Every night between 8:30 and 9:30, a deer wanders down my driveway and sets of my driveway alarm. I generally run to the door to make sure I'm not being attacked by zombies (silly you might say, but you can never be too careful), and find nothing out there. Slippery bastards, those deer (I know it's a deer because I caught a fleeting glimpse of her once).
There are no deer in NYC. Well, actually maybe there are some in Central Park. I don't know, I didn't see any.
I just got back from the City, where I went to visit my friend Marianne. She seriously hasn't changed one bit since I used to hang out with her years ago (more than 10 even), and we had a great time talking and reminiscing about old times. I was reminded once again that it's important to keep in touch with people from your past, because they remember things in ways that you don't. The key is to not rely solely on your recollection of events as historic documentation - other people might have a better handle on how things went down than you, and it's important sometimes to see things how they really were.
That's tricky though. Memory is a funny thing.
Things aren't always what they seem, especially in retrospect. I remember things that happened completely differently than other people who lived through the same thing.
So, the lesson learned is that things are not always what they seem. A deer that sets off your driveway alarm might be a zombie, and what you remember to be history might not be quite the way it was. Nothing is always exactly what it seems.
So don't assume that what is setting off your driveway alarm is a zombie, but be careful, because it might be.
Monday, March 31, 2008
Thursday, March 27, 2008
Real Eyes, Realize
A man walks into a forest and sits down on a log to meditate. From his meditation, he finds internal warmth and happiness.
Before long, a rabbit hops over to him and sits back on his haunches, watching the man inquisitively and twitching his whiskers. The man regards the rabbit and thinks to himself, "This rabbit, while cute and fluffy, would require too effort on my part if we were to be friends - it cannot fend for itself against predators, and so I would constantly be playing the role of its protector." The man ignores the rabbit, and before long the rabbit hops away.
Soon, a fox slinks up to the man and sits down next to his feet, licking his paws and cleaning himself. The man regards the fox, and thinks to himself, "This fox, while adept at hunting, is too independent to be friends with - he wouldn't share his meals with me and is too aloof." The man says nothing to the fox, and before long, the fox finishes cleaning himself and disappears back into the underbrush.
A little later, a snake slithers up to the man and curls up on the log next to him. The man regards the snake, and thinks to himself, "This snake, while cunning and fast, is too dangerous to have as a friend - snakes can bite or smother, and you can never be too careful." So the man ignores the snake, who eventually hisses off through the fallen leaves.
So the man remains on the log alone with his thoughts, and soon it begins to rain. The rabbit is warm and dry in his burrow, the fox in her den, the snake in his hole.
The man is wet and his body begins to feels cold.
Before long, a rabbit hops over to him and sits back on his haunches, watching the man inquisitively and twitching his whiskers. The man regards the rabbit and thinks to himself, "This rabbit, while cute and fluffy, would require too effort on my part if we were to be friends - it cannot fend for itself against predators, and so I would constantly be playing the role of its protector." The man ignores the rabbit, and before long the rabbit hops away.
Soon, a fox slinks up to the man and sits down next to his feet, licking his paws and cleaning himself. The man regards the fox, and thinks to himself, "This fox, while adept at hunting, is too independent to be friends with - he wouldn't share his meals with me and is too aloof." The man says nothing to the fox, and before long, the fox finishes cleaning himself and disappears back into the underbrush.
A little later, a snake slithers up to the man and curls up on the log next to him. The man regards the snake, and thinks to himself, "This snake, while cunning and fast, is too dangerous to have as a friend - snakes can bite or smother, and you can never be too careful." So the man ignores the snake, who eventually hisses off through the fallen leaves.
So the man remains on the log alone with his thoughts, and soon it begins to rain. The rabbit is warm and dry in his burrow, the fox in her den, the snake in his hole.
The man is wet and his body begins to feels cold.
Pets
Every time I lose a pet I ask myself the same question: Why do we keep bringing these animals into our homes when we always outlive them? When you decide to take an animal into your house, you know it's going to end with suffering. Nothing in life is permanent, and the lives of animals are significantly less permanent than our lives. Unless you adopt a tortoise, your loved one will leave you, sometimes without warning and never when you want them to.
And while they're with us, they shit on the floor, make a lot of noise, and require constant care and attention. Hardly seems worth it.
We wonder: would they rather be free? Open to roam in their natural habitat, to be wild, and carefree?
Would they thrive in the wild? Sure they would - they have an inner strength that allows them to persevere under whatever conditions they find themselves. All animals do - it's survival instinct. They are trained hunters, foragers; they don't need us to feed them or bath them or keep them warm and dry - they have a built-in ability to care for themselves.
But there's something I've learned from my pets, something that they know deep down inside and don't have to be taught. And that is the value of companionship, which is something brings us one step up from simply surviving from day to day - allowing us to live fully.
My dogs rejoice when they see me - they jump on me, ask to be held, kiss my face, and then settle down in my arms - never wanting to be too far away from me as long as I am there. When I leave they wait for me by the door to return, eventually going back to their daily routine when I don't. It's not that they need me to come back to them - it's that they want me to, they enjoy giving me love, and enjoy the love I give them. They are simply happy to have me in their life.
Right now, I choose to live without the companionship of pets, life is much simpler and easier - I don't want the responsibility of having to be here daily to feed them and let them out to crap - I want to be able to take off for a weekend whenever I feel like it.
But doing so is giving up the joys of that particular blend of companionship (not to be confused with human companionship, which is an entirely different animal), and that's not something that I necessarily want to live without forever.
From time to time we have our backyard funerals. Fish are flushed down drains, cat and dogs cremated and put on the mantle. The more we love a companion the more it hurts when we lose them, but we continue to love because it's an important part of fully enjoying life.
Goodbye Nikki, Athena, Lunatic, Wendy, Hook, Teddy, William, Kai, Mark and Mike, and Andy. You were all good companions, and I thank you for that.
And while they're with us, they shit on the floor, make a lot of noise, and require constant care and attention. Hardly seems worth it.
We wonder: would they rather be free? Open to roam in their natural habitat, to be wild, and carefree?
Would they thrive in the wild? Sure they would - they have an inner strength that allows them to persevere under whatever conditions they find themselves. All animals do - it's survival instinct. They are trained hunters, foragers; they don't need us to feed them or bath them or keep them warm and dry - they have a built-in ability to care for themselves.
But there's something I've learned from my pets, something that they know deep down inside and don't have to be taught. And that is the value of companionship, which is something brings us one step up from simply surviving from day to day - allowing us to live fully.
My dogs rejoice when they see me - they jump on me, ask to be held, kiss my face, and then settle down in my arms - never wanting to be too far away from me as long as I am there. When I leave they wait for me by the door to return, eventually going back to their daily routine when I don't. It's not that they need me to come back to them - it's that they want me to, they enjoy giving me love, and enjoy the love I give them. They are simply happy to have me in their life.
Right now, I choose to live without the companionship of pets, life is much simpler and easier - I don't want the responsibility of having to be here daily to feed them and let them out to crap - I want to be able to take off for a weekend whenever I feel like it.
But doing so is giving up the joys of that particular blend of companionship (not to be confused with human companionship, which is an entirely different animal), and that's not something that I necessarily want to live without forever.
From time to time we have our backyard funerals. Fish are flushed down drains, cat and dogs cremated and put on the mantle. The more we love a companion the more it hurts when we lose them, but we continue to love because it's an important part of fully enjoying life.
Goodbye Nikki, Athena, Lunatic, Wendy, Hook, Teddy, William, Kai, Mark and Mike, and Andy. You were all good companions, and I thank you for that.
