obsessions and possibly other stuff

Ok so James got back from seeing Cabin in the Woods and he was like OMG JOSS WHEDON IS INSANE. I love Joss Whedon so I asked for details but James was all nooooo and would only give me bare bones details. This is what I got out of him:

Him: There is a cabin. It is in the woods.
Me: How many people are there?
Him: There are five people.
Me: All dudes, all chicks, a combo?
Him: There are five people.
Me: Ok so it’s all chicks then.
Him: uhh—
Me: What age range? 20s, 30s, 40s, 50s, 60s?
Him: There are five people—

This is what I pieced together while I was having a smoke.

Set up: A group of five 60-something women decide to pack up in an RV and take a relaxing trip to a cabin in the woods.

Our cast of characters is as follows: There’s Wanda, the emaciated cat lady with a penchant for cross-stitching; Agatha, whose rich WASP husband has been in a coma for years but whose daughter (Agatha’s step-daughter) won’t agree to let her pull the plug; Myrtle, a slightly eccentric quilter who just so happens to be a stellar cook; Theodora (aka Teddy) a retired elementary school English teacher with glaucoma; and Esther, a tabloid obsessed conspiracy freak. There are also a couple of secret cameos at the end.

Story: An uneventful and several-hour-long journey ends as the ladies arrive at the cabin and settle in. They spend the day picking blueberries and wildflowers, reminiscing about their lackluster marriages (Aggie has some particular vitriolic comments to add to the repartee) and they eventually go on to recall the time spent together when they were girls at Mount Holyoke. After a peaceful late morning excursion in the outdoors and the enjoyment of each others’ company, they head back to the cabin in the mid-afternoon.

The group splits off, with Wanda and Agatha deciding to chill out in the shaded hammocks out back to read their Danielle Steele and Sue Grafton (respectively) novels.

Myrtle busies herself in the kitchen, scrubbing down the pots, pans, dishes and so forth that have been caked with dust over time. Clearly these things have not been used for a while but it doesn’t bother Myrtle because Esther has wandered in to alleviate the boredom of Myrtle’s impromptu scullery maid session. The two banter about normally for a while, or so it would seem, until Esther begins to get into a heated explanation of how Charlie Sheen is actually the face of the Illuminati who are, in fact, in league with the Lizard Men that are bent on creating a New World Order. Myrtle listens and nods as the tirade grows ever more bizarre, but she keeps silent and focuses on the muffin batter she’s mixing up in order to make use of the blueberries.

Teddy arrives on the scene just as Esther is absconding with a sheet of aluminum foil - to make a helmet that’ll neutralize the Lizard Men’s mind control rays, she says. As the batty old nutter leaves to go outside and check for chemtrails, Teddy and Myrtle share a chuckle over their friend’s obvious craziness yet, quite tellingly, do not bring up the subject of getting the woman help through psychotherapy or perhaps medication. These ladies grew up with a stigma against such things.

That being as it may, it doesn’t stop Teddy from rolling a kush blunt on the marble counter top while Myrtle is taken aback enough to stop mid-way though putting the muffins in the oven. Her pink ruffled apron wafts poignantly in the breeze as though to punctuate the silence.

Teddy removes her horn-rimmed tortoise-shell patterned spectacles and uses her silky Yves Saint Laurent neckerchief to wipe away the smudges of flour and lard that always seem to be attracted to eyeglasses no matter how much distance you keep from hem.

“I have glaucoma, Myrtle.”

With the timer set on the oven and Teddy’s fatty lit, the two decide to ignore the awkward moment and take it easy in the small living room of the cabin (which is in the woods) and plop down on a lumpy sofa. Myrtle fidgets a bit in her seat, trying to keep an errant spring from poking her through her skort and agitating the tender flesh of her cottage-cheese-esque derriere.

For a little while, all seems to be well…

With the sun setting on the horizon, the sound of a slamming screen door followed by the scampering orthopedic shoes can be heard as Agatha and Wanda make a breathless entrance. Their wrinkled, overly made-up saggy faces are twisted in a mixture of annoyance and thinly veiled disdain. Disdain which happens to be directed toward their pursuer - Esther, who seems to have shed her sundress during the chase and her tin-foil hat is now hanging lopsided on her head.

