Blips and Quips

A Good Vocabulary Equals Food

2008-04-08T19:53:00.000-07:00

Check this site out. With each vocabulary word you get right, a non-profit organization donates 20 grains of rice to the UN World Food Program. See how well you can do.

Favorite Musical Moments In Film

2008-04-07T21:05:00.000-07:00

In a recent conversation with a friend, we both emphasized interest in musicals. To prove her love for the genre, she began singing her favorite songs and reciting her favorite scenes. I got to hear a little Oklahoma, Seven Brides for Seven Brothers and West Side Story. And she got to hear a mixture of songs she's never heard of before and from the way I sing, probably never wants to again.

There's definitely something magical about the classic musicals. I remember watching The Fiddler on the Roof as a kid and realizing it's okay to break out into song at any given time. And throughout my life I have. But being a fan of the unconventional I tend to favor movies of the same nature. I like, in the film world, being taken to realms and places I don't plan on or expect to travel to; and while there I hope to be enlightened.

Certain scenes and moments define films. What would Reservoir Dogs be like without the famous ear scene? Would Joe Pesci's character in Goodfellas come across the same without the "funny, how?" scene? What about Back to the Future without George McFly's knock-out punch, or Empire Strikes Back without "Luke I am your father." Movies that stand the test of time and imprint themselves into the minds of viewers from every generation do so because of the collective end product. Each scene carries weight and the definitive scenes sum up the feel and mood of the entire picture. In Musicals, the songs do this. Not just the songs alone, but the way the film interprets and portrays the music. If a musical is a campy wonderland creep-fest like Rocky Horror Picture Show, then the music, especially the definitive piece better sum up and showcase what the film is all about.

The following clips do this for some of my favorite musicals. These are the scenes and the music that sets the pace of the picture. In no particular order:

Time Warp from Rocky Horror Picture Show

Many might consider this film a classic. It's certainly classic in terms of cult films and midnight movies. When I first saw this film it turned me on to a whole different type of musical and helped me understand how limits hurt genres and how they need to be tested and broken. The sexual undertones combined with the gothic, Halloween-like atmosphere created a mood unparallel to anything seen before. This is the closest thing to mainstream camp (if there is such a thing) in the world of film.

Wild, Wild Life from True Stories
In my book, David Byrne can do no wrong. I only wish his former band mates felt the same way, so the Talking Heads could finally reunite. His style is odd, flamboyant and loud. Although an impressive musician, Byrne is as impressive as an artist and never seen quite as matter-of-factly than in True Stories. This scene, drenched in 80's fashion brings a town of music loving misfits together for karaoke night. There is something absurdly realistic in the way each character consumes the role as front-man and channels their inner David Bryne to convey the song's message. Not to mention, the playful manner the audience reacts to each interpretation. This is one odd universe I don't want to leave.

Listen to Jesus Jimmy from Reefer Madness: The Musical

In the 30's and 40's the government made short films targeting families in an effort to curtail youth from the "evils" in the world. Sounds harmless, right? Well, the tactics used weren't always on par with the truth. They seemingly went by the creed 'what the public doesn't really know, won't hurt them.' In fact now days, some of these films have been compared to the Nazi propaganda films of the same era. In films like these Religion always plays a big role. What God says is final, right? Or is it, what the government thinks God would say, is final. So confusing.

In 1936 Reefer Madness was born. A film designed to detail the dangers of pot and warn the youth of the consequences. But, unlike the film's message, not every pot smoker turns into a homicidal psychopath. Reefer Madness: The Musical proudly parodys the original with campy bravado. This farcical depiction, showered with satire and irony unveils the motive behind these old propaganda films: the more ignorant the nation = more power and control in the government. And if the government could control information and the media (still currently trying) then they could have ultimate control.

The following clip from the film shows us how ignorant the government perceived youth to be during the time. As an example of pre-pot youth, bubblyness and cheerfulness substitutes logic and realistic expectations. And to illustrate that with such a catchy tune is an extra plus:

Falling Slowly from Once

Once is a beautiful film. It by no means is a conventional musical. The music sort of sneaks its way into the story, but ironically without it there wouldn't be one. I recently watched Augest Rush at my wife's request and really enjoyed it. Once plays on the same wavelength; music transcends reason, and, as a symbol of harmony, it brings souls in the same octave range (again, symbolically) closer together.

Origin of Love from Hedwig and the Angry Inch

This is one of my favorite films of all time and by far my favorite scene. Love is hope. Many feel they will never find it. For those, the idea of a soul mate is reassuring. People who feel that they are damaged and unable to be loved find solace in the hope that there is one person out there who will love them just the way they are. Hedwig, the singer of this scene, truly believes what she is singing and everyone who hears her sing it knows it.

The Rock Stars of "King of Kong"

2008-03-26T15:24:00.001-07:00

Billy Mitchell, mullet and all, rules his world. He reminisces of the legions of fans, desirous groupies and the tour schedules that sucked his life. He thinks back to the 80's when he was king and the world wanted to be him. And now, with his close-knit group of die-hard followers he secretly plans a comeback. In fact, his comeback, riddled with secrecy, promises to shock the world and once again crown him the best of his domain. The funny thing is, Billy is not what you would call a rock star. His mullet is not what's left over from Butt Rock glory and his fans don't wait for him to slide into an old pair of black leather pants. Billy doesn’t slobber on microphones and certainly has never trashed a hotel room. For Billy, being a rock star means handling a joystick and breaking world records instead of hotel suites. Billy is a rock star. But his stage is the world of classic arcade games.

King of Kong: a Fist Full of Quarters is a glimpse into Billy's world. It follows a group of frenzied record-seeking gamers who will do anything to etch their names in the record book archives and feel, even for a second, what it's like to be Billy Mitchell. The top of the heap of would-be contenders is Steven Wiebe, a soft spoken science teacher from Washington State. Wiebe, oblivious in the beginning to the dynamics and hierarchy of the gamer world, sits quietly at his personal Donkey Kong machine in his suburban garage attempting to crack 1 million points. After kicking some major Donkey Kong butt, Wiebe sends his video taped record performance in for review and finds out the hard way that it takes more than just a high score to crack into this odd world.

As a documentary King of Kong does not disappoint. It’s as fascinating as it is bizarre and devishly clever in the way it makes us want to be part of this weird, wacky world.

But I Don't Watch Rated R's

2008-03-25T17:41:00.000-07:00

Those who know me, know I love film. They (people who know me) know I not only love to watch movies, but love to discuss them. They (people who know me) seem to like to talk to me about movies as well; and they (people who know me) like to tell me which films they liked and which ones they (people who know me) think I should see. I think people who know me don't know me well enough. Often times, when I'm recommended a film, I either go right out and see it or put it on my Netflix queue. I generally assume that someone is recommending the film for reasons I will understand only after seeing the film. And until I do I'm not at liberty to comment on the film or give reasons why it could suck or offend me. If someone recommended a movie and I said 'But I don't watch stupid movies,' I would be suggesting that I am smarter and more refined then them and am only attracted to things of my significantly higher standards. This immediately puts a wedge between us and implies that I am better than you.

Growing up LDS (Mormon) is terribly confusing. There is a paradox, unbeknownst to many, of immense duality that exists within the consciousness of the highly religious sort. That is: Righteousness vs. ego. As many of you know, ego is disguised as self. It makes you think that it is you. It wants you to think that you are it. While growing up I was constantly told that I am part of a chosen religion and therefore am special. I was also told that my righteousness would define me. As a child who's already, on certain levels, being guided by ego, especially in a society of one-upper peers; I began to allow my ego to use righteousness to stroke itself, and put me above others I felt were unrighteous. Not only that, but I began to despise those who I felt were either more righteous than me or, for that matter, more anything than me. Doing this created enemies; people I was subconsciously threatened by. High school was sort of a battle ground for clashing ego's; the catalysts being youth and vulnerability. Author Deepak Chopra, M.D. in the following video says "there is no such thing as an external enemy, no matter what that voice in your head is telling you. All perception of an enemy is a projection of the ego as the enemy."

Growing up LDS also led me to believe in a spirit, something that existed before earth life and will continue to exist after. The spirit and ego are at war. The ego intends to claim us, and to counterfeit spirituality as itself. The spirit intends to salvage what it can and lead us to experiences that will help us shed as much of the ego as we can through choices. Proclamations of righteousness, in attempt to showcase our level of spirituality are manifestations of the ego disguised as the spiritual self. Confusing, right?

Recently I had a friend tell me he was terribly interested in being part of my March Madness office pool. In fact, after a mass email, he was the first to get back to me and offer his interests. I met him at his office in town and gave him a sheet detailing the point system and rules that we used. He was enthusiastic and continued to detail his interest. He even said there were several people at his office that also might be interested. I was pumped. I love talking sports and love March Madness. We had sort of a bonding experience.

A few days later I texted him to let him know I needed the brackets and money (we do 5$ a bracket). He texted me back and told me he was not going to participate this year. Being close friends, I decided to call him and find out why. I could certainly help him if it was a money or time problem. He told me it was because he didn't feel good about it morally, and that gambling was wrong. He kept saying that it was nothing against me and for me not to be mad. 'Not to be mad?' Why would I be mad I asked. He told me because he was choosing the right.

At that moment, I felt inferior to my friend. I felt like he was saying I am better than you. And not only that, but the fact that he assumed that him choosing the right would in effect, make me mad. I know his intentions were not to hurt my feelings or to come across condescendingly, but then again, ego is hardly an intention. The ego companioned with self-righteousness is an ugly creature. It minimalizes all of our actions and poses itself as a beacon or example of goodness. I mean, have you ever wondered what is it that compells us/some of us to detail and pinpoint our righteous decisions to others. Did you think it was integrity?

Righteousness without ego on the other hand is rare in the Mormon culture. But that doesn't mean it doesn't exist. Please remember I'm only differentiating the LDS culture from others simply because it is mine. But ego is no different anywhere else. It is what makes us human after all. It is what limits us and what protects us. It causes us to feel fear and is what eventually will destroy us. Self-righteousness or overt attempts to proclaim one's spiritual stance is the ego projecting itself as righteousness. The truly humble don't know and think about their humility, nor do they carry it as a banner for all to see.

