I have two entirely unconnected stories for you, but they both concern a subject I find fascinating: creepiness. Now, I should probably precede this with the disclaimer that I appreciate creepy things and people. They’re actually really funny, to a certain extent.
Of course, this is very subjective — the line between what’s creepy and what’s not can be drawn anywhere between Herman Cain with a couple cocktails in him and necrophilia. And obviously there’s a massive existential difference between a creepy guy on a crowded street in the daytime and a creepy guy who’s duct taping you to the lathe in his apartment. But in its most harmless form, I find creepiness to be a good source of comedy.
So here are two recent instances of creepiness I’ve observed. One of them I found kind of humorous, and one of them less so.
Do you ever notice someone at your gym who’s ALWAYS there? Even if you go at different times of day, they’re there? It’s 6 a.m., hey there. One in the afternoon, don’t you have a job? 9 p.m., whoa, it’s you again. It’s rather creepy. I’ve also discovered with some discomfort that there are certain people who regularly violate my number one rule for going to the gym: don’t under any circumstances make eye contact with anyone else.
Well, I have a guy who fits these criteria. He’s probably in his forties, he has long hair, yesterday he was wearing a wrestler’s suit, and on multiple occasions I’ve seen him flexing into the mirror with the same face that Christian Bale has in American Pyscho when he’s filming himself boning those two chicks whilst flexing.
He’s one of those guys who’s a little too friendly with everyone there, maybe struts around a little too much with a little bit of a creepy smirk on his face. He looks like R. Kelly in a middle school.
Also relevant: I’ve noticed that this guy lifts the maximum amount of weight on most of the machines. Needless to say I can’t let him catch me laughing the next time he poses in the mirror.
The movie theater
I went to see My Week With Marilyn a couple nights ago with my friend, who assured me that it would be totally normal for two heterosexual males to go see a movie about Marilyn Monroe together. He was a film major, OK? Lay off me.
I have mixed feelings about the film. The storyline got old as it progressed and the acting, outside of Michelle Williams as Monroe, was pretty pedestrian.
But let’s focus on Williams as Monroe. Though I haven’t watched many of the legendary sex icon/mistress’s movies, Williams seemed to capture Monroe’s essence. And now that I have a general idea of what Monroe was like, I think it’s kind of creepy that she was lusted after to such a boner-popping extent. The little girl voice, the confused demeanor, the temper tantrums. Combine all that and…ewww. Did that really rev the engines of American males for a good decade?
I understand that she came off as more elegant onscreen, and I certainly recognize that on a very basic evolutionary level she was desirable (good birthing hips and breasts — my family produces very thirsty babies), but in My Week With Marilyn, at least, her persona comes off as very childlike, even babyish. And considering she was a sex icon, that’s really creepy.