My body seems to have finally adjusted to my beta blockers. My blood pressure has stabilized around 110/70 for about a week now. If I have coffee it goes up to 120/80. I lived on caffeine and sugar yesterday to keep my energy up at The Greater Lehigh Valley Writers Group The Write Stuff Conference, which you can read about here.
Today, I have to deliver cats to a Feline Urban Rescue and Rehab “Meet the Cats” event at the Phllipsburg Petco. One of the organizers has a soft spot for my sweet Minerva and all of my fosters are long-termers at this point and need homes. But this means I need to sneak up on Minerva and Louise which is practically impossible.
But Sassy, my friend who recently left Stitch Fix to return to the medical field, texted me yesterday on her birthday to invite me to breakfast this morning. And she said she would call Southern Candy to join us. I was charged with selected a place.
Well, I said, if you don’t mind coming out my way, there’s a place I’ve wanted to try, Big Papa’s Restaurant and Catering in Easton. And so we did.
I ordered the State Theatre breakfast– scrambled eggs, cherry tomatoes, these adoarble square breakfast potatoes, and spinach. They didn’t have avocado. It was listed as also having avocado, but they offered me extra spinach. Sassy ordered The Big Papa Feast with a side of toast. Southern Candy had biscuits and gravy.
Sassy’s breakfast came with French toast and it was a full order of French Toast. She ordered bacon for her meat and it was a massive pile.
And the amount of food they served Southern Candy looked like two breakfasts to me.
The staff was delightful. The decor lovely. The colors and the music a little quirky and upbeat.
And the biscuits and gravy… their effort in making them homemade showed, but Candy said while delicious, their spices in the gravy wasn’t southern. So we’re going back in a few weeks so the chef can make them her way.
And we ended up being silly and doing a fashion show.
I had my full activity session at Physical Therapy today. I did my stretches, got strapped into the gait belt, and did a series of single leg stability exercises under the supervision of the computer’s measurements.
Then we headed to the zero-G treadmill. I was advised to make my feet and pants have contrast. So, I wore my bright green shoes, my purple polka-dot knee socks, and my black-and-white cat leggings from Purr Haus in Emmaus.
He chuckled while remarking that I certainly followed directions.
The Zero-G treadmill required some rubbery pants surrounded by what resembles a surgical/Elizabethan collar (cone of shame) that get zipped into a treadmill pretty much encased in plastic. When it filled with air, it reduced my body weight. I was able to walk the treadmill at 50% of my body weight.
The reason for contrast is that the treadmill offers an image of your feet. Three views on a monitor: front, side and back. So I was able to watch my feet, move my legs, angle my feet and reinforce the improved gait pattern by watching it as I walked.
I was only on the treadmill for 15 minutes, but it that time I discovered what part of my foot I normally don’t use. It was exhausting– and exhilarating– and so fun to show the Teenager the results when I got home.
But before I got home though I had an appointment to have my stitches out and on my goodness did I have the most personable and confident resident yet. I only had three stitches but that last one gave her a terrible time. It took her thirty minutes to get all of them out. I had her laughing and she was very patient and determined, and so afraid she was going to hurt me because “if it were me I’d be jumping out of my seat!”
She said I was the best patient ever, that I sat so still and I must have a high pain tolerance.
Between the two appointments, I stopped at Dunkin for a decaf coffee and saw they had a new “egg taco.” I read the nutritional info and with 500 mg of sodium, 180 calories and 8 grams protein, it had less salt and more protein and less calories than the avocado toast. I am so sad they no longer have the hummus.
When I got home, I did some little things and ate the homemade chicken and dumplings my Pennsylvania Dutch mother-in-law is known to deliver when people in the family are sick. And then I tried to take a nap, but a little birdie was guarding me.