“This woman is crazy!” Agatha exclaims, hands placed on an area that may have once been hips but has melded into the rest of her torso, which unfortunately resembles a tube of crest.

“Oh come come Aggie,” Wanda huffs, collapsing into an armchair to catch her breath. Her sciatica is acting up from the sudden burst of exercise but she doesn’t like the tone that Agatha’s taking with their friend.

True, Esther is now standing atop the coffee table and speaking in tongues while clad in nothing but support hose, loose white undies pulled up nearly to her ribs, and an ill-fitting beige bra that was probably purchased during the Reagan administration, but Wanda is the type of person to see the good in everyone. Mostly. “She’s just overwhelmed by the excitement!”

Agatha’s gaze shoots daggers at her once-compatriot, and she waddles off to wedge herself into a rocking chair.

“And you two,” she motions to Myrtle and Teddy, who are now passing the dutchie as it were. “I can’t, no it’s… is that MARAH-JEW-WANNA?” she tsks solemnly, shaking her head.

“Glaucoma,” Myrtle and Teddy answer in slight time-delayed unison.

“But seriously man, just chill,” Teddy slips a hand into the pocket of her designer, multicolored cotton-crepe dress and produces a pipe and baggie. Like it was the most normal thing in the world to do amongst a group of AARP-eligible gals, she proceeds to pack the green into the spoon of the glass. “You need to lighten up Agatha… agatharagatha, always ragging on our fun,” she mumbles as she holds out the pipe.

“Well I NEVER!”

“Damn don’t be a cliche, woman,” Myrtle chimes in from under a cloud of deep, rich smelling smoke.

In the distance, the oven timer dings. “I’ll get it!” Wanda hops up, then regrets doing that much as she massages her boney lumbar region, but manages to make her way in the direction of the kitchen and out of the weirdness that’s transpiring in the living room.

“Well if you don’t want it, fine,” Teddy, who seemingly hasn’t noticed Wanda’s departure, shrugs and turns to catch Esther’s eye. The batty one has seemed to calm down a bit but she’s still doing a slow-motion jig atop the table. “Hey Esther, come try this. You need to calm down girl and this is the stuff that’ll do it for ya.”

Not stopping to consider the ramifications of giving a mentally unstable elderly woman a psychoactive substance, nobody objects (unless Agatha’s scowl of disapproval counts) as Esther cautiously steps down from the table and much like a wild animal confused by a hand-out from a human, she seems to inspect the offering as though not sure what to make of it.

“It’s dope!” Agatha scoffs in a tone that clearly implies she believes she’s the superior one of the five.

“Nah dope is horse,” Wanda chimes in, depositing the spent roach in an art-deco ashtray and eliciting a raised eyebrow from Teddy.

“Whatever, it’s just weed. Take a puff, here, like this,” Agatha painstakingly demonstrates to Esther just how she should partake in the herb before letting the crazy off to her own devices with the pipe and lighter. Luckily, after the first toke hits, Esther indeed does seem to calm down and seems to melt down into the floor, sprawled out on the the threadbare woven rug strewn over the hardwood floor of the cabin (in the woods.)

While the three ladies are getting into the zone, Agatha is still having none of it and so with some difficulty, rises from the rocking chair and begins to look around. The living room sports a TV, but every channel is just the same snowy static, and the rabbit ears do nothing. Since Agatha lives on an extremely generous stipend provided by the pension from her coma-stricken husband’s prior job a falling brick and anvil spotter, she has no useful knowledge of things like digital converter boxes or satellite dishes. To her, the inner working of TV, among other things, are topics strictly relegated to the plebes that come out and hook all that stuff up. What else are they there for? And after all, she has way more important things to concern herself with, such as the ongoing litigation between herself and her step-daughter.

