 87 for his or her college paper, but I wouldn’t want something into which I put some minimal creative effort used for someone else’s profit. Like I said, I doubt they’ll be good enough to steal, but I do want to cover my ass.
• Three nights ago, I had a dream that I was a groupie for Rob Thomas. Yep, you read that right, I was a groupie for the lead singer of matchbox twenty. While I do find him attractive, it’s less in a hubba-hubba kind of a way and more in a “Can my husband and I have coffee with you and your wife sometime? You two seem cool,” way. Although I don’t know if IP would go for that: he thinks Thomas is a whiny singer with random lyrics. I personally think Rob Thomas is an excellent lyricist and just gets better as time goes on. I’m starting to think of him as Paul Simon-y: willing to experiment different genres, maturing with his writing, and doing what he can to push himself creatively while a lot of other people are stuck in the pop rock world. And here I must add that I’ve been listening to Cradlesong non-stop during my commutes and workouts lately.
• For the second weekend in a row, a snowstorm has ruined our dresser-shopping expedition. Cue sad WordNerd. Because I’ll be traveling to visit Michigan next weekend (assuming Tuesday and Wednesday aren’t snowy clusterfucks themselves that ruin flight plans), IP and I won’t be able to go then, either. In the meantime, the old dresser has stopped shaving off pieces of my left middle finger, so at least there’s a ray of sunshine in this woeful tale of unattained bedroom furniture.
• I don’t care if President Obama used “Snowmaggedon” for this particular storm, or that many other people are, too—in the WordNerdia-IPia household, it’s Snowpocalypse 2010 or snOMG II. Iwisse. (Pssst. Iwisse means “truly” or “indeed” for all of you not in the Middle English know. Yes, it’s obsolete.) But the whole Snovechkin thing in reference to the Caps’ Alex Ovechkin? I love hockey, and I can see kind of what fans are going for, but: a clunker of a name, honestly.
• Apparently all liquor stores in MoCo are closed today. IP is doubly happy that he stopped off to get some Jack Daniels after an appointment because he finds the closed condition of the liquor stores to be “just cruel”.
• Is there anything cozier than baking some cookies, writing a post, and exchanging snarky comments with the husband? Methinks not.

That’s all your WordNerd has for now!

P.S.: This is Sonnet 87’s 900th post. Huzzah!

Hate is such a strong word, but when your dresser rips the skin off your middle finger’s knuckle, you hate it. With a passion.

I have to say, though, I hate it when people say that hate is such a strong word. So is love. Yet people use that with abandon just as often as hate, no? The above being the case, I can’t believe I began this post with a phrase that I hate so much!

Anyway . . .

I really do hate our dresser. It’s actually a conglomeration of two Target dressers: one IP bought out west and one that he bought here when two of the drawers started to fall apart on him. The styles are similar but still off: that leaves our drawers uneven, with one or all of them slipping forward on the wheel track and opening. In order to make sure that at least two of the drawers stay put, I have to layer the two middle drawers: the top middle above the bottom middle. That involves pushing up the top middle drawer base over the bottom middle’s lip. And sometimes my poor middle finger gets caught in the crossfire. I think I’ve done it to myself about five times this week. Something must be shifting because I used to be able to do this with ease and no fear of injury.

Over the weekend I scraped off skin and started to bleed. Much swearing ensued. IP looked on silently during my diatribe against the dresser until it ended, and then said, “Okay, task for next weekend. New dresser.”

Yay!

I’ve been agitating for one, but have never really gotten myself together enough to organize a weekend trip to the furniture story. The new dresser calls for moving my old desk into the second bedroom (and it’ll replace IP’s old, old desk which needs to be tossed along with the old dresser). It’ll free up space in our bedroom and give us not only room for our clothes but it’ll save my left middle finger’s skin.

So, now? Onto day dreaming!

My absolute favorite from Ethan Allen, priced at $1,599:

Up next, at $2,299 (!), this beauty from Crate and Barrel:

At $1,199, this dresser from Pottery Barn isn’t the greatest simply because it’s white, but I do love the style:

And finally, a two more realistic purchases. Not as nice or charming, but I guess as long as they don’t scrape half of the skin off my finger I’ll be content.

This dude, at $540, from Roomstore:

Or this one at $585 from Roomstore. If they had another color, I’d go for this:

In the end, though, we just need another dresser, and soon, before I’m walking around my phalanges showing (hyperbole much!?)

