I will never forget seeing "Star Wars" for the first time as a 10-year-old. It was such a mesmerizing experience. But I couldn't help thinking, "Hey, except for Vader, all the bad guys have British accents. That's not fair!" Despite all those rumors I'd heard in history class about King George and the redcoats and all that Revolutionary War jazz. So I promptly went home and immediately wrote a letter to George Lucas lambasting him for making all the villains British. What did they ever do to him? How dare he take out his vendetta on us, an unsuspecting audience of children!
I'm joking, of course.
But as I live and breathe, news - if you can call it that - broke this week regarding a Fox News broadcaster's assertion that the makers of the recent "The Muppets" movie were brainwashing children against capitalism because the villain of the kid-flic is an oil tycoon - a successful one, but a dastardly, evil one - going by the preposterous name of Tex Richman. Apparently this is an affront to successful businessmen and capitalism, in general.
I kid you not.
Okay, let's just assume, for giggles, that the filmmakers did have an agenda in foisting such swill upon fragile American children everywhere. You'd think maybe they'd have said oil tycoon - played by Chris Cooper, who looks like he's having fun - appear in the movie for more than just the 10 minutes of screen time he has. I mean, if I learned anything from "The Manchurian Candidate", a good brainwashing takes repeated exposure to the message, and a scary Angela Lansbury, for the message to take root. Ten minutes ain't gonna cut it.
I can honestly say, having seen the film, that my takeaway was not of any message about successful businesses, unless, of course, that successful business is a group of friends (The Muppets) coming together after years apart - can you identify? - to save a beloved relic from their past - the original Muppet Theater. It is a sweet story of friends reunited. Nothing more.
And that's exactly what kids will take away as well. Don't believe me? Go back and rewatch the Star Wars prequels. It's okay, they won't kill you. Rewatch them and tell me there's not even a hint of George W. Bush, Dick Cheney, and Donald Rumsfeld peeking out from the hooded cloak of The Emperor as he maneuvers to push the galaxy to war. It's not overt, but it's there, trust me. Now watch it with a 10-year-old and ask them what they thought. You will hear stories about podracers and the coolness of Darth Maul and his double-bladed lightsaber and maybe how yucky it was that soon-to-be-Darth Vader kissed Padme and she kissed back. And how much they like Jar Jar Binks. Hey, I didn't say they had taste.
But you won't hear any of them say, "You know, dad, I really thought the filmmaker was trying to tell me that America's run-up to the war in Iraq was evil." It's not going to happen. Kids don't think on that level, certainly not when they're trying to enjoy themselves. Children can be perceptive about some things, to be sure, but at that age, they still just want to have fun. They haven't yet learned how to hate and how to be distrustful and how to project their agenda onto others by tearing down the quality and value of something. Most children are positive, by nature. Negativity will come, in time, and not because of any subliminal or hidden messages found in films they love.
I had to laugh when the Fox pundit - and I use that word loosely - wondered when Hollywood was going to make a movie about all the good that oil barons do by providing a product which helps heat homes and things like that. Have they not gone to the movies lately? People won't go see the good films that Hollywood turns out these days; like they're going to see something like that?! Clearly this guy has no idea what goes into creating a successful film.
My advice for people who would sound off against the filmmakers of "The Muppets" and subsequently spoil the innocence of childhood for kids everywhere? Try this: Stop Talking! For Kermit drinks your milkshake!
Wednesday, December 7, 2011
Tuesday, November 8, 2011
A Mickey Mouse Candidate
Election Day is always something to be celebrated, if only for the fact that it is a privilege that many nations around the world still do not have the opportunity in which to participate. Candidates make their arguments and, on Election Day, the people decide. And when the candidates don’t live up to the hype, they are often unceremoniously voted out the next go ‘round. That’s how the system works.
Sometimes (too often?), when the respective parties present an underwhelming field of candidates, the populace will take to employing the write-in vote in an effort to either promote a little-known horse in the race, or, in a disgruntled frame of mind, to suggest a candidate who clearly isn’t qualified for the position but whose “stardom” or the sheer of absurdity of their being mentioned sends the message that the politicians just aren’t living up to their end of the deal. It is a form of protest by way of wishful thinking and/or sarcasm.
Over the years, we have seen the likes of Wayne Gretzky, Michael Jordan, Walter Cronkite, and even Carrot Top adorn such write-in nominee lists for many levels of public office. I don’t know if there are any statistics somewhere tabulating historic tallies of write-in votes, but I would wager – and it would be interesting to find out if it’s true – that over the last 100 years, no one has garnered more of these random write-in votes than Mickey Mouse.
Now, a vote for Mickey Mouse, or any other potentially disingenuous write-in nominee, would seem to denigrate the very freedom that is inherent in the right-to-vote. Many fought and died so that our voice could be heard. What does it say about how we honor our forefathers and fallen brethren when we choose to use the process of elections to push forth clearly unworthy candidates the likes of Zippy the Pinhead or Jimmy Buffet’s parrot? Although some would argue that such write-ins are just as worthy as some of the rabble that comes out of the woodwork each year, offering themselves up as the solution.
Right now, there are so many problems, both large and small, in this country that need fixing; too many to mention here. The system, by all accounts, seems to be broken. Simply voting in new leadership isn’t enough if the old ways and methods continue to rule the day. We need a new way of thinking.
Stay with me here.
L and I recently visited Disney World in Orlando, Florida. It was an eye-opening trip. So help me, from the minute we got off the plane, the vacation ran as smoothly as could be expected (except for the freak storm that dumped 7 inches of rain on the area that weekend). Disney “crew members” are there every step of the way to guide you on your vacation. I’m not talking mere tour guides here. These are people with valuable information that can help you find your bus, your hotel, the proper route somewhere, whatever. And if, by chance, you find yourself in a spot where there doesn't seem to be a handy crew member around, there are signs pointing you in the right direction.
