Empathy can, perhaps, be taken too far. Such as this weekend when a viewing of "District 9" resulted in pain in one of my arms for hours afterwards. Let's just say that just because a character on the silver screen grows a claw-arm doesn't mean that one ought to feel the sensations that one is also growing a claw-arm. Luckily my sense of caring stopped short of producing black liquid out my nose (see the movie). At work today I had a rush of feeling like an outsider: cue claw-arm sensations. A flood of fear about something in my life hit me: claw-arm. Reassuring myself it was all okay, I ate my spring rolls with my claw.
Or is it going too far to want to hug and take care of CGI-produced aliens in a sci-fi sleeper hit? Typecast me in the sequel, Neill Blomkamp. Typecast me.
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