So, once again, everything that is wrong in Kaasan's life is all my fault. That's right, I'm solely responsible for her unhappiness. What horrible thing did I do this time? Well, two things: thing one, I didn't interrupt her while she was watching television and thing two, I wasn't hungry for dinner.
So, a little more explanation is in order here. First off, I suppose I should explain that she was having a stressed day. See, we (my sisters and I) got her a gas grill for Christmas, but it wasn't assembled. I had mentioned that both of my Brothers-in-law would help her put it together. But today she decided that she was going to do it. Fine, sure, go for it. She, of course, gets frustrated and annoyed because it's not going together easily. I make the mistake of mentioning the offer of help, and her response was to complain about neither of my BILs being here (just to be clear here, no, she didn't call and ask them to come). Well, she finally got it put together. Meanwhile, I've been cooking cupcakes (trying out some new recipes). Before I start making the filling for the cupcakes, she asks if I want to get dinner after her laundry is done, in about an hour. I agree, sure, we can do that. While I'm putting the filling in the cupcakes, she gets a call from one of my uncles. So, she was chatting on the phone for a while. Finally, she goes to get her laundry. Mind you, during this time, I'm finishing making the filling for the cupcakes, filling them, and cleaning up the kitchen. I finish, and she's sitting watching television. I come in the livingroom, and she doesn't say anything, just keeps watching Two and a Half Men. Because I don't want my IQ to continue dropping, I leave after about 5 minutes, coming into the computer room. I go back out after a bit, and she starts complaining about how it's getting too late to get anything to eat (it was 8:30). I suggest several places we can either go out to eat or get carry-out. She doesn't want to make any decision about it, though. So, I'm stuck trying to suggest things, and I'm not even all that hungry. Well, I make a suggestion, but we don't have a menu, so she wouldn't know what they have and doesn't know what to ask for. Okay, fine, I say, how about this place we have a menu for? No, I don't want that (despite not being able to tell me what she does or even doesn't want). Um, okay, well, would you like Italian carry-out? She tells me to just decide what I want, and she'll decide if she wants anything. Fine, I say, I'll take out the garbage and think about it, and let her know when I get back in. Well, while I'm taking out the garbage to the dumpster, I realize that the reason I'm not coming up with ideas is that I'm just not hungry. And while I'm more than happy to go get food if Kaasan wants it (and would get something for myself, either to have right away or to eat later), I wasn't going to go out for just me when I wasn't actually wanting anything to flipping eat in the first place.
So, yeah, because I wasn't hungry and because I thought she was watching television because she *wanted* to, I'm totally the bad guy in our place tonight.
(If you're wondering, the reasonable way to handle this would have been for her to say "Hey, I'm really getting hungry, are you going to be ready to go soon?" and to think about what kind of frikkin food she actually wanted, since she was the one actually asking. Obviously, this isn't what happened, because we can't handle things in a reasonable manner around here).
- Music:soundtrack to American McGee's Alice
So, it's been kind of a crap week thus far. Well, actually, it's been kind of a crap month. Now, some of the things going on are my fault, and hey, mea culpa for those bits. But not all of it.
Now, to understand what's been going on, you need to understand a bit of my perspective on life, and you need some background. First off, let's be clear: I am a horrible human being. As a creature of compassion and empathy, I am an utter failure. I'm not saying this in some sort of passive-aggressive woe-is-me stance. I'm saying it because I'm a bloody misanthropic bitch, and I'm okay with that. I'm not nice, no matter that I pretend to be for a large number of the idiots I encounter regularly. Am I a good person? I'd like to think so. But I am by no means nice. And unless I actually know you, I probably don't like you. I know the people reading this know me well enough to have figured this out, but I thought I'd make sure we were all clear on that, so you're not too shocked by what comes after.
Second, I am of the personal belief that Judaism, Catholicism, and any other guilt-based religion actually teaches followers to be incredibly self-centered. What do I mean? Well, if you put a gun to somebody's head and pull the trigger, yeah, you should probably feel guilty about that. But you shouldn't feel guilty about things you have no control over. So, if your friend is having a bad day, and there's nothing you can really do to make it better, you shouldn't feel guilty about that. Because feeling guilty implies that you think the world revolves around you to the point that you can (or should be able to) change things that don't in any way concern you.
So, we're clear on all of that. On to the background.
