2007

This morning I saw a transformer blow. I had just parked behind the coffee shop when I looked across the street and noticed a bright blue light glowing near the top of a utility pole. It was amazing—I'd never actually seen blue fire before (which is probably for the best, seeing as how blue fire is VERY VERY HOT). The flame got larger and larger, and it was blazing out from the box in a corona of ethereal blue tendrils. It really was one of the most beautiful things I've ever seen. In fact, I was so fascinated that I didn't even think to move; I just stood there, mesmerized. I do remember having the presence of mind to estimate the distance between myself and the pole, determining that I was at minimal safe distance if it should happen to fall in my direction. I also considered taking a picture with my cellphone for posterity's sake. All at once there was a tremendously loud pop, like when you're too close to the place where they set off the fireworks, and the transformer went KA-BLAMM-O. I hunkered down by the car, and my right ear (the one turned toward the explosion) began to ache a little bit. Ouchie.

Thank you, dear Committee members. Thank you for alerting us that Matt Damon is this year's sexiest man alive. I can never decide for myself, so every year I find myself eagerly awaiting your opinion on the subject. No really. Your insights are a beacon of light in an increasingly dreary world.

Okay, okay, okay . . . let me just set the snarkiness aside for a moment. The thing is, I don't actually have a problem with Matt Damon per se (aren't you impressed by my use of Latin?), but why does it always seem to be the same three guys cycling in and out of the winner slot? Matt Damon. George Clooney. Brad Pitt. Matt Damon. George Clooney. Brad Pitt. Matt Damon. George Clooney. And...Mark Ruffalo? Ha! Just kidding. It's Brad Pitt again.

Boring.

Hey again, silly-muffins. I know I've been MIA for quite a while (and for that I apologize), but I've been doing lots of secret agent stuff lately and I just haven't had a minute to myself. I hope to do better in the near future. For my first foray back into Blogland, I thought I'd post some examples of Nick's recent knitted projects. Biff! Bam! Zowie! It's like having my own personal sweatshop.

Hey, remember when people used to make ambitious films? You go to the theater these days, and the best you can hope for is something approximating a coherent plot. Acting is a bonus. Special effects, sure. You never have the expectation of seeing interesting themes or ideas presented on the screen. Buttered movie popcorn helps mitigate the pain, but it can only go so far. It's just like that Smiths song says: "the [movies] they constantly play, they say nothing to me about my life." But every now and again, a director comes along who sweeps you off your feet and restores your faith in the medium of film. Enter Danny Boyle, master of the visual perspective, herald of the inexplicably gorgeous, and disciple of the human condition. He's the one who brought us the filthiest toilet in Scotland as the location of an ethereal swimming scene. He's the one who brought us an existential zombie movie. He's the one who made Hitchcock-style camera angles cool again. He's a revelation. He's a burning bush. He's a prophet from the creative ether, sent to save us all from the cinematic ennui that threatens to devour us.

Nick and I just got back from our Colorado trip, so here are some vacation shots for anyone interested. Enjoy.

Have I ever told you how much I loved the show Deadwood? It was beautiful and gritty and Shakespearean, and I miss the characters terribly now that they're gone. Except, of course, for George Hearst . . . vile, disgusting George Hearst, who killed the gentle Mr. Ellsworth and chopped off Al's finger (truth be told, I was more indignant about the latter). Unfortunately, George Hearst got out of the eponymous town unscathed, with the exception of a very minor bullet wound. I gotta tell you, this turn of events really chapped my hide. I understand that the writers had to work within the constraints of history, but . . . the man was pure evil. I would have preferred that they simply abandoned historical fact and gave the viewers what we wanted for the finale: sweet, sweet revenge. I've already imagined several alternatives to this ending, and here are a few of them.

So this was my idea. Hey, maybe I could be the next Survivorman! I could teach myself to survive in the wilderness and then make an awesome show based on my efforts. Wouldn't that be cool? Except I don't really like camping, and I tend to get irritable when the creepy crawlies refuse to respect my personal space. But whatever. Those are obstacles that can be overcome, right?