Back to the movies.

Telling me you aren't going to watch a recommendation because you don't watch R's is no different than me telling you I'm not going to watch your recommendation because it's stupid. You are not taking a religious stand nor showing me how righteous you are. You are simply stroking your ego. Proclamations of righteousness, in attempt to showcase your level of spirituality, are manifestations of the ego disguised as the spiritual self.

I've come to realize that people who emphasize they don't watch rated R's because religious leaders told them not to, but in contrast watch every and any pg-13 film that comes their way, regardless of content, aren't avoiding R's because of content but simply because the film was rated R.

This my friends is the ego's way--it will always disguise itself as self and continue to make you feel your righteousness proclamations are needed and necessary for others to know. It’s no different than it fooling me into believing others need to read this.

Film Quotes That Scream to the Soul

2008-03-25T14:26:00.000-07:00

"There is something about yourself that you don't know. Something that you will deny even exists, until it's too late to do anything about it. It's the only reason you get up in the morning. The only reason you suffer the shitty boss, the blood, the sweat and the tears. This is because you want people to know how good, attractive, generous, funny, wild and clever you really are. Fear or revere me, but please think I'm special. We share an addiction. We're approval junkies. We're all in it for the slap on the back and the gold watch. The hip-hip-hoo-****in' rah. Look at the clever boy with the badge, polishing his trophy. Shine on you crazy diamond, because we're just monkeys wrapped in suits, begging for the approval of others." -Jake Green, Revolver

REVOLVER: This film is bit of a blur. I watched it on a grave shift. I don't remember it being special in any way and was let down Guy Ritchie missed the mark so foolishly. However, while I was yawning between scenes, this quote about knocked me off my chair. I listened to it again and again and began to think about other film quotes and monologues that 'screamed to the soul.' I was going to make a lengthy list but when I started to think about quotes of this caliber I got sidetracked by the entire Network screenplay; which is simply a masterpiece.

Network is more applicable now then in 1976 when it was released. It's about, well everything, but on the surface it's about the effects of the media. An anchorman named Howard Beale announces on air that he's going to kill himself. Later, as he's forced to retract the statement, and feeling as if he has nothing left to live for, decides to rant about the bullshit of life.

"Good evening. Today is Wednesday, September the 24th, and this is my last broadcast. Yesterday I announced on this program that I was going to commit public suicide, admittedly an act of madness. Well, I'll tell you what happened: I just ran out of bullshit. Am I still on the air? I really don't know any other way to say it other than I just ran out of bullshit. Bullshit is all the reasons we give for living. And if we can't think up any reasons of our own, we always have the God bullshit. We don't know why we're going through all this pointless pain, humiliation, decays, so there better be someone somewhere who does know. That's the God bullshit. And then, there's the noble man bullshit; that man is a noble creature that can order his own world; who needs God? Well, if there's anybody out there that can look around this demented slaughterhouse of a world we live in and tell me that man is a noble creature, believe me: That man is full of bullshit. I don't have anything going for me. I haven't got any kids. And I was married for thirty-three years of shrill, shrieking fraud. So I don't have any bullshit left. I just ran out of it, you see."

Howard's rant makes sense to the American public and because of a ratings spike during Howard's monologue, the network decides to give Howard his own show and lets him say whatever he wants. This makes for some of the best scenes in the film and certainly plenty of quotes that scream to the soul.

All I know is, you've got to get mad. You've got to say, "I'm a human being, g*****n it. My life has value. We’ll [Television] tell you anything you want to hear, we lie like hell. You're beginning to believe the illusions we're spinning here, you're beginning to believe that the tube is reality and your own lives are unreal. You do. Why, whatever the tube tells you: you dress like the tube, you eat like the tube, you raise your children like the tube, you even think like the tube. This is mass madness, you maniacs. In God's name, you people are the real thing, WE [TV] are the illusion. Right now, there is a whole, an entire generation that never knew anything that didn't come out of this tube. This tube is the gospel, the ultimate revelation; this tube can make or break presidents, popes, prime ministers; this tube is the most awesome g*****n propaganda force in the whole godless world.

Howard's show is seemingly the most popular show on TV and people seem to do whatever he tells them to. Although he badgers and belittles the media and the very network he works for, he continues to get air time because of high ratings. Eventually he tells people to write the White House and stop a business merger involving his network and an Arab company. Needless to say, his minions respond and flood the White House with telegrams. Worried about the repercussions of Howard's words, the CEO of the communications company that owns the network, who happens to have millions to gain from the merger, invites Howard to his office for a lesson in world politics. This tyrannical soap box rant has Howard shrinking at the end. Ned Beatty delivers it with optimal force and miraculously shifts Howard's renegade-like gears. Here is a portion of it:

It is the international system of currency which determines the vitality of life on this planet. THAT is the natural order of things today. THAT is the atomic and subatomic and galactic structure of things today. And YOU have meddled with the primal forces of nature. And YOU WILL ATONE. Am I getting through to you, Mr. Beale? You get up on your little 21-inch screen and howl about America, and democracy. There is no America; there is no democracy. There is only IBM, and ITT, and AT&T, and DuPont, Dow, Union Carbide, and Exxon. Those are the nations of the world today. You have meddled with the primal forces of nature, Mr. Beale, and I won't have it. Is that clear? You think you've merely stopped a business deal? That is not the case. The Arabs have taken billions of dollars out of this country, and now they must put it back. It is ebb and flow, tidal gravity. It is ecological balance. You are an old man who thinks in terms of nations and peoples. There are no nations; there are no peoples. There are no Russians. There are no Arabs. There are no third worlds. There is no West. There is only one holistic system of systems; one vast, interwoven, interacting, multivaried, multinational dominion of dollars.

Ironically, Howard gets gunned-down on air by assassins hired by the very network executives who winced and cringed at the thought of a televised suicide.

The Best Films of 2007

2008-03-10T22:03:00.000-07:00

2007 oozes with style. From the hipster cool of Grindhouse to the isolative frigidity of No Country For Old Men, 2007 showcases the patented styles of some of Hollywood’s freshest artists. I noted that 2005 was the new millennium’s year of the auteur, where the bravest of talent etched its mark into the epic cannon of cinema. That being said, 2007 is the year of the young-gun stylist. Youth is relative of course. The Coen brothers (No Country For Old Men), although vets in the game, still, fingers crossed, have their best work to come.

Wes Anderson (The Darjeeling Limited), a man steeped with tales of wealthy dysfunctional families, has just hit his glide of a stride and has deeper depths to dive.

At times I'm fascinated with Tarentino (Grindhouse) and other times I think he's just regurgitating gold. I'm keen on his style, but waiting for his genius to rethink and re-ink its way out of this self-indulgent broken-record phase.

My favorite of late, the innovative and campy Edgar Wright (Hot Fuzz) is the ultimate stalwart stylist, homageing, parodying and furthering the likes of the stale zombie and buddy-cop genres. Wright invented a new genre, the parody tribute with Sean of the Dead and iced the cake with Hot Fuzz.

Then there's Paul Thomas Anderson. I don't won't to lessen the power of the word 'genius' by using it twice in one article but I really can't describe PTA in any other way. A friend of mine from college and owner of "I vidded it on The Screen" often likens Stanly Kubrick to King Midas; suggesting everything he ever touched turned to gold. Some of course say the same thing about Orson Wells. The only contemporary director in the world of film of this nature would be, in my opinion, PTA. There Will Be Blood is a masterpiece and if it wasn't for those pesky Coen Brothers, it would be the best film of 2007 and possibly the decade. But the Coens, somehow, beat PTA to the punch and gave us not only an impressive, deeply haunting western thriller, but gave us Anton Chigurh, the scariest villain the silver screen has ever seen and I'm not just talking about his haircut.

So here are the best films of 2007:

10- Once
9- Juno
8- Grindhouse
7- Hot Fuzz
6- Into The Wild
5- The King of Kong
4- The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford
3- The Darjeeling Limited
2- There Will Be Blood
1- No Country For Old Men.

Lists of Bests

2008-01-27T15:18:00.000-08:00

Listsofbests.com is my new favorite site. Being an avid cineaphile there are many films I need and want to see. However it's hard to keep them all straight. With this site you can make a list of anything. When I discovered it, I signed up and immediately made a list of my favorite films (well to be exact, films that move me, groove me and turn me on) and one with all the films I can't believe I haven't seen and need to.

Of course you don't have to just do movie lists. You can do whatever you want. Check it out.

Here are the lists I'm working on:

Here's my favs:

Juno or: How I learned to stop worrying and love the womb

2008-01-22T19:09:00.000-08:00

Some films snag your eyeballs and suck you into complex visual labyrinths. Others crack open your cranium and massage and stimulate your brain with intellectual delicacy.

But not Juno.

Juno did a free-for-all cannon ball crash deep inside my ear canal splashing out worthless and cliché jargon and filling it up with puns and comebacks more ripe and potent than a 7th-grade hallway stink bomb.

In Juno's world, language is her haven--her comfort zone where her snarky attitude nestles and mates with the kind of words and phrases most 16-year-old don't bother even trying to decipher. Her wit has grit and it's as sly as it is harsh. But it's also as brave and groundbreaking as it is hollow and weightless. Juno's vernacular is the product of her inward unawareness, her self-doubt and her seemingly obscure yet highly camouflaged naivety. The wittiest and most cunning vocabulary in the world wouldn't help Juno feel older; it would only make her look it. And even then, only to those that didn't know better. Her jarringly suave and savvy persona is brittle and bleak and more of a defensive mechanism than anything else. This juxtaposition between the way Juno acts and the way she feels sets up the film's theme. Juno, although witty and at times verbally impressive is an immature, unaware, stupid 16-year-old. Age is nothing but a number, but wisdom and maturity take time and experience.

To really blow this point up and exaggerate the inner turmoil of Juno's delicate self-esteem and her brazenly confident manifestations of it, the writer literally blows Juno up. She has her get pregnant I mean. She has her take on something not only tied with adulthood but something that is sure to provoke some kind of growth or arch within Juno’s delicate but transparent antihero-like attitude. This rough and tough persona is hardly who she is but as a facade it masks Juno's vulnerabilities.