Bonanza
When I was a kid, my parents used to take me to this restaurant called Bonanza. I used to love that place - it was one of those buffet-style places where you would grab an orange plastic tray and slide it along those metal tubes, picking out what you were going to eat as you went along. There were never any promises about what they would have available from time to time - sometimes they would have specials, other times some things would be fresher than others, but something would always look appetizing among the shelves of food; something would just be begging to jump off of the racks onto your tray.
I would get excited just knowing I was going there - two constants were a nice tall root beer with shaved ice (in those yellow-ish plastic cups) and of course, from the chilled dessert rack, a styrofoam bowl of wonderously jiggly lime jell-o.
I loved everything about that place - the dark lighting, the sliced meats, the mashed potatoes, even the plastic western-style tablecloths - I always felt right at home at the Bonanza. We'd bring our trays to our table, sit down, and I would enjoy just being there - filling my belly with the warm, comforting food. I'd keep my eye on the lime jell-o, trying to save it for last while I was enjoying every part of the meal - but sometimes I'd sneak in a bite when my parents weren't looking - not able to wait until my vegetables were finished to partake in that sweet, slithery goodness.
It wasn't too long after going there the first time that every time my parents would ask me where I wanted to go to eat, I would immediately respond with "Bonanza!". It was, hands down, my favorite restaurant.
Bonanza is since closed, and I miss it. I miss the warmth, the comfort food, the root beer, and especially the lime jell-o. I would go back there in a heartbeat if it re-opened. It has spoiled me for other restaurants. Even though I'm not a kid any longer, if it was there again and open for business and you asked me where I wanted to go out to dinner, I would shout, "Bonanza"!
I would get excited just knowing I was going there - two constants were a nice tall root beer with shaved ice (in those yellow-ish plastic cups) and of course, from the chilled dessert rack, a styrofoam bowl of wonderously jiggly lime jell-o.
I loved everything about that place - the dark lighting, the sliced meats, the mashed potatoes, even the plastic western-style tablecloths - I always felt right at home at the Bonanza. We'd bring our trays to our table, sit down, and I would enjoy just being there - filling my belly with the warm, comforting food. I'd keep my eye on the lime jell-o, trying to save it for last while I was enjoying every part of the meal - but sometimes I'd sneak in a bite when my parents weren't looking - not able to wait until my vegetables were finished to partake in that sweet, slithery goodness.
It wasn't too long after going there the first time that every time my parents would ask me where I wanted to go to eat, I would immediately respond with "Bonanza!". It was, hands down, my favorite restaurant.
Bonanza is since closed, and I miss it. I miss the warmth, the comfort food, the root beer, and especially the lime jell-o. I would go back there in a heartbeat if it re-opened. It has spoiled me for other restaurants. Even though I'm not a kid any longer, if it was there again and open for business and you asked me where I wanted to go out to dinner, I would shout, "Bonanza"!
Sunday, March 23, 2008
If I were an Action Movie character I'd...
If I were a character in an action movie, I'd be that peripheral character - the one that has a quirky personality and has access to all of the best technology. The guy that the main character depends on when things get tough, who never gets the girl even though he wants her more than the main character, and who dies halfway through - giving the main character enough desire for revenge that he succeeds against all odds and finally defeats the enemy. I'd probably be dying of cancer, except the audience can't feel sorry for me because I smoke like a chimney. Or maybe I work with radioactive material. Or maybe I'm 900 years old I am.
Either way, it's my fault I'm dying so you don't have to feel sorry for me.
The audience loves the main character more, because he's vulnerable. Because he has faults. He's overcoming those odds, which makes him heroic. I was given those strengths before the movie started, which makes them normal to me, even though the main character can't do what he accomplishes without my extraordinary technology / serum / hacking abilities / fuel for revenge. I don't have faults, which means I can't be heroic, no matter how many times I show up and save the main character before I finally get killed by the bad guy in an inexplained moment of weakness.
In other words, I may show the main character what he has to do to become heroic, but I am "that guy", so you don't have to admire me. That's just my role in the whole saga.
If I'm lucky, the movie will end with me being reunited with the main character, like in Die Hard, where I was the plucky limo driver. I might even go on to get my own sitcom afterwards.
Probably though, I will have to die to motivate the plot like the character "Whistler" in Blade, or Obi Wan Kenobi or Yoda on Star Wars.
Either way, it's my fault I'm dying so you don't have to feel sorry for me.
The audience loves the main character more, because he's vulnerable. Because he has faults. He's overcoming those odds, which makes him heroic. I was given those strengths before the movie started, which makes them normal to me, even though the main character can't do what he accomplishes without my extraordinary technology / serum / hacking abilities / fuel for revenge. I don't have faults, which means I can't be heroic, no matter how many times I show up and save the main character before I finally get killed by the bad guy in an inexplained moment of weakness.
In other words, I may show the main character what he has to do to become heroic, but I am "that guy", so you don't have to admire me. That's just my role in the whole saga.
If I'm lucky, the movie will end with me being reunited with the main character, like in Die Hard, where I was the plucky limo driver. I might even go on to get my own sitcom afterwards.
Probably though, I will have to die to motivate the plot like the character "Whistler" in Blade, or Obi Wan Kenobi or Yoda on Star Wars.
Movie Review: Darjeeling Limited
I happened to rent The Darjeeling Limited today, which turned out to be a poignant and timely (at least for me) movie about 3 brothers on a forced spiritual journey in India who find themselves only when things go off plan. I won't say much more about it in fear of spoiling it, except to say that it was filled with wonderful metaphors that really pushed home the morale of the story, which is that sometimes you have to release your baggage before you can make a journey.
Saturday, March 22, 2008
The LONG WAY
Sam had had enough.
He had been walking for weeks now (or was it months?), working his way from his home in Maine to California to find his fame and fortune. He was traveling the LONG WAY, just like his Grandfather had taught him.
But here, on the banks of the Mississippi river, he had finally met his match.
The LONG WAY.
"Thanks Grandpa", he muttered to himself as he trudged alongside the highways of New Hampshire, Massachusetts, Connecticut, "thanks for teaching me that the LONG WAY was the only WAY worth traveling."
"Thanks for telling me that the LONG WAY", he said under his breath as he limped through the ditches by the roads in New Jersey, Maryland, Virginia, "was the answer, the question, and the instinct. That it taught character, morals; that it was the only way to live."
"You told me that the LONG WAY", he cursed to no-one in particular on the streets of North Carolina, South Carolina, and Georgia, "was the way to live without sacrificing truth, the only way to be true to yourself."
"Grandpa, you said that the LONG WAY", he spat through his teeth as he was passed by cars travelling through Alabama, Mississippi, and Louisiana, "could not be ignored, and taking the EASY WAY was for the weak, the small, and the insignificant."
"But Grandpa," he said as he stood on the banks of the Mississippi river, looking across it at the Western side, "You never taught me how to SWIM!"
He had been walking for weeks now (or was it months?), working his way from his home in Maine to California to find his fame and fortune. He was traveling the LONG WAY, just like his Grandfather had taught him.
But here, on the banks of the Mississippi river, he had finally met his match.
The LONG WAY.
"Thanks Grandpa", he muttered to himself as he trudged alongside the highways of New Hampshire, Massachusetts, Connecticut, "thanks for teaching me that the LONG WAY was the only WAY worth traveling."
"Thanks for telling me that the LONG WAY", he said under his breath as he limped through the ditches by the roads in New Jersey, Maryland, Virginia, "was the answer, the question, and the instinct. That it taught character, morals; that it was the only way to live."
"You told me that the LONG WAY", he cursed to no-one in particular on the streets of North Carolina, South Carolina, and Georgia, "was the way to live without sacrificing truth, the only way to be true to yourself."
"Grandpa, you said that the LONG WAY", he spat through his teeth as he was passed by cars travelling through Alabama, Mississippi, and Louisiana, "could not be ignored, and taking the EASY WAY was for the weak, the small, and the insignificant."
