Disasters and a Classy Lady

Being a film major, everyone I come in contact with expects me to have this wildly, eccentric and obscure taste in movies. Like, I'm supposed to only be interested in foreign films and sniff my nose in disgust at anything made post-60's. But the truth is that the only reason I watched Casablanca for the first time was because I was being graded on it. (I loved it immensely, along with Mr. Smith Goes to Washington, Rear Window, and High Noon. Citizen Kane? Not so much.)

I. LOVE. DISASTER. MOVIES.

I'm not even very picky as to the quality of the disaster. All I really require are structures being destroyed, mass hysteria, and lots of "how will they ever make it?!" moments. Unfortunately, I am prone to paranoia.

Perhaps I like disaster movies because I believe they are possible to some extent and I find this thrilling. I get some sort of satisfaction from being scared out of my brains.

Do I use the plots behind these movies to prepare myself if I am ever in a similar situation? NO. Instead, I sit in front of the screen and rot. I nervously jiggle my leg and chew on my lip and jump and squeal and cover my eyes. I guess I'm counting on all the apocalyptic scenes I see on the screen not happening in real life, but the truth is that if anything comes along, I'll be useless.

I can only hope that if I'm ever in a movie-type disaster in real life, I will take after the stereotyped "comedic relief" character. You know, the guy that always has something funny to say and never dies? Whenever he comes on the screen, you feel temporarily safe because the directors wouldn't dare kill off someone so carefree and goofy.

That's me.

When the end of the world comes, I'll be the one cracking jokes.