Dear Movie Poster,
I haven’t been much for breakfast these past few years; most days find me waking up nauseated (at worst), or with no appetite (at best). Oh, I get plenty hungry as the day wears on, but the mornings? Not for me. I’m fairly certain it has something to do with the fact that I spent a combined total of almost 18 months pregnant, stricken with “morning” sickness, and consequently, barfing my way through each pregnancy. (And yes, that is up to and including delivery date of both children.) Invariably, I’d kick off each day with the ever-pleasant “brushin’ my teeth, brushin’ my teeth, OH SHIT, HERE WE GO AGAIN… HWWWAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAACK COUGH, COUGH. GWWAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAUUUUUUUCHHHH.”
(Thank you, Kdiddy, for your most accurate barfing sound effect help.)
So, yeah, Movie Poster. I guess you could say I’ve developed these unpleasant associations with morning, and all that it stands for. As a result, I usually walk around in a state of blehhh as the day begins, subsisting on coffee, and then commencing the inevitable March to the Vending Machine around 10 am or so. Yes, I KNOW, that’s not “healthy” or “nutritionally sound,” but you’re a movie poster, for crissakes, so I don’t know where you get off, passing judgment on people.
Where was I?
Anyway, Movie Poster, the time has come for us to have a little chat. I know you’ve seen me these past few weeks. I’m the brown-haired girl hustling down the subway corridor from Grand Central Terminal each morning, wearing a hipster-ish looking white knit beret thing (It’s WARM, OKAY?) and carrying a bag large enough to smuggle a morbidly obese cat. I know you’ve seen me, Movie Poster, because the first time I spotted you, I literally stopped in my tracks, mouth agape for a good minute or so. And considering that this expanse of the corridor is populated by drunken sleeping hobos, the Walking Insane, as well as Blind Homeless Guy Who Sings Off-Key Renditions of Big Band Standards, all of whom I pass without a second glance, it takes A HELL OF A LOT to make an impression on me.
Oh, don’t PLAY COY WITH ME, Movie Poster. You know EXACTLY WHAT YOU DID. Look at yourself! LOOK AT YOURSELF!
Yeah, not so chatty now, are you? I mean, my god. What were you thinking? Your title is pretty self-explanatory, and although I personally have no interest in scary ghost movies (I’m pretty sure I still have PTSD from seeing The Ring five years ago, and OH MY GOD, SHE’S HERE RIGHT NOW ISN’T SHE? SHE’S GOING TO CRAWL OUT OF THE TV LIKE A CRAZY-ASS CRAB LADY AS SOON AS I TURN MY BACK WHYYYY), I know some people are into that sort of thing. And presumably, would have paid good money to go see the film you’re touting. So, I’m thinking maybe an ominous-looking house, a wraithlike, shadowy blob of evil, or hell, even a possessed child or two leering out from the poster would have sealed the deal for them.
And so, I must ask—what was the goal here? To shock? Mission accomplished. But in terms of getting asses in movie seats, may I ask who in GOD’S NAME—even if they enjoy the, uh, demonic possession genre—is going to see this poster, and think to themselves, “Will you look at that! A young boy, projectile vomiting into mid-air! And—oh, wow! I can ACTUALLY SEE the vomit, with great detail! Honey! HONEY! We simply must get tickets! Fandango this mofo!” Who, I ask you, who? And Movie Poster, if you even JOKINGLY bring up 2Girls1Cup*, I WILL END YOU.
My point, Movie Poster, is that I have a hard enough time getting through the morning on even the best of days, and you are not helping matters IN THE LEAST. I literally want to throw up every time I see you, and even if I look the other way? I STILL KNOW YOU’RE THERE. And hey--I know times are rough, and if I thought the AGGRESSIVELY GROSS image plastered across you was somehow driving people to see the movie, I’d try to understand. I sincerely doubt, though, that that is the case.
And so in closing, Movie Poster, I hope one of the corridor-dwelling hobos defaces you post-haste so I can once again walk to the train without fear of Impending Barf looming. Until that time comes, however, I will be taking the long way to the train, cursing you with every fiber of my being.
*I blame my favorite morning radio show (Opie & Anthony) for the fact that I know what this is. Please, please, if you don’t already know what it is, you are better off, and I am jealous that you can continue living your life without knowing. In the name of all things sacred DO NOT GOOGLE. And if you refuse to listen to me, then for crying out loud, don’t Google at work. NO, SERIOUSLY.