"But Grandpa," he said as he stood on the banks of the Mississippi river, looking across it at the Western side, "You never taught me how to SWIM!"
New Bike!
I went shopping for a new tour motorcycle today and ended up buying one! I got a great deal on a 2006 BMW R 1200 RT. It was previously owned by the guy who owns the dealer, who rode it for only 2,000 miles. It's fully loaded with options, including a built-in GPS system, CD Player, 3 luggage cases, heated grips, cruise control, and a fully-automatic windshield. It was a dream to ride on - the riding posture is comfortable, the grips are in the exact right position; in fact the only thing that might be uncomfortable on long rides is the peg position.
It's a sport / tour model, which means it has a racing-style look to it, but it's not a racing engine. It doesn't perform like my Gixxer does, but that's not what it's for - it'll eat up highway comfortably and reliably, which is the whole reason I got it. I got up to 65 on the highway when I test rode it in 4th gear, and it had plenty of gears (and horses) left after that. I won't be able to accelerate from 80 to 100 in a few scant seconds like I can on the Suzuki, but again, that's not what this bike is for, that's why I still have my GSX-R.
I did trade in the Honda Shadow for it, which makes me a little bit sad - that was my first bike and I have some great memories on it. It got me all the way you to Niagara Falls and back, even through a rain / sleet storm. I just outgrew it quickly, and it's time to move on to a bike that will allow me to make trips like that faster and smoother.
I'm already starting to think of some good trips to take this summer - I can go visit my boy B in Florida, head up to Montreal, even go out to Columbus to see my brother. I should be able to ride for at least 8 hours a day easily on this bad boy, so I figure 500 miles a day will be no problem.
I pick it up on Wednesday!
It's a sport / tour model, which means it has a racing-style look to it, but it's not a racing engine. It doesn't perform like my Gixxer does, but that's not what it's for - it'll eat up highway comfortably and reliably, which is the whole reason I got it. I got up to 65 on the highway when I test rode it in 4th gear, and it had plenty of gears (and horses) left after that. I won't be able to accelerate from 80 to 100 in a few scant seconds like I can on the Suzuki, but again, that's not what this bike is for, that's why I still have my GSX-R.
I did trade in the Honda Shadow for it, which makes me a little bit sad - that was my first bike and I have some great memories on it. It got me all the way you to Niagara Falls and back, even through a rain / sleet storm. I just outgrew it quickly, and it's time to move on to a bike that will allow me to make trips like that faster and smoother.
I'm already starting to think of some good trips to take this summer - I can go visit my boy B in Florida, head up to Montreal, even go out to Columbus to see my brother. I should be able to ride for at least 8 hours a day easily on this bad boy, so I figure 500 miles a day will be no problem.
I pick it up on Wednesday!
Friday, March 21, 2008
Dad and Freezing Dream
I had a dream last night that I can only remember part of - the end. My dad and I were sitting in a kitchen somewhere, and he said "It's 31 degrees out, I'm going to go ride my scooter" and he started putting on his helmet. I started to say "But 32 degrees is freezing, and it's night out and you won't be able to see the ice on the roads.", but I caught myself and instead said "Can I come with you?". He smiled and said "Yes" and I got all excited like I was a little kid again.
I slept really poorly last night. I think it was a full moon - looked like it anyway. I kept half-waking up and I had a ton more dreams that came to me in that half awake state, but I don't remember any of them.
I slept really poorly last night. I think it was a full moon - looked like it anyway. I kept half-waking up and I had a ton more dreams that came to me in that half awake state, but I don't remember any of them.
What's so Good about it?
Not believing in the Easter Bunny, today's and Sunday's holidays have no special meaning to me, other than not having to work. I had been hoping to be able to ride today, but the thermometer just climbed to the freezing mark and there are ridiculously high winds out there, so that's not going to happen. Maybe tomorrow.
I thought last night's was the full moon - it sure looked like it - but a quick Google search indicates that it's actually tonight. I had all sorts of trouble sleeping last night, so tonight should be even worse. Lovely. It's wonderful being a Moon child.
Yesterday was the official first day of Spring. Now there's a holiday I can get behind, but it doesn't appear to have any special significance given that it's still quite wintery outside.
What should be happening is on hold, what is happening isn't what it seems to be, and I am being tugged by external and internal forces in opposite directions at the same time.
Nothing Good to see here.
But fear not, dear readers - I won't let the Man get me down, even if it is a Woman (Mother Nature) that yields those sources of my particular afflictions this day.
I have plans! Big plans! I wil seize the day (Carpe Diem) by the nutsack and live my life!
Here I go! Look out World!
I thought last night's was the full moon - it sure looked like it - but a quick Google search indicates that it's actually tonight. I had all sorts of trouble sleeping last night, so tonight should be even worse. Lovely. It's wonderful being a Moon child.
Yesterday was the official first day of Spring. Now there's a holiday I can get behind, but it doesn't appear to have any special significance given that it's still quite wintery outside.
What should be happening is on hold, what is happening isn't what it seems to be, and I am being tugged by external and internal forces in opposite directions at the same time.
Nothing Good to see here.
But fear not, dear readers - I won't let the Man get me down, even if it is a Woman (Mother Nature) that yields those sources of my particular afflictions this day.
I have plans! Big plans! I wil seize the day (Carpe Diem) by the nutsack and live my life!
Here I go! Look out World!
Fire
My house is on fire. As I struggle to find my way to the front door to escape the choking flames, I pass by a room - the door to which is closed. I pause, because I remember that on the other side of that door are some personal effects that I hold very dear to me, things that cannot possibly be replaced. I don't know if the fire has spread to that room or not, everything in it may have already been destroyed. The only way to know for sure is to open the door and see for myself, but I've seen the movies - I know that if flames rage behind that door and I open it, all of the air from the hallway will be sucked into the room causing an explosion that will destroy not only the very things I am trying to rescue but myself as well.
Then again maybe there is no fire there. Maybe I can open the door, collect the things I love and carry them out to safety.
I know what I should do. I know what is safest. I know that I should walk away from that door, find some fresh air, and let the firemen do their job. If I wait it out and the things I love remain undamaged, then I will be able to carry them into my new life - my life after the fire. Maybe I won't be so careless with them in that life, maybe I will know where to put them so that fire can't damage them.
I hesitate, my heart pulls at me. What if this is my last chance to rescue them? What if, by leaving them alone in that room, I am ensuring that the fire will take them? What if I can save them now and not have to wait, and wonder?
I stand in front of the door, knowing what I need to do, my heart screaming at me that I can't. I reach out for the doorknob and tentatively touch it. It's not hot, which is a good sign, but it's not cold either - there's definitely some temperature emanating from it, enough to tell me that the other side might be hotter still. It's not safe to proceed, but there's no clear warning signs that I need to walk away either.
I stand in front of the door confused. I want to listen to my head, I want to listen to my heart.
The heat creeps up behind me. The smoke becomes more oppressive. I am running out of time.
I stand in the hallway, frozen, unable to move.
Then again maybe there is no fire there. Maybe I can open the door, collect the things I love and carry them out to safety.
I know what I should do. I know what is safest. I know that I should walk away from that door, find some fresh air, and let the firemen do their job. If I wait it out and the things I love remain undamaged, then I will be able to carry them into my new life - my life after the fire. Maybe I won't be so careless with them in that life, maybe I will know where to put them so that fire can't damage them.
I hesitate, my heart pulls at me. What if this is my last chance to rescue them? What if, by leaving them alone in that room, I am ensuring that the fire will take them? What if I can save them now and not have to wait, and wonder?
