"The Road"

It was just a little over two years ago that “No Country for Old Men” started its brilliant run toward Best Picture status. At the time I knew of Cormac McCarthy, who wrote the book on which “Country” is based, but wasn’t really in touch with his work. So after walking out of “Country,” convinced I’d just seen the best movie of the decade, I started looking into McCarthy’s other works. That’s when I first became aware of a project called “The Road.”

I readily admit that I came late to this party as by this time I’m pretty sure “The Road” was already on Oprah’s Book List (the Mecca of trendiness) and pre-production on the film version was well underway. Still, my interest was piqued and I (like many others) kept tabs on its status. For a while I thought this film might never see the light of day. It was scheduled for a Holiday release last year but was inexplicably pushed back to 2009. At some point I started seeing trailers advertising a mid-October release date. That date came and went and still there was no “Road.” Then November 25th was set as its official release date but when Thanksgiving rolled around I was quite frustrated to see that none of the local theaters were showing it. Eventually I ended up driving an hour away to take this in. This should tell you how badly I wanted to see this movie, considering how much I despise driving in Dallas traffic.

I knew going in that “The Road” was going to be one of those movies that I would not be able to recommend to just anyone, no matter how good it might turn out. Viggo Mortensen plays the aptly named “Man” who is attempting to get his son (“Boy”) down the coast and across the post-Apocalyptic wasteland that the country has become. It is, without question, the most desolate and harsh future-world I have ever seen in a film. Nothing I’ve seen even compares. There is no food, there is plant life, and there is no color: everything is just gray. It is a bleak, grim life that Man and Boy lead as they wonder the country side, hoping to avoid gangs of cannibals almost as much as to avoid starvation. Like I said, it’s not for everyone.

If you can handle the immense depression that “The Road” portrays, however, the payoff is…well, it would be a lie to say it all evens out in the end. It doesn’t. It is a screwed up world that Man and Boy live in and there’s not a lot of big happy endings to go around. It is, however, an astounding example of what a father will do for his son and the extremes to which he will go to ensure not his happiness but his survival. The relationship between the two is profound, though I guess that’s how it would have to be if you were literally the only one or thing the other has.

What I love about McCarthy’s works, what makes his stories so genius is their amazing simplicity. “No Country for Old Men” is just about good and evil and the people who run between the two. “The Road” wastes no time on understanding what has happened to turn the world into such a miserable place or why or how to fix it. It simply IS and the sooner you adjust, the better. There are only two themes here: survival and hope. The survival aspect is easily seen; it is the overriding theme for the movie. “Hope,” on the other hand, hides in “Survival’s” shadow and plants its seeds simply and subtly. There aren’t many overtly hopeful scenes because, whereas some stories use hope as the driving force to a positive outcome, hope is the outcome here; it is the end of “The Road,” as it were. By the end of the movie, however, you know, no matter how dark and depressing it may have been, the point was always “hope.” It is audaciously simple.

Though visually stunning and compelling, “The Road” can only go as far as its lead character can take it. When you’ve only got two real characters and one is a kid, obviously the other one is going to be pretty important. And truthfully, if you’re going to hang your entire performance hat on one guy, there are few better qualified actors than Mortensen. As is almost always the case, he takes on a very challenging, vulnerable role and shines brilliantly. It would be difficult to argue with anyone who would hold him up as the best actor of his generation and his performance here does nothing to tarnish that image.

As I had guessed going in, “The Road” is not a movie I could comfortably recommend to everyone. It is, for lack of a better term, haunting and I never want to see it again. But it may be the best movie I’ve ever seen that I never want to see again. A.

The Plano Cinemark is the biggest theater I’ve ever seen,
Brian

Review for "The Blind Side"

When I see a movie, I try to go in without predetermined expectations. Of course there are some movies I’m more excited about than others. But I try hard not to expect a movie to be great, or even good. Over the years I’ve gotten pretty good at this little song and dance, but sometimes it just isn’t possible. “Where the Wild Things Are,” for example, was so pumped up in my own head that there’s no way it could have met my expectations. (It didn’t, by the way.) And so it is with “The Blind Side.” I want nothing more than to write today about how great this movie is. Truthfully I had half this review written in my head before I even set foot in the theater, a classic critical no-no. Alas, I am resigned to a “good-not-great” review and that disappoints me immensely.

“The Blind Side” is the true-life story of Michael Oher, a poor Memphis boy who was taken in and subsequently adopted by the wealthy Tuohy family. With the support of his new family, Oher improved his grades, took to the football field, and eventually went on to a superb college career (both academically and athletically). He was the first round pick of the Baltimore Ravens in last year’s NFL Draft and has become quite the inspirational story.

On the bright side, “The Blind Side’s” main characters are excellent. Sandra Bullock has long been on my, “Do not see (insert name) in a movie ever, under any circumstances” list for some years now. I just can’t stand her. But as Leigh Ann Tuohy, the driving force behind the family and their adoption of Oher, Bullock is strong and likeable. Sure, she’s a serious nuisance to anyone who stands in her way, but she portrays the mother looking out for her kids to a tee and I can definitely see why Bullock has received some Oscar buzz. And it’ll be hard for most to resist Jae Head, the youngest Tuohy who, in the vein of Hayden Panettiere in “Remember the Titans,” provides some honest comic relief in a film that would sorely miss it otherwise.

Likewise, I imagine somewhere around 15 million people came out of this film saying, “Wow, who knew Tim McGraw could actually act a little?” As Tuohy patriarch Sean, McGraw holds his own and brings some balance to Bullock’s intensity. I’m willing to give Quinton Aaron (Oher) and Lily Collins (sister Collins Tuohy) a pass in the acting department as both are extremely inexperienced actors who do an admirable job here. Aaron in particular is asked to carry the film on numerous occasions and truly shines in most of said scenes. A refined actor he is not, as of yet, and there are a couple of cringe-inducing moments here and there, but overall Aaron steps up to the plate and delivers.

The rest of the cast, however, are another story. Director John Lee Hancock is a guy who likes to put relatively unknown actors into important parts and draw something more out of them. There’s nothing wrong with that; in fact, that’s the way the movie business works, really. Obviously you can’t cast well known stars for every role, but a good movie usually has better to work with than “Blind Side.” Sure, you’ve got two well-respected actresses in Kathy Bates and Kim Dickens but both seem to float through weak performances. Most of this supporting cast comes across as a bunch of extras that were inexplicably given speaking parts. Coach Cotton (Ray McKinnon), in particular, is atrocious. ATROCIOUS. McKinnon should have his SAG card revoked IMMEDIATELY.

Too often I see the budget for a film and think, “How in the world did THAT cost 70 million dollars to make?” Rarely, however, will you hear me say a studio should have spent more than it did to complete a film. This is one of those rare times. “The Blind Side” reportedly cost a meager 30 million dollars to make. Unfortunately I feel like you can see where the studio cut costs. Whether it’s the shoddy state of the supporting actors or the lack of road jerseys for Oher’s high school teams, the film is littered with what I would consider corner-cutters that hamper its overall impact. They are small issues, to be sure, but in the end I think that’s even more frustrating than major issues. It leaves me feeling that, with just a little more support from the studio, this could have been a GREAT film. I am left to wonder how much better this would be had the studio spent a little more money, which would have been well-justified given the remarkable reception the public has given this movie (and it truly is REMARKABLE for a movie to gross more in its third week of release than in its first).

All told, “The Blind Side” is a good movie that people should see. It is an incredible story and Hancock (for better or worse) never allows it to be anything but positive and upbeat. (Again, because of how shallow Hancock takes the subject matter, I am left to wonder how much better it would be had he taken on a little more depth.) It is entertaining and touching and illustrates what a difference being a good person can make in a way that few Hollywood movies do these days. It just could have been a lot better and leaves me with that disappointing feeling of “what could have been.” B.

On a personal note, there is a lesson here for Sherwood Pictures, the makers of such films as “Facing the Giants” and “Fireproof,” on how to make a Christian-themed movie that still holds up in quality to the rest of the mainstream releases. I have, at times, waged an unspoken war against these films because while their intentions are good, their end product is embarrassing compared to what Hollywood has to offer. It bothers me that we as Christians (which the majority of my would-be readers are) rush out to support these films even though, from a quality standpoint, they are at best mediocre and at worst, terrible. I don’t know John Lee Hancock’s background but as a Christian, I would say there are undeniably Christian ideas being presented here in a way that is more example-driven as opposed to cramming God down the viewer’s throats. It isn’t watered down, it isn’t empty, it’s just not so explicit as to draw the “safe for the whole family,” Christian tag that our little community seems to treasure so dearly. I hope that the enormous success of “The Blind Side” (having so far grossed $150 million dollars domestically) will push Sherwood and their contemporaries to reach for new, quality heights that will bring in audiences outside of the Lifeway Christian Bookstore crowd.

That last paragraph may draw some flak,
Brian

"This Is It"

(Note: If you don’t know, “Michael Jackson’s This Is It” is a collection of footage shot on the set of a tour that Michael was preparing for just before his death.)

In my life long quest to always be a contrarian, there have been a few times when I just couldn’t make myself stay away from something. “Napoleon Dynamite” is a great example. “Dynamite” got so popular so fast that I absolutely refused to see it and called everyone who did see it a sheep. But curiosity got the better of me and I eventually rented it, loved it, and secretly hate myself every time I watch and enjoy the Jamiroquai “Canned Heat” scene. But what the heck am I going to do? You can’t fight a power like “Napoleon.” So I sacrifice my integrity and reference Uncle Rico whenever the opportunity presents itself.

To be honest, my “This Has Become So Popular That I May Have to Abandon It” meter is going crazy with this Michael Jackson business. I just haven’t been able to follow through. It’s like Spiderman feeling his Spidey-sense going street rat crazy, knowing that The Green Goblin is standing right behind him with an arm full of pumpkin bombs, and doing nothing to stop him. (Nerds unite!) I know, I know, Michael was always insanely popular. But not Death Popular. Death Popular is a whole different kind of thing. Death Popular allows people to do things like sell Rest In Peace t-shirts at Walmart, print the person’s likeness on a backpack, and put out movies about said dead person in hasty fashion. Usually Death Popular sends me running away from the person’s legacy like Will Ferrell streaking through the quad. It took me 10 years to get back on board with Nirvana after Kurt Cobain’s death and I stinking LOVED Nirvana.

