More Memories
I realize that my memories of my “younger years” (put in quotes because, let’s face it, being 26 doesn’t exactly entitle me to phrases like, ‘When I was young,’ or, ‘back in my day’) are possibly excruciatingly unpleasant to read for those who do not fall in one of two categories: 1) Those who are not me, or 2) Those who do not care what influenced me to become the person I am today. I, however, ignore the lack of interest since, in my opinion, reliving past experiences through prose-like writing can help one come to terms with the past and shine a light on who we are to become. So, in other words, I don’t care if you don’t care…I want to do this.
Wow…that was scarily cynical and full of self-loathing. Sorry!
I’m 18 years old and close to graduating from high school. I’ve gone through many fashion phases (everything from goth to nerd) and have settled on Express (or whatever ‘Express Men’ was before it took the name of the previously purely feminine store) sweaters, semi-baggy jeans, and tennis shoes. My hair is nice cropped in a comb-over style. Since I drive my sister home after school, and since she is much more popular than I, I often have to wait for her to show up. She’s off talking and flirting and having a good time while I lean against a wall awkwardly waiting and not talking to anyone. I must have seen one too many fashion advertisements and subconsciously accepted model-poses as common ways to present oneself. I would stand there with my shoulder bag, leaning against the wall, one foot raised and pressed against the wall. My eyes somewhat downcast. Calvin Kline models always stand like this, so it must be normal…right? One day my sister tells me that I looked like an Express model, standing there in my sweater with my foot on the wall and my ‘devil-may-care’ expression. I took this as a good thing at the time. Now, I walk by the mannequins in the Express storefront and cringe at the thought that I once thought looking like that was cool.
I’m 19 years old and, through some good fortune (read: my parents are way too nice) drove a 1980 convertible Mercedes 450SL. I sped everywhere. And by ‘everywhere’ I mean that every time I entered the car and drove, I sped. Due to the age of the car, the speedometer only went to 85mph. On many occasions I pushed the needle to the stopper at 85mph. I often drove somewhere between 85mph and 100mph. I never knew how fast I was going; but speed was a fix I needed. I was driving home one night at about 1am; there was no traffic, which allowed me to push my acceptable speed limit to the max. It was sprinkling; and California freeways do not get the most moisture…causing an extreme lack of traction. I closed in on my exit, a turn that hit about 70 degrees or more, and flew up towards the light. As I hit the pinnacle of the turn my car slid. I was, luckily, on the inside lane, and my skid took me to the very edge of the outside lane where a huge ditch laid waiting. Less than 2 seconds felt like 5 minutes as I cranked the wheel and let go of the brake in hopes that I was doing the right action to save myself from rolling over. I pulled out of the slide and ended up right at the line of the stoplight. As my breathing slowed and my heart returned to its natural pace, I vowed to never disregard the laws of the road to that extent again.
I’m 20 years old and my brother and I decide to go out dancing. If you have seen Dane Cook’s older acts (before he started sucking hardcore) you might have seen his bit about the difference in guys going out dancing versus girls going out dancing. He basically says that girls go out dancing ‘just to dance’ to no other intentions, whereas you never hear of a group of guys going out and saying, ‘F girls tonight, I just wanna dance!.’ Well, my brother and I actually want out just to dance. We hit a local 18-and-up club and went about our normal procedure: I got a sprite and my brother got a vodka-redbull. I would pour my sprite out and we would stand in a dark corner where he would pour his drink into my now empty plastic cup (non-alcoholic drinks were poured into plastic cups). This club, however, was very keen on plans like ours, and 20 minutes later we are still trying to trade drinks. The bouncers have numbers on their backs and we see, no kidding, bouncer #37 pass us by. They have, at least 37 bouncers watching for illicit activity. We finally trade drinks, I down it in 2 gulps, and we dance. Hours pass and despite “hot” girls dancing inches away, we have tons of fun just goofing off and not ‘playing the game.’ To this day I have a hard time explaining that I have been to dance clubs without the intent to hook up.
Monday, May 04, 2009
Friday, May 01, 2009
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
So I have this theory...
...and what better way to test a theory than to baselessly speculate about it on the internet. As was recently quoted (by a comedy TV show): "It's the internet. There's not place for truth on the internet."
Grant's [baseless] Theory of Age
When born, we (humans) are helpless beings, totally dependent on more competent humans to feed us, change us, make us happy, take care of us in case of sickness, etc, etc. Unlike other species (e.g. turtles), we cannot fend for ourselves; and without constant supervision, we (in our infant state) will surely perish.
As we age, we gain the ability to take care of ourselves. We reach an undetermined age (only undetermined because there is no way to ethically test it) where we could, if absolutely necessary, survive on our own. A 1-year-old on it's own will die. A 7-year-old on it's own might find a way to forge ahead and survive.
One day, however, we start to decline. Science today tells us that humans reach their pinnacle, their best if you will, at some point during the late 20's. As our brains deteriorate and our bodies decline, we find ourselves relying on the same assistance that we once needed as infants. Changing of diapers, feeding of nutrients, and help dressing/undressing are not uncommon for the elderly.
Our infant nature and our elderly state are often compared. We are born into diapers, and we die in them (with a brief interval free from safety-undergarments).
But I have another, possibly better, comparison for the human elderly state: the state of being drunk.