While reading Jasper Fforde’s complete oeuvre in 2008, the back of the books contained an advertisement for Fforde’s upcoming novel, Shades of Grey. I was geeked, of course: as you may remember, Ffrode was my Best Discovery of 2008 and The Eyre Affair won Best Book of 2008. I find his work simply delightful: it’s imaginative, witty, and the underlying themes of all books (including this one) are to question authority, maintain individuality, and do what you can to improve society, not what you’re told you should do (which often doesn’t benefit society at all, just the elite). So, not only are they fun to read for their alternative reality/fantasy/futuristic bent, but Fforde’s trying to say something. He’s not just zany.

Anyway, the advertisements for Shades of Grey? Well, one said July 2008, another said July 2009. But both dates rolled on by without the book forthcoming. My friend and I would periodically check for updates (she recommended Fforde to me initially), and it was my friend who finally saw that Shades of Grey: The Road to High Saffron would be released in late December 2009. I pre-ordered it and waited. I was a bit nervous, I admit: the book had been pushed off from publication for more than a year, so that could portend some serious problems with the plot, character development, pacing, or a host of other problems.

I’m pretty happy to say that the book was worth the wait.

I want to be fair, though: the book, while good, could’ve used some tightening. It reads a bit slow during the first third of the novel; the story seems to be casting about to find its ground, and the introduction of the new world that Fforde created is a bit confusing. Simply put, society in Fforde’s new universe is arranged by what an individual can see on the color spectrum, ranging from the lowly Greys to the lofty Purples—they are all know, collectively, as the Collective (see what I did there!?). Strict adherence to the Rules are the path to a calm in unremarkable life, and the rite of passage at the age of 20 can either lift you up (depending on how you test and what your visual color range is) or throw you down. Apart We Are Together is the credo of the society, and the book’s main protagonist, Jane G-23 (a Grey) and Eddie Russett (a Red), unite in a struggle to allow freedom of ideas, expression, and the right to choose a path in life (instead of having one assigned to you). (ETA: This all comes, by the way, after Something That Happened, which is implied to be how our society destroyed itself and caused a massive upheaval that sorted itself out into Munsell’s Epiphany, the man who presumably set the new world order.) While all this is crystal clear to me now, the beginning was a bit muddy. Not fatally so, but it’s evident that Fforde may have struggled a bit as to how to introduce the world. The back-of-book adverts give me roughly the same story that appeared in the finished product, but I believe that Eddie and Jane are younger than originally envisioned. At the start of the novel, both have not taken the Ishihara (the rite of passage and, of course, the test for colorblindness); the initial summaries of the book had Eddie already in the working world when Jane came into his life.

I felt that the book hit its stride when certain shortages are discussed; the obvious parallel was oil shortages. The discussion of these problems began to nudge out Eddie into a starker light, which propelled the book immensely. From there, the characters solidified into people as opposed to products of this strange society, and Jane evolved from being the girl with the striking retroussé nose to an intelligent and solitary revolutionary; Eddie evolved from being a Red color dunce to a leader who would do more than take his place in the Collective. The high stakes that change carries are clearly demonstrated in the latter half of the book: the privileges of position and leadership can lead to death or covert insurrection from within. The power of leadership can lead to selfishness or selflessness. I will be kind with this book and also not spoil the ending, but I’m happy to say that the back of the book announces that there are at least two more forthcoming Shades of Grey novels. I feel that once Fforde hits his groove he’s incredibly hard to knock off, so I’d expect the second and third books of the series to be considerably stronger. Unless, of course, this is Fforde being cheeky and there won’t actually be a Book 2 and Book 3, but there’s too much unresolved and too much revolution to set into motion at the end of Book 1. The story as a standalone could work, but the final chapters set us up for new adventures.

And what is, you may be asking yourself, High Saffron? Again, I won’t spoil, but I will say that the road to hell is paved with good intentions. Or at least seemingly good intentions.

Onto the book list.

