The Path of Most Resistance

Some people dream of being caught in public in only their underwear.  Others dream of their teeth crumbling and falling out.   I've had those dreams.  But I constantly have dreams where I am late for work or some other appointment and as much as I try to get to my destination, something always keeps me from reaching it.   Usually, I am late for work, but on occasion, I am late for school in these dreams.  That is such an odd concept for me as I've been out of school for ten years now.  Still, the dream always has the same premise.   I am late for something and I need to get there, yesterday.  I either have no clean clothes to wear or my car doesn't want to start.  A few times, as I'm heading to my car, the phone rings or another member of my family get in my way to tell me something that causes me to stop my progress.  Ultimately, I wake up, never reaching my desired location.  Sometimes I wonder if my dreams are just an interpretation of everyday life. 

Try this on for size.  This has probably happened to you.   You get up for work the same time you always do.  You go about your normal routine but something happens.  You get something on your clothes that forces you to change, or perhaps you realize that those pants don't fit anymore.   Now you are three minutes off of your normal schedule.  You think, "No problem.  I'll just make it up in the car."    So, you head out the door and you are on your way.  That's where the issue escalates.  Because you are three minutes behind, you are now in sync with the school bus schedule and that big yellow bastard just pulled out in front of you.   Worse yet, every three houses there are kids waiting.  You spend more time on your brake than the gas pedal.  The clock keeps ticking but you aren't moving.  You get to a school zone and of course have to slow down to 15mph or you'll be pulled over.   The bus finally turns and now you've traded for a vehicle that constantly stops for one that doesn't know how to go.   The car that is now in front of you is the kind that brakes up hill and thinks that the speed limit is an insane concept designed by drivers on the autobahn.   The driver is either half asleep or fixing their make up and doesn't know what the long skinny pedal looks like.   For what feels like a half hour, you are stuck behind the tortoise and once they get out of your way you now find yourself 15 minutes behind schedule....and you forgot your purse briefcase, lunch, homework, etc. 

I face this challenge everyday.  Thursday's are even worse.  I have to leave work at 3:30 PM so that I can make it home in time to take over baby watching duties for my piano teaching in the evening wife.    The trip is only 12 miles and I can make it in less than a half hour.  But for some reason it doesn't matter if I leave work five minutes early or five minutes late, I am always running behind and have to juggle changing out of my work attire with a baby who now can crawl faster than the people drive in front of me on my way home.   I either catch the back end of a yellow light that screws everything up, or I get behind a school bus on its way to drop off the youth of America.  I will probably have to adjust my schedule even more and leave an hour early just so I can anticipate the funeral procession that I will probably be stuck behind next time.    Going to work, I'm not so concerned with because I tend to leave early anyways, because I know the issues I deal with on my trek across three school districts.  I do know that if I leave at a certain time I have a clear path all the way to work's front door.   If I am running behind and get out the door a little later, I know I'll have to deal with at least three school busses on every leg of the journey.  Fortunately, I know a few short cuts that get me ahead of the curve. 

Another example of what I call "Task Resistance" is the idea that if I have a plan to do something, whether it is work or play time related, I will never get the full use of my time.  Last night was another usual example.  I came home from work with the plan that once I have the baby down for her afternoon nap, I will have at least an hour of time to myself before my wife is done teaching and will want to watch the news.    With that time, I plan to get reacquainted with the world of Grand Theft Auto for my Playstation 2 because on Tuesday, April 29th, Grand Theft Auto IV will be released and I will be picking that up from work.   So, I get home, the baby goes down, and I'm free to fire up Vice City Stories.  First, I have to move all of the baby proofing from the glass entertainment center doors.  Then, I had to try and locate the memory card with my saved game which took me almost ten minutes to find.   Check and Check.  Off I go.  I get settled in and my wife decides she needs to get something in the back of the house and ultimately makes some noise that wakes the baby.  She goes back downstairs to finish teaching and I'm left with an awake and cranky baby.  I venture into the nursery and console the little one, finally getting her back down and by 5:38 PM I am back to my post.   Due to load times and a misfire by a rocket launcher, sending me into the stratosphere, I've managed to actually play for about five minutes.  The wife finishes up her lessons, so I switch back to the regular channels and we watch the news.  After the weather, I know I can continue for probably another half an hour before we have to get the baby up.  The weather segment ends, I pick up my controller, and the baby monitor springs to life as if I'm Mel Gibson and aliens have just landed in the corn fields outside my house.   So much for that.  

Today, when I get home, I will have an empty house because my wife has to drop off the baby at her parents' since our schedules don't line up.  This affords me maybe two hours of free time until I'm needed elsewhere.  However, I can only imagine the amount of obstacles I will face on my way back to Liberty City via my couch.  I have to leave work and drive a half hour to the store.  I'm sure there will be a line or some inept employee will screw up my order.  I spent five dollars to reserve the game, so they better damn well have one there for me.   Then, I have to get home in one piece.   Once there, I will probably have a half hour left before my wife shows up.  From there, any number of issues will arise.  "There's a spider in the bathroom."  "The garbage needs taken out."   "Why won't the dish washer run?"  "I can't reach this." 

I am constantly plagued by the work of outside forces bent on destroying me.  I have no way of clearly justifying my actions because they are in fact the childish actions of a 33 year old man who still plays video games, yet, I will beg, borrow, and steal whatever free time I can to enjoy five minutes of game playing.   I now know why men find solace with a newspaper in the bathroom.  I imagine that there are men who have bathrooms with walls that spin or retract to reveal all sorts of free time distractions.  Sort of a speak easy hiding our distractions and hobbies from the world.  Flat screen televisions fixed on Sports Center drop from the ceiling and the room becomes sound proof.  See, men don't actually go to the bathroom.  That's a myth.  We actually go there for peace and quiet.  We keep up the allusion by using a spray can of derider that is really filled with the nastiest fragrance on Earth.

So, here I am at 9 AM on Tuesday, hoping that the world doesn't end by 4 PM.  Perhaps I could get to the store faster if I stole a taxi, used a special code to make it jump over traffic, and showed total disregard for traffic laws and public safety to maximize my free time.   Who am I kidding?  With my luck, I'll still get stuck behind a bus.

The Monster Takes Manhattan: A Cloverfield Review

In 1990, at the uninhibited age of 15, I did something I would probably never do again in my lifetime.  It was our school picnic at a local amusement park and I threw caution to the wind and rode The Rotor five times in a row.  To give you a brief idea of what this ride did, it spun.  You stood against the inside wall of this big drum, which spun fast enough that the floor could drop out from below you and you would stick to the wall.  For most people, one ride is enough to make you lose your funnel cake, but I had to do it multiple times to prove I was a man....because the girl I was with wanted to go that many times and I didn't want to appear weak.   It was the kind of ride that if you threw up, you could see a cool test of Newton’s laws conducted with a corn dog instead of an apple.  In the last 18 years I have developed a weak constitution when it comes to theme park rides, but I never thought I’d need Dramamine to watch a film.  For those of you living in a bunker in South Dakota, writing your manifesto, that film is Cloverfield. 

I've become a sort of fan of J.J. Abrams work.  I have been an avid fan of LOST since it aired in 2004.  Mysterious creatures toppling trees in the jungle, stoking the fires of your imagination to burn white hot with the worst possible image of what could be lurking behind the flora.  Strange devices and structures that seem to not be indigenous to a deserted island send the fan boys into a conspiracy theory tizzy on what they mean.  Basically, you are looking at a nondescript box, and J.J. teases you with clues as to what could be inside but never reveals it, wholly.  If Abrams was a seller on eBay, he'd be the king of the mystery box auction.   Here, the box is Manhattan and he slowly teases you with what is trying to rip through the box and gnaw off your face, but he never tells you.  That's for your mind to decide.  Sure, he gives you little glimpses of the beast, but never gives you an explanation for what it is or why it's tearing up Times Square.

That's the basic premise of Cloverfield.  The DOD recover a camera from the rubble of a bridge in Central Park that details the last hours of a group of friends in Manhattan during a going away party for Rob, who is leaving to start a new job in Japan.  His brother and friends host the party and use the camera to document it, unknowingly recording over Rob and his good friend/lover Beth sharing a "good day," starting from the bedroom of her father's apartment and ending at Coney Island.  Clips from that day are interspersed into the recording as the camera as the camera turns off from the present action.  During the party an unseen force attacks and begins to demolish the island forcing the main cast to flee the party and make plans for escape.  It's revealed in several shaky moments that a creature of unknown origin is doing the damage and efforts to escape the island become hindered.  As the creature and its little parasitic offspring kill off the characters during the attack, Hud, continues to document and speculate over the creature's origin and motives before eventually becoming a morning snack.  The military issue an endgame scenario called "hammerdown protocol" which will pretty much decimate most of New York City in an attempt to finally stop the monster.  Rob and Beth injured and out of time hole up under a bridge giving farewells and a final statement about the efficiency of the military's attack.  A garbled message, presumably from Rob, and recorded in reverse, probably from damage to the camera states, "It's still alive."  The camera ceases its recording of the attack and reverts back to a final scene from Coney Island, weeks before as a bookend. While seemingly unimportant, supposedly there is a clue here.  Knowing Abrams work, nothing is dismissed. 

Abrams assembled his production team from familiar faces in his past work. Drew Goddard, well known for his writing on LOST, Alias, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, and Angel, wrote the flick.  Director Matt Reeves, while relatively unknown in film with only two previous movie credits, helmed episodes of Felicity and the pilot episode of the great, yet underated Miracles.   The production takes the Godzilla recipe and throws it into a blender with a few other movie ingredients to make a nice batch of Slusho.  First we add a base of Jurassic Park to give us a foundation.  Our band of partygoers are faced with the task of making it from point "A" which is a party in Manhattan, to point "C" which is a rescue helicopter near Central Park, and along the way a giant monster continually chases them, causing destruction and providing them with architectural obstacles as they move through point "B", the leaning apartment of our hero's girlfriend.  We have one part from The Blair Witch Project to provide that shaky amateur cinematography feel.  Throw in a dash of Jaws, to give us that hint of monster which you see from obscured angles and shaky filming.  Add a hint of Miracle Mile to give us that essence of hindered progress and detoured directions with an aftertaste of doom and gloom.  Add to low heat for 15 minutes, bringing to a boil, slowly.  Garnish with motion sickness pills and serve.

