I think at this point we should as a blogosociety understand that I hate Maine. I hate being in Maine. I hate going places in Maine. Most of all, I hate the people in Maine. I moved away to a city for a reason.
Yesterday I went to see Sunshine Cleaning and enjoyed it. I cried. That’s not that unusual – I like crying at movies – it means that the acting is working. So, as I was simultaneously sobbing and imagining Amy Adams’ naked breasts bouncing in my hands, this dumbass Mainer was chatting with his girlfriend about how “retahded” his boss was for not knowing he was drunk during work.
While this pissed me off because I hate when people interrupt me while I’m sitting alone at a movie theater hoping that no one in this small town recognizes me and I have to explain why I’m sitting alone at a movie theater. A reason, I think is valid – I just like going to movies alone and not worrying about what others think of the movie – if they’re having a good time, if they want to share a drink, if they feel uncomfortable because I’ve kept my hand on their thigh the entire film. While that pissed me off, it made me unreasonably upset because it epitomized what I hate about Maine – macho people bragging about how awesome they are at something instead of enjoying good art. God, I’m pretentious.
So, I went home and watched the MTV Movie Awards (because I enjoy good art) and watched teens from across the nation scream at the slightest mention of Twilight. I started to realize that it wasn’t just Mainers. It was all people. All people that weren’t the few people that I surrounded myself while in college and the year post that. I didn’t know a single person who liked Twilight. In fact I only know two people who saw it.
This made me realize that I need to stop concerning myself with the petty complaints and worries of the plebeians that surround me. I just need to embrace my pretension. Maine doesn’t deserve my forgiveness. Maine deserves my hatred.
So next time someone exclaims (or explains – as my typos would imply): “Michael Bay is my favorite director.” or “I liked math until precalculus” or “Harry Potter! Harry Potter! Harry Potter!” or something equally “retahded,” I will not get in a fuss and purse my lips as if I’m strong enough to say something. Instead I’ll sit contentedly knowing that I’m better than them.
The one time I gained the courage to say something was after I saw Juno. I left the movie theater pissed that the audience had laughed at that imposter of a comedy. As I was leaving the Grandview I screamed back to the people jovially talking to their friends about how much they enjoyed the clever witicisms of a fake high schooler. What I screamed was: “You should all be ashamed of yourself, how could you laugh at that trash?” Then I angrily stormed toward the door of the theater which was locked. I awkwardly scuffled my way the ten feet to the other door and ashamedly backed out into the street.
This is all that my indignation and attempts to educate/convert the masses has gotten me: awkward moments of looking silly. I’ve given up. Be as stupid as you want world. I’ll just live in my own world where no one reads Twilight or interupts my attempts to get in touch with my emotional side. Too bad that world can’t exist in rural Maine.