Back in the days of love and leisure suits, movie goers were treated to a lava show half an hour or so before the main event. A rotating lava lamp was projected up onto the screen for all movie goers who were unfashionably early. Like all lava shows it was maddening. Mesmerizing in its monotony, it made you watch. The drama of the slow globule action: when was that big blob going to release and float upwards? You couldn’t stop watching even as you worried after your own sanity and role in society.
The last time I went to the movies, instead of a lava show they had a Taylor Swift short. Not a music video, but something that someone, somewhere thought was a cute little story about a day in the life of Taylor Swift. It wasn’t cute. It was just dumb. Conception was infantile, writing non-existent. Made me dream of the good old days when mindless blobs floated about.
Isn’t it enough that the megastar is a megastar? Does my silence have to be interrupted by a non-tale of her life? Does her existence have to permeate every corner of my existence? Apparently. There was 15 minutes of Swift-free time when I got to the theater unfashionably early and that was just wrong. The uber-rock star thought police will not stand for it.
In these post-1984 times we can take comfort in knowing we’re well on our way to the take over by the robot overlords.
(Sorry for the preceding rant. I’m supposed to be blogging about movies because in my own demented way I’m trying to control your mind. I should be manipulating you into going to Facebook and liking the Traffic Opera page. That’s my job, but folks, for one moment I would like to stop this maddening chase after notoriety and friends. Do what you want. Like Traffic Opera, line up for Taylor Swift concert tickets, or do what I’m going to do — go out and find a vintage lava lamp.)
Have a nice day.
The preceding message was brought to you by Citizens for a Free Mind.
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