A Further Note on Scales

I assign numerical meaning to everything in my life- books, movies, tv shows, women, friends, enemies, attempts to hit on girls named Nicole, etc- So it's no surprise that I subscribe to a scaling system. Most people do. My scaling system is fairly conventional and identical to JVB's in many ways...but there is one important (and shocking) caveat.

While I agree that many things in life (women) should be judged based upon how well they accomplish their stated or inferred goals, I also must insist that certain other things defy all classification as to purpose. Case in point, the holiday classic Jingle All the Way. Some might call this film a crass attempt by producers to rake in holiday money from witless moviegoers who simply want to see a man with gigantic arms play a humorous part. Others might call the film a seminal classic that defines a whole genre, nay, an era, nay, an epoch of filmmaking ingenuity.

But who am I to classify the purpose of such a film? (Even if I do fall into the latter and disproportionately larger category of critics) Who am I to assign it a numeric value in terms of wholesome goodness? Relativity, as my esteemed colleague suggests, is the answer to this question. I can arbitrarily assign numerical value to things because goddamit I want to. But more importantly because I'm aware of my own skewed perspective. For instance, I can honestly say that I like Commando more than I like The Godfather. How fucked up is that? You think that's a rhetorical question but it isn't. The answer is: Real fucked up.

Allow me to explain:

"Hey Sully, I like you. That's why I'm going to kill you last."

(Time passes)

"Hey Sully, do you remember when I told you I was going to kill you last?"

"Yeah, Matrix! That's right you did!"

"I lied."

If that isn't genius at work, then genius does not exist.

My point is that you, gentle reader, may not always agree with me. Hell, you may even hate me for the monster I am. But, deep down, you know that I'm right because on my own relative numerical scale, I cannot be wrong. So don't hate on me for loving Arnold Schwarzenegger (no spellcheck necessary). Don't hate on me for loving the movie Tremors. Don't hate on me for dressing like a school girl instead of a principal. Don't hate on me at all, and I shall impart unto you great fuming heaps of knowledge both putrid and useless.

On a final note, Jingle All the Way is a festering turd of a movie.