we are here we are here we are

Bobby and I were talking the other day, and we decided there needs to be an augmented reality app (I’m getting tired of hearing about them, too) dedicated to “liking” things in real life. Because sometimes I don’t feel like I need to really review things, I just want to say, “Yes, props, I like this. I like Lulu’s and their free pizza. And I would like to acknowledge that and let other people know.”

I realize that Yelp kind of does this supposedly (my poor little cracked iPhone 2G has no idea), but I want it to be simpler so that I’m just walking around and when I see something, I can pull out my phone and look through the camera and just tap it once and like it, or double tap it and dislike it. And then when other people come by and wonder if they should go in, they can just look through the app/camera and it shows 40 thumbs up and 10 down. And then the menu would have 5 thumbs up on the pesto grilled cheese and 50 down on the pickle snowcone (which should consequently probably be taken off the menu).

And in the future, maybe that guy sitting at the bar with his laptop on Saturday night would have 1 thumbs up until he gets to the foosball table and has 43 thumbs up because he’s an amazing teammate. (In which case he’s on my side and Lauren can be on David’s.)

OK GUYS? NOW MAKE THIS FOR ME. © REBLECHA&FINGERFOOD ‘09

Why had I never heard of “Design Management” before tonight? I’m researching graduate programs in Interaction Design and came across an article about designers’ salaries in 2009, and wow. What’s up, Career Objectives? Coroflot tells me that, while Interaction Design is pretty fabulous, Design Management is where it’s at. (That use of a preposition at the end of a sentence is my way of saying “Goodbye” to the prospect of getting a Masters in Journalism. And thank God, because we all know it wasn’t going to get me anywhere the way that field is headed.) Not to mention I find the idea of Design Management really interesting.

I just finished sorting my entire 95-movie-deep Netflix queue in reverse projected star rating order. (I’m now working on the Instant queue.) Why?

How I’m feeling a day after watching Antichrist:

1. It’s worse than watching porn with your parents.
2. Nevertheless, I’m not disappointed that I saw it.

The first thing I’ve been telling people when they ask about it is that it’s incredibly beautiful. The visuals are exactly what I want out of cinematography. While every single frame is breathtaking and worthy of being printed and hung on my walls, Anthony Dod Mantel (I just Googled him) is unquestionably a cinematographer rather than a director of photography. (He also did – in addition to a slew of Scandinavian films – Slumdog Millionaire and 28 Days Later, which is one of my favs.) One of my biggest film pet peeves is when scenes start like compelling photographs but feel flat and contrived translated to a medium with motion.

On a related note, I wish I had watched it on mute. The ambient sounds were fair. The music was appropriate. The writing was horrible. Laughable. In rare form, Bobby and I giggled our way through explicit sex scenes more because of the inane and unrealistic dialogue than out of immaturity.

Nevertheless, it lived up to my expectations. Which is an unusual thing for a movie to do lately (see: Where the Wild Things Are, Paranormal Activity). I watched the movie after building it up for 3 weeks wanting to be shocked, disturbed, or at the very least creeped out, and it did not let me down. I respect the movie for grossing me out and horrifying me with sadomasochism legitimately used to further the plot without being the main focus. But I think Lars von Trier has to be absurdly arrogant to think that he made a huge statement with it. I get it. Human Nature and Mourning and Desire and Self-Flagellation-as-Repentance. Cool. The script made me feel like he thinks I, personally, am an idiot. But who’s the one who used a talking fox?

As much as I would miss the dreamy forest images, I could have done without anything past the Prologue. The Prologue is moving, unsettling, and beautiful, there’s no obnoxious dialogue, and it leaves all the violent guilt to your imagination rather than spelling it out, alongside impressively realistic vulgar doodles, in washable marker on wide-ruled notebook paper.