Check it out.
Jealous?
Monday, January 23, 2006
Best Birthday Ever!
Even as I've become entrenched in my twenties, I can still rely on a few friends and family for some solid presents. My grandparents are always good for a few bills for the slots. Norm and Dee always send me a book that gets read by the end of the week (though this year I got Lonesome Dove on DVD, which with its 6 hour running time and Larry McMurtry source material is still in the same vein). But even with those all-stars having my back, nothing can compare to the gift the city of Rock Island left at the end of our driveway today.
Check it out.
Jealous?
Check it out.
Jealous?
26 and Climbing
So, last year, fully entrenched in my first year of blogging, I decided I needed some sort of staple for my birthday, to see how I've changed over the years. I fell upon James Lipton's questionnaire from the end of Inside the Actor's Studio. So, being that I have just recently begun my downhill slide to 30, I thought I'd share this year's questionnaire (with last year's answers for perspective).
Phil (dramatic pause) what is your favorite word?
25: Asinine
26: Grace (as in that of a dancer)
What is your least favorite word?
25: Dude.
26: Job,
What turns you on?
25: Intelligent conversation.
26: Grace.
What turns you off?
25: Ignorance, and indifference to one’s own ignorance.
26: Bad and/or irrational arguments.
What sound do you love?
25: The ticking clock theme from 24.
26: Rain with a dash of distant thunder.
What sound do you hate?
25: My dog, Scamp, barking at the raccoons at three in the morning.
26: Wire hangers scraping against the metal crossbeam in my mother's fabric room.
What profession, other than yours, would you like to attempt?
25: Chicago Cubs’ play-by-play man. I’d say starting pitcher, but who are we kidding?
26: Well, being that I'm unemployed, I can pick anything here. Dramatic television writer.
What profession, other than yours, would you not like to participate in?
25: Anything involving tips. Never again.
26: We're gonna stick with last year's on that one.
What is your favorite curse word?
25: Bullshit or horseshit. Any word involving animal excrement I find quite delightful.
26: Bollocks.
Finally, if heaven exists, what would you like God to say when you arrive at the pearly gates?
“I suppose I have some explaining to do.” This answer will never change.
Phil (dramatic pause) what is your favorite word?
25: Asinine
26: Grace (as in that of a dancer)
What is your least favorite word?
25: Dude.
26: Job,
What turns you on?
25: Intelligent conversation.
26: Grace.
What turns you off?
25: Ignorance, and indifference to one’s own ignorance.
26: Bad and/or irrational arguments.
What sound do you love?
25: The ticking clock theme from 24.
26: Rain with a dash of distant thunder.
What sound do you hate?
25: My dog, Scamp, barking at the raccoons at three in the morning.
26: Wire hangers scraping against the metal crossbeam in my mother's fabric room.
What profession, other than yours, would you like to attempt?
25: Chicago Cubs’ play-by-play man. I’d say starting pitcher, but who are we kidding?
26: Well, being that I'm unemployed, I can pick anything here. Dramatic television writer.
What profession, other than yours, would you not like to participate in?
25: Anything involving tips. Never again.
26: We're gonna stick with last year's on that one.
What is your favorite curse word?
25: Bullshit or horseshit. Any word involving animal excrement I find quite delightful.
26: Bollocks.
Finally, if heaven exists, what would you like God to say when you arrive at the pearly gates?
“I suppose I have some explaining to do.” This answer will never change.
Thursday, January 12, 2006
(Un)Intelligent Design
I have two family members in public office. This is the first time that I ever considered that I could cause them some trouble. I woke up this morning to an editorial in the Rock Island Argus entitled "What are the scientists all afraid of?" In the editorial, which you can hopefully read here he basically calls the scientific community cowards for not adjusting the scientific credo so that it can include intelligent design. Among his more absurd pronouncements is that science "will collapse, sooner or later, like the Soviet Union." Now, people who know me know that that kind of ludicrous shit cannot stand without rebuttal. So, after spending a couple hours at a hopeless job fair *sniff* this afternoon, I got to writing. Since I have serious doubts whether this will actually make it to print, I wanted to share it with you here. This is what the Argus' People's Pulpit will be getting in their inbox this afternoon :
William Rusher’s column of January 12 asked what the scientific community is so afraid of when it comes to intelligent design, and in doing so, he exemplified what terrifies scientists so much. Quite simply, the fear of those in the scientific community is that a philosophical and theological concept will rewrite the definition of what science is. Rusher argues for just that in his column. He chastises science for its adherence to “materialistic interpretations of reality.” He criticizes science for being an empirically based enterprise and not allowing supernatural explanations into the formula. He wants to change the rules of science, plain and simple, and he calls the scientific community cowardly for not doing so. It’s like Peyton Manning deciding to plant landmines in the backfield to keep a defense off his back, and then calling his opponents wimps for not allowing for more lenient interpretation of the rule book. You don't hear any scientists calling for ammendments to the Ten Commandments in order to make them more scientifically inclusive, so why should we twist the fudamentals of science to make room for faith-based explanations?