I’ve been sipping strong coffee for about 90 minutes now, munching pistachios as I take my morning beta blocker. I have been trying to get my meds to 6 a.m. and 6 p.m. I don’t want to take them at the time I get up for work, because who wants to wake at 4 a.m. on a day off? The hospital gave me them at 9:30… but in the evening I’m usually asleep by then and working on a typical day. 8:30 a.m. is my morning break at work, so that would make sense from a practical point of view, but it would also mean having a snack at 8 p.m. and not getting to sleep until 9 which means the most sleep I will ever get is 7 hours. 6 a.m. and 6 p.m. sound ideal because I usually arrive at work at 6 a.m. and have a small breakfast and 6 p.m. is dinner.
But today I slept until 7.
Oops.
But when I got downstairs, my legs felt persnickety and my blood pressure was perfect if not a little low– so I went ahead and made the strong coffee. And I took my baclofen for the first time since before I went into the hospital.
One of the generalist’s at the hospital thought the baclofen might be causing some of my issues. Which makes this a test? Maybe?
But this is not a post about my Zio heart monitor or my scabs slowly crumbling down my face, though those things are fun. My gash is healing rapidly and well. I wanted to talk a bit about my weekend and what’s up with the publishing company.
Many of these thoughts will be further explored as part of the Parisian Phoenix blog and Substack newsletter. We’ve migrated from Mailchimp to Substack for better visibility and the prospect of building more paid resources and services for writers and readers. If you didn’t read this week’s recent release, check it out here.
Friday night, a journalist friend and her partner came to visit. I had planned to go visit her, but this close to my hospitalization I wasn’t sure driving on the highway by myself for an hour was a good idea. They have also been involved with cat rescue, so she’s offered some support on realigning the cat book. I’m helping her (I hope) with some of her goals and we’re both trying to help people find ways to publish their books.
My unsolicited submissions pile is growing rapidly.
Meanwhile, the dog is keeping an eye on me.
In the afternoon yesterday, I visited my “office” at Panera where our photographer Joan touched base with me regarding her activities at the Greater Lehigh Valley Writers Group conference this coming weekend. She’s not fooling me– I know my friends are doing wellness checks.
But I had the most amazing meeting with the duo behind Echo City Capers, and we have a handshake agreement to launch some projects together which will allow Parisian Phoenix Publishing to kickstart Parisian Phoenix Kittens with a second edition of an Echo City Capers Jr. book, a children’s book from Darrell Parry (and maybe someday a puzzle book/older kid story– hint hint Darrell) and perhaps event a story in the vein of Eric Carle from Larry Sceurman.
It’s thrilling to watch a simple “let’s introduce ourselves” coffee meeting can explode into ideas and mutual support.
That little meeting went two hours and when they saw our physical books, they were pleased. They immediately saw the love and attention we give to our titles at Parisian Phoenix, and without even meeting Gayle yet, I think they “know” and trust her.
I ended my afternoon romp with a visit to Larry, to deliver some publicity materials and give him and his wife, Barbara, a copy of Thurston’s book.
When I left, I felt like my blood sugar was dropping. I found a cherry Pop Tart that the Teenager had left in my car more than a year ago and came home and made a lovely lamb dinner. (The teenager saw lamb and potatoes in the skillet and immediately claimed the leftovers.) My blood pressure was high, but it was also time to take my beta blocker.
Finally, I slithered to my bed– exhausted, when I didn’t even do much– in great anticipation to finish Katherine Ramsland’s I Scream Man and Echo City Capers YA Graphic Novel printed in Canada, Who Turned the Lights Out?
I was so tickled and delighted to read the wit, the humor and the “smarts” in this little volume, which the type is uniquely done and the paper quality gorgeous. It made me very sad to put the book down to sleep.
These are some of the people I spend my days with at my day job. I know their struggles. I see their growth. I feel their stagnancy when they experience it. And they share mine.
Our dear colleague Sassy has procured a new job– one in her field where she will help so many people, just like when she scraped me off the sidewalk earlier this month and stood by another work-friend’s side when she had a very severe heart attack. It’s no surprise that she’s returning to the medical profession where she can use her eagle eye, her sassy but loving mouth, and her wisdom to change people’s lives for the better.