Juno, bored and curious, has afternoon sex with Pauly Bleeker. Bleeker's semen, surprisingly more alive than him, swims upstream as steady and swift as Alaskan Salmon. When hearing about the pregnancy, Juno's Father Mac, a blue collar softy, is somewhat impressed with Bleeker. "I didn't think he had it in him," Mac says.

Bleeker's name says it all. He's the consummate underdog; a likeable sap who's as endearing as he is annoying. Bleeker and Juno aren't in love and never consider keeping the baby. Bleeker doesn't ever really acknowledge his part in the pregnancy and doesn't insist on participating in any big baby decisions. This in turn leaves Juno to solely handle and deal with the weighty responsibilities and consequences of decisions made by two.

The male characters come across passive and weak. They don't know what they want or how to get it if they did. They've never pushed anything out of a vagina and therefore are the weaker sex because of it. Jason Bateman plays Mark Loring, the husband half of the couple seeking to adopt Juno's baby. Mark is the 'forever wandering' male misanthrope archetype. He's cursed with arrested development (Loring not Bateman) and unlike Juno who's forced to deal with an adult situation, Mark does everything he can to avoid them. As Mark and Juno get to know each other, Mark becomes turned on by not only the attention Juno gives him but the thought of doing something juvenile and wildly age-inappropriate. Juno and Mark spend afternoons watching splatter-film classics and listening to Sonic Youth. As they build their relationship, Mark decides to leave his wife. He thinks Juno is throwing herself at him and even through he understands boundaries and knows better he longs for a youthful fling. Juno, being 16, doesn't know better and is oblivious to Mark's affection.

The Ying to Mark's Yang is his wife Vanessa played by Jennifer Garner. Vanessa is strong willed, controlling and robotically determined. She feels it’s her life mission and destiny to be a mom. She doesn’t care how she becomes one, as long as she does. This is a tough sell. The writer, Diablo Cody seemingly makes Vanessa the feminist prototype; a wild-eyed, no nonsense business woman bent on business life success. She then straps Vanessa down with a traditional gender role; an undeniable urge to become a mother. Vanessa controls all aspects of Mark's life. She boxes up his comic books and shoots down his dreams. She determines which room in the house Mark can use for his music room and condemns him from watching movies during the day. Yet somehow, this narcissistic head-strong super-bitch is going to be a wonderful mother. One of my favorite scenes illustrates Vanessa's cold, detached nature. At the local mall, Vanessa runs into the very pregnant Juno and attempts to talk to the baby. She kneels down and very systematically talks to Juno's stomach. She's comes across like Data from Star Trek; all business and no emotion. But somehow, someway, Vanessa's character works. Like I said, it’s a hard sell, but Garner convinces us that deep inside Vanessa is destined to become a successful mother.

So in the end, Juno has her very mature adult experience. An experience so much more profound than anything in her life. She gives birth. The outcome of this experience is what makes the movie great. She doesn't want to see the baby nor have anything else to do with its life, she just want to live. Juno's epiphany comes when she realizes faking maturity and owning maturity are two vastly different things. She's determined to have another go at being a teenager and this time she's determined to play her role. In the final scene Juno rides her bike to meet up with Bleeker. And she rides it like a kid.

Funny Games: A Meditation on Film Violence

2007-12-30T22:23:00.000-08:00

I've always despised the conventional; partly because of its excess. I also feel the road to the end and the outcome is separate and unrelated. I want to watch something that's going to taunt me and haunt me; something that's going to dangle a big juicy steak just out of reach and lure me to a place where I am force-fed cabbage. As a viewer I like to be messed with. I like to be provoked.

If nothing else, Funny Games provokes. It seems to be as sadistic as its villains, manipulating and toying with the viewer in the same way its villains play with their victims. The director doesn't just want to involve the viewer. He wants us to be an accomplice, to handcuff us to the villains and point a guilty finger in our direction. "You can stop this," the director seemingly taunts, "just get up and leave and it will all be over." It’s this kind of game play that sets the film's tone. By making us accomplices he shows us the impact the viewer has on film violence and its overall acceptability in today's society.

The two villains aren't real and the director doesn't want us to think they are. They are nothing more than placeholders, artifacts detailing our society's penchant for blood. They go by various familiar names; Peter and Paul, Tom and Jerry and Beavis and Butthead; the latter two duos referencing media violence and its effect. The scariest thing about these two white-glove-wearing sadists is their seemingly optimistic and thoroughly consistent manners. After mutilating the father's leg with his own golf club, the two splint it and repeatedly ask what they can do to help. They then help carry him into the living room and then kindly introduce themselves. Their manners and kindness come across emotionless however. They say please and thank you with mechanical flatness and detachment.

Manners, it seems now days, have become robotic; almost as if its part of our default setting. We say 'how are you,' just to say it most the time and hardly wait or care for a response. The violence in the film plays the same way. The two villains show no emotional range and carry out the murders on the same wavelength they shake hands. The director is screaming out for us to understand the effect of film and TV violence and the way it slowly desensitizes and neutralizes the viewer. During the famous remote scene, where the mother of the family steals the shotgun and blows a hole through one of the villains, it’s easy to cheer her on. In fact I've never felt more deflated and let down then when the friend of the villain grabs the remote and rewinds it back to before his friend was shot. Oddly enough, the violence performed by the villains is always performed off screen. But the bloodiest, most violent and brutal death is the one the director gets the viewer to cheer for; all because he gets you to feel that it's warranted. Similarly, when we see Jack Bauer kill 40 terrorists in one episode of 24 we also feel (or tell ourselves) that its warranted; bad people deserve to die. Director Michael Haneke disagrees. He argues that violence is violence and shouldn't be justified by a bad-guy-meter scale. As he involves the viewer, Hanake shows us just what a slippery slope film violence can be. Our society's endless crave for violence and mayhem can be seen on the TV guide schedule. In addition we go to films like Saw 4 and eat popcorn to perverse and torturous brutality; all the while justifying our intent.

Funny Games provokes. It just doesn’t ask questions but begs for answers. It's consistently shifting as well, seemingly disguising it's self as good guy/bad guy showdown. But that is not what it is. Funny Games is an indictment; it’s a call to repentance and better yet a giant mirror showing all of us what we've become.

*Haneke has directed an American version due out in March of this year. It's shot for shot and stars the great Tim Roth and Naomi Watts.

No Country For Old Men

2007-12-10T20:28:00.000-08:00

This film took days to digest. I still feel it rumbling in my gut like 3-day-old meatloaf. My dreams have had equal effect. In my dreams Anton Chigurh stands over me with a half-smile, waiting for me to wake up. He's eager to flip his coin. He's eager to bestow my fate.

I imagine Chigurh as the go-to guy for the devil. Not just any ordinary henchman but the one Satan knows will get the job done. You can just see Satan in frustration of the futile efforts of his demons. "What do you mean its not done," he says, "Get me Anton Chigurh dammit!"

The silver screen has had many villains; each trying to lure viewers to deem them the worst. It seems each effort of creating the master villain falls short on some aspect. Too scary, not scary enough. But Anton Chigurh is enough. He is evil personified. He is what Thomas Harris hoped Hannibal Lecter would be. The problem with lector is not a question of evil. It's actually the opposite. Harris makes Lecter angelic, makes him a divine being. He's all-knowing and all-seeing. Lecter is more god-like than devilish. He's far too sophisticated for the likes of Anton Chigurh or the devil for that matter. Lecter, with his elegant tastes and refineness would pity Chigurh, not admire. His real only fault is craving human flesh. And Lecter would never kill nor eat Clarice Starling. Such a thing would be below him, something a heathen would do.

Devil's Rejects' Otis Driftwood kills people as easily and naturally as Chigurh. But Otis prefers to take his time. He gets off on it. He likes to slow things down and court the victim in his own sadistic way. He likes to peel off their faces and grope and molest the victim with the barrel of a loaded gun. Driftwood is crazy. And he's easy to diagnose. He's your garden variety psychopath with a thirst for blood and a history that makes his actions explainable. But most importantly, he's human. In fact it's his humanity that scares you the most. He and his family sit down for Sunday dinners and stop at the corner drug store for ice cream. They're sick, ruthless Americans who consume, watch classic sit-com re-runs and lock cheerleaders in chicken pens. Decisions to kill and eat banana oatmeal for breakfast are made on the same wavelength. It's who they are.

I think the main difference between Chigurh, Driftwood and Lecter is restraint. Lecter is a sophisticated being who prides himself in his ability to resist. He would rather savor the flavor of the perfect moment than to indulge without restraint. Driftwood kills for pleasure and pleasure alone. But he couldn't just shoot and leave. His pleasure comes from watching the victim watch him as he slowly mutilates and gropes them. He restrains himself from premature killings and keeps victims for months before being completely satisfied.

Chigurh is death and waits for no one. He reminds me of Arnold Schwarzenegger in the first Terminator film. He's mechanical and cold and doesn't yeild to begging and reason. As a symbol of death, Chigurh isn't just killing but delivering fate. His victims fates have more to do with their own choices than his. Chigurh's coin flipping quirk show's us his logic. Call it luck or chance or fate. If it lands on the side you didn't call then not only are you going to die, but you are supposed to die. Their choices did this, not his. And I'm not talking about the choice to call heads or tails. But every choice the person has made in their life up to their final one. Whether this logic makes any sense doesn't matter. It makes sense to Chigurh. It didn't make sense to Carla Jean Moss. Llewelyn's country bumpkin wife couldn't understand it. She admits to Chigurh of not having anything to live for, but doesn't think that her husband’s stupidity should seal her fate. Earlier in the film, bounty hunter Carson Wells describes Chigurh as a man of strange principles. It's these principles that force Chigurh's hand. He promised Llewelyn that he would kill his wife if Llewelyn didn't comply with Chigurh's demands. So even after Llewelyn is dead, Chigurh, being a man of principle, keeps his promise. But unfortunately for Carla Jean, Llewelyn's selfish pride and stupidity did seal her fate. Sometimes our decisions affect more than ourselves. Sometimes stupidity gets us killed. Sometimes it gets family members and innocent people killed. Sometimes both. During that final moment, when Chigurh pulls out his coin and demands Carla Jean to call it, you know she's not going to win. Even if she called tails 100 times, it would still, 100 times come up heads. So is it fate that Chigurh represents or consequence of choice?