The rejection of intelligent design in the scientific community comes from an absence of compelling evidence, not some underlying political dogma. Rusher makes a number of baseless suggestions about the scientific community that completely misrepresents their worldview. First among them is that science has a worldview. It does not. The theories and laws that guide science are the result of years of testing and experimentation; science didn’t bend these conclusions to fit with what it believed to be true. If that were the case we’d all still be worried about falling off the edge of the Earth. Rusher also labels the scientific community as intrinsicly godless. Again, incorrect. At worst, the scientific community is, in practice, agnostic. There is no empirical data to support the existence of God, so scientists study independently of that faith-based variable. Still, there is no universal claim from scientists that there is no God. Certainly there are a number of atheists in the scientific community, just as there are in the world at large. But some of the best scientific minds also had deeply held religious beliefs. Albert Einstein, one of the greatest scientific minds in history, often spoke eloquently and faithfully about God, and he is not the only scientist to do so. And despite Rusher’s claims, science does not show, without a doubt, that the universe had no beginning. It suspects. It has ideas. But it is constantly testing those ideas against empirical data. If science played by intelligent design’s rules, the scientific community’s work would be done. They could just give it all up to the "designer".
One of Rusher’s more naive suggestions is that intelligent design leaves the identity of said designer open. Of course, he admits, “one obvious possibility is God.” I’m curious what he believes the other identities to be. Zeus, perhaps? Or possibly some extra-terrestrial? Alf, maybe? Or those little chain-smoking aliens from Men in Black? Let’s ask Tom Cruise who he’d slip in as his cosmic architect. I’m sure Rusher would appreciate an open conversation on the topic. After all, we don’t want to be like those narrow-minded scientists. In truth, God is not one possibility for the intelligent designer in an open-ended spectrum; which God is where I.D. remains mute. Yet, this is where intelligent design becomes more dangerous than Rusher’s aww-shucks presentation. If we institute I.D. into schools, how long before the conversation turns to who, specifically, this designer is? Suddenly, science is no longer science. It is theology. And despite what Rusher seems to believe, that is a bad thing.
Intelligent Design does have its place in public schools, in philosophy or theology classes, but its inclusion in science classes further corrodes an American student body that is falling further and further behind the rest of the world in those “materialistic” areas like math and science. If we want to broaden that divide, we need only adopt a concept like intelligent design into our classrooms under the pretense of inclusiveness and well-roundedness. Despite Rusher’s prediction that science and its godless worldview “will collapse, sooner or later, like the Soviet Union,” I assure him that science and faith will have equal influence on the future of humanity, but that doesn’t mean we should change the nature of either so that we can bring the two together. That is what intelligent design is asking us to do, and that is what scientists and the faithful alike should be afraid of.
William Rusher’s column of January 12 asked what the scientific community is so afraid of when it comes to intelligent design, and in doing so, he exemplified what terrifies scientists so much. Quite simply, the fear of those in the scientific community is that a philosophical and theological concept will rewrite the definition of what science is. Rusher argues for just that in his column. He chastises science for its adherence to “materialistic interpretations of reality.” He criticizes science for being an empirically based enterprise and not allowing supernatural explanations into the formula. He wants to change the rules of science, plain and simple, and he calls the scientific community cowardly for not doing so. It’s like Peyton Manning deciding to plant landmines in the backfield to keep a defense off his back, and then calling his opponents wimps for not allowing for more lenient interpretation of the rule book. You don't hear any scientists calling for ammendments to the Ten Commandments in order to make them more scientifically inclusive, so why should we twist the fudamentals of science to make room for faith-based explanations?