No, wait, hear me out. If you can, observe a group of elderly people. Take notes. Don't worry, they won't notice...they're old. Now observe a typical group of super-intoxicated younger people. Take notes. Don't worry, they won't notice...they're too drunk and self-involved (or on a sexual conquest) to notice.
Now make comparisons. Notice anything? You should. Here are some common quirks of drunkenness and their age-induced counterparts:
Forgetfulness: Drunk people forget their keys, where they parked their car, that they're married, and what they planned to order at the Taco Bell drive-through. Old people forget their keys, where they parked their car, that they've already taken their medication, or that they haven't eaten in 20+ hours.
Lack of Motor-Skills: Drunk people crash cars, trip over curbs (or even small cracks in the pavement), type poorly formed e-mails and text-messages, and attempt feeble punches aimed at larger (and obviously much more intimidating) bar-goers. Old people crash cars, trip over just about anything, call people the wrong name and retell stories told just minutes ago, and believe they can do tasks they could do when they were younger (e.g. carry the 30-pound bag of groceries to the car).
Confidence: Drunk people tell others of qualities/jobs/traits they do not possess, approach girls/guys so far out of their range it's laughable, and consider themselves God's gift to this earth. Old people mis-remember the past and boast of qualities/jobs/traits they never possessed, assure others they are capable of tasks they simply cannot do (e.g. drive), and due to point 1 (mis-remembering) still consider themselves to be part of the in-crowd or in the know.
Ignoring the Facts: Drunk people say they can still drive, boast of prowess (whether sexual, physical, or mental) they do not have, and proclaim loudly and often that they are not drunk. Old people say they can still drive, boast of prowess they either never had or no longer have, and proclaim loudly and often that they are not too old.
Point being, from what I can tell, being old is like being drunk without all the perks. The young person who is drunk has issues driving to the nearest Del Taco, forgets his order, crashes his car into the garage trying to park, passes out before he can "perform" for the girl he convinced to come home with him, and can't remember any of the night before; whereas the old person has issues driving to the nearest early-bird special, crashes his car into the telephone pole on the way home, can't perform for his wife of 40 years (time for a Viagra refill), and can't remember any of the night before. The difference is that the young person will sober up and not have to deal with all the previously mentioned symptoms. The old person lives perpetually in all the mentioned symptoms (with the exception being the amazingly-alert old person who still has memory and motor-skills).
The point in all of this? I can't wait to be old. It will be nice to forget to eat healthy, crash my car, and re-tell the same story 6 times in a row...and then have people say, "Oh, it's ok, he's old." At least then I'll have an excuse.
...and what better way to test a theory than to baselessly speculate about it on the internet. As was recently quoted (by a comedy TV show): "It's the internet. There's not place for truth on the internet."
Grant's [baseless] Theory of Age
When born, we (humans) are helpless beings, totally dependent on more competent humans to feed us, change us, make us happy, take care of us in case of sickness, etc, etc. Unlike other species (e.g. turtles), we cannot fend for ourselves; and without constant supervision, we (in our infant state) will surely perish.
As we age, we gain the ability to take care of ourselves. We reach an undetermined age (only undetermined because there is no way to ethically test it) where we could, if absolutely necessary, survive on our own. A 1-year-old on it's own will die. A 7-year-old on it's own might find a way to forge ahead and survive.
One day, however, we start to decline. Science today tells us that humans reach their pinnacle, their best if you will, at some point during the late 20's. As our brains deteriorate and our bodies decline, we find ourselves relying on the same assistance that we once needed as infants. Changing of diapers, feeding of nutrients, and help dressing/undressing are not uncommon for the elderly.
Our infant nature and our elderly state are often compared. We are born into diapers, and we die in them (with a brief interval free from safety-undergarments).
But I have another, possibly better, comparison for the human elderly state: the state of being drunk.
No, wait, hear me out. If you can, observe a group of elderly people. Take notes. Don't worry, they won't notice...they're old. Now observe a typical group of super-intoxicated younger people. Take notes. Don't worry, they won't notice...they're too drunk and self-involved (or on a sexual conquest) to notice.
Now make comparisons. Notice anything? You should. Here are some common quirks of drunkenness and their age-induced counterparts:
Forgetfulness: Drunk people forget their keys, where they parked their car, that they're married, and what they planned to order at the Taco Bell drive-through. Old people forget their keys, where they parked their car, that they've already taken their medication, or that they haven't eaten in 20+ hours.
Lack of Motor-Skills: Drunk people crash cars, trip over curbs (or even small cracks in the pavement), type poorly formed e-mails and text-messages, and attempt feeble punches aimed at larger (and obviously much more intimidating) bar-goers. Old people crash cars, trip over just about anything, call people the wrong name and retell stories told just minutes ago, and believe they can do tasks they could do when they were younger (e.g. carry the 30-pound bag of groceries to the car).
Confidence: Drunk people tell others of qualities/jobs/traits they do not possess, approach girls/guys so far out of their range it's laughable, and consider themselves God's gift to this earth. Old people mis-remember the past and boast of qualities/jobs/traits they never possessed, assure others they are capable of tasks they simply cannot do (e.g. drive), and due to point 1 (mis-remembering) still consider themselves to be part of the in-crowd or in the know.