Glory be, people from New Jersey must faint when they go down there and not just from the heat. Highway signs are clearly marked and directional signs are posted well in advance of turns and exits so you don’t live in fear of a dreaded abrupt merge. Parking lot layouts actually make sense and have a natural flow to them that allows an ease of entrance and exit. Buses and trams run on time and fulfill their required destinations quickly. And even the long lines move with speed, with multiple crew members taking point and ushering the crowds mostly without incident. Expect that to happen in the Target shopping center during the holiday shopping season? Forget it! They need to invent the Fast Pass for so many of day-to-day life's inconveniences.
And here’s the real kicker – people are friendly. As it was our anniversary, and we had pins on stating so, every crew member that we came across wished us a sincere happy anniversary. Is this what being friendly to others is really like? It was such a pleasure, except for the stranger in the crystal shop who tried to fist-bump me because it was his anniversary as well.
There is a scary efficiency to Disney that is highly noticeable while you're there. Why can’t the rest of the world work like this? Wait a minute. Now there’s an idea. If we need new ways of thinking because so many things about this world are clearly broken, perhaps the Disney “imagineers” could dream up some solutions. On an average day at Disney World, they have to accommodate approximately 50,000 guests! They can’t afford to leave anything to chance. Every nuance and subtlety of your trip is well thought-out and delivered upon. That’s the kind of results we need in government!
Okay, reality check! I know being in Disney is like being in some warped vision of reality. The Happiest Place in the World!?! Ha! First of all, you’re on vacation. So you’ve left all your worries and headaches at home, putting you in a much better mood to start no matter where you are. You’re having fun. So being there is an altered state of existence that is bound to skew your view of life, if only momentarily. Surely, any desire by Disney to make you happy is tied to them making money, so it benefits them to make sure you want to return (though our economy could surely use a boost from this kind of mentality). And let’s be real, these crew members don’t really like you. They are instructed to be friendly. They go to school for it, in fact. Some would say they're brainwashed. Perhaps that “It’s a Small World” song really does have a subliminal message encouraging workers and guests to drink the Kool-aid (in the souvenir Dumbo cup, of course) and join the cult. Nah!
The Disney Institute is the leadership arm of the Disney brand, a mammoth organization designed to pass on to the business world all that Disney has learned over the past 80 years of operating its various businesses, studios, and parks. Time-honored ideas such as leadership excellence, people management, quality service, loyalty, creativity and innovation, excellence, and solutions. Boy, those are all aspects that seem to be in short supply these days.
Maybe we should consider sending our government and business leaders to Disney to see how efficient things can be. How, with a little planning, things can run smoothly. How creative approaches can solve problems when you’re striving to just make people happy. Yeah, that’s just silly, huh? I have a better idea.
Mickey Mouse for President!
Wednesday, September 21, 2011
Tune In Tomorrow...
This Friday marks the broadcast television finale of "All My Children", the long-running ABC soap opera about Erica Kane and the other denizens of the fictitious Pine Valley, Pennsylvania.
Soap operas are often denigrated as one of the lowest forms of entertainment. The characters are often vapid or self-absorbed. None of them ever seem to work, except the doctors and lawyers. And the format often plays fast and loose with the concept of time - people rarely age, except for children, who can be born in one season then returns as a teenager just 5 years later if the idea suits a new storyline.
But for all their faults, soap operas have been an enduring element of the American fabric since the days of old-time radio. Back in the 30's and 40's, the soap opera became commonplace afternoon diversions for housewives as well as financial boons for stations and advertisers alike. And many of them eventually made a successful switch to TV when the little box stormed the country and changed everything. "Guiding Light" started on radio back in the 40's and only recently went off the TV airwaves.
With the departure of "All My Children" - soon to be followed by "One Life to Live" - there will be only 4 regular daytime soap operas left to carry the torch. And a valid argument for this seeming eventuality can be made regarding the seismic shift of both the American family and the American workplace. Two working parents is no longer a rarity, but the norm. Women are not expected to stay home as they were in the 50's and 60's. Even teenagers find the often ridiculous plots and stories of the average daytime soap opera to be passe.
But there's more to it than that. I think you can draw a straight line from the demise of the American soap opera back to one event - a colossal touchstone that changed television forever in so many ways. Brace yourselves for his name - O.J. Simpson!
Regardless of where you fall on the "did-he-or-didn't-he" aspect of the brutal killings of his wife and her lover, the plight of O.J. Simpson and his subsequent trial was undeniably a game changer. Singlehandedly, they spawned both the 24-hour news cycle and the obligatory news "crawl" that runs across virtually every news channel these days.
Now, both of these elements have their benefits, whether it's the comfort that can be provided by the 24-hour news cycle in times of distress, such as a hurricane or 9/11. And any sports fan counts his blessings that the "crawl" exists, thus preventing endless hours of lost sleep worrying over the final score of "the big game".
But there is no turning off what happened to the American viewer after O.J. Scripted television took a hit and reality TV began to take over. We became obsessed as a society with watching real people doing - whatever. We, as a whole, like to see them on display. We like to see them make fools of themselves. We like to watch cameras follow celebrities around in their private moments with hopes that they'll say or do something stupid. We like to vote for people on singing and dancing shows - more than we do for, oh, a presidential election. We love so much to build them up and equally as much to tear them down. There is a voyeuristic element to it all that I'm sure speaks to all kinds of psychological drawbacks.
