The Art of Not Giving a Damn

Some people want to attain nirvana (I guess). I want to attain not giving a damn. I give too much damn. I do. And what good does it bring me, this giving of damn. None. I’m constantly upset, I’m mostly pissed off. And all these damns that I give, give me nothing in return. People don’t change, circumstances remain stubbornly the same. And here I am giving a damn.

Giving a damn can be translated to being stupid, because at some point you really need to give up. It would be an intelligent thing to do, but apparently I am not intelligent enough. I keep giving a damn, even though this has never proven to have an effect.

From now on, I shall do my best not to give a damn. I shall. I’ll channel my energy to something that can actually add to quality of life.



Fury Road Picture Post

by sachso74 on deviantart

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On the Fury Road

Writing about a movie mere minutes after watching it is not a good idea. But I’m so psyched that I cannot resist. Go watch Mad Max: Fury Road, like, NOW, and watch it in 3D. The movie is awesome. And my advice is, avoid finding out what the movie is about. You don’t need that. And if you’re looking for a synopsis, you’ll have to read another review.

That being done, I’ll go into more details without spoiling anything for you.

The first ten or so minutes of this post-apocalyptic gem shows you the terrible side of human nature. You get to see us at our worst and you realize that in a way, we are even now, in this normal world, slaves to a certain degree. And then all shit breaks loose.


Frankly I’m exhausted. Constant action, never-ending adrenaline rush have left me feeling drained in the best possible manner. For two hours I was constantly on edge, realizing it only in the several brief moments of respite, when there was actual dialogue, if one can call it that.


You’re never really given a chance to think about what has just happened in detail, because just when you manage to catch your breath, shit breaks loose, again. You don’t get an opportunity to think, mid-movie: “No way he/she survived that!” There’s no time for analysis, no time for complex thoughts, because survival is at stake, and when you need to survive being an unthinking animal is the best you can do. The mad pace of Fury Road puts you smack in the middle of that desert, on that truck, holding your breath, fighting for your dear life.


Fight scenes are amazing, and the visual (3D included) experience is simply astounding (I know my synonyms). Almost two hours of pure action in the middle of nowhere, and I was not bored. Not once. Not for a millisecond. Special effects? Sure they were there, but in the best possible way – you don’t even notice them. There’s no ridiculous slow-mos, no idiotic, sentimental discussions about the fate of humanity and the nature of hope, no redundancy whatsoever. There was simply no time for that crap. Stuff needed to get done.


Fury Road is not about characters, it’s not about who got to shine the most, it’s about the fury. Nothing else. Charlize Theron has once again shown she’s one of the best actresses out there. Tom Hardy, even though muted, managed to convey plenty with his eyes, facial expressions and sporadic grunts. Nicholas Hoult was, well, Nicholas Hoult. And the rest of the cast was simply amazing, from War Boy no. 324 to Immortan Joe.


I don’t know how I will feel about this movie tomorrow. I don’t know how I’ll feel about it after I watch it again, and watch it I will. And frankly, I don’t care.

Burn baby, burn!

Karen Marie Moning: Burned (Fever Series #7)

What is worse than the first fourteen pages of Burned? The remaining 429 pages.

I should have given up after those fourteen pages.
But I didn’t.


The first fourteen pages of this book ruined one of my favourite characters. The remaining couple of hundred pages mutilate Barrons’ corpse.

I think Moning has lost her interest in Mac and Barrons and chose to come back to them due to popular demand.  MacKayla Lane, her strongest and best character, is reduced to a commentator of things happening around her. Moning gives us excuses for this throughout the book, but it doesn’t make it any better, especially when she turns Mac into nothing more than a sex-obsessed voyeur.  Barrons is something of a comic relief, with only Mac reminding us of his former glory.

With severe dilution of characters, all the faults of the book shined ever so brightly. There’s actually no plot whatsoever. And excuses Moning uses for plot are so poorly executed you can mistake them for plot only if you’re looking for one. The pace is jumbled and you actually get to see when Moning decided that it was time for some character development. My ass. Also, seeing WTF in a book as a part of internal monologue (three times!!!) really pisses me off.

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While I was reading Burned I had my suspicions that Moning made her decisions while keeping in mind the public outcry following Iced and she decided to please the fans. Or try to. Having finished the book, I’m almost certain that most of her decisions were made in order to please the masses so that book sales would be massive.

Even if this is true (maybe more so?), Burned is still a bad book, and sadly I must say goodbye.


Great Equalizer

I love airports. Small ones, huge ones, decrepit ones. I love them all. I love everything about them. People always have a goal on airports, they are all going places and they know what they want. They want to catch that connecting flight, they want to find their luggage safe and sound when they land and they all hope there’s no heavy turbulence during the flight. On airports we all have something in common; black, white, brown, pink, red, orange, old, young, male female, trans… we are all united, and we are all the same, especially once we board that plane.

In three days I’ve been on four airports, and I absolutely loved every minute, even the 20 during which we didn’t know whether we will manage to catch the connecting flight due to delay and some unsound decisions which were made while running through the Vienna airport. The joy shared after finally boarding the tiny Bombardier q400 and finding out they actually managed to load our luggage in 25 minutes was immense.

We spent most time on Tegel. We waited about two hours for the delayed German Wings flight on tiny terminal D. The terminal was quite, well, humble. There were four or so tables in the coffee shop, the security check was strangely intimate (space-wise) with the terminal itself. The two guys who somehow managed to reduce their four bags to three bags (we didn’t get to see how) were robbed of two ketchup bottles. Two random belts hung loosely on the rail, forgotten by people who were obviously not using them for practical purposes.

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Flying with German Wings in the wake of the media onslaught following the horrible accident is not the most pleasing experience. However, despite the fact that the flight was delayed, the pilot got us to Vienna on time to catch the connecting flight to Zagreb and the flight attendants were great and hospitable, their hospitality exceeded only by the one of the cute blonde on the Croatia Airlines flight from Vienna to Zagreb.

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