Ignoring the Facts: Drunk people say they can still drive, boast of prowess (whether sexual, physical, or mental) they do not have, and proclaim loudly and often that they are not drunk. Old people say they can still drive, boast of prowess they either never had or no longer have, and proclaim loudly and often that they are not too old.
Point being, from what I can tell, being old is like being drunk without all the perks. The young person who is drunk has issues driving to the nearest Del Taco, forgets his order, crashes his car into the garage trying to park, passes out before he can "perform" for the girl he convinced to come home with him, and can't remember any of the night before; whereas the old person has issues driving to the nearest early-bird special, crashes his car into the telephone pole on the way home, can't perform for his wife of 40 years (time for a Viagra refill), and can't remember any of the night before. The difference is that the young person will sober up and not have to deal with all the previously mentioned symptoms. The old person lives perpetually in all the mentioned symptoms (with the exception being the amazingly-alert old person who still has memory and motor-skills).
The point in all of this? I can't wait to be old. It will be nice to forget to eat healthy, crash my car, and re-tell the same story 6 times in a row...and then have people say, "Oh, it's ok, he's old." At least then I'll have an excuse.
Thursday, April 23, 2009
Tuesday, April 14, 2009
Memories
Once more inspired by Sarah Brown , I thought it was time for a random memory post. Hope you enjoy!
It’s Christmas morning. I am 9 years old and my brother and I share a room (the girls got their own rooms; apparently it’s better for the boys to share a room than the girls). We know Santa doesn’t exist; but that doesn’t curb our enthusiasm for the upcoming spectacle. It’s family tradition to head to the kitchen the morning of, and have a big glass of orange juice (coffee for the adults) before we head into the living room for present opening. 6am hits and I am wide awake. “Chad,” I whisper, “do you think the presents are there?” “Yeah,” he responds, hiding his excitement (for it’s a little kid thing to get so excited about presents…he’s too cool), “but we’re not supposed to look yet.” “Yeah,” I reply; and then I get up, sneak down the hall, and look down at the Christmas tree from the second-story balcony. In the early morning glow the tree is a beautiful silhouette and the presents glisten temptingly, hiding names on tags, hinting at untold glories ready to be unfurled upon anxious souls. No matter how good the gifts were, the waiting was always more fulfilling than anything that could come after.
I’m not particularly liked or disliked…but it’s junior year in high school and every glance and comment implies love or hate in my mind. I’m a theatre-nerd and a film-kid and my peers see me as “that guy.” Nobody loves me beyond all others, and only a few hate me (but that's a whole new story). Theatre is, oddly enough, a very respected extracurricular activity at my school, and I have a lead in the Senior-produced play. Our color-scheme is sepia, and my blonde hair doesn’t work well with said scheme. Rather than wigging up every night, I choose to use dye to solve the problem (even for my facial hair grown especially for said play). My goth-mentor (also in the play) buys some black hair dye and we sneak into the theatre after everyone has gone home. We go into the theatre restroom and I apply the dye to my hair, eyebrows, and facial hair. Since heat makes dye grab hold quicker I put a wig on over my plastic-bagged head. The wig is from a recent play, The Lark, and belonged to the lead girl (Joan of Arc) who had a boyish haircut. My friend and I spend a solid hour in the mostly dark and totally empty theatre acting out our favorite movie/film scenes on stage. The cleaners show up and stumble upon me, on stage, in a shaggy and choppy wig, pretending I am a Monty Python character who is ‘not dead yet.’ We laugh it off before washing out the dye and standing speechless looking at my now strikingly affected hair, eyebrows, and facial hair.
It’s Thanksgiving time and I am home with the family. I head out on Thanksgiving night with one of my all-time best friends. During high school we loved getting McFlurries from McDonalds. There’s something about that cheap ice cream and chopped up candy at 1am that blows all other desserts out of the water. During high school our favorite was always Butterfinger®. We hit up the local McD’s and through the crappy drive-through speaker requested two Butterfinger® McFlurries. We were promptly informed that the Butterfinger® variety of our favorite tasty treat is no longer an available option. Dejected and broken-hearted, we ordered plain vanilla McFlurries. I had a plan. We hit up an all-night grocery store and bought two Butterfinger® bars and headed back to my house. With a well–implemented meat-mallet and some ingenuity we had ourselves some genuinely delicious Butterfinger® McFlurries (take that McDonalds). The lesson learned: don't accept defeat...an all-night grocery might just have the answer to your dilemma.
Monday, April 06, 2009
I've been getting e-mails from some dating website and thought it was just spam. I decided to unsubscribe from a list I never actually subscribed to when I was brought to a profile page for a fellow "greenmoose." Here's a grab from the page:
And some more:
Now I'm pretty sure nobody would go through these lengths for a joke that only I would see. I guess this Hitler-loving Brit accidentally put my e-mail address in as his own and I'm getting his notifications.
Whatever the case, I guess this proves that not everyone who chooses "greenmoose" as a screen name shares similarities.
And some more:
Now I'm pretty sure nobody would go through these lengths for a joke that only I would see. I guess this Hitler-loving Brit accidentally put my e-mail address in as his own and I'm getting his notifications.
Whatever the case, I guess this proves that not everyone who chooses "greenmoose" as a screen name shares similarities.