And there's the soap opera, the bastard child kicked to the curb. Sure, after starting out as these chaste mini-plays about fidelity and morality and the struggles of real people, soap operas became their own worst enemy: hackneyed fables filled with deathbed confessions and unrealistic back-from-the-dead shockers and cliffhangers. But somewhere along the way, soap operas also got ahead of the curve on many social issues of the day, scripting poignant story arcs about AIDS and homosexuality and interracial relationships that prime TV viewed as taboo and wouldn't touch with a ten-foot pole. In many ways, the American soap opera was a reflection of who we were.
The entertainment world is filled with genres that are so very us, both good and bad. We respond to the underdog nature of "Rocky" and "Rudy" because America itself is the story of the underdog. We thrill to "The Dark Knight" and "Rambo" and pull for characters like Jack Bauer and anyone Charles Bronson every played because we like knowing there's someone out their who can deliver justice, even if that justice can sometimes blur the edges of what is right and wrong.
And I know all reality TV isn't bad. There is something fascinating about the gamesmanship and strategy of "Amazing Race", something endearing about the altruistic nature of "Extreme Makeover: Home Edition". And there's probably something to be said about the idea that we're now the ones dictating what we want to watch and the notion we would rather watch people more like ourselves and not characters that aren't real and simply exist on the written page.
But there's something equally bizarre and self-absorbed and even sad about much of the reality TV we now respond to. We may be watching "ourselves" more now, but I think there's ultimately more of us to be found in the Kanes and the Martins and other great soap opera families than can be found in Snooki and her ilk.
The American soap opera is dying and so is a part of us. That's a dose of reality that cannot be denied. Thanks alot, O.J.! Now we have something else to blame you for.
Soap operas are often denigrated as one of the lowest forms of entertainment. The characters are often vapid or self-absorbed. None of them ever seem to work, except the doctors and lawyers. And the format often plays fast and loose with the concept of time - people rarely age, except for children, who can be born in one season then returns as a teenager just 5 years later if the idea suits a new storyline.
But for all their faults, soap operas have been an enduring element of the American fabric since the days of old-time radio. Back in the 30's and 40's, the soap opera became commonplace afternoon diversions for housewives as well as financial boons for stations and advertisers alike. And many of them eventually made a successful switch to TV when the little box stormed the country and changed everything. "Guiding Light" started on radio back in the 40's and only recently went off the TV airwaves.
With the departure of "All My Children" - soon to be followed by "One Life to Live" - there will be only 4 regular daytime soap operas left to carry the torch. And a valid argument for this seeming eventuality can be made regarding the seismic shift of both the American family and the American workplace. Two working parents is no longer a rarity, but the norm. Women are not expected to stay home as they were in the 50's and 60's. Even teenagers find the often ridiculous plots and stories of the average daytime soap opera to be passe.
But there's more to it than that. I think you can draw a straight line from the demise of the American soap opera back to one event - a colossal touchstone that changed television forever in so many ways. Brace yourselves for his name - O.J. Simpson!
Regardless of where you fall on the "did-he-or-didn't-he" aspect of the brutal killings of his wife and her lover, the plight of O.J. Simpson and his subsequent trial was undeniably a game changer. Singlehandedly, they spawned both the 24-hour news cycle and the obligatory news "crawl" that runs across virtually every news channel these days.
Now, both of these elements have their benefits, whether it's the comfort that can be provided by the 24-hour news cycle in times of distress, such as a hurricane or 9/11. And any sports fan counts his blessings that the "crawl" exists, thus preventing endless hours of lost sleep worrying over the final score of "the big game".
But there is no turning off what happened to the American viewer after O.J. Scripted television took a hit and reality TV began to take over. We became obsessed as a society with watching real people doing - whatever. We, as a whole, like to see them on display. We like to see them make fools of themselves. We like to watch cameras follow celebrities around in their private moments with hopes that they'll say or do something stupid. We like to vote for people on singing and dancing shows - more than we do for, oh, a presidential election. We love so much to build them up and equally as much to tear them down. There is a voyeuristic element to it all that I'm sure speaks to all kinds of psychological drawbacks.
And there's the soap opera, the bastard child kicked to the curb. Sure, after starting out as these chaste mini-plays about fidelity and morality and the struggles of real people, soap operas became their own worst enemy: hackneyed fables filled with deathbed confessions and unrealistic back-from-the-dead shockers and cliffhangers. But somewhere along the way, soap operas also got ahead of the curve on many social issues of the day, scripting poignant story arcs about AIDS and homosexuality and interracial relationships that prime TV viewed as taboo and wouldn't touch with a ten-foot pole. In many ways, the American soap opera was a reflection of who we were.
The entertainment world is filled with genres that are so very us, both good and bad. We respond to the underdog nature of "Rocky" and "Rudy" because America itself is the story of the underdog. We thrill to "The Dark Knight" and "Rambo" and pull for characters like Jack Bauer and anyone Charles Bronson every played because we like knowing there's someone out their who can deliver justice, even if that justice can sometimes blur the edges of what is right and wrong.
And I know all reality TV isn't bad. There is something fascinating about the gamesmanship and strategy of "Amazing Race", something endearing about the altruistic nature of "Extreme Makeover: Home Edition". And there's probably something to be said about the idea that we're now the ones dictating what we want to watch and the notion we would rather watch people more like ourselves and not characters that aren't real and simply exist on the written page.
But there's something equally bizarre and self-absorbed and even sad about much of the reality TV we now respond to. We may be watching "ourselves" more now, but I think there's ultimately more of us to be found in the Kanes and the Martins and other great soap opera families than can be found in Snooki and her ilk.
The American soap opera is dying and so is a part of us. That's a dose of reality that cannot be denied. Thanks alot, O.J.! Now we have something else to blame you for.
