Mild Violence, Brief Nudity

I watched a movie last night and before it aired a warning appeared. The film contained mild violence. What does mild violence mean? Will there be scenes of savage pillow fights or will they be using bullets for sensitive skin?  Define inappropriate for younger audiences please, without spoilers. Why would an individual be up to viewing gore and sex at thirteen but not twelve? How does that additional year prepare you for nudity, lust, greed, murder and mayhem that had been deemed unsuitable just twelve months earlier?

Who actually decides how movies are rated? How do they know who should watch what and the type of effect it would have on them? Why can seventeen year olds go to see R-rated films but don’t actually reach adulthood until the age of eighteen?

A little research revealed the Motion Picture Association of America voluntarily rates movies to prevent government regulation. Of course, there have been infringement lawsuits with producers and distributers over fraudulent applications as in the case of, I Spit On Your Grave.  It seems it received an inappropriate rating of R. I mean what’s a little hard language, rape, drug use, tough violence, blood and torture anyway?  

I suppose it is still better than having the government get involved. Can you even imagine? I can.

Federal Movie Rating Management	Funding in Millions
Movie Theorists	$15
Board of Professional Psychology	$21
Homeland Security Council	$43
Dept. of Social Services	$54
Computer Incidence Response Ctr.	$42
Secret Service	$75
Total Estimated Cost	$250

I would guess admission prices would go up a bit as well.

Hairballs and Spinning Rooms

Have you ever had Vertigo? It is exactly like that unwelcomed New Year’s Day after an eve of hard drinking and menthol smoking, just seconds before you make that fervent wish for a new identity and the auld-langxiety sets in. You open your eyes and the bedroom starts to spin. The only difference is with Vertigo; there is no night before full of regrets. You remember the movie you watched, the company you kept, the popcorn you ate and the last paragraph of the novel you were reading before drifting off into a pleasant sleep. If you are anything like me, your first thought will be, I’m dying and it isn’t going to be pretty.

Vertigo slams into your head like a speeding bullet, a bus out of nowhere, and full of maliciousness in its pursuit of a wobbly gait. I slapped my hands over my eyes. Literally. The darkness helped but my stomach informed me we were still in motion. Should I say something to my family or lie here indefinitely with my hands over my eyes? Every time I peeked through my fingers and opened my eyes the spinning would be in full play. Deep breathing ensued, along with the prayer I hadn’t said in over forty years. “If I should die before I wake, I pray the Lord my soul to take.” I think I heard the Lord speak back. “You should talk to me more often, not just at these uncomfortable times.” He was right of course.

“Anyone want bacon and eggs?” My husband called up from the kitchen.  I could hear my mother-in-law and brother-in-law laughing; even my granddaughter was beginning to stir. Of course, the typical time for something to go wrong is when you have a house full of guests. I held on to the banister with both hands as I descended the stairs resting briefly at each step before taking the next. I made it to the dining room and took a seat.

“Toast?” My husband offered the plate.

I shook my head and slapped my hands over my eyes.

“I thought you liked sourdough toast.”

I offered a half-hearted smile in his direction and slowly lowered my hands. “I woke up dizzy.”  My eyes seemed to be reaching out with invisible hands trying to grasp something, anything to hold on to.

He took my face in his hands. “Your eyes are moving fast. They look funny.”

“It’s hilarious from this side,” I joked.  The dizziness slowed and I found if I kept my head very still the whirling subsided.

My granddaughter looked at me with concern. “Are you okay, grandma?”

“Yeah, I’ll be fine,” I lied.

I made it through the day with the bare minimum of movement and by the next day, Sunday, the symptoms hadn’t changed much at all. Everyone left that morning and by afternoon I finally surrendered. “Let’s go to urgent care.”

The doctor smiled when I told him my symptoms. “I get a case of Vertigo at least once a week.”

“Well I don’t,” I replied bitterly. “Are you sure I don’t have a tumor? Shouldn’t you scan my brain or somethin’?”

He went on to explain that in the inner ear there is liquid and thousands of microscopic hairs that are topped off with crystalline balls.  When you move, so do they and in one second they send messages to the right muscles so you can keep your balance and also lets you know which end is up meaning where gravity is coming from.  If the balls break off the hairs, your brain gets confused with mixed signals and you feel dizzy. 

It stands to reason that if you have a lot of balls rolling around in your head like marbles, it would make you feel crazy or dizzy. Maybe that’s where the saying, “she’s lost her marbles,” came from. 

“Where do the balls go?”

He shrugged. “Your body absorbs them and you grow more.”

“What can I do to stop busting my balls?”

He gave me a prescription for dizziness and then said I probably had a vitamin B12 deficiency and advised me to take Lipo-Flavanoid, which is a vitamin supplement. It took another bout of Vertigo for me to follow his advise and trek over to the drug store to buy them.  I usually take vitamins and put them in a drawer. I actually swallow these and I haven’t had Vertigo since. All it takes is being threatened with the feeling of riding a tilt-a-whirl for several hours for me to follow directions.  Oh yeah, and thanks Lord.

