Movie Review: Walk Hard

It's strange - about a week after seeing "Walk Hard: The Dewey Cox Story" I remember exactly three things: John C. Reilly, the great music and the penis.

A quick explanation on the last part - there's a scene in "Walk Hard," where Dewey Cox is in the middle of an orgy immediately after singing a love song about his wife. While he's on the phone with his beloved an unerect, unspectacular penis suddenly appears in the upper right-hand corner of the screen for no reason other than laughs. I laughed hard, so to speak.

There's no metaphor there. "Walk Hard" is what it is - a really good parody along the lines of "Airplane," with the best music of any motion picture this year. About once every two or three years a movie prompts me to go right out and buy the soundtrack. "Walk Hard" was that movie.

First, a word on John C. Reilly. He's the guy you always want to succeed but know he's going to be relegated to supporting roles from now until the end of time. In 'Walk Hard' he takes center stage and really sweats his performance. You can see the care that went into creating Dewey Cox , even though he's a disposable pleasure. Anyone committed to that level of authenticity for a goof, you've got to really appreciate.

All in all "Walk Hard," is really "Airplane" with better music, but oh what music. I can't remember laughing harder this year than I did at "Royal Jelly" the five-minute Bob Dylan tribute that accompanies Dewey's phase where he visits India and communes with the Dhali Lama. The title track is singularly catchy, and there's not a song with the exception of "You've Got to Love Your Negro Man" that I felt was out of place or unwarranted.

I guess, aside from the penis gag, the aspect of Walk Hard that continues to put a smile on my face is the idea that John C. finally got his moment in the sun and even though it was a monumental goof, he ran with it. Ran hard, as it were.

Good movie.

No One's Home

It's fair to say I consume quite a bit of media. My job often features design work and that work means I can put in my ear buds and listen to podcasts. Today's offerings included the lauded "This American Life" and the oft-fantastic "On The Media." I'm studying to be a really impassioned wonk, apparently.

"OTM" was first and featured a story about a man writing a book about the final moments of executions in Texas. One story he related concerned a condemned man who started singing "Silent Night" upon the administering of the lethal injection. He started to sputter and choke about the time he hit "mother and child," effectively ruining in the song for the author.

Then comes "TAM" where they did a story about a person whose job it is to track down relatives of people who die alone. Two things I learned from the story: 1) bodies with no family and no money for burial are cremated by the state, the ashes held for five years. After that time the ashes are mixed with the ashes of all the other unclaimed bodies in a mass grave and given a funeral, which is attended by only a sparse few social workers. 2)Things like voice mail never disappear. This last point led to a moment in the broadcast where they play a woman's voice mail message, after she died alone and was buried in a mass, state-sponsored grave. Her voice is appropriately haunting.

"This is a message phone.
No name
No number
No message
No answer"

I don't know what it means but it was like hearing a ghost story as a kid. The stomach bottoms out, the tingles go through you. You feel legitimately scared at something. It was almost like a David Lynch scene.

THEN, I saw "Charlie Wilson's War" tonight. I'll write up a review in the next few days, but it's 2/3rds light, frothy political fun reminiscent of the best of the West Wing, and 1/3 depressing-as-hell "American foreign policy destroys women and children and we deserve what we get" kind of message.

Last thing, promise. My girls are away for the next few days, so I'm fending for myself. No big deal, I have a fridge full of food and a Christmas' worth of movies to keep me company.

But here's the thing - after listening and watching some of the most depressing fare in the world back-to-back-to-back, I don't feel depressed. It's a general...funkiness that's more akin to fear than it is to depression. I figure, with depression, you feel bad about something wrong with you. With this, it's something wrong with the world.

I remember once in college getting three or four pieces of bad news in a row about classmates - one had been raped, one was anorexic, one guy had hit his girlfriend, I think - and going on this tear in the middle of the night in an abandoned student lounge about how messed up the world is and how something had to be done. It's awfully naive, but at the time I don't think I believed anything in my life more than I believe something needed to change in my community and people needed to hear what I had heard and feel like I felt.

Of course, that's bullshit but I remember starting in a group that worked against underage drinking, which is funny because now alcohol and I have a very nice, cordial relationship. But the zeal wore off and I didn't change a damn thing. And the world is still messed up. Imagine that.

No message, no answer. Aint that the truth.

Dirty Words For A Good Cause

Comedy, Politics, Naps

Comedy - I'm driving Jordan, my little brother through Big Brothers Big Sisters, home after the BBBS Christmas Party tonight, and we somehow get on the subject of comedy. He brings up Dane Cook. He's a fan.

"I probably wouldn't listen to Dane Cook with you in the room," I say. "He gets a little raunchy."

"It's not bad," Jordan said. "He's funny."

Treading on dangerous ground, I start talking about my favorite stand-ups: Wright, Black, Poundstone and Carlin. He's never heard of George Carlin. I realize I'm a mentor and have to be a forthright, decent influence on this young man's life, but damn it some things need to be rectified.

"Have you ever heard of the 7 words you can't say on TV?"

"The 7 dirty words? Yeah, I know that."

"George Carlin did that."

I then launch into a(n edited) bit about the English language I memorized for my stand-up show in August. Jordan chuckles a bit and promises to look him up.

It's strange, but I feel like I've made more a difference bringing the idea of George Carlin into Jordan's life than I normally do. Then, there's an e-mail I got from a friend of mine last week which talks about a jury she served on that decided the fate of a man accused of murder. Mentoring was brought up at one point - how this man could have taken a different road that didn't end in incarceration if he had a positive male influence in his life.

I ask you, is there a better positive male roll model than George Carlin? Kidding. It just felt kind of good being the guy with the experience and sharing it with the kid who had the enthusiasm. I might get the hand of this mentoring thing yet.

Politics - Over the past day or so I've read a lot about the two debates for Republican and Democratic presidential candidates and have learned about 4 things from the national media.

1. The Des Moines register format sucked.

2. The "spin room" was small.

3. Alan Keys is from another planet.

4. Nothing of substance happened.

Not terribly thoughtful analysis, but I'm pretty sure without watching either debate that the media didn't have a lot to work with. What I wish, sincerely, is for a way for debates to actually help people make up their mind or an abolition of the process. Right now it seems like a colossal waste of time. Kind of like a few of the campaigns at this point.

Naps - No sleep. Again. It's starting to take it's toll and the caffeine isn't keeping up. The biggest manifestation today: I fell asleep on my couch after sitting down for about 20 seconds. My butt hit the cushion and my body effectively said "OK, we're shutting down now." I woke up five minutes later to my oldest daughter saying "Dad, are you listening to me?" No, sweetheart, I wasn't.