Llewelyn Moss is anyone of us. His greed, courage, creativity and stupidity shows what all of us are capable of. He, at times, seems to be smarter than Chigurh. He seems to be the perfect match for Chigurh. He seems to be able to, at times, outwit fate. His cunning and inventiveness makes for some thrilling moments. Moss is renegade and cutthroat and we love it. But he gets killed. He lets his guard down and suffers the penalties for it. But it isn't his fate to die. Chigurh doesn't kill him. Moss shares some beer with a bored, horny stranger and lets his guard down. He, after intense, well-planned-out, carefully calculated actions, seemingly ripe without error chooses to have a beer with a total stranger; an absolute contradiction to everything he'd done up to that point. Moss's fate is the consequence of his choices. So, in effect, Chigurh did kill him.

I think it stands to reason, in a story full of shady and deceiving characters that one acts as a beacon. Tommy Lee Jones is Sheriff Ed Tom Bell. Bell doesn't ever meet Chigurh or find Moss; in fact his close-call encounters with both don't really have any relevance to the plot. But his words do. Bell's a straight-shooting, salt-of-the-earth kind of guy. His narration gives the story context and depth. Bell sort of putters around the Texas landscape looking for Moss with an ongoing thought that acts as a theme throughout the film. 'What the hell has happened?' Bell thinks back to when his father was a sheriff, "didn't even carry a gun," he tells us. He's disgusted at the way things are going. After investigating Llewelyn's death Bell has coffee with a fellow big city sheriff. "It's the dismal tide," the sheriff tells Bell as the two talk about the evil in the world. The dismal tide. What a statement. Evil does seem to slither and slide into the conscious mind. It certainly doesn't appear all at once. Evil creeps and crawls into our lives. It blends in and adapts to its surroundings. As years go by things certainly progressively get worse in the world. Evil is on the rise. But it doesn't happen all at once. It's the dismal tide.

The Buzz on Hot Fuzz

2007-07-12T22:15:00.000-07:00

For those into film, I mean really into film. Like the ones who know the significance of the 1992 Sundance film festival, the importance of Pauline Kael's work and the inspiration behind the opening scene in Robert Altman's "The Player" will understand and appreciate Hot Fuzz for what is truly is. For me, Its changed the way I look at film. My 15 years of serious film viewing is now divided into two basic time periods. Before Hot Fuzz (BHF) and After Hot Fuzz (AHF). The AHF is the new era of film watching, for my eyes have been opened. Its my equivalent of the french new wave for cinephiles in the 60's. However, I can't expect movie gentiles to understand.

Most will pan it as a buddy cop comedy. Some will cite it has a who-done-it horror. And many will lump it off as simply being English high-brow pulp. Nowadays, film previews edit the life out of films. They steal away the film's soul and market it according to the ideal demographic. Take Judd Apatow's latest crude and rude meditation on male misanthropes, "Knocked Up." Previews beat out the meat and air-up the fluff. Its packaged like a harmless chick flick, but anyone who's seen it knows its nothing of the like. "Hot Fuzz" is also a victim of the soul-stealing, plot twisting manipulations of main stream film trailers. The previews display it with Reno-911-like buffoonery and muck it up as slapstick. Hot Fuzz is not slapstick. Hot Fuzz is groundbreaking.

Hot Fuzz follows the trail blazing effort of its director’s debut film, “Shaun of the Dead” by, again, creating a new genre. “Shaun of the Dead,” a parody of 70's zombie films also adds to and furthers the zombie genre. It laughs-at and applauds in the same breath. Its both pointing a joking finger and offering a warm congratulatory handshake. It is the parody tribute.

Director Edgar Wright handles this new hybrid genre with love and adoration. Its like he's saying, “Yeah, those films are good, but they could be better and here’s how. Oh yes, and here is also what is lacking.” Wright isn’t the next Mel Brooks and certainly wouldn’t make one of those awful Date Movie/ Epic Movie spoofs. In a lot of ways he’s a film pioneer. His two films that are responsible for this new genre are so terribly refined and so masterly edited that they in no way feel like mock-ups or tear-downs. And even though they target certain cliches and genres, they feel new and fresh.

Hot Fuzz, like Shaun of the Dead is ‘parody-tributing’ a particular genre: the buddy cop action flick. Another uncanny element to Wrights masterful film making is his subtle/in-your-face humor. Wright knows that most viewers who watch his films are already going to know all about the films he’s parody-tributing; so telling the viewer the exact films he’s commenting on would be cheap and unneeded, right. Wrong. Wright tells us the exact films he’s parody-tributing. And, he tells us with excess, so much so, that he even shows clips from the very scenes he’s going to later reinvent. Now that’s balls. The whole charade plays as a silly/serious gag and runs as an underlying theme to the film. The idea is that movie cops, and all the impossible situations they end up in, embed themselves in the fantasies of normal cops. These small city officers tap into their movie-cop-archive to reach their potential. Without the fictional, fake, over-the-top super-police images the real cops would never risk their mortality to achieve super-cop heroic feats. This theme also acts as social commentary to our media-obsessed nation.

Hot Fuzz plays out on several levels. Its high-body-count action thrust is balanced by its satirical wit and political cynicism. It’s Rambo meets Monty Python on steroids. Go see it.

What Happened to Jordan's Leg?

2006-07-18T16:20:00.000-07:00

Brad's mom said she ran into Jordan and he has a broken leg. Now how did that happen? Of course if it happened to anyone it would be Jordan. I don't know what it is but Jordan seems to get hurt easy.

Life for us is going quite well Brad got box office tickets to see the Dimondbacks play this weekend so we will be heading up to Phoenix. It will be our first trip to Phoenix since we have been here. I have a job working as a receptionist at a staffing company. Considering all I do is answer phones and play on the internet I get paid really well. We really like our ward and have made some good friends I am the primary teacher for the 10 year olds.

Hope your summer is going well!

New Arrivals

2006-06-21T18:44:00.000-07:00

Kenny is the proud father of two new arrivals: his first son,, was born a few weeks ago and is already a champ weighing in at 13 pounds. Scout, the German Shepherd, also joined the family a few weeks ago and gets more attention than the new baby (the dog is already doing tricks while all the baby can do is lay there and stare).

Life in Tucson

2006-06-02T16:58:00.000-07:00

Well someone needed to update this site so I thought I would tell ya how life is treating us. It has been three weeks since Brad and I have left Utah and have been living in Tucson. Brad is really enjoying his job. His company really treats him well and Brad really likes his co-workers. I still haven't been able to find a job yet but I'm still looking. Maybe I'm just too picky.

Brad celebrated his 26th birthday yesterday. It was just the two of us and I felt a little uncomfortable singing Happy Birthday all by myself, but it was nice and relaxing. Since Brad worked a 13 hour shift yesterday he really wasn't in the mood to go out so I made him dinner and we watched a movie.

Brad and I have been trying to do a little sight seeing. Over the holiday weekend we went to Old Tucson where they shoot all the cowboy movies like John Wayne, the Three Amigos, and even a film that Ronald Reagan was in. It was fun but the hot weather we had to walk in made us tired. We also went to our nearby Indian Reservation to check out their casino since I am now old enough to gamble. On my first dollar I made $17. So I took Brad out to dinner with the money I made.

Enjoy the weather in Utah because the news said last year Tucson went 39 days of tempertures being over 100 deg. They said this year might be worse. Tomorrow is supposed to be 108 deg. so we'll see... Hope all is well!

Havyn vs The Bear

2006-05-20T01:20:00.000-07:00

Really wasn't much of a fight. Havyn got an early jump with a chokehold and slowly rendered the bear into submission. She had this eerie smile the whole time, like she enjoyed destroying the bear. Well, to be honest, the bear had it coming; he'd muddled something under his breath about her wearing a boy's shirt. And She flat out didn't like that. After it was over she stuck her fist in her mouth for a victory blood-lap, all the while snapping the bear's spinal cord with her other hand. While I was documenting this moment she looked at me with this you're-next cold stare. I got goose bumps. I better watch my back; I mean, you saw what she did to that bear. She's quite a fighter really. I just hope she can channel that aggression on the softball field.

Jack of All Trades, Master of None

2006-05-18T22:31:00.000-07:00

I've got the 'poor me' blues; and the chorus--which endlessly pings the walls of my noggin--has more staying power than any childhood incy-wincy-twinkle-tune. I've even tried listening to the Best of the Bee Gees; you know, counter attack, fight fire with fire, but all that's done is heightened the octave of which the 'poor me' blues now pings. Now I feel like the bastard child of Maurice Gibbs and B.B. King. I just hope I don't get diabetes.

The source of my blues stems from not knowing what the hell I should do with my life; well, that and the fact that I just stubbed my toe for the second time tonight. I'm done with school (one more class to go) and yet I'm as lost now as I was when I started. I'm so lost I'm even contemplating law enforcement. The thing that really gets me, is how easy it seems to fit together for everyone else. I hear Ricky knew what he wanted to be just after his birth when he showed the doctor how to stitch up his own level-three tear. Jake was hammering things before he could walk and Kenny, well let's just say Kenny should have been born in Kansas 100 years ago. Cook is to sales what Ahmin is to Logan's Heros and Danny's about as civil engineerish as one can be (take that any way you want to.) I knew Josh was going to be a lawyer when I first met him; since then he's made me proud by arguing everything that's ever come out of my mouth. The other five, Nick, Brad, Nate, Seth and Jordan have all either wanted to go into teeth or medicine, and nothing else from what I recall. And then there's me, who once wanted nothing more than to deliver the mail. I've also thought about nursing, counseling, teaching, writing, film making and stripping (which I know would be very lucrative for someone with a body like mine.)

But here I sit, thinking about starting all over after 4 years of journalism and go pre-med (mainly because everyone else is doing it. I was always a sucker for peer pressure).

Why Am I so fickle? Why can't I just make a decision and stick to it? I feel like Holden Caulfield and the main character from Office Space. If I could do anything in the whole world I would do NOTHING. And I would do Nothing all day long and be perfectly content. Now to figure out a way to get paid for it.