Suffice it to say, it was a weird place I found myself in as the credits rolled for “Michael Jackson’s This Is It.” I kind of hated myself for following along with approximately 50 million people who watched this movie over the last week. But there I sat, having been riveted by what the last two hours brought to the screen.

“This Is It” is an incredible look into the mind of a legend that I don’t think anyone really understood. Here’s this guy who absolutely captivated the freaking world for 40 years but he was such a weirdo that most of us aren’t sure how to handle his legacy. On the one hand he was possibly if not probably the greatest entertainer the world has ever seen. His genius is undeniable even to a wannabe writer who knows nothing about dance. On the other hand, you get the feeling that you are watching a man who is only a man in the physical sense. His actions here are often that of a 7 year old child. He says things that are educated in a sense but come across as so infantile that I seriously have to remind myself that it was Michael Jackson speaking, not a kid saying a prayer during an Upward flag football practice. At one point during rehearsals for “Beat It” he literally lays stomach-down on the ground and pounds his fists and stomps his feet like a kid throwing a temper tantrum.

The choreography and the artistry displayed here are, obviously, amazing. The precision with which the man worked is something special and even the band and members of the crew comment on how rare it is for an artist of Jackson’s caliber to really care about the tiny details of a tour. Each segment of the film covers a different Jackson song and each one is engrossing. The arrangement on “The Way You Make Me Feel” (possibly my favorite Jackson cut) is incredible. There is a “Bad/They Don’t Really Care About Us” medley that, when combined with the green screen effects that were planned, delivers on an extremely high level. You get the feeling that this tour was going to bring things to the stage that we’ve never seen before.

At the same time, this film shows Jackson in a much more vulnerable state than normal. He knew the cameras were rolling but this wasn’t intended to be a public release until the Death Popularity kicked in. Because of this, you see some of the weirder aspects of the man. He looks so incredibly frail and sickly and yet it doesn’t seem to affect what he puts into the performance. A couple of the song segments and the videos that were being worked into them were just weird and you knew it had to be Michael’s brainchild. The man is wearing a Popeye t-shirt for about a third of the shots. Seeing as I still wear a “Goonies” shirt every once in a while, maybe I shouldn’t find this weird...But no, it’s weird for a megajillionaire to be wearing a Popeye shirt. And yet he was still brilliant to the very end.

“This Is It” is a strange film to watch. Lindsey said she had to fight back tears for the first 20 minutes and I totally get that. There are three dozen people shown in these tapes, all of whom put months of their time into making this the greatest show the world has ever seen, but they, like the rest of Michael’s fans, will never see it come to fruition. I’m personally bummed that another one of my top five “I Would Pay Just About Anything to See Them in Concert” performers (along with Zeppelin, The Eagles, Nirvana, and (gulp) Garth Brooks) will never happen. Yet it is so cool to see the King of Pop getting ready to do what he did best, which was completely fascinate his fans. As the opening credits told me, “This Is It” is much less a tribute to the man and more a tribute to his fans. And a solid tribute it is. A-.

I bet you I can throw a football over them mountains,
Brian

"It Might Get Loud"

Imagine you’re at a party with a small group of friends, three of whom happen to be “musicians.” (By “musicians” I mean in college they could usually be found sitting in front of a tree, sporting a goatee, plucking out four chords and singing “Hey There Delilah.”) Say these three people discover that they all know how to play a certain song and say those people find a guitar or three at said party. Maybe they all keep a guitar in the car for such an occasion, who knows, just go with it. We’ve all been to this party at some point or another. How long would you guess it would take before these three start “jamming” to the tune of R.E.M.’s “Losing My Religion?” In my experience, this usually takes about 1.2 minutes.

Now imagine the three guys are Jimmy Page (Led Zeppelin), The Edge (U2), and Jack White (White Stripes).

“It Might Get Loud” is a documentary that centers on the electric guitar and three of its biggest proponents. Half of the film follows Page, The Edge, and White around in their home life to get a feel for the genesis of their musical upbringings. In the other half, director Davis Guggenheim lets the three guitar legends into a room, turns a camera on, and allows the viewer to watch the action unfold with great anticipation. Altogether it is a phenomenally brilliant undertaking that should garner the attention of ANY music fan, young or old.

“Loud” gives the audience an insight into the mind and creative processes of these men, exploring the differences therein. Jack White is the mad scientist of the group in that he kind of throws things together on the spur of the moment and takes what he gets, good or bad. He’s a guy who relishes the challenge of playing a crappy plastic guitar, of mastering his opponent. The Edge, on the other hand, is methodical and deliberate. He practices and experiments for hours before defining a single line of notes. Jimmy Page just simply plays the electric guitar better than anyone else and in ways that no one else can. Like their processes, their sounds are dramatically different. White’s music is extremely raw and unpredictable. U2’s is much more dominated by effects and comes across much more refined. Zeppelin was, of course, much harder than their contemporaries but Page almost seems like a classical player compared to the other two.

Still the similarities and unity between the three is quite apparent. There are heavy punk and blues undertones rooted in the styles of all three and that aspect of their respective developments is deeply explored. All three are great students of their craft. One of the best sections of “It Might Get Loud” is a segment that gives each artist an opportunity to discuss their greatest influences. It’s not every day that you get to see Jimmy Page play someone else’s record and talk about how great it is and what kind of impact it had on him. Or to see the emotional and almost physical attachment Jack White has to the music of Son House.

In addition, it is fascinating to see the level of respect these three have for each other and their willingness to learn from each other, even at their advanced level of ability. These are not “good” guitarists or even “famous” guitarists. These are three guitar gods who you half expect to display polite niceties with each other but remain egotistically distanced. But as the documentary illustrates, nothing could be further from the truth. On his way to the studio, White says, “My plan is to trick them into telling me all their secrets.” You might expect this from White, who is by far the youngest of the three and (I would imagine) the least well known. However, while White played, both Page and The Edge were keenly watching his movements, attempting to pick up a trick or two of their own. Each seems to view the other with the highest regard and the conversation that flows between them is fantastic.

It’s no secret that I am likely biased towards liking this film. I love U2, I love The White Stripes, and I love Zeppelin. Were I to make my own list of living guitar legends, all three of these men would probably make the top five. But even I was not prepared for the magnificence of “Loud.” For me, this is the best documentary I’ve ever seen and, so far, the best film of 2009. Brilliantly shot and edited, this is an absolute masterpiece that only left me wanting more when the 90 minute run time sadly came to an end. A+.

I used to play “Kashmir” during warm ups for my P.E. class,
Brian

Free Agency

I didn’t grow up in a sports family. There was very little Sunday Afternoon Football or baseball in the summer. Most of my family at least watches the Cowboys each week but my parents weren’t into it. The extend of my sports participation as a young kid consisted primarily of bowling and one sad spring spent playing right field for a winless tee ball team. (That would make me the worst player on the worst team.) This all changed somewhere around the 3rd grade when, overnight, soccer became popular in my neighborhood and I started playing that. My real fire was lit, however, when my uncle’s took me to my first live sporting event, which turned out to be a Dallas Mavericks game. I was hooked.

Given that I didn’t really have any background in sports or parents to influence my decisions, I chose the teams for which I would root with very little thought to geography or tradition. I was a Mavericks fan, of course, which in those days was much harder than it is now. My first full season as a Mavs Fan For Life saw the team win 11 games, followed by a 13 win season. I was born into a West Texas family so even when I didn’t care about sports, Texas Tech was born into me and thus began my life as a Red Raider. The rest of my teams were chosen for very good reasons.

I started rooting for Ohio State because my best friend Kyle was from Ohio and I thought, what the heck, that sounds like fun. For the most part it has been fun, minus the last three January games of which I will not speak. To this day I don’t know if it was a replay or the actual game but once my dad happened to flick past a TV channel on which I caught Christian Laettner hitting the greatest shot in the history of college basketball (1992 East Regional Finals to beat Kentucky) and my Duke basketball fandom was born. I really didn’t like or get everything about the game of baseball, I just knew I didn’t like Juan Gonzalez or Jose Conseco so I chose the San Francisco Giants as my baseball team. Later, after their roid riddled years, I added the Rangers as my AL representative.

And I became a Raider fan because, truthfully, the Raiders were about the coolest team a boy could hope for. Their colors were edgy and menacing, the fans were CRAZY, they had Dallas legend Tim Brown, and their logo was a pirate. How could a 9 year old boy not like the Raiders? In addition, everyone I knew was a Cowboy fan and I never wanted to do anything everyone else was doing. In a sense, I adopted the renegade ideals of the organization.

I live by a few simple sports rules, which I put into a blog a couple of years ago called, “The Rules for a Sports Fan.” Unfortunately, the blog I wrote it on has been deleted and my computer got the Blue Screen of Death some time back, losing this column forever, but the rules still apply. These rules are simple but cover numerous fan-based conundrums. Things like prohibiting rooting for two teams in the same division or mixing clothing from two teams in the same sport. The most important rule, however, simply states that a fan CANNOT abandon a team.

There are very few legitimate exceptions to this rule. Losing is not an excuse. As I stated before, I was a Mavs fan during a decade that never saw them complete a winning season. Trading away your favorite player is not an excuse. In 1993 the Mavericks traded my all time favorite player, Derek Harper, to the New York Knicks. Moving to a new city is not a short term excuse. When I went to college I was in the heart of Razorback country and my hatred for the program persisted. For the most part, if you choose to root for a team, you root for them through wins and losses, thick and thin, championships and idiotic management. It’s pretty plain and simple.

If you do wish to abandon a team, you essentially have to prove that the team (or the team’s management) has abandoned you first. The most easily identified form of abandonment occurs when a franchise leaves a given city for another city. When this occurs every member of the team’s fan base gets an automatic option for Fan Free Agency, at which time any other team may be chosen. There are other exceptions, however. To keep this simple I’ll give three brief examples.

Your team makes consistent player moves that are CLEARLY designed only to save the owner money, not make the team better. Fans of the Phoenix Suns, Pittsburgh Pirates, or the Cleveland Indians during the movie “Major League” should feel free to take their time and money elsewhere;
Your team makes one majorly idiotic deal that not only hurts the team’s level of play, it also destroys the image or viewed atmosphere of the club. In 2003 the Knicks traded Latrell Sprewell, the heart and soul of the team and a guy who represented the last legs of the tough-as-nails image of the franchise, for Keith Van Horn, the softest player the league had ever seen. My love and interest in the team ended immediately;
Your team makes numerous moves over a number of years (at least five or more) that display a complete lack of knowledge of what is going on in the sport. This has to involve player acquisitions in free agency, trades, and draft as well as the consistent use (or misuse) of funds.