Sectional Dining - An Exaggerated View

A man walks into a restaurant with his pregnant wife.

Hostess: "Table for two?"

Man #1: "Yes please."

Hostess: "Would you like the conversational section or the silent section?"

Man #1 looks at his wife.

Wife #1 puts her finger to her lips.

Man #1: "We'll take the silent section."

Hostess: "Right this way please."

Hostess seats them and hands them a menu.

Hostess: “Your waiter will be right with you.”

Another couple walks in.

Hostess: "Table for two?"

Man #2 is quite drunk, turns to his wife and puts a hand over one eye.

Man #2: "Yep! Just two!"

Hostess: "Would you like the conversational section or the silent section?"

Wife #2: "Do you have a loud obnoxious opinionated section?"

Hostess frowns in confusion.

Man #2: "I wanna talk!" He gives his wife a disgusted look.

Hostess: "Right this way please."

She seats them at the table across from couple #1 and hands them a menu.

Man #2: “And bring me a scotch and soda!”

Waiter brings his drink and returns to the kitchen.

Couple  #1 sits quietly and studies the menu.

Man #2 opens his menu.

Man #2: "Holy crap! Look at these friggin' prices!

Couple #1 gives him a snotty look.

Man #2 makes a face back at them.

Wife #2: "Mmmm, the prime rib sounds wonderful."

Man #2: "Prime rib? Yeah right, it better be 35 bucks worth of wonderful! No wonder the cows come down with that mad disease…they've seen these friggin' prices!"

Wife #2 whispers: "I would appreciate it if you wouldn't embarrass me tonight."

Man #2: "After all these years and you finally appreciate something!"

Wife #1 tugs at her earlobes.

Man #1 frowning: "Shhhh"

Man #2: "Shush yourself ya’ son of a nutcracker and mind your own business!

Waiter approaches couple #1: "May I take your order?"

Man #1 whispers to waiter: "Isn't this the silent section?"

Waiter: "Well the dividing line is right there." He points to an invisible line between the tables.

Man #1: Do you have any more tables in this section? The man next to us is quite loud."

Waiter: "I'm so sorry sir but we are completely booked."

Man #1 sighs and looks at his menu. "Very well then, I'll have the braised chicken wings with apple and onion gravy with baby vegetables."

Man #2: "They should have pictures on this menu so you know what the hell you're ordering!"

Wife #1 whispers to Wife #2: "Excuse me but we came here for a nice quiet meal, could you ask your husband to keep his voice down?"

Wife #2: "Honey, I've been asking that for 25 years and it hasn't happened yet. Any suggestions?"

Waiter to Wife #1: "May I take your order?"

Wife #1: "I'll just have the goat cheese salad please, I seem to have lost my appetite." She glares at couple #2.

Waiter: "Very well."

Waiter turns to couple #2: "I'll be right back to take your order."

Man #2: "Hey! what's yer name fellah?"

Waiter: "Mick, sir."

Man #2: "Mixer! That should be my damn name with all the booze I drink! Ha ha ha ha. Which reminds me, I need a little scotch to go with this water." He tips his glass and drains it.

Waiter: "Right away sir." He smiles weakly and walks away.

Man #2 to his wife: "Did you hear the news today?"

Wife #2: "I always wait to hear your slant on it."

Man #2: “Looks like the nuclear power plants in northern California have an excellent opportunity to suffer the same meltdown style as Fukushima when we have another earthquake. And we will! Soon! So do we get a warning from anyone? Heck no!  You want to know why?”

Wife #2 calmly sips her water.

Man #2: “It’s because people are more interested in what Kim Kardashian wears on a date with that crapper, Cayenne West!”

Wife#2: He’s a rapper and his name is Kayne.”

Man#2:”Like I care!”

The waiter brings Man #2 another drink.

Man #2 grabs it and chugs it down. “Keep ‘em coming Mixer.”

Waiter: “Yes Sir.”

Man #2: "Damn Secret Service is using our tax dollars to hire prostitutes from Cartagena!” What’s wrong with our prostitutes? Not good enough for them? You know the White House is covering it up! Just like David friggin' Copperfield. They just make evidence disappear!”

Wife #2: "I did hear about those poor inner city children that have to deal with rat infested classrooms."

Man #2: "Aw, bull spit! Gives ‘em a great excuse for not turning in homework…a rat ate it!"

Wife #1 pinches her nose and waves the air as if clearing it of smoke.

Man #1: Would you please keep your opinions to yourself? You're making my wife sick!"

Man #2: "Me? What about you,Lord of the Wings and baby vegetables? You’d make anyone sick!"

Man #1: "Look, my wife is pregnant!"

Man #2: "Maybe you should be talking more! Ha ha ha ha."

Wife #1: "Haven't you heard about the dangers of second hand opinions?"

Man #2: "Ha! I suppose you're gonna teach your kid to be quiet too? Huh? Well, you'll see…one day he'll be pickin up a vowel here, one there. Next he'll be scoring syllables then before you know it he's got a dangling participle and that's when you'll find out he's hooked on phonics!" He threw his head back and laughed.

