Wall-E, Sick for cigarettes

Last week, I came home very drunk after seeing Collin Herring perform at Aces. I got real drunk real fast like I typically do nowadays. I was bored and a little sad after the set, especially when I finally got home. I did something radical and visited iTunes. There, I found Wall-E for digital sale. I bought it immediately.

 

I'd heard about Wall-E way before its release and knew it was a movie tailor-made for me:

Seeing as that is the most accurate portrayal of how I feel on a regular basis. 

Initially, and after watching the movie five times in a row, I felt a little irritated when I discovered that others shared a similar love for Wall-E. Encountering their banal discussion and talking points, I felt robbed of my unique and beautiful experience behind the computer screen with Wall-E and his aloneness on that other world. I wanted it to be mine and no one else's. It was like hearing someone discuss my own music or writing, totally repulsive. 

I share a deep kinship with Wall-E. Our days are the same. It was like watching myself, only more sympathetic and well, cute. But it's not "cute." I would use that adjective with other characters, though I dislike hearing the word I won't deny certain things are undeniably "cute," and can only be described as "cute." Wall-E is not that. He's something else. Just look into his eyes, just look right above the text at the picture. I haven't been able to pin point what it is, and I've given it a lot of thought over the last few days. 

I love Wall-E, I think. Not just him, though. The mystery behind it is hard to pin down. Maybe that's because Wall-E is the first on-screen non-humanoid robot that has displayed facial features, real feelings as vivid as day and real life. Still, the peculiar feeling evades my self-analysis. 

I'm sure it sounds ridiculous, but the experience of Wall-E is very emotionally intense for me, particularly the first twenty minutes.