Monsters vs. Aliens

Last night I popped Kung Fu Panda into my DVD player, and of course trailers precede the movie, and there I was, sitting quietly getting ready to watch something fun, getting into the holiday season, plotting delicious things to cook the following evening, and WAMMO-KABLAM-SHAZAM-SKADOOSHHHH I see a trailer for Monsters vs. Aliens.

Actually, the trailer was well underway before the whole wammo / kablam / shazam bit began, but as all of you that have TVs and go to the theaters know, there’s a giantess in this animated feature. I had not heard of this movie at all with the exception of one mention at MattyBoy’s Lotsa ‘Splainin’ many months ago, and since I’m not into giantesses I was all, “Meh”.

But no, no meh. True, giantesses don’t do anything for me, unless I imagine I’m that giantess. Reading about the film did nothing for me, but watching the trailer did.

Those that think women are not visual creatures, I have two words for them. They begin with fuck, and end with you.

I’d say something far less rude to those people right now, but I gots pies to bake, and I’m feeling punchy. And.. well, he-heh… it wasn’t exactly the vision of that white-haired giantess that got me all inspired, but it’s the idea of being a protective giantess I’m crazy about. I’m so into it I’ve had dreams about it. Really good dreams.

Truly really very GOOD dreams.

That could be me except for the hair and face and body and animosity from pugnacious soldiers that have no idea what I could do to their twig-like bodies.

So it isn’t that it’s a movie for kids. It has nothing to do with the pixels of an animated giantess. It’s the other stuff that’s in my head that starts screaming, “Hey, there’s a reminder of us for ya!” when I see her.

Got pies to bake. I’m off like a dirty shirt!

P.S. Man, taking photos of my TV with my camera makes me feel like I’m making a mixed tape off radio station music. I have no fancy way of capturing film and moving it to my Mac… but that’s OK with me.

The Incredible Shrinking Man

What's with the expression of deep concern?

I think her facial expression should convey deep horn. In her fictional place I’d be adopting all manner of happy looks.

What concerns me (not really) is that I’ve never watched this movie. I’ve never even gone to any movie rental place to see if it’s available, because I feel it should be behind some curtain, in a dark room lit by a red light bulb; and despite the fact that logic dictates I shouldn’t think the rental store employee will know I’m one of those people if I rent it.

Nnggaaahhh... doll house porn.

I might, one day, if Netflix has it when (and if) I decide to subscribe again. The last few times I checked before I closed my account, it wasn’t available. Otherwise it would have already put the lotion in the basket many, many times.

I did find an autographed hardcover copy of the book by Richard Matheson, but I purchased it for a birthday present, and it was never read either.

Nik Kershaw – Wouldn’t It Be Good

Happy Halloween!

I wrote this for the thirteenth day of the month of October in 2006, which fell on a Friday. I posted it at my old blog, and here’s the repost. Don’t eat too much candy, and stay warm.

I’m a fan of the horror genre in movies, books, and probably all possible media. It isn’t that I enjoy being scared, because I don’t. The horror genre doesn’t frighten me, and I derive great pleasure in depictions of fictional events that tend to cause the opposite reaction in others.

When I was very small and my mom took my brothers and me to see Alien, she struggled to cover three pairs of eyes every time something terrible happened to each member of the Nostromo’s crew. I struggled to stop her from doing that.

One could argue my mom shouldn’t have taken such small children to a horror movie of that sort, but I’m glad she did it just that once, because I loved that movie. You know that thing in children that makes them scream and avoid scary things? That fear mechanism that reacts to scary books or violent images never worked inside of me when I was a young girl.

I can’t begin to count the times my little brother (and sometimes my older brother too) begged me to let him drag his mattress into my room, because he was too scared to sleep alone, a concept alien to someone that had invariably been doing that since the age of two.

I was always giggling when Freddy was slashing and smiling when Jason was chopping, and my inclination for fiction of that sort permeates my thoughts as a giantess and as a shrinker of one tiny, defenseless little man. Not the sexy thoughts, but the ones that belong to the reader, the writer, the storyteller.

So don’t worry about the scalpel in my hand… shh, ignore the chains wrapping around your ankles and wrists, and listen as the slow drip of my words trickles down your spine.

Or your funny bone.

* * *

She wept, his side of the bed a colorless desert in the moonlight that filtered from the window she hadn’t closed in weeks. The little dunes of cotton that the sheets that should have covered him shaped blurred beyond the flow of her tears. The cold of October moved the curtains in the room, and she shivered, but refused to reach for the quilt that had fallen on the bedroom floor many unmade-bed days before.

If he was cold underground, so would she be, above it.

I’d do anything to have you here again. Anything.

