My thoughts on Pulp Fiction (or, "would you give a foot massage to a guy?")

And after all the hype, it could never live up to the expectations that Steve created in my hopeful little heart. Since I was a devout fan of Kill Bill (and less so of it's successor, but still engaged), I decided to round off my Tarantino experience last night with the requisite first viewing of Pulp Fiction. One day later and I don't really have much to say. Is anyone surprised? I laughed, I thought that the writing was strange and wry and creepy and hysterical in that way that it shouldn't be okay to be laughing. I liked the music; I dug the way that the scenes were strung together in an odd time web. I was vaguely entertained. But I'm gonna leave it there - Pulp Fiction has entered and exited my life, and though it may have had some lasting impact, said impression has yet to surface.

I did, however, like the woman who talked about her pot belly. More women should talk about pot bellies. It inspired me to stick my stomach in the air as high as I could and explain "look at the size of this gut!" to which Steve shook his head and said "oh, Bri". I can't help but to feel that he expects more of me.

Anyway, my sincerest apologies to Tarantino and company - I'm gonna stick to the art house love stories, for now.