With that in mind, I am officially declaring myself an NFL Fan Free Agent, under Exception 3 listed above. For the last 6 years I have stood by the Oakland Raiders despite numerous attempts by the team to abandon me and the rest of Raider Nation. I have remained silent through the losses. I’ve stuck around despite the numerous occasions on which the Raiders signed or traded for a former star player now FAR past his prime. I shuddered but stood firm when the team traded too much for players, signed them for too much, and then promptly cut them. I watched as coaches were hired and fired with the frequency of a McDonald’s cashier. I openly questioned whether owner Al Davis was still alive and even theorized that he’d died some time ago but the rest of the organization didn’t know what to do so they strung him up like Bernie and made decisions with a dart board. But I stayed with them despite the many, many reasons to abandon ship.

That’s all over now. I was on the fence, considering making this agonizing decision, before the NFL Draft in April. For years, the joke about the Raiders has been that they will ALWAYS draft the most athletic player. Skill or ability to play in the NFL doesn’t really matter as long as the guy can run faster or throw the ball farther than anyone else. This notion came true once again when the Raiders passed on Michael Crabtree and drafted some dude named Darrius Heyward-Bey about 20 picks before he should have been drafted. In the second round, the Raiders drafted some guy that was literally projected to potentially not get drafted at all who, shockingly, is a freak of an athlete but probably has no football ability. This was all I could take. I hung my head in shame (cue the Charley Brown music) as my friends laughed and (rightly) mocked me as pick after pick, the Raiders looked stupider and stupider. I had this image of Al Davis rolling over in his grave and then remembered that his corpse has yet to be buried. It was the last straw.

It should be noted that I reserve the right to return to my Raider heritage when and if it is discovered that Al Davis is dead. So now that I am free of my Raider obligation, I have to pick a new team. That’s part of the deal. With the exception of a strike-shortened season during which you can abandon a sport altogether, if you declare your free agency, you must choose another team within 1 year. (I made that one up just now.) I’ve thought long and hard about this and I’m having trouble selecting my new team. I could NEVER be a Cowboy fan so the obvious, easiest choice is out. As such, I have come up with 5 teams that I need your help to choose from.

Arizona Cardinals - They have one of my all time favorite players (Larry Fitzgerald) and they play an exciting brand of football. On the other hand, they have been a historically bad team and I’m not sure I want to trade one bad team for another.

Pittsburgh Steelers - I have always had a great admiration for the Steelers. They’re kind of the anti-Raiders in that they follow their own pattern but they do it right. But I don’t want to be a bandwaggoner by jumping on board with a team that’s won 2 Super Bowls in 4 years.

Philadelphia Eagles - This would be an easy transition as the Eagles have kind of been my secondary team for a while now because, A.) I hate the Cowboys and B.) I love Donovan McNabb. The Michael Vick thing gives me pause, however, and they are due for about 5 years of terrible football in the near future.

San Francisco 49ers - This would be getting in on the ground floor with a team that may be absolutely horrible for a few more years. The Michael Crabtree thing will make a difference here. If he signs, I could be in but his not being on the team is a deal breaker.

New Orleans Saints - Again, I’m a fan of the pass-based offensive attack and the Saints certainly have that. There’s a lot of excitement on this team. But, they are a historically dysfunctional franchise and I really don’t want to go that route again.

There are no other teams that meet the criteria that I’m looking for in a franchise. As stated, this decision has been quite difficult and so I take it to you, dear readers. I will accept your arguments for or against any of the above 5 teams as you help me make a choice that will affect me for the rest of my life. Again, no other teams will be considered. If I can’t decide on a new team I’ll exercise my one year of free agency and root only for “Great Odin’s Raven” and “Texas With a Dollar Sign,” which are my two fantasy football teams. I appreciate your concern for my well being in this trying time.

I’m going to start using “Darrius Heyward-Bey” as a curse word,
Brian

My Dog, the Democrat

For those of you who don’t know, I have a dog whose name is Ali. I adopted Ali about three and a half years ago and he’s been my constant companion ever since. I was raised in a family that treats their pets as just short of human which basically means they don’t eat at the table but their names make it into the list of those that get run through when my dad is trying to get someone’s attention. (“Duncan…uh, Paco, I mean um…Brian or…whoever you are, get over here.”) I don’t think there was more than a week of my life growing up in which we didn’t have two dogs. I was out of Harding and therefore eligible to have a pet for about 5 weeks when I adopted Ali; I just couldn’t take living without a dog any longer.

Some dogs I’ve had have just been pets. You love the dog because, well, it’s yours but there’s not just a whole lot that differentiates this dog from any other dog. You feed them, pet them, throw a ball every once in a while but in some ways they’re just a part of the house. But I’ve also owned (or known) a lot of dogs who had character and, for lack of a better term, personality.

Ali is one of those dogs. He’s got a lot of personality that separates him from other dogs I’ve owned. You might even say he’s a bit quirky. When I first got him I bought a $70 bed which he promptly ignored in favor of crawling under my bed, army style. When someone leaves the house he does The Spin Dance, which sees him spin around madly while barking loudly and violently. We’ve often referred to him as the Cave Dog because at any given time during the day he can almost always be found holed up under something. A table, a chair, someone’s legs, it doesn’t really matter; he just wants to be in a cave. Ali doesn’t bark at everything the way some small dogs do but when he does bark after something, he usually runs over to me with a big dog-smile to show me how proud he is of himself. He hates to be picked up, is somewhat racist, and loves to ride in the car more than a PE teacher loves dodgeball. And, as I’ve noted before, he is quite fat, especially on his left side which kind of weirds me out.

These idiosyncrasies shined through once again a couple of weeks ago when we hosted a surprise birthday party for Lindsey’s sister Kim and her husband John. Lindsey has these cardboard cutouts of President George W. Bush and Dorothy from “The Wizard of Oz” that make an appearance at most of our little shindigs. Lindsey will print out pictures of the honored guests’ faces and stick them on the cutouts. This party being no exception, President Bush and Dorothy stood in our entry way for about 18 hours before we began the real after-party clean up process.

While Ali stood quietly eating in our kitchen, I folded up Dorothy and then stepped away for a second to watch the Rangers blow yet another lead (seriously, I hate you CJ Wilson). Suddenly I heard some growling from the kitchen and looked in to see Ali staring straight ahead with teeth shown and tail raised. I couldn’t figure out what was going on and then he started barking and slowly backing away under the table (you know, because he’s a Cave Dog). I started looking around and finally figured out that he was barking at George. I brought George a little closer to the kitchen and the barking and scurrying increased. Clearly, Ali was terrified by the “man” standing in the kitchen.

Like any good dog owner would do I decided to torture him a little. I picked up Ali and brought him closer to George so that he could see that it was, in fact, only a 5 foot tall cardboard cutout of the man, not an actual former president hanging out in our house. Ali promptly peed on me and snapped at George. I put him down and he ran full tilt into the bedroom and into his closet, barking the whole way. It should be noted that because of his weight running is not one of Ali’s skills but man did he put up a valiant effort on this occasion.

The really crazy thing about this occurrence was not that Ali freaked out over an inanimate object. This sort of thing has happened before. Once I found him barking ferociously as a pile of laundry that was stacked on the washing machine, a black fleece stretched out over the top, giving the appearance of a weirdly shaped headless man. No, the weird thing is that, as I mentioned, George had been standing in the entry way for somewhere around 18 hours when Ali finally picked up on his presence. The second I removed Dorothy (and her little dog, too) from the equation Ali suddenly saw George for the first time. So basically should an intruder enter our home with the intent to immediately inflict some sort of harm, Lindsey and I are lacking in dogs that can alert us to his presence. On the plus side, though, if anyone decides to break in and perform some sort of long term sneak attack, we’re well covered.

I put George in the front guest room. The next day we were in that room talking and Ali wandered in like he usually does. (He likes to be where the people are. There’s a better chance of someone giving him food that way.) For a minute every thing was fine. Then suddenly, as if George had materialized out of thin air, Ali realized we were not alone. There on the ground laid President George W. Bush, bent in half, half smiling up at him. Ali flipped out. He started barking and growling while Spin Dancing his way out of the room and into safety. I picked up George and unfolded him, held him up in the doorway, and stuck my head out just in time to see Ali take off for the bedroom. A minute later I found him in the back of his closet, still barking.

I can come to but one conclusion from these experiences. My dog is a Democrat, and a hardened one at that. I don’t really consider myself to be a Republican because the real term for my political beliefs is probably Apathetic. But I confess my leanings are probably more towards the Republican side than anywhere else. My family members are Republicans and I would guess that most of the people I hang out with are closer to Republicans than Democrats. This puts Ali in the minority but he’ll obviously be darned if he’ll go down without making his political views known. Perhaps he tried his best to keep quiet for as long as he could or perhaps he felt it best to display outward unity with the President until he was out of office as a show of solidarity and strength. Maybe he just likes the similarity between his name and the name of our new president, I don’t really know.

Either way, I expect this to have an impact on our relationship. One of his more excited barks sounds remarkably close to, “Yes we can” and I’m pretty sure he was watching “An Inconvenient Truth” the other day while I was out of the room. Still, Ali remains my dog and I imagine our friendship can withstand this new voicing of beliefs. Just as long as he steers clear of Michael Moore. That crap will find him a permanent spot in the backyard.

I’d prefer it if he’d just play poker,
Brian

The Year of the Career

Last week marked my one year anniversary of working at Richland Hills Church of Christ. That makes this the longest period of time I’ve ever spent in one job (which is, admittedly, a bit sad). For the occasion of finding myself with a career for the first time ever, I felt it needed to be commemorated in some way. And so I blog.

I didn’t really prepare myself to be in the job that I’m in. It sort of fell into my lap, or maybe I fell into its lap. While I was off trying to be a teacher and wondering if that was what I really wanted to be or not, the good Lord showed me something different. Within a couple of weeks I found myself right smack in the middle of football season. I walked into a firestorm of issues and complications and had about seven seconds to try to get it all sorted out. When I started going through all the stuff I had at my disposal I found I was in possession of exactly two pee wee sized footballs with 14 teams about to begin practice in a couple of weeks.

