Slow Motion

I want to be able to walk in slow motion, just like in the movies.
It is such a cool effect. Reservoir Dogs used it exquisitely, but there are approximately 350,567,999 examples of how cool it is.
You sit there, you know it's contrived, but you think "Slow motion really makes these people look cool." Legs sliding, arms grooving, eyes moving, heads turning in delicious, syrupy dramatico. Is that a word? I think I just made that up. I hope I just made that up. I like it.
Desperado, another one. If you haven't seen Desperado, do it. It is a truly bizarre, over the top shoot-em-up starring Antonio Banderas and Salma Hayek. Lots of slo-mo.
When some condescending wine snobs ask me to grab them a case or two of wine, I want to click into slow motion as I walk away. I want to hear them say "Sweet Jesus, that guy is cool. Too cool. He looks dangerous. We better be careful around him."
I would slowly transport the cases up on a two wheeler. The sun would be deflecting off the hand cart, shooting laser lights across the store. And into my eyes. And back from my eyes into the faces of the snobs, temporarily distorting their vision. Cut back quickly to a close up of my eyes which would be entirely blood red for a second, and then back to normal. Did we see that or not?
I'd resume my position behind the register, three days growth of beard on my face, unsmiling and ask "Will there be anything else?"
With fear on their faces you'd get that drawn out, slow motion, low pitched Noooooooooooo, and the situation would switch back to regular motion as they scuttle out of the store like cock roaches exposed to light.
Commercials suck. I tune them out automatically. After a commercial, if Carol makes a comment about it, I say "Wha?" That's how completely I tune them out.
Unless there is some slow motion in it. Cars making sharp turns, sliding sideways, slowly; ain't nothing cooler than that. Especially on wet pavement, raising a spray.
Beer poured slowly into an obscenely frosted mug. Makes me jump out of my recliner and wrestle the refrigerator to the ground.
Whiskey poured sensuously into a Waterford crystal tumbler, slowly nestling around the ice. BOOM. I'm talking three fingers, baby.
Visual representations or presentations of music. I don't want to say music videos because I don't know if anyone watches those anymore. Interesting that MTV popularized the medium and then killed it.
Anyway, if I'm watching concert footage and a portion of it slides into slow-mo, I'm hooked. Watching Warren Haynes' fingers dramatically coax magic from his guitar neck is mesmerizing. Watching Keith Richards strut across the stage; commanding.
So that's it. As I continue to search for meaning in my life, I recognize the need for artifice. There has to be some acting involved, some pretension, in order to keep people at a distance. If they get too close, you run the risk of their selfish vision interfering with your reality.
So I'm going to practice slow motion around the house in the same way I imagine Michael Jackson practiced the moonwalk in his mansion.
Hope Carol doesn't mind supper at midnight.