First, I'll give you the good.  Cloverfield scores points with me for taking a genre of film or a style and taking it to a new level.  The "camcorder" or "handheld camera" film genre points back to Blair Witch as a source for inspiration.  Here, the concept is a going away party that is being documented when a disaster occurs.  Since, one of the characters was filming the party, already, it makes sense that he "documents" the attack.  The lack of importance with lighting and clear shots is a way to heighten the suspense as we never get a fully unobstructed shot of the monster.   It takes the viewer of a Godzilla movie and places them at street level.  The topography of Manhattan also serves to heighten tensions as we can't see what is causing destruction and we rely on others to fill in the gaps.  Listen closely to the early background dialogue as New Yorkers instantly feel that it is a terrorist attack.  The "handicam" approach also gives Abrams full permission to play on our imaginations, especially during one scene where Rob, Lilly, and Hud have to move Beth, who is impaled on a piece of rebar in her apartment.  The camera is set down just out of range of the action and the sounds and motion of Beth gave me my only reason for wanting to vomit as I imagined her sliding off of the bar.

I give Goddard credit in fleshing out the story in familiar Abrams fashion.  Abrams' previous works feature all sorts of elements such as bait and switch reveals, a snake in a mailbox, and manipulation of time through flashbacks to introduce important clues at just the right moment.  One of the biggest mysteries of Cloverfield is the origin of the monster.  Unfortunately, we have become a society of people who want to be spoiled, spoon fed answers to ambiguous ideas, and basically filmmakers' profit over marketing tie ins and fictional internet sites that piece together clues to what happens during the film.  I've seen arguments and theories over what the monster is and even an answer from Abrams and company fail to satisfy the audiences thirst for explanation.  Reeves has cleverly set up as an unintentional erasure of previous events on Rob's camera.  His daytrip with Beth to Coney Island gets copied over with the attack and only little bits of the previous footage remain, but offer a vital clue.  The last scene from the Coney Island footage reveals a large object falling from the sky splashing down into the water off shore.  Seeing as how the object is not as big as the monster we deduce that this object, possibly a satellite or space junk, has disturbed the creature's watery abode.   Just like a stampede of elephants spooked by a gunshot the behemoth makes its way out of the water and onto land like a bull in a china shop knocking over buildings and stepping on people.  Imagine an adolescent "Clovie" thrashing around at this unknown environment, trying to make sense of what woke it up.   Add military vehicles shooting at it and you've got a pissed off, disoriented leviathan, stumbling about Manhattan like a fawn on its first day of walking.

Now, let us look at the not so good.  Abrams' productions are fearfully treading into M. Night Shyamalan territory.  With Alias and Lost firmly planted in the lexicon of pop culture, he's starting to get a lot of exposure in the film industry.  While not directing or writing this movie, his footprint is all over it.  Mission: Impossible III was riddled with Abrams' style, apparent from the first scene. He's going on to do a reboot of the Star Trek franchise and just seeing Leonard Nimoy in the list confirmed cast members we can say with great certainty that there will be flashbacks and probably a twist that will be revealed by a flashback or some great piece of the puzzle will finally be put into place at the end of the movie.  Having this in mind, I understood what Abrams and company were trying to achieve with Cloverfield and they made it work for me.  But choices in style of filming and direction are beginning to get predictable.  By the time Shyamalan released The Village speculation and stolen production material had been leaked to the general public and soon everyone, including me, went into that film looking for a twist or a surprise ending instead of enjoying the film.  Unfortunately, geeks like me sometimes forget to take off the "analysis hat" and just enjoy a film.  I can't say that I had a problem with that during Independence Day, another Manhattan goes kablooey movie, but then again, I don't think ID4 is being taught in film analysis classes at USC or UCLA.  With Cloverfield the big mystery is the who, what, where, and why of the monster and I knew from the first cut, or "flashback" if you will, to the original Coney Island footage that this was a thematic device for displaying the mechanics of digital cameras as well as setting up the last scene depicting splashdown. Similarly, LOST has kept the origin of island's monster a mystery for four years only giving viewers an insight to what it looks like at the end of the first season.  With that in mind, I figured the mystery of Cloverfield's monster would be revealed in a like manner. 

One of the biggest complaints with Cloverfield among viewers has been the shaky cam filming.  I've never been one to complain about a movie experience causing me nausea.  Like I said, I challenged a "spin and puke" ride to a duel and Blair Witch didn't make me sick.  However, here I had to take several breaks to get the color back in my face.  Of course, I figured the best way to watch a movie shot in the style of a handheld camera is to watch it from the perspective of a handheld camera as I didn't see it in a theater or on DVD, I watched it online.  I figured it was meant to be watched in this manner as it was a film that serves to further illustrate our newfound obsession with viral video and digital media.  I don't believe that it enhanced or detracted from my viewing experience so I will assume that what I saw was the same film that everyone saw.   Another nauseating element was Hud's constant wisecracks.  I expect them in a film like ID4 or Ghostbusters but it was a bit jarring for him to be that ridiculous in some spots.  It seemed as if he was trying to force a Ryan Reynolds delivery in most of his jokes.  I expected more from Goddard who has written some of the smartest dialogue, full of sardonic wit, in his tenure with Mutant Enemy. 

I will say that I fully expect a sequel and probably welcome it, given early reports of story ideas.  If the creators are smart, they had additional footage of the cast going through the streets of New York City filmed with another digital camera being wielded by another amateur photographer and they can tell the same story events through the viewfinder of other New Yorkers awe struck by the attack.  Perhaps, now that we know what the creature looks like, we can get a nice shot of him doing his Honey Ryder impression coming out of the water off the coast of New York.  Just as long as it doesn't follow The Blair Witch sequel idea and totally depart from the original style.   That movie required more than just a couple of Dramamine.  I was reaching for the Pepto-Bismol by the end.  You know, if it wouldn’t be totally against the FDA to do so, Bad Robot could have struck a deal and had the DVD packaged with a small sample pack of motion sickness pills.  It would have been a clever nod to the audience as they like to do with some of their productions.  No!  Dumb idea, you say.  Fine, then where were you in 1990 when I spinning in circles waiting for my cheese fries to make an appearance?  I could have used your advice then.

Why I am glad the Pennsylvania Primary is finally here

I'm glad that the PA Primary is finally here, because then the damn phone calls will stop.....for awhile.  I have gone on at length about my issues with phone calls.  Still, I understand that each candidate will try to get the most exposure and awareness of their campaign out to the masses before the primary on Tuesday, April 22.  However, I do not appreciate the fact that I've been called repeatedly by both Democratic candidates’ camps over the last few weeks. 

Let's see, we've had Ed Rendell send a recorded message.  He's for Hillary.  Then we have Senator Bob Casey sending his own message.  He's for Obama.  That should have been it.  Two calls and you're done.  You've got your message out to me.  I will go vote.   But, no, that can't be it.  They have to call on the weekends and remind me that there is a primary on Tuesday and want to know if I have a candidate in mind.   First of all, if I didn't know that there was a primary on Tuesday in Pennsylvania, you better check me for a pulse.  Everybody loves my little state come election time, but you all can't be bothered the rest of the months or years.  Secondly, even if I didn't know who to vote for, I sure as hell won't believe you.  You're not objective.  You don't lay out the facts.  You lay out what is more favorable for your candidate.

What's worse is that these punks seem to know exactly when to call to maximize my frustration.  It's Sunday and I've just got the baby down for a nap.  This gives her a much needed rest from chasing the cat and it gives me a much needed rest from chasing the baby.  "RING! RING!"  I say "hello" and of course there is a five second delay for someone to be assigned my call and here comes the spiel.    In fact, I've just decided to change my policy on the two "hellos".  You're only getting one.  Then I hang up.  The problem with that is that they just call back.   So, I'm prepared for the next call.  Once they get their political spiel out of the way, I'm giving them the "Do Not Call" story and then I'm going to tell them that yes, I have made my decision.  I'm voting for the other guy, even if it is the other guy/girl.  Why?  Because, you can't leave me alone.    You just destroyed my support for your candidate.  You call when you know you'll find someone at home.  If we don't answer, you don't leave a message on the machine or continue to call back.   You've done it.  You have just lost your candidate my vote.  I don't care who you are, but that's it.  In the scheme of things, I waste more energy giving them the third degree versus just listening and hanging up.   However, I'm tried of it.  I am sick and tired of being harassed by these folks.   You tell those people to call me directly.   I will speak to them.   I would appreciate a candidate who is willing to call me on the phone and speak to me one on one about the issues and my concerns for the presidency.  Don't hire people at minimum wage to do it for you.   Ed Rendell and Bob Casey don’t send me a recorded message.  Why don't you call me and ask how I feel about their performance.  Hey, Ed, thanks for getting us the new arena with Don Barden.  I'm glad we went with him instead of Isle of Capri.   I mean Isle of Capri was going to give us an arena and fix up the area.  Don is going to back out of his commitment to fix up the Hill District.  Here, I was worried he was going to screw us for no reason. 

And another thing that bothers me is campaign signs.  I'm on a tear, aren't I?  I think each candidate or their campaign should be fined a set amount of money for every day beyond the election that those signs stay up on the side of the road.  This is of course the ones that stick in the ground.  Billboards are fine, because they are paid advertisements.  The little signs in your yard are the ones for which I am asking a fine to be imposed.   It clutters up the landscape and tends to be an eyesore with all those colors abound. 