The rejection of intelligent design in the scientific community comes from an absence of compelling evidence, not some underlying political dogma. Rusher makes a number of baseless suggestions about the scientific community that completely misrepresents their worldview. First among them is that science has a worldview. It does not. The theories and laws that guide science are the result of years of testing and experimentation; science didn’t bend these conclusions to fit with what it believed to be true. If that were the case we’d all still be worried about falling off the edge of the Earth. Rusher also labels the scientific community as intrinsicly godless. Again, incorrect. At worst, the scientific community is, in practice, agnostic. There is no empirical data to support the existence of God, so scientists study independently of that faith-based variable. Still, there is no universal claim from scientists that there is no God. Certainly there are a number of atheists in the scientific community, just as there are in the world at large. But some of the best scientific minds also had deeply held religious beliefs. Albert Einstein, one of the greatest scientific minds in history, often spoke eloquently and faithfully about God, and he is not the only scientist to do so. And despite Rusher’s claims, science does not show, without a doubt, that the universe had no beginning. It suspects. It has ideas. But it is constantly testing those ideas against empirical data. If science played by intelligent design’s rules, the scientific community’s work would be done. They could just give it all up to the "designer".
One of Rusher’s more naive suggestions is that intelligent design leaves the identity of said designer open. Of course, he admits, “one obvious possibility is God.” I’m curious what he believes the other identities to be. Zeus, perhaps? Or possibly some extra-terrestrial? Alf, maybe? Or those little chain-smoking aliens from Men in Black? Let’s ask Tom Cruise who he’d slip in as his cosmic architect. I’m sure Rusher would appreciate an open conversation on the topic. After all, we don’t want to be like those narrow-minded scientists. In truth, God is not one possibility for the intelligent designer in an open-ended spectrum; which God is where I.D. remains mute. Yet, this is where intelligent design becomes more dangerous than Rusher’s aww-shucks presentation. If we institute I.D. into schools, how long before the conversation turns to who, specifically, this designer is? Suddenly, science is no longer science. It is theology. And despite what Rusher seems to believe, that is a bad thing.
Intelligent Design does have its place in public schools, in philosophy or theology classes, but its inclusion in science classes further corrodes an American student body that is falling further and further behind the rest of the world in those “materialistic” areas like math and science. If we want to broaden that divide, we need only adopt a concept like intelligent design into our classrooms under the pretense of inclusiveness and well-roundedness. Despite Rusher’s prediction that science and its godless worldview “will collapse, sooner or later, like the Soviet Union,” I assure him that science and faith will have equal influence on the future of humanity, but that doesn’t mean we should change the nature of either so that we can bring the two together. That is what intelligent design is asking us to do, and that is what scientists and the faithful alike should be afraid of.
Tuesday, January 10, 2006
Welcome Back Scrubs
I don’t think it’s a big secret that I’ve been a tad depressed lately. My brother leaves for war. I lose my job. The usual holiday decompression. Not to mention the fact that the sun has been absentee for damn near a month here.But this week marked a turning point, if only a temporary one. After taking a break for the holidays, the bulk of my favorite television shows return this week with new episodes. Now it’s probably unhealthy to find solace in TV, but it’s amazing how your life drags when you’re used to two hours of entertainment every night. It'll be nice to have those two hours back, and if I can get over my melancholy, it’ll give me something to write about nearly every day. Right now, it’s all about killing time, and the networks are going to give me a lot to do once things get moving.
The first show back I needed more than any of them because it reminds me how hard I can laugh: Scrubs, which is now airing two episodes a week on Tuesday nights. Though I haven’t watched Scrubs passionately since it’s second season (are you kidding? Tara Reid was on this show?), I’ve fallen back in love with the program with season 1 & 2 debuting on DVD. Though the characters feel a little different after missing two years, the show maintains its unique charm. Much like another dearly departed comedy favorite, Arrested Development, this show is slightly manic with its daydream cut-aways and bedside lunacy. Yet as a writer, there are moments of this show that can bring me to tears, both from laughing and from heartache.
