Choke, revisited

Remember this?

Of course you do, if you have tattooed every one of my posts on your forehead. But you haven’t, so I’ll just tell you that, years ago, when I saw the movie poster for Choke, I thought it was a perfect opportunity to create a fake movie poster. I think that’s what this, found online, is:

It doesn’t look real, but I never saw the movie. And it doesn’t look real because it’s too much what I would want it to be. Oh, if only. If it told the story of a little man, a handsome devil who finds himself constantly placed in the panties of his beloved girlfriend, a beautiful scientist who’s invented a new fabric, a wonderful material that allows a woman to keep her man “under wraps”, without fear of tearing the material and having him drop off, or out, etc., when the man at hand shifts and moves too much.

Governments would kill for that sort of fabric technology. Countries at war; heads of state on Skype, glaring at each other; secret agents breaking into the lab, finding the little guy in his crate as they look for the formula; kidnappings, extortions, rescuing rampages… oh, it boggles the mind. But I wouldn’t care. I would fast-forward/rewind it to those parts when she puts him in there and he protests (“it’s too hot”, “is it that time of the month?”), but he loves every minute of it.

Gah… I have to get my head on straight. I have to go pick out pumpkins.


The Moment

One moment, anyway.

I don’t know exactly how old I was… I’m thinking four, or five years old when my parents took us to the movies to see The Gnome-Mobile. It had already been in and out of theaters for quite some time in the States, and down there, in my Motherland, it was only shown as the preview to the main attraction, and I can’t remember what that was. I can’t recall anything about the gnomes, or humans, or the silly movie plot. What I do remember was boredom. Terrible, soul-crushing boredom during the first twelve minutes of the movie, which as you know equal an eternity at that tender age.

I was fidgeting restlessly in my seat when the above scene came on. I remember feeling paralyzed, as though struck by lightning. I remember my head felt like it was on fire, and my brain was cooking in it. That difference in size between the cute little gnome and the girl was some kind of ground zero for feelings I could not verbalize. All I knew to do was to sit in my seat and watch. I hoped it would happen again, this I’m-looking-up/down-at-you interaction, but it never did, and the rest of the movie was moved to Memory Banks of the Irrelevant.

I also knew to keep very quiet about the way I was feeling. I couldn’t have explained it anyway… the same way I couldn’t explain my deep disappointment when I finally watched Snow White, and saw that the Dwarves were distinctly huge, and not particularly fetching. As time moved on, I thought back on that moment and wondered what the hell it might have meant to feel that way, to have that particular scene of the movie galvanize me in such a manner. I never had an answer. Not until I finally had the notion to look it up on the Internets.


You know what I’m going to say. Why do I need to say it? C’mon. So I went to some forum to try to steal what a poster I enjoy might have written about Paul Rudd in this role, but there was nothing worth plagiarizing there, so it’s up to me to tell you my important thoughts. Paul Rudd is perfect for this role. I already loved him in “Clueless,” and every other movie he’s permeated; it almost doesn’t matter what he’s doing in them, he’s the perfect mix of cuteness and vulnerability found in my favorite shrunken men.

Not that he’s made my LIST of favorite shrunken men, but after I watch this movie he might very well find himself plunged deep in it. It’s all down to him, and how many times during the movie I’m distracted with turpid thoughts. I wager a minimum of forty. Feel free to place your bets. As to what might happen in the movie, who cares? I’m not familiar with Ant-Man, or his storyline, but as long as there’s something big happening to his tininess, I’ll shuck the bucks. It will help if Ant-Man does this:

You know you want him. Well, maybe not you, but do start your Matchbox engines, because in exactly three months I’ll thunder my way to my local Carmike Cinema, I’ll peel off the roof, and I’ll crush whoever talks during the movie.

Despicable Me

A few days ago I watched Despicable Me. I thought it was adorable and fun, yet I couldn’t help but think of all the fun uses that shrink ray could have had in a different kind of movie. It wasn’t the entitled, dissatisfied sort of feeling one usually gets when media doesn’t instantly cater to our every sexual whim, but a different screen projecting in my mind of what might have happened in the film had the evil mastermind been a woman who, once in possession of a shrink ray, finds a fetching man to shrink, kidnap, and energetically seduce.

The sequence of those events may vary from moment to moment, but I would watch that movie. I would watch it so often it would wear out. I would watch it and I wouldn’t care if the CGI characters are goofy and cartoonish (as long as the male character remains hot on some level). It’s taken me several minutes to type this entire paragraph because I stopped to think about what it would be like to watch such a movie.

That scene in Step Brothers

Apparently we ladies like to bite people we like. If you don’t believe me, take a peek at your wife’s Facebook, and look at all the photos of babies in her feed. Invariably there are two or three women commenting on how they’d like to “bite his cheek”. I’ve bitten babies as well. What the hell does that have to do with this entry? Heavens, nothing! Not one damn thing.

I’m just saying… we also like to talk about putting people we like in our purses. What kind of insanity is that? And I hate purses! I own two I never use because I think purses are stupid. So why would we ever say “you’re so cute I’m just gonna stick you in my purse and take you home” ? Or shirt pocket, or back pocket, or front pocket, or mouth?