There you have it, my first and hopefully last political rant.  I'm Mongo and I approve this message.

Repetition Killed the Radio Star

I hate radio. Let me state that again. I HATE RADIO. It's nothing personal against the recording artists, although I think there is too much sampling and covering of good music out there. I'm more pissed at the big radio conglomerates that get away with putting crap on the radio and then repeating it again an hour later. Growing up in Southwestern Pennsylvania, we had maybe three stations that we listened to. There was your classic rock station, WDVE 102.5 FM. There was the local AM station, WCVI 1340 AM, a haven for my Paul Harvey and Tradio fix, and lastly, there was the mountain top broadcaster WLSW 103.9 FM which played middle of the road popular music. Of these three stations, I still listen to one. Can you guess which? If you've read any of my past entries and answered the classic rock station then you get the gold star.

I can rely on classic rock. I know what I'm going to find on that station. WCVI is no longer around and WLSW is not what it used to be. DVE is still the home for classic rock and other stations have come and gone in terms of format while this fixture in Pittsburgh has thrived. That's not to say we don't have other stations in the area. During the early to mid 80's a top 40 juggernaut came on the scene. WBZZ 93.7 FM quickly became a favorite in the area for its music and morning show. But do to changing times they switched formats, fired the disc jockey's and tried to pull in the big names like Howard Stern to fill in the morning hours. Money begets evil. I stopped listening to B94 as we called it in the area when they started playing the same music as two other stations in the area because they constantly recycled music.

Now, as a kid, I can remember being in my room with fingers at the ready to record my favorite songs on a mix tape. Most tapes in my dusty archives still have lead ins or outros from the DJ's of old. In fact, to show how much of a dork I was, I took a cassette tape and had it ready to record Bryan Adams, "Everything I Do," whenever it came on the radio. I had about five back to back recordings in a row on one tape. I was a big Bryan Adams fan and had just seen Robin Hood in the theaters and was stuck on that song. Of course, then I got into CDs and I bought the soundtrack and did not require the need for five consecutive tapings of the rock ballad.

You would think with my interest in that one song that I wouldn't mind repetition on the radio? I would welcome it. Unfortunately, either my age or the lack of good songs out there proves otherwise, as I only listen to the radio on my way to work. On the way home it's a crap shoot. I like DVE but sometimes, I just want a change. Otherwise, I fire up the iPod, listen to NPR for news, or just drive home in silence. There for awhile, B94 had switched to an all talk format called the ZONE with Dennis Miller on during lunch and a local icon, Scott Paulsen, on during the ride home. It was a failed experiment and of course I would like it because it was meant to fail. On the weekends I tune in to Cigar Dave, not because I was some big cigar aficionado, but it was fun to learn a thing or two about something I had no knowledge of while driving around. After the station folded, once again, the owners decided to return to their roots. During the summer of 2007 they played about a week's worth of Christmas music and then unveiled their, "Christmas" present. Sprinkled throughout the holiday tunes were hints and riddles that something that been missing from Pittsburgh would be returning. Seeing as how every other format had failed, I could only imagine one thing, the return of B94. My enthusiasm was overwhelming, much like my sarcasm. Why did we think this time around would be any different? What could they offer Pittsburgh, now, that they could not or would not before?

As far as I'm concerned, after listening for the last six months, the NEW B94 sounds a lot like the old B94. I don't mean that in a good way. If I did, I would have said it sounded like the "Good Old B94." For now, it still plays the same rotation of about six songs, and in my opinion, they all suck. I guess if I expected it to be like the good old days, they'd play music from then. In that case, I should be listening to the variety stations that play music from previous decades. This begs another question? What will happen to the oldies station, WWSW 94.5 FM, when the oldies they play stat catching up to the variety that the other stations play? Will there be a format change? These are the things I think about at 3 AM when the power goes out. Where was I? Oh yeah, crap. My wife listens to these hit music stations that play the six pack of crap and when we are in her car, she has the dial control. It just twists my knob when we drive somewhere and I hear song "A" and then when we finish our errand and get back in the car to return home, song "A" is playing again on the radio.

Where does the problem lie? Is it the DJ's or the Producers' fault for the repetition? I believe it is the producers who bow down to the lowest common denominator and play the popular stuff to bookend the commercials that pay their salaries. Otherwise, they'd expand the playlist a little more and give us a better variety of crap. Until that happens, I'm content listening to the voices in my head while I make my way home in the afternoon. Yeah, it gets a little repetitious, but I like the artist.

 

Remember these little weird things when driving?

1. Back in the days when stations couldn't broadcast through the tunnels in Pittsburgh we used to play a game where we'd enter the tunnel and continue to sing the song until we reached the other side to see if we could sync up the words.


2. There were times when one of the popular songs was playing on the radio you could switch to the other Top 40 station and have the same song playing from the same spot.


3. You always hit that one station while it played your favorite song, but it was ten seconds from the end. I hated that.

Pop Culture Round Up

It's not Pop Rocks and Pepsi, but just a general take on some of the latest developments in my world of pop culture. 

 

Finally watched Pirates of the Caribbean: At World's End

Yar, beware! Here there be Spoilers!

I'm still scratching my head on this one.  I initially dismissed the Pirates franchise when it first came out.   Thanks to Cutthroat Island, the genre hasn't seen a good film since I don't know when although; I will give props to Muppet Treasure Island and Yellowbeard.   I finally gave in and rented The Curse of Black Pearl on a whim.   I was pleasantly surprised.  At first, I was hesitant because this was a Disney Movie based on a Disney Theme park Ride.  I had visions of fat man in red and white striped shirts singing and dancing.  I should have known something was up when I saw Gore Verbinski was the director.  This guy scared the bejeezus out of me with The Ring.  I refuse to watch anything on VHS because of this.  After viewing the film, I was converted and Pirates were fun again.  If only the same could be said for my hometown baseball team.  They've had a longer losing streak in terms of years versus the Pirate movie genre.    The music was great and the visuals were spectacular.   With the sequel it took a greener turn. I say greener instead of darker because it seems as if the color palate used a lot more green and grays than blacks as with the first movie's name sake ship.  Davy Jones' became a formidable opponent with his attack dog, the Kraken, at the ready.  Bill Nighy, always a treat, pulled off a Gollum role where CGI could have drowned out his expressions and emotions.  Yet, he chews up scenery like Tako which would be considered cannibalism, I guess.  I digress.  The cracks begin to show in Dead Man's Chest as the movie tries to cram subplots and arcs like sardines in a can.  It's a Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad, dash to the finish line as four different characters seek the chest for their own purposes.  In a cliffhanger style ending, witty Jack goes down with his ship to the Locker and we are left to reminisce over our other favorite rascally film character that gets the short end of the stick by the middle film of his respective trilogy.  Hello, HanSicle?

Our heroes get a reprieve and have a WTF OMG moment a scene later as Geoffrey Rush's Barbossa reappears to help find Jack at World's End.   My problems with the film exist in that it seems to depart from the style and formula executed rather well in the first films.  The film should have been named Double-crossed Swords because it was more like a British heist film than a Pirate film.  Everybody is stabbing each other in the back with a cutlet.  I kept losing track as to whose plan was being thwarted or played out as every scene started with an "Aha" moment and the tables get turned.   Secondly, while watching Depp play various parts of Sparrows psyche was fun to watch, Sparrow has become a shadow of his former self.  My take on Sparrow is that while he plays the fool and drunkard, behind that thick eyeliner is a genius at work.   Sometimes it seems as if he is making it up as he goes along but there is always an angle to be played and he seems quick on his wobbly feet.  Will and Elizabeth run the gamut of new young love, misunderstood betrayal, and miscommunication that leads them to spend most of the film apart.  Too much soap opera not enough chemistry. 

Now, my biggest complaint, THE KRAKEN IS DEAD!    I don't mean they kill the Kraken in a showdown.  I mean it's dead from the get go, washed up on shore.  I feel bad for the behemoth.  His master turned on him and killed him.  The poor bastard was probably like, "Hey, Dad, what are you doing?  That hurts."  Squidley's demise only serves to show Becket's subjugation of Davy Jones and I think we all got that from the end of the film.  .   No need to rehash with dead calamari seagull buffet.  Sure, they throw in metaphors relating the Kraken's death with the end of piracy and the shrinking world having no room for mythical sea monsters but that's window dressing. It seemed like a budget constraint rather than plot choice.  Perhaps they had too much other business going on and didn't have room for beastie beating.    The other misuse of casting is Chow Yun Fat.  They kill him off after only a little more than a half hour of screen time.   Keith Richards had a bigger impact on the story and he was only around for a brief scene and towards the end. 

The final twist, which we could see coming since Tia Dalma was included in the movie beyond the first ten minutes, comes with Tia being Jones' reason for fishiness.   She screwed him over.  He screwed her over.  They both end up trapped.  All of a sudden it's revealed that she is Calypso and before the final showdown they "Mekka-lekka hi mekka hiney ho" her into the 50 foot women and she reveals her big secret.  She's got crabs.... I mean she turns into crabs and flees leaving a giant maelstrom that only the Tidy Bowl Man could navigate.  Then it's all Slash, Slash, Dodge, Parry, and in a pseudo Mexican standoff Jones' shows why he's the badass of the sea by stabbing Will.  Nothing left to do but make him the new captain of The Flying Dutchman, a plot point that would have better suited his father seeing as how he was already a part of the crew.  He could have made Will first mate and then freed him of his debt.  But no, Will is left to ferry dead folk to the other side only being allowed on land once every ten years....which technically he could work out a commuter schedule with a bucket of water like Jones did at the coin toss scene.  By the end of the film, we have a return to the roots.  Barbossa steals the Black Pearl.  Jack is left to search for treasure in a dinghy and what of Will? There is a bonus scene at the end which doesn't explain a lot but after reading more it makes sense.  Turns out if Calypso would have not stood Jones' up he would have been freed from servitude and a career at being a really good organ player.  So, since Elizabeth, with Will the third (?) showing up for their date, he is probably allowed to leave the ship for more than just a 24 hour booty call.

