Rant

It's late (for me). I'm very tired, but I need to rant for just a moment. I've lost another 95 minutes of my life to Quentin Tarrantino, and I'm a wee bit mad.

I just don't get him. I don't get the blood; I don't get the guts; I don't get the swearing; I don't get the lengthy, I mean leeeeeeeeeeeengthy monologues about barely known pop culture tidbits that makes him feel cool and lets the rest of us know he's just full of himself.

• Pulp Fiction: saw it for my man, Travolta, and was bored outta my head.
• Kill Bill: a cool, fightin' chick expounding girl power, right? Wrong. Just bored again.
• Death Proof: now Kurt Russell's turn for a comeback, and for me another turn running for the trashcan to barf. Because of the blood? Nay. Because of all the annoying scantily clad women who are supposed to be hot, sexy, and vicious but really just want to make me hunt them down and punch them in the face.
• Resevoir Dogs: just watched 15 years after its release, and I'm so depressed 1) cause I watched another Tarrantino and didn't like it one iota and 2) cause of Mr. Orange's story. Balls on that.

Then, there's Inglourious Basterds. What the heckfire happened there?!? It was actually FANTASTIC! Talk about the anomaly to end ALL anomalies. I was so exuberant when I left the Art Theatre after that, because I couldn't believe I actually "got" the high-pitched, fast-talking, pretentious T-Man. I was so proud of myself...but then tonight happened, and I'm back at square one.

So, PLEASE, help me understand. I'd like to think that if Mr. Q. saw this, at first he'd be spit-firin' pissed at yours truly, but then he'd try to help me get "it"--the "it" that he has that I don't possess. I can but hope...

Rant: fin. And, I actually do feel a bit better. I'll go await Mr. Tarrantino's call by the ole celly.