~~
A serious question: If a YouTube advert was deliberately aimed at people with an IQ over 50 would it make the Guinness Book of Records? They say authors should write only about what they know. To avoid complete idiocy appearing in their storylines. Which might well suggest that nobody in the advertising industry has an IQ over 50. Makes sense?
Much the same could be said for writers [and directors] of Hollywood films. A lower level of complete ignorance, about the real world, would be almost impossible to find elsewhere. Which may explain why futuristic and science fiction stories are so popular. They no longer have to bother to come up with a reason for anything. It is left wide open to viewer speculation and special effects. Simply because the writers have nothing to offer which could possibly pass muster as remotely plausible in "the real world."
It helps the industry avoid such glaring clangers that only a drooling vegetable could possibly miss the point. Watching films is like travelling in hope and endlessly repenting at leisure. At this point you are supposed to have twigged that [yes] we have watched "Midnight Sky."
In two sittings of an hour each. [We are still only human and have an increasingly low, idiocy tolerance at our age.] This <cough> "glacial" film has more scientific, technological and everyday flaws than any random batch of 1950's "B-movies." It had already defaulted to the Wally-wood, sole, superhuman explanation for the universe and everything, by the end of the titles.
Can the director and "star" of this mind-numbingly long bunch of self-congratulatory tat be blamed for all of it? Perhaps he is just a natural blond whom has overdosed on Grecian 2000? Note: Not a Hollywood blonde. [To safely avoid any suggestion of sexism.] The Head Gardener would certainly not approve of that! Blonde's, I mean.
My regular readers will have realised, by now, that I am still waiting for nature to take its course. To provide an outdoor, illumination level sufficient to avoid certain death by RTA. Given the statistical evidence of toxicity [drug and alcohol abuse] at this time of year [or any other] it would be suicidal to venture forth without a police escort. Flashing blue lights, sirens, etc. until after 9.00am.
Beyond that fixed [winter solstice] hurdle it's every [rural] pedestrian for themselves. "Defensive walking" has always been a strict requirement to survive for another day. Will self-driving cars lead to another population explosion? I see a fleet of autonomous delivery vehicles has been foisted on our badly damaged world.
Now there's no excuse [at all] to get any exercise for the US McLardy's, takeaway classes. "Drive thru" is so yesterday. Now it's all "drive to [you."] I suppose it's a step up from Bozo's whining drones. The middle classes can soon order organic pasta deliveries by stretched, autonomous vehicle.
It rained steadily, on myself alone, as I plodded to the lanes. The usual suspects, in the form of mink gulls, were dotted about on the roadside field. They had all sneaked away on my return. A few crows and redwings were practising "roundtoit" but soon left as I passed by. Hunched against the rain under my hood. Filling in as an extra for "last man standing," as usual. In this dystopian year of endless calamity but an otherwise excellent, postal service.
A solitary swan went over. Complaining bitterly about the injustice of winter weather. I knew its pain. It went into the standard descent pattern over the marsh pond but then finally aborted. Whereupon I lost it behind the trees. The traffic was quiet but noisy this morning. Am I having fun yet? My defence for writing any of this nonsense? An excess of Christmas chocolate. Cast iron, I would have thought.
~~
No comments:
Post a Comment