There is probably room for more movies but it seems as if the franchise has run its course.  Video games, graphic novels, fan fiction, and paperback books will fill in the edges of the map on this world but it seems as if all, except Knightley, would be willing to return if the wind and script was favorable.  I think it needs to be a little while before we have another film.  It's hard to imagine having a film without the original cast that made it great but there are probably other great storied fish in the seas as the trilogy was driven by a newly created character that was not associated with the theme park attraction previously.  I must say that it's unusual for a movie based off of anything, whether it be a video game or whatever, to be successful.  Just look at any video game movie adaptation. The source material is usually tossed aside and the basic structure is picked apart and plugged in certain areas.  Here, the first two films managed to incorporate elements from attraction fairly well yet the third lacked any references that I could see.  Still, Pirates are fun again and I'm sure there will be imitators and challengeres for the mantle.

 

Boston Legal

When Boston Legal premiered, I promised myself that I wouldn't watch it.  I was distraught over the decline and disappearance of Boston Public and I've never really been a big fan of shows about lawyers, although, I was a loyal fan of Night Court.....ironic since John Larroquette is now on the show.  As big of a fan of David Kelley and James Spader I am, I couldn't see investing more time that I didn't have into watching more shows when I had already maxed out all forms of recording to watch later.  However, I would catch the occasional episode and I viewed our relationship as casual... sort of a friend with benefits arrangement.  My wife, on the other hand, who refuses to embrace certain things because on the surface they seem ridiculous or asinine, is the one who hooked me on this show.  To give you a brief background on my wife's point, she usually sees all the things I find joy or amusement in as dumb or unworthy.   I began watching Buffy the Vampire Slayer during the second season, catching up on Season One during the summer hiatus.  She felt I was a dork.  By Season Four, she was hooked.   So, I didn't find it too odd that she would eventually come to her senses when it concerned her utter dislike for the Shat.   William Shatner is one of those people that you either love or hate.  Even if you hate him, you have to respect his bank ability.  His caricature of his own ego and self imposed celebrity status among the elite of Hollywood make you realize that, while never achieving the status of say Hanks or Clooney, his cult following for years before mainstream success seem almost planned as a prologue or back story to his greatest role since Kirk.

My wife also has a problem with James Spader's character and basically to know Spader is to know that this role was a perfect fit.  Looking back at some of his previous roles as slimy and smarmy snakes he had little to do but just flex his acting muscles a bit and this role was perfect.   Watching him argue in the courtroom is like watching what Aaron Sorkin used to do with The West Wing and Sports Night.  Unfortunately, Studio 60 couldn't approach the same types of posturing that Boston Legal could because of the given environment in which the characters existed.  Here, Kelly preaches just like Sorkin, but under the guise of opposing council both sides get a say, although it always seems that CP&L's arguments are longer and always tailored to win.  Only Denny Crane can point it out as Shatner has mastered the ability to break the fourth wall without being corny.  This is a feat that only he and Burt Reynolds have mastered.  Bruce Willis has tried in the past and failed.  Keep trying Bruno, you'll get it.   A recent episode tackled tabloid television and I wish I could find a transcript of Spaders closing argument because it is very well written and well acted I must say.  The decline of quality television is a topic near and dear to me as I was raised in the days of great television.

The last point of contention my darling wife has with the show is the relationship between Shore and Crane.  Granted, it doesn't stop her from watching but she doesn't quite get the whole sleep over, scotch and cigar, man love that goes on between two outwardly heterosexual males.   Not being familiar with the show, I didn't understand it either because Shore comes off as somewhat a flamboyant and prissy character.  However, I love the fact that these two alpha males can bond the way they do over one of Freud's biggest symbols of male anatomy and still find time to bed their way through the halls of Boston Legal.  This is truly a great show and I am now damned to watch it every week from here on out.

Do Not Call...Waiting Into That Good Night

Do Not Call Waiting into that good night,

Telemarketers should burn on weekend days,

Rage, rage against the phone's blinking light.



Though wise men turn off their ringer and know that it is right,

Because their peace is valuable and want no interruptions they

Do Not Call Waiting into that good night.



Working men, the last hours by, crying "Enough, All Right!"

The answering machine keeps the evil at bay,

Rage, rage against the phone's blinking light.



Tired men who get caught by a survey about their next flight,

And learn, too late, Caller ID would show the way,

Do Not Call Waiting into that good night.



Desperate men, with sleeping babies, who tip toe around at night.

Red eyes blaze at the sight of "Out of Area" on their phone display,

Rage, rage against the phone's blinking light.



You, my phone company, there on lofty height,

Curse you, Private Callers still come through. Bless me, I pray.

Do Not Call Waiting into that good night,

Rage, rage against the phone's blinking light.

Ok, so I just murdered Dylan Thomas' most accessible work. Seriously, though, with the onslaught of political phone calls I've been getting, someone needs to die. I'm not going to go into my own personal views on politics. Save that for the blogs who cater to that kind of thing. This is about the phones and how they ring incessantly when I have just put my daughter down for a nap.

Growing up we didn't have all the luxuries that we have not. I'm not talking about having to walk to school, uphill, both ways, through three feet of snow. I'm talking about call waiting, call forwarding, and additional phone lines in the house. In fact, my parents still do not have call waiting at their house. Until a couple of years ago, they still had the same phone in their kitchen. It was a rotary phone with a 500 ft cord that was only usable short of two feet. It was coiled and knotted up into something that resembled a dreadlock. Let me give you an example of how bad this was. The phone rings and you go to answer it. You go to take a couple of steps from the phone trying to utilize that football field long cord, only to have it bunch up. As you reach for a pen and paper, the phone pulls off the wall and onto the floor. You could spend days trying to untangle that cord. To put it bluntly, Stevie Wonder would have better luck at solving a Rubik's cube.

When we moved into our new house circa 1985, my parents installed an additional phone line for my older brother and sister, who were in late teens. It was a phone line that existed in all the bedrooms but my parents'. That way, they could talk to whomever they wanted and not tie up the regular phone. Being that my father is an insurance agent, he tends to get calls from his clients in the evenings, especially if they've had a car accident or otherwise. Still, they had one phone, another rotary model, and they had to share it. So, it sat outside one of their bedrooms on the floor near the stairway so you could hear it. Then, if you went to bed early, you ended up killing yourself after tripping on the phone cord and falling down the stairs. Still, I told all my friends and a few that weren't that they could call me on my private line. Just as long as it wasn't during dinner and after I was done with my homework. Oh, and not on Monday's at eight, either. I'll be watching MacGyver. I felt so empowered that at the age of 11, I had my own phone line. Although, my name wasn't listed alongside my siblings in the phone book and, if they were home, I couldn't even look at the phone, let alone use it.

The next issue we had was that our phone number, which has been my parents’ phone number for more than 33 years, was so similar to a lot of other phone numbers. We had calls from people looking for AT&T. They had the same prefix and last four digits as us but had the 1-800 in front of their number. We also had people looking for the driver of a local senator. For years, I asked my parents why they never changed their number if it was such a pain in the ass to get a lot of calls from people with the wrong number. Their response was, "Let AT&T change their number. We had ours first." Of course, to this day, you always hear how AT&T continually gets calls looking for my father. "I'm sorry sir. I feel bad that someone hit your car, but we are the phone company."

We also didn't have an answering machine. Let me rephrase that. We didn't have an answering machine that worked properly. The outgoing message sounded like it was recorded with the same equipment that was used during Watergate and the incoming messages were better interpreted by someone at NASA than in my house. When I began my five year mission to graduate from college I got my first taste of voice mail. I spent hours coming up with the perfect messages that would be funny yet entice people to leave me praise in lieu of an actual message. "Hello, we called to let you know you are in delinquent on your student loan. But, you know what? That was such a fantastic greeting that we are going to just rip up your records. Have a nice day." I ended up spending more time recording the messages than I ever did on the phone.

When it came time for me to finally have a phone of my own I was in my mid twenties. My carefree nature began to dwindle and this once social moth soon became a hermit. Don't call me. I don't want to talk to anyone. I just want to sit alone in the dark and get old. Why is it that we go from an age of wanting to have access to a private phone line and the recognition of our name in the phone book that would make Navin Johnson say, "Simmer down," to an age where we want our number unlisted and Caller ID and answering machine have replaced the normality of picking up the phone and saying, "Hello" to someone? Is it us or is it THEM. You know who I mean. Those bastards that want to sell you something. Those freaks that want to discuss your long distance or credit card habits. I'm not talking about bill collectors. I mean Telemarketers. While I feel bad for the poor bastard on the other end of the phone line when I go off on them, I am reminded that they chose to work in that field and they chose to call me. Gloves off, game on, it's go time, mofo. "My prediction? Pain."

I love how telemarketers have gone to great lengths to get around Do Not Call regulations. You think if they put that much time and energy into contacting me about my long distance carrier, think about what they could accomplish for worthwhile causes. They could be calling foundations and other trusts getting grants and donations for medical research. When will they learn that no one is going to embrace a telemarketer? If they do, it's probably someone who is lonely and hasn't had a phone call in years. I remember a particular incident where I was trying to call a bowling alley to get information for a group of friends. I misdialed the number and ended up talking to this sweet old lady in a nursing home. It was right around Christmas and I felt sorry for her. She was alone and her family hadn't even come to see her for the holidays. I put aside my hurried nature and spent five minutes letting her talk. She understood that I called the wrong number but was overjoyed that she got to speak to someone after such a long time. At the end of the call, I wished her Happy Holidays and went on my way. I'm sure she's no longer around but for one brief moment, I felt as if the phone was finally used in the manner to which is was meant. Instead of using it to sell something or ask someone if their refrigerator is running, I used it to communicate. I reached out and touched someone and they didn't have to pay $5.95 a minute for it.