As she changed ours.
These photos look a lot like our lunch table at work. The atmosphere was jovial and a little obnoxious, a lot like our lunch table at work.
We talk a lot about getting together outside of work for bowling or pizza or axe throwing or roller skating. But life happens and everyone has something going on so we don’t force the issue. But Sassy is leaving, and we talk a lot about tequila so this time the plans solidified.
And they involved tequila, in fancy margaritas– my first was cucumber– and Mexican food at a place that used to be a Pizza Hut decades ago (and I remember it as such) called My Tequila House. The food was amazing. The drink menu diverse. And next time, when I have more of a budget, we’re getting the duck carnitas tacos.
What amazes me about the event was how easily the conversation flowed, how different we all are as people but how we’ve all come together. We all worked together on second shift, “Midnight Society,” and moved together to the 4-day 10-hour shift “Sunday Cohort,” and now been relegated to Monday to Friday standard shift with those I lovingly refer to as “the day shift bitches.” These changes all happened with sixteen months or so, so at this point we’re all practically trauma-bonded, moving together through a world that keeps changing: new measurements, new overlords, soon new snacks. You get the idea.
Let your smile change the world, but don’t let the world change your smile
The youngest among us is barely legal drinking age, the older close to retirement. There’s Southern Candy, Sassy, My Faithful Reader, and some others who I might mention from time to time but who haven’t earned full pseudonyms… like the leader who’s also a very talented photographer, the young woman who encourages everyone while she herself has not only had to rebuild her own life but care for parents with serious health issues, the woman who has a sporty, young nephew and an adorable dog, and the supervisor who returned to work too early after surgery out of stubbornness and now advocates for everyone else’s recovery.
Sassy made us small gifts, gifts she made carefully with her own hands, delicate and beautiful. And meaningful. There’s a magic that occurs when people congregate, even more magic when they quietly support one another, and even more magic when something happens and they come together.
Part of that stems from corporate culture at our employer, more comes from the attitude we had on second shift. We learned to work as a team in an environment that focused on individual metrics in very simple, specific jobs. We had a chance to be different.
And even though our backgrounds range from various fields– restaurants, personal banking, medical, communications for me– that diversity strengthens our bond because we know who on the team will support us in what area when we need it. There’s a trust and a sense of integrity.
And as much as we love Sassy, I think we were celebrating our legacy as a team.
A while ago, The Teenager and I decided we wanted to try a Dairy Queen banana split. That we’d share one. And we decided tonight was the night.
We ordered one using the app, and when we arrived we were faced with two new ice cream options: the churro dipped cone and the end of the rainbow shake.
The banana split was delicious. Their strawberry topping was our favorite and it looked like they put two whole bananas in there.
But then The Teenager wanted to try the Rainbow Shake because it looked like it had the crunchies she loved from the cotton candy Blizzard.
So, she went into the Dairy Queen and ordered one. And the churro-dipped cone.
The shake was strawberry flavored and those crunchies tasted like sugary breakfast cereal.
Meanwhile, the ice cream cone tasted like the bastard child of Dairy Queen and Taco Bell, like someone had taken those cinnamon cream cheese balls they have right now and stuffed them with ice cream instead of whatever that cheesy stuff actually is.
It’s been six days since I touched base. My friend is home from the hospital and probably climbing the walls. I’ve been doing a lot of work on Parisian Phoenix stuff– getting the Substack off the ground, editing material for clients and my authors, and sending packages out.
Normally I go to the gym Monday, Wednesday and Friday but this week I haven’t felt well. Even after my chiropractor appointment on Monday, I still struggled with body pain in unusual places. My chiropractor confirmed that I was feeling more issues in my sacrum as opposed to my normal troubles in my hips. My quads bothered me for a while after that and the drop from warm weather to icy wintry mix made my knees burn. That was new. All of these sensations led to my right side feeling rubbery and unstable.
I’ve also had a lot of commitments recently and not enough down time, so that didn’t help.