Monday, March 09, 2009
No, Really, Who Does Watch the Watchmen?
Or:
A Fanboy's Dilemma
Quick side-note (or pre-note, or whatever): Even if you don't give a damn about the Watchmen phenomenon, skip to the end of this post where I critique a strange Asian alcohol ad.
Megan and I went and saw Watchmen today on a brand new Imax screen in a beautiful building with an incredible sound system and super-comfy chairs. If you have a chance to see a film at the Garden Walk in Anaheim, do it. I want you to know that I've never been huge into comics or graphic novels, have never read anything else by Alan Moore, and have never even been big into comic-to-movie adaptations. A friend from work lent me the book to read after I told him how great the trailer looked. I was, at the time, totally unaware of the massive following and cult-like love of this work. I plowed through the book (yeah, I'm calling it a book. Without going into detail, the amount of work that went into this work of art rivals many novels written today) in 2 days and was, at that point, even more excited for the movie.
If you haven't read Watchmen, you would be doing yourself a favor to do so. Even if you're not into graphic novels and have never picked one up in your life. Looking passed the exceptional art, the amazing writing, and all the costumed heroes is a story of an alternate history that our country could easily have gone through with a few simple (and even feasible) changes (ok, fine, aside from Dr. Manhattan). Moore creates a world in which all moral and ethical lines are blurred, metaphysics and our understanding of time and creation are brought into question, and art and real life imitate each other in ways that are creepily relatable to our actual world today. Somewhere in the midst of stories-within-stories, real life issues (such as impotence), and love and fraternity fraught with peril and deception, I lost myself in a make believe world that I grew to love.
Don't worry, all this setup is going somewhere.
The film, in my opinion, did an incredible job at taking amazingly dense material and turning it into a film that captured almost every necessary aspect of the story as possible. This is a feat which would scare me senseless if I were the one put to the task. The film pulled no punches, respected the original work to a worship-like degree, and captured the spirit of what Moore wanted to say (once more, this is all in my opinion. Many would disagree with me).
As I tried to understand the disparity in opinions (RottenTomatoes currently has the film at a meager 65%), I came to a conclusion: the subjective opinion of the film is directly related to the viewer's expectations. Hold on, don't laugh and control-q this post yet. Hear me out. This movie is somewhat unique in the "expectation" theory I just began explaining. If I am going to see The Dark Knight I have certain expectations: Batman should be similar in most respects to the actual character; there should be some amazing action; there should be some sort of moral choice that tests Batman; and the world of Batman should stay at least somewhat canon (e.g. Batman shouldn't suddenly and unexplainably have the gift of non-technologically-aided flight). Most everyone knows what they are getting into before going to see a Batman movie. If all those points are met, then the argument of whether the film is "good" will come down to artistic merit, acting skill, music choice, editing, etc, etc. Since nobody (hopefully) goes in to a Batman movie with the expectation of a feel-good romantic comedy full of personal redemption and maybe a goofy character to lighten things up with fart jokes and physical comedy, nobody walks out with their base expectations shattered.
Watchmen is a whole different consideration. Many people (in fact, I would say at least half, if not more) are going to see this movie based on the trailer alone. The trailer is pretty amazing...and if I were basing my expectations for the movie on the trailer, I would go in expecting a kick-ass action film full of awesome superheroes and mass amounts of mindless violence. If that was your expectation heading in to the film, Watchmen would be a major disappointment. I'm not trying to belittle the average action-film movie-goer; but if Transformers or any of the Riddick films are your cup of tea, metaphysical discussions, major human flaws, and governmental dealings with rogue vigilantes might not fulfill that deep desire for blood and guts.
I've talked to every person who I know who has seen the film; and questions lead to one of two outcomes:
Me: So, what did you think of Watchmen?
P1: It was amazing, I was totally blown away.
Me: Have you read the book?
P1: Yeah, I loved it.
Or...
Me: So, what did you think of Watchmen?
P2: Um, it was ok. I was kinda disappointed.
Me: Have you read the book?
P2: No.
Seriously, without fail, those who loved the movie have read the book, and those who were less than impressed have not. But wait, my point is not that those who have not read the book can't like the film, or that they are not capable of liking the film, or even that their not having read it invalidates their opinion. This realization has brought me to an interesting, if not confusing, crossroads:
Is a piece of art that seemingly cannot be appropriately enjoyed by those who do not have some sort of previous knowledge of the art-piece good art?
For example, Donnie Darko is one of my favorite films. It was from the start. But the more I delved into the online information of the film, the more I stumbled across extra material put out there by the director. Fake books "written" by characters from the film. Puzzles to solve that explained some of the mysteries. In the end, I had this amazing understanding of the intricacies of the film that few had. Many claimed that the film was partially incoherent and therefore unenjoyable. I tried to explain what I had found; but the common response was, "If the movie itself doesn't tell me all I need to know, it failed in its message." And trust me, I see that point of view.
But with Watchmen I am sympathetic. There is simply so much to the original book that this attempt seems epic and amazing to me on every level. And I can't help but think that with even a cursory reading of the original material, the movie would be enjoyed that much more. At the same time, there is something to be said about making something accessible to everyone whether or not they have previously read the source material.