It used to be that people looked at phones as an instrument of evil. These electronic gadgets will cause the death of human interaction. Then as we moved into the end of the 20th century, people looked at email as the death of human interaction. Now, instead of speaking to someone, you can send them an instant letter. Cell phones in all their razr sidekick chocolatey goodness has replaced both instruments by allowing us to talk to someone or text them. I mostly use my cell phone for taking pictures. I bet there are people out there that have replaced their talking minutes with text and data minutes. If we continue this trend, in 1000 years or so, we may have lost the ability to speak, altogether. Some scientists theorize that we may evolve into eight toed mammals just like our appendix has become a vestigial structure, not really having a purpose other than to be removed when it gets infected. Since we are so bent on using technology to communicate with each other, the art of writing as well as proper grammar will disappear as we tend to type most communications, disregarding writing standards, to which I am a repeat offender I'm afraid. Who knows? Perhaps aliens will travel to our planet and find fossilized human remains consisting of eight toes, no vocal cords, and enlarged thumb bones. They will ponder why our culture needed big thumbs. They may postulate that maybe it were a civilization of hitchhikers or maybe because of the deep space transmission of television waves we were a cult that worshipped Arthur Fonzerelli, yet lacked the ability to say "Ayyyy!" They won't understand that we lost the need to speak due to our enlarged thumbs perfect for texting. They will find drawings on ruins and strange lettering. They will try to piece together our language from the phrases, "OMG" and "ROTFLMAO."

Of course, this is all speculation and I'm sure nowhere did Nostradamus write, "IMHO teh world will be FUBAR from to BFF n00bs who got pwned in WOW and decided to say WTF, let's flame this POS world." At least he could get through one of his writings without a phone call from someone claiming that he was signed up for their service and they wanted to do a courtesy call to check on them while his nine month old daughter is trying to nap. They didn't disturb his five minutes of peace from chasing her around the living room after the cats' tail and trying to put a piece of lint in her mouth. No. No. He didn't have to collect all the phones and turn down the ringers in hopes that she got a full two hour nap and didn't wake up cranky. I'm just saying. By the way, anybody else getting hang up calls from (484)-548-6400 or (610) 571-2709. These bastards keep calling and there is no one there. They always call during the baby's nap and I want to rage, rage against the phone's blinking light!

Ok, so I just murdered Dylan Thomas' most accessible work. Seriously, though, with the onslaught of political phone calls I've been getting, someone needs to die. I'm not going to go into my own personal views on politics. Save that for the blogs who cater to that kind of thing. This is about the phones and how they ring incessantly when I have just put my daughter down for a nap.

Growing up we didn't have all the luxuries that we have not. I'm not talking about having to walk to school, uphill, both ways, through three feet of snow. I'm talking about call waiting, call forwarding, and additional phone lines in the house. In fact, my parents still do not have call waiting at their house. Until a couple of years ago, they still had the same phone in their kitchen. It was a rotary phone with a 500 ft cord that was only usable short of two feet. It was coiled and knotted up into something that resembled a dreadlock. Let me give you an example of how bad this was. The phone rings and you go to answer it. You go to take a couple of steps from the phone trying to utilize that football field long cord, only to have it bunch up. As you reach for a pen and paper, the phone pulls off the wall and onto the floor. You could spend days trying to untangle that cord. To put it bluntly, Stevie Wonder would have better luck at solving a Rubik's cube.

When we moved into our new house circa 1985, my parents installed an additional phone line for my older brother and sister, who were in late teens. It was a phone line that existed in all the bedrooms but my parents'. That way, they could talk to whomever they wanted and not tie up the regular phone. Being that my father is an insurance agent, he tends to get calls from his clients in the evenings, especially if they've had a car accident or otherwise. Still, they had one phone, another rotary model, and they had to share it. So, it sat outside one of their bedrooms on the floor near the stairway so you could hear it. Then, if you went to bed early, you ended up killing yourself after tripping on the phone cord and falling down the stairs. Still, I told all my friends and a few that weren't that they could call me on my private line. Just as long as it wasn't during dinner and after I was done with my homework. Oh, and not on Monday's at eight, either. I'll be watching MacGyver. I felt so empowered that at the age of 11, I had my own phone line. Although, my name wasn't listed alongside my siblings in the phone book and, if they were home, I couldn't even look at the phone, let alone use it.

The next issue we had was that our phone number, which has been my parents’ phone number for more than 33 years, was so similar to a lot of other phone numbers. We had calls from people looking for AT&T. They had the same prefix and last four digits as us but had the 1-800 in front of their number. We also had people looking for the driver of a local senator. For years, I asked my parents why they never changed their number if it was such a pain in the ass to get a lot of calls from people with the wrong number. Their response was, "Let AT&T change their number. We had ours first." Of course, to this day, you always hear how AT&T continually gets calls looking for my father. "I'm sorry sir. I feel bad that someone hit your car, but we are the phone company."

We also didn't have an answering machine. Let me rephrase that. We didn't have an answering machine that worked properly. The outgoing message sounded like it was recorded with the same equipment that was used during Watergate and the incoming messages were better interpreted by someone at NASA than in my house. When I began my five year mission to graduate from college I got my first taste of voice mail. I spent hours coming up with the perfect messages that would be funny yet entice people to leave me praise in lieu of an actual message. "Hello, we called to let you know you are in delinquent on your student loan. But, you know what? That was such a fantastic greeting that we are going to just rip up your records. Have a nice day." I ended up spending more time recording the messages than I ever did on the phone.

When it came time for me to finally have a phone of my own I was in my mid twenties. My carefree nature began to dwindle and this once social moth soon became a hermit. Don't call me. I don't want to talk to anyone. I just want to sit alone in the dark and get old. Why is it that we go from an age of wanting to have access to a private phone line and the recognition of our name in the phone book that would make Navin Johnson say, "Simmer down," to an age where we want our number unlisted and Caller ID and answering machine have replaced the normality of picking up the phone and saying, "Hello" to someone? Is it us or is it THEM. You know who I mean. Those bastards that want to sell you something. Those freaks that want to discuss your long distance or credit card habits. I'm not talking about bill collectors. I mean Telemarketers. While I feel bad for the poor bastard on the other end of the phone line when I go off on them, I am reminded that they chose to work in that field and they chose to call me. Gloves off, game on, it's go time, mofo. "My prediction? Pain."

I love how telemarketers have gone to great lengths to get around Do Not Call regulations. You think if they put that much time and energy into contacting me about my long distance carrier, think about what they could accomplish for worthwhile causes. They could be calling foundations and other trusts getting grants and donations for medical research. When will they learn that no one is going to embrace a telemarketer? If they do, it's probably someone who is lonely and hasn't had a phone call in years. I remember a particular incident where I was trying to call a bowling alley to get information for a group of friends. I misdialed the number and ended up talking to this sweet old lady in a nursing home. It was right around Christmas and I felt sorry for her. She was alone and her family hadn't even come to see her for the holidays. I put aside my hurried nature and spent five minutes letting her talk. She understood that I called the wrong number but was overjoyed that she got to speak to someone after such a long time. At the end of the call, I wished her Happy Holidays and went on my way. I'm sure she's no longer around but for one brief moment, I felt as if the phone was finally used in the manner to which is was meant. Instead of using it to sell something or ask someone if their refrigerator is running, I used it to communicate. I reached out and touched someone and they didn't have to pay $5.95 a minute for it.

It used to be that people looked at phones as an instrument of evil. These electronic gadgets will cause the death of human interaction. Then as we moved into the end of the 20th century, people looked at email as the death of human interaction. Now, instead of speaking to someone, you can send them an instant letter. Cell phones in all their razr sidekick chocolatey goodness has replaced both instruments by allowing us to talk to someone or text them. I mostly use my cell phone for taking pictures. I bet there are people out there that have replaced their talking minutes with text and data minutes. If we continue this trend, in 1000 years or so, we may have lost the ability to speak, altogether. Some scientists theorize that we may evolve into eight toed mammals just like our appendix has become a vestigial structure, not really having a purpose other than to be removed when it gets infected. Since we are so bent on using technology to communicate with each other, the art of writing as well as proper grammar will disappear as we tend to type most communications, disregarding writing standards, to which I am a repeat offender I'm afraid. Who knows? Perhaps aliens will travel to our planet and find fossilized human remains consisting of eight toes, no vocal cords, and enlarged thumb bones. They will ponder why our culture needed big thumbs. They may postulate that maybe it were a civilization of hitchhikers or maybe because of the deep space transmission of television waves we were a cult that worshipped Arthur Fonzerelli, yet lacked the ability to say "Ayyyy!" They won't understand that we lost the need to speak due to our enlarged thumbs perfect for texting. They will find drawings on ruins and strange lettering. They will try to piece together our language from the phrases, "OMG" and "ROTFLMAO."

Of course, this is all speculation and I'm sure nowhere did Nostradamus write, "IMHO teh world will be FUBAR from to BFF n00bs who got pwned in WOW and decided to say WTF, let's flame this POS world." At least he could get through one of his writings without a phone call from someone claiming that he was signed up for their service and they wanted to do a courtesy call to check on them while his nine month old daughter is trying to nap. They didn't disturb his five minutes of peace from chasing her around the living room after the cats' tail and trying to put a piece of lint in her mouth. No. No. He didn't have to collect all the phones and turn down the ringers in hopes that she got a full two hour nap and didn't wake up cranky. I'm just saying. By the way, anybody else getting hang up calls from (484)-548-6400 or (610) 571-2709. These bastards keep calling and there is no one there. They always call during the baby's nap and I want to rage, rage against the phone's blinking light!