At my first coaches meeting, my unofficial introduction to the ministry I was now in charge of, the first coach walked in and promptly told me his son wasn’t listed on his roster. The two had different last names and I had no way of knowing but it wasn’t the best start I could have hoped for. A few weeks later I made a HORRENDOUS call while officiating a football game that probably cost one team the game. We can say the Upward program is non-competitive all we like; a game changing call will NOT go over well. There was the near fight that took place between a couple of coaches after one game and the three kids we lost to other programs because their registration forms were lost in the transition from one office to another. I had a kid break an arm during a practice and a coach tear her ACL in a tournament. And there was the damage-to-equipment screw up that I’ll never really speak of.

Still, over the last year I’d like to think I’ve had some success as well. Each of the four seasons I have overseen has brought a growth from the season before and some grew exponentially. I have been blessed with a skill set that I call “The Ions”: supervision, administration, and organization. These skills have been a huge help to me. We’ve had families place membership that came to our church just because of the program I get to oversee. I’ve been able to develop relationships with kids and parents who I wouldn’t have met otherwise and know the impact of what I, along with a ton of volunteer coaches, are doing. And I’ve been on the winning side of the coach’s game two out of three times and gone undefeated as a coach. You all know how much I like to win.

I cannot express to you, dear readers, what a joy it is to work at RHCC. It is at times almost surreal to walk around the offices of the church where I grew up as a part of the staff; to get the opportunity to work with some of the people I looked up to most as a teenager. I am surrounded by those who have at one time or another made a tremendous difference in my life and continue to do so to this day. I have been met with absolutely nothing but support from every staff member I’ve come in contact with. And let me tell you, though you might think that might be standard when you work at a church, the truth is more often than not churches are far worse in this department than just about any other industry. The infighting and lack of anything resembling quality that plagues most churches is next to non-existent here in my experience. It is a fantastic thing to work with a church that actually cares about making things GOOD and hold its ministers and staff to a high standard for the ministries they work with. When I was deciding whether to take this job or not I was told that, “you cannot beat the environment in which you’ll work” and that could not be more true.

I’ve learned, seen, and done a lot over the last year. Here are some of the highlights.

*I have learned that a Saturday’s worth of trash from 600 people is still there when you get to work on Monday;
*I have fought the urge to say, “Rick Rick Rrrriiicccckkk!” in my best Amy Poehler voice approximately 900 times as it springs to mind every time I run across Rick Atchley in the office;
*I have seen a minister put his arm around a hooker as we met with the homeless;
*I have learned the unending and borderless influence of “The Office;”
*I have been called a bad Christian because I would not allow a parent to register his kids after the end of the month long registration process;
*I have seen 12,000 Texans freak out over a horse in the church auditorium;
*I have overheard a kid thank God for our sins during a mid-practice prayer;
*I have learned just how much I can take from certain people before I feel the urge to strangle them;
*I have witnessed first hand the glory of a team coming together without their leader;
*I have learned how hard it is not to judge the parents who show up in a brand new Prius with lattes in hand and ask for a scholarship;
*I have seen the same kid puke on three separate occasions because he drank too much Gatorade at halftime;
*I have learned that some kids will actually put dirt on an open wound when you tell them to, “Rub some dirt on it and get back out there”;
*I have come to a better understanding, for better or worse, of how differently people look at you when you work at a church;
*I have mistaken a coworker for a homeless person (way to blend in, Kelly!);
*I have learned to leave the longest, most detailed incoming voicemail I can possibly think of;
*I have seen a kid experience the greatest frustration and the biggest moment of joy of his football career within the span of 20 seconds;
*I have filmed not one but two embarrassing videos in costume;
*I have learned that sometimes when you spend 50 hours a week at the church building, it’s hard to get excited to go to church-church;
*I have good-gamed Jonathan Storment somewhere between 150 and 300 times, including once in the mall that I think made him have flashbacks to his days in Arkansas;
*I have learned that there is almost nothing my team of 9 women can say that will make me uncomfortable, but when it happens it’s a doozie;
*I have found myself at times unable to differentiate between Will Ferrell and Dave Fraze;
*I have learned the value of my weekly basketball games and the stress release they offer me.

When it’s all said and done I have absolutely loved the last year. The truth is, outside of being a professional athlete, general manager for the Dallas Mavericks, or a (well paid) film critic, this is essentially my dream job. Seriously, I wear shorts, t-shirts, and Nikes to work almost every day and I have access to a basketball court 15 feet from my office. What more could I really ask for? Moreover I am blessed to be in a position where I am constantly reaffirmed that God is working through me and am allowed to see the efforts I put in take hold on a daily basis. Call it a calling, call it right-place, right-time, call it whatever you want. I truly believe I’m in the place God called me to be and after years of trying to find my place in this whole “career world” I could not be happier than to be where I am today.

Will Ferrell just walked by my office,
Brian

"G.I. Joe" / The Summer of the Nerd

Back in March, three friends (Jason, Elijah, and Ryan) and I made the sparking decision to go see “Watchmen” at a midnight premiere. It was a fun night filled with all kinds of exciting revelations such as what happens when someone brings a baby to a violent, 3 hour movie at midnight. It had been several years since I’d done a midnight premiere of a film and it got us all talking.

As most of you know, I’m a huge, huge, HUGE movie nerd. At the beginning of each calendar year (and then again sometime in the middle) I go through the IMDB calendar for the next 6 months to a year and make a list of all the movies I’m going to want to see in the theater. (Side note: I don’t really remember what my life was like before IMDB became a part of it. It’s the greatest movie industry innovation since color film.) When I made that list this year, my nerd radar went crazy over the absurd number of summer films that could be considered Nerd Fodder. It started the first week in May with “X-Men: Wolverine” and continued through this week with “G.I. Joe: The Rise of Cobra.” Naturally, I deemed this three month period The Summer of the Nerd.

After the success of the “Watchmen” premiere (screaming baby aside), I decided this was a prime opportunity to form a club. The principals of the Summer of the Nerd club were threefold:

1.) We would see every nerd movie that made its way to theaters;
2.) We would see each of these movies at midnight;
3.) We would make t-shirts.

That’s really all there was to it. A group of loyal nerds was assembled and the principals were agreed upon. Seven films were to be considered eligible for official Summer of the Nerd viewings: “Wolverine,” “Star Trek,” “Terminator: Salvation,” “Land of the Lost,” “Transformers 2,” “Harry Potter 6,” and “G.I. Joe.” (Note: both “Up” and “Public Enemies” would have made this list as well had the theater owners allowed for a midnight release. Their loss.) With the schedule and the participants in place, LB designed a shirt and the rest was history.

Seven times the group gathered between 10 and 11 pm at United Artist Fossil Creek Stadium 11 to take place in the nerdiness. Sometimes the group was small (only four of us for “Terminator”) and sometimes huge (even Stephen’s mom came to “Harry Potter”). Sometimes the movies were great (“Star Trek”), sometimes not so great (more to come on the atrocity that was “G.I. Joe.”). Sometimes it was hotter than the first level of the underworld in the theater and once we even got refund passes due to the heat stroke many of us endured. One time we even got “an exclusive in depth look” at the movie we were about to see during the pre-preview commercials.

But always the night was fun. The hours before each film actually began were filled with ridiculous hypotheticals, the sharing of nerdy videos (like this one), and relentless mocking of the nerds around us. Each viewing brought a couple of hours hanging out with friends and engaging in nerdy, witty banter that likely annoyed everyone around us. In what other time of life could you take bets on the length of the loop of trivia slides shown before the movie starts (never longer than 2 minutes, 37 seconds)? A great time was had by all and if nothing else we each came away with a t-shirt. What else can you really ask for in life?

Unfortunately all good things must come to an end. As the last week approached, my nerdy friends and I grew wary of what we were about to endure with “Joe.” The warning signs were as follows:

1.) The trailers gave us numerous shots of the Joes wearing “accelerator suits” that made them faster, stronger, etc. This went against everything G.I. Joe stood for;
2.) Aside from Dennis Quaid, the top-billed actors in this film are Channing Tatum, Sienna Miller, and (gulp) Marlon Wayans;
3.) The studio did not screen it for critics. (Note: this is probably the worst sign of all. Over the years, the ONLY movie I can think of that didn’t screen for the critics and turned out even passably good is “Tombstone.” That’s it.) The only place you could find a real review of this movie prior to its release was from Ain’t It Cool News;
4.) Again, Marlon Wayans is one of the four “name” actors. Marlon Wayans.

The best way I can describe my feelings towards “G.I. Joe” is to repeat what I told one of my friends as we watched the disaster unfold on the screen: this movie gave me a new appreciation for Michael Bay. If you’re unfamiliar with Michael Bay, just check out his IMDB page. (Seriously, what the heck did we do before IMDB?) Bay has became synonymous with big budget, high octane, special effects driven summer blockbusters that are heavy on action and low on trivial little things like competent acting and writing. Still, he makes money and for all his flaws (which are immense) he is a wizard with the camera. He does amazing things that keep the audience from fully realizing or focusing in on the TREMENDOUS plot holes and TERRIBLE dialogue that plague his films. I’ve bashed on Bay quite a bit in the past and I cringe each time I see his name attached to a film I have any interest in because every single time, I know that coming out of the theater I will say one thing: “Well, it was another Michael Bay film.”

Michael Bay represents everything is wrong with the movie industry and yet I longed for him to be at the helm of “Joe.” Please understand how much it pains me to say that. Instead Stephen Sommers, whose best credit to this point is as director of “The Mummy” (seriously), was in charge of “Joe” and the results are lacking. Sommers attempts to do what Bay does with each of his films but as it turns out he’s just as bad of an actual director as Bay with none of the camera wizardry to keep him afloat. In addition, he writes most of his own films and continues to prove himself to be one of the world’s worst writers. Ever. And I don’t just mean screenwriters; I mean all writers in the history of the world. When you combine all of this with truly a cast that, as a whole, can’t act and CGI that is truly abysmal, you get a disastrous result.