Spider-Man 3--Ok, the critics have been pretty narrow-minded about this movie. Sure, it has some issues with evenness, but most of the specific criticisms that have been leveled against this movie are unfair and unfounded. First of all, the plot is complex, but not so convoluted that you can't follow it. Just set aside your expectations and go with the flow. Second, I don't think there are too many villains. Multiple bad guys is standard fare for comic books--if the superhero can't handle more than one villain at once, then maybe he doesn't really deserve to be a superhero. Third, there's a lot of time spent on the often-defunct friendship between Harry and Peter, and people seem to have a problem with that, as well as with the fact that most of the main characters cry at some point during the movie. Is it so terrible that Sam Raimi wants to depict genuine human relationships in all their complexity? There's still plenty of action, not to mention enough special effects to sink a battleship (that is, if special effects could, in fact, sink a battleship). I happen to think it does the audience a disservice to strip a film of its human element. If you want an example, just think of a bland, interchangeable Steven Seagal movie. Or better yet, think of the most recent Star Wars trilogy, then think about how hard you laughed at the "love scenes" between Anakin and Padme. Personally, I laughed pretty hard, because when the filmmaker doesn't care about the plausibility of his characters or their motivations, you just can't bring yourself to care about them either. And fifth, critics say that Spider-Man 3 is too ambitious. (Deep sigh.) Why shouldn't superhero movies be ambitious? Why shouldn't they strive for Wagnerian grandeur? If you want crappy vanilla superhero movies, just put on an endless loop of Daredevil and shut up.

Somehow I was involved in a progressive battle between a group of superheroes and some various bad guys, including Nazis. I was helping the superheroes. Our side had the Hulk, but I didn't recognize any of the others. One of our battles took place inside a big church. At one point, the pews disappeared and a giant circular hole opened up, sort of like that hole Luke fell down after getting his hand chopped off in The Empire Strikes Back. This wasn't a problem for my comrades, however. They could all fly (or jump, in the case of the Hulk) up and down it. But I had to steer clear.

(Note to the Reader: For the sake of authenticity, all dreams are transcribed directly from my dream journal. The writing is...shall we say...unpolished? Also, they make very little sense, but then I'm sure that'll be nothing new for this blog.)

I was placed under house arrest, along with about 30 other men and women. There were about 10 guards with us at all times. It was sort of like a reality show, but instead of one person leaving each week, one person was executed. We were all held in a big facility that had a huge dining hall with long wooden tables.

Dystopian films and novels are not known for their subtlety. They tend to take one pet concept and hammer it home until your brain feels like it's hemorrhaging grape juice. (Technology BAD! Nuclear weapons BAD!) Alfonso Cuaron's Children of Men is a different story altogether. Based on the novel by P.D. James, it's a dystopian story that is not so much interested in the causes of humanity's predicament as in the humans themselves. It's not a manifesto or a parchment containing Martin Luther's 95 Theses. It's not one big chorus of "You'll notice this was all caused by Items 1, 2, and 3 on your Dystopian Checklist." There are explanations as to why the world has come to this, but they aren't discussed at length in the film because they don't really matter. We know there was a massive flu epidemic in 2008. We know that sometime after that women began having miscarriages and then they were no longer conceiving at all. We know that the governments of the world began to collapse (due to despair about the world's future, one would assume), except for Britain. We know that Britain managed to retain control by extricating itself from the chaos of the world, which would only be possible because it is an island and inherently defensible. We know that by 2027--the time the movie is set--there are zillions of people trying to get into this last bastion of civilization, and we know that the British government takes all of them and imprisons them in refugee facilities that are really no more than concentration camps. We don't waste time rehashing how exactly this all came to pass, how personal rights and dignities were sacrificed, how it worsened degree by degree. We accept the premise because it's credible, because we all know this is how people (and governments) react when they feel threatened. The only detail that really matters in terms of the story is that there hasn't been a child born in eighteen years, and there is a profound deficit of hope.