Where the Wild Things Are

Where the Wild Things Are is a beloved children’s classic story of a young boy and his vivid imagination.  The story is quite short and can be summed up a few words.  A young boy wearing a wolf suit torments his mother and is sent to his room without supper.  He then transforms his room into a forest, finds a boat and sails to an island.  There he comes king of the Wild Things.  Ultimately, the boy becomes homesick and travels back to his home, abdicating the throne and finding supper still warm waiting in this room.

The movie is a darker and more true to life depiction of the actions.  The boy is named Max and has a complete and complicated family.  His father is assumed dead (or deadbeat  - who knows).  His mother is trying to make ends meet and appears to be a consultant.  She also dates.  His sister is an adolescent which is problematic because she is trying to keep up appearances.  When her friends trash her brother’s igloo, she simply lets them and they drive off together towards whatever teens do these days.

Unlike the book, Max runs away from home and actually finds a boat instead of making it up.  I feel this takes away from the story of a child’s imagination. An adult would be very aware that this is simply make-belief, but a child would probably not be easily sold on the idea – perhaps that’s not really the point.  Max is not as confident or as carefree as in the book.  The monsters each have deep-rooted psychological defects – schizophrenia, depression, bipolar disorder.  They also suffer from intolerance, compassion, feelings of inadequacy, fits of rage, and the list goes on and on.  Of course, this wouldn’t be evident to a child.

All in all, it doesn’t come out as a children’s movie.  It’s more for adults to wish to see the book come to life in a real way.  I feel adults who asked questions (such as how come?, why? and what?) will feel a connection with this movie.  If you’re looking for a movie that is an overall good children’s movie – this might miss the mark.  It seems to cater most to people who have grown up with the book or grown up at all.

I’m not sure if I like this movie.  The reviews from the New York Times and New York Metro were glowing, but I felt a little saddened by the characters and their lives and slightly disturbed by the violence, anger and raw emotions displayed on screen.  At one point, Carol rips Douglas’ arm off and sand poured out.  He replaces it with a branch.  Though funny at times, it is only funny at times.  Most of the time, you’re watching a real life play out.  You feel so many emotions when you watch this movie.

JJRC

The Worker’s Dilemma

For whatever reason, the pressure is too much this week.  Though I usually glide through the day with ease, today is different.  The ease of the mornings, hellos, and mindless chatter is replaced with a cumbersome feeling of inadequacy.  It is the return of that guy. I am my own worst enemy on these days.  I sabotage myself continuously and idle in a corner without any desire to work.  My hand listlessly rests on the mouse. I periodically shift and click on useless icons, but it’s all smoke and mirrors.  These actions produce nothing of value; thus, I produce nothing of value.  I am not worth one icon on my desktop on these days.

In this mood, I am completely and utterly worthless.  Though my check will not be docked for poor performance and my excuses surely staved off any real threat of retribution from the organization, I do not deserve my whole compensation.  I deserve a mere fraction of that amount since I spend most of my time at my cubicle sitting and dreaming of days, sweet and long past and of futures that have not and may not transpire.

My brain writhes with the constant torture of endless boredom.  I cringe at the very appearance of email on my screen. These are more than something to click.  It is not that it pains me to read it.  What pains me is understanding its requests.  I regularly read emails and immediately forget and disregard their content.  This allows me more time to do what I do best, counting the strands on the fabric over my cubicle walls.  The intense look that covers my face is a mere façade that obscures the true  nature of my thoughts – thoughts of escape, love and happiness not of spreadsheets, copiers and inadequate coffee makers that fail to produce even one pot of decent coffee.

The walls behind my cubicle prison are painted a sunny yellow, but they do nothing but remind me of a cool spring breeze and the hideous reality of my life.  I yearn to be outside of these four tiny walls.  I yearn to use my brain for the betterment of humanity.  Instead, I use my neurons, impulses and other biological processes as a means to enslave myself in an office… continuously toiling.  I am like a cheap hooker trapped under the ghastly glow of a humming incandescent light bulb…. forced to sell my talents in plain sight for all to see my shame.  The color the light bulb emits is yellow and makes everyone appear sickly and tired, or perhaps it frees the torment hidden by make-up, smiles and happy, false demeanors.  It may be a revealer of true natures.

As 5 o’clock approaches, I can shrug my weighted shoulders and leave to enjoy the few delicious hours that remain the day.  Soon, the five o’clock hour will have my stepping out into a dark world.  The sun will soon be a distant memory that was replaced by a humming bulb.

JJRC

Publicly Private

I think it’s always weird when people do something they are not supposed to because they will not get caught.  I’ve done a few things myself that fall under that category, but of course, this is not about me and how many random things I might have tea-bagged.  This is about work.

I remember once there was an Italian boy we used to hang around with during the summer at Cornell before freshman year.  We would sit in the computer labs and argue over who was better, Arts and Science or Engineering (the other Cornell colleges obviously didn’t compare to these two).  This Italian kid was not in our class.  He was a student studying abroad for the summer.  His name was Marco.  One day, I sat at the lab and opened Internet Explorer.  For some reason, the history page was opened and my friend at the time leaned over and checked it out.  Oddly enough, there were tons of Italian language porn sites.  We checked her computer, and it had more of the same… Oh, Marco.

Oddly enough, the same thing has happened today – eight years later.  Marco is probably off somewhere thinking no one knows about his foray into exhibitionism, but several of the members of the Class of 2006 will never forget.  I was on our company laptop today.  It’s a clunky older HP.  My boss’ laptop recently died, and I was tasked with setting her up with this HP.  For whatever reason, I’m considered the top tier expert in this type of work.  This means that everyone in the office admits that they know less about computers and networks than I do, and I know precious little.

I begin to work on the laptop and find explorer, like so many years ago.  I was going to search for a specific website.  One that started with www.b.  I didn’t get far enough to continue punching my website because the suggestion “Bookmarks for Porn” came up.

You can imagine my shock since I am at work. I am also in my boss’ office while she was out – so I take the liberty to investigate.  Turns out someone had taken the laptop home one lonely summer evening a few months back and done. It was pretty interesting stuff like MILF Hunter, Bangbus, and (my favorite) Hop on me and Peddle Balls!!!!! (Exclamation points included).  There was also something beginning with a “b” which I didn’t explore since I am at work (though trust, I’m really dying to find out).

This just goes to show you – you never really know someone.  Thinking about Marco and Fred, I am starting to think, I can never really use a public or private computer again.  Basically, at one point or another, most computers will becomes a vehicle for pornography and other deviant activity and nothing is sacred – not the computers in Clara Dickson or the laptops at your job.

JJRC