My niece Aurora passed away at the end of January of this year at the age of 12, after having been in the hospital for a month, most of it in a coma due to illness. I recognize this is sad, in a general sort of way, because you don't usually expect people that young to die. However, this actually had no direct emotional impact on me (see the misanthropic bit above). It had an indirect impact, because my sister, her mom, was wrecked. And my mom, her grandma, wasn't much better. But here's my perspective: picture finding out some third cousin twice removed died young. Someone you never saw but once or maybe twice a year (if you were lucky). Because that's exactly what it was from where I stood. See, Aurora lived with her dad, my sister's first husband, who was a class-A asshat. I mean, really. A complete wanker. A tosser. A real jerk; a kneebiter. Comparing him to pond scum insults Eukaryotes everywhere. This guy was probably culpable to some extent in her passing. She had medical issues and needed corrective surgery which he refused to believe she needed, and was using methods like crystal healing to try to fix a congenital problem with her spine. Oh, and when she went into the hospital the first time, he checked her out AMA. So, no love lost.
Not surprisingly, this stellar specimen of humanity made every effort to see to it that Aurora got to spend as little time as possible with my sister, and even less time with anyone else in my family. This was not for lack of trying on my mother's part, he just made excuse after excuse about why my mother couldn't take her out for the day or whatever.
So, now you've got a pretty clear picture of the past. Moving on to the recent stuff.
See, Aurora's birthday would have been the 18th of this month. And by this time last year, she was already starting to get sick. So she's been on my sister's mind; no surprise there. She's been on my mother's mind; again, no surprise. But my mother has been going on about how she feels so guilty about how she didn't spend enough time with Aurora. On and on and on. Remember when I said that this sort of guilt is, to me, really self-centered? Because that's what's going on here. My mother didn't see Aurora because Aurora's father made it impossible for my mother. Not because my mother didn't put forth effort. So I'm already a bit inclined to find this attitude annoying as fuck. Don't get me wrong: my mother has the right to mourn as long as she wants to. So does my sister. Nobody gets to dictate how long you feel unhappy because you miss someone. You're unhappy for as long as you're unhappy, that's all there is to it. But the guilt thing? Yeah, not really justified, IMO.
Well, justified or not, mom's been upset. The fact that she loathes her job and that her boss is a real jerkface doesn't help. So she's not been in that much of the holiday mood. But, nonetheless, she put up the tree, and asked me to put on the lights and garland (this was the weekend of the 3rd).
I have been stupidly busy at work, and when I haven't been at work, I've been ridiculously busy with school and finals. So I didn't get to it that weekend, nor did I get to it the following week. Now, Mom was out of town for part of last week into this week (off visiting relatives). And when she left, she took my apartment keys with her, rather than take the effort to pull her own apartment keys off her keyring. So, in order to be able to get into the apartment, I was taking both her keys and my keys with me to work every day. Also, I had been completely swamped with my final project for my Computer Forensics class. So the apartment got to be a complete mess, and I'm not going to say it was anyone's fault but mine. Plus half of the tree lights didn't work, so I needed to buy more lights before I decorated the tree.
Now, as of Monday night, I had finished all but one part of my Computer Forensics assignments, and that part was due Wednesday. So, my plan was to stop at the store Tuesday night, get some lights, decorate the tree, clean the apartment, and have it all looking nice for Mom's arrival on Wednesday afternoon. And that day I was just going to leave her keys there, and I'd set the door to lock when I left (since she'd be there when I got home Wednesday night). One little problem with this plan. She came home Tuesday. That's right, I totally screwed up and didn't double-check the calendar, so she came home to a horrid mess of an apartment and no car keys. And that part? Yeah, that's entirely my fault. Mea culpa, mea culpa, mea maxima culpa.
So, she gets home, and she calls me. For whatever reason, she calls my office number, rather than the cell phone I have been really good about remembering to charge and keep with me everywhere. And she called while I was in a meeting, so she had to leave a message. I get back to my desk to a really irate voicemail wanting to know where her car keys are. I explained that I totally screwed up, misremembered the date she was coming home, so I have her keys. But I can leave work and bring them to her. It's fine, I'll just work extra Wednesday and Thursday. No, she says, don't bother, it will take you too long to get home. I'm just going to take the tree down. (so now you start see where the calling off Christmas comes in). Oh, and I forgot to mention - when I mentioned to her that I had picked up her Christmas present (one that she actually asked for I might add), she tells me, "I told you I don't want anything! Fine, I know you don't listen to me." Fuuuuuck. Yeah, she did tell me that. After she told me what she wanted and I bleeding well ordered it and paid for it. At this point, I'm seriously debating whether I should just take her gift back. Not as a gesture of aggression, but because I frankly don't want her getting all aggro about the whole thing.