Wednesday night I ended up skipping the gym because of pain and a meeting for the Lehigh Valley Book Festival that ran until 6 p.m., which meant I didn’t even get to my town until 6:30 p.m. and exercising in pain and hungry did not seem smart. You can read about my visit to Let’s Play Books on the Parisian Phoenix blog, here.
And when I got home, The Teenager had purchased cheese steaks at Joe’s Steaks in Phillipsburg. My standard order is a hot cheese steak, no onions, and an order of pizza rolls. She did not remember the pizza rolls.
I actually asked my boss to use two hours of my intermittent medical leave to come home and take a nap yesterday, because supporting my own weight and balancing was exhausting.
Best. Nap. Ever. I still feel achy today, but much better, probably because I had an appointment with my primary care physician. I thought it was for my annual physical, but apparently it was a six-month follow-up. Follow up for? Be darned if I remember. My mallet finger and the resulting leave from work because I was all out of whack?
I noticed while waiting for him that I was wearing two different shoes. They are the same shoe, but two different pairs in two different sizes. Interestingly, I put the smaller shoe on the smaller foot. Because it turns out my left foot is a size eight, but my right is 8.5.
He approved of my blood pressure numbers, didn’t say anything about the roller coaster of my weight, wondered if I had my anxiety under control, and asked about my service dog application. He thinks I have a cataract starting in my right eye, that I’m salt sensitive and that I need to take care of myself and (my words not his) calm the fuck down. Oh– and lay off the caffeinated beverages.
And as soon as I left the parking lot, I went to the Dunkin a block away and bought the new chocolate caramel cold brew. Even though I had chocolate in my coffee. But I figured this would be a candy bar, and I was right. My lunch consisted of cold brew, pistachios, apples and a KIND breakfast bar.
I returned to work, finished lunch with my friends and went out to the warehouse floor where I might have hit way over 100% thanks to the buzz from the coffee. I took the early release/voluntary time off and came home to packages!
We got two Freestyle packages from Stitch Fix, one from the Dizzy (in Dallas) and the Phizzy (in Phoenix) which The Teenager recorded me opening.
Our Little Dog Neighbor Sobaka is staying with us this week. So The Teenager and I took both dogs for a walk.
It’s a quiet Saturday morning despite absolutely roaring winds and nasty cold outside. The Teenager and I were working out some financial details last night over tequila shooters after upheaval this week (and plans to do taxes tomorrow) in light of the fact that her check engine light popped on last night. Her car has turned out to be an enormous money pit.
I’m drinking Friendly’s Arabica Mint Chocolate Chip Ice Creamflavored coffee. I adore mint in coffee, so I picked this up. It has a light and smooth flavor, so I drink it way too fast (as I am used to my bitter dark roasts) and makes the kitchen smell fantastic, especially considering it comes out of a K-cup. Both the mint flavors I have found since stumbling on the Dunkin white chocolate peppermint, have been branded Friendly’s.
The importance of exercise when you have a disability
Last night I returned to the gym, having warned my fitness and strength coach Andrew of Apex Training that he needed to leave the sadist in him at home because my body is still delicate.
(I know he’s a personal trainer, but that doesn’t seem enough to classify what he does, so I call him my coach. Life coaching has become so en vogue right now and that sort of coaching using combines listening, some psychological training and helping people get their metaphorical shit together. Personal training to me seems very goal oriented, whereas Andrew has to deal with a lot more than that. Training implies, in my mind, sharing knowledge of an activity that relates to form and tricks of the trade. It’s giving intellectual knowledge in combination with experience to help someone develop a skill, or in this case, a habit. But, having dabbled with hobby bodybuilding in the past, I have the knowledge and we’re working with non-textbook medical issues because I don’t have a “normal” body, so I need some extra support. And I love the guys at Apex for all the support they give to me.)