Arrested Development, on what is likely its last episode, poked fun at some of the explanations for its anemic ratings. First and foremost, the family wasn’t likable or sympathetic. This is maybe half-true (but the show was still hilarious). Scrubs does not have this problem. The characters are all sympathetic. And that is the thing I truly admire about Scrubs -- hence the tears. It finds a way to be both extremely funny and extremely poignant. As madcap as the show can get, a hospital is a place where life and death come in equal doses, and the writers do not shy away from that fact.
Tonight’s second episode saw the furiously unsympathetic Dr. Kelso replacing a poorer man’s spot in a potentially life-saving drug trial with a wealthier one. Always the cartoonish villain Kelso has earned a reputation for whistling on the way to his car every evening, even after the ugliest of days. So when the show rolls to a close and Dr. Kelso walks to his car without the whistle, it breaks your heart. Scrubs pulls off these kind of moments without being cloying or saccharin, and these heartfelt moments make it that much better than its contemporaries. Life doesn't fit into Award show categories, Comedy or Drama. Thankfully, neither does Scrubs (which is probably why it never wins anything).
Monday, January 09, 2006
It Had to Happen
I didn't go to my first Cubs game until I was 22. It was a remarkable experience, if not a typical Cubs experience. Kerry Wood threw seven innings of one-hit baseball before turning the game over to the bullpen who quickly gave up ten runs in one inning to the Pittsburgh Pirates. Yet one image lingers in my brain from that game. Sometime in the middle innings a Pirate (whose name I cannot remember) hit a rope off Kerry Wood that screeched straight towards my seat in the left-centerfield bleachers. It was a 0-0 game at that point, but this rocket was destined for the gap and would mean at least one run for the Pittsburgh.
Then a streak of blue skirted the outfield and swallowed the ball with a miraculous diving catch. That streak was Corey Patterson. Patterson finished that year looking very much like the heir apparent, hitting the snot out of the ball while becoming a fixture on Web Gems. The next year followed with an unfortunate knee injury. Then last year he returned with substandard numbers that eventually won him a trip to Triple-A.
Well, now that player who I will always identify with my first Cubs game is no longer a North Sider as this afternoon the Cubs deal Patterson to Baltimore. It makes me sad, but like Sosa a year ago, it had to be done. Since Corey will be in the American League (and for the time being will not return to torment us as so many ex-Cubs do), I wish him the best of luck and I look forward to seeing him on Web Gems this spring.
Then a streak of blue skirted the outfield and swallowed the ball with a miraculous diving catch. That streak was Corey Patterson. Patterson finished that year looking very much like the heir apparent, hitting the snot out of the ball while becoming a fixture on Web Gems. The next year followed with an unfortunate knee injury. Then last year he returned with substandard numbers that eventually won him a trip to Triple-A.
Well, now that player who I will always identify with my first Cubs game is no longer a North Sider as this afternoon the Cubs deal Patterson to Baltimore. It makes me sad, but like Sosa a year ago, it had to be done. Since Corey will be in the American League (and for the time being will not return to torment us as so many ex-Cubs do), I wish him the best of luck and I look forward to seeing him on Web Gems this spring.
Saturday, January 07, 2006
Black Site
My brother wanted to post some pictures on my blog, but the military has a pretty strict stance on sending pictures over e-mail. So, I gave him instructions on how to post on my blog. Unfortunately, in doing so I had to reveal this "black site" that I've been working on since my brother left. Somehow, this knowledge got around to my mother, and this evening I stumbled upon her reading my hidden blog.
When I got upset at the invasion, she got upset with me. She believes this site is about Andrew, and therefore she should have access to it. But it's not. It's about me.
So I watched her like a hawk all evening, and now I've temporarily transferred my address to this one. Later this weekend I'm going to set up a completely new blog (new profile) and transfer to that one.
"I'm a lot stronger than you guys think," my mother said. Like Andrew was telling me what was really going on over there and she was just getting the nice stuff. Actually my brother has been very candid about his experiences. I don't know what she expected to find on this site.
Oh bother.
See you tomorrow.
Same bat-time.
New bat-channel.
When I got upset at the invasion, she got upset with me. She believes this site is about Andrew, and therefore she should have access to it. But it's not. It's about me.