Last example, and then a conclusion (before a really fun/funny Asian ad): If I go to an art museum and look at a painting, I can have multiple experiences. For example, I look at a Lochener painting like this:
I can have two reactions. The first is the uninformed reaction of like or dislike (usually based on color, or topic, or the artist's talent). The other reaction is the educated reaction that puts aside those aesthetic considerations to admire the use of the golden ratio, the triangle, the pentagram, the symbolism of the placement of the angels and how focus is drawn to the Christ-child, etc. After that admiration, those other considerations (color, talent, etc) can be incorporated into the decision of whether or not the piece is a great work of art or not. Neither approach is better than the other; and neither approach is necessary to viewing the painting. But each method results in drastically differing outcomes of personal enjoyment of the piece.
So my conclusion, what I've been trying to get at, is that Watchmen is a complicated piece of art. Few would say that the pacing, acting, timing, or visual effects are sub-par. In fact, most would say that the film is really amazing on those levels (if not other levels). This makes me think that if a greater understanding of the piece was had, that the intellectual value of the film, paired with the more obvious merits, makes this film something pretty special. I'm not going to judge Dostoevsky's Brother's Karamazov based on how fun it was to read; and I think that Watchmen should be approached from a view more elevated (read: intellectual) than that of the average action film.
::
::
On THAT note...I ended up at a Korean BBQ joint at 4am the other night. It's a long story. Ask me sometime. Anyway, the place-mats had an ad for some kind of fruit-flavored alcohol that I found absolutely hilarious. Here are the pictures in sequential form (sorry for the lack of quality, I'm lacking a scanner):
Man stalks sealion on beach. Notice his Bear Gryll's like tactic of blending in by imitating the stalked animal.
Oh no! The sealion has spotted him. The only choice is to hold his ground and imply ferociousness!
FIGHT!
Exhausted, the enemies lay in the sand, contemplating their next moves.
Next move? Take shots with the enemy! We all know that fights between males always end in hugs, alcohol, and slurred comments like, "Nothing personal, man...I love you, man!"
Seriously, we might find Japanese ads to be strange; but good lord do they have the upper-hand when it comes to something memorable. A man fights a sealion and ends up doing shots of some strange, fruity alcohol with it? Count me in!
Or:
A Fanboy's Dilemma
Quick side-note (or pre-note, or whatever): Even if you don't give a damn about the Watchmen phenomenon, skip to the end of this post where I critique a strange Asian alcohol ad.
Megan and I went and saw Watchmen today on a brand new Imax screen in a beautiful building with an incredible sound system and super-comfy chairs. If you have a chance to see a film at the Garden Walk in Anaheim, do it. I want you to know that I've never been huge into comics or graphic novels, have never read anything else by Alan Moore, and have never even been big into comic-to-movie adaptations. A friend from work lent me the book to read after I told him how great the trailer looked. I was, at the time, totally unaware of the massive following and cult-like love of this work. I plowed through the book (yeah, I'm calling it a book. Without going into detail, the amount of work that went into this work of art rivals many novels written today) in 2 days and was, at that point, even more excited for the movie.
If you haven't read Watchmen, you would be doing yourself a favor to do so. Even if you're not into graphic novels and have never picked one up in your life. Looking passed the exceptional art, the amazing writing, and all the costumed heroes is a story of an alternate history that our country could easily have gone through with a few simple (and even feasible) changes (ok, fine, aside from Dr. Manhattan). Moore creates a world in which all moral and ethical lines are blurred, metaphysics and our understanding of time and creation are brought into question, and art and real life imitate each other in ways that are creepily relatable to our actual world today. Somewhere in the midst of stories-within-stories, real life issues (such as impotence), and love and fraternity fraught with peril and deception, I lost myself in a make believe world that I grew to love.
Don't worry, all this setup is going somewhere.
The film, in my opinion, did an incredible job at taking amazingly dense material and turning it into a film that captured almost every necessary aspect of the story as possible. This is a feat which would scare me senseless if I were the one put to the task. The film pulled no punches, respected the original work to a worship-like degree, and captured the spirit of what Moore wanted to say (once more, this is all in my opinion. Many would disagree with me).
As I tried to understand the disparity in opinions (RottenTomatoes currently has the film at a meager 65%), I came to a conclusion: the subjective opinion of the film is directly related to the viewer's expectations. Hold on, don't laugh and control-q this post yet. Hear me out. This movie is somewhat unique in the "expectation" theory I just began explaining. If I am going to see The Dark Knight I have certain expectations: Batman should be similar in most respects to the actual character; there should be some amazing action; there should be some sort of moral choice that tests Batman; and the world of Batman should stay at least somewhat canon (e.g. Batman shouldn't suddenly and unexplainably have the gift of non-technologically-aided flight). Most everyone knows what they are getting into before going to see a Batman movie. If all those points are met, then the argument of whether the film is "good" will come down to artistic merit, acting skill, music choice, editing, etc, etc. Since nobody (hopefully) goes in to a Batman movie with the expectation of a feel-good romantic comedy full of personal redemption and maybe a goofy character to lighten things up with fart jokes and physical comedy, nobody walks out with their base expectations shattered.
