Terminator Salvation is an unforgivable steaming pile of shit. I actually like the first two Terminator movies (though I can't remember if I watched the third one), which may seem surprising but really isn't if you've watched them instead of merely having heard of them. I was really excited about Salvation because it's Terminator + Christian Bale, which, in an ideal, perfect world, would equal perfection, or something good and meaningful that vaguely matches up to Batman Begins/The Dark Knight. Or just, you know, the original two movies.
It was a bombastic, soulless, meaningless, empty and useless two hours' worth of boring machine guns going off and stuff blowing up every other ten minutes, ugly-looking robots being destroyed, and the main characters running all over the place to god-knows-where from god-knows-what and bloody hell, no matter how hard Christian Bale tried, he couldn't succeed in making me care. This stupid Salvation shit insults the first two Terminator movies. Christian Bale, by choosing to associate himself with this rubbish, has just undermined his artistic cred in my eyes.
What the fuck man. I don't even know if I can call the movie plot-driven because there was no freaking plot. I had no idea what the hell everyone was doing, what it was John Connor was attempting to save the world from, what the big deal was at the end when the Resistance, duh, won the stupid war. And Sam Worthington's character had SO much potential, but the director/whoever chose instead to hit me over the head with the "humanity is good" message and, in the process, completely shit all over the could've-been-intriguing Marcus Wright character. I was expecting a huge morality conflict, but instead, all I got was some stupid anti-climatic "I AM A MAN!!!!" bullshit, some "everyone deserves a second chance" bullshit sermonising, and that was it. It was so utterly stupid. And oh my god, the final fight scene between John and the Terminator (when he first appeared in human form, I laughed out loud at the computer-generated Arnie) could not have been a bigger rip-off of the Final Fight Scenes from the original movies. I get that it's a continuation of the franchise, but the whole thing is already so bad and had nothing in common with the original ones except Bale's character, so I don't see why they had to shit on the original ones somemore by copying the Final Fight Scenes.
And the bad guy in T2 could turn his hand into a knife. THAT was damn cool. The bad guy here...wait, was there even a bad guy? There was some robot that randomly came out of nowhere (the Arnie lookalike) that randomly started attacking John for no reason but that was about it. And he didn't have a hand that could turn into a knife.
Fucking stupid movie. What was Christian Bale smoking when he took on this role? I can't believe I wasted one bloody morning watching a bloody stupid typical brainless action movie. AND it tried to pass off as a Terminator movie.
McG, I know you produce Chuck, and I love Chuck and all...but please. Go fuck yourself. Thx u.
Although I'm a very impatient person, I consider myself generally cordial towards service staff. I'm polite to waiters and when I'm not in a hurry, I am capable of waiting a little bit longer for my food or the bill. I thank waiters when they refill my water, serve me my food, things like that.
But there is only so much bullshit I can take. Of course, it's arguable that, due to my inherently impatient nature, my bullshit threshold is lower than the average reasonable person's; but I think even the average reasonable person would not have exhibited a placidity and equanimity when faced with this clueless waiter that had the misfortune of serving me at Tony Romas' last night.
He had no idea what his restaurant serves. I asked him about the grilled fish and what my options are when I didn't understand what the menu said. Not only was he clueless, he actually went, and I quote, "Huh?"
Except it was more like, "Har?"
Oh. My. God. I swear, I was this close to saying something really rude to him, but instead I started laughing. I guess I was in a good mood. But still, I can't help but recall that night during my 21st birthday when a few JC friends and I went to some don't know what stupid bar at the Orchard area (where Alley and Acid are. Or whatever they're called) and were appalled when the service staff didn't have a clue what went into their drinks. I mean, really. If you're going to work in a restaurant, isn't it understood, a given, that you're kind of expected to know what's on the menu and what goes into a dish or a drink when a customer asks you about it?
But then, lucky me, I've never had to work a day in my life as a waitress, so I guess I'm not able to comprehend the complexity of memorising, or at least familiarising yourself, with the menu.
Okay I was about to say something bitchy but it's really mean so I'm going to abandon that train of thought. At least the clueless waiter apologised after he said "har" to me.And he did scoot off to check with some supervisor about the stuff I was asking, so he wasn't THAT hopeless or useless.
