Thoughts on Action Movies

      There is a phrase I would like to coin…only I’m not sure what I want to call it.  I was thinking maybe The After-Movie High, or The Post-Theatre Rush, or something like that.  You know, that feeling you get after you walk out of the movie theatre, having just seen a great movie, and you were right there with the characters the whole time, experiencing what they were experiencing but now its over and wow wasn’t it awesome?! 
    I would like to point out that there are two separate kinds of highs, however.  One comparable to a sugar rush, and one a more healthy…sort of rush…the more stable, long-lasting energy you get from healthy food, whats the term for that?  Is there a term for that?  Bother…well, the second kind of movie-watching high is comparable to that sort of energy, whatever its called. The stance I would like to take on this theory is from a woman’s point of view specifically, because I can’t really say how movies affect guys.  That would be another blog entirely. 
   Continuing on with the movie theatre version of the sugar rush from a woman’s perspective: If the obect of my movie-going experience is a kick-butt, gun-weilding, leather-clad, cleavage-bearing woman with a fit body and serious attitude, three things will happen.  First, I will scoff.  “What on earth…nobody could walk in that getup, let alone fight in it.  What do movie makers take me for?  Put her in breathable cotton so she can move about freely, tie her hair back in a ponytail so she can see, and give her a pair of sneakers for the sake of realistic maneuverability.”  The second thing that will happen is, admittedly, a bit of an adrenaline rush as she’s fighting the bad guys, because a woman fighting off attackers is pretty cool. 
   The third thing that will happen is the walk of shame that I take out of the theatre.  Because I’m not gorgeous.  I don’t have sweet action moves.  And other such thoughts of inadequecy, partly because at that point I’m usually stuffed full of popcorn and feeling like a slug, and partly because I know that at some level guys buy into the idea that there are women out there like the one I just saw in the movie and I am wholey inadequate by comparison. Not something I spend large amounts of time worrying about, but the whole thing goes back to two concepts:  the comparison “Wow that’s awesome and I’m not” and the basic need of women everywhere to need to feel beautiful.  Hot actresses can mess with our heads on a bad day.  That’s the crash after the sugar rush.  “Great movie, oh now I’m bummed.”  And appearance is only one aspect.  Didn’t I hear something about a lot of people needing counceling after Avatar because they were bummed because they’re lives were so boring in comparison?  (or so they felt). 
    Happily, there is that healthier movie rush that doesn’t involve the crash afterwards.  I just went to see Haywire and was pleased.  The heroine wasn’t oozing sex appeal, she was just doing her thing in jeans and, at one point, a tasteful evening gown.  The action sequences weren’t stylized or in slow motion, people weren’t accomplishing feats of impossibility, or chasing eachother in cars across half a city.  I have to say I did enjoy the one car chase.  It was short and sweet and rather original, and even ended with a little humor. 
    For a female action star I found her character very believable, especially when she was evading her pursuers down alleys and over rooftops.  She would scurry cleverly through buildings and then pause to assess her situation and take advantage of the assets that were available to her before scurrying on again.  I left the theatre psyched to get more physically fit and work on things like situational awareness and self defense.  And driving backwards.  There was no sugar crash of “Well, I’ll never be able to fly through the air or rock a leather outfit so I’ll just grab a bag of chips and pop in another movie.”  Its great when an action movie psyches me up instead of brings me down.  Most action movies insult my intelligence with their unrealism.
    I would be interested to read a  blog on how action movies affect guys.  I asked my brother once why he doesn’t mind violence in movies, even seems to give the impression of thriving on it sometimes (I myself am purely disturbed by violence).  Ben’s answer was interesting, and I hate to risk misquoting him.  I’ll say that he gave me the impression that watching violence psyched him up to be in the mindset of protecting his family.  That makes me wonder...if watching violence in movies stirs up the desire in men to protect, say, their woman, what sort of effect does the leather-clad heroine have on men?  Would it be a wild shot in the dark to say that she would emasculate them in some way?  If she’s dropping bad guys what’s left for him to do?  He certainly doesn’t need to rescue her, she obviously can handle herself. 
    I guess there’s a line though, because I’m certainly not saying women should be helpless, either.  Allow me to graciously let the matter settle on preference.  I like a strong female character who can handle herself and not swoon when danger presents itself.  Practical, decent, capable, realistic, uses moves that could be attainable to other humans willing to put in the work.  I like all of that, it psyches me up.  But, call me old-fashioned, because I like the idea of being rescued, too. 
   If other women reading this experience the highs I was referring to, I would recommend sticking to the action movies that inspire.  Guys, I’m just not sure how action movies affect ya’ll.  I would love to hear feedback on this one (I always love feedback).  Or a reply blog.  In conclusion: Haywire: good movie.  I’m not saying we should all go be Spartans, but there is fitness to be achieved, and skills to be honed.  So go for it!  (Cheesy Ahnold quote, for those who caught it). 

