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Archive for the ‘socially awkward’ Category

I might be the last person I know to own a camera phone, and as groundbreaking as that technology is I can’t imagine why in the world I would ever need it/use it. 

However, the first words out of my mouth this morning at work were,  

“Hey guys, I got a camera phone!”   

Damn it, I had caved and there was little to no response.    

What kind of reaction was I expecting exactly?  The movie clap that starts off slow and ends in a round of applause, hoots, finger in the mouth whistles, ticker tape, or a spotlight and tap dance solo complete with jazz hands?   

I felt like Romy White in Romy & Michelle’s High School Reunion: 

“If anyone needs to make a call… I have a cell phone.” 

Only it was more like:  “If anyone needs to take a picture… I have a camera.  It’s on a phone.  It’s a phone with a camera INSIDE!”  

Memories of my beeper/pager-less childhood came flooding back to me. 

All of my best friends had them.  I could send 80087355 (Boobless), but never receive it.  No one could even tell me to go to 7734 (hell, upside down).  I thought that if my parents really 4’d (loved) me, they’d buy me one.   

My dad kept his old beeper in the top drawer of his dresser and I’d “borrow” it when I went out on the town (across the street to the dollar movie theater).  I clipped it on my belt loop hoping for a miracle, but since it was no longer connected to a network I never ever got a page.   

There was a button you could push on the outside to make it vibrate, but that wasn’t fooling anyone.   

Luckily, no one ever asked to see it.  But that’s because I had one friend and no one wanted to talk to us anyway because we smoked cigarette butts we found in the movie theater parking lot. 

Ah, the wonder years.   

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I read a boat load (yacht, actually) of movie reviews every day of my life, and as much as I enjoy them I could never write them myself.  I spend every night of my life watching said movies.     

Part of me hopes a light will come on in that department and I’ll suddenly become good at it, but the other part of me hopes I never sound that pretentious no matter how much I know about the director, the producer, or the apparent texture of the 1st A.D.’s balls.   

I feel weird enough signing work e-mails with the name, April, instead of “Ape” or “FARTRIL”.     

I saw Into the Wild by myself in a terribly overcrowded theater (!!!) over the weekend and enjoyed it immensely.  I haven’t read the book, but I’ve read the title DOZENS of times as I pass it on our bookshelf on the way to the kitchen for more of Laura’s sweet potato bread. 

“That’s one hell of a good looking book.” 

“Yeah, self, but I ask you this – Can you eat it with a glass of milk while watching Jeopardy?” 

 “No.” 

“That’s what I thought.”   

I had to keep myself from crying during several parts and I usually do this by staring at the back of the head in front of me wondering “What’s in there?” or thinking about something funny like how Ben’s feet mysteriously smell like popcorn on occasion.   

Oh no, this time the head in front of me belonged to an old. Man. crying.  Nowhere to run to, baby. 

It’s like the picture of a computer within a computer and so on. 

All I could think about was crying and how great it would feel to do it and how wrong it would be to hug the old man crying while crying and also trying to explain where that computer within a computer analogy came from out loud.   

I wouldn’t do that normally, but sometimes emotions take hold and “we” can become irrational.     

That would be my review of Into the Wild so far. 

I would also like to add that how dare you glue pubes to Emile Hirsch’s face?  Can we not find convincing faux facial hair in this day and age?  He’s a great actor!   

Next time let’s splurge on the make-up effects, eh Penn?  I hope you’re reading this somewhere.  And don’t think I’ve forgiven you for I Am Sam. 

Not even close.

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There are few things in the world that make me more nervous than speaking aloud in a room full of strangers.  That whole “imagine everyone in their underwear” thing has never worked for me.  In fact, imagining everyone in the room in their underwear makes me more nervous and distracted. 

Why can’t I imagine them doing something like playing a good game of Boggle?    

My mouth can pretty much run on auto pilot, but every tiny cell in my face is connected to the part of me inside that’s screaming, “STOP LOOKING AT ME!!!”  I end up turning bright red (no matter what) and saying something so jumbled and awkward that it actually forces people to look away. 

I guess you really should be careful what you wish for.   

This happened for the nth time a few months ago when I started my first Video Editing class.  I was already turning red and repeatedly swiveling around in my chair gathering my thoughts and breathing through my nose because in a new class no matter how old you are its impossible not to scope your fellow comrades out.  Now imagine what I looked like when I heard the words, “Noooow weeee’reeee gooooing tooooo goooo arrouuunnnnd theeee rooooom annnnd tellll soooomeeeethiiinnnngggg innnnteeerresssting abbbouuut ouuuurseeeeelvessss annnnddd whhhyyyyy yoooouuuu’reeee takkkkinnnngg thiiiiissss claaaaassss.”   

Okay, so it’s hard to type in slow motion, but you get the picture.  

I was three students deep into the rotation so I swiveled back around toward the wall and realized there was no turning back.  I even had to put a halt on my therapeutic swiveling because I was starting to feel like throwing up. 

In an imaginary universe where I can do anything and be anything I’d pretend to be acting out a scene from the Exorcist and perform an impressive monologue to express my love of the reel world.  

“Hi, I’m April.  Your mother sucks wangs in hell! *barfbarfbarf*”    

A+++ 

In the real world I said, “Hi, I’m April and *teeth chatter* I’m interested in what goes on behind the scenes in the movie world.”   I didn’t say anything interesting about myself because I didn’t have the oxygen.  I shot thought bubbles laced with fire, brimstone, and germs to the instructor and they damaged the part of his brain that would have asked me to add more. 

I’m telling you this because only recently was I able to interact with my instructor and classmates like a normal person without sliding around on my nervous sweat or going cross-eyed in the middle of a sentence.  Thanks, retarded body. 

I have one class left next week to take advantage of this freedom and when I start the Screenwriting class in the Spring I’ll be back to square one. 

My most recent accomplishment was making classmates laugh with my latest editing project.  We were given a whole load of footage of a “wacky” cop comedy called FBI Guys which was sort of like Reno 911 without laughs.  The dialogue was deplorable.

Especially a clip of one of the wacky cops calling the bad guys “Cheese sticks”.  I cut out the “Cheese s” so he ended up just saying “Dicks” up close and personal. 

I was probably too proud of that.  Wait, was?  I still am too proud of that!   

The greatest part was saying to someone, “You will not believe what I did with “dicks” in class the other day.”   

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