She had the same thought all the minutes of each day. She had begged him to wake up when she saw his broken body on the cold slate of the morgue’s cold chamber. She had prayed to every god to return him to her, her promises shapeless words in her mind, but no god responded. Somewhere in the darkness of a world that no sane person can see, something heard her. It woke up with the smell of her grief tempting its appetite, and waited until she thought the word

-soul. I would give up my-

to act.

She woke up as though a gun had gone off in her head. She turned to look at her alarm clock. 3:34 in the morning. The quarter moon’s light had been swallowed by the same hunger that had taken the wind. She sat up, disoriented by something she couldn’t name. She looked at the clock again. 3:34 still, and she noticed the seconds blinker wasn’t moving. The only source of light in the room, its green glow looked like a photo. Her heart started pounding painfully as she realized she couldn’t hear anything.

Then it was over. Moonlight came to be again, and the clock’s light began palpitating in the room again. And she saw it.

In the white flat of his side of the bed was a small shape. She stared at it in recognition of the sweep of that shoulder, the narrow of those hips that had fit perfectly against her many times. It was him! No, it couldn’t be. This body was only a few inches in height. She covered with her hand the sharp gasp that her lungs forced from the air in the room when the tiny body moved to turn in sleep in that same manner he had always done. His arm moved to find her, and she thought she could hear him breathe.

She watched him without moving until her soul was collected from her body the moment he woke up.

He stretched his arm to seek out her warmth and felt the offense of thick, crisscrossed ropes scratching his skin where he lay. He remembered nothing of the accident, and opened his eyes and saw nothing but black. Where she should have been, his fingers touched the strange material that was their bedding. His throat felt dry as he spoke.

“Honey?”

There was no answer, but the silence in the room was heavier than words.

“What- what’s this on the bed?”

He looked toward her side of the bed and saw nothing but a mountain of darkness haloed at its summit by a green glow that pulsed behind it. Then the mountain moved. It sent a shock wave that hit him from underneath at the same time a cold wall of fingers coiled around him and lifted him in a tight embrace. Her voice ran through his body like a shattering glacier as the last word he ever heard guttered from her and her teeth closed around his neck.

Listen here, and listen well.

If movies were dogs and cats…

…this drools:

No no no! Bad movie studio! Bad!

And this rules:

That's a nice, good fake movie poster!

I never saw the real Choke movie, nor will I ever watch it.

I’m still taking cleansing showers from Sam Rockwell’s performance in The Green Mile, in any case. Not because he was bad. On the contrary.

I wanted to create funny custom credits for my fake poster, but no time tonight. Maybe this weekend.

I don’t know what 80s song goes with this entry.

Hot Fuzz

This is something else I posted in my old blog last year. I feel I should be embarrassed to show how often I save what I type… but I’m not.

Achtung! Verboten! Here there be spoylers…

I don’t watch many movies in theaters. I usually wait until they come out on tape. One small reason for that is my deep dislike of People That Talk In The Theater. They are the foundation for my wish to grow while in a movie theater so I can stomp them dead, or simply sit in front of them. Who would dare complain when a hundred-foot-tall woman rips off the theater roof and moves her shape in front so as to block the view of everything? Well, little ones can always watch the movie projected on my back. And boy, they wouldn’t make a peep.

Last week I rented Hot Fuzz. I had seen the trailer on another DVD and then forgotten all about it. I loved Shawn of the Dead, but had no idea what to expect here. I was entertained from the second it began playing. The soundtrack opened its floodgates, and Adam Ant’s Goody Two Shoes had the perfect wave to introduce Nicholas Angel’s pristine policeman-ness. Officerness.

Adam & The Ants- Goody Two Shoes

Much to my delight, I found out that Jim Broadbent is in it. There’s no part he plays that I don’t like. His voice, the way he intones words, the manner in which he transforms script with his voice so that each syllable contains humor, his gliding into scenes, the way his body language supports everything he says, as though every muscle in his body knows how to tell a joke… he’s great, and made it so that I enjoyed this movie ten times as much.

Guns, explosions, fights, blood, murder, axes, decaffeinations, this movie has it all, and not one annoying sex or kissing scene that gets in the way of the rhythm. I like romantic movies, but the truth that some idiotic women-are-from-Venus articles try to dispel is that we women like action flicks too. We love them. My favorite Braveheart scene is when all the battling is taking place. The beginning of Gladiator, with all the blood and limbs flying off. The best part of Enemy at the Gates involves a Mosin-Nagant and sniper shots. The war scenes in Windtakers are only second to the descriptions of the code. But I love codes. Anyway, good movie.