On the upside, the baby and I watched "The Elephant Man" last night while she wasn't sleeping. What a fantastic movie.

Finally, A Format!

OK. I've been floundering out here. You know it, I know it. The reason for the flopping and gill gasping is, obviously, I have no format.

No more. I'm stealing the basic Livejournal format. Why not just Livejournal? Because I don't like being forced into that format. It might be nice to force myself to adhere to the format, but I don't like being forced by someone else.

So the format begins today and I'll try to post as much as possible. Cool? OK.

Today: Life, Politics, Movies

Life - I haven't gone on about this nearly enough but my daughter Tessa doesn't sleep. She'll nod, she'll doze, she'll snooze, she'll get really tired, but she will not sleep. Which means I don't sleep. Which means I get cranky, mean and overly emotional. It sounds strange, but you try sleeping 4 1/2 hours a night in hour-and-a-half intervals and see what happens to you.

The worst part is I get mad at Tessa, who is blameless and helpless. Last night, after an hour of bright eyes in a darkened room, I finally threw her binky as hard as I could across the living room into the kitchen. It hasn't been found. Losing control is not the mark of a responsible man, but rather a manchild undeserving of so many things.

As a result, today has been one of those "what's the point" kind of days. I can't, for the life of me, feel like I mean anything or am anything to anyone. It's a normal ebb of serotonin or noraepenephron in the brain, but it still feels awful. I also had a day where I made a couple mistakes at work and heard about it. It's strange, I'm very busy at work and I don't feel like I'm pulling any weight. Enough bitching. I've had some great moments today, especially with Emaline who has a cold and sounds like Cathleen Turner. It's so cute, and we'll see how sleep goes tonight.

Politics - Morgan Spurlock always struck me as a guy with big ideas who's ability might be a little below his ambition. But mark me, in the next few months you're going to be hearing a ton about good Mr. Spurlock (who I met about two years ago and genuinely liked).

Rumor has it he started a movie called "The Search for Bin Laden" or some such, and took a 15-minute clip to a film festival for bidding. The Weinstein Company paid Spurlock 25 million dollars on the strength of those 15 minutes. The question is - what could possibly elicit such a giant paycheck? Could the guy who made "Supersize Me" actually have an interview with the terrorist who masterminded 9-11?

One of two things will happen in the next little bit. Either Spurlock is lying or has been deceived and his career is OVER (and I can't stress the word OVER enough), or he actually found Bin Laden, doing what the supposed bulk of the US intelligence agencies and military is unable to do. Chances are great this is nothing, but imagine for a second what happens if this is real. The implications are layered and huge, and everyone in the country will have an opinion.

I hope it's real just because it's unprecedented. I also think Spurlock is a well meaning guy. If he's lying, I'll be first in line to spank him with a paddle. If it's real, hoooooooly shhhhhiiiiiiiit!

Movies - Is anyone else totally digging the fact that the words "Tim Burton" and "Oscar" are being mentioned rather frequently in the movie press? I absolutely love it. I've been a big fat Burton fan for years, and while it may have gotten a little "goth" there for a minute or two, largely I've been a fan because of his storytelling ability. A friend of mine pointed out, not incorrectly that Burton might be the "world's prettiest set dresser" but argued he wasn't much of a filmmaker. I say it takes someone with an innate sense of storytelling to see a movie in a mess of a story like "Beetlejuice." I think he's solid with streaks of inspired and it looks like "Sweeney Todd: The Demon Barber of Fleet Street" might net him Oscar gold.

It just makes me smile, is all.

Jesus said "Do You Feel Lucky" Part 2

Oops.

"Matthew Murray was shot multiple times by a security guard as he tried to enter the New Life Church, but ultimately succumbed to a self-inflicted gunshot wound, a coroner determines."

I guess it wasn't God after all.

And Jesus Said "Do Ya Feel Lucky?"

I know I'm harping on religion lately, but it's something I've been struggling with for a little while. I'm told it's common - anyone who's had faith for a long time goes through times when they doubt, question, search, whatever. My particular permutation is, basically, to get pissed off at other Christians who aren't struggling.

But, seriously, Atheist, Agnostic, or anyone of any faith promoting peace would do well to get pissed off at this douche bag. From CNN:

"Jeanne Assam, the volunteer security officer and congregant who shot a gunman Sunday at New Life Church in Colorado, said she felt weak as she approached him because she had been fasting. "I prayed for the Holy Spirit to guide me," she said. "My hands weren't even shaking. I knew what I had to do.""

Forget the adrenaline. Forget the fact that you're posed with a terrible situation. Forget needing to kill someone to protect your family and friends. Forget the setting and the circumstance.

God told you it was a good idea to kill a guy? Seriously? OK. If that's how you want to play it.

There are very few phrases, words or actions that can shut down a legitimate conversation faster than "God Told Me To." I don't care what God told you to do, even if it seems completely rational or even inspired, when God told you to do it, it suddenly becomes very comfortable for me to label you a cook. A walnut. A couple rounds short of a clip. Someone who uses God as a crutch. I could go on.

Two more major gripes:

1) Anyone who tells the NATIONAL FREAKING MEDIA that she's fasting out of pious love for God, in the words of the Bible, "have received their reward." They also deserve to be thrown against a brick wall six or seven times.

2) If the holy spirit, the ghost with the most, had the where with all to take this woman's hand (weak from fasting) to shoot the guy who wanted to harm the congregation, why didn't the ghost just stop the shooter? "God works in mysterious ways?" Shut the f*** up.

I guess what makes me sad is how so many awful things happen in this world without explanation without the benefit of God's direct intervention. Genocides, gang shootings, random acts of violence, despots, serial killers, on and on and on. If only all these things happened in a church, God would intervene directly, huh? The implication is this woman is better than everyone else because God made her shoot this guy, even if it was heroic. All those victims are getting what they deserve in the eyes of God, following this logic.

Onward Christian Soldiers.

The Tone Is Bothering Me

Tonight, there's been a crawl on the bottom of my TV for about two hours hyping 10/11's coverage of the Omaha mall shooting. They have one bit of information - that the shooter left a note saying he would "go out in style." His mug and the same info. top CNN right now.

Just a second...yup, the crawl is still going.

Not the names of the dead. Not any information about whether this shooter had other plans or other friends with guns. Not reaction from officials. Just a nugget, saying he planned this. No shit.

Clear, concise conflict is the hallmark of TV journalism - hell, journalism. There must be good, there must be bad and if there's a chance for actual policy change or nudity, you've got yourself a ratings winner. Here, you've got bad (the shooter) and the good (you). It's rare you can put such a large number of people in one category.

