“I Am One With The Force. The Force Is With Me.”

Mekaela and I spent Christmas in Taft, California this year, visiting our dad. Taft is a small place in the middle of absolute nowhere (though, in fairness, I feel obligated to point out that it is actually larger than the place I grew up) and during the holidays, when everything is closed downtown except the movie theater and one corner mini market, Taft feels quite a bit like an actual ghost town. Which made walking through it pretty awesome, actually.

As none of us had seen Rogue One yet, the family St. George decided to watch it on Christmas afternoon. Considering the movie had come out weeks before and I had just spent the last hour walking through a town that I had happily pretended was post-Rapture, I thought there was a more than decent chance that I would finally, finally see a movie with no one but the people who had accompanied me to the theater.

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Alas. Others emerged, like total bastards, and ruined my Christmas miracle. The Grand Movie Theater Dream remains unrealized.
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“Comets Don’t Make Course Corrections.”

I still haven’t quite gotten around to seeing the not-exactly-critically-beloved Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice. (I’m not particularly jazzed about going, either, but I do want to check it out for myself. I like making up my own mind about shit, particularly if Batman’s going to be involved.) However, I knew I wanted to watch Man of Steel before I made my trip to the theater, so a few weeks ago I finally sat down and put it on.

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Man. That long, dreary ass film did not help motivate my interest in Batman v Superman AT ALL.

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“You’ve Got To Laugh. Otherwise, You’re Gonna Go Nuts, Man.”

The Plan: Watch Lawrence of Arabia with dinner.

The Flaw: . . . wait, HOW long is it?

The Options: We could be good and continue forward with our nearly four-hour Oscar-winning epic, or we could watch that terrible looking horror movie on Netflix.

The Inevitable Conclusion?

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The funny thing is that Don’t Blink turned out to be a surprisingly decent low-budget thriller. Right up until the completely lackluster ending, that is.

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“Frankly, My Dear, I Don’t Give a Damn.”

So. I am way, way behind on my 2015 Best Picture Winner Challenge. Thus far, I’ve only watched one film and I didn’t care for it at all. I thought maybe I’d reward myself with a movie that — hopefully — would be more my speed, but I took too long in doing so, and before I knew it, spring had come. Which meant only one thing: I had to watch Gone With the Wind.

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See, knowing that Gone with the Wind is a four-hour American epic, Mek and I decided to make an Event out of it: an indoor Easter picnic. We spread a blanket out over the carpet and ate classy finger foods like lunch meats and cheese slices and Bagel Bites. (Briefly, we considered classing it up for real, but I don’t much like cucumber sandwiches, and Mekaela chose Martinelli’s in wine glasses over actual wine, so that was basically that.) I put on my petticoat and we both wore our fancy hats and it was, all in all, a pretty good time.

But maybe we should have gotten real booze because oh my God this MOVIE.

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