But I would have never imagined that while watching it my jaw would drop and I would be hurled into one of my very special thoughts in being a giantess. It started when Angel and Butterman Jr. swerved the police car to avoid hitting the swan, and chased Butterman Sr. and Skinner into the model village. Oh, man…

Cover your children's eyes, for this image is my pron. Slutty Model Villages #15

Doing a leg split for the first time. That’s the best way to describe how my mind felt; like a truncating in two parts. One was watching the movie, and the other had begun to run a duplicate sequence, except the characters in it were not men, and were not normal sized. In my head there were two giantesses, many hundreds of feet in height, fighting to the death, and I was one of them.

See, I really like the idea of fighting an evil giantess hard enough to kill her if I have to, in order to protect what’s mine, which in this case is the very town we both destroy as we fight. I don’t like destruction, so I’m not exactly sure how that figures into my fantasy computations. I think it has something to do with a demonstration of commitment to protect. The more I toss her about, the more energy I’m devoting to her demise.

It’s never gonna make any sense. Whatever. Who cares? I think many of us have super hero fantasies every once in a while at least at one point in our lives, especially when we are children. I no longer find myself thinking about it as often as I used to, but that’s understandable. I had to suspend my giantess campaign to save the economy.

As I imagine it, I hurl her onto buildings, flattening them (and the people inside) as she falls. She gets up and dives for me. I try talking some sense into her in the beginning, tell her buildings aren’t toys and suggest some healthier alternatives (such as rotting in hell), but she ddoesn’t want to listen, so here we are now. She punches me but I bring my legs between us and push her away so that she flies off in an arch, landing on… more buildings. It’s my turn to crash onto her, and I straddle her torso, driving my fist into her face again and again. I keep breaking more of her until she finally expires, and the town is made safe.

What’s left of it, anyway.

Then my attention returns to the movie, and I see Timothy Dalton’s head on a spire. Excellent movie.

Bones – The Man in the Outhouse

During this episode I began to realize that every member of the team that comes in to “replace” Zach gets the boot when the episode is done. In this case I was glad of it, because that lady was annoying in a prefab, clearly intended way, and a caricature overly intended to amuse me. I despise every occasion a TV show goes out of its way to hold my hand and lead me into diversion.

“Here’s a poster for comic relief proven to have worked under different circumstances” doesn’t work nearly as well as nuanced humor. But hey, this was a great episode, because it included a great deal of poop. Forget everything I said before. Give me poop, and I’ll be laughing for twenty-four hours straight, specially it that poop drizzles, rains, or covers anyone.

The most I’ve ever laughed while watching a movie has been When Poop Attacks!

Aah… still funny.

Back to Bones. I thought this episode was interesting because it exposed Brennan’s double-stacked dating practices as she saw two different men (separately but at the same time), a deep-sea welder and a botanist, which in her place I would find time consuming and confusing, sort of the way I felt when I collaged this:

Heart-shaped Triangle

I like things monogamous, so I still don’t know what to make of this collage, even after all these months. Maybe I put it together because it disturbs me, not only what it shows, but also what it implies. No, I don’t like it. But I like it. What’s up with that? I remember finding the background and thinking it was a beautiful image, a nice place where I could put a tiny man, in the embrace of a woman, a wall he could only try to hug back.

Much later I found the male element of the movie, times two. My mouse somehow moved on its own to save it, even as I stared at it and thought, There’s no way I’ll ever find any use for this image, because I like collaging monogamous situations. One man, one woman, just the way I like my real life.

The day came I started cleaning out my Mac and tossing away some images as I paired up elements to collage later; background with foregrounds came together beautifully, surprisingly most of the time because the way I accumulated images was random, and I often didn’t remember or know I had already found the rest of an image.

I came upon those two little guys and the woman, and like sentient shoelaces that tie themselves, they wrapped around each other in my mind, and I tossed them into a folder I called “Heart-shaped”, since the woman’s torso is shaped like a heart by her arm and leg, and the two guys are shaped like a heart as well, though inverted. I forgot all about it as I moved on to work on different images that showed what I really like.

But eventually I found it again, and used the background for another image… I kept staring at those guys, and they finally stared back. Finally, the collage started collaging me.

Does that ever happen to you? You write something and you have no idea where it’s coming from, because you would never ever want it to happen. It’s the stuff of bad dreams, the sort of lunch they serve in Purgatory Cafeteria, the Early Bird Special in Limbo, but you write it because it’s writing itself through you. This collage was like that, so there I was, lassoing, selecting, cutting, dragging, cloning, shadowing, until it was done, and as I worked, the collage worked on me too; I don’t like it, but it likes me, and I like the story it tells.