But I hate this stage of this story right now for the tragic implications, obviously, but also because this little asshole couldn't have served up a better story to the media unless he's done it while screwing Paris Hilton. He didn't just kill people, he killed shoppers. Christmas shoppers. There will be no discussion of mental illness or the many reasons this jerk couldn't have just gone and not taken others with him. It will be about the mall, about every salacious detail of this twisted kid's life, of the mourning, because we all learn so much by watching other people cry on camera.

The stories haven't aired yet and I could write what's going to be on my TV in about 10 minutes. No compassion but fake compassion ("tell me about the victim"). No small detail too menial to talk about. No grandiose statement about this incident too over the top. "Nebraska mourns tonight." "...disturbed young man." "...as they were Christmas shopping."

Wait for it.

(goes to watch the news)

Yep.

By the way, Matt, I'm really glad you're OK.

Body Functions

Just to give you an idea of what a lazy Saturday is like at my house, today I have personally cleaned up:

-sheets from a baby's bassinet after a late night poop explosion
-little balls of gel/poop that came out of a diaper my dog pulled out of a trash and chewed on
-the resulting vomit from said pooch
-milk spilled on the carpet in the TV room
-various goup from dishes
-dog poop (this is pretty much a daily occurrence)
-ice from my driveway, car window and backyard
-my oldest child's hot dog vomit from my living room carpet

G to the L to the AMOROUS!

Man, I am really into non-profits

I had an odd moment today I thought I'd share quickly.

I was at work when a co-worker came up to me and asked if he could have a cookie. I gave him my WFT look and he said I had plates and plates of cookies in the passenger seat of my car.

Indeed. Right now I have two plates of cookies, 24 cookies on each plate, on the passenger seat in my car. Last night I went to pick up Jordan, my Little Brother through Big Brothers/Big Sisters, and we made cookies for Habitat for Humanities cookie walk in a couple weeks. I plan to drop off the cookies to Habitat after I give blood this noon hour at the Red Cross, after which, I will return to my job at a publicly funded museum.

God Damn I like non-profit agencies. I'm a non-profit geek, a NGO bitch, a fiend for 501 (c)3s. I enjoy the gooey embrace of those trying to actually doing good on this earth, and while I don't have the guts to do good myself, I'll give a big, sloppy kiss to those who do.

Weird, huh?

Feelgood Monday: I Believe in a Reasonable Rate of Return

When I was younger I took guitar lessons from a guy named Dave. He was the typical musician sort, with a tangle of black hair, a teaching style that mirrored his social skills and a fret board mastery that revealed exactly where his priorities were. I remember several lessons very distinctly, and one of the big bright memories involved me walking into class to find Dave cussing at a piece of paper in his hands. I mean really cursing.

As he was all too willing to share with me, his bank was charging him for a variety of infractions. Overdrafts and other costs were bleeding him and he didn't care who heard. Damn banks. F-chord them all the G minor.

I thought of Dave today when I fulfilled a goal I set for myself. I have grand ambitious of "getting my shit together" after I turned 30 in a variety of ways - stop eating junk food, build a skill set, organize my finances and other such nonsense.

Only I find myself doing them. I'm actually getting my shit together and acting like an adult. And today, after meeting with my financial planner (yeah! I have a financial planner) and choosing the best growth stock mutual fund for my retirement situation and setting up two 529 Education Savings Accounts for my kids, I walked out of a bank having accomplished something positive. It felt good. I wasn't going in to clear up a charge or make an emergency deposit. I was building something.

Part of me feels really good about educating myself about the financial world and then acting on it. I'm too late for some circles and not nearly late enough for others, but it felt good to me. It felt like the right time to do something like this. It was a good feeling, and hard to explain. What surprised me is I also didn't feel like I was losing anything, like a part of my freedom or childhood or whatever. It felt like it was time.

And I thought of Dave as I walked out. I wonder if he ever made friends with the bank. Probably not.

Of course I decided to invest in a borderline recession and have now entrusted my financial future to crooks and those who would step on the neck of an old lady for a profit. I don't really have an answer for that. Oh, yes I do...I'm a tool. But a grown up tool.

In God We Groan

We all get obnoxious little e-mails pushing us to "pass this on." I got one today, the text of which I've printed below.

Please help do this... refuse to accept these when they are handed back to you. I received one from the Post Office as change and I ask for a dollar bill instead..the lady just smiled and said way to go, so she had read this e-mail. Please help out...
Our world is in enough trouble without this too!!! U.S. Government to Release New Dollar Coins You guessed it " IN GOD WE TRUST " IS GONE !!! If ever there was a reason to boycott something, THIS IS IT!!!! DO NOT ACCEPT THE NEW DOLLAR COINS AS CHANGE Together we can force them out of circulation. Please send to all on your mail list!!!

Aside from being written with the syntax that suggests heavy use of mescalin, a quick trip to Snopes.com proves what any free thinking person can easily figure out - it's bullshit.

It's not the bullshit-y-ness of this e-mail that galls me, though. It's the fact that there are enough people who believe "God" on our currency somehow gives us magical powers to stop men with box cutters, who have God on their currency...it's just not our God. Even though no such thing as "our God" exists.

The general conceit that kills me is that God needs us to do anything for him. The way I see it, if God is all powerful, he doesn't need a million PR people on Earth making life painfully for some of his lowliest children by refusing to take change. He's a big God. He can take care of himself.

I think it would be fun to find this list of folks and give them a list of things they probably should be caring about, in their style.

US Serviceman Refuses to Say "God Bless You" after man he's waterboarding sneezes! Sign this PETITION and have him DISCHARGED! THIS IS IT!!!

or

Homeless Veteran holds sign that says "HAPPY HOLIDAYS." MEET with me at 7 a.m. on THRUSDAY so we can kick the POOPY out of him! How dare he not mention Christmas while begging for our bloated scraps. THIS IS IT!! JESUS NEEDS US!!

or

CHILD with no arms from Iraq is creeping us out on the news. WRITE CNN and tell them to get this kid off our TV. This is Christmas, the time when we're with family and can't be forced to watch armless children cry about how we made them armless. JOIN TOGETHER. PRAISE GOD! THIS IS IT!!!

I seriously don't get people sometimes.

Refrigerator Moment: Star Trek 2

Since Star Trek has been in the news lately as the re-boot starts shooting this month, I've been in a few discussions recently about the cult show. I have to say, the new Spock looks good with the ears, even if the whole cast is a little 90210 for my taste.