Saturday, September 10, 2011
Empty Sky
On any given night, when there's not much on television, L will start flipping channels and eventually land on something that I don't want to watch. And it's not necessarily something I don't like, just something I don't want to see again, at least right at that moment.
"The West Wing". Makes me think too much. {And gets my blood boiling consider our current political environment.}
"Love Actually". Wrecks me emotionally, it's just so friggin' romantic.
Heck, I didn't watch "E.T." again for like 20 years because the ending gets me every time. Saying goodbye is tough.
Don't get me wrong. I don't mind thinking. And the power of emotion - be it joy or pain - is part of what I love about movies and TV, and probably why I love to write. But when I go to the movies or watch a show for the first time, I am making a conscious decision of surrendering my heart and my brain to the creative talent, knowing full well - and secretly hoping, I would think - that the words and pictures will move me in some way.
When flipping channels and stumbling across something like this, I am not always ready for that surrender. It's a jarring interaction that shocks me out of whatever happy place I'm in and it's not pleasant for me. It's like picking at an open wound.
I guess L and I differ on what we love about the concept of "found television". I can watch "Star Wars" and "Jurassic Park" and "Die Hard" and "The Dark Knight" over and over again. They trigger a different part of my psyche. {In fact, L has a list of movies that I constantly rewatch that she never wants to see again!}
L, on the other hand, will plow through marathons of "The West Wing" and ritualistically watches "Love Actually" every Christmas. I love them too. But that open wound...
Tomorrow is the 10th anniversary of 9/11. It's impossible to get away from. TV and newspaper coverage has been non-stop with week-long pieces in the local paper and documentaries galore dotting the broadcast landscape. And I get it. It's a milestone anniversary. Depending on who you are, it could be cathartic or therapeutic or even a tribute to the lost and the heroes and even the country we were (for awhile anyway) in the aftermath. There is much we can learn about the world and ourselves in looking back. And there is value in keeping all that fresh in our collective databanks as we try to move forward.
But I don't want to see it again. It's too much. I haven't forgotten. The images are still seared into my memory. And I think about it every year on 9/11, not just during milestone years. And every time we go to New York and see that empty sky where the towers used to be, I think of it again. For those directly impacted, I'm sure they think about it EVERY DAY, not just on the anniversary. It must be inescapable for them, especially this year.
Regarding 9/11, there are a myriad of stories of heartbreaking sadness, and heroism with no bounds, and triumph over tragedy. And they are all stories worth telling and hearing. Just not all at once. Not for me. So when I'm on the couch tomorrow flipping channels and I come across another 9/11-themed show, I will keep flipping until I find something mindless to watch. Like football.
"The West Wing". Makes me think too much. {And gets my blood boiling consider our current political environment.}
"Love Actually". Wrecks me emotionally, it's just so friggin' romantic.
Heck, I didn't watch "E.T." again for like 20 years because the ending gets me every time. Saying goodbye is tough.
Don't get me wrong. I don't mind thinking. And the power of emotion - be it joy or pain - is part of what I love about movies and TV, and probably why I love to write. But when I go to the movies or watch a show for the first time, I am making a conscious decision of surrendering my heart and my brain to the creative talent, knowing full well - and secretly hoping, I would think - that the words and pictures will move me in some way.
When flipping channels and stumbling across something like this, I am not always ready for that surrender. It's a jarring interaction that shocks me out of whatever happy place I'm in and it's not pleasant for me. It's like picking at an open wound.
I guess L and I differ on what we love about the concept of "found television". I can watch "Star Wars" and "Jurassic Park" and "Die Hard" and "The Dark Knight" over and over again. They trigger a different part of my psyche. {In fact, L has a list of movies that I constantly rewatch that she never wants to see again!}
L, on the other hand, will plow through marathons of "The West Wing" and ritualistically watches "Love Actually" every Christmas. I love them too. But that open wound...
Tomorrow is the 10th anniversary of 9/11. It's impossible to get away from. TV and newspaper coverage has been non-stop with week-long pieces in the local paper and documentaries galore dotting the broadcast landscape. And I get it. It's a milestone anniversary. Depending on who you are, it could be cathartic or therapeutic or even a tribute to the lost and the heroes and even the country we were (for awhile anyway) in the aftermath. There is much we can learn about the world and ourselves in looking back. And there is value in keeping all that fresh in our collective databanks as we try to move forward.
But I don't want to see it again. It's too much. I haven't forgotten. The images are still seared into my memory. And I think about it every year on 9/11, not just during milestone years. And every time we go to New York and see that empty sky where the towers used to be, I think of it again. For those directly impacted, I'm sure they think about it EVERY DAY, not just on the anniversary. It must be inescapable for them, especially this year.
Regarding 9/11, there are a myriad of stories of heartbreaking sadness, and heroism with no bounds, and triumph over tragedy. And they are all stories worth telling and hearing. Just not all at once. Not for me. So when I'm on the couch tomorrow flipping channels and I come across another 9/11-themed show, I will keep flipping until I find something mindless to watch. Like football.
Sunday, September 4, 2011
Linus Was Right!
"Summers Fly, Winters Walk." - Linus to Charlie Brown.
When I was 10, my family gave me these collections of Peanuts' comic strips from the 50s, 60s, and early 70s as birthday and Christmas gifts. I still have them somewhere upstairs. Anyway, I remember in one strip, the forever downtrodden Charlie Brown is bemoaning the end of the summer, the beginning of the school year, and the concept of time itself. Enter Linus with his usual flair for wisdom: "Summers fly, winters walk."