I imagine the development of this film went something like this:

Day 1 - Stephen Sommers is tabbed as director;
Day 2 - Sommers finishes an all night party (at which he was reportedly heard yelling, “I got another film! Can you believe it?! Those morons gave me another film!”) at 4 a.m. and begins writing;
Day 3 - Sommers wakes up from a nap at noon, realizes his script is only 10 pages long, and fills in the rest with some summaries of scenes from “Star Wars” and the words, “BIG EXPLOSION” after every third line of dialogue;
Day 4 - A casting meeting is held at which Sommers says, “I don’t care how well they can act, just make sure they look good.” Channing Tatum and Sienna Miller are cast on the spot;
Day 5 - Shooting begins;
Day 6 - Sommers realizes his cast is stale and lacking in depth so the decision is made to bring in a well respected veteran actor to “anchor the kids”;
Day 7 - Dennis Quaid receives a script for “Joe” and thinks, “What the heck, I’m 55, I don’t get that many opportunities to make a million dollars for 2 days of work” and takes the gig;
Day 8 - Sommers realizes his cast needs some comedic release and acts the studio, “who can we get for fifty thousand dollars?” Marlon Wayans starts immediately;
Day 9 - Shooting finishes and CGI production begins;
Day 10 - Instead of hiring a real effects company to take care of the massive number of CGI shots the film has, Sommers gives the job to two former roommates, his wife’s nephew, and the son of a casino owner whom he owes a favor;
Day 11 - “Joe” is delivered to the studio and the decision is made to keep it away from the critics as long as possible.

And that’s how you make a Stephen Sommers film. I could be quite content with “Joe” as a “Transformers” knock off and from the moment this film was announced I fully expected it to be more about the action than the acting. I can handle that. Summer blockbusters are supposed to be about fun and entertainment, not awards. But when your actors are bad, your script is rotten, and your shots are lacking, you sure as heck better have amazing effects to counter it all. “Joe” misses the mark on all four counts. This movie is attempting to be too big. It wants to be “Transformers” when really it should be shooting for something more along the lines of “The Island.” There’s nothing wrong with being a throwaway action film, as long as you’re not trying to be THE throwaway action film. But most importantly, no one (audience and critics alike) is going to overlook huge flaws when the action sequences aren’t spectacular.

Still, as several of my fellow nerds said, sometimes it’s less about the film and more about the company. I think all of us would have preferred a different final film to close out the Summer of the Nerd. But in the end, we all gathered with our matching shirts for one last Nerdout before the summer came to a close. It was a good time with good friends and maybe that’s really all you can ask for from a summer movie.

“G.I. Joe:” D+. Summer of the Nerd: A+.

Brendan Fraser makes a random appearance in this film,
Brian

The Great Film Retrospective

Lindsey and I have started a little blog as we go through some of the best movies in the world. We invite you to join the discussion.

Vacation Journal

As is often the case when I go on vacation, the desire to write gripped me more while Lindsey and I were on our honeymoon than it does in my normal day-to-day. I came home with tons of ideas, some good and some bad, and itching to put pen to pad (or, in this case, finger to keyboard). Cruises are fantastic places for people watching and as the trip went on, I made notes of all the interesting/ridiculous things that went on through the week. Since at least two of the books I read on vacation were journal-types, I felt inspired to create one for this trip.

DAY 1
10:00 am - I left my wedding ring at home. Good start.

12:00 pm - We’re pulling into the parking areas for our cruise. The standard Carnival lot costs $50 for the week. A steep price, to be sure. There are tons of “discount” lots surrounding the terminals, some complete with people out waving cars down to park in their spots. One is discounted to $29. My question is, having already paid the sum for this cruise and all the excursions therein, why in the world would I park my car, unsupervised, in someone’s yard for a week for $20 less than in the lit, secure, official lot? The extra $21 will probably not pay for the new tires and stereo you’ll need when you get back.

12:38 pm - We are experiencing a significant delay in boarding the boat. Apparently it got in late and isn’t clean yet. We’ll be here a while.

1:25 pm - There is a boom box playing AWESOME vacation/party tunes like “Celebrate Good Times” and “Locomotion.” Even better, it’s clearly intended to be played during the typical 20 minute wait for boarding. Therefore, we’re talking about an 8 song loop. If I hear “Gloria” one more time…

4:30 pm - After finally boarding the boat, we are immediately sent to our Emergency Stations to practice putting on our life jackets. The woman asks us not to blow the safety whistles attached to said life jackets and shockingly no one does. We do, however, find out that everyone else on the boat has an assigned life boat(s) to go to, but we do not. I guess we’ve drawn the short straw and have to go down with the ship.

4:42 pm - We finally leave the pier approximately 3 hours behind schedule and immediately have to return because someone is having a medical emergency. Personally I think someone from our little section realized we were to be fed to sharks as chum in the event of an emergency and decided to bail.

6:05 pm - Our waiter for the week is named Isoyaman. He looks and talks very much like the grown up version of Data from “The Goonies.” Lindsey cannot understand a word he says.

6:12 pm - We share a table with a Hispanic couple, a mom and her 20-something daughters, and a very odd pairing consisting of a woman who looks to be in her mid 50s and a young teenage boy. I’m intrigued.

6:33 pm - There is a child (no older than 4) at the table behind us. He continually gets up and runs around the dining room as if this was not a cruise ship filled with strangers who paid a chunk of money to be on vacation. His mother, strangely, seems to think it is fun to get up and climb around all the other chairs to chase after him over and over.

8:26 pm - We’re attending a sort of orientation to life aboard the boat and events therein. Our cruise director, Steve, looks like Chris Elliot and sounds like Wallace Shawn of “Princess Bride” fame.

10:02 pm - After flipping channels on our stateroom TV for a few minutes, we realize that all the network stations are Denver affiliates. For the rest of the week we will receive all the important news and goings on of Colorado. If Katy Wallis had anything going on in her neighborhood last week, I know all about it.

DAY 2
8:45 am - Each day we get a sort of program called the “Carnival Capers” that describes the days events. Today’s is headlined, ““Fun” Day at Sea” as if to suggest quite sarcastically that there will be no fun had this time around.

11:05 am - At another all cruise gathering, Steve discusses the upcoming set that a comedian is going to do later that night. He stresses that this will be an r-rated performance over and over again. After about the twelfth warning, I’m starting to wonder what exactly is going to happen at this show. I think he may murder someone for comedic purposes.

11:16 am - During the little show, Steve brings the Carnival mascot onto the stage. This sucker looks like a multicolored brother of Hellboy. I am not kidding. His head is shaped like the whale fin that comes out of the top of all Carnival ships and it looks like sawed off horns. Creepy.
12:29 pm - While walking back to our room, we pass a door that has been decorated with the phrase, “Relaxing in the Breeze” spelled out, along with pictures of two women I’m assuming were occupying the room…and a teddy bear. Yup, these are the people we’re sharing a boat with.

2:38 pm - Lindsey and I are reading on one of the platforms. The book I’m reading, written by a half-crazy Christian author, spends a full chapter denouncing Harry Potter. Meanwhile, two feet from me, my heathen wife is ready Harry Potter. That’s what we call irony.

3:36 pm - One of the non-Denver channels that we get is Boomerang. (Yes, we get frickin’ Boomerang but not ESPN.) It is a Spanish channel, however, so all the advertisements and the names of the show are in Spanish but all the shows themselves are English. Also, it’s really weird how the names of shows and movies are changed in other countries. “What I Like About You” is apparently called, “The Adventures of My Sister and I” in Mexico.

6:45 pm - Out of the corner of my eye, I catch a glimpse of one of the kids I used to teach in Grapevine. Bailey Littlejohn if I’d had a dodgeball I would have plastered you, kiddo.

11:21 pm - There is no cheese on this boat. I mean, sure, you can get a slice of American on your burger. But there’s no cheese on the salad bar, no cheese for hot dogs, and no cheese for baked potatoes.

12:02 am - I flip over to one of the movie channels to see what options we’re going to have for the next 24 hours and the opening credits for “Nights in Roadanthe” are rolling. Blerg. Too bad Jason isn’t here, he could watch his favorite movie upwards of 10 times in one day.

DAY 3
8:00 am - We wake up to the sight of another Carnival cruise ship docked across the pier. I consider starting some sort of battle with them but think better of it. For now.

9:15 am - As we walk through the Welcome Center in Progreso, we come across an out-of-control beer vendor. He’s jumping around like the leader of the Grambling University marching band and blowing a whistle that I’m pretty sure he stole from one of our life jackets.

9:17 am - Another vendor approaches the man in front of us with a book of tattoo designs in an effort to get show him the fine craftsmanship they offer here in Progresso should he want to get a barbed wire tat around his bicep. The man is upwards of 60. I question the marketing technique.

9:33 am - Our tour guides are named Jose, Arturo, and Antonio. I kind of don't believe them.

10:47 am - We’re being given a tour of a Mayan city. It is incredible experience to see what these people could do with so little technology.

11:01 am - It is blowing my mind how many people have come on this walking tour through a rocky, uphill terrain wearing flip flops. Just stupid.

11:08 am - There’s a guy with us sporting a Mardi Gras tattoo. I don’t mean something reminiscent of Mardi Gras, I mean it just says, “Mardi Gras” across his arm. Do I really need to comment on this?

11:21 am - Oh the joy of people watching! There is a man here who is pushing 70 and is being accompanied by a woman I would have sworn was his daughter until it is CLEARLY confirmed that she is in fact his wife. She has to be 25 years younger than him.

11:43 am - As we take a few minutes to sit around this beautiful watering hole in the midst of buildings that are thousands of years old, the guy next to me pulls out a can of chaw and beings chewing and spitting all over the place. Nothing says classy like spitting chewing tobacco residue all over sacred Mayan architecture.

12:40 pm - There is a family sitting next to us on the bus with a baby. Not a kid, not an infant, a baby. Like a 2 month old screaming baby. I cannot think of a better way to have a terrible vacation that to bring a baby on a 5 day boat trip to Swine Flu country.

2:00 pm - The movie screening in the on-board theater today is “Australia.” I question this on two fronts: First, “Australia” is 17 hours long. Who is going to watch this instead of enjoying the many amenities of the luxury boat they’ve paid to be on board? I’m pretty sure they could have gotten through the entire “Lord of the Rings” trilogy, director’s cut, before finishing “Australia.” Second, this movie was a complete and total failure on all fronts. 22 people saw “Australia” on its opening weekend and 17 of them were related to Hugh Jackman.