Finished:

1) The Broken Teaglass by Emily Arsenault
2) The War of Art: Break Through the Blocks and Win Your Inner Creative Battles by Steven Pressfield
3) The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peal Society by Mary Ann Shaffer and Annie Barrows
4) Shades of Grey: The Road to High Saffron by Jasper Fforde

Re-read:

Empty

Currently Reading:

1) Shakespeare’s Wife by Germaine Greer
2) Marie Antoinette: The Journey by Antonia Fraser

Waiting To Be Read (Already Purchased, Got as Gifts, Borrowed from My Husband or Otherwise Accessible without the Use of Funds, But Not an Assurance That I Will Read These Before I Buy More Books):
1) The Case for Books: Past, Present, and Future by Robert Darnton
2) Wishful Drinking by Carrie Fisher
3) Lavinia by Ursula K. Le Guin
4) Under the Dome by Stephen King

*”Shades of Grey”, River of Dreams, Billy Joel.

. . . with an unsettled feeling in the pit of my stomach. Massachusetts elected a Republican senator and the Red Wings lost to the Washington Capitals despite controlling the game. Coincidence? I think not.

EVIL IS AFOOT IN THE WORLD.

But I just want to say that I love my husband. Big time.

That is all. Carry on!

I really like words. I really like digging into words and knowing their meanings, origins, and future directions. Probably in an pretty nice world, I’d be a lexicographer, researching and defining words in quiet camaraderie with my fellow lexicographers. I’d be assigned a portion of the dictionary, then research and define my way through said portion. In this way, I get to work with the things I like best while still working on my own for the most part. Forget being a team player: I’m the one who always has to pull the most weight, anyway, and I’m sick of interacting with people. Words will talk back, they’ll alternatively confuse and elucidate me, but I imagine it would be like having a very interesting conversation all day long. Instead of explaining to the entitled science academic why we couldn’t get wireless in the meeting room (deemed unnecessary by the hosts—but the entitled science academic will still stomp her foot and scream “Right now!” like a two-year-old instead of accepting the situation like the supposedly respected scientist she is).

But I digress.

My first book of the year is Emily Arsenault’s debut novel, The Broken Teaglass, a tale of two lexicographers and the murder mystery they find embedded within the citation files they work with on a day-to-day basis. The protagonists are Billy, a recent college grad who majored in philosophy, and Mona, an employee of Samuelson Company, who has one year of seniority on Billy. They’re brought together when Billy is asked to take on a correspondent who Mona’s been handling—the last letter contained references to dominatrix and editrix, prompting Billy and Mona’s supervisor, Dan, to turn to Billy to answer the letter. Billy consults first with Mona, and that’s when they stumble upon the first citation (cits, for shorthand) among editrix that will lead to a complete story and real-life murder mystery that begins to involve current and former employees of Samuelson Company. Mona takes the lead and Billy follows, indulgently at first, but he becomes immersed and involved in the story told by Dolores Beekmim, pen name for former employee of Samuelson Company.

Although Billy and Mona focus and fixate on the story of the murder that involves their colleagues, the book does not attempt to drive at the need for justice or a public revelation of the story they find. Rather, the discovery of the cits that are told under a story also titled The Broken Teaglass mirror Billy’s own coming-of-age; sure, he doesn’t murder anyone, but the ennui that can settle in soon after you get your first job is all too evident in Billy’s and the cit writer’s day-to-day life; both the cit writer and Billy harbor a secret that they apparently refuse to share with their closest confidantes. Even the situation that leads to the murder is reflected in Mona and Billy’s first interaction: the passing of correspondence.

In contrast to most book lists, I’m actually not going to spoil this one. Why? Because it’s a good, solid read. It does start off a bit slow, but the pace quickly picks up as Billy and Mona become more defined as characters. I would say that the biggest weakness are the murder cits themselves; not in that they’re badly written or irrelevant, but some are repeated several times—sure, it is helpful because you can pick up on clues more easily in the repetition, but I did find it a bit tedious to read the cit for softbound over and over again even if it was Billy’s favorite.

Arsenault, in her acknowledgments, apologizes to her fellow lexicographers, both for fudging the lexicographical process a bit, and for rendering a lexicography office as more of a stodgy, uptight environment. What’s funny is that I walked away from the book wanting to work for Samuelson Company (in a more ideal location, of course; trade Massachusetts for Colorado and I’m so there). Murders in the cit files aside, I wanted to bury my head in words all day and not come up until it was time to go home.

