23 June 2010

I'm Too Jaded to Even Come Up with a Proper Title

A few days ago, I realized that I will never see Iron Man 2. And I'm perfectly fine with that.

It's not that I think I'll dislike it. It's not that I've heard bad things. And it's not that I'm a Robert Downey, Jr. hater. (Who can be? The man is one charming prick, after all.) No, it's just that I never found the time for it when it wasn't competing against movies I'd rather see in the theater, and now that it is, I don't feel any particular urge to catch up with it when it's on DVD. At least, I don't feel the need to put it ahead of the 1 million other flicks and television shows currently on my Netflix queue.

As I get older, I find myself more and more reaching these kinds of conclusions, of the "Why waste my precious fucking time?" variety. For example, I have found myself completely unable to feel the slightest bit of interest in the Twilight series. Yes, yes, I know I'm not in the target audience for it, but I still love movies and gossip about them, and I like to read reviews and essays slamming those I don't like, or think I won't like even if I've never seen them. Twilight was no exception. I was positively giddy to peruse blog posts and analyses that tore apart the books, the movies, anything about them. I was even intrigued enough to read articles that praised, or at least tried to explain the popularity of the series, from a somewhat informed and intelligent point of view.

Now? I feel nothing. I just do not give the slightest shit about any of those fucking things. This is probably a result of there being so much of it. If it had been one movie everyone went nuts over, we might be past it by now, and/or it might retain some of its cultural interest. But with it draaaaaggged out over several years and...how many now? four? five movies?...all avenues of Twilight that might possibly stir something in me are completely gone.

Used to be, if a movie was creating enough buzz, if enough peers were pressuring me into seeing it, I might check it out just to have an opinion. Nowadays, fuck you. For me to get off my ass, it has to be something I'm genuinely drawn by, not forced into. If I'm seeing something just to have an opinion, it better be a unique mindfuck like Antichrist, and not Namby and Pamby Stare at Each Other.

It's not just awful and mediocre things I feel this way about. Michael Jackson is another one. Yes, his music is great and brilliant. But I've heard his songs ten million times, I've read ten million articles about him, I've seen the "Thriller" dance done in a hundred million permutations and "parodies." I'm done with it. I will not reward your lazy pop cultural referencing. I will not get on the dance floor if you play "Billie Jean." (If I'm already out there, though...I'm not an unfeeling monster.) It's fantastic music, but there are other fantastic tunes out there that remain underplayed and undiscovered. Move the fuck on.

Perhaps it's the cranky old man coming to life within me. He's been there for a while already, but now I'm really settling into the role. I certainly felt that way when I discovered that the MTV Movie Awards were being held on the same day that they were actually airing on television.

When I was a kid, I followed that shit fervently. Even with the tiny, snobby cineaste still forming in my chest, I was rooting for my favorites in categories like Best Action Sequence and Best Villain. Lord knows if a new awards show came along that gave out awards in those categories and actually fucking meant it (giving awards to Twilight means your awards are worthless) I'd still watch the hell out of them. And even after they altered the categories to remove all the balls, and kept recognizing Hollywood Romantic Comedy Cash-In 7: Fuck Yo Brain!, I was interested in viewing the comedy routines and short films the hosts and writers would come up with to make the show watchable.

This year, I didn't even hear one goddamn thing about it until mere hours before it was going to be on my TV box. I caught a promo for it and suddenly felt mortality's cold, iron clasp grip my sternum. It wasn't that I was sad that I didn't give a shit, or missed having an interest in that kind of thing. It was that my lack of knowledge about it was just another symptom of life moving on, swiftly progressing toward my inevitable death. It's a youth culture, Grandpa. Embrace your infirmity or try to pathetically pretend that you're still with it.

Oh well. Onward to the future, folks. Perhaps one day, I'll create something that everyone else will get sick of hearing and reading about. If that happens, and assholes like me start complaining about it, then I will be quite happy with myself...but only if I make a boatload of money off it. Otherwise, what's the point?

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