So, yeah, she's been home the last two days, and I've been spending as much time as I can reasonably get away with out of the apartment. Because it's either that or stay here and have her get all upset and annoyed with me (oh, yeah, that's another thing. She's been so oversensitive that if I don't deliberately make nice and be extra polite in my tone, she'll lay into me about my attitude). So, yeah, don't really want to be home with that shite going on. I am not that kind of a masochist.
So, I suppose that, given everything, I can't wait for the next 6 weeks or so to be gone. So if I seem grouchy, now you know why. Hope the rest of you are having a more restful holiday season.
- Music:Pink, "Trouble"
I'm supposed to go to Michigan today. Yesterday, I came down with a cold, which has only gotten nastier. If I find out who gave this to me (I'm looking at you, Sheck & Atter), I will see to it that they meet a dreadful fate. That is all.
While I understand the use of social media and all that, I'm not personally a big fan of using it to encourage my friends and acquaintances to sponsor this cause or help with that social issue or give money to the other group out begging for it.
But I've recently discovered a project on Kickstarter that I feel enough about to share with whomever reads this. The project is a short film version of the Terry Pratchett short story, Troll Bridge The Kickstarter campaign is here: http://kck.st/eT2NLu
Want to know more about the film? Here's a 10-minute video:
The movie is supported by Mr. Pratchett himself, so that says very good things.
If you're not familiar with Kickstarter, here's an overview. So, a person/group has an idea (in this case, make a movie). Idea needs money. So, they say, okay we need $x.xx ($45,000). A bake sale isn't gonna cut it here. Let's go out to the Internet and ask people for money! Kickstarter allows users to pledge whatever amount they like (from $1.00 up to as much as you want). And, kind of like a PBS pledge drive, they will give gifts at certain levels of contributing (for example, for this film, give $30 and you will get a downloadable version of the Special Edition DVD - but you can always give more or less). The best part of the whole thing? If they don't meet their goal, you don't lose out. So, in this case, if Snowgum Films doesn't reach a pledge value of $45,000 by the deadline of July 6, then nobody pays anything. It protects you from projects falling through due to lack of funding.
Now, there are numerous other projects on Kickstarter, and I highly recommend checking the whole thing out, but I really encourage you to donate what you can for Troll Bridge. Who knows, you could help the next Peter Jackson make it big!
Thanks for listening (well, okay, reading, you know what I meant).
So, rant warning, just so's you know.
As you're probably aware, it's the first Friday of Lent. And my mother, a rather lapsed Catholic, gets into her head that she wants to go to a fish fry. Now, I told her that I wasn't sure, because I didn't know how late I'd be working. And I called her at 19:30, to say I'd lost track of time, and that I'd be there at least another 20 mins (so, yeah, not leaving work until at least 19:50, which means not home until at least 20:30). I actually ended up being at work for more than another hour - the system was running slow, nothing I could really do about the bloody thing. So, yeah. I finish work, realize I need to print off a couple of things for myself. Get that done. Pack everything up, and head off. Go to the Post Office to get mail, then plan to go home. I call from the Post Office, figuring that, by this time, my mother's already eaten. I mean, at no time did I indicate she should wait for me. I thought I'd made it clear that my attendance at dinner was far from certain. So, rather than starve herself, I figured she's a big girl, she'd have her own dinner. Or, failing that, I figured she'd call if she was getting too hungry. So, yeah, I call from the PO, just to make sure she doesn't need me to stop anywhere or get anything for her. At this point, I realize she never bothered to have dinner. And hooo, boy, I know how this is going to play out. But, it's not like I can skip going home. So, I head home. Explain that I had thought she would have already eaten, but that I'd be happy to go out and get food with her. I just needed to feed the cat. So, feed the cat, dump the rest of the milk (which had gone off because she hadn't closed the refrigerator door this morning when she grabbed out her lunch, so I wake up to nasty milk). I then go back in the living room, and she's watching the news. I wait, as politely as I can manage, for either the story to be over or for her to actually answer whether she wants to go get food. Well, by the time the story is over, she's giving me the pissy "What?!" Rather than blow up, or make things worse, I excuse myself to the computer, where I update one of my accounts to note that I received two books in the mail today. Go back in the living room, wait for the weather forecast to be done, and then try to broach the subject of dinner again, see if she still wants to go out (which I'm still fine with). But oh, no, it's far too late. So, now she's skipped dinner, and it's all my fault. Of course it is. Because the two places we know of that have fish fry, one is already closed, and the other is too far and too slow, and it's too late in the evening. So, I've ruined her night. Yup, that's me, controller of other people's destinies.