Man #1: "Knuckle dragging troglodyte! You're the last one I would discuss child rearing with! I've never heard a more opinionated jerk in my life!"

Manager walks over to Man #1.

Manager: "I'm sorry sir but you are sitting in the silent section, I have to ask you to stop talking or I will be forced to move you to another table."

Man #1: "Me!? He's the one doing all the talking!" He points to man #2.

Manager: "Yes, well that's because he is in the conversation section."

Man #1: "But…"

Manager puts his finger to his lips. Man #2 sticks his tongue out at Man #1.

The waiter brings couple #1 their order.

Waiter to Couple #2: "May I take your order now?"

Wife #2: "I think I will have the prime rib…er the Admiral cut with a large baked potato with everything on it….oh yes and add a large Caesar salad with fresh garlic bread please."

Man #2 leans over to talk to Wife #1: "Hey you…bun in the oven…I think I found your appetite! It's right here!" He points to his wife.

Waiter: "And for you sir?"

Man #2: "Just bring me the pig knuckles with pilaf!" He grins.

Waiter dabs the spittle out of the corner of his eye.

Waiter: "Very good choice sir."

Man #1: "Hey! Don’t even pretend to talk to my wife! Don't you have respect for anyone? Is this your first time in a restaurant? I am going to complain to management and have you tossed out on your drunken butt!"

Manager comes over.

Manager: "I'm sorry sir but I am going to have to ask you and your guest to sit at a different table located in the conversation section."

Man #1: "Never mind! We're leaving! What kind of an establishment are you running here anyway?" He throws money on the table and marches Wife #1 out.

Manager turns to couple #2

Manager: "I'm so sorry for this disturbance. Your meal will be complimentary and I hope you enjoy the rest of your evening here."

Man #2: "Aw, that's okay…things like that happen. Thanks for the dinner though."

Manager bows and walks away.

Wife #2: "Honestly!" She shakes her head at Man #2.

Man #2: "Hey Babe, pass me over those chicken wings and baby veggies would you?" He points to Man #1's plate.

Resurfacing Memory Lane

At the gentle prodding of my husband, BJ, I finally emptied out the last of the boxes since our move in March. For six months I have been inches away from completing the task yet I had thousands of reasons why I just didn’t have the time.  It’s embarrassing to admit but for six months there have been five boxes neatly stacked against one of my living room walls. I just got used to seeing them like they had become some weird part of the furniture.

I sorted through some articles I had saved in the last box and stopped to read one in particular. This is usually what takes me so long to finish a task. Something that is totally unrelated to what I am doing leads me away. Far, far away.

“What are you doing?”

I looked up from the article and Mr. Organized and Focused, was standing in front of me with his hands on his hips.

“I’m doing what you asked.” I placed the article on the stack with the others. “Almost done.”

He laughed and gave me a pat on the head. “Thank you.”

He knows me so well.

It was the title of the 2009 article published by Reuters that sparked my interest. ‘Scientists Find a Way to Block Fearful Memories,’ and I could hardly wait to read it. It seems that there is a period of time, ten minutes to six hours, that a fearful memory can be altered before it is stored in the brain.

Once I finished putting everything in its place, I decided to put this blocking fearful memories theory to the test. I recreated the experiment described in the article. I painted a blue square on a piece of paper. Then asked BJ to give me a mild shock each time I looked at it. He was kind enough to use the 110 outlet instead of the 220. Once we had created the fear memory the first half of the experiment was complete. We made ice cream sundaes with French vanilla ice cream, chocolate syrup and chopped nuts. Actually, the ice cream wasn’t part of the test but we needed something to do during the 10 minute waiting period. Again I looked at the blue square, this time without the shock. Supposedly, we had reversed the fear memory.  

I was run over by the family car when I was three years old. I can remember getting into the car, pulling on the gearshift until it thunked from Park into Neutral. The car rolled backward slowly at first then it picked up speed. I panicked. I tried to get out of the car only to lose my balance and ended up hanging by the inside handle.  In the next moment I heard my mother screaming. My hand slipped from the handle and my right leg swung beneath the left front tire.  What I remember most clearly on the way to the hospital was asking my mother if the doctor was going to give me a shot. I hated shots.

From then on, our family doctor called me lucky. Another quarter of an inch higher and my pelvis would have been crushed. Since I was very bendy at three, my leg wasn’t even broken, just badly bruised.

Later the same year I was standing at our front door screen. My mother had it double locked to prevent me from repeating the joy ride. A stray dog happened by, looked in the door, through the back window, and saw our cat playing in the yard. He bounded toward the door and used his body as a battering ram. The door came completely off its hinges and I was trapped beneath it while the dog stood on it barking at, well nothing. The cat was gone.

I don’t have a fear of cars, gearshifts, driveways, tires or getting shots. I’m not afraid of strange dogs running by me or cats or even screen doors, but I’ll tell you what, now every time I see a blue square, I scream bloody murder.