I stand in front of the door, knowing what I need to do, my heart screaming at me that I can't. I reach out for the doorknob and tentatively touch it. It's not hot, which is a good sign, but it's not cold either - there's definitely some temperature emanating from it, enough to tell me that the other side might be hotter still. It's not safe to proceed, but there's no clear warning signs that I need to walk away either.
I stand in front of the door confused. I want to listen to my head, I want to listen to my heart.
The heat creeps up behind me. The smoke becomes more oppressive. I am running out of time.
I stand in the hallway, frozen, unable to move.
Movie Review: Shaft (2000)
This movie was terrible. Horribly written, terribly acted and shot, campy, cheesy, and over-the-top. Easily my man Samuel L. Jackson's worst performance (but I haven't seen Snakes on a Plane yet).
I highly recommend it.
It was just like the wonderful original: horribly written, terribly acted and shot, campy, cheesy, and over-the-top. Easily my man Samuel L. Jackson's worst performance. And a whole lot of fun!
My only complaint is that there was no sex. In the original, Shaft got laid like 15 times. He even took time off from beating in the skulls of skells just to get some sweet booty. In this one, he just talks about it. Must be the Viagra age.
Oh, and did I mention that Busta Mother-fuckin' Rhymes is in it, WHAT SON????
I highly recommend it.
It was just like the wonderful original: horribly written, terribly acted and shot, campy, cheesy, and over-the-top. Easily my man Samuel L. Jackson's worst performance. And a whole lot of fun!
My only complaint is that there was no sex. In the original, Shaft got laid like 15 times. He even took time off from beating in the skulls of skells just to get some sweet booty. In this one, he just talks about it. Must be the Viagra age.
Oh, and did I mention that Busta Mother-fuckin' Rhymes is in it, WHAT SON????
Thursday, March 20, 2008
Number Dream
I had a dream last night in which I was sleeping, half woke up, became aware of the digits "10777", and went back to sleep. That's it. For some reason I felt like the numbers were in the form of a date, but the only dates I can get out of it are "October 7, 1977" or "January 7, 1977", which don't have any special significance to me. Maybe it was a span of time, like 10,777 minutes (or 3 days) or something like that. Maybe it's nothing. Dreams. Weird.
No Snacks Dream
Ha, I just went to get some Raisinets out of my snack cabinet, and suddenly remembered a dream I had either last night or the night before in which my friend and co-worker Tim was over at the house working. In the dream I left him alone in the kitchen for a few minutes (not sure why I left or where I went), and when I came back he had eaten all of the snacks out of my cabinet. I asked him, incredulous, "You ate all of my snacks?", and he replied with a straight face as he dropped like 6 empty bags of chips and pretzels into my trash at once, "Yup".
Wednesday, March 19, 2008
Can you handle this bottomless pit of torque?
I have the priveledge to be able to ride a highly tuned two-wheeled performance racing vehicle, my Suzuki GSX-R 1000. Not only is she beautiful to look at, but my stallion sports a 1,000 CC engine capable of flying me down the highway at speeds close to 200 miles per hour. I haven't had this machine long so I've only gotten her up to about 125 MPH, but even that was one of the most exhilarating experiences of my life.
The freedom I got from being fused to the back of my bike as we shot down the straightaway at speeds at which I've never travelled before in a land vehicle was simply unparalelled. I thought I'd been excited before, I thought I'd felt exhilaration, but after feeling that rush I now know that at best I'd only ever been giddy. Hearing the purr of the racing engine as you tighten your legs around it and watch the yellow dashes blur into a solid line beneath your wheels is an experience that many people never have the opportunity to live through.
I have. I have touched the hand of God, and it's electric, my friends.
It's also addictive. You get to 125, look down at the tachometer, and see that you're not even harnessing a quarter of the engine's power and your right hand instinctively starts to lower, opening the throttle to increase the torque and make the engine roar just a little bit louder. Speed is like a drug, one hit is never enough - you want more, and more, and more, until you no longer are able tell where you start and the drug ends. As your hand lowers, it moves farther away from the brake lever - committing you to forward motion in a way that cage (car) drivers can't imagine.
The thing is that at those speeds, you aren't so much a driver as you are a rider. Any sudden movement might be met with disaster. Rocks become boulders. Bugs hit like birds. You are connected to the machine but by its grace - make any sudden moves and you will learn what it is to connect with asphalt in spectacular fashion. Keep calm and cool and collected, and you are welcome to enjoy the ride.
A performance machine doesn't let you get away with any bullshit. It's not forgiving, nor should it be. It's designed to cut through the air without leaving a mark, to defy the laws of gravity when it turns, and to propel you to speeds that not everyone can handle. It is a rare and special machine that gets to demand from you what it offers in return - raw speed and unadulterated power. There is nothing superfluous about a racing motorcycle - every component of it was added for a reason and has been designed to be as lightweight and sleek as possible.
Respecting the machine is what makes a good rider. Knowing that the motorcycle requires you to run but doesn't have any particular need to do so is the key to harnessing its speed. Like Hunter S. Thompson said, a racing bike looks like it's going 90 mile an hour when it's standing still. You may think that it doesn't need you, and in truth it does not - sleek and beautiful as it is even when not being ridden - but it aches for those highway speeds just like you do. That's what it was designed for, after all.
It would be unthinkable to want to tame the beast, it is a performance vehicle designed to move fast and look good doing it - that's why you got it, that's its appeal over other motorcycles. Even at low speeds there is a gentle reassurance that comes from knowing what the engine purring along between your legs is capable of. Accelerating into low, sweeping turns on windy back roads brings a taste of the rush that the machine can bring you with an open throttle, temporarily fulfilling the desire to wind up the engine towards the red zone. You don't steer a racing bike so much as you suggest a direction and speed in which to travel, and then together man and machine wind through space and time. At high speeds, the separation between driver and chariot begins to blur, but it easily becomes redefined again when you let back on the throttle.
I have ridden my Gixxer to time-warp speeds and lived to tell the tale. Is it necessary to have a motorcycle that was designed for racetracks? Absolutely not. Most people, in fact, would say that it's simply not worth the effort or the risk.
I am not one of those people.
H.S.T. also said: "On some days you get what you want, and on others, you get what you need". Need is a transient feeling - I need food, I eat food (any old food will do), and when satiated I no longer need food. Want is consistent and specific. I want to eat steak, I eat steak, and even with a steak sitting full in my belly I know that I will want to eat steak again. Do I need to own a Suzuki GSX-R 1000? Do I need to double the posted highway speed limit? Absolutely not. Many would (and do) tell me that I'm crazy for doing it.
But they haven't tasted the exquisite kiss of this particular machine's touch as it is guided over the smooth highway. I have, and will forever want to taste it again and again, every chance I get.
The freedom I got from being fused to the back of my bike as we shot down the straightaway at speeds at which I've never travelled before in a land vehicle was simply unparalelled. I thought I'd been excited before, I thought I'd felt exhilaration, but after feeling that rush I now know that at best I'd only ever been giddy. Hearing the purr of the racing engine as you tighten your legs around it and watch the yellow dashes blur into a solid line beneath your wheels is an experience that many people never have the opportunity to live through.
I have. I have touched the hand of God, and it's electric, my friends.
It's also addictive. You get to 125, look down at the tachometer, and see that you're not even harnessing a quarter of the engine's power and your right hand instinctively starts to lower, opening the throttle to increase the torque and make the engine roar just a little bit louder. Speed is like a drug, one hit is never enough - you want more, and more, and more, until you no longer are able tell where you start and the drug ends. As your hand lowers, it moves farther away from the brake lever - committing you to forward motion in a way that cage (car) drivers can't imagine.