Back in the CV

2006-05-18T09:22:00.000-07:00

Hey folks. It's been too long since I had a chance to catch up with most of you. Where to begin? Last August I married my favorite classmate Maybell. Then I tricked her (twice now, if you count the marriage) into leaving the warm California sun behind and starting our careers in Logan. We just pulled into the valley yesterday and are starting to unpack our things. We'll be in SLC until the end of July studying for the Bar, then starting our law practices here in August. Then we start paying off our student loans. For the next twenty years or so. I've started a trust fund at the bank and Jack has given me his solemn promise to contribute all the proceeds from his book to our student loan fund. So go buy the book!!! Anyway, hope everybody is doing well and we'd love to hear from you.

Graduation

2006-05-15T14:44:00.000-07:00

Well Brad finally did it. It took 5 long years but he successfully graduated with a Bachelors degree in Science. He majored in Industrial Hygiene with an emphasis in Public Health.

We are now in Tucson Arizona. Today was Brad's first day on the job. He is in training right now and will officially start work next week. The weather here is incredibly HOT! It is going to take me a while to get used to it.

The one good thing about our apartment is that we live right across the street from Hollywood video. Our neighobors are quite interesting they are either Mexican or disabled. Yesterday we had quite the experience with some of younger neighbors. While trying to do our laundry a nine year old mexican started to beat up Brad because he wanted to be my girlfriend. It was funny at first until he really started to punch Brad.

Hope your summer has lots of adventures and keep in touch.

Best Films of 2005

2006-05-06T01:42:00.000-07:00

2005 was a good year for film and a good year for film makers. The great auteur's, namely Ingmar Bergman, Terrence Mallick, Steven Speilberg, Woody Allen and David Cronenberg slapped the silverscreen with back-to-form cinema sweetness(with the movies Saraband, The New World, Munich, Match Point and A History of Violence respectively). Peter Jackson shredded all doubt by surpassing post Lord of the Rings expectations with King Kong. And, the irresistible indie genre saw its fair share of low-budget but on-the-money bull's-eyes. The Academy nominated 5 limited released, box-office light weights for best picture and the under appreciated Crash-- a film released 6 months before its oscar nominated counterparts-- baffled those in the Brokeback Mountain camp by stealing their "sure thing," golden boy statuette right from under their cowboy hats. It was a good year for film in deed. My picks for the top 10 of 2005:

10)Devil's Rejects
9)Nine Lives
8)Crash
7)The squid and the whale
6)Palindromes
5)A History of Violence
4)King Kong
3)Junebug
2)Munich
1)Shopgirl

Honorable Mentions: Hustle and Flow, Layer Cake, Sin City, Match Point, Saraband, Rize, Murderball, Good Night and Good Luck, Mysterious Skin, Kiss Kiss Bang Bang.

Anhders

2006-05-05T14:56:00.000-07:00

Hello from Idaho. We hope you like the picture of our growing family. Brownie the calf joined us this spring. His hutch sits in our front yard because we got tired of waiting to find a home with a pasture. Despite our rural setting, we still get some pretty wierd looks from cars that drive by and see a calf in the front yard. Luckily our landlord is very easy-going. If you look close you will also see the bump that is to be our litle boy due in May. Our little girl just turned 2 and lately her favorite thing to do is put on her big rubber boots and jump into the calf's pen-- her dad is so proud. We just bought 5 acres and are getting ready to build a home. We hope to do a lot of the work ourselves, so it will be a very busy summer. We're looking forward to hearing from everyone.

Moving to Arizona

2006-05-04T17:25:00.000-07:00

Well I thought I would try and write our first blog to try and keep Jack happy. Next week Brad and I will be driving 12-14 hrs to our new home in Tucson Arizona. I'm told that I'm in for one long hot summer. Brad got a job with Phelps Dodge a minning company where he will be doing the health and safety for the employees. It will be an exciting and new adventure for us, because it looks like it is going to be a permanent thing. So I hope people will use this site to keep us updated with what is going on in Logan. Wish us luck!

Silly Rascals, Blogs Are For Posting

2006-05-03T18:46:00.000-07:00

Hey you nitwitted nittwitters, post away. I want to see some pics. I want to see what a mini Ricky Gardner in pink looks like and a farm-loving Cleat. I want to see Philedelphia Cook, the California Chambers, the Cherry-Buck-eyes and all you Pre Med Study sluts. Most importantly, I want to see pics of Brad's sweaty face working in the Tucson mine and Danny, Mr. 'I coined the slack A' phrase Macfarlene and his fam. In the meantime you'll have to put up with my overly-zealous proud-pappy phase. And Jon, you better upload stories about Europe by the truck-load.

My Favorite 'Unconventional' Movie Monologue Blips

2006-05-03T12:08:00.000-07:00

Mark Borchardt and Uncle Bill in American Movie

"Last night, man, I was so drunk, I was calling Morocco, man. Trying to get to the Hotel Hilton at Tangiers in Casablanca, man. That's pathetic, man. Is that what you wanna do with your life? Suck down peppermint schnapps and try to call Morocco at 2:00 in the morning? That's senseless. But that's what happens, man."

"I was called to the bathroom at the cemetery to take care of something. I walked in the bathroom, and in the middle toilet right there... somebody didn't shit in the toilet, somebody shat on the toilet. They shat on the wall, they shat on the floor. I had to clean it up, man, but before that, for about 10 to 15 seconds man, I just stared at somebody's shit, man. To be totally honest with you, man, it was a really, really profound moment. Cuz I was thinkin', "I'm 30 years old, and in about 10 seconds I gotta start cleaning up somebody's shit, man."

Mel Brooks' The Producers

"Bloom, I'm drowning. Other men sail through life, but I’ve struck a reef. Bloom, I'm going under. I'm condemned by a society that demands success when all I can offer is failure. Bloom, I'm reaching out to you. Don't send me to prison... HEEELLP!"

David Byrne of The Talking Heads in True Stories

"I really enjoy forgetting. When I first come to a place, I notice all the little details. I notice the way the sky looks. The color of white paper. The way people walk. Doorknobs. Everything. Then I get used to the place and I don't notice those things anymore. So only by forgetting can I see the place again as it really is."

"I have something to say about the difference between American and European cities. But I've forgotten what it is. I have it written down at home though."

Amy Adams in Junebug

"I don't want your water breaking. We just had the upholstery cleaned."

"Where would I be if I was a screwdriver?"

Office Space

"Good evening Sir, my name is Steve. I come from a rough area. I used to be addicted to crack but now I am off it and trying to stay clean. That is why I am selling magazine subscriptions."

Celebrating life Through Tragedy

2006-05-03T10:31:00.000-07:00

As a parent one can't help think about what 'could' happen. Tragic anecdotes of impromptu fatal child accidents fill you with mass dumpings of fear and anxiety. Sometimes over-protectedness streamlines a semi-caustious eye into an ever-anticipating accident-preventive parental nut. A feather-soft bonk on the head becomes 911 trauma-rama; and a sniffly nose becomes a symptom for the plague of death.

But when these terrible accidents do happen, I'd like to think I'd be able to handle it the way Wesley's parents did. Wesley died in a freak accident. It was nobody's fault. His bicycle helmet got caught on a swing chain while playing on his playground in his fenced-in backyard. The chin strap strangled him.

His obit celebrates his short life:

Even as an infant, on Sunday mornings, his mommy and daddy and sissy taught him to dance in a little cottage on Imperial street. In the years he traversed this earth, he continued to dance with a rhythm in his steps and a song in his heart...

Wesley went to Disneyland for the first time in his life this past Christmas, where he waved at Santa Claus and napped on his dad's lap in the ice cream parlor in between fun. It was on this vacation where Wesley first placed his little toes in the ocean near Diver's cove in Laguna Beach. He said: "Dad CAN-I-FORNIA is the best trip I've ever been on."

Wesley was also introduced to skiing for the first time this year. He loved every minute on the snow with his mom, sissy and very special friends.

Wesley was a student at the Jewish Community Center early child development program and was loved by his teachers.

To parents, his father incites:

We ask that all who read this hold your children a little tighter tonight. Give them their dreams. Look them in the eyes every day and tell them you love them.

I work with Wesley's Aunt Jill. Jill's 2-and-a-half-year-old son Logan wants to know what's wrong with Wesley. "How come Wesley's not here?" Logan asked at the funeral. The two boys and another cousin were best buddies and known within the family as the three amigos. "I'll be batman and Wesley will be Spiderman when he comes over," Logan says. Logan, although appropiately told by his parents about what happened with Wesley doesn't understand. "Oh, you mean he got hurt, I'll make him better," Logan says. Jill, the usual personification of giddy positivity feels burdened by relating --in comprehendible two-year-old fashion-- the truth about Wesley.

Variants of pressure live abundantly in the lives of parents. Stress can steal sleepy time and sufficate daylight hours. It can peruse the mind even during nonchalant moments and lead to excessive worry and rumination. It can but it doesn't have to. Unfortantetly, accidents happen. In the meantime celebrate living.

Favorite 'Bad Movie' Scene

2006-04-27T21:11:00.000-07:00

While most movies suck like a redneck chick's hickie loving beau, they can usually hide their bruises better. Some scenes save a movie like a turtleneck on a promiscuous tramp. But, like the turtleneck they only hide a portion of the pic. A stinker is still a stinker. My all time favorite, 'turtleneck' scence:

True Romance's "eggplant" scene:

This racist clash between Dennis Hopper and Christopher Walker is one the best verbal showdown duels on film. Walker's godfather-like character, sharp and slick, belittles Hopper's blue collar trailer trash with grace and spite. Out of no where, Hopper shoots back with a family tree history tale of Walker's origins. Now, Hopper's on top, confident and strong pounding this monologue-rebuke down Walker's throat. It's classic mobster ball breaking. Of course, Walker's the one with the gun.

Explicitly Stereotypical

2006-04-27T17:52:00.000-07:00

I want to stress what Crash is really about. The best way I can do this is quote my favorite online critic and fellow USU student Alex Jackson.