Andrew prepared a lovely full-body workout circuit for me that focuses on quality of movements versus high intensity or heavy weights. He and I have noticed during our now year-long relationship that the second set of an exercise is always better than the first set. And we’ve come to believe that my body– because my brain and the muscles in my lower body can’t communicate like they do in people without neurological conditions– needs to be reminded what to do. It feels like my body needs to be shown basic movements after even the most basic hiatus to break a cycle of malfunctioning, reset, and proceed in a different and better manner.
That circuit reminded my body parts how to work together again and get all those tissues and electrical connections firing. And after a week of sometimes intense pain, emotional and physical stress, and constant discomfort, the exercises allowed me to test my movement and release any sensations of immobility or fear I was clinging to. And Andrew was there to monitor my performance and make sure I didn’t hurt myself.
And let me just add, in case anyone else struggling with a disability like mine that manifests differently in people or that the medical establishment doesn’t fully understand: It is 100% true that you know your body best, but it’s also true that our experiences in bodies that do not do what standard bodies do often blind us to what we can and cannot do. This can bubble to the surface in many ways: 1. We are stubborn and should not do many of the things we attempt to do; 2. We give up too easily; and 3. Because we never see our bodies from an outsider’s perspective so we have a skewed outlook.
These are all important reasons why I have a personal trainer. All of them. I learned this from listening to my daughter talk about my body. She didn’t mention it as a young child, but as she got older she said things like, “Mom, your feet are fucky. Fix them.” She saw me fall so many times that she began to notice the signs of when I might fall. I don’t see that. I don’t see my feet from an outside perspective. And that’s why it’s emotional painful to see photographs of myself with twisted knees. And also why I asked Joan to photograph them for Not an Able-Bodied White Man with Money. And if I’m honest, why I put the photo spread in the back of the book. (See below for Amazon purchasing details or buy from us here.)
In many ways, Andrew knows my physical limitations better than I do. THAT is why I have a personal trainer. If it weren’t for him, I wouldn’t have exercised at all last night. And this is why I get angry when people cite a disability for why they can’t work out– that is specifically why you need to work out. You can’t pound weights like a powerlifter or run marathons, but bodies need to be used and challenged.
Mundane things like food and mail order packages
Rant over… My blood pressure is elevated this morning, but looking at the patterns of the last week and my list of dietary choices, I can see the role salt has had in my numbers. Dinner Thursday night had more salt than I’ve had recently, and dinner last night consisted of a canned black bean, sheep cheese and processed mole sauce lasagne with lentil noodles, laced with that sodium.
screenshot from Goodreads
Add the tequila, of which I did not have much, and the fact that I was licking salt off my hand…
I woke to a truly distressing dream that started as one of those dreams where you need to use the bathroom but can’t find one. I was wrestling a woman in a cheetah print denim dress to beat her to the toilet, and then, in the dream, I could not pee. Despite the pain and urgency of needing to pee. I suppose my mind really wanted me to wake up, because the next part of the dream haunts me even now. I saw a baby, who appeared to be blind (remarkably similar to the early 1980s hardcover, purple dust jacket edition of John Saul’s Comes the Blind Fury. And the baby had a baby. They were side by side, a newborn and a larger infant. Which took a cheese grater to my emotions, because I don’t think they were Irish twins. I had no choice but to get up after that horrific scene.
To bring things back around to happier things… and more references to Parisian Phoenix Publishing… (Please buy books!!!)
I prepared a special mail order package with a signed copy of The Death of Big Butch. I will be headed to the post office today.
What I ate Friday:
4:30 a.m., one cup Friendly’s Peppermint Stick coffee, with half and half
5 a.m., first breakfast, honey nut Chex with Silk protein cashew-almond non-dairy milk
8:30 a.m., second breakfast, salted and roasted pistachios, mango jerky from Solely
11:30 a.m., lunch, vegan tofu spring rolls and cabbage, diet Pepsi
3 p.m., snack, iced coffee with half and half and cinnamon a very berry oatmeal cookie from Panera
7 p.m., dinner, black bean and sheep cheese lasagne with cheddar and mole sauce on green lentil noodles and plantain chips
8 p.m., tequila shooter with pink Himalayan sea salt and a slice of lemon
I just noticed I haven’t stopped by since Tuesday night… The biggest news of the week is that the I got my new glasses from the eye doctor and also my spares ordered completely online from Warby Parker. I am very happy with all my new frames and lenses so let’s hope the feeling doesn’t wear off.