From a kid's perspective, that is both heartbreaking and true. You spend 9 months of the year slogging through school, potentially bad weather, early bedtimes, less daylight. You feel every part of those long 9 months. And then summer comes. Sweet freedom! The sun stays out past 8pm. You stay up late; you sleep late. You do everything and nothing! Then you blink and summer is over. And it's back to the grind. To the salt mines, as my dad used to say. That last night of summer had such a feeling of childhood dread and finality about it. You almost wanted to pull the covers up over your head and pray that when your eyes opened the next morning, it was summer again. Sigh.
Here's the thing - and this is part of the genius of Charles M. Schulz. He put these words into the mouths of second graders. But every Peanuts strip somehow still has relevance as an adult. It is amazing how we think and process life's lessons. Schulz tapped into these thought patterns and hit on a formula that would make us laugh, but still make us think.
Tomorrow is Labor Day, the traditional end of summer. The next day most kids will go back to school, if they haven't already. And we feel their pain. But it is no less painful for adults. Adults who mostly don't get summers off like they did as youngsters. We too treasure the added sunlight. There is the promise of vacation. Visits to our favorite places with friends and family - a trip to the beach, the occasional baseball game, a picnic, a barbecue, etc. Heck, we'll even stay up late (and regret it the next day). It's enough to make you feel like a kid again.
And then Labor Day comes. Soon the days will grow shorter and, for many of us, our thoughts will turn to heating bills and snow shovels and all sorts of things we never worried about as children and don't want to think about now. The long haul to next summer begins - and it will seem endless.
He may have been completely off base about that whole Great Pumpkin thing, but about this matter Linus was spot on. Summers Fly, Winters Walk. Here's hoping your summer, however brief, was full of great memories. And that your winters are full of great memories as well. Lord knows, you'll have plenty of time to make them.
When I was 10, my family gave me these collections of Peanuts' comic strips from the 50s, 60s, and early 70s as birthday and Christmas gifts. I still have them somewhere upstairs. Anyway, I remember in one strip, the forever downtrodden Charlie Brown is bemoaning the end of the summer, the beginning of the school year, and the concept of time itself. Enter Linus with his usual flair for wisdom: "Summers fly, winters walk."
From a kid's perspective, that is both heartbreaking and true. You spend 9 months of the year slogging through school, potentially bad weather, early bedtimes, less daylight. You feel every part of those long 9 months. And then summer comes. Sweet freedom! The sun stays out past 8pm. You stay up late; you sleep late. You do everything and nothing! Then you blink and summer is over. And it's back to the grind. To the salt mines, as my dad used to say. That last night of summer had such a feeling of childhood dread and finality about it. You almost wanted to pull the covers up over your head and pray that when your eyes opened the next morning, it was summer again. Sigh.
Here's the thing - and this is part of the genius of Charles M. Schulz. He put these words into the mouths of second graders. But every Peanuts strip somehow still has relevance as an adult. It is amazing how we think and process life's lessons. Schulz tapped into these thought patterns and hit on a formula that would make us laugh, but still make us think.
Tomorrow is Labor Day, the traditional end of summer. The next day most kids will go back to school, if they haven't already. And we feel their pain. But it is no less painful for adults. Adults who mostly don't get summers off like they did as youngsters. We too treasure the added sunlight. There is the promise of vacation. Visits to our favorite places with friends and family - a trip to the beach, the occasional baseball game, a picnic, a barbecue, etc. Heck, we'll even stay up late (and regret it the next day). It's enough to make you feel like a kid again.
And then Labor Day comes. Soon the days will grow shorter and, for many of us, our thoughts will turn to heating bills and snow shovels and all sorts of things we never worried about as children and don't want to think about now. The long haul to next summer begins - and it will seem endless.
He may have been completely off base about that whole Great Pumpkin thing, but about this matter Linus was spot on. Summers Fly, Winters Walk. Here's hoping your summer, however brief, was full of great memories. And that your winters are full of great memories as well. Lord knows, you'll have plenty of time to make them.
Monday, August 29, 2011
Washing of the Water
"Goodnight, Irene." - Michael "Bugsy" Moran to new love interest Irene Johnson, before setting sail on an ill-fated fishing trip in "The Perfect Storm" (2000).
Like so many on the East Coast, my wife and I hunkered down this past weekend, praying that Hurricane Irene spared everyone and watching the frequent updates on television.
Just a week before, my wife was down in Spring Lake with her best friend, riding bikes along the boardwalk; a boardwalk, we would learn, that was largely ripped apart or washed away by Irene. Hurricanes will do that - wash away things. And not only physical things.
The first hurricane I remember was Agnes, a similarly powerful Category 1 hurricane that plowed up the Eastern seaboard just after school ended in June 1972. I don't remember much, but I do recall us having significant flooding. And the lone casualty for me - a small child - was some Matchbox cars (an ambulance was one of them) that got washed away in some floodwaters.
In September 1985, reports predicted a mammoth hit from Hurricane Gloria, while away at college in north Jersey. We taped our dorm windows and bunked together and, once again, hoped for the best. But there was no one there to protect us from harm's way. We weren't home. No family. No parents. Just each other. So despite the doom and gloom, we made the best of it. There was a youthful camaraderie to the proceedings - yes, some drinking was involved and more than a few horrible renditions of the Laura Branigan hit "Gloria" were sung. But, in the end, when Gloria spared us with a last-minute turn, the only things washed away were our innocence - we were growing up! <gasp> - and our faith in the weather experts to predict anything.
Hurricane Floyd, in September 1999, caused all sorts of massive flooding, particularly to Bound Brook. But my heart had been washed away a week earlier when my mother passed away, quite unexpectedly. Everything after that, rising tides and blowing winds, was just a blur anyway.