Marital Conflict

        Frank and I have been married for almost three weeks now, which means I’m still walking around with a big dumb grin on my face, especially when he begins sentences with “My wife and I”.  I grin when I look down and see two thin white gold bands and a sparkly on my left hand.  I grin whenever anyone calls me Mrs. Webb.  Being married is a lot of fun, and there are a lot of perks, and just good times.  However, I must be honest and say that along with the marital bliss come the topics of contention.  Frank and I, although we are both amiable and laid-back in general, do not always agree on everything.  Our preferences, techniques, habits, and interests do not align exactly (as well they should not, or that would be both boring and odd), and so I would like to take the opportunity to outline some of the more extreme examples that my husband and I have butted heads over (not to the point of Frank having to sleep on the couch, you’ll be happy to know). 
   First and foremost, our preferences in flavor differ quite a lot.  Frank is a fan of Mexican food, which I only tolerate in small, occasional, and Americanized amounts.  I prefer the flavor of the Italian cuisine when I want excitement, where Frank claims the Italians know nothing of spice. I  take delight in sweets and Frank does not (obviously I am the exception to that case).  Our differing preferences in flavor sometimes throw a damper on deciding where to dine out.  Frank expresses interest in trying some new place that is rumored to have an excellent mexican menu and I stifle a groan in response.  Frank likes lots of flavor all the time.  I like things bland, apparently.  He will douse his eggs with three different spices and then add salt, and my eggs are happy just being eggs.  Meals require planning and cooperation, or its every man for himself. 
   Movie genres are something else we tend to disagree on.  I believe an action sequence should tastefully compliment a captivating storyline.  A flimsy been-there-done-that plot should not exist for the sake of the action in a movie.  I need characters I can relate to, interesting dialogue, a twist that I never saw coming is nice, and a tidy wrap-up for an ending, and if that’s going to be sad it had better be a happy-sad.  I don’t like a lot of violence and other unecessary content that I need to sift through to have a good time either.  I ask a lot from the movies I give up valuable time and money to see.  Frank is happy if things are blowing up and people are getting shot at.  Naturally there is some discussion and compromise involved if we’re going to agree on a movie to watch together. 
   Our tickling styles differ quite a lot.  I like to compare my tickling style to that of a fencer.  Delicate, quick, and great fun for me because I’m in and out before people know what hit them.  Or poked them, rather.  I can get in a half-dozen sharp blows to the ribs and leave my opponent growling in exasperation and enjoy the whole thing quite thoroughly.  Unfortunately it  never seems to occur to me to scamper off before my opponent regains his composure and I end up standing around giggling when Frank retaliates.  Much to my dismay, Frank’s style of tickling resembles that of a pitbull.  He’ll grab on and never let go.  Once his fingers have honed in on my ribs or  feet there’s just no  hope.  I try writhing and screaming and pleading and pulling but its just no use.  There is one tecnique that sometimes works, although its very difficult.  If I grow very still, and summon all of my desperation and direct it into a heartbreakingly sad expression and fix my gaze on his, he’ll feel the appropriate amount of remorse and reluctantly let go. 
   Dogs vs. Cats.  Frank doesn’t mind cats, but he believes that dogs are the greatest and should have complete access to the house, no matter the weather.  I like dogs, but I prefer dogs outside.  And lets face it, cats are just great.  A purring bundle of gentle serenity on my lap is what I need at the end of a tiresome day, not a wet nose shoved under my arm.  I want something I can pick up and squeeze without being assulted by frantic tongues, tails, and barks.  The quiet rumble of a happy cat suits me just fine.  Our household will be graced with canine and feline presence alike, but the great Dogs vs. Cats Debate shall continue for all time, but all in good fun.  Well, I could go on about other topics and the heated discussions they invoke…mice…hygene…Taylor Swift…but I think the content in this blog will do for now.  And don’t let the topic concern you, Frank and I get along swimmingly.  In fact, I’ve taken too much time writing this, I shall go find him and throw myself into his arms.  I leave you with that thought. 