To be fair, I should have called when I left work, which would have given her more time to decide what the heck she wanted. And I may have dallied at work, because I thought she wouldn't want to go out, even if I had left work at 19:50, because she's usually not fond of going out that late (she's fine with picking up dinner, but not of going out, since, again, the service would have been slow and she gets to be quite, um, unpleasant when she thinks the service isn't up to her standards). But I obviously didn't make that clear in the message I left her, so we can blame that part on me. But we can't blame me for her skipping dinner. And we can't blame me for her acting like a sodding child and going to her room and slamming the door because she didn't get her bloody way.
And, at this point, I still haven't had dinner either. And I'm not sure I want to go out. Anyway, needed to get that off my chest. Next time I'll try journaling about my theory on the parallels between David Lynch's Mulholland Drive and the Greek folk tale of Eros and Psyche, or something.
- Music:Florence and the Machine, "Drumming Song"
Some days you're the windshield, some days you're the bug
I'm in a bad mood. Let's get that clear up front. I'm depressed as hell. I've no doubt part of this is hormonal. But part of it isn't.
So, it was my birthday on Sunday, as you probably know. I don't make a big fuss about the whole thing, but I do like to have people wish me a happy birthday. I like getting cards, or phone calls, or text messages, or whatnot. I don't want to have servers in a restaurant all gather around and sing to me, but I like people I know to wish me a happy b-day. I have no illusions about why this is. See, I don't have a lot of happy childhood memories associated with my birthday. My most memorable birthday was when I turned 7. My mother rented out the party room at McDonalds, and I invited everyone in my class. Nobody came. I don't mean that as in only a few people showed up. I mean that as in myself, my mother, and my sisters were there, and that was it. So, yeah, nowadays I like just a simple acknowledgment. Happily, I heard from the majority of my friends on or before my birthday, so that was great. No, what I'm depressed about is work.
Now, this is kind of childish. I admit that up front, so no need to call me on it. See, at work, there is a group of people who are responsible for putting up balloons and streamers at people's desks on their birthdays. I've been with the same team for 3 birthdays now, and never once gotten my desk decorated. The first year was totally understandable, because I'd only been on the team for about 6 weeks. I mean, that's totally reasonable. Last year, however, there wasn't that excuse. And this year, while I expected that it wouldn't happen, I was still disappointed. Okay, very disappointed. To the point that I was stupid enough to whinge to my boss, Lewis. Please understand, I did this not because I wanted him to fix it, I just wanted to piss and moan a little. The reason it was stupid to say anything to him is that I'm concerned that I'm going to go in tomorrow and there's going to be decorations at my desk. That would be just pathetic. I mean, like I said, I didn't want him to fix it. (As an aside, this is the same reason I sometimes don't tell my mother what's wrong, because she thinks she can fix whatever it is. She doesn't get the point that, by the time I'm saying something, it's already a bit too late to fix).
So, yeah, work sucked because of that. And I've decided I really don't like my yoga teacher. He's very good at yoga. But I don't think he's a very good teacher. For example, when doing triangle pose, it's important to keep your legs and torso in the same plane - i.e. don't bend forward. It's meant to be a side stretch. So, he says, don't bend forward, but because he's doing all of the poses with us, he doesn't look to see if anybody is doing it wrong. A good yoga instructor will walk around class while everyone is in the pose, and offer corrections to those who are a bit off. He also doesn't offer any alternative if someone is unable to do a pose. Like, if your arms are too short for bow pose, he doesn't suggest any alternative. Maybe I've been coddled, but every yoga instructor I've had before this did those two things. After all, this is supposed to be an Intro to Yoga class. Well, correction, the title of the class is Intro to Hatha Yoga. What it actually is is a mixed meditation and yoga class.
Also, as we go through postures, I'm very clearly reminded of how unsuited I am for the class. I mean, look at me. I have no business being in that class. Fat doesn't compress that much, after all. It's not like I can twist myself up like everybody else in the class. Today was bad enough that I was working very hard at not crying during Shavasana. Though that does bring up another complaint - every other yoga class I've been in allowed at least 10 minutes for Shavansana. I mean, you have to allow time to consciously relax all the muscles in the body, and then allow time to mentally wind down. That's what Shavasana is! It's called "corpse pose" for a reason - you're supposed to imitate a corpse in both body and mind. This instructor allows 5 minutes at most.