It’s a film about racism. Don’t think that it’s about anything other than racism any more than Traffic is about anything other than the drug trade. It’s a broad epic film about a specific social issue. Second, the characters in Crash are not human beings. They are placeholders representing the converging attitudes and frustrations of their host race and ethnicity. Yes, the film is not at all subtle, and no, these characters are not at all three-dimensional (though writer/director Paul Haggis has his characters do lots of contradictory things and his talented cast successfully finds ways to join these contradictions in order to give their characters the illusion of depth). Subtleness and three-dimensionality are not virtues in this situation, though. Racism is a fairly complex issue and in order to examine its complexities we need everything to be blown-up and larger than life.

Jackson’s point illustrates the true nature and purpose of Crash’s characters. Its fun to think this is a meditative exploration into real Los Angeles. But in this case, Haggis just uses L.A. as a backdrop to play out his point. He could have used any town in America. Racism is not exclusive to L.A but since its universally known as a melting pot of diversity it seemed a logical choice for Haggis.

Explicit Stereotyping
The Eastern European shop owner exchanged a heated confrontation with locksmith, and Mexican-American Daniel. The shop owner felt he was being cheated, partly because the two couldn’t communicate and partly because he harbored certain prejudices toward Daniel’s ethnicity. Daniel’s appearance: shaved head, tattoos, and a wife-beater tank tap fit the requirements for the shop owner’s definition of a lazy, low balling Mexican. When Daniel tried to explain that he couldn’t fix the lock because the door was not aligned correctly, the shop owner shouted obscenities and blamed Daniel when his shop was broken into and vandalized. The shop owner applied his anger and explicit stereotypical grudge-riddled vendetta toward Daniel and tried to kill him. The expression, an engaging encounter involving a gun and torn conscious, was public, not necessarily because people were or weren’t around but because it was done without any hesitation or discretion. The Fundamental Attribution Error refers to the observer’s bias and is supported in this case. Unknown to the shop owner, Daniel was actually an honest hardworking father who had been at the mercy of implicit stereotyping earlier in the film (with Sandra Bullock’s character). Daniel is aware of how difficult it is for him to convey his true character in an area where people like him are easily pointed out for societal flaws. The shop owner knew nothing of his reformation or renewal work ethic, and only saw him as a stereotype. Luckily the shop owner’s forward thinking daughter, who must have known of her father’s impulsiveness, bought blanks for his gun instead of the real thing. The encounter with Daniel could have ended messy.

Implicit Stereotyping
Whereas explicit stereotyping is conscious, deliberative, and controllable, implicit stereotyping involves a lack of awareness and automatic activation. In the beginning of the film, Jean (Sandra Bullock) and her husband walk by two young black guys in an upper class part of town. Jean unconsciously veers out of the way of the two young men to avoid them. Later in the film we find Jean as a bitter, homemaking burnout. She is a racist but doesn’t know it. Her aggression toward other races is built on her silver-spooned fed upbringing. She is entitled and they (everyone else) are her stepping stools to high society. She sees the two young black men on the street as thieves or muggers. She doesn’t feel these two young black men should be in her side of town. Although her expression of the stereotype is done publicly, Jean feels it’s justified because of who she is and what she is. Therefore it’s not a matter of a public or private forum; it’s a matter of entitlement and internal class distinctions. She would have done the same thing in front of a large crowd. Jean represents the implicit stereotyper in all of us. She is the most universal character. Her role as a housewife indicates that it could be anybody. Jean’s expressions however, do not support the Fundamental Attribution Error because she’s right. At least in this case she is. The young boys do mug them and steal their car. In addition, it’s important to point out the active narration provided by Anthony (Chris "Ludacris" Bridges). Anthony, an articulate, well-dressed carjacker is also bitter and tired of being stereotyped. He feels that America owes him because of its history with inequality. Anthony would bite the hand that feeds him and then complain that it doesn’t taste good enough; all the while expressing how much the hand owes it to him to feed him. He symbolizes the obvious, out-in-front contradictory nature of himself and others like him; as well as the irony in openly rebuking the very nature of the very thing your engaging in.

Undoubtedly Duba

2006-04-25T22:13:00.000-07:00

Dibley's pups

Duba, the sole survivor

Last day with Mom and Dad

Duba Now

We had this great idea: Breed Dibley, sell the pups and use the money to pay off Havyn's birth bills. If it sounds too easy it probably is. Dibley's pups came a week early and we weren't ready. She had them throughout the house. Blood splattered our carpet, couches and the christmas decorations in the closet. It was the one saturday that Ty and I couldn't be home, but by our estimations we didn't need to be. We found Duba, the largest of the four pups, through his this-can't-be-right cries. He was tucked inbetween the micro-fiber love-seat cushions. The other three were scattered throughout the closet. We placed them in Dibley's Welping box and let Mom go to work. Unfortanately Mom didn't want to go to work.

Less then a week later I sat peering at the remaining two through the incubator glass at the animal hospital. Both on inabators. Their two siblings died in my hands a few days earlier. Life is fleeting. When you watch something, no matter how small, take its last breath you feel its death. Its muscles stiffen and skin grows cold. The transition from life to death is soft and slow. I remember giving some make-shift form of CPR to try to revive the first one. The second one's neck looked broken, it went much quicker. Dibley had been moving her pups back and forth in her welping box since their births. Each one had puncture holes. Duba was the biggest. Being nearly twice the size of the other three and much more lively, Duba surivived when the others couldn't. It was almost as if he was fighting to live. After his sister died we brought him home and hand fed him every two hours for four weeks. He continued to get stronger, livelier and more playful.

Havyn was born when Duba was five weeks old. We were swamped with responsiblities and made the decision to sell him, even after committing to keep him a few days earlier. We hated to see him go but were happy with who he went with.

Even though the whole dibley breeding/birthing experience was sad and difficult it acted as a parental precurser for Havyn. By the time she came around we were used to crawling out of bed every two hours and fixing up a bottle. We knew about the art of sucking and proper bottle nipples. We were used to having patience with sucking too fast and spit-up clean-up on asile floor.

Now looking back I can't imagine not having the experience of taking care of little, run-in-to-anything-and-everything Duba. He helped us more than we helped him.

My New Perspective

2006-04-24T21:44:00.000-07:00

Havyn's happy as a lark

punky Havyn

Our first family portrait

When I'm cruising around Blogger checking out the various blogs I see many a baby-page-blog. Proud parents uploading baby pics by the folder load, and commenting on the ins and outs of their baby's lives. A lot of this stuff is easy, cheesy and quick: a pic and a caption, a pic and a caption and an occasional comment on how exhausted the parent is.

Most of this stuff is universal: baby ate, she was so cute; baby slept and oh how cute she was; baby pooped, and if there wasn't the darndest poop-relief cute expression on her face.

Most of these blogs I came across were set up just for this purpose. And what a purpose indeed. Comedian David Cross has this schtick on one of his CD's where he comments about what it's like to be the non-parent friend to these overly exited parent types. To paraphrase, "Oh my baby was so cute, he ate a grape today, you should have seen him eat this grape." Cross fires four letter worded sarcastic quips, indicating how great it must be to watch your kid eat a grape. He pounds across how little he cares about his friend's kids and their grape eating moments and goes on and on about various related experiences and how he could care less. I laughed my ass off while listening. He definetly had a point. But when you're a parent, no matter how cynical and hip, it's different. Watching this little spasm-frenzied milk spitter smile, laugh and feel the water of a bath for the first time is enchanting. Especially since the proudful humming of the inward thought that "this little bobble-head is mine" replays like a broken record. Every move, either controlled or not is realized as a first, and there's something poetically rich about it.

The Hostel Brokeback Saga

2006-04-23T00:02:00.000-07:00

As seen on Hard News Cafe

Being a Utah native and growing up LDS in a predominately LDS community, I'm very familiar with Jazz owner and the you-know-this-guy car dealing czar Larry H. Miller. Miller, during the opening weekend of Brokeback Mountain at his Salt Lake Jordan Commons Megaplex this summer pulled the picture hours before its Utah début. Of course this sparked a fiery controversy with community members. Supposedly Miller had just heard that morning that the film was about homosexuality and made the call to pull the film. Miller is known for his deep religious conviction. He doesn't go to Jazz games on Sundays and bankrolls LDS film projects.

The controversy, of course, was good publicity for Brokeback. As a limited release film Brokeback surpassed box office predictions and received all kinds of accolades. It also did well in Utah and eventually came to Logan and stayed for an astonishing four weeks (those of you who know Logan, know that that's saying something). Miller, when asked by the local Media as to why he did it, said he didn't agree with the content and got a lot of flack and praise for saying that. My staunch, straight arrow father called him a hero. Others called him a hypocrite, pointing out other films that the church would also frown upon that were shown in his theaters at the same time as Brokeback. Case in Point, Eli Roth's Hostel. After having seen both Films, I can't help but comment.

Hostel is brutally baked with decapitations, chainsaw limb hacking, disembowelments, eye plucking and brick powered skull bashing. In addition it blows Brokeback out of the water in the sex/nudity category as well. This film boarders on NC-17 and by nature is anti-American, inhumane, sadistic, cruel and bloodthirsty. But, one thing is for sure there are no homosexuals, if anything, the film is also anti-gay. One scene shows a man on a train touch the knee of the man he's sitting next to and get's called a 'faggot.'

In contrast, Brokeback is the classic tragic love story. It follows the romantic and secretive 20 year relationship of cowboy's Jack and Enis and profoundly defies the stereotypical masculine nature of the cowboy image. It provokes altered, off-the-beaten-path thinking and promotes conversation about the traditionally taboo subject of homosexuality. It's also a reflective portrait of small-town America and typical conservative, xenophobic closed-mindedness.

So, Is Miller heroic for standing up for his values and standards or is he just another homophobe? Had he seen both films would his decision still have been the same? Perhaps this is just another illustration on mainstream society's homophobia. Does showing Hostel over Brokeback imply that Miller would rather promote brutality and merciless killings over homosexuality? If the content concern for Miller was sex scenes, why didn't he pull Hostel and many other films like it that showcase explicit erotica? Would he rather watch people die than see men kiss?

At the time's of Miller's decision I posed this hypothetical question to a co-worker while conversing about the situation. "Would you rather watch 2 guys kiss or someone get decapitated?" Surprisingly his answer was the later. My co-worker is a non-traditional male nurse and just got his doctorate degree. I was banking on a different answer from him. So maybe Miller's not so far off. Maybe the later would be the consensus of most Americans. I would like to hope it wouldn't be.