Wanda, who has moved silently back into the living room carrying a steaming hot platter of oven-fresh blueberry muffins, notices Agatha’s predicament and puts a friendly hand on the woman’s shoulder. Hoping to ease over the tension from earlier, she points to a box blinking 12:00 sitting just below the TV.

“We can still watch movies,” she grins at Agatha, who merely harrumphs in response. Truthfully though, she’s glad that at least she’ll have some respite from the three druggies stinking up the place with their weed and liberal hippie values. It’s maddening.

“Well find a tape then,” Agatha barks and moves her large frame - which is almost reminiscent of a shrunken, jiggly linebacker - toward the stairs that lead to the cellar.

Wanda cocks her head to the side in confusion but doesn’t let it get to her, everyone else seems to be having so much fun! As she begins to look through the surrounding shelves, she catches a glimpse of Myrtle - who has somehow whipped out her cross-stitching kaboodle seemingly from thin air - as she is seriously invested in a rather abstract and colorful design. It’s not really something Wanda’s ever seen in any of the pattern books. Teddy is transfixed by the motion of the needle as it crosses over and over and moves to create the non-euclidean shape, and Esther is keeping her hands busy as well, sorting through a box of Myrtle’s scrap cloth squares - most of which feature patterns of cats in various poses although the rare Fleur-de-lis or sunflower motif is also represented.

Finally, Wanda comes across a tape hidden amongst the commemorative Elvis plates and collection of bird-feeders (sadly unused, along with the 25lb bag of seed shoved into a corner.) It’s an unmarked VHS, and looks like it might have had a sticker on it at one point but rubbed off over time.

Intrigued by the mystery this tape may hold, Wanda pops it into the VCR and settles back down in the comfy easy chair before that bitch Agatha gets back from the basement and steals her good spot.

Unlike a commercial tape, there is no blue FBI warning scrolling across the screen, and at first Wanda wonders if the VCR is connected properly because there’s just the same static as before…

UNTIL!!!!!

A door slams and there’s a crash of glass which takes the foursome by surprise. Even the weed-whacker trio are stirred from their daze to look off in the direction of the noise.

Unfortunately, instead of something exciting happening, the ladies learn through observation that the banging was the door to the cellar being shut ham-fistedly, and the clinking of glass is easily attributed to the five bottles of Merlot that Agatha and her wobbly girth are struggling to carry into the living room.

“Needed a drink, dammit,” she mumbles at the seemingly accusatory eyes as she takes her place on the rocking chair, bottles clattering at her feet.

After a collective sigh of relief is let out at the fact the there was no murder nor other nefarious thingamajigs afoot, Wanda updates the lumpy jerkface on her find. “It’s a spoooooooooooooooky seeeeeeeeeeeeeecretttt tape! Isn’t that exciting?!”

“Meh,” Agatha swiftly uncorks a bottle with only her mouth - proving that the most expensive denture adhesive is, in fact, worth the money - and takes a swig. Unfortunately the same statement about quality cannot be said for the dentures themselves as they show an obvious red stain with each subsequent drink.

Not disheartened by fatty’s lack of interest nor having the heart to call her a dumb butt due to her blatant hypocrisy, Wanda rallies everyone to pay attention to the movie.

The static has been replaced by a sort of faded, washed-out gray grain even though the soundtrack is quiet. Eeeerily quiet. Like someone was filming a blank wall in a poorly lit room. There hasn’t even been a studio logo or title screen for the film, and Wanda is beginning to wonder if this tape is just blank for realsies when as an image finally (and perhaps, eeeeeeeeeerily) begins to flicker upon the ancient vacuum tube’s screen.

Just as the women are gripped with the scene taking shape before them—

AN UNEARTHLY MOAN THUNDERS THROUGH THE ROOM~!

Even the woobly hop-heads give a start at the sudden blast of noise, and Wanda clutches her chest precariously, as though that pacemaker might give up at any time.

Things have taken a turn for the ~eerie~ indeed.

Agatha, for her part, managed not to break any wine bottles but from her expression it’s plain to see that despite the brand name of the undergarment she’s sporting, she is not feeling much Dignity at all.

