I accidentally plunged my arm elbow-deep into a barrel of domestic bureaucratic shit to-day when I went to my mum's house to see if my sister wanted to watch Amélie with me.
Amélie is an incredible movie, btw, and I think everyone of yous ought to watch it.
Anyway, I rented it a couple days ago and my sister expressed some desire to see it. The problem arose when my sis asked mum if we could use the DVD player to watch it. Thereupon we were informed that our mother was certainly going to occupy that television for the entire day. Mum also insinuated that we were rather foolish to expect to be able to watch a DVD.
Er, I should point out that we really hadn't any reason to expect that as my sister and I have watched many movies on that DVD player. The fact that our mum had produced some lame excuse for the past two days to prohibit the viewing of Amélie in her home, led me to think there was something more to it. There was too much of that bitter, evil gleam in my mother's eye. But I still have not the foggiest idea what her beef with Amélie was.
Having learned long ago that my anger, or my rational arguments for that matter, would be useless, I tried very hard to play cool, accept the fate, and not voice the incredulous fire burning in my throat.
Out of earshot of my mother, I asked my sister if she'd like to go to our grandmother's house to watch the thing. My sister refused.
"Well," I said, "I guess . . . you'll have to wait 'til you move out to see this movie then. 'Cause that's the only way you'll get to see it,"
I could see the self-evident ludicrosity of the truth was a bit too much for my sister's perception of reality to acknowledge. She said, "No, I'll rent it,"
I frowned, "But why would renting it another time be any different from now?"
"I'll watch it later," was all my poor sister was able to say.
So what's the big deal you may ask? Why the fuck am I so worked up about this?
Because for me it's just another incident where something delicate and beautiful was crushed underfoot by some hugely scabbed up mind. Some petty little ogre like my mum crushing a simple, inoffensive little piece of beauty like to-day's viewing of Amélie, just as surely as the Death Star destroyed peaceful Aldaraan.
You see, I can't be sure that my sister wanted to see Amélie. The whole thing may have been an elaborate scheme for her to get out of watching it, rather than having to face the ordeal of telling me straight. What I can be sure of is that my sister would have liked Amélie. A lot. And it would have changed her world a little bit. Some things you just know in your gut, and when it comes to art, when you REALLY know a something about art, it's a something you know in your gut. This was one of those somethings.
But because the spiritual entity of my mum's house-old is a sickly, cowardly thing that likes to scrunch itself up like a diseased octopus in a coral garden, my sister missed this opportunity like she's missed so many others, and it's put another little scab on her brain, a scab that resembles the surface of my mum's whole cerebellum.
This upsets me. Very much.