MBC

Part Three of the series, If I Ran Hollywood.

Yep, MBC. That's for Mongo Broadcast Company. I was never a typical child growing up. At 33, I wonder how I ended up like I did? During my childhood, I watched television for about as many hours as most kids my age, but the style of programming was truly different. yes, I spent my early years watching Mr. Rogers, Sesame Street, and The Electric Company but beyond that, I didn't stick to the normal kiddie fare. I remember getting up for afternoon kindergarten and watching The Price is Right before hopping the bus for school. At the age if five, I could probably figure out the pricing on items in the grocery store better than people four times my age. Instead of watching family shows in the evening, I was brought up on the classics of British television like, Benny Hill,Monty Python, and Dave Allen. It was customary for kids my age to be in bed before nine in the evening, but there I was up until 11 watching Hill Street Blues, hart to Hart, andSt. Elsewhere. I truly did grow up with television.

But something happened. Gone are the days of good scripted television. Hollywood seems content on catering to the lowest common denominator. Why else would shows like American Idol get more viewers than a presidential debate? What happened to good television? In the 90's we had Friends, Cheers, and Seinfeld, but today we're content with watching someone eat snakes and sing badly as a form of entertainment. It's like Hollywood saw the numbers that Jerry Springer got and realized that if they put those people on a show and call it a competition then it's legitimate.

Don't tell me naive and don't understand the nature of television. I watched every episode of M*A*S*H including the series finale during its original broadcasting. Don't tell me that todays producers are holding a chicken trying to keep it quiet, when I know full well that it's a quality show that they are smothering to death. Don't get me started on FOX. I've seen more good shows get slipped by to the junk pile on that network so they can try and imitate other networks with their reality ripoffs. Trading Spouses>, anyone? Well, guess what? The God Warrior is here to bring your injustices to light.

Suspension of Disbelief

Ok, let's start with one of the most popular shows out there, LOST. I actually like this show and can't find much wrong with it, now that they've gotten back on track with the mystery. For awhile, they were headed towards X-Files territory. I mean the last few seasons of X-Files.. The ones where Mulder wasn't even around. LOST tried to boost its appeal by adding two "beautiful" people in the form of Nikki and Paulo who garnered much bile from the stomachs of the viewers. Why? We've been through two seasons of well developed and well written characters who have been grimy and in need of a shave for more than 108 minutes and all of a sudden two flawless looking poeple come be bopping into the mix. It's just sad that the writers finally got rid of them only after they had to resort to breaking the fourth wall with the audience to mirror our displeasure. Mind you, this is a good case.

The bad case is the sitcom that supposedly exists in our reality but doesn't follow any rules. I'm talking about According to Jim, Still Standing, and their like. These shows would have us believe that poor schlubs like Jim Belushi and Mark Addy are capable of getting women like Jami Gertz and Courtney Thorne Smith to marry them. To their credit, the same could have been said for The Honeymooners. Still, marriages like this don't exist in nature. Secondly, the idea that these sitcom families live in these huge houses with plenty of square footage on the salaries that the characters claim to have is ridiculous. A dental assitant and a department store employee don't make that kid of dough. Now, I can believe that the Huxtables lived in that New York City Browstone and Fraiser Crane's Seattle Bachelor pad that he shared with Niles and their father is not out of the question given both titular characters' careers. But what happened to shows that really portrayed what it was like to work as a blue collar joe? All in the Family? Married with Children? Do those ring a bell?

The Five Shows you never got to watch

Every year the schedule gets flooded with new shows that try to eek out an existence. They all have to compete for their chance against fellow newcomers and seasoned veterans. The chances for any one pilot to have more episodes ordered is about as good as the chances that Cliff Claven will lower the cuffs on his trousers and stop showing off those pearly white tube socks. Here are five shows that never really got the chance to shine, even though they had at least a season run.



1. Firefly: We all knew about Buffy and Angel even if you didn't watch them. However, Joss Whedon served up this sci-fi tale of mercenaries with meager means quite well. It even got a feature film made after it was cancelled. It nailed early space travel right. Even better than any retro Star Trek offering from UPN, this show had wit, flawed heroes, and kick ass acoustic guitar music a la Snuffy Walden. The fact that FOX shuffled the order of the episodes and then finally blew out the airlock didn't deter most people from embracing the show on DVD.

2. Sports Night Everyone claims that this show was excellent, yet why did it only last two seasons? One was because Sorkin decided to go with the sure thing in The West Wing It was heralded in a time when the uncertainty of National Security. While most people were still bitter about the 2000 election and recount fiasco, we could all turn to a more familiar administration on television. One that didn't have trouble pronouncing the word, "nuclear." Yet, Sports Night was like most Sorkin fare, too smart for television. It was a half hour sitcom. The audience didn't want to have to think and this was a show that required it. Much like number three.

3. Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip Ok, yes, it's another Sorkin show. Again, it was supposed to be a comedy in nature. After all, it was sending up Saturday Night Live. But most people found the preachiness to be getting a little thin on Sorkin's Part. Actually, the pilot episode offers the most accurate depiction of what killed the show. Judd Hirsch's character goes on a complete Howard Beale rant during a live broadcast causing his removal from the "show within a show." It would mark a return to the type of "show within a show" that made you proud of television. However, the real show stepped away from that mantra and began to be more about attacking right wing politics and religion. It should have made the same alottment for the left as well. Best Moment: A parody of To Catch a Predator has Chris Hansen waiting for Santa Claus, armed with letters about sitting on his lap and giving gifts to children.

4.Murder in Small Town X What's that you say? A reality show in my Top 5? Yes. I didn't get to watch as much as I should and I found myself lost as much as everybody else. However, the reality/game show gave viewers a smarter plot and concept. A group of people are forced to live together and solve a fictional murder in a fictional town. Think The Truman Show meets CSI with the element of a Choose Your Own Adventure book and Ghost Hunters style of camera work. Each episode ended with two choices for a clue. One lead to a clue, the other lead to the murder and death. The group had a tribal council style vote on which two people would get sent out. Regardless of how you felt about either, only one would be coming back. The show got axed due to ratings, not acclaim, and of course FOX opted to not renew it. Another blunder by the fourth network. Ironically, the only connection anyone had to the show after its finale was that the winner of the show, Angel Juarbe, Jr., was killed on September 11th. He was a New York City Fireman who died in the collapse of the World Trade Center towers.

5. Too Something This show lasted not even a single season but has been copied several times since. Ever seen, The Big Bang Theory? Two and a Half Men? Granted, Two and a Half Men is a better show but it follows the absurd style of humor that this show made great. Can anyone else say, "Self High Five?" The networks couldn't understand it and even held a contest to try and rename the show which ended up New York Daze? . Ultimately, genius was dismissed and the leads went on to other projects....one of those leads being, Portia de Rosi.

What to do, now?

We just got through a writer's strike and hopefully, that will be the start of something. I highly doubt it. Now that the writers get those theoretical dollars from digital distribution, it just means more money, not better television. Look, stop relying on the cheap and easy game/reality show to fill the schedule. Start looking at what made this landscape great. Also, stop remaking every damn British show that comes down the pike. It worked for The Office but don't expect lightning to strike every time. If you are going to have a reality show, how about one where all the hosts have to compete. Let's put Joe Rogan up against Jeff Probst in a bug eating contest. And for the love of St. Elsewhere stop spinning off shows. I can't handle anymore Law & Order and CSI shows. I really don't care anymore.

Here's an idea. Let's rectify that horrible adaptation of The Running Man and make a good show that sends up reality/game shows. You can tap into the producers sleazy nature and the value of advertising and market share. Just don't make it like the Governator's offering. The movie is a stand alone fun filled romp, but no where near the original material that Stephen King laid out.

How about this? This might already be in the works as a feature film, but I think Stephen King's The Dark Tower would make an excellent show in the vein of LOST. Each book could serve as a season, perhaps two depending on the installment. It's sci-fi, it's western, it's drama. A very good opportunity for HBO or other cable outlets.

Take a look at what cable is doing and figure out how to do it as well. Shows like The Shield and Deadwood have proved that you don't have to be on the Big Three to be well written and widely recognized. The Emmy's have proven that. Cable is not just for The Sorpranos anymore. There are consistently great shows on FX and HBO. One of my new favorites is
The Riches.

That's it. My entire diatribe on the state of television has come to an end. This is a medium that can be saved, but it's up to the producers as well as the writers to make it back to the glory days of May Day Malone and Mary Richards. Just Don't Stop Believin' and you'll be all right. If not, we'll switch off faster than the black out from The Sorpanos. Capiece?

Pop Rock Culture mixed with Pepsi

It's an explosive combination.    Ok, I really didn't have anything concrete to give you.  I just thought of the old story where supposedly Mikey, from the Life Cereal commercials, died from cosuming the mixture Pop Rocks and Pepsi.  I figured this was a lethal post since it has no point.   Truth is, the weather is starting to get nice and I'm getting a little bit of cabin fever.  So, let's take a random look in my brain and see what the hell is going on in there.   I caution you.  My brain is not the place most people really want to find themselves inside.  It's scary in there.   I should come with a plastic bag warning as it is.

 

Ok, here we go.

 

Thoughts on a pregnant man.

We've all heard the story about Thomas Beatie becoming pregnant.  As this story progesses, I wonder if these questions will be addressed?

• Does he still see an OB/GYN?
  
• Does he get maternity leave?
  
• Does he get to park in the Stork spot at the store?
  
• Will he have a shower? 
  
• What about Maternity Clothes?  Tall and Fat store?
  
• Will his insurance cover this?
  
• Is the HR Benefits Analyst at his place of employment ready to explode?

 

Free Tibet. Turn out the lights.