Anyways, Star Trek is home to one of my favorite "Refrigerator Moments." For the uninitiated, a "Refrigerator Moment," is after you've seen the movie, enjoyed it and gone to bed, you get up for a glass of water. While the refrigerator door is open you think to yourself "wait a minute, what was THAT about?"

Here's my favorite Star Trek refrigerator moment. At the end of Star Trek 2, Spock has died saving the Enterprise and they shoot him into space, on a photon torpedo, into the planet pumped up on Genesis, while Amazing Grace plays on the bagpipes in the background. It's a very effective scene with a infinitely mockable Shatner moment.

"He was the most...sniffle....Human."

Real men don't cry, even over a Vulcan.

Anyways, my moment came when I got up, opened the fridge and thought "wait...why are the playing a traditional Christian hymn on the Scottish bagpipes for a Vulcan funeral?" Surely the planet Vulcan has it's own customs, it's own songwriters. There must be a pointy eared Lee Greenwood on Vulcan, going on and on about how we may bleed blue but our ears stay sharp, or something like that. Was "Amazing Grace" for the crew's benefit? For Kirk's? If so, how selfish. They're not slowly rotting, ready to be fired into the great beyond on an instrument of Klingon destruction. Nimoy ate radiation like Shatner eats doughnuts for God's sake, give the Vulcan a Vulcan song and kick Scotty's ass if he goes near those bagpipes again.

I guess, at the end of the day it's for the audience. They couldn't just play something Jerry Goldsmith pulled out of his ass.

I wonder what else they could do, using their musical selection criteria. How about "Flight of the Valkeries" as Praxis explodes? Maybe the Doors "The Other Side" as the Enterprise traveled back through time?

Or maybe I should just shut the fridge and go to bed.

Rock Chalk Jayhawk, Solo

Last night, right before bed, the wife and I were casually watching the Kansas Jayhawks beat the Oklahoma State cowboys, paying as little attention as possible. That was, until we saw a sign held by a fan that I wished I remembered ver batim. Basically an Okie State supporter was holding a sign that suggested "our coach is thinking shut out, their coach is thinking Arbys."

That's pretty funny. Mark Mangino, Kansas' head coach, is upwards of 350 if I had to guess. Usually, I don't make fun of folks with weight issues - hell, I'm one of them - but a guy in athletics pushing Fat Bastard territory, that's funny. Also, he beat the hell out of my team, so yo' momma's fair game.

As we've been punchy all week due to lack of sleep, the wife and I both started making Jabba the Hut jokes simultaneously. Stuff like:

-"First and Tenuna, Solo"
-"I wonder if his offensive coordinator has huge ears, a beak and jumps when shocked by droids"
-"I bet Brent Musburger dresses up in a gold plated bikini after the game."
-"That's not a football, that's a Thermal Detonator!"
And, for good measure
-"And I thought they smelled bad on the outside!"

I know it's from Empire. Sue me.

Anyway, that's what last night looked like. I haven't laughed that hard in a while.

Patriotism Scares My Kid

Got the popcorn, got the tickets, got my 4-year-old literally skipping down the carpeted hallway and I'm ready to get to our seats and watch Jerry Seinfeld's "Bee Movie." I love going to the theater with my daughter who also loves the experience.

Our butts hardly hit the seats when the lights go down. "Hmm," I think. "It's a good 10 minutes early. I wonder what's up." Then I find out.

Apparently the theater company in my fair city has allowed a five-minute music video from the National Guard to be shown before all movies. While I'm all for allowing recruitment wherever they're allowed to market, movie theaters included, this struck me as odd. First, there's the fact that this commercial in the guise of a music video is 4 minutes long. In real time, that's a while, especially with a sleepy 4-year-old on your lap.

Secondly, the production itself was...odd. It starts with some generic rock band singing about citizen soldiers and then gives us an extremely redacted tour of US military history. You have guys with muskets shooting at red coats. You have the dirty grunt kissing his wedding ring before storming the beaches at Normandy (I'm pretty sure his corpse is shown later on in the piece). Then you have generic, highly trained soliders kicking in a door, their automatic weaponry gleaming. The whole thing is on Youtube: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LJRthpxDM10

So what's my beef? Here are a few questions my daughter asked during the commercial.

-Why does that guy have a gun? Is he going to shoot that guy?
-Is that guy sad?
-Why is he screaming?
And my favorite
-Are those good guys or bad guys?

Then, during an intense scene, she buried her head as if scared. It probably had something to do with the scenes of combat we endured while waiting for the GOD DAMN KIDS MOVIE to start.

"Saw 4?" "American Gangster?" Any other R rated fare? That's fine. Show the piece. I've long since given up on the movies as any sort of "experience" anymore with the exception of midnight screenings and going to movies with friends. But spare me the mildly intense jingoistic but certainly bombastic propagada while I'm waiting for my light-as-whipped-topping entertainment for my child to enjoy. Any chance?

For the record, I didn't care for Bee Movie, but I really liked watching my daughter watch it.

Baby Round Up

Take a look at that. If you had told me a mere 10 years ago that this was a possibility I'd have chuckled like a loon. "Are you kidding?" I'd say. "I'm shiftless, I don't have any money...I go to movies all the time. I like the girl in that picture, but we're just having a good time right now and...kids? I really doubt it."

Look at that. It's hard to find the adjectives to describe how amazing that is, but it's not lost on my just how amazing it is.

Tessa Danielle Bockoven, born at 2:02 p.m. Saturday, November 3 was born at half time of the Nebraska Cornhuskers worst defensive performance in nearly six decades. She was a product of planning, as much as a child can be a product of planning. Emotionally, a strange thing happened to me as my second child gestated.

With Emaline, my first daughter, I had ample time to be very gooey and melodramatic about her appearance. I'd speculate about how I was preparing for fatherhood, how I had a philosophy about my role in her life. I went on and on ad naseum, I'm sure. Then she was thrust into the world in a pile of biological goo and I began the hardest month of my life. She hardly slept, so we hardly slept. She messed her diaper, we got on the job training in changing them. We devoted more time to her and other parts of our life withered on the vine.

With Tessa, it's already different. We're confident in our ability to keep the child alive, which is something. She's an addition instead of a paradigm shift. Yes, we're not sleeping and rediscovering our time management and diaper changing skills, but life isn't so different, it's just...more. More family, more begging for your attention, more to consider.

I'll take it. I'll cherish it. She's amazing and my wife is amazing for pushing her out with minimal pain management. It's amazing she's here and it's amazing I'm here with her.

Bad Form, Old Man

God I hate to be the person to say this, because 99 percent of the time I feel the exact opposite way, but here it goes: William Shatner needs to shut up.