6:08 pm - At dinner tonight only one dude in the entire dining room is wearing a t-shirt. This happens to be a Michigan Wolverines t-shirt, proving once again that Michigan fans are idiots.

DAY 4
9:12 am - As we make our way into Cozumel, we can’t help but take notice in the differences between our boat, the Ecstasy, and the other boat that follows us around, the Fantasy. Everything about the Fantasy seems better. Even the lettering on the tail of the boat is straighter and more prominent than ours. It’s a good thing I didn’t start a war with them yesterday, they probably have on board machine guns.

9:25 am - We’re waiting to leave on our excursion for the day and I’m watching all the people roll in from the two boats. One is wearing a t-shirt that say, “I’m so gay I (poop) rainbows.” I worry about this young man because he obviously has a serious medical condition that has been magnificently misdiagnosed.

9:55 am - For today’s excursion, Lindsey and I are taking a submarine down to look at the reef around Cozumel. This turns out to be one of the coolest things I have ever done. The water here is amazing.

11:19 am - All of our tour guides are wearing tiny, tiny shorts that look like they belong in Gob Bluthe’s “Hot Cop” routine in “Arrested Development.”

12:03 pm - Lindsey and I eat in the city and I drink the water given me. If I die in the next 12 hours we’ll all know why.

12:50 pm - A little known fact about Mexico: their top six retail markets are t-shirts, glass products, wooden trinkets, jewelry, liquor, and Nacho Libre masks. Seriously, every store we’ve seen thus far sells masks by the dozen. If I’m ever down on my luck, I think I’ll create a gang of bank robbers who wear these masks during our heists.

2:28 pm - Between episodes of “The Travels of My Sister and I,” Boomerang plays a music video. This one is the Japanese-drawn Power Puff Girls, singing in Spanish, to what I’m pretty sure was the Ramones’ song “Blitzkrieg Bop.” This is the weirdest thing I’ve seen yet.

8:42 pm - After skipping dinner in the dining hall, we bump into one of our tablemates in the grill area. She proclaims that she is proud of herself because, while at the beach party in Cozumel, her daughters passed out before she did. Yup, these are the people we’re sharing a boat with.

DAY 5
9:30 am - None of the food here is exquisite but it is plentiful. I will probably need a month to clear all this crap out of my system.

11:26 am - While walking on one of the decks, I spot what appears to be a manatee sunbathing. Upon closer inspection, it turns out to be the palest, fattest man you could ever think would be sun bathing. His positioning is so awkward, too, that one might think he was being forced to be in the sun for the first time and, like a 6 year old, had decided to pout about this with his head stuck down between his folder arms. It was weird.

12:39 pm - Oh dear readers! If only I had access to such technology that would allow me to take pictures simply by blinking my eye! There is a large woman standing in front of me wearing shorts that probably never fit correctly and displaying, quite prominently, a large tattoo on her upper thigh. I can’t stare directly at it for fear of being spotted but it kind of looks like a portrait of Don King.

3:47 pm - “Paul Blart: Mall Cop” is the movie of the day for, I think the third time this week. I’ve seen parts of this film about 30 times now and I really kind of wish I hadn’t at all.

11:07 pm - Cheese! We’ve found cheese! There’s a huge tray of it spread out in the grill. It is as if the kitchen staff kept it hidden from us all this time just in case there was some sort of coup and they needed to have something to barter with in exchange for their lives. I’ve already eaten a plate full.

I’m going to get a barbed wire tattoo around my thigh,
Brian

Death of a Legend

I’ve got to start off by saying that I write today of an entertainer not of a man. Perhaps it is impossible to discuss the subject I wish to address today without truly considering his magnificent faults as a man but that’s what I’m going to try to do.

I was in the car driving from my house to the post office. I was listening to The Ticket, as usual, as they attempted to cover the death of Farrah Fawcett. The producer broke in and announced that he’d been pronounced dead at the hospital after numerous attempts to resuscitate him. And the radio show’s hosts seemed unable to quite voice what they wanted to say.

Those were the circumstances in which I learned about the death of Michael Jackson. For my generation (and likely the generations on either side of me), the question of “where were you when…” is likely to revolve around that date for many years to come. I was one of the first in my little group to hear the news and I even sent out a mass text to those I thought might be interested, something I never do concerning pop culture. Radio and TV personalities, usually so calm and together, were frazzled and shocked. Facebook, Twitter, and every other social network went nuts. The line in the post office was quickly abuzz, with one guy on the phone simply saying, “Man, the King of Pop.”

If this happened 15 years ago it would have been treated as nothing short of the JFK assassination. Because of the way the last few years have been for Jackson, however, I think the general consensus among those I’ve spoken to regarding this is a feeling of not knowing exactly how to feel. One of my buddies told me, “I just don’t know how I should be reacting to this.” On the one hand, Jackson was (is) a pop icon that very few could rival. On the other he was at best a seriously disturbed individual and at worst a freakish pervert. For myself, I have to separate the art from the artist. Perhaps it is impossible to discuss Jackson without truly considering his magnificent flaws as a human but that’s what I’m trying to do because… Well, because I don’t know how to do it any other way.

I loved Michael Jackson; his music, his dances, his incredible PRESENCE that almost no one else in the world had. The guy straight knew how to perform. Heck, he was raised to be a performer first and only (which most certainly led to his complete detachment from reality). I came late to the Jackson scene since I didn’t really listen to much music as a kid. But when I really discovered Jackson I dove in head first. Everything he did, from the Jackson Five to “Free Willy,” was phenomenal. He almost made a white church kid from Texas want to dance. (Okay, maybe not quite for me but I know a TON of people who fall into this category.)

Jackson was an artist that crossed almost all barriers (except those of my parents). Whether you were young or old, black or white, pop or rock, rich or poor, you could appreciate Michael. He was called the King of Pop for a reason. He’s one of those guys that you can’t help but like as an artist. If you go back and watch some of his videos, you’ll find them to be as cheesy as they come (“Bad” in particular is terrible) but you’ll also find that you don’t care because of what an awesome show he puts on. You never knew what he was going to do next and so you WATCHED intently. The songs in his catalog are amazing. “Beat It,” “Man in the Mirror,” and “Billie Jean” along with so many others are absolute classics. But they almost come second to the brilliance he displayed in his videos and concerts.

The legacy that Jackson left behind, from a musical standpoint, is unquestionable. When the Billboard Top 100 comes out, the top three spots will all be taken by Jackson albums and it’s possible that every one in the top ten will be associated with him. Prompted by an untimely death or not, that is an INSANE feat. Amazon reported that once the news of his death was confirmed, they sold out of all Jackson titles within 17 minutes. The tour he was planning to embark on would have been the biggest in a decade. At Summer Spectacular it is an absolute guarantee that the songs that will get the most applause each and every year will be Jackson titles. He was the best of the best and there is no one in music whose death would cause more coverage than his, including Paul McCartney and Mick Jagger.

Two big Jackson moments come to mind when I think about his enduring influence. As a kid, somewhere in my middle or early high school days, my brother and I were home alone on Halloween weekend. We were watching VH1 and they played the "Thriller" video in its entirety. I don't guess I'd ever seen it before and I know Duncan, who was probably 9 or 10 at the time, hadn't either. So we both sat there fascinated by this video...and then Duncan freaked out. I think he was scared of the possibility of werewolves for 10 years after this. For us, at least, the spectacle of "Thriller" stood the test or 12 or 15 years of time.

A few years later I made the trek to Harding to start my college career. Harding had a block on their incoming cable signal that prevented anyone in the dorms from getting MTV. We could get BET, sure, but not MTV. It was really awesome. Anyway, at the beginning of my freshman year there was a whole in the block and for about 3 weeks we could get MTV. (Don't forget this was still during a time when, occasionally, when the program directors got really confused, they would accidentally play some music from time to time.) During those three weeks the Video Music Awards were broadcast. My roommate and I taped it, pretty much because it we'd have something to talk to girls about. The headliner was NSYNC (cring) but as they were singing their little song, a screen flashed "The King of Pop" and from behind the screen came Michael Jackson. The crowd went BAT NUTS as he essentially just danced for 3 minutes, the NSYNC kids looking on in amazement with the rest of us. It was an incredible performance. At this point we were probably 8 years out from Jackson having a hit record and all of the stuff that went on between the two times periods, but he still had it and the crowd still loved him.

It can often be very hard to separate the art from the artist. It's also difficult to know just how to quantify mental illness or the fact that the artist was never allowed to grow into a man, period. Who Jackson was as a person was not who he was as a performer and I know a lot of people have had a difficult time attempting to pick a position. But strictly speaking from a performance standpoint, Jackson was an icon, a god, a lasting symbol of the value and enjoyment we take from the world of art and his sudden death is monumental.

I don't have time to think of a closing line,
Brian

An Open Letter to Mark Cuban

Dear Mark,

I’m writing in regards to the upcoming decisions you will have tonight when the NBA Draft starts and your phone starts to ring. Mark I know you have a general manager who is supposed to handle all of this stuff but let’s both be honest, Donnie Nelson has no idea what he’s doing. So I thought we could just handle this man-to-man.

This is a big draft year, Mark. Sure, there’s not as much talent out there as you’d like. But the fact is, this team you’ve assembled is about to implode. There are almost no young players who can actually play and they’ve become one of the most unathletic teams in the NBA. What’s more, you’ve got no depth, Mark. None. If you’ll remember, each NBA team is allowed 15 players on their roster each year. I bring this up because at times I feel you think that it’s against the rules to have more than 10 useful players under contract at a time. Mark you had Matt Carroll on the 15 man roster this year. Matt Carroll. Do you realize you started Jose Juan Barea at shooting guard this year…in the playoffs? Look I like JJ as much as the next guy in the same way that I like my dog, Ali. He’s fun and furry (seriously one of the hairiest players in the league) and he provides some entertainment. And in the right situations he can be effective. But he’s not a starter in this league, Mark, not by a long shot and not anymore than Ali is to be honest.