Which brings us to Irene. It wasn't as bad as we had feared. We, as well as most of our friends and family, came out of it unscathed. But with time, so much has changed. We're homeowners now. And while your first thought is for personal safety, you can't help worrying about things like the roof, or the basement, or the neighbor's giant holly tree. Nothing got washed away - just a few hours sleep. But as my sister said to me before Irene moved through, "We're getting too old for this."
Goodnight, Irene. And may your sisters and brothers stay away for quite some time.
Like so many on the East Coast, my wife and I hunkered down this past weekend, praying that Hurricane Irene spared everyone and watching the frequent updates on television.
Just a week before, my wife was down in Spring Lake with her best friend, riding bikes along the boardwalk; a boardwalk, we would learn, that was largely ripped apart or washed away by Irene. Hurricanes will do that - wash away things. And not only physical things.
The first hurricane I remember was Agnes, a similarly powerful Category 1 hurricane that plowed up the Eastern seaboard just after school ended in June 1972. I don't remember much, but I do recall us having significant flooding. And the lone casualty for me - a small child - was some Matchbox cars (an ambulance was one of them) that got washed away in some floodwaters.
In September 1985, reports predicted a mammoth hit from Hurricane Gloria, while away at college in north Jersey. We taped our dorm windows and bunked together and, once again, hoped for the best. But there was no one there to protect us from harm's way. We weren't home. No family. No parents. Just each other. So despite the doom and gloom, we made the best of it. There was a youthful camaraderie to the proceedings - yes, some drinking was involved and more than a few horrible renditions of the Laura Branigan hit "Gloria" were sung. But, in the end, when Gloria spared us with a last-minute turn, the only things washed away were our innocence - we were growing up! <gasp> - and our faith in the weather experts to predict anything.
Hurricane Floyd, in September 1999, caused all sorts of massive flooding, particularly to Bound Brook. But my heart had been washed away a week earlier when my mother passed away, quite unexpectedly. Everything after that, rising tides and blowing winds, was just a blur anyway.
Which brings us to Irene. It wasn't as bad as we had feared. We, as well as most of our friends and family, came out of it unscathed. But with time, so much has changed. We're homeowners now. And while your first thought is for personal safety, you can't help worrying about things like the roof, or the basement, or the neighbor's giant holly tree. Nothing got washed away - just a few hours sleep. But as my sister said to me before Irene moved through, "We're getting too old for this."
Goodnight, Irene. And may your sisters and brothers stay away for quite some time.
Saturday, August 13, 2011
My Kingdom for an Idea
"The Wizard of Oz" is widely considered one of the greatest and most influential movies of all-time. A landmark cinematic effort and a childhood touchstone for generations. And it is also something that few people consider - it is a remake!
L. Frank Baum's popular story about Dorothy Gale's journey from tornado-ridden Kansas through enchanted land with new comrades Scarecrow, Tin Man, and Cowardly Lion in tow in an effort to meet a magical wizard who might be able to get her home first made it to the big screen in 1925, more than a decade before Judy Garland sang about going "Somewhere Over The Rainbow".
"Wizard of Oz" was a 1925 silent film that departed wildly from the original book. Dorothy is a rather seductive teenager caught in a love triangle between the Scarecrow and the Tin Woodsman (played by Oliver Hardy of Laurel & Hardy fame). Those two beloved characters, along with the Cowardly Lion, are not actually characters, but disguises used by farmhands who get swept into Kansas by the tornado. In fact, the Tin Man, here, is a villain!
Thank goodness for Victor Fleming and the moviemaking magicians from MGM for creating a true American classic, one that has not been diminished by subsequent sequels and remakes. "The Wiz" (1978) moves the fun to New York City where some good musical numbers save the movie from a dreary story and drearier Diana Ross as Dorothy. Disney's "Return to Oz" (1985) sends Dorothy back to the fanciful land after six months of seemingly nonsensical babbling and a stay in a mental hospital. Even The Muppets took a crack at the classic story.
My only question is - WHY? Why try to improve on greatness? Why try to improve on something beloved? These questions come on the heels of recent announcements of planned remakes of "Ferris Bueller", "WarGames" and "Footloose" - which wasn't great but was kinda fun if you like Kenny Loggins' music or Kevin Bacon quoting the Bible. Footloose is actually hitting theaters later this year.
The graveyard of cinema is filled with failed attempts to remake, update, reboot, polish, upgrade, or otherwise put a new finish on classic films. From a business standpoint, I sort of understand. There's already a built-in audience, so that opening weekend will get big box-office numbers. But watch out for that backlash when things go wrong!
"Jaws The Revenge". "Vegas Vacation". "Staying Alive". "Smokey and the Bandit II". "Grease 2". Proof positive that not every film receives a worthy follow-up.
And there are just as many ill-fated forays into remakes. "Meet Joe Black". "Speed Racer". "Charlie's Angels: Full Throttle". "The Getaway". "Tarzan, the Ape Man". "The Stepford Wives". "The Pink Panther". "The Day The Earth Stood Still". [If you don't know the originals, check them out.]
For crying out loud, someone actually remade Alfred Hitchcock's uber-horror classic "Psycho" shot-for-shot. There's no thought involved there! And maybe that's the problem. No one's thinking.
No one is thinking that part of the genius of "Planet of the Apes" - whether you bought it or not - was that riveting final shot of astronaut Charlton Heston washed up on an earthly beach with the head of the Statue of Liberty in the background and the notion that man was the villain. How do you top that, or otherwise stun the audience? They are waiting for a zinger. [Part of the reason M. Night Shyamalan's work has dropped off - everyone is expecting a "Sixth Sense" shocker.]