And let me first say I legitimately like William Shatner and his work. He's easy to rip on but I admire him for the same reason people say they admire athletes: Every time he gets the crap knocked out of him he stands up, dusts himself off and keeps moving. In the mean time, I think he's learned some things and has developed into a fun little character actor and musician. In other words, I like Shatner legitimately. "Has Been," is a fantastic album if you haven't heard it.

He asserted recently that he's disappointed in the makers of the "Star Trek" reboot because he's not in it. Read for yourself here, among many other places. http://www.rottentomatoes.com/m/star_trek_11/news/1684364/

I take issue with the cheesy iconoclast on two issues.

1) The box office thing. Sorry, that's just arrogant, especially from someone like William Shatner. The guy is a draw in the same way Bruce Campbell is a draw - to wit, they have a small but fanatical fan base and a lot of people know who they are. They won't necessarily plunk down $8 bucks to see Shatner, but if he's part of the mix it only helps.

I realize what he was saying, though, and he has a point. People see Star Trek partly for Captain Kirk and William Shatner is Captain Kirk. I respect that. What I don't respect is the automatic "people will come to see it because I'm Captain Kirk" thing. I don't think he's a great prognosticator if that's the conclusion he's come to. It's like saying people see "Star Wars" because of Harrison Ford playing Han Solo. It's great, but it's not the main reason.

2) It's a sign of maturity to let the movie go in it's own direction and from what I understand of the artists making it and the script leaks, this "Trek" is taking a big fat turn from what it's dwindling fan base knows. If an old Captain Kirk isn't part of that, but an old Spock is, que serra, I say.

I know I said two points but I've got one more - Shatner had to have his death scene in "Generations." He went in without the full cast. We all know that when you're dead in sci-fi you're never really dead, but after "Generations" I might not want to put on the officer's uniform again.

Coward

I'm treading on dangerous territory here, talking about work, but I'm pretty sure I don't have readers from my professional life. Famous last words, huh?

I put out a newsletter every two months as part of my job, and today, the newsletters were back from the printers and we needed folks to put on address labels, do inserts and mail the little boogers. Usually, we have a handful of volunteers we know and trust and they come over to my building and they have a grand old time. Usually, I buy them ice cream. That's the vibe.

Today, our volunteer coordinator sends over some folks from the local welfare office - not the usual group. There were three of them, and one of them in particular was a bit gamy. OK, there's no way around it, he stunk up the office. It was not pleasant, and all three were smokers, which we're not used to in the office. The effect was to turn our neutral smelling building into something along the lines of a truck stop bathroom.

My reaction to this was almost nothing - my philosophy is volunteers are a gift and you never look horse in the mouth. God bless them for their service to my newsletter. Others in the office didn't feel that way, and here's where my day started to go down the drain.

One person came to my office and went on and on about the smell. There's no getting around the fact it was noticeable and unpleasant, but she made a pretty big deal out of it. The attitude wasn't one of "grin and bear it," but "can you believe this person? How dare they stink in my office." I smiled and tried to resolve the issue as best I could. I should go into a bit more background and say this person who came to complain to me is someone who doesn't think much of me, and the more I get on her good side, the smoother the road for about 100 different tasks. I like this person, and I've made inroads recently.

So I smile and I nod and I try to resolve the situation. Then I smell something sweet and strong. As this group of three went out for a smoke break, this person had sprayed an obscene amount of Grapefruit air freshener in the building and moved the offensive threesome to a different room in the back. Then other volunteers proceeded to complain about the three welfare volunteers in a pretty nasty fashion. I can't stress enough, it wasn't "my he smells," but "What the hell is with that loser? There's a reason he's on welfare if he can't figure out a shower. What's wrong with people like him? God, I'd cross the street to avoid that guy." And on and on and on.

That's the set up. Here's the problem: I did nothing. Not a damn thing.

I should have told them to knock off the teasing - they're volunteers and we're representing an organization. I should have told them these people are trying to do something for us, the least we can do is be as accommodating as possible. I should have embraced these three volunteers and bought them ice cream, even if they smelled like the inside of an abattoir, instead of having a few passing conversations of no real substance. I should have, at the very least, set an example by not nodding and smiling like I agreed with the degradation going on in the office. I should have represented my organization with forcefulness.

But I didn't. I smiled and nodded, not explicitly joining their reindeer games, but not condemning them either. What a fucking coward I am. The worst part, the absolute worst part, is in my head there was a part screaming at the rest of me to take a stand. I don't know what part of my brain won out. It must have been the part that doesn't like conflict or that part that's a complete and total spineless pussy.

These three people might not have been mental giants, but I would imagine they picked up on the vibe and felt the condemnation, even if it wasn't explicit. These are people down on their luck anyway and even if you throw the worst conservative talking points at them (they're a drain on the system, they're getting a free ride, they're lazy), they're still human beings that deserve an amount of respect. They at least deserve a relatively pain free experience while volunteering their time. When I was younger, and even today in extremely limited circumstances, I am that person receiving the scorn and I know how much it sucks and the kind of animosity it fosters. I know that and I didn't take a stand. I know the feeling of trying to impress but being intimidated, and I didn't take a stand. I know how much bravery it took to walk in our door in the first place and do a job you've never done before for people you've never met before who verbally spit on you and degrade you, and I still didn't take a stand.

I feel like a pile of shit right now and I should. If I didn't take this stand, what else am I not going to stand up for? What else are my kids not going to stand up for? Why do I deserve anyone to stand up for me? And most importantly, what happens the next time I need to do the right thing? Am I going to pussy out again?

People talk a lot of BS about character, but today, at the end of the day (literally), this is my character...smile and nod.

Smile and nod.

Cute Kid Quote of the Day

(As I draw her bathwater, my 4-year-old sticks one foot in, turns around and says)

"This is just right for a woman like me."

God help us.

What is this crap?

If blogging is about anything it's about observation and perspective, right? So here's a quick observation: When did it become acceptable - nay, encouraged - to include excrement in TV commercials.

As someone who dabbles in advertising, there's a short list of things I stay away from: Incest, racism, erection humor, and most body functions. Aside from sounding like a bad business practice, it also seems to go completely contrary to what I want people to think about me and the place I work.

Apparently I'm way off base. Case in point: I saw a Red Bull commercial tonight where a cartoon bird poops and a cartoon man. Not so bad. Then the man drinks Red Bull, gets wings, flies above the bird and undoes his belt. The implication, of course, is that he's going to pinch a loaf on the bird. That's right, give that pigeon the old Cleveland Steamer. Hey, I'm thirsty and lethargic, it's Red Bull Time!