Oh, and I wouldn’t mind a teaglass. I imagine it to look this when not broken:

Onto the 2010 book list:

Finished:

1) The Broken Teaglass by Emily Arsenault
2) The War of Art: Break Through the Blocks and Win Your Inner Creative Battles by Steven Pressfield
3) The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peal Society by Mary Ann Shaffer and Annie Barrows

Re-read:

Empty

Currently Reading:

1) Shakespeare’s Wife by Germaine Greer

Waiting To Be Read (Already Purchased, Got as Gifts, Borrowed from My Husband or Otherwise Accessible without the Use of Funds, But Not an Assurance That I Will Read These Before I Buy More Books):

1) Shades of Grey by Jasper Fforde
2) The Case for Books: Past, Present, and Future by Robert Darnton
3) Marie Antoinette: The Journey by Antonia Fraser
4) Wishful Drinking by Carrie Fisher
5) Lavinia by Ursula K. Le Guin
6) Under the Dome by Stephen King

Stop! Writing and actually sending this would be extremely rude and poor etiquette! Don’t do it. Never do it. For any event. Ever.

My cousin letter on this blog was not actually sent to my cousins. It was done anonymously and with no intention of it ever seeing the familial or friend light of day.

If people ask or hint that they’re invited to your wedding, you say this:

“Well, we’re still working on the guest list. Due to budget/space, we may not be able to include everyone we’d like to.”  Or “I’m sorry, but given the economy/budget/family, we’re keeping it small.” End of story. If they insist, drop the wedding as a topic of conversation.

Some other tips:

• You don’t invite the un-invitees to pre-wedding events. No showers, no bach parties, nothing. It’s rude. It says, “Get me a gift, but you’re not important enough to invite to the main event.”
• You stop talking about the wedding in front of these people. I know you’re excited, but you need to stop unless you want to give the impression that you’re sharing because they’re invited.

I know it’s stressful to be asked those questions. But answer them with the above, follow the tips, and go on with your life. People will not implode if they’re not invited to your wedding. It’s not the end of the world. I doubt they’ll care six months from now.

But seriously? NO LETTERS. NONE. You don’t point out that they’re not invited. EVAH!

(Author’s note: I rarely feel the need to address the random searches I get, but this has been happening with some frequency. Just so Emily Post doesn’t start rolling over in her grave, claws her way out, and begins a zombie epidemic when she bites and infects rude brides and grooms, I thought I’d post this. You’re welcome!)

The last time that IP and I saw a movie at the theaters was, well, never. During our dating, engaged, and now married relationship, we’ve never gone to the movies together. Why? Because you can’t talk and snark at the movie when other people are paying $10.00 a ticket. It would be rude, no?

That said, we tend not to watch movies together at home, either. IP has his Hulu or copies of the Lord of the Rings trilogy; I’ve been buying classic costume dramas off (Anne of the Thousand Days, the jewel that is The Lion in Winter) iTunes and watching Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince on my iPhone on the way to work when I don’t feel like reading. We’ll both occasionally rent movies from iTunes, hunt them down on YouTube, but never together. The only movies I can remember watching together are Monty Python and the Holy Grail and Spaceballs early on in our relationship. We also watched the first episode of The Sopranos together.

We can now add Paranormal Activity to that list.

The movie was lent to me by a friend who felt he didn’t have the guts to watch it; he asked the I evaluate it and report back on the level of scary of this movie. I love horror movies—you know my zombie obsession well, and I do have a thing for ghosts and things that go bump in the night. I spent part of Christmas break watching The Haunting, which was pretty well done. I also accidentally watched The House on Haunted Hill (I got confused, okay?) before The Haunting and found it lacking (murder mystery more than ghost film), but enjoyed Vincent Price’s much-missed cheesiness. Anyway, I like to be scared, and will often visit ghost story websites during the day to freak myself out at night.

Paranormal Activity has an 82% fresh rating on Rotten Tomatoes; I’ve heard nothing but good about it, and my little brother was scared witless by it. I’ve wanted to see it, but given that I usually don’t go to the movies, I figured I’d wait until it was available on DVD/iTunes/Hulu/YouTube. When it fell into my lap, I invited IP to join me. Part of my motivation to ask him to watch it with me was a) I like his snark and 2) I wanted his reassuring presence if I indeed get scared. I like to watch my horror movies in pairs at the very least; I still can’t bring myself to watch Night of the Living Dead by myself, even with IP wandering the apartment.

So, as with anything posted on Sonnet87, beware: spoilers ahead.

A young couple has been experiencing paranormal phenomenon that has been following the female half, Katie, since she was eight-years-old. Micah, her boyfriend of three years, decides that documentation of the events is in order. He somehow rationalizes it to Katie by stating that having proof will empower them to do something about the phenomenon. Okey-dokey! The story is told, documentary-style, as the camera follows them throughout their mostly uneventful days and disturbed nights.