I confess I do not know enough about the Human Rights situation in China but is it justifiable to attack a poor jogger with a torch?  Do protestors really think if they extinguish the torch the games will be cancelled.  What, does nobody have any matches?  At least one schmuck was smart enough to bring a fire extinguisher.  Others just attempted to walk up and look for the off switch.   Also, do you think you are going to make your point by pulling a Turk 182 on the Golden Gate.  What if you or your buddies would have fallen?  How about if your flipping luggage would have fallen into traffic causing a horrifc car accident, then what?   I get that China does not have a great track record when it comes to Human Rights.  But why punish the atheletes who worked so hard to compete? Torch bearer Marilyn King knows all too well about Olympic adversity.  She was in Munich in 1972 and she also lost her shot to compete in 1980 when the U.S. boycotted the Moscow games.    The games are a chance to be proud of your country.  It's an opportunity to compete instead of blowing each other up.    Be lucky the games aren't here in the U.S. Other countries would probably boycott us and then everybody would be crying foul about that.

 

Plan your next vacation at the Lovely YFZ ranch

Holy crap!?!?!?  I don't know what bothers me more, the fact that place was really well constructed or that a 16 year old girl broke this place wide open when previous violations and fines didn't raise any red flags.  The pictures on the net and 24 hour news cycle make this place look pretty damned cool.  I'm pissed that they stole my Dream House design, though.   In case you are wondering what the hell I'm talking about.  A 16 year old girl anonymously called police stating that she was abused and was married to a 50 year old man along with seven other girls.  Polygamy is banned in Texas as well as marrying under the age of 16.  It's amazing to think that there are people in this country that still believe what they are doing is A: Legal, and B: Right.  I'm no one to judge other people's religious beliefs but this girl was able to borrow a cell phone and know how to use it, but didn't think anything was wrong up until this point.  The best part?  They don't even know if they got her out of the ranch.  Law enforcement offers removed 416 children INCLUDING HERS from the ranch. How much you wanna bet there's only about five or six different last names in that place? 

 

Adam Corolla eliminated from Dancing with the Stars

The biggest travesty since Master P was allowed to stay on Dancing with the Stars.   I'm actually saddened by this.  True, he was the weakest dancer in the bunch but he had a lot of charm and his sense of humor, while dry, was a much needed shot in the arm considering the list of celebrities on the show.

 

Steve Guttenberg:  It's so odd to hear him speak about values and worthwhile television when you consider this is the guy that set Lassard up with a blow job in Police Academy. ELIMINATED

Penn Jillette:  Bigfoot of the dance floor.  He couldn't create the illusion of good dancing. ELIMINATED

Monica Seles: I don't remember her looking so man-ish.  Half expected her to grunt, "HAAAA" while dancing. ELIMINATED

Christian de la Fuente:  Who?  He's in the Chilean Air Force. 

Shannon Elizabeth: She pretty much gave up acting for poker. Being 10 years her junior, her partner Derek Hough wasn't old enough to see her naked in American Pie when it was in theaters.  I'm sure he's seen it since and is awestruck.

Mario Barret:  Who?  He just goes by Mario and I thought they were talking about the Italian Plumber.

Marlee Matlin: .  In season four they had one legged wonder Heather Mills, last season they had Marie Osmond who is brain deficient.  This season we have a Deaf Academy Award Winner.  We're running the gamut of disabilities here.   Next season, I say they get Charlton Heston. 

Priscilla Presley:  Oddly enough, she's very flexible from the neck down.

Marissa Jaret Winokur:  WAY TOO PERKY!  For some reason the judges think that because she won a Tony she should be a natural dancer.  Guess what, so did Angela Lansbury....you want to bet on her against the Yamaguchi?

Christie Yamaguchi:  She's almost a sure bet  to win because she's one of those people......you know.... a natural at this kind of thing.....I'm not being racist, but.....Olympic skaters have that advantage.

Indiana Jones and The Last Chance

It was the fall of 1981 and my parents have decided to endure two hours in a movie theater with their youngest son. We traveled to this old style theater, which I assume is no longer around. It was the kind of place that had those huge lounges, with couches in the restrooms below the box office. The theater itself had those little art deco style lights on the aisle seats illuminating a small path down towards the screen. It was here that I saw Raiders of the Lost Ark at the tender age of six. From the moment the Paramount logo dissolved into a mountain in the Peruvian jungle the rollercoaster never stopped. As a kid who had any exposure to serials of the 50's and 60's, I was stoked. Not just because my hero, Harrison Ford, was trying on a new outfit and character. This film was one of my defining moments in cinemas as a child. The others being Star Wars and The Empire Strikes Back. Nothing could have snapped me out of the blockbuster trance I was in except for the fact that the film broke and melted towards the middle as if to foreshadow the fates of Belloq and his fellow Nazis.

Now, you may ask yourself, "What kind of parents would take their six year old to a movie where the power of God causes Nazis' faces to melt?" These are parents who, two years earlier, had to have their four year old explain Ralph Bakshi's Lord of the Rings to them. I was a little advanced in the realm of movies as a kid. That's not to say that I didn't have my freak out moments as a kid. The original Nightmare on Elm Street and Poltergeist scared the bejezzus out of me and I didn't see them until two and three years later on HBO.

Raiders was the kind of film that threw out the rule book as far as how to make an action film. First off, the hero did not necessarily come adorned with a white hat. Indy's brown fedora and unshaven face signified a break from the norm. While he searched for historical artifacts to be ultimately kept in a museum for posterity and examination, he expected to be well paid for his efforts. On one side of the coin he is a button down, bow tie wearing, professor of archaeology. Quite a polar opposite to his moonlighting as a shoot first, ask questions later approach to being the "finder of rare antiquities." He doesn't always follow the letter of the law as explained in the sequel/prequel Temple of Doom. Secondly, where most films until this point had the hero being triumphant and never wavering in the face of adversity. Jones got his ass handed to him on a regular basis. There are at least four instances throughout the series where he got lucky or had some assistance in disposing of a foe to which he was clearly outmatched. Lastly, the action never stopped. It was one mess after the next and Jones is constantly having to reinvent his plan to get out of the debacle, "making this up as I go" he says.

Now, 27 years after the original Raiders film, Spielberg and company have decided to dust off the oldest of all rare antiquities, Harrison Ford. I kid because I love. Ford is after all 65 and it seemed as if the search for a new Indiana Jones film was as fruitful as a search for the real Ark of the Covenant. The film had been in limbo since 1989 when The Last Crusade rode off into the sunset along with our heroes. To make matters worse, Ford was already close to 50 when the last film was released. If lightning was to be captured once again, they did not have the healing powers of the grail to keep him young. Years have gone by while the holy trinity of my childhood movie geekdom has tossed the ideas and scripts back and forth. All of them voicing concerns over each go at it. Ford, apparently the only one with a logical versus fantastical grasp of the obvious, stated that the film should either be made by 2008 or the entire idea dropped all together. Finally, everyone stood up and took notice and got down to brass tacks. An old idea from the days of the Young Indiana Jones television series finally got its comeuppance. Now, instead of the movie being a throwback to the original Republic Pictures Serials', it could be homage to the 1950's B-movies. Of course, these are the kind of movies prominently shown during Mystery Science Theater 3000's hysterical run.

With this in mind, I have certain reservations with this new chapter in the saga of Indiana Jones. The trailer debuted awhile back and I couldn't help but feel like this was a bad idea. The concept of a rough and tumble protagonist who looks like he should be searching for an early bird special instead of priceless artifacts throws me. So far, it’s clear that a lot of the stunt work is shown from a wide angle allowing the filmmakers the opportunity to conceal the stunt man's face. The editing can only do so much in terms of matching up fact from fiction when it comes to whether or not the real Ford could swing backwards into a moving truck or into a glass window. While the McGuffin, the crystal skull, is a supernatural item by nature, it has no religious undertones which have been a staple of the series. We are now moving into the realm of extraterrestrial and that is a bit out of Jones' league. Unless they build in a back-story on how he develops a vast knowledge of supposed alien artifacts it seems that he will have nothing to offer in the realm of insight. Jones' day job as a professor of archaeology may have to be scuttled in favor of him teaching a night class on government conspiracy at the local community college. Then there is, of course, the question of his age and the apparent acknowledgement of such. "It's not the years, it's the mileage," is probably the most quoted line from the movies just ahead of "No ticket!" and "Asps, very dangerous. You go first." While we all agree that Ford is not the man we knew 19 years ago. I'd like to think that he's immortal and untouchable. Sure, he gets thrown around and beat up and bloodied on nearly every occasion but he's always back with a vengeance or a sneer. I hope the movie doesn't become a 2 hour long Geritol joke. I'm almost afraid to watch for fear that at one broken down moment, Jones will declare, "I'm too old for this sh...." only to be cut off by a continued beating.

In my mind the quest for the perfect script is like the quest for the Holy Grail. There is no medal for second place. It's a test of faith and integrity. Only a true soul will triumph. Spielberg, Lucas, and Ford need to stay true to the character. Indy's M.O. usually follows this pattern.

Paramount logo transforms into mountain or other mountain faced object.

• Opening gambit


• Get sucked into a situation I really don't want to be involved in.


• Show disbelief in magical object. Only be in it for the end result.


• Get pulled further into the situation because of someone who ends up tagging along.


• Get a hold of titular object or ultimate clue for getting titular object only to have it taken away at weapon point.


• Fight, use intellect, quip here, quip there, get captured, escape, get captured, get hurt, and fight back.


• Have a showdown in which the plot device figures into ability to get away from the bad guys.


• Tender moment, plot device gets lost, is returned to rightful owner, or gets locked away in huge warehouse.


• Raiders March.