A Thank-You

     I wish I could write about our wedding in this blog, but I feel I cannot.  At least not yet.  It’s more of a magical blur that I’ll hold in my heart than a topic to break down and humorize.  Someday I’ll write about how I felt and the things that went wrong and the things that went right and how everything came together to make up the happiest day of my life.  I also wish I could write about the honeymoon and the adventures of life as a newlywed.  Believe me there’s plenty of material to work with there, but let’s face it, that just wouldn’t be a decent blog.  I suppose I could edit out certain topics, but then I think the meat of the story would be missing, and that thought depresses me.  So instead of covering those topics, I would like to take this opportunity to blog a Shoutout to everyone who made our wedding possible. And so, in no particular order:  

    To Shan (we’re sisters-in-law squared!!) and Marilyn (Mom #2), who made chili wheels and spinach puffs and such tasties for the after-wedding party, and who threw out ideas and made appointments and organized like crazy to make the wedding possible.  To Tutu, who arrived early from Illinois to spread joy and help out.  To Kate, who was an awesome flower girl and did a great job dropping those flower petals.  To my cat, Das Fluff, who left her cozy roof-tree-ground access bedroom and has lived in transition for the past month.  To the ladies at the Daisy-A-Day flower shop, who created the poinsettia bouquet that the other florists said couldn’t be done.  To Cassandra at the JCPenney hair salon who was open to my input and who made my hair look lovely.  To Michelle Gower who, with her seamstress skills, made brilliant adjustments to my wedding dress on short notice. 

   To everyone at the church who helped out with decorations and clean up and such.  To Dave and Mary who fed us oryx (yum!) at the rehersal dinner and just helped out like crazy in so many countless ways.  To Uncle Gregg, who took great pictures during the ceremony, who had to maneuver around and watch the event through a lens.  To Aunt Denise, who made last-minute adjustments to my dress and hair and helped calm my nerves right before I walked down the aisle.  To Ben, who did his part by walking grandmas and wrangling kids.  To my Dad, who did a great job of walking me down the aisle slowly, and whose steady march helped me to not sprint up the aisle toward Frank who was standing at the altar. 

   To my Dad (continued) who drove across the country crammed into a camper with his wife, mother, and mother-in-law in part to attend (and generously fund!) his eldest daughter’s wedding.  What a guy!  To my dear grandmothers, who did their share of cramming and camping with nary a complaint (that I ever heard).  Three women in a fraction of a kitchen and getting along great, a testament to their greatness.  To my mom, who exercised enough self-control to not pull out her hair while waiting for forever to hear that the wedding was officially on, and then planning the high-speed wedding of the year in no less than a month and a half.  Who was patient and cheerful and flexible and capable and efficient and generous and wonderful in all her planning and organizing. 

    To my sister Ruthy, who had to work over Christmastime so she could get enough time off work to fly down and throw on the bridesmaid’s dress that Mom found which revealed the tattoo that she had designed herself and secretly gotten months ago and was stressed about revealing but which actually worked quite well with the flowing of the hair and the dress.  Good taste in tattoos, that one, though I wouldn’t adorn myself in such ways.  Ruthy also took awesome pictures with her camera Victoria. 

    To my wonderful husband Frank, who, like me, would rather not stand before a crowd of even familiar folk.  Who dealt with the stress of finishing his second-to-last semester of grad school at the same time wedding plans were underway.  Who had to be the one to deal with the wardrobe malfunctions on the wedding day.  Who looks incredibly handsome in a tux.  Who ended up with me, at the end of all things, and all the trouble I cause (insert double-wink and playful elbow-jab).       

   To Daniel, who had to dress up and make a toast (good old cowboy advice…nice. Nice job on the car too, by the way, and the communion).  To my new father-in-law, who did a wonderful job getting us hitched.  To everyone who made it to the wedding, it was great to see you!  And to those who wanted to come but couldn’t, you were there in spirit, and we’ll see you back east in the spring for The Reception!

     To Everyone: it was a crazy notion to get married during the holidays, but you all rose to the challenge with positive attitudes and (not to get too sappy or anything) helped to make my dreams come true.  So I thank you from the bottom of my heart.  Thanks Everybody!!