In all the excitement, Esther flops around on the floor (having dropped her drug-induced cross-stitch masterpiece) aimlessly trying to escape… or possibly attempting to scare off a would-be intruder/serial killer/Wolf-man with the sight of wrinkly, loose-skinned old lady wearing nothing but spanx, granny panties and a bra writhing around like she’s chock full of seizures. The others chillax because it only took them like a sec to realize that the moan was coming from the TV and that the soundtrack finally kicked in.

The movie seemed to have been taped off tv, and not one of the good channels either, one of those that cuts things with about a zillion commercials. Obviously the beginning was lopped off, the sound is both tinny and wayyyy too loud, but what they can make of the movie thus far is that there’s a sweeping musical cue (I’m sure at least a few of them were wondering why such a flourish in the score would be a good idea to IMMEDIATELY follow a creepy scream but then again they are old ladies and not sound engineers) and what credits they do have left to peruse are in some kind of mishmash of olde-timey/fancy flowery-looking script. Like someone was wasting company time, jacking off and doodling with molten gold and said HEY, THIS WOULD MAKE A GREAT FONT FOR THE CREDITS IN A P. MEDIOCRE AND OFFENSIVELY DUMB MOVIE.

~Interspersed between the gilded credits are various shots of a workshop in disarray.~

And then the five unsuspecting women saw something they were not prepared to see.

In that same, stupid, golden lovechild of Copperplate Gothic and Little Lord Fontleroy, was written a name that would come to haunt them all.

That name was Shaquille O’Neal.

Because, you see, in The Cabin in the Woods these old, white, stoned, pampered, classist, hypocritical, old money, drunk, Ayn Rand-reading women come face to screenface with Shaq. These sheltered 1%ers who’d probably vote for Ron Paul - unless their oil baron/Ford CEO/Stock Broker husbands aren’t pressuring them to toe the GOP line while cupping a hand over the telephone receiver before yelling “Consuela! Ir a vuelve en la cocina y haz un bocadillo para mí!!” so that his shareholders don’t think he’s a total douche… however, that is not the point of Cabin in the Woods. These people are stuck in a tiny, decidedly not luxurious stale old cabin (in the woods) filled with sub-par furniture, tchotchkes and geegaws, now fouled with the stench of mary jane and low quality merlot AND NOW THEY HAVE TO SIT THROUGH KAZAAM ON A TERRIBLE VHS WITH COMMERCIALS AND THE REMOTE NEEDS NEW BATTERIES SO YOU CAN’T EVEN FAST FORWARD OR TURN DOWN THE VOLUME AND THIS IS LITERALLY ALL THEY HAVE FOR ENTERTAINMENT. Out in the woods. At night. In a cabin.

OH MAN LOOK GUYS!! SOMEONE TAPED OVER THIS PART WITH A SOFT-CORE— oh never mind. Now it’s back the movie.

Kazaam.

See, they would rather watch skinemax than Shaq. That is craziness. There was desperation when that magical genie jumped his purple-trousered self back on screen.

Kazaam

in

The Cabin

in

The Woods

At least they still have the blueberry muff— never mind, Ragatha ate them all due to her deep belief in Objectivism and the fact that the world owed her those blueberry muffins because she is a great person.


Let me tell you what I mean by that. I used great, there, as in, an objective term. Because… Objectivism. Ayn Rand decided that giving superlatives meanings other than the subjective personal judgments that they are was a great (heh…) idea. However, she doesn’t define what a “great” man is in much depth other than taking what they want by force or murder if necessary, and also rape. Apparently this would make them succeed in business such that they could be the CEO, laborer, engineer, distributor, supplier, etc. All as one dude. A “great” woman is one that gets turned on by the rape and decides that Mr. Rapestealymurder Dude would make a stellar husband and gets behind her man and basically does whatever for him, including sacrificing herself or leaving her husband to have an affair with a less-great dude in order to make the husband jealous enough to reach his full GREATNESS potential.

I am not making this stuff up.

Anyway, since SUPER GREAT MAN was literally the heart and sole of his business (and business success is a big measure of greatness) if he died, well damn. His business died with him. That is why things are not run that way mannnnnnn. Ugh.

