Toy Story 3, I am relieved and surprised to say, is an excellent film. It is one of the many movies I’ve seen this week, mostly in CENICUlungan, thanks to copied downloads from Smoketh and BOTD, which are mostly romantic comedies: The Lake House, Love Happens, Just Like Heaven, and The Proposal—four movies I’ve seen in quick succession to remove the morbid aftertaste of my own downloaded film, The Road, the movie version of a Cormac McCarthy book, featuring Aragorn and his son in a post-apocalyptic world, whose goal is to get something to eat and escape from people trying to eat them. The entire movie is so depressing that the only ray of light is when Aragorn finds a can of Coke and gives it to his son, which brought me to tears. There was an even brighter ray of light—when Aragorn finds… cigarettes, imagine being stuck in a post-apocalyptic world without them, but cigarettes, which have been illegal in our hospital since forever, are now just explicitly stated to be illegal in this hospital with the punishment ranging from a year in prison and 100K fine, so watch out smokers. Also seen: Kimmy Dora which is a fun movie in its own right, and my favorite, Superbad, featuring the Frodo and Samwise of the suburbs on their quest for sex. Seth going down the elevator with his girl and stealing a glance at his best friend Evan with P.S. I Love you being sang by Curtis Mayfield in the background brings me to tears. Yes, things like these bring me to tears. As for the four bland romantic movies—The Lake House, Love Happens, Just Like Heaven, and The Proposal—the situations around which love has been found are not totally impossible, except when the involved people are ugly.
Toy Story 3, I would have to say, is the one movie that speaks to me personally, as it reminds me of my own beloved action figures. I don’t like calling my action figures as a “collection”—why, do you call your friends collections? Do you refer to your parents, your brothers and sisters, your fuck buddies, as collections?! My action figs are sitting—or standing, hee he, comfortably in my glass eskaparate, which begs the questions: Do they want to be in the eskaparate? Do they feel proud being posed in a giant, colorful splash page, or would they rather get played with in an elaborate, graphic-novel worthy storyline? What about my other old toys, the ones in boxes that I do not consider worthy of being in the eskaparate? Are they all secretly… trying to escape?!?!