Something has to be done, Mark. Your GM has no idea how to draft. He’s proven it time and time again. Two years ago, after this team got PUNKED in the first round by a terrible Golden State team, he proceeded to draft Nick Fazekas. I’m not sure if you even remember Fazekas, Mark, because he was proven to be the worst player in the league so fast that he was quickly dismissed. But still, your GM drafted that guy. The year before that, after the Mavs were exposed as being soft and too reliant on their outside shots, he drafted Maurice Ager, a guy who was by all accounts considered to be soft and too reliant on his outside shot. That’s just retarded, Mark. In the last 5 years your team has managed to draft just one lonely effective player (Devin Harris) and you traded him away. It’s got to change, Mark, and it has to start now.

Tonight Donnie Nelson is going to come to you at some point and tell you who he wants to draft. He might want Nick Calathes, a tall, unathletic white guy who’s going to have to play a year in Greece before he can come here. He may want Marcus Thornton who appears to be an exact replica of Maurice Ager. He may want Chase Budinger, another unathletic white guy who is a dead ringer for Keith Van Horn. You remember Keith Van Horn, right Mark? He was the tall, unathletic white guy that Avery Johnson foolishly sent in to guard Shaq in the 2006 Finals. Remember? You gave him somewhere around 4 free million dollars last year to get the Jason Kidd trade to go through. Do you really want that guy again? Worse yet, he may tell you he wants to draft a foreign player. Maybe a young French point guard who plays 12 minutes per game…in France.

Whatever it is Mark, whoever he wants, I’m begging you: please, please, please DO NOT listen. We all like Donnie and he’s a heckuva nice guy but you see, Mark, he’s got what I like to refer to as Acquisition Retardation. He just can’t figure out how to make a good move and this comes out every year during the draft. Don’t do it, Mark. Don’t listen to him. Think of him as you would Forrest Gump.” He sure is a likeable, friendly guy and I’m sure you’d love to have him around for interoffice ping pong games and backcountry witticisms. But would you want Forrest Gump making your roster decisions, Mark? You see what I mean.

Now you may ask yourself, Mark, “If I don’t listen to my GM, how will I know who to draft?” I’m going to help you out there, Mark. I’m going to help you on behalf of Mavs fans everywhere because the truth is, if you draft one more unathletic white guy, we’re all going to storm the streets like the townspeople in “Young Frankenstein.” The rest of the world is going to think the Detroit Red Wings just won the Stanley Cup because the riot is going to be so bad. There will likely be pitchforks and torches involved and it’s just going to be ugly. Let’s avoid that, Mark. Just for kicks, this one time, let’s not have AR (Acquisition Retardation) and let’s actually make a pick that makes sense. Whatdaya say, pal?

Here’s the guy, Mark. I want you to write this name down on a piece of paper and have it ready for the moment that Donnie Nelson tries to convince you to draft a Swedish midget who he thinks has a lot of upside. I want you to take that paper out of your pocket and just scream this name over and over until Donnie gets confused and leaves the room and then you can call in the name yourself. You have your paper ready?

Sam Young.

That’s really all you need to know, Mark, but just because we’re pals I’m going to tell you why you need to remember that name. Because, and I know this is going to sound crazy, Young actually addresses the weaknesses this team has had for years. I know! I know! Donnie’s been telling you for years that the way to fix weaknesses is to bring in other players who have the exact same weaknesses because, hey, they’ll spur each other on and it’ll even out right, hahaha?! NO. That’s wrong, Mark. That’s AR springing up again. You have to stop it, Mark, and the way you start to stop it is by drafting Sam Young.

Young is big and mean, Mark, the exact opposite of most of the wing players on this roster. He’s got a disposition that suggests he might be willing to rip a man’s arm off if it would help his team win and big muscles that indicate he could probably do just that. He can shoot a little, Mark, and get this, he actually makes good decisions on when to shoot and when not to shoot. That’s a rarity around here since Dirk Nowitzki is the only guy on the team who understands the difference between a good shot and a bad one. He can defend and when you add that to his ability to score he can really and truly play BOTH sides of the ball! Perhaps that puzzles you since there really is not one player currently employed by the Mavs who other teams have to think about both on offense and defense.

And get this, Mark: Young actually drives to the basket! He does, I’m telling you, it’s the craziest thing! He actually likes to go inside and dunk in some dude’s face instead of jacking up terrible, TERRIBLE jumpers time and time again! Somewhere in that crazy head of his he’s figured out that if you take a shot from 1 foot away there’s a much better chance of it going in that if you take a shot from 24 feet away! I was shocked, too, don’t worry. Young is tough as nails, Mark. At a workout a few weeks ago he had to have a piece of plastic surgically removed from his bicep because while doing a vertical leap test he got it lodged in his arm. We’re talking a flimsy piece of plastic, Mark. This dude jumped so high and slapped so hard that the plastic imbedded in his body. That’s never happened before, Mark. And then he was back working out right after the surgery, puss dripping all over the place. That’s TOUGH, Mark! That’s exactly what this team needs!

And here’s the best part: he’s almost certainly going to be available when it’s your turn to draft! If you can just remember to scream his name over and over while Nelson tries to talk you into someone else, things will start to get better here. I’m willing to come to your draft headquarters and bash Nelson on the head with an anvil if you want. I’m just saying, I’ll do anything to help this happen. My friend Jason has promised to buy a Young jersey and wear it to every pick up basketball game we have for a year if you will just call his name when pick number 24 rolls around. Take a cue from Obama, Mark, and just start chanting, “Yes we can! Yes we can!”

This isn’t going to fix everything, Mark. I don’t want you to get confused and think for a minute that by drafting one solid rookie who fixes some weaknesses your team has that you can then take the rest of the summer off. There’s a lot of work to be done this offseason, Mark. A lot of work. But this is the right place to start. Remember what we’ve talked about today, Mark. Remember that your GM has AR. Remember that he once drafted Nick Fazekas. Nick Fazekas Mark! Even that name makes me mad. How could anyone expect a guy named Fazekas to be a good NBA player?! Remember that if you draft another unathletic white guy or a foreign player 10 years away from contributing, you’re likely to have a mutiny on your hands. You don’t want to be responsible for a raging mob that runs the streets of Dallas like they’re in a stinking zombie flick. This is the place to start, Mark. Draft Sam Young and get the summer started right! Take a cue from Obama and quietly chant to yourself, “Yes we can!” Yes we can!” Lock Donnie in his office/playroom and handle this yourself! Please Mark, I’m begging you. Sam Young. Sam Young. Sam Young…

Alex and the Would-Be Wonder Stomach

Last weekend I was at a big party for a couple of friends who are getting married in a few weeks. It was a huge deal with somewhere between 100 and 12,000 people in attendance (maybe closer to the 100 side, but still big) all gathered together to celebrate our friends and their upcoming marriage. At some point in the evening, however, the focus of part of the group (myself included) shifted from the happy couple and landed squarely on the shoulders of one of the guests.

As our hosts were cleaning up the food, I and some of the people at my table decided it would be in our best interest if we ate another dinner roll or two. Our gracious host left the tray of rolls with us but after we’d all had our fill there were still 8 rolls remaining. Enter Alex Walton and the Would-Be Wonder Stomach.

Alex moseyed over to our table (because, you know, we’re awesome and everyone wants to hang out with us) and before long started eying the rolls. He said something to the effect of, “Those rolls look good. Too bad I’ve already eaten 3.” Still he slowly reached for one more and began nibbling at it.

Over the years I have been a part of an amazing number of stupid adventures, dares, and competitions. Sometimes these revolve around food, sometimes physical exertion, but no matter what, the key is always idiocy. I have a friend who has attempted the “Gallon Milk Challenge” at least twice. Once I convinced a friend to, while on a first date, always refer to any food item as “num nums” in exchange for my paying for his date. I paid; he did not get a second date. In college a group of us decided it would be a great idea to take one of those mechanical wraps that are supposed to work your abs and strap to our thigh, and then try to walk with it. The goal was to see who could put the wrap the farthest up his leg and turn the power up the highest and still be able to walk. My roommate Shade cranked that sucker to 10 and made it approximately 8 feet while whimpering like a baby before falling and yelling to, “Get it off! Get it off!” (Every single one of these feats was done, mind you, without the influence of alcohol.)

More often than not I am not one of the participants but rather the jerk who talks other people into doing them and then sits back and laughs. I’ve learned to gauge what approach will most likely work in these situations. If I feel like its money I’ll throw out a number that I would contribute to get the bit done and see if people will chip in. It’s amazing how quickly you can raise 20 or 50 bucks in order to see someone eat a plate full of deviled eggs. Occasionally the proper approach is to question the subject’s manhood. Sometimes it is just as simple as to annoy them so much that they’ll take on a stupid challenge just to get you to stop saying, “Come on.” This is my role and I’m okay with it.

When Alex reached for the roll my Stupid Sense (the equivalent of Spider Sense) went off. What would it take to get him to eat all of these rolls, I asked myself. As he was nearing the end of roll number four, I simply threw it out there that it would be a pretty amazing feat if he were to finish the remainder of the rolls, bringing his total for the night to 11 (plus a full dinner and cheese cake). I expected to have to work hard to get this challenge accepted. In a trial, for instance, the lawyer always starts with his opening statement and then moves on from there to present evidence, character witnesses, etc. It’s much the same with a challenge. To my surprise, Alex bought in almost immediately and reached for roll number five.

Now Alex is no behemoth. He stands somewhere around 5’9 and probably weighs a buck thirty five soaking wet. And these rolls were the worst kind, small and compact, the kind that expand tremendously in your stomach. But Alex could sense the impending glory of this night and without speaking he had accepted the challenge.

Over the course of the next hour, Alex binged on the compact, spongy rolls. He moved quickly at first but his progress began to slow around roll number seven. A crowd gathered’ as they, too, could sense the great things that were to come. I continued to talk Alex through his challenge, usually with encouragement but admittedly with occasional insinuations about what we would think of him if he were to bail out. The most valued of these comments seemed to be, “If you only eat nine rolls tonight, for the rest of all of our lives this will always be remembered as the night of Angela and Joe’s engagement party. If you eat ten rolls, however, this will be forever remembered as the night that Alex ate double digit rolls.” This seemed to push him through to roll number ten.