That's it. That is how the movies work and they work beautifully. Will the change from style of the 1930's to the 1950's change how this will play out, I don't know. What I do know is that I don't want to see any CGI that takes the place of something that could be achieved through old school film trickery. Not to say I want to see the strings attached to the airplanes, but I don't Jurassic Park or Star Wars style special effects. The producers have stated that the film will only use CGI to enhance the environment not take the place of action which will be done with traditional stunts and special effects as to resemble the previous films. This is the only piece of information that gives me any comfort. While I know Spielberg knows how to make a movie, I have started to lose trust in George Lucas. I'm sorry George. I love ya, man. But I have so many reservations with Episodes I-III that I can't help but feel a little cheated. Don't feel bad, I am one of the few people that loved Radioland Murders and understood what you going for and believe me, I get it. Just keep your tech happy hands off the movie and just help shape a great story.

Granted, all of these hopes and dreams are just that. The movie has been made. It's ready to unspool at Cannes next month. The hope for fortune and glory is already set in stone and won't be easily moved like a bouncing block from the wall of the Well of Souls. When all is said and done I can only pray that Spielberg et al. have chosen wisely because it this thing falls quicker than a Nazi driven tank into the Canyon of the Crescent Moon you'll be scratching your heads as to why no one likes it. All I'm saying is that you better be pretty sure you're delivering a blockbuster or you'll decimate all of our memories of a wonderful franchise full of great characters and mythology. When the returns come back while you and Lucas are sitting on a beach in Hawaii. When you start thinking you've got a hit a hit on your hands and say, "Good, God!", remember, "That's just what the Hebrews thought."

It takes a village idiot to raise a child

It's hard to believe, but my child has managed to survive to the age of nine months. I say that because I do not have covers on the outlets, gates up in the stairwells, or locks on the cabinet doors in my house. It's a miracle that she has survived this long. Then again, at the ripe old age of 33, it's a miracle I have as well. I mean we played with Lawn Darts. Oh, the horror! Not to mention that we didn't start wearing seat belts as a rule until Barbara Mandrell had her car accident. We used to ride around in my parents' Maverick in the front seat with no seat belt. Also, I remember riding in the back seat as well under the age of seven without being in a car seat. On the playground we had huge wrought iron jungle gyms over concrete. There were huge metal sliding boards that could take a layer of skin off your ass on a hot day. We had a suspension bridge that went from the slide to another hill and it wasn't exactly up to code. It made the bridge from Temple of Doom look like The Golden Gate. Guess what? Nearly everything we did as kids back then has been banned or redesigned for safety.

With this in mind, I refuse to be one of those parents that put their child in a bubble. Let me give you a little insight into an average day with the rug rat. She wakes up anywhere between 9:30AM and 11:00AM. We sit her in her car seat up on the dining room table and give her breakfast. It usually consists of a Number 2 Gerber Fruit or Vegetable mixed with some Rice Cereal. Now, until about a month ago, we could just sit her there and walk five feet into the kitchen to grab something. Not anymore, we now clip her in because she can lean forward or climb out. After breakfast we put her on the floor in the living room. All of her toys are on one side of the living room for about five minutes. After that, they're everywhere. We have a couch, a loveseat, a recliner, a coffee table and two end tables in the room as well as the entertainment that holds everything entertainment. She putters around the living room, talking up a storm, playing and having a good time. Most times she crawls over to the two laundry baskets we have as a blockade into the dining room and pulls herself up on to her knees in a praying position. From here she is pretty much stuck. She can't stand yet and she can't go any further. After about two hours of activity, we try to give her a bottle and then she goes down for a nap for two hours. When she gets up another bottle of milk and one of juice and then we repeat the cycle. At night she has her dinner the same way as breakfast and we let her play until she gets a bit cranky and we put her to bed. Ten hours later, we start again. Now, this is probably no different than most itineraries of kids her age. There is just one major difference here. We watch her.

When I say we watch her, I mean she is supervised while she is up and mobile. We don't leave her alone. That's the same methodology my wife and my parents followed. You're a parent. You are responsible for a child's well being. Disney, Nick, and Cartoon Network aren’t raising my kid. I am. Granted, at 10:00 in the evening, when I would like to be relaxing with my feet up maybe surf the net on my laptop, I have to be on the floor playing with my daughter, but I don't mind. For those of you scratching your heads as to why my kid is up at 10:00 in the evening, there's a reason. My wife and I would rather her sleep during the morning instead of the evening. While most people will put their kid down at seven or eight, the kid is then up at the crack of dawn. I leave for work around 7:00 AM and my wife doesn't start working until around 3:00 or 4:00 PM so it makes more sense to have her sleep when we sleep.

What about daycare? As kids, my wife and I were not put into daycare. We were watched by family or close friends during the times when our parents couldn't. Both of us had at least one stay at home parent during our childhood so that wasn't always a necessity. We've been lucky enough to be able to rely on primarily my income for our finances with her income as a private piano instructor as a supplement. There is about a two hour gap in between our schedules that leaves the little one without supervision. My Father-in-law has been a big help and we think it has added years to his life as he was retired and didn't have much to do during the day but watch Young and the Restless. He and my daughter are best of friends and it's made a world of difference in our pocketbook. We both discussed daycare and the possibility of her taking a daytime job and the numbers just don't add up. Besides, while I do want my kid to be exposed to the outside world and eat a little dirt, everybody else's kid is always sick and I don't want her getting sick. My wife worked in a daycare before she got pregnant. It's like a see of green mustaches at those places.

As for childproofing the home, I refuse to go nuts with the outlet covers and such. A coworker of mine has three kids and sometimes he disagrees with my tactics being that he had all three of his kids before I had mine. I asked him if he ever stuck something into an electrical socket and he admitted he did. "What happened?" I asked. He answered that it shocked the crap out of him. "You lived, obviously." I replied. "Did you ever do it again?" He answered, "No." There you have it. First off, why did he have an object sharp enough to put into a socket in the first place as a kid? I never had a fascination with sticking anything besides a plug into a socket, and my parents never let me. We didn't have covers, we had supervision. Don't start calling CYS yet, I do intend to start securing things around the house that can cause injury. We have dropped her crib down a notch since she's been able to pull herself up. Her center of gravity is still in her head and we didn't want her toppling out. But we feel that if we actually watch the child and keep an eye out, there should be no reasons to bubble wrap the house. Granted, she has bumped her head a few times on the floor from falling backwards, but she usually stops crying after a minute and most times she usually checks with us before crying. If we wince or show fear, she knows it hurts. If we laugh or smile, she just has a look like, "Doh! I fell." The family room television isn't on the sturdiest of stands but she's not down there yet. We have a gate for the stairwell, but until she starts to walk, we won't put it up. She has no business over there at this point. Cabinets that have cleaners or chemicals in them will be secured and quite frankly, if my kid is in the kitchen unsupervised, she better be making me a sandwich. Otherwise, I'm not doing my job.

I'm not going to be a big freak about her being a kid, though. She's going to know right from the beginning what is good behavior and what is unacceptable behavior. My wife and I are not adverse about taking the kid aside by the arm and making sure they understand what they're doing is unacceptable and they don't have a choice on whether to start acting right or not. At nine months, she's pretty good out in restaurants. Sometimes it is a juggling act to keep her occupied while we try to eat. At times she can be kind of loud. She talks a lot and has trouble controlling the volume of her voice. It's nothing more than sounds and syllables and I still think it's cute, but I'm biased. As she gets older, she's not going to be running all over the place and will sit and eat or color or whatever while we are out. Sometimes, it's amazing how she can just sit and play with no disruption.

When she gets older, I'm sure I will be ill equipped for relating to her, though. After all, it's the natural order of the universe for kids and parents to speak different languages when kids get into adolescence. My biggest goal will be to try and teach her to not make the same mistakes I made in my youth. I can't believe I took things so literal and made mountains out of molehills when it came to social status. I got picked on just like everyone else, but looking back I would have handled situations so much differently. Is it any wonder Lord of the Flies is written from the perspective of adolescents turning into savages when forced to form their own society? Kids are mean and cruel at an age where most are in-between childhood and adulthood. Everything is in a constant state of flux. Hopefully, I can teach my daughter that every little thing is not the end of the world and she should just enjoy her youth and not sweat the small stuff. The things she will worry over in adolescence will be nonexistent in adulthood. Boys are stupid, girls are evil. Ok, those two concepts extend into adulthood but you get my point. I guess it is fate for every child to not listen to their parents' advice as we "Don't know what it's like." We do, but just 20 years removed. In all, I don't want to be a stranger to my daughter. Even though, "I'm a stupid boy," I hope she can trust that I would never do anything to intentionally hurt her and that I'm always looking out for her best interests.

Of course, this is the time when I wish I could have outlet covers and gates and all those safety features. I'm not too worried about protecting her from the hazards of our home, but once she steps foot outside into the world, I wish I could "evil proof" the world for her. There will be boys/guys that will break her heart and there's no way I can take away that pain in the short term. However, knowing my wife, she'll make sure our daughter knows how to make them feel pain back, literally. I want her to be self aware and in touch with the world around her. Find the flaws in the natural order of things and make her life easier. Realize that the same concepts that ruled the school are out in the real world and as long as you can identify the issues, you can beat them. It's almost like The Matrix. The world is built on a system of rules, no different than any computer system. As long as you know how to exist with those who don't follow them, you can maneuver your way through the shark infested waters of the scum that live out there.

Until that day, I'll be content with changing a dirty diaper and feeding her dinner with one hand while trying to eat my own with the other. At night I still rock her almost to sleep but not quite. I want her to fall asleep in her crib knowing that while I may not be in the room but I'm just outside the door if she needs me. That way she doesn't wake up wondering where I am. "Daddy was here when I fell asleep and now he's gone. He must have left me." I shouldn't ever complain that she requires a lot of attention and takes a lot of patience. After all, one day the roles will be reversed and she'll be waiting on me as I shuffle around in an old man's skin. I just hope she doesn't have to child proof the house for me. That would suck.