Super 'Spoiled' Sweet 16

2006-04-21T12:12:00.000-07:00

Entitled rampaging teens on MTV's "Super Sweet 16" demand, command and repremand everyone in their path. They sulk, pout, beg and temper-tantrum like terrible-two-year-olds. The only difference is they get the latest BMW sportscar when their parents give in. Self-proclaimed diva's and daddy's-little-princesses are followed by MTV's cameras as they plan and promote their self-indulgent birthday bashes. Being the priviliged, coming-of-age youth of America has its price, and in this case, the parents pick up the tab. As with most reality shows, and especially MTV teen reality programs, "Sweet 16" follows a simple, scripted formula: watch child beg for the best, spirial out of control when things don't go her way and sigh at the end how wonderful it was to feel famous for a day.

How does it feel for the viewer? "Time" Magazine's Ana Marie Cox says it best:

To witness such unself-conscious acquisitiveness in one sitting is like eating an entire normal-kid birthday-party sheet cake, wax decorative candles and all. There's the same queasy sense of monochromatic excess because all the shows are alike, from the fake panic that the party may not happen to the scary-sexy dry humping on the dance floor. And no matter what the nominal theme of the party--California beach party, Moulin Rouge, the color pink--each guest of honor is really after only one thing. "I feel famous. I love it," says one. Another: "I definitely felt like I was famous." Yet one more: "I felt like such a star." The teenagers take on all the tics of fame, from tiny dogs to referring to oneself in the third person. We are all Paris Hilton now

The ungrategul diva's and their enabling parents make great drama-trauma tv, but more importantly, as with most my other favorite guilty-pleasure programs, they reinforce the notion of my own supposed stability. Which is the greatest, half-ass reason to justify watching these exploitative meditations of American society.

Embedded or 'Inbedded' Journalism

2006-04-21T12:00:00.000-07:00

Embedded journalism is a political strategy to control content flow in the Iraq war resulting in limited skewed coverage. The limited coverage ranges from loss of objectivity due to uncontrolled assignment locations to the dependent and fraternal nature of the relationships of reporters and soldiers in their assigned units. Reporter’s views are altered and their empathy increased when their dependency to survive is solely based on the soldiers in their units, whose psychological and emotional states may be affected by what is reported.

“The embedded reporters depended on the men and women in the units they were attached to for food, water, companionship and indeed for their survival at times. Gordon Dillow, a reporter for the Orange County Register, wrote in the Columbia Journalism Review, that he found himself falling in love with his subjects. ‘I fell in love with ‘my’ Marines.’ In some stories, he said, “I wasn’t reporting the truth; the point was I was reporting the Marine grunt truth—which had also become my truth.” There was no misrepresenting of facts, just an empathetic tone, reports that often lacked a skeptical edge” (Pember, "Mass Media Law," p.87).

Bob Steele, from the Poynter Institute, says the access "has allowed reporters and photographers to get closer to understanding (the complexities of war), to tell the stories of fear and competence, to tell the stories of skill and confusion. I think that's healthy." But, Steele cautioned that “while closeness can breed understanding, journalists must remain objective and not write about ‘we’ or ‘our,’ but about ‘they.’ There's nothing wrong with having respect in our hearts for the men and women who are fighting this war, or respect for the men and women who are marching in the anti-war protests. The key is to make sure those beliefs don't color reporting” (Pros and Cons of Embedded Journalism on www.pbs.org).

In the process of embedding journalists the war coverage may be distorted or even shaped to protect the troops. However, Journalism ethics demand objective coverage so to perpetuate and promote open and honest communication with the audience in contrast to shifting the news to protect the soldiers.

Syracuse University Professor Robert Thompson warns, “When you are part of the troops that you’re going in with, these are your fellow human beings. You are being potentially shot a together, and I think there is a sense that you become part of that group in a way that a journalist doesn’t necessarily want to be” (Pros and Cons of Embedded Journalism on www.PBS.org).

Some critics felt that the level of oversight was too strict and that embedded journalists would “make reports that were too sympathetic to the American side of the war, leading to use of the alternate term ‘inbedded journalist’ or ‘inbeds’” (Embedded Journalist on http://en.wikipedia.org).

The embedded journalists feel pressure to adhere to the agenda of the unit their assigned, and often times feel the repercussions of reporting ‘negative’ stories differing from the views or intentions of the members in their unit.

“When journalists working for the Washington Times revealed that two U.S. Marines had died when they were ordered to swim across a canal in full battle gear without a safety line, they were blackballed by the unit with which they were embedded, cut off from all information. They eventually joined another unit” (Pember,"Mass Media Law," p.86).

In addition to reporting empathetically, being subjected to only a fixed area and unit may alter the reporter’s perception of the war. Part of the process of embedding journalists is to unite them with a particular unit whom they will be with for the duration of their report. The unit’s location assignment is now the reporter’s, and the reporter’s experience and perception of the war is based on where he is assigned. This strips the reporter of an objective opinion because it controls his experience to a limited, fixed area.

“Even reporters who supported the system [embedded journalism] admitted that it provided viewers and readers with only a tiny slice of what was happening in the war. New York reporter Vincent Morris said, ‘This war is whatever piece of dirt you are sitting on.’ He was attached to a helicopter unit, so the war is about helicopters, he said. Reporters were not permitted to leave their units to look outside, at what was happening elsewhere. Eric Sorenson, president of MSNBC, estimated that the embedded reporters saw far less than 10 percent of what actually was taking place, and that is what they reported” (Pember, "Mass Media Law," p.87).

Embedding journalists may have been part of a political strategy to reconcile bad publicity generated by past military conflicts for allegations of censorship, such as in Deseret Storm. In contrast, some critics feel the government during the Vietnam War resulted in to much freedom for the press. Embedded journalism may have been a strategy to balance war coverage by allowing press free reign within certain boundaries and guidelines. In this technological age, where computer-mediated communication allows anybody to post comments and opinions it may also have been in the government’s best interest to control the flow of information by embedding journalists in actual military units. Regardless the reason embedded journalism results in worse news coverage and is a form of censorship that violates First Amendment rights:

“The objectivity of embedded journalists has been repeatedly called into question. This is often raised not so much as a direct violation of the First Amendment (in the sense of a law prohibiting journalists from reporting certain issues) as it is a violation of the free speech principles behind the First Amendment of preserving the independence of a watchdog press. Usually the charge is not that embedded journalists have deliberately become government propaganda machines, but that by unconsciously associating themselves so closely with a military unit, they have become unable to objectively report on the war without placing themselves on the military’s side” (National Security on the Press on www.ezinearticles.com/?National-Security-and-the-Press-Part-Four---The-Risks-of-Embedded-Journalists&id=83556).

If embedded journalism results in worse coverage, then what is ‘better’ coverage? In order to act as ‘gatekeepers’ and ‘watchdogs’ of information journalists adhere to ethical standards so to promote the best possible news coverage. “
Public enlightenment is the forerunner of justice and the foundation of democracy. The duty of the journalist is to further those ends by seeking truth and providing a fair and comprehensive account of events and issues. Conscientious journalists from all media and specialties strive to serve the public with thoroughness and honesty. Professional integrity is the cornerstone of a journalist's credibility. Members of the Society share a dedication to ethical behavior and adopt this code to declare the Society's principles and standards of practice” (Code of Ethics on www.spj.org).

If embedded journalism results in limited skewed coverage and represents a subjective or empathetic tone then, according to the Society of Professional Journalist’s Code of Ethics, it doesn’t meet the high standards of journalistic practice, and therefore, results in worse news coverage. The standard for war time journalism has also been set.

“Several months after the Gulf War, a committee representing most of the nation's major news media issued a report stating that ‘independent’ and ‘uncensored reporting’ should be ‘the principal means of coverage’ for all future wars and military operations. The report also proposed some battlefield press rules, including the following:

1. The Pentagon should accredit independent journalists, who must observe ‘a clear set of military security guidelines that protect U.S. forces and their operations.’ Violators of these guidelines should be expelled from the combat zone.

2. Press pools should be used only during the first 2-36 hours of any major military operation.

3. Reporters should have free access to all major military units.

4. The military should not monitor or interfere with press interviews or any part of the reporting process.

5. Written dispatches and pictures from the field should not be subject to any ‘military security review."
The press argued that these rules would ensure press freedom and offer security to our military forces” (Press Freedom vs. Military Censorship on http://www.crf-usa.org).

‘Better’ news coverage is the adherence to the ethical standards of practice and exhibiting this responsibility by reporting the news fair and objectively. Embedded journalism, by nature, restricts the reporter to a limited sector of the news and instills a brotherhood loyalty to depict the war empathetically to those you see it with. This conflicts with the journalists code of ethics and results in worse news coverage in juxtaposition to the intended ‘gatekeeper,’ objective point of view initially sought for.

Liking "King Kong" means being sophisticated

2006-04-20T15:22:00.000-07:00

Being somewhat a film buff and certainly an avid participant of film criticism, I was stupified when my brother-in-law tried arguing why film critics, and critics in general were cynical naysayers and unneeded. True, his argument was nothing more than a bitter opinion about people who dislike the movies he likes, but he was somewhat pasionate in conveying his opinion. He tried telling me that critics are negative people and that we don't need this negativity in our lives. He suggested that we watch the movies we want and not be swayed by the views of these "detractors." It was pointless to argue. The conversation was a bit silly really. But then I got thinking, being a 'avid participant of film criticism,' who's right and who's wrong? Are there any actual experts? I know we end up jumping into a roundtable on asthestics, and the definiton of art but is it so bad to love what many would call a terrible film? All rhetoric questions really. I did stumble across an intersting perspective at Film Freak Central however.

I basically distrust the idea of the film expert simply because so few of them are really experts. There are really three kinds of film buffs: the classic film buffs who are well-aquainted with Hollywood studio films from the pre-MPAA era; the cult film buffs who are junkies for sensation, the Quentin Tarantinos and Psychotronic Movie Guide crowd, if you will, they're well-aquainted with anything "exploitation"; and then there are the art film buffs, who tend to be the most arrogant of the bunch-- the self-proclaimed experts of films. The problem with these guys is that they only watch the "cream" of the exploitation and classic genres. The only way you can get them to watch the "dregs" is if the dregs are playing in theaters across the country and are topical. Because they don't watch the shitty classics and the shitty exploitation films, they're unfamiliar with the genre conventions and can often have a grossly slanted view of something like, say, film noir.