Roll number ten was a battle. Alex began to sweat. Jason and I got him numerous bottles of water and encouraged him to just drown it down. Someone handed him a tray to throw up in if necessary. Most of the girls scooted as far away from him as possible. Angela seemed less than enthused that this was taking place at her party. (Sorry Angela, opportunities like this just cannot be scheduled.) At one point Alex gave me a look that was part, “Help me” and part, “I hate you so, so very much right now.” Finally, with about a half of a roll left, he got up and began walking around the pool in an effort to clear space to shove the bread into. He made somewhere around 47 laps, looking miserable the entire time, before finally dejectedly throwing in the towel. As it turned out that last half of a roll was far bigger than it looked. It was a valiant effort but much like

The crowd quickly dispersed with sighs of disappointment and a sense of pity for what our poor friend had been through (and what he would go through the next day). The events of the evening left me thinking about all the ridiculous feats I had participated in and/or watched my friends take part in over the years and made me ponder how these things come to pass. Perhaps it’s boredom, perhaps a desire to impress girls, perhaps just a need to show how strong we (or our stomachs) are. But for some reason or another, even at 25 or 35 years old, we find a motivation to take on these absurd challenges, to look stupidity right in the eye and say, “Yup, that sounds like something I want to do.” It’s still amazing to me what we, and by we I refer mostly to guys of course, will do for the sake of challenge, for adventure, for respect, and for sheer idiocy.

Perhaps we’re all a little less mature or refined as we’d like to think we are, but on some level (or maybe all levels) I’m okay with that. We live in this world where almost everything revolves around work, money, and responsibilities and maybe it’s a good thing that on a random Sunday night, we can act like idiots and get one of our friends to eat enough rolls to feed a small third world country. (At least they didn’t go to waste, right?) Maybe we need a little stupid adventure in our lives to keep us all sane. But aside from all that, Sunday, May 24th, 2009, will (for me) always be remembered as the night Alex Walton ALMOST ate double digit rolls and nearly died at a party.

Anyone up for the Gallon Challenge?
Brian

Review for "Star Trek"

There are certain lines from the endless collection of great films from the last 80 years that, when uttered, invoke strong feelings and memories of, “the first time I saw…” While certain films define generations, these films, and these lines, transcend generations, becoming fixtures of history instead of just the current pop culture. They are the blockbusters, the masterpieces, and the cult classics that tend to embed themselves in our minds. Darth Vader’s often misquoted, “I am your father” brings forth a whole litany of tremendous film achievements and fond memories of a galaxy far, far away. “We’re gonna need a bigger boat” reminds many of us of the sheer terror of the ocean and how much damage a 20 foot great white shark can do. The words, “Get busy livin’ or get busy dyin’” serve not only as a pretty solid motto for life in general but also as memento of the, well, redemption that Red and Andy found while imprisoned at “Shawshank.” In the same way, it is impossible to hear the words, “Space, the final frontier…” without thinking of the crew of the USS Enterprise and their exploits.

Recently the Star Trek franchise has been in dire straits. No one seemed to care about the last two films and the overexpansion of the TV show (are you listening “C.S.I.” creators?) ran any ingenuity the show had into the ground. The final edition of Star Trek (“Enterprise”) went off the air in 2005 with hardly a whisper. The once vibrant powerhouse has been relegated to a fond memory to be relived only through DVDs and syndication.

Enter J.J. Abrams. With the success of the TV show, “Lost,” which he created and writes for, Abrams has fast become one of the biggest names in Hollywood. His work with “Mission Impossible III” was quietly heralded and gave that franchise a bit of legitimacy it had lost. His eye for talent is notorious and he generally manages to get the absolute most out of unknown actors in a way that M. Night Shyamalan dreams about. Abrams initially wasn’t interested in this project but was inevitably talked into and the franchise as a whole is much better for it.

“Star Trek” is the telling of how the original crew of the Enterprise (Kirk, Spock, Scotty, Sulu, et al) came together. This is a new angle as the original series never tackled this material, instead just giving basic background information throughout. Because of this, Abrams and his team were allowed to completely make it their own, whereas previous editions of the show and the movies were given a more rigid path to take. Abrams was essentially given the keys to the car and told to take it wherever it pleased him to go. And go he did!

From the opening sequence, “Star Trek” moves a mile a minute, pausing between explosions for genius writing and character building. This film falls directly in line with the new brand of action movie (see: “Iron Man”) that substitutes one liners and terrible dialogue with actual plot points, however far fetched, and phenomenal discourse. The crew of the USS Enterprise is bright and witty and they plan to display it at every opportunity. Mix in a surprise appearance by one of the original cast, a Beastie Boys soundtrack cut, and a “blink and you’ll miss it” glimpse of a tribble and what you have is, without question, the best Star Trek film to date.

Casting wise, the decisions made here are near perfect. Each actor brings a piece of himself to the character he or she plays while channeling the original cast member and paying homage to those cult heroes. Chris Pine takes on the vaunted role of Captain James Tiberius Kirk with brilliant success. He’s a bit less dramatic than William Shatner ever was but come on, even the biggest Shatner fan has to admit that the film is better for that. Zachary Quinto, John Cho, and Anton Yelchin play Spock, Sulu, and Checkov, respectively, give admirable performances. Simon Pegg is provides more direct jokes than James Doohan ever did as Montgomery Scott but he manages to steal the scene almost every time he makes an appearance. (Expect the Scotty character to take a much larger role in future Star Trek films.) Karl Urban in particular gives a spot on interpretation on Bones McCoy but for the most part, the film doesn’t allow itself to become a mere replica of its predecessors. And therein lies the true genius of the movie. Whatever hardcore Trekkies want to say, there is no mistaking that this film stays in keeping with the original series and films. The ships are bigger, the action more intense, and the jokes less hammy (and therefore funnier), but the backbone of the show is there.

This is only the beginning for the new branch of the “Star Trek” franchise and in a sheer stroke of genius, certain plot points have given Abrams an immense freedom to do what he wants and go wherever he feels the Enterprise should go. Regardless of the future, “Star Trek” is joyous and straight-up FUN. Even in the moments that drop below spectacular action and fall into typical sci-fi potholes, the audience cannot help but be entertained and they are more than rewarded for their patience as the film continues to develop. There is an adventurous beckoning inherent to the Star Trek brand and this film brings that spirit in a fresh new form. The cast, the direction, the style, cry out, asking you to take part in “the voyages of the Starship Enterprise” as they “boldly go where no one has gone before.” This film is so good that I almost hate it because it is EXACTLY what all Star Wars fans wish Episodes 1 through 3 had been. Whether a hardened Star Trek fan or not, I would dare just about anyone to see “Star Trek” and not be completely entertained.

Grade: A

The Site

Sometimes I like to think I’ve come pretty far in my professional life. I’ve managed to meander between a few crappy jobs in order to end up where I’m at and I feel pretty blessed to be here. At 26 I’m in what is pretty much my dream job (with the exception of playing professional basketball). And heck, this time last year I was teaching gymnastics to 3 year olds in the morning and babysitting 6th graders in the afternoon. Ugh.

Still there are days where I feel perhaps I’m not quite as far along as I might have thought.

Today my services, along with the rest of those of the rest of the Children’s Ministry team, were called upon to help clean out a storage unit. Now by “clean out” I mean “throw away everything you can find” and by “storage unit” I mean “place where everything that has ever been discarded in the history of Richland Hills Church of Christ has been sent to die.” You know when you move and you have some trouble deciding what to keep and what to throw away and you wonder why you have some of this stuff in the first place? That’s what this was like, only it was 100 BILLION times worse and it was someone else’s stuff.

By the time I got to The Site the rest of my team had already pulled out a massive amount of junk that could not have ever served a legitimate purpose and was loading trucks. When we realized we couldn’t use The Site’s dumpster we then got to unload the stuff that had just been loaded in order to load it more properly so that it could withstand a trip on the highway. Calls were made to determine where exactly we might be able to take all of this wonderful garbage that had seemed so important to keep. Meanwhile some of us tried to determine how best to proceed. My idea of leaving, stopping payment on The Site, and when the storage people threatened to throw away our stuff if we didn’t pay, laughing and telling them “go for it” was considered but ultimately turned down.

More calls were made. We discussed the possibility of there NOT being at least one snake hidden somewhere in the pile of rubble and decided that it was between zero and one percent. (I would lean more toward the zero.) Finally, after repacking the trucks yet again, a solution was found. We could take our wonderful collection of Styrofoam structures, broken tables, and enough PVC pipe to stock a Home Depot to a dump that straddled the North Richland Hills/Arlington border. (If the word “dump” brought to mind the commercials for discount furniture store The Dump, as in “the dump-to-the-dump-dump-dump,” you are not alone my friend.)

Three trucks were dispatched to this landfill and I managed to squeeze myself into the group chosen to go. Frankly I didn’t want to be at The Site when the body was inevitably discovered. We made our way to the dump which is a world unto itself, nestled away between cow pastures and topless dance clubs. We pulled into a lifeless dead zone and paid our seven dollars per truck to begin our drop off. Who know you had to pay to bring trash to the trash people. Weird, I know. A sign on the side of the check in station read, “If you come into the dump by 4:30 you will be allowed to enter as long as you finish by 5:00 pm.” What happens if you need to stay until 5:01 is anyone’s guess. Perhaps you’re locked in for the night, perhaps you’re required to put in some time washing dishes at the topless bar, I’m not really sure.

We were (rudely) directed to a couple of dumpsters and told, in no uncertain terms, that metal was not to unloaded in these dumpsters. My first thought was, why not? My second thought was what happens when I throw metal away at home? It all ends up here doesn’t it? How exactly do they sort this stuff? My third thought was, why are you asking questions? Just dump this stuff and get the heck out of here before you get locked in the dump for the night. I took whatever metal we had in the bed of the trucks over to the designated “Metal” pile. This area clearly resembled the trash compactor on the Death Star minus the blaster proof walls and since Chewbacca wasn’t there to protect me, I quickly threw my stuff in and retreated before the snake pulled me under. (Look it’s been a long time since I made a Star Wars reference, just deal with it.)

We all jumped back in our trucks and headed out with only a slight detour taking us squarely into the middle of the landfill. A truly wonderful suburban sight, I must tell you. It was on our way back to The Site (and the all too certain camera crews we would all face after the discovery of the Sasquatch locked away inside) that the craziness of this day hit me. It was a pretty solid bet a few years back that my career would someday involve working at a dump but I had thought that those days were probably behind me. After all the crazy jobs I’ve had over the last few years, who would have thought that it would be this one, the ministry job of all things, that would have me spending my day at the dump? Perhaps I’m not quite so far along as I thought I was.