Carolime Time

Every so often, I am propelled by the churning in my stomach. It is a fusion of bile and butterflies that makes me rush from the comfort of my back against my bed and write. It is the emerald green flush that follows the downpour and violence of pounding concrete on my ears, the hopscotch roofs with one leg pointing upwards, tiled along the streets, upon which i walk hand in hand with my muse. It is the safety I look forward to and to which i hold tight. the sound is always so close that i can hear it lurking behind the doors we pass. we walk faster, taking turns on each others shoulders as we make haste. i am getting tired of running, and the impalpable is growing tired of trying to keep up with me. i am sorry for taking you everywhere i go.

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As one of my web entrepreneur friends put it, in terms of whether the public can weed through the garbage online and figure out where the truth lies,

“Generally speaking there is a 80 to 20 ratio on the Internet. 20% are intelligent and the 80% are computer illiterate. Thus they are idiots and will fall for any traps.”

It’s like today’s news media. How many people do I see feeding into every bit of the news, never researching their sources, never knowing how much spin there is in everything they’re digesting into their bloodstream?

One time, my aunt called me up, all gung-ho about putting her daughter into acting and modeling. Apparently, my cute and eager cousin was approached by a solicitor at a fair and told she should join their school and talent agency. The price would be upwards of $2000.00.

Seeing as I have a lot of performing experience, my aunt wanted my advice on whether the school is good or not, and whether her daughter was too young. Now, I’ve known fraud. When I was young, in pre-Google times, I researched fraud agencies myself, painstakingly following forums and links till I got to the core of a topic–only to discover I’d been approached by a fraudulent agency.

It’s much easier these days. I simply typed in the name of the performing arts school my aunt mentioned (I can’t remember it right now). The first link was the website of the company itself. The average web-user will click on this site and get buried in the content of the site, its testimonials, and registration page. I simply looked below the first link and came upon threads and comments revealing the company for all it was worth. I promptly called my aunt and told her that this was the case.

The thing is, not everyone will take the time or consider looking further in this manner.

Similarly, we read countless blogs on a topic, and think that because it’s written in blog-style and from a real, live person…that we’re not being tricked.

BLOGS ARE MARKETING TOOLS!!

i just had to say that out loud. it’s pounding in my head. where is quality writing?

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Alright, so I watched a few movies this year at the Toronto International Film Festival (TIFF). In total, I saw four. I don’t know how people could see more than that, considering it can get quite pricey and time consuming..I’d have to take the week off to fully appreciate it!

The only movie that really stood out and caught my eye was Martyrs, which was a psychological thriller gore fest of a movie. Taking equal amounts of excess from all, the movie is about two young women who share a very close and interdependent “friendship” (which can be easily mistaken for more, especially by yours truly;)). They embark on a quest to figure out the past of the girl with the more troubled past. Having escaped torture as a child, this character decides to take revenge on the perpetrators early in the movie. What follows is a lot of bloodshed, unabashed fleshy debris, and desperation. No one knows why the character was tortured, and whether her torture is a figment of her imagination or an actual memory of fact. This successfully keeps viewers on the edge of their seat. I spent the first 45 minutes of the viewing considering leaving.

Halfway through the film, a 90 degree switch takes place where directors incorporate the human infatuation with death and the afterlife. In a most gruesome and cringe-worthy manner, the film shows the extent to which a person can suffer physical and sometimes mental pain and helplessness. The movie does not even approach the tackiness or repetitiveness of other gore films I’ve seen. It plants butterflies in the viewer from the beginning. The one thing it lacks is an ending that leaves you wanting more. The butterflies settle, and there is only a slight veil of fear or discomfort that you’ll carry home. The film otherwise remains in the theatre. Though, if you read the news headlines, such instances as depicted in Martyrs are not completely implausible. 

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I really didn’t expect to like Las Vegas. Sin City, “Whatever Happens in Vegas…”, “Vegas Baby”
really aren’t the sort of things that typically woo me. I was expecting a dirtier Dubai, something akin to Amsterdam on ecstasy.
But I think it’s the people here that have captivated me. They’re all really crazy, freespirited, ruthless and charming. They talk the talk and walk the walk, everyone knows ’someone’ who knows someone. They’re not moved by celebrities, and they talk to anyone that speaks their language. Oh and what a language it is. Filled with dollar signs, nods, and concealed handshakes.

Poolside at the Mirage, “Pool Bare”, I watch a girl prance around in a sparkly bikini, popping her foot in the air behind her and laughing at something a friend says a few feet  away. She glances around her mischievously, and checks to see if anyone is watching. Of course, someone is always observing, besides me. Behind her, a woman sits with a group of men and fondles her visibly hard, rock solid breasts while sipping on a mojito. My friend and I exchange a glance of certainty on the question of implants. She is the only topless woman at the pool, which welcomes nudity, and I am the only one in shorts and a t-shirt. We all do something to stand out. The sun is beating down on us, and the DJ plays on behind me. The transitions are smooth, I’m loving every song as he spins Red Hot Chilli Peppers mixed with Kaskade and the guy across from me flexes his chest muscles to the bass, hiding behind his sunglasses with a smirk.

This is Las Vegas, where anything goes, and where glamorous movies find their muse. Every conversation is laced with inflated status, and nothing is offered for free or out of the goodness of ones heart. The warm, inviting promoters get $50 a head for each person they bring into the club, and they shamelessly request your phone number after looking you up and down without noticing you. Thinking that they way to your heart is through flattery, they spin words around your head, perhaps dazzling you on the first night…but that’s why you need to stay in Vegas about 5 nights. Everyone says, leave after 3 nights. I suggest 5 nights–the 4th night, you meet the people you’ve only introduced to. The 5th night, you digest.

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