EPILOGUE: There’s a knock at the gnarled wooden door just as the first rays of dawn are twinkling through the musty curtains.

Wanda, the only one of the four who didn’t get trashed the night before peels her eyelids open and surveys the damage. Esther is rolling around under the coffee table in her sleep, muttering about how the Zeta Reticulans need to stop drinking the kool-aid and occasionally interjecting these please with awful soul-rending wails. From the credit cards and dusty residue on the table, along with a glance back at the couch, Wanda can only surmise that Teddy and Myrtle broke out the gutter glitter at some point during the night. Although who the heck knew that Teddy was packing coke? Wanda wondered absently if the stimulant might have made the apparition of the giant black Jinn even worse. She could have been onto something there, because on further inspection, it was clear that Teddy had taken Esther’s psychedelic pan-dimensional tesseract-wannabe of a cross-stitch design and had proceeded to affix it to her well-muscled forearm. With pins. There wasn’t even any blood, which Wanda thought was strange but whatever.

The scrawny lady didn’t even get a chance to check on Myrtle and Ragatha before another knock sounded and she remembered why she’d gotten up off the chair at all. A third, more impatient pounding on the door came and the old gal hurried those bones to answer it.

A young couple, perhaps young lovers, are standing on the porch. The woman (Felicia Day) initially begins to exchange greetings with Wanda but the smile on her face soon contorts into a look of confused revulsion. Her manfriend (Nicholas Brendon, who is still lookin’ real bad due to the chronic alcoholism but hey bro needs a job, and Joss came through to hook that up, also Imma be calling him Xander from now on) starts to get angry, his fist balling up as his face reddens with rage.

“THIS…. CABIN…” he growls.

“In the woodSSS!” Felicia Day adds for emphasis, her nose crinkling at the scent of rank pot and spilled booze and unwashed rich people. Who are also old.

“IS TIME SHARE!”

“How could you do this????”

“WE WERE GOING TO SPEND OUR HONEYMOON HERE!”

“You’ve… ruined it!” Felicia Day crumples up into Xander’s arms and he comforts her as best he can while he shakes his head at the old woman. (Xander is ashamed of your behavior, lady. You have done something THAT wrong. SOOOO wrong that Xander IRL is looking down on you with his perma-5o’clock-shadow, greasy thinning hair and wife-beater pit stains… from the alcoholism kids. Don’t become an alcoholic. But yes. THAT IS THE MAN PASSING JUDGMENT ON YOU. Think about that.)

Wanda’s face goes slack as the full realization of what is going on kicks in and as a swell of ominous music plays we pan around the destruction within the cabin one last, lingering, torturous time before the film fades to black.

Ohhhh yeah, Joss has done it again, turned a genre on its head. Our protagonists have been the villains all along, ruining the honeymoon of that poor couple with their blueberry picking and Objectivist ways, not to mention a serious lack of calendar utilization skills.

—-

For what was supposed to be a stupid joke post that I whipped out in a couple minutes, I have devoted way more time to this than I intended. Ooops. Although, I did spend 3 hours studying, 5+ hours cleaning (and 6 trash bags of random junk that nobody neeeeeeeeeeeds thrown out) with more cleaning and studying to do before I sleep so yeah I guess I needed a break? I apologize for the tense shifts I wasn’t really intending for this to have so many words that that would become an issue and thus become enough for me to care, and there were many cleaning/etc related interruptions.

11th Doctor bones with his bow-tie intact.

Bow-ties are cool.

RPing with a dude (who I’ve met IRL before which I only mention because he was cosplaying the Doctor at the time) who is fuck off awesome at writing the 11th Doctor. I am doing a totally awful attempt at Amy Pond but he is just fantastic and I would probably feel bad about my part if his 11 wasn’t so damn accurate (and hot) and therefor distracting.

But yes, awesome RP has not been had in a while so this is great. I did try to get Meeches into DW but she hasn’t been on in a while so I’ll have to check on the progress on that.