No one is thinking that part of the "pull" of "WarGames" was the dual fear of a possible attack by the Russians and that computers might take over the world. Guess what? The Cold War is over and computers have taken over the world - this blog proves that! - so where's the drama for a remake?
Hollywood movie magic has been replaced by the need for big box-office and the reliance on established brands and retreads. How else do you explain the plans for a new "Flintstones" TV cartoon? It is risky business to try to recapture the greatness of yesteryear or that special feeling we got from a movie that was big when we were in our teens. There's a far greater chance of alienating the audience than there is of improving a classic. And, as a Star Wars fan, I should know. "Phantom Menace", anyone?
Yes, remakes can expose quality material to generations who haven't seen the original. I get that. But I just can't help thinking that Hollywood is running out of ideas. Good ideas anyway. And that makes me sad. Because I have a drawer full of script ideas just begging for someone to take a chance.
Perhaps I'd feel differently if someone remade a total piece of crap and turned it into a cinematic gem. Show me the person willing to take another stab at the gymnastic clunker "American Anthem" or the frighteningly bad "Phantom of the Paradise" and I'll sit up and take notice.
They never remake the bad ones! Otherwise, we'd have already seen a remake of Scott Baio's "Zapped!"
L. Frank Baum's popular story about Dorothy Gale's journey from tornado-ridden Kansas through enchanted land with new comrades Scarecrow, Tin Man, and Cowardly Lion in tow in an effort to meet a magical wizard who might be able to get her home first made it to the big screen in 1925, more than a decade before Judy Garland sang about going "Somewhere Over The Rainbow".
"Wizard of Oz" was a 1925 silent film that departed wildly from the original book. Dorothy is a rather seductive teenager caught in a love triangle between the Scarecrow and the Tin Woodsman (played by Oliver Hardy of Laurel & Hardy fame). Those two beloved characters, along with the Cowardly Lion, are not actually characters, but disguises used by farmhands who get swept into Kansas by the tornado. In fact, the Tin Man, here, is a villain!
Thank goodness for Victor Fleming and the moviemaking magicians from MGM for creating a true American classic, one that has not been diminished by subsequent sequels and remakes. "The Wiz" (1978) moves the fun to New York City where some good musical numbers save the movie from a dreary story and drearier Diana Ross as Dorothy. Disney's "Return to Oz" (1985) sends Dorothy back to the fanciful land after six months of seemingly nonsensical babbling and a stay in a mental hospital. Even The Muppets took a crack at the classic story.
My only question is - WHY? Why try to improve on greatness? Why try to improve on something beloved? These questions come on the heels of recent announcements of planned remakes of "Ferris Bueller", "WarGames" and "Footloose" - which wasn't great but was kinda fun if you like Kenny Loggins' music or Kevin Bacon quoting the Bible. Footloose is actually hitting theaters later this year.
The graveyard of cinema is filled with failed attempts to remake, update, reboot, polish, upgrade, or otherwise put a new finish on classic films. From a business standpoint, I sort of understand. There's already a built-in audience, so that opening weekend will get big box-office numbers. But watch out for that backlash when things go wrong!
"Jaws The Revenge". "Vegas Vacation". "Staying Alive". "Smokey and the Bandit II". "Grease 2". Proof positive that not every film receives a worthy follow-up.
And there are just as many ill-fated forays into remakes. "Meet Joe Black". "Speed Racer". "Charlie's Angels: Full Throttle". "The Getaway". "Tarzan, the Ape Man". "The Stepford Wives". "The Pink Panther". "The Day The Earth Stood Still". [If you don't know the originals, check them out.]
For crying out loud, someone actually remade Alfred Hitchcock's uber-horror classic "Psycho" shot-for-shot. There's no thought involved there! And maybe that's the problem. No one's thinking.
No one is thinking that part of the genius of "Planet of the Apes" - whether you bought it or not - was that riveting final shot of astronaut Charlton Heston washed up on an earthly beach with the head of the Statue of Liberty in the background and the notion that man was the villain. How do you top that, or otherwise stun the audience? They are waiting for a zinger. [Part of the reason M. Night Shyamalan's work has dropped off - everyone is expecting a "Sixth Sense" shocker.]
No one is thinking that part of the "pull" of "WarGames" was the dual fear of a possible attack by the Russians and that computers might take over the world. Guess what? The Cold War is over and computers have taken over the world - this blog proves that! - so where's the drama for a remake?
Hollywood movie magic has been replaced by the need for big box-office and the reliance on established brands and retreads. How else do you explain the plans for a new "Flintstones" TV cartoon? It is risky business to try to recapture the greatness of yesteryear or that special feeling we got from a movie that was big when we were in our teens. There's a far greater chance of alienating the audience than there is of improving a classic. And, as a Star Wars fan, I should know. "Phantom Menace", anyone?
Yes, remakes can expose quality material to generations who haven't seen the original. I get that. But I just can't help thinking that Hollywood is running out of ideas. Good ideas anyway. And that makes me sad. Because I have a drawer full of script ideas just begging for someone to take a chance.
Perhaps I'd feel differently if someone remade a total piece of crap and turned it into a cinematic gem. Show me the person willing to take another stab at the gymnastic clunker "American Anthem" or the frighteningly bad "Phantom of the Paradise" and I'll sit up and take notice.
They never remake the bad ones! Otherwise, we'd have already seen a remake of Scott Baio's "Zapped!"
Wednesday, July 6, 2011
We May See Murder Yet!
I don't recall in grammar school ever hearing that the subject of slavery was even in the mix when the Founding Fathers were debating the Declaration of Independence. The version I heard was a very clean and sanitized text book story that made it seem like a group of great men sat around a table, decided the British were a bunch of lousy thugs, and made history by creating a new nation all on their own.