The thing is that at those speeds, you aren't so much a driver as you are a rider. Any sudden movement might be met with disaster. Rocks become boulders. Bugs hit like birds. You are connected to the machine but by its grace - make any sudden moves and you will learn what it is to connect with asphalt in spectacular fashion. Keep calm and cool and collected, and you are welcome to enjoy the ride.
A performance machine doesn't let you get away with any bullshit. It's not forgiving, nor should it be. It's designed to cut through the air without leaving a mark, to defy the laws of gravity when it turns, and to propel you to speeds that not everyone can handle. It is a rare and special machine that gets to demand from you what it offers in return - raw speed and unadulterated power. There is nothing superfluous about a racing motorcycle - every component of it was added for a reason and has been designed to be as lightweight and sleek as possible.
Respecting the machine is what makes a good rider. Knowing that the motorcycle requires you to run but doesn't have any particular need to do so is the key to harnessing its speed. Like Hunter S. Thompson said, a racing bike looks like it's going 90 mile an hour when it's standing still. You may think that it doesn't need you, and in truth it does not - sleek and beautiful as it is even when not being ridden - but it aches for those highway speeds just like you do. That's what it was designed for, after all.
It would be unthinkable to want to tame the beast, it is a performance vehicle designed to move fast and look good doing it - that's why you got it, that's its appeal over other motorcycles. Even at low speeds there is a gentle reassurance that comes from knowing what the engine purring along between your legs is capable of. Accelerating into low, sweeping turns on windy back roads brings a taste of the rush that the machine can bring you with an open throttle, temporarily fulfilling the desire to wind up the engine towards the red zone. You don't steer a racing bike so much as you suggest a direction and speed in which to travel, and then together man and machine wind through space and time. At high speeds, the separation between driver and chariot begins to blur, but it easily becomes redefined again when you let back on the throttle.
I have ridden my Gixxer to time-warp speeds and lived to tell the tale. Is it necessary to have a motorcycle that was designed for racetracks? Absolutely not. Most people, in fact, would say that it's simply not worth the effort or the risk.
I am not one of those people.
H.S.T. also said: "On some days you get what you want, and on others, you get what you need". Need is a transient feeling - I need food, I eat food (any old food will do), and when satiated I no longer need food. Want is consistent and specific. I want to eat steak, I eat steak, and even with a steak sitting full in my belly I know that I will want to eat steak again. Do I need to own a Suzuki GSX-R 1000? Do I need to double the posted highway speed limit? Absolutely not. Many would (and do) tell me that I'm crazy for doing it.
But they haven't tasted the exquisite kiss of this particular machine's touch as it is guided over the smooth highway. I have, and will forever want to taste it again and again, every chance I get.
Tuesday, March 18, 2008
No Dreams
I didn't have any dreams last night. Mostly, I guess, because I got completely cocked before I fell asleep on a bizarre series of drinks that included beer, Pinot Noir, and run and coke that is today making my stomach lodge formal complaints with me about my beverage choices. Fuck you stomach, I did what I had to - it was Saint Patrick's Day.
So I woke up without any recollection of any dreams, but for my troubles I do have an eye that dried out so completely from dehydration that the lid stuck to it and ripped off of it when I awoke with a start as my phone rang at 7:40 this morning, which means that I will have fuzzy vision on the right side throughout most of today. That's always fun.
So I woke up without any recollection of any dreams, but for my troubles I do have an eye that dried out so completely from dehydration that the lid stuck to it and ripped off of it when I awoke with a start as my phone rang at 7:40 this morning, which means that I will have fuzzy vision on the right side throughout most of today. That's always fun.
Movie Review: He Was a Quiet Man
I don't really know what to make of this movie. On the one hand Christian Slater is great as a balding social misfit disgruntled with life who contemplates shooting up his office until a co-worker beats him to it, the story is interesting and unique, the characters are engaging, and the film overall is nicely styled. On the other hand, something about the film just couldn't keep my attention (it's like it was just a few beats too slow throughout), and parts of it (talking fish, etc) were just out of place and corny. I guess I recommend this one, but not as an evening - only check it out if it happens to be on Showtime or something on a rainy afternoon.
Final Verdict: Meh.
Final Verdict: Meh.
Monday, March 17, 2008
Helicopter Dream
had a dream last night, it's not all that interesting but I'll share it anyways since I happen to remember all of it right now (which is rare). I was flying a small black helicopter into a city as night was falling. I parked it in a small outdoor parking lot (for cars) and walked about 8 blocks down the street (it was Boylston street in Boston, even though the city itself wasn't Boston) to go to CVS to get gum. They didn't have the gum I wanted, so I grabbed something off the shelves and bought it and went back outside. When I hit the sidewalk, I realized that I had left the key in the helicopter (and probably even left it on). By this time it was completely dark outside.
In a panic, I ran across the steet - I had to run in front of cars coming at me on the close side of the street but the far side of the street and sidewalk were empty. When I got to the far side I remember thinking "that was was stupid, if there were cars coming the other way you would have been hit". I ran top speed down the sidewalk, noticing the purchase I made sticking out of my coat poket awkwardly. I took it out to see what it was - it was a long rectangular orange and red box of 3 rolls of first aid gauze.
I got to a bus stop and had to dodge some people who stood up to flag down a bus. They were holding umbrellas, but it wasn't raining. Just past them I had to push through a long line of people waiting for buses at some sort of covered bus station. I ran up a ramp and ended up on a wall, which was a dead end so I jumped off of it and landed in a pool of water made from drops coming off of the ceiling. I ran out of the bus station and up a side street towards the parking lot where I left the helicopter, but I realized that I wasn't sure where the parking lot was. I also realized that the helicopter has probably been towed rather than stolen, since I parked it illegally.
I came across a dirt road and followed it to the end, and there was the impound lot. There were 3 or 4 helicopters mixed in with the cars, several little black ones like mine (but I couldn't tell if they were mine) and a larger 4 door green one that was pretty banged up. It had a white laminated piece of paper tacked to its side with a symbol on it I couldn't make out. I started to walk back to look for the parking lots again and maybe a police substation to find out how to get it out of impound. I found one parking lot, but didn't think that was the one. I walked up a hill and then down the other side and came across another parking lot which I was pretty sure was the one, but it was empty.
And that's when I woke up.
In a panic, I ran across the steet - I had to run in front of cars coming at me on the close side of the street but the far side of the street and sidewalk were empty. When I got to the far side I remember thinking "that was was stupid, if there were cars coming the other way you would have been hit". I ran top speed down the sidewalk, noticing the purchase I made sticking out of my coat poket awkwardly. I took it out to see what it was - it was a long rectangular orange and red box of 3 rolls of first aid gauze.
I got to a bus stop and had to dodge some people who stood up to flag down a bus. They were holding umbrellas, but it wasn't raining. Just past them I had to push through a long line of people waiting for buses at some sort of covered bus station. I ran up a ramp and ended up on a wall, which was a dead end so I jumped off of it and landed in a pool of water made from drops coming off of the ceiling. I ran out of the bus station and up a side street towards the parking lot where I left the helicopter, but I realized that I wasn't sure where the parking lot was. I also realized that the helicopter has probably been towed rather than stolen, since I parked it illegally.
I came across a dirt road and followed it to the end, and there was the impound lot. There were 3 or 4 helicopters mixed in with the cars, several little black ones like mine (but I couldn't tell if they were mine) and a larger 4 door green one that was pretty banged up. It had a white laminated piece of paper tacked to its side with a symbol on it I couldn't make out. I started to walk back to look for the parking lots again and maybe a police substation to find out how to get it out of impound. I found one parking lot, but didn't think that was the one. I walked up a hill and then down the other side and came across another parking lot which I was pretty sure was the one, but it was empty.
And that's when I woke up.
