Archive for April, 2008

An odd day, to say the least.

April 30, 2008

So, as you can so clearly see…I am not really following through on my film reviews as of late. I have had nothing to say or at least write down about the few films I have managed to view lately, including the crushingly disappointing Harold & Kumar: Escape From Guantanamo Bay, but I must say that there was something that happened today that is worth noting.

I was arranging my binder of music I’ve listened to in 2008, when my dad came up behind me and handed me a letter, telling me to open it and see what I thought of it. It was a strange court document, one noting a pending case, and as I looked a little further down the page it read “Deceased – Ferguson, Andrew”. I was immediately sent into a state of awe, as one would expect, and continued on down the page. “Case Status: Pending” was what caught my attention more than anything else on this page, which was an official court document but made absolutely no sense, which goes without saying.

Needless to say, I felt strange all day, constantly assuming someone wanted me dead and imagining that I was a silhouette from somewhere else walking among the living. It was mostly a spark for some seriously funny situations throughout the course of the day though, and at one point I even found myself saying to my dad, “I can’t believe I’m dead. I never imagined myself being able to say that.”

An odd day, to say the least.



Some Things That Help

April 24, 2008


Graveyard Girl


April 24, 2008

Six years ago today, I was walking into the greatest day of my life…and little did I know it. I still remember it like it had just occurred. What a remarkable blessing of a day it was. My photogenic memory has given me the opportunity to archive every single detail of that time in my head, as well as countless other moments…but that one in particular. Beautiful. It’s always going to be there, right there, never to be let go of in the slightest. My grasp has only fastened to new heights.

The Baby Changing Station

April 21, 2008

There is a young man at work. He takes a break from threading the IMAX film projector that has been consuming the majority of his day. He takes the elevator downstairs into the lobby of the newly constructed theater, goes to the restroom and sits at a stall, slowly turning his walkie talkie volume down. Shining through the massive windows that are plastered throughout the building is the sun, bringing evidence of a perfect spring day. It is one of the first truly beautiful weather afternoons of the year, so there is hardly anyone in attendance at this big, 16-screen multiplex.

He is alone in the stall, amidst complete silence, leaving him with nothing but thoughts…and his thoughts lately have been anything but healthy for him. He glances over at a baby changing station that is mounted on the wall two feet to his right, desperately hoping that his mind can focus on something anti-detrimental. This is impossible. There, in his mind at that very moment, is himself as he could’ve currently been had he not made the horrible mistakes he made. He is smiling and laughing, changing his young daughter’s diaper at the baby changing station in this restroom of the multiplex. She looks so much like her mother, he thinks. He finishes up and meets his wife as they enter the theater together, embracing each other and smiling. Everyone around them can sense the genuine love they share together as a family. They will go on to live a long life together, sharing endless moments of pure joy.

He opens his eyes. There is silence again as the sharp pains of reality kick back in. He turns his walkie volume back to loud. “Andy, we need you up in the IMAX booth.” He flushes the toilet even though he didn’t use it and walks back upstairs, to work.

This One Is Changing My Life.

April 21, 2008

Anthony Gonzalez makes incredibly beautiful music.

I am in the process of penning ideas, songs, and reviews for three films which I have viewed at the theatre lately…Forgetting Sarah Marshall, Shine A Light, and Drillbit Taylor.