So I watched her like a hawk all evening, and now I've temporarily transferred my address to this one. Later this weekend I'm going to set up a completely new blog (new profile) and transfer to that one.
"I'm a lot stronger than you guys think," my mother said. Like Andrew was telling me what was really going on over there and she was just getting the nice stuff. Actually my brother has been very candid about his experiences. I don't know what she expected to find on this site.
Oh bother.
See you tomorrow.
Same bat-time.
New bat-channel.
Friday, January 06, 2006
God Bless Pat Robertson
I get so few good belly laughs these days. But running across a certain article on MSNBC this morning... I haven't laughed that hard since... well, since the premiere of Scrubs on Tuesday. Pat Robertson has put his foot in his mouth so many times over the last five years he should just slap a Nike Swoosh on his lips and try to get an endorsement deal. First, 9/11 was the fault of the gays, and abortionists, and feminists, and all those other Ists that get right wingers chastity belts in a bunch (to be fair he tag-teamed with ray of sunshine Jerry Falwell on that one). Then, he recommended we assasinate a head of state. Next, he predicted fire and brimstone for Dover, Pennsylvania for ousting every school board member who voted Intelligent Design into the public school system. And then comes this gem regarding Ariel Sharon's recent health problems.
Not only is the statement itself priceless, but kudos to MSNBC.com for picking a winning screen grab from the 700 Club to properly contextualize more Robertson lunacy.
Not only is the statement itself priceless, but kudos to MSNBC.com for picking a winning screen grab from the 700 Club to properly contextualize more Robertson lunacy.
Thursday, January 05, 2006
"I'm Just Calling To...."
Probably the biggest nuisance that has arisen during my brother's absence has been the new power granted telemarketers. Every time the phone rings, we're hoping it's Andrew. We can stand the let down if it's family or friends, but when it's some jackass from Legend Windows (who?) well, you'll have to forgive my intolerance. Wasn't there a law passed, not to long ago, that telemarketers can only call people with whom they've done previous business. Who the hell is Legend Windows? Making this nuisance even more intolerable is the international phone delay. Before Iraq, I used to hang up at the first moment of silence before a telemarketer clicked in. Now, if I do that I could be hanging up on my brother, and that would probably get me a shiv to the ribs from Mom (she's ruthless, you see). I don't know if the number of telemarketers has gone up, or if we're just hyper-aware of the phone calls, but it seems like they're getting out of hand again. Again, where is that legislation?
Although there are those moments when the sun shines in, where I get the opportunity to turn the tables on the telemarketers for a brief moment.
"Is there an Andrew Rockwell there?"
"No, he's not here right now."
"Could you tell me when he'll be back?"
"Well, he's in Iraq right now, and we haven't heard from him in two weeks, but I'm sure when he has a moment between mortars and hostile fire he'll be thrilled to learn Visa has preapproved him yet again."
Click.
And then I do the Snoopy Dance.
Although there are those moments when the sun shines in, where I get the opportunity to turn the tables on the telemarketers for a brief moment.
"Is there an Andrew Rockwell there?"
"No, he's not here right now."
"Could you tell me when he'll be back?"
"Well, he's in Iraq right now, and we haven't heard from him in two weeks, but I'm sure when he has a moment between mortars and hostile fire he'll be thrilled to learn Visa has preapproved him yet again."
Click.
And then I do the Snoopy Dance.
Wednesday, January 04, 2006
Ten Things I Learned From Today's IM Conversation with My Brother
1. My brother recently shaved his head and was told that he and I look exactly alike...
2. Ergo, there must be some special kind of herb growing in the desert that we don't know about.
3. CNN sometimes has the best intel, but they can still see a helicopter shot down when there wasn't one. Did you catch that whoops yesterday, Joel?
4. The unit Andrew and Co are releaving just left. So as of tomorrow (God help us) he's in charge.
5. Haji already calls him Rock everywhere he goes.
6. Cousin Brian gets the honor of "Best Package" so far, and we're going to assume that my brother meant the one sent through the mail. (Was that too blue for a family site?)
7. Haji smokes hurt the throat.
8. The Chicago Cubs have lead the majors in strike-outs for the past five years. And we got only one post season appearance to speak of. (On a similar note, quote of the night from Scrubs last night: "How depressing is it being you? Would you equate it to being a lifelong Cubs fan or being born with no lips?")