Movie Review: 300
I've seen this movie a few dozen times, and love it more each time I see it. Why, then, am I chosing to write a review of it now? I don't know, perhaps it's fitting to my life circumstances at the moment, perhaps it's just because I just started writing movie reviews on my blog and like the Google Ads that turn up when I do so. Take your pick, I don't give a shit.
Whatever the case, 300 is one of the best graphic novel adaptations this side of Sin City. If Jessica Alba did a strip tease in 300 it might top Sin City on the list, but alas, she didn't, and so it doesn't. 300 is as good as it gets for blood-pumping heroic war / patriotic movies though, and that's what this review is about.
This review is not about how the directors let Gerard Butler's strong Scottish accent come through so strongly and ruin the impression that he was a Greek king, what it's about is the underlying theme of the story.
300 is about a nation of people who were united in a way that no nation has since been united. They had dissent, to be sure, but most of the men, women, and children of the country were of the same mold. They shared the same beliefs. There's a scene early on where King Leonidis turns to look at his queen as if to say "Are we on the same page here love?" and she nods her ascent and then he kills some dude at the same exact time that his soldiers kill the dude's friends. That's powerful. To be able to surround yourself with people that are of one mind with you - who are willing to forgo their personal agendas to fulfill a common mindset - that is something that might as well be relegated to the realm of fantasy. I would love to be with a woman that I was able to trust that way, but the truth is that people just can't make connections like that any more - too much of today's bullshit gets in the way. Way to go, modern times.
Because that's the thing, isn't it? What makes 300 such a moving movie is that it portrays a people that are willling and ready to think as one. Who are willing to put aside their petty and meaningless personal drives to serve a greater good - and then persevere because of it. It was the countries that served their selfish sides that failed against adversity in this (true to life historic story) - and only Sparta, standing up together against the common enemy - that prevailed. That's something that's best left to history I guess.
There's a scene where King Leonidis' wife send him off to battle - to save their country - and says "Spartan, come back with your shield, or ON it.". She didn't want him to go off to battle and die for what he believed in, but she knew he had to and supported him because she loved him.
That's dedication.
That's love.
That's poetry.
That's fantasy.
Whatever the case, 300 is one of the best graphic novel adaptations this side of Sin City. If Jessica Alba did a strip tease in 300 it might top Sin City on the list, but alas, she didn't, and so it doesn't. 300 is as good as it gets for blood-pumping heroic war / patriotic movies though, and that's what this review is about.
This review is not about how the directors let Gerard Butler's strong Scottish accent come through so strongly and ruin the impression that he was a Greek king, what it's about is the underlying theme of the story.
300 is about a nation of people who were united in a way that no nation has since been united. They had dissent, to be sure, but most of the men, women, and children of the country were of the same mold. They shared the same beliefs. There's a scene early on where King Leonidis turns to look at his queen as if to say "Are we on the same page here love?" and she nods her ascent and then he kills some dude at the same exact time that his soldiers kill the dude's friends. That's powerful. To be able to surround yourself with people that are of one mind with you - who are willing to forgo their personal agendas to fulfill a common mindset - that is something that might as well be relegated to the realm of fantasy. I would love to be with a woman that I was able to trust that way, but the truth is that people just can't make connections like that any more - too much of today's bullshit gets in the way. Way to go, modern times.
Because that's the thing, isn't it? What makes 300 such a moving movie is that it portrays a people that are willling and ready to think as one. Who are willing to put aside their petty and meaningless personal drives to serve a greater good - and then persevere because of it. It was the countries that served their selfish sides that failed against adversity in this (true to life historic story) - and only Sparta, standing up together against the common enemy - that prevailed. That's something that's best left to history I guess.
There's a scene where King Leonidis' wife send him off to battle - to save their country - and says "Spartan, come back with your shield, or ON it.". She didn't want him to go off to battle and die for what he believed in, but she knew he had to and supported him because she loved him.
That's dedication.
That's love.
That's poetry.
That's fantasy.
Sunday, March 16, 2008
Movie Review: No Country for Old Men
Here are some of the things I wish I had chosen to do for 2 hours instead of watch No Country for Old Men:
Scratch my balls.
Lick dry paint.
Talk to my crazy aunt on the phone.
Paint my toenails toenail color.
This movie was (and on purpose too, I think) just like having a conversation with an old Texan farmer. It was mostly dull and boring and slower than molasses, but every now and then something interesting popped up, if just for a fleeting second. Hell, even the gunfight scenes were boring. I'm seriously unsure of the purpose of what I just watched.
There was one line that jumped out at me though. One character says to another right before he kills him:
I guess to me that means that you can decide to always live by a specific rule, but it won't always apply to every situation and can take you down a road you might not want to travel on if you aren't careful. Or, in other words, it's good to have things to believe that you live your life by, but it's also important to think your decisions through and see where they might go before you make them.
Scratch my balls.
Lick dry paint.
Talk to my crazy aunt on the phone.
Paint my toenails toenail color.
This movie was (and on purpose too, I think) just like having a conversation with an old Texan farmer. It was mostly dull and boring and slower than molasses, but every now and then something interesting popped up, if just for a fleeting second. Hell, even the gunfight scenes were boring. I'm seriously unsure of the purpose of what I just watched.
There was one line that jumped out at me though. One character says to another right before he kills him:
If the rule you followed brought you to this, of what use was the rule?
I guess to me that means that you can decide to always live by a specific rule, but it won't always apply to every situation and can take you down a road you might not want to travel on if you aren't careful. Or, in other words, it's good to have things to believe that you live your life by, but it's also important to think your decisions through and see where they might go before you make them.
Movie Review: Fido
After trying my hand at two recent well-acclaimed movies and hating both of them (Beowulf and No Country for Old Men), I figured I couldn't lose with a much lesser-known release and rented Fido, a zombie satire from a few years ago. I actually really enjoyed it - maybe just because I love zombie movies, but also because the script was actually pretty good. The premise and opening shots make it seem like it's going to suck, but it's actually quite watchable (as long as you don't take it too seriously).
I was starting to think that I was just in such a shitty place that nothing was going to appeal to me, so I'm glad I enjoyed this - it gives me hope that I can still escape from this life into fantasy ones when I need to, which has been quite often this weekend.
I was starting to think that I was just in such a shitty place that nothing was going to appeal to me, so I'm glad I enjoyed this - it gives me hope that I can still escape from this life into fantasy ones when I need to, which has been quite often this weekend.
Saturday, March 15, 2008
Movie Review: Beowulf
This movie confirmed something for me which felt good - it confirmed that I was right in 8th grade when they made us read Beowulf and I thought it was a stupid and most boring story.
Beowulf is a stupid and most boring story and never should have been made into a movie. Combine that with computer animation slightly better than that found in most video games these days (OK, maybe that's not fair but I wasn't overall all that impressed), and this movie made me want to eat a bag of dicks.
Beowulf is a stupid and most boring story and never should have been made into a movie. Combine that with computer animation slightly better than that found in most video games these days (OK, maybe that's not fair but I wasn't overall all that impressed), and this movie made me want to eat a bag of dicks.
Movie Review: Hitman
I'm going to stop short of saying that this movie was unwatchable, because it's just like those video games that have no real redeeming qualities except for the fact that it's fun to run around shooting people. The entire time you are playing them you have a sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach that you are completely wasting a Saturday afternoon, but you keep going anyway.
The story and dialogue were ridiculous, the action scenes watchable, and the look and feel almost enjoyable. Believable? Not even close, but it's based on a video game so I guess that's the point.
I totally want to shave my head completely bald now though, that's pretty bad ass. But only if I can do it like Timothy Oliphant's character in the movie - somehow he manages never to have to put a blade to his scalp but remains completely hairless for the duration of the film (which spans 3 months). He also never has to reload his pistols despite unloading them several times over in spectacular fashion, so he must live in a bubble of endless recharchability. Or something.
