Friday, April 29, 2011

They can't all be charming...

Lately I've been learning more about body language, in the hopes that knowing how to send closed off signals will cut down on the amount of time I spend ignoring men talking at me. It's been quite interesting, although I think being aware of my own body language has led to me hiding it a bit more. (Not a terrible side effect, when I think about it.)

Last week, I stole away from my real life and spent the week in Denver with a good friend. M and I went to a brewery for a tour, which I totally recommend. (Boulder Brewery, look it up.) Post-tour, guests are seated at a table with pitchers of beer--it's a family style beer tasting. The three of us--M, A (another Colorado friend) and myself--were chatting with those around us, until A took a phone call. When he vacated his seat, the man at the far end decided to shake things up.

"Is anyone sitting here?"
"Um...yeah. My friend? Who just got up? 15 seconds ago?"
"Oh, ok." He pushed my friend's glass aside and sat down. Oh. O...k...
I'm introduced to Craig. Craig compliments my Boston Red Sox t-shirt (who can blame him there?) and tells me he's from Massachusetts. After no more than 45 seconds of benign conversation, I decide that's plenty long enough to be trapped and I turn my body away, towards M. As Craig continues to not get the hint, my body turns more and more, fully facing away from him. A comes back and Craig hands him his glass.
Craig keeps trying. He eavesdrops and throws comments in whenever he can. "What?? Amanda's never been ice skating? How is that possible? Come on, Amanda!" He is loud and uses my name so much I tire of the sound. I stop any contact with Craig other than throwing a "Stay out of this!" his way.
Every single aspect of my body language is saying, "Stop talking to me. I am uninterested." But Craig doesn't get that. My head, arms, torso, and legs are firmly pointed away from him. I don't even turn my head to ask him to stay out of our conversation. There is no eye contact AT ALL. Craig, evidently, likes a challenging woman. (This is why Craig likely has terrible luck with women. )

Craig, I promise you I was not playing hard to get. Ignoring you was NOT code for "please try harder." Men, if you read this and thought, "Well, she should have given Craig a chance!" then you also suck at reading body language and would do well with a quick google search.

**the more you know**

Wednesday, April 20, 2011

Movie Review: Sanctum (Spoiler Alert!)

Last night, I sat through the movie Sanctum with some friends. Hmm. This oddly paced, James Cameron-produced movie would be more appropriate if it carried the title Sanctum: Or, John Garvin and Andrew Wight Hate Women.
Wight and Garvin, responsible for the choppy screenplay, must have been seriously burned by women in their lives. Probably women who considered diving a hobby. I mean, that's the only excuse for their treatment of women in this movie.
There are three women in Sanctum. Three. Alright, fine. Maybe there really weren't a lot of women present at the cave dive that inspired this movie. I'm comfortable with that. But's the way these women progress throughout the movie that bothers me. (Here's the whole spoiler alert part, in case you're planning on seeing it.)

This movie is not a feel-good movie. Just about everybody dies. (Not terribly surprising, considering how most "based on a true story" movies go.) It's an unexplored cave dive gone wrong. There are bound to be casualties. The men who die go in a heroic way, or a manner they deserve. (Less than heroic.) The women?
Let's start with the woman who dies during a dive because "her heart wasn't in it." That's what they say. They lament her death with, "her heart wasn't in the dive." At least her body is brought back to the base. And then there were two. The next one to die goes in such a casual manner that I can't recall any single detail concerning her death. (This speaks volumes, considering this made for 3D movie relies heavily on gory and somewhat disturbing images.) I've got nothing. She's a bit like a glorified extra. One minute she's there, on the dive team, and the next...down to one lady.
This last one...oh man. She spends the movie flirting, playing by her own rules, screwing up, and throwing temper tantrums. (Lovely.) She's a tag-along girlfriend thrown into the crisis. An unexperienced diver, she first screams about refusing to wear a dead girl's wetsuit, then bitches about wishing she had a wetsuit. (In her near-hypothermic state, they strip her down to her underwear and cuddle her for warmth. But she's hot, so nobody minds.) Some stressful scenes later, she doesn't listen to timely advice and dies because she gets her hair stuck in a carabiner and pretty much scalps herself. ...What? As a friend put it, she might as well have died because of her menstrual cycle. (Not to mention, the scene was hugely traumatic for anyone with long hair.)

Thanks, Sanctum. What a special movie-watching experience. You may have just inspired this girl to write a screenplay! Now, off to recall the potentially dangerous hobbies of my exes...