9. 95% of IEDs (Improvised Explosive Devices) won't penetrate American armor, but they will give you a headache.
10. Pictures over e-mail. A no-no.
Also, my brother and I have worked out a way for him to post pictures on this site. So, look for some of those in coming days (although, as he said "Days seem to turn into weeks here for some reason").
2. Ergo, there must be some special kind of herb growing in the desert that we don't know about.
3. CNN sometimes has the best intel, but they can still see a helicopter shot down when there wasn't one. Did you catch that whoops yesterday, Joel?
4. The unit Andrew and Co are releaving just left. So as of tomorrow (God help us) he's in charge.
5. Haji already calls him Rock everywhere he goes.
6. Cousin Brian gets the honor of "Best Package" so far, and we're going to assume that my brother meant the one sent through the mail. (Was that too blue for a family site?)
7. Haji smokes hurt the throat.
8. The Chicago Cubs have lead the majors in strike-outs for the past five years. And we got only one post season appearance to speak of. (On a similar note, quote of the night from Scrubs last night: "How depressing is it being you? Would you equate it to being a lifelong Cubs fan or being born with no lips?")
9. 95% of IEDs (Improvised Explosive Devices) won't penetrate American armor, but they will give you a headache.
10. Pictures over e-mail. A no-no.
Also, my brother and I have worked out a way for him to post pictures on this site. So, look for some of those in coming days (although, as he said "Days seem to turn into weeks here for some reason").
zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz
It strikes me that I have some anxiety about falling asleep lately. There's this underlying sensation that I have not accomplished enough, that another day has passed with no meaning found, that morning will arrive with no reason for me to drag myself out of bed other than sleep funk and halitosis.
So I have nothing left to do with my day. I'm exhausted and sleep-deprived, yet I can't pull myself to the bedroom. What is that?
So I have nothing left to do with my day. I'm exhausted and sleep-deprived, yet I can't pull myself to the bedroom. What is that?
Tuesday, January 03, 2006
King Kong
Roger Ebert, on his syndicated television program, called King Kong this year's greatest entertainment. It's so not. I've sat on the fence about this film since I saw it several weeks ago, but now I'm taking a stand. This is not a good film. Peter Jackson, much like George Lucas before him, has so many neat toys at his disposal that he feels he must use every one. The original King Kong was 80 minutes long; Jackson's version is 187 minutes of bloated unnecessary action set pieces amongst a handful of truly touching scenes between Naomi Watts and the remarkable Kong. Those were the longest three hours I've spent in a theater since Titanic (and this coming from a guy who did the Lord of the Rings marathon).
Special FX are great, but for every film that uses them correctly, there are many others that fall in love with their digital creations and let them rule the roost. Special FX mean nothing if they're not in the service of a story. Titanic is still a turd that won't sink fast enough. Shock and Awe couldn't save Star Wars from becoming a shame for kids nurtured by its original fantasy. And King Kong suffers the same fate.
The fact that these enormous action scenes take place between scenes of transcendent filmmaking only makes their superfluousness more glaring. Naomi Watts is amazing in this film. Every scene she shares with the great big ape are captivating to watch, both for the technical achievement of Kong and the Watts's performance. But these scenes are too few, and they're too often spoiled by giant bugs or stampeding brontosauri or Jack Black.
Jackson pummels us with action. Pummels. So much so that when the one action scene with emotional resonance arrives, the ascension of the Empire State Building, I was so burnt out that I just wanted it all to end. I didn't weep for Kong when he fell, as apparently many critics did. This is a flawed film. Deeply flawed. Which is a shame, because like I said, Naomi Watts is amazing and deserves some accolades for her work here. But I can't recommend this film.
If you want the year's greatest entertainment, I have two words for you: Batman Begins.
Special FX are great, but for every film that uses them correctly, there are many others that fall in love with their digital creations and let them rule the roost. Special FX mean nothing if they're not in the service of a story. Titanic is still a turd that won't sink fast enough. Shock and Awe couldn't save Star Wars from becoming a shame for kids nurtured by its original fantasy. And King Kong suffers the same fate.
