Wine and Film: Part Deux

I recently accomplished what the greatest minds in the history of mankind have tried and failed to do. I discovered the purpose of life. I'm not talking about the final chapter of Solomon's Lamentations either. Though, that is a pretty good answer.

No, with respect to the wisest man that has ever lived, the purpose of life is not to serve God. The purpose of life is to drink wine and watch films. Like many great discoveries, this was stumbled upon quite by accident. I'd opened up a bottle of zinfandel and popped Wes Anderson's latest work into the PS2. I think I may have been in a bad mood when this started. It's hard to say. Everything prior to my enlightenment is like a rapidly fading dream. At any rate, around the time Bill Murray fails the catch his train I realized that I was happier than I had ever been in my life. For a time I was content to sit back and let the waves of euphoria wash over my being, but it wasn't long before my more analytical personality subset stepped in. In true scientific fashion, I tried to replicate the experience the following night. I rented Punisher: War Zone from the red box (only a buck!) and this time went with a pinot noir. Hitting play on the DVD menu, I took a sip of wine readied myself for bliss.

I immediately began to have suicidal thoughts. I'm talking about within the opening credits. By the time I had gotten to Ray Stevenson kneecapping some (irish?) parkour freak with a sniper rifle the knives on my counter had taken on a tempting light. It would be quick, I told myself. Painless, just like Mike Altman promised. Fortunately my roommate came home soon after that and I was able to passive aggressively vent all of my negative energy directly onto him.

Shaken, but undeterred I continued with my dark experiments. At this point I fancied myself the protagonist from some work of Lovecraft. I would defeat the cliched pessimistic ending however. I entered the fray with a militant flair. The following night found me seated in the living room dual wielding a bottle of Gnarly Head old vine zin and a plate of homemade pesto shrimp fettuccine. I'd brought out the heavy artillery; Lawrence of Arabia. No one could have a suicidal thought while watching Lawrence of Arabia. I'm sure of it.

Success! Maurice Jarre's epic score filled the room, and, once again I found myself floating in a blissful state normally reserved for the most diligent of Buddhist priests. Keep in mind, at this point, I'm only staring at a freaking black screen. Can you imagine the sensations once actual vivid anamorphic 70mm images began to assault the senses?

I'm telling you, religions could be founded on this.