And then of course enter the ‘ginas. Literally. They don’t have anything to do with babies, not in this way anyway. When we see a baby and we really really want one of those, it is the uterus that flutters a bit. But the vagina is the second (third?) most fun place where we put stuff, so it’s only natural than when we meet someone we want, that’s where we want to place him.

Obviously in the movie the scene is a joke, and while during the rest of the movie I laughed, when this particular scene was playing I immediately went into poker-face mode. Lady Gaga would be proud. I was concentrating on making sure I was hiding my “I break for shrunken men” face, with all the memories and ideas and mental pictures it entailed. Silly, because even if I started drooling, not a single person in the world is going to say, “a-ha! It’s clear to me that you are thinking about shrunken men!”

But you never know.

The best part of that movie was…

A few days ago I watched Julie & Julia. I’d never watched Julia Child’s cooking show before despite the fact that I enjoy watching people cook; even if I never intend to fix what they are making, what they do is lulling, hypnotizing, and more calming that any overly prescribed pill.

I hadn’t purchased any of her cooking books though I own three shelves of cooking books, two thirds of which I have yet to whip open due to gastronomic fear.

I probably wouldn’t have rented it either, as I prefer guns, explosions, severed heads flying about, and/or zombies when the time comes to watch a DVD, but it was brought to me, so I watched it. There was some cooking, some weeping, quite a bit of talking between characters, but there’s one line that made the movie for me.

Jane Lynch

The line was uttered by Jane Lynch, who played the part of Julia Child’s sister, Dorothy. Now, Julia Child was 6’2″, and I think her sister was taller. Jane Lynch is 6′ tall, so she fit the part formidably. In the movie she arrives alone and unmarried for a nice visit with her sister and brother in law, who plan to throw a party for her, and to introduce to her to a very nice (and even taller) man. At the party Dorothy meets a very short man, and while she fawns over him she ignores the very tall man Julia and her husband wanted to introduce to her.

As Dorothy towers over this bitty man that will later become her husband, she whispers some words to him, barely audible over the main dialogue, but it’s clear to me as she plays with his tie and smiles, that she says, “…little man…” to him. So dirty! Such a naughty lady! Who knows what kind of honeymoon they had, with Little Man inserted who knows where, pulled and dragged heavens know how, and forced to struggle against mountains of flesh to pleasure who knows who.

Just in case you don’t realize this, I’m no longer imagining Mrs. Sister of Julia Child and Tiny Husband, but other people. Anyway, that part of the movie was good porn. The rest was OK but forgettable… except maybe the food. Mmm, cake!

Monsters vs. Aliens

Last night I popped Kung Fu Panda into my DVD player, and of course trailers precede the movie, and there I was, sitting quietly getting ready to watch something fun, getting into the holiday season, plotting delicious things to cook the following evening, and WAMMO-KABLAM-SHAZAM-SKADOOSHHHH I see a trailer for Monsters vs. Aliens.

Actually, the trailer was well underway before the whole wammo / kablam / shazam bit began, but as all of you that have TVs and go to the theaters know, there’s a giantess in this animated feature. I had not heard of this movie at all with the exception of one mention at MattyBoy’s Lotsa ‘Splainin’ many months ago, and since I’m not into giantesses I was all, “Meh”.

But no, no meh. True, giantesses don’t do anything for me, unless I imagine I’m that giantess. Reading about the film did nothing for me, but watching the trailer did.

Those that think women are not visual creatures, I have two words for them. They begin with fuck, and end with you.

I’d say something far less rude to those people right now, but I gots pies to bake, and I’m feeling punchy. And.. well, he-heh… it wasn’t exactly the vision of that white-haired giantess that got me all inspired, but it’s the idea of being a protective giantess I’m crazy about. I’m so into it I’ve had dreams about it. Really good dreams.

Truly really very GOOD dreams.

That could be me except for the hair and body and animatedness.
That could be me except for the hair and face and body and animosity from pugnacious soldiers that have no idea what I could do to their twig-like bodies.

So it isn’t that it’s a movie for kids. It has nothing to do with the pixels of an animated giantess. It’s the other stuff that’s in my head that starts screaming, “Hey, there’s a reminder of us for ya!” when I see her.

Got pies to bake. I’m off like a dirty shirt!

P.S. Man, taking photos of my TV with my camera makes me feel like I’m making a mixed tape off radio station music. I have no fancy way of capturing film and moving it to my Mac… but that’s OK with me.

The Incredible Shrinking Man

Whats with the expression of deep concern
What’s with the expression of deep concern?

I think her facial expression should convey deep horn. In her fictional place I’d be adopting all manner of happy looks.

What concerns me (not really) is that I’ve never watched this movie. I’ve never even gone to any movie rental place to see if it’s available, because I feel it should be behind some curtain, in a dark room lit by a red light bulb; and despite the fact that logic dictates I shouldn’t think the rental store employee will know I’m one of those people if I rent it.

Louise and the dollhouse
Nnggaaahhh… doll house porn.