I think I should learn to be more patient, right? I know. Which was why when the waitress for whom I asked for the bill replied with a curt "ya", all I did was wear this expression on my face like I ate something gross and just let it go. See, I'm learning day by day.
I can't decide if I'm actually serious. Oh well.
Anyway, I stupidly decided to drink alcohol last night despite not having had a drip of it since December last year. Thankfully it was just Tong or I would've been seriously shamed. Actually, it was because it was him that I even decided to order a Mojito (and it was just one sad drink. I'm really sad); I never drink with people I'm not comfortable with. Precisely because I can't drink. And when I'm under the influence of alcohol, no matter how little? I become a shadow of my true, intelligent self.
It was really sad. It also didn't help that I was super tired yesterday, having to wake up at 9 to play tennis which tired the shit out of me, then going to the Fullerton for lunch with my extended family, and resting maybe three seconds at home before Tong came in a nice cab to pick me up. So yeah, I was really tired. The alcohol made me even more sleepy. So I was slumped in the couch, wanting badly to put my legs up on the other couch but resisting the temptation because it is unsightly, and suddenly this waitress came by and asked me if I wanted lime juice; it'd help bring down the alcohol.
Oh my gad. She even asked me if I'd peed yet. HAHAHA. It reflects more on her than me though. For sure I was a bit woozy last night, but I'd definitely been through worse, but no one cared enough to offer me lime juice and advise me to go to the toilet and relieve myself. The waitress was really super seriously nice. REALLY SUPER SERIOUSLY NICE. More waiters and waitresses should be like her to save me from future coronaries and heart attacks. Seriously.
So anyway, I really have no idea what possessed me to order a cocktail, but there you go. Tong was very amused by my alcohol-induced alter-ego - and that's putting it mildly. I'm not going to touch alcohol for the next six months. And I actually forgot - FORGOT - that cocktails/alcohol/I dunno make my legs hurt like mad. I don't even know if it hurt last night 'cause I slept really early.
Also, I was super annoyed with my dad last night. He called me at 11.20 fucking PM and seriously asked, "Do you know what time it is now?" Sometimes I really can't be bothered with him. You talk to me unreasonably, and I'm just not going to waste my time dignifying your shit with a proper response. I have been a really good daughter for the most part - don't drink, don't smoke, don't go out with a new guy every two weeks, don't travel with random guys, don't sleep around, don't club, don't do anything they deem bad - and this is the thanks I get. How bloody annoying.
And today when I said that I wanted to buy new shoes because the ones I've been wearing for work are eating my feet for breakfast, lunch and dinner, he got all pissed and started ranting about the number of pairs of shoe I have at home. As if any random pair of shoes is capable of being worn to work.
What the fuck. Forget it. Talking about this is a waste of time, and I have better things to do with my time.
Anyway, last night was fun. I'm waiting for my dim sum treat. Raffles Hotel okay? Yay.
(No but I've never eaten dim sum there. I shall drag my parents there for lunch one fine day. When PLC starts. I can't wait for PLC.)
FRENCH OPEN FINAL TONIGHT.
Safina lost last night. Fucking hell. Didn't watch (when I found out the place we were at switched to SuperSports, it was already the prize-giving ceremony) so can't comment, but...fucking hell.
Still, MEN'S FINAL TONIGHT. Roger is one match away from going down in history as The Greatest of All-Time. I never thought the day would come when he's so close to having an actual shot at winning Roland Garros. Nadal is not in the final. For the first time in four years, the new French Open champion will not be named Rafael Nadal. It might actually - probably - be Roger Federer.
OH MY GOD GETTING EXCITED JUST THINKING ABOUT IT. Of course I'm gonna be scared shitless later at nine, but OMG I'm so gonna cry. If he loses, I'd cry my eyes out; if he wins, I'd cry my heart out.
GO ROGER GO.
There was something else I wanted to say but I don't remember what it was so let's move on.
Yeah, that's about all I want to say.
Oh, wait, I wanted to say one more thing: Tennis yesterday morning was so damn tiring. I'm not gonna attempt to play tennis when I severely lack sleep ever again. It was so bad. I couldn't focus after a few balls and I hit like 5 crap backhands in a row. It was shit. Shit. Shit.
But! I hit a smashing winner which shocked my partner (the NUS wall guy). Haha! That was fun.