Watchmen is a whole different consideration. Many people (in fact, I would say at least half, if not more) are going to see this movie based on the trailer alone. The trailer is pretty amazing...and if I were basing my expectations for the movie on the trailer, I would go in expecting a kick-ass action film full of awesome superheroes and mass amounts of mindless violence. If that was your expectation heading in to the film, Watchmen would be a major disappointment. I'm not trying to belittle the average action-film movie-goer; but if Transformers or any of the Riddick films are your cup of tea, metaphysical discussions, major human flaws, and governmental dealings with rogue vigilantes might not fulfill that deep desire for blood and guts.
I've talked to every person who I know who has seen the film; and questions lead to one of two outcomes:
Me: So, what did you think of Watchmen?
P1: It was amazing, I was totally blown away.
Me: Have you read the book?
P1: Yeah, I loved it.
Or...
Me: So, what did you think of Watchmen?
P2: Um, it was ok. I was kinda disappointed.
Me: Have you read the book?
P2: No.
Seriously, without fail, those who loved the movie have read the book, and those who were less than impressed have not. But wait, my point is not that those who have not read the book can't like the film, or that they are not capable of liking the film, or even that their not having read it invalidates their opinion. This realization has brought me to an interesting, if not confusing, crossroads:
Is a piece of art that seemingly cannot be appropriately enjoyed by those who do not have some sort of previous knowledge of the art-piece good art?
For example, Donnie Darko is one of my favorite films. It was from the start. But the more I delved into the online information of the film, the more I stumbled across extra material put out there by the director. Fake books "written" by characters from the film. Puzzles to solve that explained some of the mysteries. In the end, I had this amazing understanding of the intricacies of the film that few had. Many claimed that the film was partially incoherent and therefore unenjoyable. I tried to explain what I had found; but the common response was, "If the movie itself doesn't tell me all I need to know, it failed in its message." And trust me, I see that point of view.
But with Watchmen I am sympathetic. There is simply so much to the original book that this attempt seems epic and amazing to me on every level. And I can't help but think that with even a cursory reading of the original material, the movie would be enjoyed that much more. At the same time, there is something to be said about making something accessible to everyone whether or not they have previously read the source material.
Last example, and then a conclusion (before a really fun/funny Asian ad): If I go to an art museum and look at a painting, I can have multiple experiences. For example, I look at a Lochener painting like this:
I can have two reactions. The first is the uninformed reaction of like or dislike (usually based on color, or topic, or the artist's talent). The other reaction is the educated reaction that puts aside those aesthetic considerations to admire the use of the golden ratio, the triangle, the pentagram, the symbolism of the placement of the angels and how focus is drawn to the Christ-child, etc. After that admiration, those other considerations (color, talent, etc) can be incorporated into the decision of whether or not the piece is a great work of art or not. Neither approach is better than the other; and neither approach is necessary to viewing the painting. But each method results in drastically differing outcomes of personal enjoyment of the piece.So my conclusion, what I've been trying to get at, is that Watchmen is a complicated piece of art. Few would say that the pacing, acting, timing, or visual effects are sub-par. In fact, most would say that the film is really amazing on those levels (if not other levels). This makes me think that if a greater understanding of the piece was had, that the intellectual value of the film, paired with the more obvious merits, makes this film something pretty special. I'm not going to judge Dostoevsky's Brother's Karamazov based on how fun it was to read; and I think that Watchmen should be approached from a view more elevated (read: intellectual) than that of the average action film.
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On THAT note...I ended up at a Korean BBQ joint at 4am the other night. It's a long story. Ask me sometime. Anyway, the place-mats had an ad for some kind of fruit-flavored alcohol that I found absolutely hilarious. Here are the pictures in sequential form (sorry for the lack of quality, I'm lacking a scanner):
Man stalks sealion on beach. Notice his Bear Gryll's like tactic of blending in by imitating the stalked animal.
Oh no! The sealion has spotted him. The only choice is to hold his ground and imply ferociousness!
FIGHT!
Exhausted, the enemies lay in the sand, contemplating their next moves.
Next move? Take shots with the enemy! We all know that fights between males always end in hugs, alcohol, and slurred comments like, "Nothing personal, man...I love you, man!"Seriously, we might find Japanese ads to be strange; but good lord do they have the upper-hand when it comes to something memorable. A man fights a sealion and ends up doing shots of some strange, fruity alcohol with it? Count me in!
Thursday, March 05, 2009
The Things We Call Normal
We all do it. There's no denying it. Men and women alike. We fall victim to primal urges and can't do anything about it. But there's no reason to be ashamed. It's natural...though some of us are more "out there" than others. So the next time someone asks you, "Do you do that, or am I just a freak?, you can respond, "Well, I might not do that, but trust me, I do things you would never consider."
Of course I am talking about idiosyncratic behavior. Wait, what did you think I was talking about? Oh...that...you're sick.