Another one. Slate detailed quite well a commercial which pulls a page from the Austin Powers book and has a construction worker walking around a site talking about fiber. As he does, bricks, beams, concrete and other construction site regulars appear behind this poor actor as if they're coming straight out of his small intestine. In other words, he appears to be pooping bricks as he talks about fiber. Sweet Jesus.

One more. This one's slightly less innocuous, but still something else. There's a commercial for a minivan, and this particular minivan boasts a removable seat. The best way to demonstrate this seat? Show a kid who really needs to piss looking longingly out the window as other kids play in sprinklers, fountains erupt and water drips from a dewy branch. Then show him leaping out of the back seat and running into a filthy gas station restroom to relieve himself. The Chevy Pisser...Goes Fast! Or the Pontica Urinata...Bigger and Bladder.

I don't want to blow this out of proportion, but it says something about the culture, doesn't it? Shitting on birds to sell something? I don't care what demo you're in, that stinks.

The Horrors of Going Outside

I hate blogger. This is the third goddamn time I've written this post while the other two were mysteriously lost to some digital limbo, awaiting prayers along with a million other dead sinners. I'm starting to feel like the Mitch Hedbeg joke where he was trying to tell his friend something and his friend couldn't hear him. Finally Mitch hears himself yelling "That tree is far away." In other words, I have nothing terribly interesting to say but I'm spending a lot of freaking time and volume trying to say it.

OK. Purged. Take 3.

I made my sister shoot milk out her nose a couple weeks ago, which was particularly funny because it was the first time I'd seen her drink moo juice in about a decade. It's like I had been saving a really good anecdote until she decided "hey, I want some milk," and them BAMMO! I tell her I cracked the baseboard on my treadmill and she shot milk out the nostrils.

The parallel of her brother having a "fat accident" while trying to stay in shape a little bit sunk her battleship, I think. So I've been running outside for about two weeks. Usually I try not to run outside, as the elements have a way of really messing with you. If I've found out anything over my jogging career, now entering its third year, it's that your head is about 60 percent of it. If you can convince your head you're not in pain or just simply distract your brain for long enough, you'll finish your run with a minimum of stoppage.

Outside, there's no distracting your head. The concrete is hard the wind is often cold and biting and when you're running against it, forget about jamming the signal from your brain screaming "You're Running Against The Wind." You have to sort of resign to it. On the treadmill (the one my fat ass broke), I was up to 3 and a half miles, no stoppage, every day with very few exceptions. The past few weeks I make it two miles and it's like slogging up Mount Doom. Every hill is a mountain, every pebble a boulder.

But that's not the worst of it. When I'm in my basement on the treadmill, I'm isolated and I take pains to try to isolate myself. Nobody sees me, which is fine. When I run around the lake two blocks from my house (7 times at a half-mile a pop), I have to lock eyes with an average of 15 people per run. I know it's an average of 15 people because I've averaged it. That's the sort of thing your head does when trying to jam the multitude of PAIN signals your brain throws at you ever half second.

You've got walkers and people fishing and those who are walking to get somewhere. Then you have the odd people just hanging out, waiting for something. They're creepy. Then you've got the people who watch you, usually kids. Today I had a kid crane his neck every time I came by and follow my with his head every time I passed him. I would have kicked his ass if my legs weren't made of strawberry Jell-O at that point.

But it's no fun because whether you want to admit it or not, you're being judged. Do you look like a jogger? Why are you walking if you came here to run? What's with the purple shirt? Why are you running in a circle? Are you trolling for gay sex or just unimaginative.

The answer is I'm desperately pining for my treadmill and my warm basement and Futurama on the TV as I run. I'm sick of duck poop and ducks, for that matter. I'm sick of fat kids and kids on bicycles who can't really ride them and crash the f*** into you. I want to run, by myself, in the dark if possible.

If you've listened to me bitch for this long, you deserve a treat. Go here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8NdSL2NUoWk

The Changing Face of Film

I've got myself a problem.

Over the past year or so, I've jammed my calendar. I don't really know how it happened. One April afternoon I looked up and was booked well past the summer. The trend has continued and, with the birth of my second child happening literally any minute now, the odds of changing this trend is pretty shallow. Not to go on and on, but I've had about every minute accounted for, not including this blog post, from Tuesday morning up until Friday morning. Ug.

I'm not complaining, as a lot of the time is time well spent. I'm in a financial class, I'm teaching classes again shortly, I'm advancing my job, I'm spending time with my family. One big area where this time crunch has manifested the most is in how I'm looking at movies.

See, I still read AICN and CHUD and Rotten Tomatoes and all those sites, but the last movie I saw in the theater was a good two months ago. I rarely get out, and my family recently decided against Netflix because carving out 90 minutes once or twice a week for a movie is proving to be unrealistic. I know I just blogged about watching four movies in one night, but that's different from being "up on film."

The problem is this - I'm starting to love the junk and to avoid the "good stuff." I've always kept what I think is a really good balance of trash and art, challenging myself from time to time, and I guess when the right movie comes along, I can get into it. The last movie I can remember really challenging me is "Zodiac," and that was more than three months ago.

Let me give you a bad example, and the excuse I have for posting a nice looking picture of Rose McGowan. I saw "Grindhouse" in the theater and loved the overall experience. In fact, I'll put it as one of the best times I've had in a theater in recent memory. But after watching "Death Proof" and "Planet Terror" again, separately on DVD...man, I like "Planet Terror" and I don't like "Death Proof." We can argue, and I've seen the arguments where Tarantino's "Death," was the far superior movie, and I'll give him that it was more ambitious. But I didn't like it. I flat out didn't like it. I was bored by the banter, I was stymied by the "twist on the killer genre."

And it's not that I don't get what Tarantino was doing - he was more film literate, his film was far more clever, his characters were better fleshed out, but damn it...when the day is done I want a hot woman with a gun on her leg versus a hot but somewhat obnoxious woman I'm supposed to care about prattling on endlessly about ditches and boyfriends and text messaging for an hour while I wait for the car chase. I had fun with Planet Terror. There was no fun to be found in Death Proof.

That's what has me worried. Have I consumed so much trash that it is now all I can eat? God I hope not. I'm waiting for a film to come and blow my hair back, to move me to tears or to tear down some wall of misunderstanding I've erected for myself. What I really fear is I've seen what I've seen and it's all been done. Maybe I'm not looking in the right places, maybe I'm intentionally not challenging myself, but everything I've seen on the indie circuit lately is either pretentious or old.

I don't know. Here's hoping for better film offerings in the next few months. And here's really hoping I have time to feed the soul through film.