Too bad the writers and directors of Hitman didn't live in a bubble of endless creativity.
The story and dialogue were ridiculous, the action scenes watchable, and the look and feel almost enjoyable. Believable? Not even close, but it's based on a video game so I guess that's the point.
I totally want to shave my head completely bald now though, that's pretty bad ass. But only if I can do it like Timothy Oliphant's character in the movie - somehow he manages never to have to put a blade to his scalp but remains completely hairless for the duration of the film (which spans 3 months). He also never has to reload his pistols despite unloading them several times over in spectacular fashion, so he must live in a bubble of endless recharchability. Or something.
Too bad the writers and directors of Hitman didn't live in a bubble of endless creativity.
The Storm Within
Internally a storm rages. Fear. Sorrow. Death. Pain. Heartbreak. Hope. Love. Desire. Happiness. All throwing themselves at each other over and over again, in a tireless cage match for supremacy with no time limit and no referee. There is no way to call the match until someone else comes along, takes pity and shuts it down, or the participants kill each other off, one by one. There will be no victor - balance cannot be achieved if all participants do not survive.
Externally, a calmness prevails. All outward appearances are stoic, movements deliberate, interaction minimal. But things are too passive. The Uncanny Valley has been crossed in the opposite direction - that which is human now appears robotic, leading to apprehension, even revulsion, so interaction with humankind is kept at a minimum. The mask covers the truth, but betrays it at the same time, and cannot be trusted.
The fear is that if the mask is lifted, Pandora's Box will open and the battle will spill into the streets; uncontrollable and spreading, leaving nothing but destruction in its wake.
So the impasse is met; the delicate balancing act of maintaining inside and out continues.
Externally, a calmness prevails. All outward appearances are stoic, movements deliberate, interaction minimal. But things are too passive. The Uncanny Valley has been crossed in the opposite direction - that which is human now appears robotic, leading to apprehension, even revulsion, so interaction with humankind is kept at a minimum. The mask covers the truth, but betrays it at the same time, and cannot be trusted.
The fear is that if the mask is lifted, Pandora's Box will open and the battle will spill into the streets; uncontrollable and spreading, leaving nothing but destruction in its wake.
So the impasse is met; the delicate balancing act of maintaining inside and out continues.
Friday, March 14, 2008
Purposeless-ness is my Purpose
I am a dradle hanging on a Christmas tree in August. I am a screendoor on a submarine. I am an intelligent response to a stupid question. I am life without fun, dinner without food, sleep without dreams.
I am sex without love. I am love without sex.
I am a letter without meaning, sent to someone picked completely at random. I am an umbrella opened indoors. I am sandals in a snowstorm, and a rainstorm without thunder.
I am a day without a dawn, a night without a moon, a week without a Monday, and a year without seasons.
Purposeless-ness is my purpose.
I am sex without love. I am love without sex.
I am a letter without meaning, sent to someone picked completely at random. I am an umbrella opened indoors. I am sandals in a snowstorm, and a rainstorm without thunder.
I am a day without a dawn, a night without a moon, a week without a Monday, and a year without seasons.
Purposeless-ness is my purpose.
Santa Claus is Dead
Santa Claus doesn't exist. Neither does the Easter Bunny. Actually, they DO exist, they're just not going to come to my house any longer. No more presents under the tree, reindeer on the roof; no more Peeps™ or Cadbury Creme Eggs™ - those sorts of things might as well be a fairy tale to me, because they're not happening any more.
Why? Internal reorganization at the North Pole. And at the Easter Patch, or wherever the hell the Easter Bunny lives. Or maybe budget cuts, I guess, I'm not exactly sure - the memo wasn't very clear.
Seriously, that hardly seems like a reason to completely terminate service. I know I live out in the middle of nowhere, but can't Santa rent a Hummer or something and make the effort anyway? Isn't this something we can work out? I mean it's one night a year - I'd be willing to meet him halfway. I don't understand why I'm not worth a little bit of compromise at least - I really thought he liked bringing me presents. I mean we had a deal here - I thought I could rely on this sort of thing.
Then again, I seem to have been putting in a lot of effort on his behalf. Now that I think about it, I feel like I have been doing most of the work along the way; cutting down the tree and bringing it inside, putting up all the ornaments, buying presents to put under the tree and signing his name, explaining how it is that reindeer don't leave footprints on the roof. All he had to do is make appearances at the mall and look fancy in his red suit and black leather boots.
"Regret the inconvenience"? "Simply no longer available"? "No longer magical"?
I guess when something is a fairy tale to begin with, it's not bound by normal conventions. I guess the lesson here is to not believe in fairy tales in the first place, or just admire them from afar.
Or just to appreciate them for what they are: tales. Told by fairies.
Never trust fairies.
I guess I will always have that feeling, or the memory of that feeling - the feeling you get when you are a kid and you wake up and realize it's Christmas morning. I'm just not sure I will be able to appreciate it ever again the way I once did, though, knowing now that it wasn't real - that everything I had believed in was just an illusion. That it was frail enough to not withstand a shift in the air around me. That I was just getting presents as long as it was convenient for the North Pole Team™, that at the first sign of trouble they dropped me from their route.
I always felt special on Christmas morning, now I realize that there's nothing special about me - I'm just another stop along the way. I'm not even worth a special addendum to the contract, or renegotiations.
Is it better to have gotten presents from Santa™ in the past, than never to have gotten them at all? Time will tell, I guess.
Why? Internal reorganization at the North Pole. And at the Easter Patch, or wherever the hell the Easter Bunny lives. Or maybe budget cuts, I guess, I'm not exactly sure - the memo wasn't very clear.
Dear Sir or Madam,
We regret to inform you that Santa Claus™ will no longer be able to bring you holiday cheer as he has in the past. Your route is no longer magical, and we at the North Pole™ lack the ability and / or funding to restore this magic. Unfortunately, you'll have to take our word on this, your residence may still feel magical to you, but rest assured that the magic required to transport 8 tiny reindeer and a jolly old man with a sack of toys through the air is simply no longer available in your area. We know this because we have some special sort of device to measure this magic, and it is never wrong. We are bound to adhere to the results of this device, so asking for a second opinion would be a waste of time.
There is no word on whether or when this service will be restored, but quite frankly, we suggest not holding your proverbial breath (or actual breath - the North Pole™ team cannot be held responsible for asphyxiation deaths), as there is no guarantee that it will ever be restored at all. Nor can we guarantee in the event service is restored, that it will occur before you have grown up and no longer are able to appreciate what it is that we have to offer.
We do sincerely apologize for this inconvenience, and ask you to refer to the bylaws and special addendums of our service contract, which clearly state that the contract can be terminated at will by either party for any reason. It has been our pleasure to work with you in the past, and wish you the best of luck in your future endeavors.
Sincerely and regretfully,
- The North Pole™ Team
Seriously, that hardly seems like a reason to completely terminate service. I know I live out in the middle of nowhere, but can't Santa rent a Hummer or something and make the effort anyway? Isn't this something we can work out? I mean it's one night a year - I'd be willing to meet him halfway. I don't understand why I'm not worth a little bit of compromise at least - I really thought he liked bringing me presents. I mean we had a deal here - I thought I could rely on this sort of thing.
Then again, I seem to have been putting in a lot of effort on his behalf. Now that I think about it, I feel like I have been doing most of the work along the way; cutting down the tree and bringing it inside, putting up all the ornaments, buying presents to put under the tree and signing his name, explaining how it is that reindeer don't leave footprints on the roof. All he had to do is make appearances at the mall and look fancy in his red suit and black leather boots.
"Regret the inconvenience"? "Simply no longer available"? "No longer magical"?