I have worn eyeglasses for more than 30 years. I think it’s a more than ordinary experience to select your new frames at the eye doctor and hate them two weeks later. Plus, when you have bad eyes, you need your glasses to function. If you watch the video that accompanies this, you will see me struggling to function without my glasses and doing some trademarked bad vision maneuvers.
As I mentioned in my post on the Parisian Phoenix blog about visiting the eye doctor, I could use reading glasses for my right eye, so my new prescription glasses will be progressives, with all the usual bells and whistles (blue light filter, glare resistance, and that term they use for the technology that makes the lenses thinner) and will cost about $800 before insurance. Luckily, with my insurance, the bill for the exam, the glasses and these really cool photos of my eyeballs costs $305.
Now, I’ve had some glasses I’ve really enjoyed (and the dog ate them all in her puppy days) and regardless of how much I think I like them I have criticism of them fairly quickly. The pair I have now are too delicate, weirdly shaped around the eyes and the coating on the metal has eroded where the cockatoo grabs them with her beak and rips them off my face. (Yes, I know eyeglasses are not meant to withstand a saucy Goffins cockatoo.)
So, I thought, with my new prescription in hand, it might be fun to try Warby Parkermail order frame service. Now, it turns out that there is a Warby Parker brick and mortar store twenty minutes away, but who wants to go be surrounded by that many choices. I used the online try on tool to browse and select my final five choices.
I selected these five frames because they are not what I would pick to wear on my face for the next 1-2 years. And to be clear– I am planning to order the cheapest, single vision lenses they offer because I just want some glasses to break up the monotony.
Day One Thoughts:
The Big Black Pair. I was inspired by Edna Mode. And I do like them. Because they are excessive and completely unlike anything I would wear. And The Teenager looks cute it them.
The Red Pair. If I had to pick right now, I would pick these. They are too wide for my face, but they mimic the shape of my narrow-lensed favorite glasses ever. And as the Teenager pointed out, they turn a bit pink on my skin. Which makes them great for Parisian Phoenix events.
The Blush Tortoiseshell. My previous pair of glasses had large standard tortoiseshell frames. I nicknamed them “The Librarian Glasses.” I thought these would be a subtler version. The Teenager said they matched my skin and make the glasses look weird, as if the frames were broken. But seeing them on the video, I like them.
The Muted Green Pair. At first I thought I hated them, but once again, the video has me wondering if I was wrong.
The Clear Plastic Frames that Look Like They Have Wire. These are just compelling. It’s an unusual style of frame.
I’ll keep you posted what and when I order. Please send your opinions via the comments.
This video contains an excessive amount of giggling and cat butt.
As I mentioned in my earlier blog post, The Teenager and I went to see M3GAN late Thursday afternoon. That in itself became a delightful adventure and you can read about that here. We had a lot of fun, but The Teenager still hates horror movies. We had a brief stint as reviewers on Crash Palace Production’s horror blog, watching horror films as a mother-daughter team. (Here ares our reviews of Little Shop of Horrors, Nosferatu, and others.) I had listened to an episode of NPR’s Pop Culture Happy Hour podcast on the film, where reviewers discussed its similarities and differences from the Child’s Play franchise and the changing ethics of robotics now that we have reached the age of AI.
As soon as I saw the trailer, I couldn’t help but make a comparison to VICI (pronounced Vicky, “Voice Input Child Identicant”) of Small Wonder, a sitcom that aired from 1985 to 1989. Now, VICI and M3GAN are both androids made to appear as girls about ten years old but man does M3GAN look like a badass compared to girl next door VICI.
