Quadruple Feature: Final Destination 5, etc.

Just when I think that my existence sounds depressing enough on paper, I manage to push it just a little bit further. This weekend, I deigned to see four films in the theater on one bright (and thunderous) day, and I succeeded. A quadruple feature! It really loses its ring after "triple feature," I fear.

The day started like any other. I clumsily smacked at my face in the morning to make sure it was still there; I looked out my un-curtained windows to see if others were stirring across the building (always a good measure of what time it is in the morning); I yawned heavily, scooping any residual drool off my chin -- and thought: "Wait, no work today! Wonder what time the first movie starts?!" (10:45 a.m.) The West Village likes old people, or those who eat and sleep like they're old (me).

Now. Mama G wonders where she went wrong with me. Why, say, didn't I think -- let me go shopping! Or, I bet there's a great exhibit at _______. That Borders is going out of business, how 'bout some new books, Grice? Nope. Just movies. Can't change what we are, I s'ppose.

So, I saw: Final Destination 5 (yup); One Day (Nick Sparks knock-off); Harry Potter 77k (should've watched the last one again right before this one ... those names are so hard to keep up with); and, Clash By Night ('52 at Film Forum -- got to keep up with the hipsters).

Final Destination 5. Well, what can I say? After I saw the flick, I went to Best Buy and bought the four preceding films; I figured that if I were going to write anything about the movie, I might as well do my research since my knowledge had some gaping holes since my 16-year-old dreamy girl's crush on Devon Sawa in Final Destination (one), ca. 2000.

In this latest iteration on the same take of the first film's premise, a bunch of young 20-somethings are headed off on a corporate retreat; once they reach the suspension bridge that holds their wilderness-bonding in its grips, our protag, Sam Lawton (Nicholas D'Agosto) has a vision, err, a premonition, a feeling, a sense, a notion that something's off? Well, he sees the traveling bus toppling into the ether, his friends not spared by gut-splintering boat masts or neck-breaking falls -- all delightfully depicted on-screen. Perhaps it's his imagination. We don't know! We haven't seen any Final Destinations before this one!

I will say that this was the most enjoyable FD since the first one; I actually almost wish I'd seen it in 3D - the opening credits, which consist of a series of shattered glass pieces, cigarette butts, pieces of trash, etc. lobbed at you, probably would have been neat - and, there was one set of projectile lower intestines that clearly would have looked cooler in 3D than on my thankless 2D eyes.

The prize of the show was third-billed Miles Fisher, who plays the business-jerk kid amongst his friends, Peter. He's the guy who slaps you on the back and says "Good job!" all the while telling your boss that you're a lout. It's not giving anything away to say that he sticks around for a good 95% of the movie (such is the formula for FD), but, his charm and ability to channel a multitude of personae is very apparent here. I'd dare say, he's one to watch.

Most people on the gods' green earth have seen him here already as Patrick Bateman in American Psycho; or, here as Tom Cruise, the Crazy

And there's a newer installment of Mr. Fisher's inimitable charades: Saved by the Bell, Final Destination-style. Here's "New Romance," a studio-funded track that let MF and cohorts kill each other in a very Final Destination-way, while acting out our favorite themes of SbtB. Very catchy.

More on the yes-I-have-feelings, sigh. "One Day" later.

Self Note, Jerry Maguire, Too Much Information

Let’s just take one last look.

We wave good-bye. A good-bye to past, err, current circumstance.

I’ve become a clichéd 25-year-old girl.

I was musing on it this morning in my head, and that’s the end result. I’m lying on my stomach at the time, as that’s the only way I can be “comfortable” on the now-entirely deflated air mattress that is my bed. So, I’m lying on rubber on the hardwood floor. The birds won’t stop squawking at me from right outside the window that won’t close right. And, while the sun’s reared its head, it still doesn’t illuminate the room since the overhead light went out days ago; I’ve been using only the TV and my computer for light (I did bring in an intermittent lamp, but it lasted two days – it’s got to be the outlets in this place).

Sobbed like I’d lost my baby brother (I don’t have one, so there shouldn’t be any jinxing.)

Heart-broken, hate (parts of) my job, have few friends to count on, the list I drew out in my head – oh, it started to get long.

The sobbing lasted aboouuuuut 30 seconds. And, I think I was trying to pull it out of me, in a way: “God, this is how you’re living Morgan? You should be so depressed. And sad, be sad. God, affect some sadness!” I may have even tried to shake my shoulders somewhat, but that was impeded by them knocking round on the floor.

Then I snapped myself out of it. Think, think. [Blink, blink.]

And then, I did my characteristic giggling. Rolled over (ouch, watch the right side, the femur’s still sore) and stared at the bouncing DVD cube on the television set.

It’s as if I’ve tried to fast forward through so many emotional things they say “writers” must experience to, well, write well. You can’t write experience if you don’t have it.

I could’ve hobbled over, taken a chair and fixed the overhead light. Or, called our Super, Frank, and had him do it. He’d have taken care of the window, too, I’m sure. I could’ve gimped over to the closet and gotten out the mattress inflator and inflated up the bed. I could’ve bought a real bed. Nope, just didn’t do it. I could’ve gotten over boy by being a floozy. Well.

Maybe I put myself through these self-inflicted inconveniences so I could know how it feels, and how it feels to get myself out of them. I dwell, but I don’t have much tolerance for cliché.

I giggled after the brief bout of sadness because I got an idea for a funny story. One that hopefully I’ll start on today. And, I know that I’m moving, sadly not to L.A. just yet, but to a better-suited apartment.

No more time to be sad. And I made a new resolution, which I’ll keep to myself for now.

Self meeting, adjourned.

"A breakdown? A break through. I couldn't escape one, single thought." Thank you, Jerry Maguire. We shall see.