Too Drunk To Podcast

In case you haven't figured it out already, I have grand plans that usually go unfulfilled.

For example: This weekend I planned to get together with my good buddy 3BeerMan and watch some awful movies, record our reactions to them and edit the material into a podcast. We watched "Fantastic 4: The Rise of the Silver Surfert" (For God's Sake, HIT SOMETHING!), "Wrong Turn 2," (A meat grinder? Really?), the 80s slasher flick "The Burning" (Die Fischer Stevens, DIE!) and a Ginger movie, which is a fine example of 70s T&A Grindhouse cinema.

Where can I find this amazing podcast, you ask? Well, I miscalculated. Big time.

See, we started drinking beer during the first feature and, by my fuzzy calculations, didn't stop until the last movie was over. I won't tell you how much we drank, since that's not befitting of a man in his 30s, but I'm going to call it an "Oh God, did we really drink that much?" type of moment come Sunday morning. In fact, it was an "ow, my head" kind of morning more than anything.

I blame part of the problem on the fact that I make my own beer and when you make your own beer you're not limited by silly FDA regulations like Alcohol Content or Shelf Life. Hey, this beer's 2 years old and 18 percent alcohol? Let's give it a shot!

Still, I left the recorder on to catch our infinitely witty and brilliant comments on my digital recorder. I finally worked up the courage to listen to them tonight. Here's a sample.

Mike: That guy's got a Herry Reems mustache.
3Beer: This was one of Tom Savini's finest movies. He did some really good work here.
Mike: Oooh, watch out Fisher Stevens.
3Beer: This scene is kind of infamous.
Mike: Johnny Five is ALIVE!! Ooh, there go his fingers.
3Beer: That's a pretty good effect.
Mike: He doesn't have a Harry Reems mustache anymore. Are you out?
3Beer: Yeah, I'll have another one.
Mike: Skippidee DOO!

In short, it was nothing anyone, including me, wants to listen to. I'm your stereotypical loud, slurring words drunk and it doesn't suit my high, whiny voice to begin with. So we'll be re-thinking the podcast for the time being when there's more of a format and less German-style ales sitting in my basement, just waiting for someone to love them.

BTW, Wrong Turn 2 was a really fun little slasher movie. Any movie that starts with a woman literally being cut in half and ends with Henry Rollins going Rambo on a gang of inbred mutant hillbilly killers has got a lot going for it. Or so it seemed at the time.

Recast Wednesday - Reservoir Dogs

I meant to do this Wednesday. It's Thursday. My fault.

Anyways...I was sifting through my tapes (yes, tapes) in my car the other day and ran across the Reservoir Dogs soundtrack and it's been in my tape deck ever since. It reminded me of the first time I saw it, the shirt I eventually bought with Mr. White aiming his gun at Mr. Pink, the role it played in upping my movie buffdom. It's a great soundtrack, but it made me do some very sad math - the flick is almost 15 years old.

Because it's that old, it automatically becomes fodder for the Hollywood remake machine, so why not beat them to the punch! To speak it is to own it, after all, so here's my recasting of Reservoir Dogs, produced by Joel Silver and directed by McG (shudder). Gawd, I pray this never happens, but it's a fun exercise, yeah?

Generally - I'm casting a bit younger for two main reasons: a) there's a decent crop of young actors out there and b) many of these roles were custom made to the actors who played them, which means a slightly new direction is basically inescapable. Also, you could start casting out of theater troops or something like that, but I'm intentionally going mainstream because we have a history with these actors and that's what makes it part of the fun. With that in mind:

Mr. White, originally played by Harvey Keitel - Grizzled but not too grizzled, sharp and lucky, able to give and take a beating, no nonsense, likes tacos, good criminal mentor. Does that sound like Bruce Willis to anyone else?

Mr. Orange, originally played by Tim Roth - This role just can't be a boyscout, they need to be able to FREAK when called upon. After seeing him in "Six Feet Under" recently, I'm a fan of someone like Jeremy Sisto. He could be a criminal playing a cop who then can't figure out in a prolonged panic what the hell to do. He's also be less of a bitch then Tim Roth in that movie, though that might lessen the White/Orange father/son thing.

Mr. Blonde, originally played by Michael Madsen - Originally, I was on the Mickey Rourke revival bandwagon, but I basically think Rourke and Michael Madsen are basically the same guy who would do the same take on the psycho criminal bit. So, go the other direction, and my gut says pull a "Tarantino" and find someone forgotten and hungry, someone in career purgatory. Find someone who has a bat-shit psycho inside them but has never let it out, without ever losing his cool. Someone like Pierce Brosnan. Think on it for a second. OK, it's a crappy choice, but this one is HARD.

Mr. Pink, originally played by Steve Buscemi - In going with the "looks like a rat" aesthetic, I'm going to go with Michael Imperioli. He can rant, he's got chops and he crowds would cheer when Mr. White knocks him down if he plays it right. The stretch would be casting him as a loner, which I've never seen him play.

Nice Guy Eddie, originally played by Chris Penn - With Chris Penn now inhabiting that great pool hall in the sky, my initial instinct was to go with his brother Sean. It would be funny, grab headlines and he could pull it off, but what the role really needs is someone who can successfully inhabit a track suit and not seem like he's slumming it for a character. He also needs to be one of the guys, but the one who's most obviously scared and tries to show it the least. It's a tough call, but I'm going with Ryan Phillipe. The guy's played slummy before, he's a decent actor and he's a guy who can play scared. Picture him in the gun triangle at the end and you'll see what I mean.

Joe originally played by Lawrence Tierny - This one's a bit unconventional but let it sink in for a second - John Goodman. Say he drops 80 pounds, he would look like a guy you wouldn't mess with in his prime who had let himself go. He's also genial and he's got a knack for dialogue.

That's fun. I'd love to hear other suggestions.

Geek Out Tuesday: Somewhere, It's All Happening

A couple movie news sites I frequent are all a twitter tonight, as a group of Internet journalists were invited to the set of the latest Indiana Jones movie and received a quick interview with Steven Spielberg. Phrases like "giddy," "squealing" and "like a bunch of 12 year old girls after Justin Timberlake walked by" were thrown about.

What's particularly fun to see is how journalists like Devin from CHUD and others who dumped on the movie for years while it was trying to get made, and wrote many many words in opposition to the idea of "Indiana Jones 4," suddenly become a pile of goo when presented with the actual filmmakers. When Harrison Ford walked up in costume, all the Internet geeks went nuts and couldn't possibly hide their enthusiasm.