If you never saw or don’t remember Small Wonder, it’s available on YouTube.
But forget the innocent, eager-to-please robot of the 1980s. M3GAN wears dark eye makeup and takes her role as the friend and protector of Katie– the child she’s paired with– very literally. I mean, she’s a robot so I guess that’s to be expected.
But I’m getting ahead of myself. One can liken a good robot story to a good vampire story, but from different sides of the human condition. I always considered any anthropomorphic, humanoid monster a way to explore the darkness of our souls. The monster does what many of us would like to do: give in to our urges, be violent, be sexual, be indulgent, and selfish. A good robot story examines what it means to be human and what happens when technology fails because they lack what makes us human: emotions, the ability to age, the capacity to see beyond black and white.
The reviewers at Pop Culture Happy Hour portrayed the film as homage to 1980s horror, and spoke about it with an enthusiasm that sounded more fun that just discussing its merits as a movie. And one reviewer said something that, especially when combined with the concept of what happens when AI goes rogue? piqued my interest; she said that everything the robot did was justified when you consider the basic command it was given.
I asked my friend, Bill Prystauk, founder of the horror website I referred to earlier (Crash Palace Productions), if he wanted to join me. He said apologetically that his schedule was tight and that he wasn’t sure he would enjoy the horror comedy.
I stared at my phone. Horror Comedy?
Did I happen to mention that I am very out of mainstream pop culture? I specifically listen to podcasts like Pop Culture Happy Hour and Why are People Watching This so that I might have a clue.
But I don’t.
But I did want to see this movie.
So what did I think?
The movie began with a satire of a Furby commercial. Which in itself was confusing in the best way. It was a not-so-subtle reference to the company where Aunt Gemma worked. And the toy Aunt Gemma had bought Cady for her birthday. And then we witness a car accident. And (MILD SPOILER– you might be under a rock if this is a spoiler) this is how Cady comes to live with Gemma.
And Gemma builds robotic toys. As a new guardian, Gemma has to struggle with work/life balance and her own inability to be emotionally available. When she gets the opportunity to use Cady to beta test what Gemma believes will be a best friend and babysitter, she takes advantage. The clincher is when Cady remarks that if she had a doll like M3GAN (Model 3 Generative Android) she would never need another toy. And the social worker had said that Gemma had to get Cady some toys.
Except for Gemma and Cady, many of the characters are two-dimensional in the satirical way. The ridiculousness of these people is what gives this movie its humor: the ill-mannered tech CEO, the overlooked assistant, the bully at school, the annoying and inconsiderate neighbor, the “granola” mom. The humor is far from complex, but certainly at a higher level than let’s say middle school boy.
The creepy factor is 100%. From how M3GAN baits her victims to how she does what does. I shiver a bit even now. Let’s just say M3GAN doesn’t need traditional weapons.
The CGI can be a tad over the top.
But the ending… is perfect. The final battle shows that Cady was paying attention all along and is way smarter than anyone gave her credit for.
But overall–
I felt like I was strapped into a roller coaster. Maybe an old wooden coaster trying to compete with modern steel. The way the film moved from campy humor to dark horror in seconds was a jarring transition, and overall the film felt super rushed. As a viewer, it felt like the entire movie spanned only two weeks. And I’d like to believe that if M3GAN is going to outgrow her original programming, it would have required more time. And this is amazing because in the first scenes of the movie, M3GAN’s head blew off in an accident with the construction of her face. She goes from melted to demonic in no time flat.
In totality, the movie was fun and as said earlier extremely creepy and if you take the time to think about all the topics they are tackling– from the dangers of AI to parenting with technology, there’s a lot going on. And in many ways, M3GAN finds her reasons to act on all the things we would really like to do: deal with the jerk at the office, the annoying dog, the obnoxious neighbor and the school bully. But the movie is also a satirical romp through all the horror tropes, which I did not expect, but I suppose I did enjoy.
In closing, let me offer you this review from Critical Drinker.
Angel Ackerman 