“Little did he know that this simple seemingly innocuous act would result in his imminent death.”
— Karen Eiffel.
Harold Crick (Will Ferrell) is going to die. I was enjoying “the nuances, the anomalies, the subtleties” of the supposedly tragic end; off the estuary within the vicinities of the Equestrian club, under the shade of the pine trees with the view of the lagoon.
Not really a perfect place to enjoy a movie in the car with the portable cinema, yet the backseat is comfortable enough to accommodate the comfort of two. The afternoon humidity encourage several gnats to fly over, more of a nuisance than a real menace.
“Stranger than Fiction” is something that I would love to pour over the last night conversation with her but was cut short with the flaw of masses’ OS that requires rebooting of the system for every updated driver.
I thought it would be an interesting movie for her. Emma Thompson is in there, memorably known (to her at least) as the neurotic seer: Professor Sybill Trelawney (Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban). She reprised the same character of neuroticism: Karen Eiffel, a writer with “writer’s block” The monotonous movie is filled with literature discussion (of sort, and a weak one too), when Dr. Jules Hilbert (Dustin Hoffman) asked about characterization of Harold as the protagonist:
The last thing to determine conclusively is whether you’re in a comedy or a tragedy. To quote Italo Calvino: “The ultimate meaning to which all stories refer has two faces: the continuity of life, the inevitability of death.” Tragedy you die. Comedy, you get hitched.
I found my own tragedy and comedy last night too. Diverted from the hypothetically fulfilling discussion about the movie, the metaverse game of Second Life came to light. It’s where the superficial world I escape to, where my avatar traverses as mendicant and fatalist, of which she view it as my reflection of real world – a mendicant and a fatalist.
It’s a unique place of social studies, where a single sentence “usually” is a dictum of your personality. Efficiently, in a single span of time, people could interpret those personal qualities “literally”. Once when we switched avatar to each other, I play a prank on her profile. Adding innocuous “noun” and I forget if ever there was distasteful “adjective”. She failed to notice it until a week later, and I failed to comply with one of the rules of prank engagement – notifying the subject of the prank in the time span of 24 hour after the succeeded establishment of prank material. Within a week, my so called “life-ruining” antic left her isolated by the patrons of her bohemian work and perhaps thousand Linden less in her account.
That’s a tragedy.
Harold is analytical and obsessive compulsive counter. He counts every stroke of his morning routine of the brushing teeth. He mentally counts the product of 4 digits multiplication. He times every second of his coffee break. She called me as the sufferer of OCD last night. Not for counting the stroke of the toothbrush, or the mental arithmetical feat, not even the tardiness of my time-keeping. Diverted to the issues of Second Life, I browsed her Flickr gallery of SL screenshots upon her request. There are three men in depiction of homosexuality camaraderie clad with feminine gown – Snow White, Cinderella and Queen of Hearts – in a dreamy fantasy reverie. Trying not to get too attached with their sensuality garbed with alluring female hair prims attachment, I took the liberty to browse her other Flickr account. I came across the error of the title in one of her picture with [him], titled as 210707. It’s a time stamp taxonomy inaccuracy. The event happened on June (06) as opposed on July (07) during their 48th month together, a four year anniversary. She mistook the numerical as year (2006, 2007) when in fact I referred it as 210607, the middle dual digits signifying the month of June.
This is when the comedy started – a comedy of irony.
Squit would say something innocent to him and he would invariably take offence and go off on a rant similar to Pesci’s famous “Am I a clown to you? Do I amuse you?” bar scene. But rather than laughing or blowing if off like in the movie, Pesto would scream “Dat’s it!”, and proceed to thoroughly wallops Squit.
Something as innocent as keeping track of time stamp is somewhat deem offensive and further cemented as such with this aggression: “No…you just wanna piss me off”. Who in the right mind want to piss off somebody with time stamp error in the middle of the night on a subject that hardly took 1 minute to amend? And what does it got to do with this:
8/12/2007 12:37:14 AM
well..honestly..am tired of u being this jackass smart guy
am tired being trying to set myself as intellectual as you are
i dont need ppl pointing at me and calling me stupid..i can do that by myself
And what is this about “intelligently pointing your mistake”. It’s a spontaneous reaction to a simple error, inquired in the most boring and unassuming way to address it.
If you feel offended now to the point of “Tak puas hati…cakap…bukan rant dlm blog…it’s not like I’m an authority that you cannot talk to” reprimand. Looking at your own blog, hypocrisy might just be too harsh a word since you spew the same air of ranting. Perhaps a little restraint on being judgemental on how obscenely fastidious I’m to the lowest degree of OCD could minimise the effect of this suppressing “irk”.
Don’t mistake the naked sincerity of the moment with the clad nonexistent intellectual insecurity. Don’t be too paranoid, not all people going to dumb you down. It’s only happened in the circle of intellectuals of self-importance; I’m only an enthusiast of knowledge. Hardly a harmful matter until you treated it as hazardous matter during the inception. An error is just an error, and not a hidden agenda to destroy the very fibre of your existence. Unless of course you believe that people like me is hell-bent making the reality of your self-worth in total annihilation. Now that’s paranoid.
I learn a thing or two when confronting a steaming kettle on a hot stove, and I don’t need the knowledge of enthalpy in thermodynamic system to understand the need of more manageable internal energy in order to approach the “ambiguous” entropy. I let the exponential figure of time to dissipate the heat.
Until the 50th month with [him] commence, perhaps the time has come for me to stop keeping the time of our accounts since our first rendezvous, lessening the suffering of OCD that had been a blight upon me. Ending like the tragic end of my last entry of the “lest you forget” by which the content is also the remnant of the frequent emotive verse (15th January 2007) on the 30th January 2007 (oh, there I did it again).
Ana Pascal (Maggie Gyllenhaal) dropped out of Harvard Law School to bake cookies. Her place became the cynosure of a mendicant and a fatalist patron – one of them purportedly to be Vietnam Veteran – a place of little sustenance in her bid of community charity. Despite her antagonism, her cynicism, and overtly reticent, Harold finally found passion and affection behind those personae. And Ana looks wickedly delicious with the tattoo that contours her right biceps.
Perhaps sporadic hatred what really drives this relationship…almost bordering destructive.
“This may sound like gibberish to you, but I think I’m in a tragedy.”
— Harold Crick.
The chain-smoking Karen Eiffel has a particular “hygienic” way to extinguish her fag. Spitting on a clean paper handkerchief, the saliva douse the smouldering nicotine stick. Scrunch it into a pulp, temporarily keeping it in her pocket, she disposes it later.
It’s publicly sanitary but personally noxious. If you have to smoke, at least keep the cigarette butt to its final resting place – the incinerator or the land fill.
MK12 studio is responsible for the visualization, graphic art and closing credits effects. The infographics visual effects of numerical values, manual and diagram presentation are amazing, reminiscent of the IKEA scene in Fight Club.
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