If you think yourself a film expert you sure as fuck better be able to converse fluently about hardcore porn from the early eighties. To say nothing of the Friday the 13th decalog. I'd also love to hear your opinion on the nine films that James Cagney made between The Public Enemy and Footlight Parade.

It's not just breadth and depth of knowledge about film. I always go back on that rant that these arbitrators of film culture are not experts on psychology, sociology, theology, anthropology, geography, history, or philosophy. Many are well-read, few if any well-read enough to justify their position in deciding what's art and what's not. Are there gradients? I would assume, but as there could hardly ever be anybody who is qualified to be an arbitrator of film culture, that line that somebody must cross in order to determine what's great art will be pretty much perpetually undefined.

So basically, Joe Blow's opinion really is as good as yours and mine. Find something you like, find something you hate; figure out what you like and what you hate and why. Any asshole with a keyboard can be a film critic, all you need is an opinion that you're going to stand by. I've found myself searching on the IMDB for people who love (or even just like) Man of the House, Firewall, and Dukes of Hazzard and see if they hate anything "good". I did find one Firewall fan who also really liked Aeon Flux, Uptown Girls, Resident Evil: Apocalypse and The Skeleton Key and disliked King Kong. (He also disliked 2046, but then again so did I). Granted for every film that this guy dislikes there're ten that he likes. That seems to be the dominant trend among the "bad" movie fans and disqualifies them from being regarded as valid film critics. Not because they're not sophisticated enough to like King Kong, but just because they don't have real opinions. But still, if you think that The Skeleton Key is a good movie and King Kong isn't you might be seeing something that the rest of us aren't and I'm eager to find out what it is. The Skeleton Key fans usually disappoint me, but you know I can't take the elitist position because, basically, there for the grace of God go I.

All the little in-betweens

2006-04-20T11:43:00.000-07:00

America is a place of strong opinions. The left the right, the middle and all the little in-betweens need to articulate thier woes, worries and whims. They need to yelp and pout and let it all out, and create the sounds of democracy and freedom. Most people, in the process of recieving such "noise" wait to talk instead of listening. So much of this process seems to be one sided. I like to think I would listen to the illustrator of this painting describe it's meaning to me before spouting out my spew. I'd like to think I'd listen with the hope of being enlightened. But who's to say what I'd do. What do you think?

"The Mother and Child Reunion"

2006-04-17T21:11:00.000-07:00

Impossible to describe, in an all inclusive manner, the up-and-down twirl-around, emotionally-charged-freight-train experience of having a child. I remember counting, pushing, blood-soaked orifice peering and sweaty furrowed brows. I remember the ground-hog like peek Havyn's slimy noggin first made. It reached the war-torn, moistened surface with valiant effort and remained the clogged-drain object for many more pain stinging pushes. Doctor wanted to suction her out. He nabbed a make-shift suction cupper and began the bruising. Her head, swelled and oozy, slipped through. The scene was familiar. I watched with interest years earlier at "the Miracle of Birth" tape during Health Ed. Most kids collapsed their heads against their desks, muddling out "eeewwww" and "siiiick." I, bright eyed and bushy-tailed, soaked in every detail. The vagina is a fascinating thing. No other body part emits such candid duality. One moment it's the tunnel to light and life, where education awaits, and the next it's the x-rated provocateur, luring men like mice to a trap.

When Havyn finally squeezed through, she was put aboard the mother ship of nursery carts. She was an awakening creature of the night, slimy and dark. Her caterwaul pierced the air like a fog horn. Nurses snaked her throat like plumbers to a drain, stuffing the probes in and suctioning meconium out. I stood between my little yelping goo ball and the abyss from which she exited. The doctor threaded his needle, calmed my wife with statements like "perfectly normal," and "happens all the time" and began the forging of the "level two," torn, animal-bite-like surface. She was white and barely moving. Her marathon, 21 hours of 2-minuet-apart contracting stomach muscles was over. The cause for her laborious, courageous effort laid 20 feet away but to her, seemingly forever. Havyn's high-decibel concert seemed to be nearing its finale. Wrapped like a burrito in a pink blanket, the nurse handed her to me and pointed to my wife. In moments like these you forget about science and biology. You don't pay attention to truths of a newborns black and white, foot-long visual capabilities. When you look in her eyes you know she's looking back. I had 20 feet with her and felt like an armored Truck driver carrying a sack of fortune, nothing was going to stop me from getting to my destination. Now, quiet, clean and warm, Havyn was nothing like the hideous mucky monster baby who crawled from out of the dark. She laid still and peaceful and I was soaking up this long-awaited meeting but something compelled me to hastely approach my wife. Because, in the words of Paul Simon "the mother and child reunion was only a motion away."

2005-09-19T16:06:00.000-07:00

Recent Films I've Seen and Enjoyed

Strange Days- I was on a kathryn bigelow kick for a spell, which started with this film. Grossly underated, Days is a massive production sci-fi thriller pedelling apocolyptic paranoia. It's rabid glimpse into streetlife and the crooked cops who police it, parrallels with genre-relatives but stands alone as the cooky idealistic cousin.
Ghost Dog- "Broken Flowers" has the critics in a flurry, as did many of Jim Jarmusch's films. Ghost Dog: The way of the Samurai is as compelling as it is ambiguous. Culturely cruel and aesthetically harsh, Ghost Dog triumps in its peculiar naration--readings of Samurai codes, but flounders with pretentious scenes and dialouge. Jarmusch attempts a culture juxaposition with two masculine, loyalty-based brotherhoods: mafia and samurai, all the while infusing various sub-cultures. If nothing else, Ghost Dog is worth viewing (oddly enough) for its sound. Wu-Tang-Clan's RZA is responsible.
Crash- Ensamble pieces are a dime a dozen-- good ensamble pieces rest with Crash. Written like a impromptu essay on race, crime, and culture, Crash explores social barries, structures and institutions while highlighting and demonizing its players. Its examanation is harsh and seeminly unmeditated. Crash works circular--nonchantly connecting all its charachters in various dramaticlly scripted scenes. One by one, each charachter reaches his/her arch moment--the pinnacle inner change or awakening--by the aid of the other charchters, whether through reasonability or folly.

2005-09-16T11:44:00.000-07:00

I admit, it bothers me sometimes when I'm sitting all nifty and comfy, settled and pleasent--watching Family Guy reruns on TBS--when I get the ole' beckon from another room--seemingly another planet--to "come put the jam back in the fridge."

The mood-buster of the ages.

My either, forgetful nogin, or lazy behind leaves these little gems all over the house. But it isn't until both are engulfed with soft padding that the presence of the little left-behinders are discoverd by the Mrs.

So I do what any loving husband would do in this situation--

"You do it," I yell, while fixated on Stewie's lemon-shaped head.

Well the other night, Ty flanked me from out of nowhere. "Hey bud," she whispered in that you're-gonna-get-some-tonight croon, "I've got a secret for you downstairs, come see." Lured, like homeless to a trash bin, I get all bug-eyed and ancy and follow the siren's tempting voice in a hypnotic trance. Once in the kitchen she let me have it.

"Put the cereal away," she said as she pointed to the taunting box infront of me. My counter call would be no use, for she had cornered me like the prey that I was. I had cereal hours ago, and would no doubt have another bowl soon. But again, her cackal whipped the air swift "Put it away," as she pointed, this time, to the Lazy-Susan in which the cereal belonged. And so I obeyed.

I opened the Lazy-Susan cabinet and discovered an unnatural sight. There infront of me was.....

A gallon of room-tempeture milk.

Ooops.

Then it dawned on me, in my mind I had already put it away.

2005-09-16T09:13:00.000-07:00

Ty and I went shopping last night at Dillards for Trina's bridal shower. Well, I didn't really take part in the actual shopping effort, but I did notice how bored I got waiting for Tyrel to pick something out. I was so bored, I felt like I was driving to blanding.

It boggles my mind how a female can have an entire list filled with options--filled with options already selected by the intended reciever, and still not be able to select a gift under an hour. Yet, if I were to comment and suggest any possible time-saving techniques, any number of minuete-crunching solutions I would simply be rubbed off as a person who "doesn't understand." But thats just it. That's one thing I do understand, as does every man on this planet, the variable that makes the most sense: Pick the cheapest thing in least walking distance away. Its a simple matter of deduction and practicality. How could you "not understand?"

Either way, there I was, bidding my time with the kind of foolish stupor only acheived when put in place by a woman on a mission. I decided to make my self as useful as a useless husband could by juggling any three objects relativley of the same size and weight. At first, I tackled those cashier-close, mushy, stress-releif balls. But Oh, how easy. Why must I even bother? I needed something more challenging, something with bit more umph. It was then when I spotted them: those muted-toned rooster-shaped porcelein container lids. Not as heavy as they look I said while grasping the goldish one. This will be cake. You know that moment when you absolutley know you shouldn't do what your about to but know your going to anyway-- mine was beautiful. A little internal argument, bashed by that thread of male stupidity-the one that will do anything to prove itself through.

I started off well. The first toss is always the hardest, but once that's down, it's just a simple matter of rthymn. Infact the first effort began and ended with zero casaulties. But why stop while you're ahead, right?

Suddenly I got this freaky feeling, like someone was watching me. I slowly turned to the right and sure enough, there he was, just a staring. Ugly too. The kind of face that makes you instantly close your eyes, hoping to wake up at any moment. I can't tell you how truly horrifying it was when I discoverd the face was my own. But thats when the brilliant idea hit me. sure I can juggle looking directly at the objects, but what If I juggled while looking at the reflection of my objects, truly a feat. And so it began.

Like I said the first toss is crucial. So if the first toss causes two cocks to smash face to face, well, then that would ruin the whole thing. And believe me it did. Oddly enough, nobody heard. The two little unattached beaks could quickly and quietly be kicked under a display case and the lids positioned heads-away.

I learned my lesson. Next time it will be geese.

2005-09-11T21:32:00.000-07:00

This is cletus the fetus.