There's something profound to that. How easy to speak in the abstract, how easy to snark. How hard to create and how glorious when you do. There's nothing wrong with being a critic but when you're an artist who has an effect on people, everything seems right from the outside.

As a fan of the Indiana Jones movies (even though they show a tendency toward diminishing returns), I find it hard not to smile when I think that somewhere within a couple thousand miles of me, they're shooting "Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull." It's easy to say "the title sucks," "Ford is too old," or "what's with Spielberg and Shai LeBouf" but it's equally easy right now to smile and think of the John Williams theme wafting across a trailer in about a month or so, to clamor for pictures of production and details of plot like we did when we were 7, to imagine what could be, because what came before was so damned great.

It's fun to know it's happening right now.

Sick Fantasies

I'm sort of a casual gamer at best - I have a PSP with more ports than a cardiac center (Parappa the Rapper, Crazy Taxi, Lego Star Wars, Marvel Ultimate Alliance, etc), and I play in increments of about 1 minute and 20 seconds at a time. It's what life with a motor-mouthed 4-year-old allows.

But while I play stuff suitable for a 6-year-old with fast thumbs, I'm not a complete virgin to gore in games. I remember visiting an arcade in California when I was 8 and seriously digging the graphic violence: Knives in eyes, lopped off limbs zombies eating girls in bikinis. It fueled the dark side of my adolescent imagination until Freddy Kruger came along about a year later.

I point this out not to seem unsympathetic (reading that back it does sound a little creepy), but to point out a) the human psyche has a dark side that's neigh impossible to repress and b) now that I'm an adult and gore is no longer necessarily prurient, that is to say I can watch whatever content I damn well please. It's not an argument made very often, but it's the most relevant argument when it comes to censorship - adults watch porn because they want the sexual arousal, they watch horror because they want the shock and on some level enjoy the gore. In other words, until the law tells me differently I can consumer whatever content is legal for whatever reason I deem prudent, and that includes playing games like "Manhunt 2" because I think a sick fantasy where you sneak around an insane asylum and kill other crazy people is fun. If I thought that. Which I don't.

Let's start over - Rockstar Games, the folks behind the often maligned Grand Theft Auto, created a game called Manhunt 2, where a crazy guy goes around murdering people in an insane asylum. The game is so over the top and pervasively graphic that it got the dreaded "AO" or Adult Only rating in the US, which means most platforms won't support it. Moreover, the game was out and out banned in the UK in the past few days. They cited the games tone and gore as the reasons for the ban.

It's easy and somewhat effective to argue the game is a bad influence. Most of the research shows that children who play violent games and are not supervised or are without positive adult role models can alter their behavior in a negative way because of the game. It's also effective to argue that not all kids receive appropriate adult supervision and shouldn't play the game. I would make that argument.

But if "Halo 3," which made more money than any other video game in the history or gaming taught us is that adults and kids play games, meaning that adults are fully integrated into the video game process. If the system to keep kids away from adult games is broken (again, I'd argue it is), why should that penalize those seeking a dark thrill from a gory video game who are of age and legally able to consume such content? Fix the system that might put "Manhunt 2" in the hands of kids. Work hard on it. Treat it like booze. But if I couldn't have a bunch of beers one night because little Dylan down the street bought booze, there'd be a riot in the streets. There is no ideological difference because it's a dark, gory and ultimately gross game. It's legal, it's supported and I should be able to play it, no matter how dark it is.

Personal responsibility, morality and the beauty of the human soul all fit into a completely different argument. Go to Rogerebert.com and search for "Chaos" for a really good argument on that front (or better yet, buy his book "You're Movie Sucks," it's a great bathroom read). But if you allow these movies, games and other media to be legal in your society, you can't whine about it. You have to let people consume them.

That being said, "Manhunt 2" will never be played in my PSP. I've got a rapping dog to navigate to the bathroom.

Mash-Up King

For the past six years I've had a "little brother" through Big Brothers/Big Sisters named Jordan. Every time we meet with him I thank the organization who matched us, because he's the most courteous, happy-go-lucky kid we could have asked for. Our relationship has been great, though you never really know what kind of difference you make. He's 13 now and we've been with him since he was 7.

Tonight, I decided we might have some fun making a mash-up on the computer. I went through my digital music library and we selected "Knights of Cydonia," by Muse and Bender from Futurama as our subjects. This was nothing serious, nothing of quality necessarily, but a chance to have some fun and chuckle at one Matt Groening's great unsung creations.

Then something interesting happened, something I didn't expect. Jordan is a great kid but not the most "impressive." His knowledge base is like a lot of kids his age and I understand he struggles with grades. But after we picked the Bender quotes ("you know what always makes me feel better? Laughing at the misfortune of others") and started working with the audio editing software, the kid picked it up and started making decisions both in editing and the overall content of the piece. He edited, he was concerned with flow and meaning and in the hour and a half it took to put together the piece, he was effectively producing and directing. He bloomed, which is something I rarely get to see.

It made me think maybe that's where mentoring makes the most of a difference - you're not giving a kid anything special from your brain, you're just exposing that kid to parts of life he or she might not know exist or might not ever have the chance to experience. I know I've made Jordan happy by taking him to movies or out for ice cream, for example, but tonight I think I opened something up for him he didn't know was out there and something that he's honestly good at.

It reminds me of my freshman year in college where, first semester, I pulled a GPA that could have been duplicated if I had sent a monkey to my classes. I was studying a lot of science which was dry and where everyone was better than I was. To quote Gary Oldman, EEEVERYYYONE!!! Then I discovered journalism and didn't pull a "B" for the rest of my college life. Once you find something your mind can glean onto and you decide to put in the work, or better yet if it doesn't seem like work, you bloom.

And Jordan bloomed. It was a good night.

Let's try this again

I was a blogger once. Turns out I am again.

Just tonight I deleted my old movie blog, which had literally hundreds of posts. It ate many hours of my life, partially because it was indirectly connected to my work. I've changed jobs and taken an extended break from blogging, from coming up with something to say, with having people complain about my grammer when I say it and from having this outlet. At the end of the day, I really dig this as an outlet.

So here I am. And here you are. Thanks.

By way of format, I'm thinking this blog will be much more of a general type of thing where I go on and on about movies, observational stuff, progressive political viewpoints, family, books and my struggling attempt to work with multimedia, all within the framework of living in the middle of the country (hence the blog title). I read a ton of blogs and listen to many many podcasts, so I'm looking forward to what this might become.

As for me, I'm sure it will become clear after subsequent posts that I'm a family guy, a movie guy, a general pop culture guy and a guy who was once a writer and who desperately wants to be one again. We'll see how it all works out.

Let's knock around.