The fact that these enormous action scenes take place between scenes of transcendent filmmaking only makes their superfluousness more glaring. Naomi Watts is amazing in this film. Every scene she shares with the great big ape are captivating to watch, both for the technical achievement of Kong and the Watts's performance. But these scenes are too few, and they're too often spoiled by giant bugs or stampeding brontosauri or Jack Black.
Jackson pummels us with action. Pummels. So much so that when the one action scene with emotional resonance arrives, the ascension of the Empire State Building, I was so burnt out that I just wanted it all to end. I didn't weep for Kong when he fell, as apparently many critics did. This is a flawed film. Deeply flawed. Which is a shame, because like I said, Naomi Watts is amazing and deserves some accolades for her work here. But I can't recommend this film.
If you want the year's greatest entertainment, I have two words for you: Batman Begins.
Sunday, January 01, 2006
Stream-Of-Consciousness
It's going on 3 AM, January 1st, 2006. Since losing my job my sleep schedule has fallen back to that with which I am most comfortable, that of the night owl. The week following Christmas has seen a chilly stasis about the house. My mom is off work until Tuesday, and I am off work indefinitely. So we hung about the homestead -- she with her quilts, me with a few video games I got for Christmas.
I haven't played video games in years, not avidly anyway. Suddenly, it's all I can do to get through the day. Mario and Sonic the Hedgehog have become the keepers of my sanity (sadly, my dignity cannot be salvaged through video games -- Morgan Webb, be damned). If nothing else, these games are marvellous time killers.
Today saw an attack near Baqubah. My mother caught the tail end of a report over the radio and sent me out into cyberspace to get the full story. Everything's ok. But I've never typed CNN.com faster.
"Don't spin me," I told my brother before he left. "Tell mom whatever you need to, but you tell me the truth, however you see it."
What a stupid request. As if I am any better equipped to handle what he tells me than my mother. Everybody around me has something to fall back on. My mom believes he's protecting the country. Ok. I don't. My aunt has her faith. I so don't. I have Ratchet and Clank. And the cozy blanket that is a nihilistic worldview.
While my brother and I have become more similar with age, the one thing we still differ on is fear. My brother is fearless. I can paralyze myself with overthought and anxiety. My brother will become the type of man who can change the world. I'll most likely be the one who talks about how it should be changed. Big bark. I look at him and I see passion and drive. I can't find that in the mirror these days.
I talked to Andrew briefly this weekend, before dozens of family members clammored for their piece of the Trans-Atlantic telephone pie, and asked him how he was. No spin allowed.
"I'm all right," he croaked. I haven't been able to shake the sound of his voice. My brother has been changed forever. I think we tend to forget that. We all worry about the life-or-death of his situation. We forget that the brother or son we put on that plane is gone for good. He will not return the same.
Shit.
Nighty night.
I haven't played video games in years, not avidly anyway. Suddenly, it's all I can do to get through the day. Mario and Sonic the Hedgehog have become the keepers of my sanity (sadly, my dignity cannot be salvaged through video games -- Morgan Webb, be damned). If nothing else, these games are marvellous time killers.
Today saw an attack near Baqubah. My mother caught the tail end of a report over the radio and sent me out into cyberspace to get the full story. Everything's ok. But I've never typed CNN.com faster.
"Don't spin me," I told my brother before he left. "Tell mom whatever you need to, but you tell me the truth, however you see it."
What a stupid request. As if I am any better equipped to handle what he tells me than my mother. Everybody around me has something to fall back on. My mom believes he's protecting the country. Ok. I don't. My aunt has her faith. I so don't. I have Ratchet and Clank. And the cozy blanket that is a nihilistic worldview.
While my brother and I have become more similar with age, the one thing we still differ on is fear. My brother is fearless. I can paralyze myself with overthought and anxiety. My brother will become the type of man who can change the world. I'll most likely be the one who talks about how it should be changed. Big bark. I look at him and I see passion and drive. I can't find that in the mirror these days.
I talked to Andrew briefly this weekend, before dozens of family members clammored for their piece of the Trans-Atlantic telephone pie, and asked him how he was. No spin allowed.
"I'm all right," he croaked. I haven't been able to shake the sound of his voice. My brother has been changed forever. I think we tend to forget that. We all worry about the life-or-death of his situation. We forget that the brother or son we put on that plane is gone for good. He will not return the same.
Shit.
Nighty night.
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