Anyway, I thought I would expose one of my behavioral "tics" (if you will excuse the loose definition of the term). I hate certain foods under certain conditions; but love those same foods under other conditions. Time for a bulleted list (I am particularly fond of bullets)! A prefix of "H" denotes hatred and a prefix of "L" denotes love:
Tomatoes
H: Whole tomatoes; large chunks of tomato; slices of tomato
L: Salsa with small chunks of tomato; ketchup; tomato sauce
Onions
H: Whole onions; slices of onion; chunks of onion (e.g. in salsa)
L: Onion rings; shallots cooked into cheese fondue; caramelized onions chopped finely
Peppers
H: Whole peppers; chunks of peppers
L: Appropriate dishes cooked with peppers that are then removed (leaving only the taste)
Mushrooms
H: Mushrooms in, well, just about any form
L: Non-mushroom-based broths with whole mushrooms that do not need to be eaten in order to consume the broth or items cooked in the broth
Blue cheese
H: Blue cheese dressing
L: Blue cheese in crumbled or whole form on just about anything
Cherries
H: Maraschino cherries; cherry-flavored candy; cherry-flavored drinks
L: Whole cherries (along the line of Bing cherries)
Pickles
H: Cucumbers; sliced pickles on any sort of sandwich, relish on anything
L: Pickle spears (whether sweet or sour)
Anyway, you get the idea. And analyzing it makes me realize something...I like the essence of items better than the item itself. This doesn't apply to everything. For example, I like bacon in it's whole, unadulterated, greasy, fatty form...but I wouldn't rather have essence of bacon in an omelet. So, since my theory of "essence over whole-form" doesn't apply across the board (by any means), there must be some other reason. My best guess is the item's texture.
Mouthfeel (a term often used with things like wine) is important to me. When I bite into a burger, the bun, sauce, and meat are all soft. The lettuce is a bit crunchy; but gives way rather easily and is rather tasteless (I could care less if lettuce is on a burger). But if you put a slice of tomato on my burger, there's the juicy, squishyness of the overripe or overcooked tomato competing with the other textures. Grilled onion is a super-crunchy and often taste-overloading addition. Pickles have a unique crunch and burst of salty-bitter flavor that isn't cohesive. I like food like burgers to be a united flavor and texture. The lettuce is a bit confusing; but I'd say it's more crisp than overwhelmingly crunchy; and it doesn't distract one from the burgery-goodness being enjoyed.
This textural take on why I like some foods some ways but not others seems so be applicable to all my weird likes/dislikes (other than, say, blue-cheese dressing; which I can't, for the life of me, explain). Tomatoes are either too gooey or too crunchy and watery; onions are either too crunchy, or too overpoweringly flavorful; peppers are the same as onions; mushrooms are too slick and mushy (not to mention the pungent flavor I can't ignore); cherries, in anything but natural form, taste acidic and medicine-like to me (Maraschino cherries taste like the fluoride-treatments I grew up hating); and pickles are too crunchy and have too much concentrated flavor.
I know, I know...I'm being picky. But at least I can eat most foods in some form. Sure, a raw tomato with the skin on is full of antioxidants due to the lycopenes; but better some tomato than no tomato...right?
In other words...I'm weird. I know that, and I accept that. My willingness to eat a huge chunk of onion if it's wrapped in fried batter is no weirder than your rule about not drinking any fluids while eating; having to face south to sleep soundly; or having to pump your hand up and down three times (exactly) while shaking hands. We all do strange things, and we all have our own (conscious or unconscious) reasons for doing so. But it's definitely fun every now and then to look at the things we do all the time and ask, "Um, why the heck do I do that?"
::
::
Stop reading here if this was uninteresting. Otherwise, it just gets worse from here on out.
Bonus Blog!!1
Here are some extra idiosyncrasies particular to me:
-I do things in symmetrical fours (e.g. If I'm walking down a hall and there are ridges on the wooden paneling and I tap one of said ridges with my right hand, I will then tap three more of said ridges; or (more strange and incriminating) if I run my tongue against my molars on the right side of my mouth, I will then do so on the left side, then the right side, and then finally on the left side again). Some might call this OCD, I call it...um, well, OCD.
-When I have a set number of things to do, I will often lay out the list in my head in bulleted or numbered form (e.g. "Ok, so seven more things before I go to sleep...grab my chapstick *grabs chapstick*, turn off the light *turns off light*, get in bed *gets in bed*, drink some water so I don't wake up dehydrated *drinks some water*, put on chapstick after drinking water so as not to compromise chapstick application *puts on chapstick*, turn off light *turns off light*, go to sleep *lays down and attempts to sleep*.) I'm not kidding.
No, I don't think everyone has such defined (or particularly strange) habits; but I do think that if we examine our lives, we often find mostly unexplainable actions that are regular (if not essential). For all I know, my love of symmetry (especially things in fours) goes back to 2nd grade where my teacher taught me that odd numbers are more difficult to reduce using division. Or maybe I'm just strange. Either way, analyzing our personal habits is a great way to delve into psychology (or just delve into the uniqueness of the human brain).
Anyway...I have 7 more things to do before I go to sleep, and I only swished my mouthwash on three sides of my mouth (so I need to swish once more). Sleep well oh internets, and remember, bizarre habits are what differentiate us, so carry on with your actions that nobody else will ever fully understand.
We all do it. There's no denying it. Men and women alike. We fall victim to primal urges and can't do anything about it. But there's no reason to be ashamed. It's natural...though some of us are more "out there" than others. So the next time someone asks you, "Do you do that, or am I just a freak?, you can respond, "Well, I might not do that, but trust me, I do things you would never consider."
Of course I am talking about idiosyncratic behavior. Wait, what did you think I was talking about? Oh...that...you're sick.