So, days like today make me really wish I still smoked. Well, honestly, they make me wish I would contract/develop some horrible incurable malady, like brain cancer or something. I couldn't kill myself - not because I'm afraid, or I think it's a one-way ticket to Hell. No, but I do think it would weigh very heavily on my karma, because it's very selfish. I mean, it would destroy my mom. She'd blame herself. And while I find that habit of hers to be incredibly obnoxious and self-centered, because I'm aware of it I can't ignore it. Basically, it would cause hardship to too many people if I killed myself, and nobody has any business causing that many people grief. By the same token, I can't park my car on some train tracks or something, because then the train conductor would have to live with the guilt of having killed someone. That's just evil. And I may be a lot of things, but I do try not to be completely evil. So, rest assured, I'm not pondering ways to kill myself, no matter how much I think things would be better if I weren't here. Because I recognize that the only person I can guarantee things would be better for is me, and I can't trade my peace of mind for someone else's.
Well, it's late, and I have to be at the dentist tomorrow first thing. So I'm for bed. Hope you're having a better day than me.
- Music:Thanatos - Splinters
Why is it that every time I say that I don't like children, people can't believe it? And when I say I don't want any, they think I don't know my own mind?
Before I go off on a rant here - for my friends who have kids, I know that you raise your children well. You don't let them run around like little monsters, and you understand that discipline is an important part of parenting. And I don't dislike your children. But I still couldn't live with something that needy that isn't able to a) completely articulate what it wants and b) take care of itself. This is also a small part of why I don't have a dog - too much responsibility.
So, let me set up the situation for you: I was talking to a few people after my Networking class let out, and we were talking about the case in Georgia where a man was jailed after smacking around somebody else's child
. The two-year-old was apparently crying a bit too much for his peace of mind, so he slapped the kid 4 times in the face!
While discussing this, I came out and said, "well, I can't say the thought's never crossed my mind. But then, I don't like kids." the general response was along the lines of ha ha ha, oh, c'mon, everybody likes kids, and the ever-famous, "well, you'll feel differently when you have your own." At which point I stated again that no, I don't like them, and moreover I don't ever intend to have any. This completely shocked the breeders I was surrounded by. "Oh, you don't mean that." "Oh, wait until you're older, you'll change your mind." Um, hello? I'm 33 years old. I think I know whether or not parenting is for me. And no, it isn't. Oh, and my teacher said "Oh, you'd make a great mother." This woman knows pretty much nothing about me, I could be a serial killer for all she knows. But she's convinced I'd make a good mother. No. I make a good aunt, because I can hand them back when I'm done. But if I had to raise a kid? I'd probably eat a bullet. That's way too much stress.
Yeah, I was really annoyed with the whole thing. Then one of my classmates said he had an autistic child, and started saying he agrees with Dr Wakefield, who advises parents against
vaccinating their children, because it causes autism. That's right - vaccines cause autism. Those same ones that we got. Last I checked, I wasn't autistic. I don't even qualify as having Asbergers, despite being socially clueless. My issue is that his research methods are questionable, and hasn't been reproduced by anyone
. Oh, and that he's trying to patent alternative vaccines, so he has a very good motive for discrediting the current ones. Don't get me wrong. Autism numbers are on the rise (currently 1 in 150 kids are diagnosed as autistic). But that also has a lot to do with the broadening of the spectrum that defines autism. People with mild symptoms weren't necessarily considered autistic before, and now they are. but that doesn't mean that big pharmaceutical companies, along with the FDA, are trying to poison your kids.
I swear. Everyday I look around, and I see dumb people.
- Music:Carfax Abbey - Soul to Bleed
So, the next installment of movie reviews.
There is a theater in Chicago called Facets that shows mostly art house or foreign films. Well, every Saturday they have a "Night School," which is a mini-lecture, cult classic film, and after-film discussion. Last weekend's movie was called Cemetery Man (originally released as Dellamorte Dellamore in Italy). Short version: this is an Italian zombie movie. Upon learning that, I went in expecting blood, gore, horror, and subtitles. What I got was very black humor, a bit of gore, existentialism, and English dialogue. No, the film wasn't dubbed, it was shot in English.