A psychic is called in early in the film, but he can do nothing: what’s disturbing the couple (an English student with aspirations to be a teacher and day-trader) is a demon who wants nothing but Katie. Oh shit! He gives them the name of a friend who is a demonologist and qualified to help them. Micah single-handedly decides that the psychic is full of crap (even though the psychic said, at the beginning of the session, that he tries to find scientific explanations for the events his investigates before jumping to conclusions) and vetoes the idea of calling a demonologist. Katie goes along with it and allows Micah to continue filming so that he can “do” something about it. This guy is absolutely convinced that he can fix this, but never explains how.

The one thing Katie forbids him to do is buy a Ouija board. What does Micah do? He borrows one, because we all know that the hallmark of a strong relationship is twisting each others’ words and meanings to get our way! And here is my big beef with the film: lots of people are saying it’s great in that it showcases and nicely represents a relationship. To which I say: WTF? He never listens to her, he dismisses her concerns and reasoning, he keeps on doing things that are aggravating the situation instead of helping it, and might I emphasize again that he never listens to her? This spoof on YouTube nicely sums up Micah’s prevalent dialogue (starts at 1:47):

Seriously, this guy has to have it his way. He rationalizes this by pointing out that Katie never spoke of the haunting before she moved in with him. Okay, fair, but his solutions to the situation do not make things better, they just make things worse. But he’s the techy expert, right, and technology is the solution to all man’s problems, so she should just go along with him. Which she does. Things start to get worse: noises are louder, doors start to slam, talcum footprints appear and Katie feels something breathing down her neck. Let’s not forget to mention Katie watching Micah sleep hours.

When Katie finally wises up and calls the psychic again, the psychic refuses to stay in the house for more than a moment, indicating that his colleague the demonologist is out of the country and will be back in a few days. Well, Katie and Micah don’t have a few days thanks to Micah dicking around and Katie blindly following his lead. If you don’t want to know the theatrical ending, turn away: Katie is possessed, kills Micah, and then disappears.

The psychic clearly says that a demon feeds off negative energy. Katie and Micah’s relationship descends into nothing but fights and frights. It’s a self-perpetuating situation, true, but maybe it could’ve been solved by opening the blinds during the day to let the sunlight in? Getting out of the house, going for a walk and working together to find a way to deal with this? Turning on the lights when something happened? Maybe ditching the camera for once when the situation seemed out of control instead of lugging it around? I’d say there’s a reason that demon-Katie goes for the camera after she kills Micah (and it has less to do with Hollywood changing the ending): the two things that really pissed off the demon need to go. And they do.

But questions: why does the demon want Katie? Why did it wait 20-odd years to get to her? What is the significance of Diane, whose story was noted as similar to Katie’s? Just to signal that this was random and had no real explanation? Why would the demon carve out or hint to Diane’s name on the Ouija board: to let Katie know she was going to die, too? Well, in this ending, she didn’t. She does in the alternate endings, but in this one she survives, albeit possessed. The Diane thing served only to let us know what Katie’s face was going to look like at the end of the movie (hello, Linda Blair!).

Were there some good scares? Meh, I’d rate them as mediocre. I can remember jumping once, but I fail to remember what point induced the jump. The demon dragging Katie down the hallway was particularly well done, but other than that, the steps didn’t sound too dissimilar to what I hear from our dining room table when our neighbors are active. Some of the creaking reminded me of our old hardwood flooring going crack! at night as they settle, but the association fails to scare me.

IP told me that if we were documenting this sort of activity and I stood over him for two hours (or vice versa), the game would be over. Priest and demonologist for an exorcism, doctor to do some sleep studies, stat. Why Micah doesn’t find this more alarming and sinister is beyond me. The macho act gets old pretty fast, and Katie’s simpering, pouty, but ultimate complicity is infuriating. If IP and I had ever talked to each other the way Micah does to Katie, it would’ve been sayonara a long time ago.

I really wish I could’ve been scared. Instead, we slept soundly through the night with our bedroom door wide open. Many demon jokes were told in our household yesterday. The movie produced much snark, which is always good for us: we love to cackle in tandem over one thing or another. We’re like Tom Servo and Crow, except that we’re in love and we’re not robots.

The only horror the weekend produced was its end, which meant that we had to go back to work.