Anyway, I thought I would expose one of my behavioral "tics" (if you will excuse the loose definition of the term). I hate certain foods under certain conditions; but love those same foods under other conditions. Time for a bulleted list (I am particularly fond of bullets)! A prefix of "H" denotes hatred and a prefix of "L" denotes love:
Tomatoes
H: Whole tomatoes; large chunks of tomato; slices of tomato
L: Salsa with small chunks of tomato; ketchup; tomato sauce
Onions
H: Whole onions; slices of onion; chunks of onion (e.g. in salsa)
L: Onion rings; shallots cooked into cheese fondue; caramelized onions chopped finely
Peppers
H: Whole peppers; chunks of peppers
L: Appropriate dishes cooked with peppers that are then removed (leaving only the taste)
Mushrooms
H: Mushrooms in, well, just about any form
L: Non-mushroom-based broths with whole mushrooms that do not need to be eaten in order to consume the broth or items cooked in the broth
Blue cheese
H: Blue cheese dressing
L: Blue cheese in crumbled or whole form on just about anything
Cherries
H: Maraschino cherries; cherry-flavored candy; cherry-flavored drinks
L: Whole cherries (along the line of Bing cherries)
Pickles
H: Cucumbers; sliced pickles on any sort of sandwich, relish on anything
L: Pickle spears (whether sweet or sour)
Anyway, you get the idea. And analyzing it makes me realize something...I like the essence of items better than the item itself. This doesn't apply to everything. For example, I like bacon in it's whole, unadulterated, greasy, fatty form...but I wouldn't rather have essence of bacon in an omelet. So, since my theory of "essence over whole-form" doesn't apply across the board (by any means), there must be some other reason. My best guess is the item's texture.
Mouthfeel (a term often used with things like wine) is important to me. When I bite into a burger, the bun, sauce, and meat are all soft. The lettuce is a bit crunchy; but gives way rather easily and is rather tasteless (I could care less if lettuce is on a burger). But if you put a slice of tomato on my burger, there's the juicy, squishyness of the overripe or overcooked tomato competing with the other textures. Grilled onion is a super-crunchy and often taste-overloading addition. Pickles have a unique crunch and burst of salty-bitter flavor that isn't cohesive. I like food like burgers to be a united flavor and texture. The lettuce is a bit confusing; but I'd say it's more crisp than overwhelmingly crunchy; and it doesn't distract one from the burgery-goodness being enjoyed.
This textural take on why I like some foods some ways but not others seems so be applicable to all my weird likes/dislikes (other than, say, blue-cheese dressing; which I can't, for the life of me, explain). Tomatoes are either too gooey or too crunchy and watery; onions are either too crunchy, or too overpoweringly flavorful; peppers are the same as onions; mushrooms are too slick and mushy (not to mention the pungent flavor I can't ignore); cherries, in anything but natural form, taste acidic and medicine-like to me (Maraschino cherries taste like the fluoride-treatments I grew up hating); and pickles are too crunchy and have too much concentrated flavor.
I know, I know...I'm being picky. But at least I can eat most foods in some form. Sure, a raw tomato with the skin on is full of antioxidants due to the lycopenes; but better some tomato than no tomato...right?
In other words...I'm weird. I know that, and I accept that. My willingness to eat a huge chunk of onion if it's wrapped in fried batter is no weirder than your rule about not drinking any fluids while eating; having to face south to sleep soundly; or having to pump your hand up and down three times (exactly) while shaking hands. We all do strange things, and we all have our own (conscious or unconscious) reasons for doing so. But it's definitely fun every now and then to look at the things we do all the time and ask, "Um, why the heck do I do that?"
::
::
Stop reading here if this was uninteresting. Otherwise, it just gets worse from here on out.
Bonus Blog!!1
Here are some extra idiosyncrasies particular to me:
-I do things in symmetrical fours (e.g. If I'm walking down a hall and there are ridges on the wooden paneling and I tap one of said ridges with my right hand, I will then tap three more of said ridges; or (more strange and incriminating) if I run my tongue against my molars on the right side of my mouth, I will then do so on the left side, then the right side, and then finally on the left side again). Some might call this OCD, I call it...um, well, OCD.
-When I have a set number of things to do, I will often lay out the list in my head in bulleted or numbered form (e.g. "Ok, so seven more things before I go to sleep...grab my chapstick *grabs chapstick*, turn off the light *turns off light*, get in bed *gets in bed*, drink some water so I don't wake up dehydrated *drinks some water*, put on chapstick after drinking water so as not to compromise chapstick application *puts on chapstick*, turn off light *turns off light*, go to sleep *lays down and attempts to sleep*.) I'm not kidding.
No, I don't think everyone has such defined (or particularly strange) habits; but I do think that if we examine our lives, we often find mostly unexplainable actions that are regular (if not essential). For all I know, my love of symmetry (especially things in fours) goes back to 2nd grade where my teacher taught me that odd numbers are more difficult to reduce using division. Or maybe I'm just strange. Either way, analyzing our personal habits is a great way to delve into psychology (or just delve into the uniqueness of the human brain).
Anyway...I have 7 more things to do before I go to sleep, and I only swished my mouthwash on three sides of my mouth (so I need to swish once more). Sleep well oh internets, and remember, bizarre habits are what differentiate us, so carry on with your actions that nobody else will ever fully understand.
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