I guess when something is a fairy tale to begin with, it's not bound by normal conventions. I guess the lesson here is to not believe in fairy tales in the first place, or just admire them from afar.
Or just to appreciate them for what they are: tales. Told by fairies.
Never trust fairies.
I guess I will always have that feeling, or the memory of that feeling - the feeling you get when you are a kid and you wake up and realize it's Christmas morning. I'm just not sure I will be able to appreciate it ever again the way I once did, though, knowing now that it wasn't real - that everything I had believed in was just an illusion. That it was frail enough to not withstand a shift in the air around me. That I was just getting presents as long as it was convenient for the North Pole Team™, that at the first sign of trouble they dropped me from their route.
I always felt special on Christmas morning, now I realize that there's nothing special about me - I'm just another stop along the way. I'm not even worth a special addendum to the contract, or renegotiations.
Is it better to have gotten presents from Santa™ in the past, than never to have gotten them at all? Time will tell, I guess.
Sunday, March 9, 2008
Daylight Savings Crap
This is the time of year when those of us fortunate to live in the parts of the country that still believe Daylight Savings Time is a good idea get to lose an hour of time. This day has only 23 hours in it. So stupid.
Movie Review: The Invasion
So I just watched The Invasion, a very entertaining and good but incredibly cliche and convenient horror / sci-fi thriller about an alien viral infection that makes its way to Earth aboard a crashing Space Shuttle. Bear in mind that I didn't really want to even see this, it was snow ninja's idea, but I did actually enjoy it. The cinematography and editing were very well done (if not typically post-modern), and the music had a suspensful Hitchcock-ian feel to it that really added to the excitement of the movie.
Daniel Craig wasn't annoying in it, so that was good, and Nicole Kidman looks fantastic - I really hope I have her body when I'm that age.
The thing that really got me about the movie was that it followed the trend of modern movies to sort of gloss over story line co-incidences with a kind of bravado that makes you wonder if the writers really believe that the stuff they are writing is believable, or if they just figure that if they don't call attention to it the general public won't notice. As a writer, I tend to think it's the latter, but as a writer I really wish that writers were above this. Then again, I think that with the glut of tales that have been told over the centuries, it just might be inevitable for us to have to suffer through this sort of thing just to get a unique story.
Not that this story was all that unique. In some ways it was, but there was still the strong heroine who perseveres in the face of adversity, the over-intelligent peripheral characters who just happen to be smart enough (and have access to the right equipment) to solve the scientific problems, and the other peripheral character who just happens to be immune to the infection - holding the answer to the antidote.
Still worth watching though, and there were definitely some deep philosophical questions buried amid the Hollywood fluff that make it a discussion piece as well.
Daniel Craig wasn't annoying in it, so that was good, and Nicole Kidman looks fantastic - I really hope I have her body when I'm that age.
The thing that really got me about the movie was that it followed the trend of modern movies to sort of gloss over story line co-incidences with a kind of bravado that makes you wonder if the writers really believe that the stuff they are writing is believable, or if they just figure that if they don't call attention to it the general public won't notice. As a writer, I tend to think it's the latter, but as a writer I really wish that writers were above this. Then again, I think that with the glut of tales that have been told over the centuries, it just might be inevitable for us to have to suffer through this sort of thing just to get a unique story.
Not that this story was all that unique. In some ways it was, but there was still the strong heroine who perseveres in the face of adversity, the over-intelligent peripheral characters who just happen to be smart enough (and have access to the right equipment) to solve the scientific problems, and the other peripheral character who just happens to be immune to the infection - holding the answer to the antidote.
Still worth watching though, and there were definitely some deep philosophical questions buried amid the Hollywood fluff that make it a discussion piece as well.
Saturday, March 8, 2008
Movie Review: Stardust
I just watched Stardust, which as it turns out is a fantastically written and executed fantasy movie about love, destiny, finding yourself, and love. Also gay pirates. I laughed, I cried, I burped at one point and threw up a little in my mouth; overall I thoroughly enjoyed this masterpiece. It even ends with a dais crowning scene, like all good movies should.
It had everything: princes, fallen stars, witches, swordfights, pirates, gate keepers, good stuff.
The story is as good as it gets, fresh, powerful, charming, and unique (the last of which is rare, especially in the fantasy genre). The special effects are at times questionable, but there are so many throughout the movie that are suberb and more than make up for that. It's one of those things where it's obvious that with so many special effects scenes, they couldn't pay proper attention to all of them. The acting and direction are engaging, together making this a fully immersible ride.
It had everything: princes, fallen stars, witches, swordfights, pirates, gate keepers, good stuff.
The story is as good as it gets, fresh, powerful, charming, and unique (the last of which is rare, especially in the fantasy genre). The special effects are at times questionable, but there are so many throughout the movie that are suberb and more than make up for that. It's one of those things where it's obvious that with so many special effects scenes, they couldn't pay proper attention to all of them. The acting and direction are engaging, together making this a fully immersible ride.
Saturday, March 1, 2008
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Sleeping In
The other day I went ahead and let myself sleep in. Damn that felt sweet. My body kept waking up every hour or so, but I would talk shit to the clock and then let myself fall back asleep. It went like this:
I finally rolled out of bed at 10:30, but I could have slept much longer than that. Today, however, was the opposite. I went to bed early last night (telling myself that I had a lot to do today), and found myself staring 4:46 AM in the face several hours later.
I drifted off a bit later, only to find myself up at 5:43.
And then...
7:12 found me irrevocably awake and trying to make sense of a dream that involved frozen creeks, 4-wheelers, cops, and a 1-month jail sentence. The lesson? Don't bother going to bed early since it just means you're going to wake up early. Early to bed and early to rise and all that.
Actually, the real lesson is that I haven't been managing my stresses well. Lately I find myself innundated with time restrictions: I have to be certain places at certain times or will face certain death (or at least sudden consequences). It's all very unnerving, especially when I have more to do at work than one man can possibly do (even one as awesome as I am) and a full private life to boot. I went to bed early last night because I had a lot to do today (I have to be somewhere as early as 10 AM, which isn't all that early but is on a Saturday, especially admist a snow storm), and that ended up backfiring in more ways than one.
So fuck you clock. Fuck you all times of the day.
You know what? I'll get there when I get there...
Fuck you seven o'clock, you don't know me.
Fuck you eight o'clock, you're not the boss of me.
Fuck you nine o'clock, you don't own me.
Fuck you ten o'clock, you don't want a piece of this, belIEVE me.
I finally rolled out of bed at 10:30, but I could have slept much longer than that. Today, however, was the opposite. I went to bed early last night (telling myself that I had a lot to do today), and found myself staring 4:46 AM in the face several hours later.
Fuck you 4:46, you don't - Oh yes sir, my apologies, apparently you DO know me.
I drifted off a bit later, only to find myself up at 5:43.
Dammit 5:43, haven't I told you to leave me aLONE!!??!?!?
And then...
Yessir Mr. 6:30, I am unworthy.
7:12 found me irrevocably awake and trying to make sense of a dream that involved frozen creeks, 4-wheelers, cops, and a 1-month jail sentence. The lesson? Don't bother going to bed early since it just means you're going to wake up early. Early to bed and early to rise and all that.
Actually, the real lesson is that I haven't been managing my stresses well. Lately I find myself innundated with time restrictions: I have to be certain places at certain times or will face certain death (or at least sudden consequences). It's all very unnerving, especially when I have more to do at work than one man can possibly do (even one as awesome as I am) and a full private life to boot. I went to bed early last night because I had a lot to do today (I have to be somewhere as early as 10 AM, which isn't all that early but is on a Saturday, especially admist a snow storm), and that ended up backfiring in more ways than one.
So fuck you clock. Fuck you all times of the day.
You know what? I'll get there when I get there...