This movie stars the very hot and somewhat young Rupert Everett (who gets to spend several scenes shirtless, to my happiness) as Fransisco Dellamorte, a cemetery caretaker with a recurring problem. Specifically that some of his dead don't stay dead. Approximately 7 days after death (give or take), some people come back as flesh-eating zombies. But these are not the zombies of American cinema. No, these zombies can talk, occasionally reason, and seduce. They also have heads that, when ripped from their bodies, can fly and scoot along the ground (at one point, a girls head follows along behind Dellamorte's idiot-savant assistant Gnaghi like some lost puppy).
So either in spite of or because of the shattering of my expectations, I really enjoyed the movie. Like most of the audience, I spent much of my time laughing at the zombies, and at Dellamorte's complete nonchalance to destroying them (the movie opens with him being on the phone, only to be interrupted by a zombie pounding on the door. He very casually shoots it in the head and returns to his conversation as if nothing had ever happened). The film does take a left turn into existentialism about 2/3rds of the way through, with musings on death and wondering if it wouldn't be easier to just shoot the living in the head to prevent the problem in the first place. Some scenes take on an almost hallucinogenic property, and we are forced to wonder if Dellamorte is going completely round the bend, or if these things are actually happening.
Very importantly, this movie works on multiple levels. If you want something that you can just laugh off, this works. After all, you can ignore the subtext and just take it for face value, and it is still an entertaining movie. But I think that is doing yourself a disservice. This movie, despite the gore and humor, has the ability to make you think, and the ending is bound to set a few wheels spinning in your head. So, bottom line, rent this movie.
So, I'm one of those people who actually enjoys her own company. I mean, hanging out with friends is great, but I'm perfectly happy to go do things on my own. This includes going to the movies. Thus, the subject line: even if you're out with friends, going to the movies still generally involves being in the dark with strangers. And hopefully you choose movies you enjoy, so you have fun.
So, I'm going to try to post whenever I go to the movies, a brief review of the film in question, my impressions and thoughts, that sort of thing. You know, make it look like my opinion's important and all. ^.~
So, first on the block: G.I. Joe: The Rise of COBRA. Let's be clear: I went to see this movie for two things: eye candy and explosions. I got what paid for. I very much enjoyed the movie, despite having a few issues with the internal logic and just plain physics. At the beginning, you learn that some soldiers are transporting this super nano-weapon, which comes with a separate kill switch (the only way to actually deactivate the weapon once it starts). And, because the weapons aren't in a ready-to-use state (they have to be "weaponized"), they ship the kill switches and the weapons in the same container. Um, excuse me? You have this huge convoy to protect these things (which implies that you expect someone to try for them). So, don't you think that maybe you should separate the kill switch and the weapon? I mean, it's harder to steal two things than one. And the weapons are pretty well useless without the kill switch (unless you're completely suicidal and omnicidal). But no, at no point in the entire movie does this occur to anyone. Second issue: there are genetically engineered super-soldiers who supposedly have had any idea of mortality burned out of their brains, along with the survival instinct. Yet when one of them gets a grenade down the collar, he scrambles to get it out. Um, if he doesn't understand that he *can* die, and doesn't feel any impetus to preserve his own life, why is he trying to keep from getting blown up? Third was just simple physics: if you are on a motorcycle speeding down the street, and you get bumped by a car (even fairly gently), you are going for a tumble. Force = Mass * Acceleration. Even if the car was going very slow, it has a lot of mass, and that means a lot of force.
Now, understand that I noticed these things while watching the movie, but was well able to just take a few deep breaths and let them go while watching. I mean, any other ridiculous things were so over the top that they didn't even phase me. Seriously, a warhead with a billion nanomachines capable of breaking down matter both organic and inorganic, that is completely unstoppable save for one handheld killswitch, and no other safety mechanisms? And NATO has ordered several? Oh yeah, uh-huh, sure. And the Ninth Doctor as an Irish weapons dealer who developed this technology? Okay, let's roll with that. I mean, it's only when something approaches the fundamentals of logic or physics that I even notice. And although I can let it go and enjoy the movie, it will nag me afterwords.
Anyway, for all my whining, I really liked the movie. It was lots of fun, which is what it was meant to be. It's not really a thinking-person's movie, to be sure, but it gets a win on both the nostalgia factor and the really impressive visuals. And don't underestimate that nostalgia factor. Movies made from things popular in my younger days can go one of two ways: Transformers (well executed, respected the source material) or X-Men (bends the source material over the table with no lube whatsoever). This was definitely a Transformers movie.
So, bottom line, go see it (or rent it when it comes out), and enjoy a bit of mental junk food.