I might, one day, if Netflix has it when (and if) I decide to subscribe again. The last few times I checked before I closed my account, it wasn’t available. Otherwise it would have already put the lotion in the basket many, many times.

I did find an autographed hardcover copy of the book by Richard Matheson, but I purchased it as a birthday present, so I didn’t read it.

Happy Halloween!

I wrote this for the thirteenth day of the month of October in 2006, which fell on a Friday. I posted it at my old blog, and here’s the repost. Don’t eat too much candy, and stay warm.

I’m a fan of the horror genre in movies, books, and probably all possible media. It isn’t that I enjoy being scared, because I don’t. The horror genre doesn’t frighten me, and I derive great pleasure in depictions of fictional events that tend to cause the opposite reaction in others.

When I was very small and my mom took my brothers and me to see Alien, she struggled to cover three pairs of eyes every time something terrible happened to each member of the Nostromo’s crew. I struggled to stop her from doing that.

One could argue my mom shouldn’t have taken such small children to a horror movie of that sort, but I’m glad she did it just that once, because I loved that movie. You know that thing in children that makes them scream and avoid scary things? That fear mechanism that reacts to scary books or violent images never worked inside of me when I was a young girl.

I can’t begin to count the times my little brother (and sometimes my older brother too) begged me to let him drag his mattress into my room because he was too scared to sleep alone, a concept alien to someone that had invariably been doing that since the age of two.

I was always giggling when Freddy was slashing and smiling when Jason was chopping, and my inclination for fiction of that sort permeates my thoughts as a giantess and as a shrinker of one tiny, defenseless little man. Not the sexy thoughts, but the ones that belong to the reader, the writer, the storyteller.

So don’t worry about the scalpel in my hand… shh, ignore the chains wrapping around your ankles and wrists, and listen as the slow drip of my words trickles down your spine.

Or your funny bone.

* * *

She wept, his side of the bed a colorless desert in the moonlight that filtered through the window she hadn’t closed in weeks. The little dunes of cotton that the sheets that should have covered him shaped blurred beyond the flow of her tears. The cold of October moved the curtains in the room, and she shivered but refused to reach for the quilt that had fallen on the bedroom floor many unmade-bed days before.

If he was cold underground, so would she be, above it.

I’d do anything to have you here again. Anything.

She had the same thought all the minutes of each day. She had begged him to wake up when she saw his broken body on the cold slate of the morgue’s cold chamber. She had prayed to every god to return him to her, her promises shapeless words in her mind, but no god responded. Somewhere in the darkness of a world that no sane person can see, something heard her. It woke up with the smell of her grief tempting its appetite and waited until she thought the word

-soul. I would give up my-

to act.

She woke up as though a gun had gone off in her head. She turned to look at her alarm clock. 3:34 in the morning. The quarter moon’s light had been swallowed by the same hunger that had taken the wind. She sat up, disoriented by something she couldn’t name. She looked at the clock again. 3:34 still, and she noticed the seconds blinker wasn’t moving. The only source of light in the room, its green glow looked like a photo. Her heart started pounding painfully as she realized she couldn’t hear anything.

Then it was over. Moonlight came to be again, and the clock’s light began palpitating in the room again. And she saw it.

In the white flat of his side of the bed was a small shape. She stared at it in recognition of the sweep of that shoulder, the narrow of those hips that had fit perfectly against her many times. It was him! No, it couldn’t be. This body was only a few inches in height. She covered with her hand the sharp gasp that her lungs forced from the air in the room when the tiny body moved to turn in sleep in that same manner he had always done. His arm moved to find her, and she thought she could hear him breathe.

She watched him without moving until her soul was collected from her body the moment he woke up.

He stretched his arm to seek out her warmth and felt the offense of thick, crisscrossed ropes scratching his skin where he lay. He remembered nothing of the accident, and opened his eyes and saw nothing but black. Where she should have been, his fingers touched the strange material that was their bedding. His throat felt dry as he spoke.


There was no answer, but the silence in the room was heavier than words.

“What- what’s this on the bed?”

He looked toward her side of the bed and saw nothing but a mountain of darkness haloed at its summit by a green glow that pulsed behind it. Then the mountain moved. It sent a shock wave that hit him from underneath at the same time a cold wall of fingers coiled around him and lifted him in a tight embrace. Her voice ran through his body like a shattering glacier as the last word he ever heard guttered from her and her teeth closed around his neck.

Listen here, and listen well.

If movies were dogs and cats…

…this drools:

No no no! Bad movie studio! Bad!
No no no! Bad movie studio! Bad!

And this rules:

That’s a nice, good fake movie poster!

I never saw the real Choke movie, nor will I ever watch it.

I’m still taking cleansing showers from Sam Rockwell’s performance in The Green Mile, in any case. Not because he was bad. On the contrary.

I wanted to create funny custom credits for my fake poster, but no time tonight. Maybe this weekend.

March 9, 2018

Almost a decade later, I finally edited my fake poster and added credits that amuse me. Funny how we waste so much time doing things that only have meaning to us. And probably three other people.