And all that had nothing to do with Bones… except in a different TV dimension, Brennan keeps her two little men in the same dollhouse, and Mark can hold his breath down there for six minutes, instead of three.

Booth’s interference when he met Mark or interrupted Jason was arrogant, blah blah blah; but what I kept thinking about was, where in the world did Carmen San Diego meet a deep-sea welder? Given past seasons’ events, I’m gonna guess Brennan found him online.

Speaking of which, enough time wasted online for me. See ya!

Giantess of the Year

Giantess of the Year

Some people enjoy reading alternate reality books about what might have been if Hitler’s Germany had won the war. Others have fun perusing invented news such as The Onion (which has lost much of its flavor lately). I like thinking about how things would be if men were very small, or if women were far taller than they are.

In that world things are very different, but Hollywood’s time line remains the same, and the movies it churns out only vary slightly in content and name. In them Rick never gets to tell Ilsa to hop on that plane, because “where he’s going, she cannot follow” (in fact that’s one of the two lines that really annoy me in that wonderful movie). But what if she looked all the way down at him and said… “What I’ve got to do, you can’t be any part of, little one, so into my pocket you go!” Aah… much better.

What? As if you’ve never imagined a giantess trampling Nazis. Puh-leez.

And Seth Lord is never allowed to blame his own daughter Tracy for his inability to keep it in his pants (another awful moment in an otherwise amazing movie); and Lauren Bacall, Marilyn Monroe and Betty Grable never play fortune hunters, but possessors.

In my world and in the real one, Katharine Hepburn and Spencer Tracy electrify the screen just as effectively, and as they are two of my favorite actors, I couldn’t help but alter the above image as I did when I found it.

Fake movie posters

I had fun creating these for an image (collage) contest at Giantess.com. I didn’t win (except in my heart, of course), but I didn’t care. The other contestants came up with some really fabulous entries, and when the time came to vote, I didn’t choose one of mine. Here are my entries:

1,880

1,880 one was my first entry, and created days after I saw the poster and trailer for Cloverfield. The same as conventional folks, we peeps in the multi-size community were alight with conjectures as to what the creature would be like, and some of us proposed it would be in fact a giant she.

Some of us are hilarious.

Anyway, this entry nigh amounted to cheating, as I barely had to do anything to make it work. The destruction was already there, courtesy of J. J. Abrams. The “1,880″ refers to (more or less) the giantess’ height, and it’s an obvious play on “01-18-08″.

.

Honey, I Shrunk You

I’ve always thought the “Shrunk” movie series would have been better if they had involved a romantic relationship between a woman and a tiny man, but I’m alone on that.

No, I’m not? Nice.

In Honey, I Shrunk You, the little guy would have been played by Orlando Bloom, it seems… and the brilliant yet quirky and clumsy scientist would have been his lovely wife. The DVD extras would have included side-splitting outtakes and interviews about parts of the relationship small children mustn’t know anything about until they reach the age of forty.

.

In Her Shoes

In Her Shoes came to be because when I was studying getting Netflix, I checked out their recent releases, and there I saw this movie ad I knew I had to transform into what I did, as it’s a well known fact that those ladies that have a diminutive boyfriend are wont to allow them playtime inside their shoes.

I think that’s crazy. If I had a shrunken boyfriend I’d constantly warn him to stay out of my shoes, if he knows what’s good for him. And I wouldn’t be able to understand his delight in constantly disobeying me.

.

Ladies Prefer Brunettes

Years before the image contest for which Ladies Prefer Brunettes was an entry, I had ripped off harvested the elements from the Internet. I had the idea of creating all these fake movie posters based on old, classic movies.

That Cary Grant, North By Northwest pose is perfect for this purpose, as is Marilyn Monroe’s. I had to work on this collage the hardest, as I recall. The floor was created from all sorts of grain effects, and the shadows drove me insane as they always do. But copying the credits style from the original movie poster was fun.

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The Cookie Thief

The Cookie Thief was the most distant in “content” from the original poster. There’s this rumor I have helped circulate that if little guys indeed existed, their sole purpose in life would be to steal cookies from a jar, because that’s what some grown men do without permission. The nerve!

I love satire and ridicule, so this fake poster endeavors to magnify the drama of stealing giant cookies from an unsuspecting woman’s kitchen. Why do they need rifles, you ask?

To kill enemy bugs, of course. Duh. And because those are M1’s they are holding. If I had an M1, I’d also carry it around with me all the time. Sweet!

And these were created by Trinket999, one of my favorite collagers in the giantess world. Not that there really is a giantess world. Well, the giantess community. We the people. Whatever. My favorite is Casino Royale, which wasn’t a finalist as The Kiss was, so I voted for that one by default.

. . . . . . .. . . . . . .