It wasn't until the first time I watched the movie version of the musical "1776" that I knew that abolishing slavery was an actual provision of the original declaration, that said provision was forcibly removed by Southerners bound and determined to preserve their unique "lifestyle", and that American independence almost never materialized, not because of the redcoats, but because our own leaders almost sabotaged the whole deal.
It may seem silly to think of men like John Adams, Thomas Jefferson and Ben Franklin singing about independence, who should write the declaration, and what the national bird should be (eagle, turkey, or dove). It may seem like overkill to stress the magnitude of that moment, an historic, galvanizing time not just in American history but in world history. When a people said enough. We will stand on our own. We will fight for our rights. We will be free. But sometimes a movie - especially a well-done one - can crystallize things by presenting serious topics in an entertaining way.
At that time, freedom was a prickly subject particularly when it came to the thousands of people enchained across the South, most of them transported their via the North in the ill-gotten Triangular Trade. And while Adams and others felt keeping these people in chains was symbolically the very thing against which they were rebelling, Southern leaders felt just as strongly that their "peculiar tradition" was a way of life that was a necessity for their prosperity.
The delegates had to come to a resolution quickly or their dream of independence would be dashed forever. And they had to do so despite Adams' ability to annoy even his close friends, let alone his political enemies. In the song "But Mr. Adams", Jefferson goes so far as to suggest that Adams' obnoxious behavior is "driving me to homicide!"
Ultimately, the slavery clause was, in effect, scratched out of the Declaration. It would take another 90 years - and a massive, horrible civil war - to right that wrong. But the accomplishment achieved across those many hot days in Philadelphia should not be overlooked. Our leaders - <gasp> - compromised!! Sure, they fought, pouted, stamped their feet and walked out. But in the end, they recognized the political terrain in front of them and acted accordingly to achieve their primary goal - independence. Without it, nothing else matters.
It may be naive to draw inspiration from a nearly 40-year old musical about dead presidents and lawmakers giving a little bit (thank you, Supertramp) to gain a lot. But I can't help thinking that maybe our current Congress needs to sit down and watch this movie. They may see people not agreeing, but coming to an expedient accord for the betterment of the country. They may laugh at the preposterous provisions that some of the leaders wanted noted in the Declaration (deep sea fishing rights?). And maybe, just maybe, they may realize that part of the power of this country lies in our leaders' ability to come together, not to act like children playing in the sandbox who, because haven't gotten their way, storm off in a fit. The lost art of compromise, gentlemen!
Debt ceilings. Balanced budgets. Unemployment. Wars in Afghanistan, Iraq and Libya. These are all serious problems that (with all due respect to President Andrew Shepherd (and Aaron Sorkin) from "The American President") need serious leaders to solve them.
So Washington, put away the egos, stop holding your collective breaths and throwing tantrums, and embrace the idea of compromise. If the Founding Fathers could do that for the most important of ideas - independence - than why can't you? Sure, they didn't need to worry about getting re-elected. They were just worried about little things like, oh, treason and being hanged. Slight difference there.
Best get it together, Washington, or the problems of today will persist. And if that's the case, then some of our leaders are likely to be heard metaphorically singing another lyric from that comical "1776" song - "We may see murder yet!"
It wasn't until the first time I watched the movie version of the musical "1776" that I knew that abolishing slavery was an actual provision of the original declaration, that said provision was forcibly removed by Southerners bound and determined to preserve their unique "lifestyle", and that American independence almost never materialized, not because of the redcoats, but because our own leaders almost sabotaged the whole deal.
It may seem silly to think of men like John Adams, Thomas Jefferson and Ben Franklin singing about independence, who should write the declaration, and what the national bird should be (eagle, turkey, or dove). It may seem like overkill to stress the magnitude of that moment, an historic, galvanizing time not just in American history but in world history. When a people said enough. We will stand on our own. We will fight for our rights. We will be free. But sometimes a movie - especially a well-done one - can crystallize things by presenting serious topics in an entertaining way.
At that time, freedom was a prickly subject particularly when it came to the thousands of people enchained across the South, most of them transported their via the North in the ill-gotten Triangular Trade. And while Adams and others felt keeping these people in chains was symbolically the very thing against which they were rebelling, Southern leaders felt just as strongly that their "peculiar tradition" was a way of life that was a necessity for their prosperity.
The delegates had to come to a resolution quickly or their dream of independence would be dashed forever. And they had to do so despite Adams' ability to annoy even his close friends, let alone his political enemies. In the song "But Mr. Adams", Jefferson goes so far as to suggest that Adams' obnoxious behavior is "driving me to homicide!"
Ultimately, the slavery clause was, in effect, scratched out of the Declaration. It would take another 90 years - and a massive, horrible civil war - to right that wrong. But the accomplishment achieved across those many hot days in Philadelphia should not be overlooked. Our leaders - <gasp> - compromised!! Sure, they fought, pouted, stamped their feet and walked out. But in the end, they recognized the political terrain in front of them and acted accordingly to achieve their primary goal - independence. Without it, nothing else matters.
It may be naive to draw inspiration from a nearly 40-year old musical about dead presidents and lawmakers giving a little bit (thank you, Supertramp) to gain a lot. But I can't help thinking that maybe our current Congress needs to sit down and watch this movie. They may see people not agreeing, but coming to an expedient accord for the betterment of the country. They may laugh at the preposterous provisions that some of the leaders wanted noted in the Declaration (deep sea fishing rights?). And maybe, just maybe, they may realize that part of the power of this country lies in our leaders' ability to come together, not to act like children playing in the sandbox who, because haven't gotten their way, storm off in a fit. The lost art of compromise, gentlemen!
Debt ceilings. Balanced budgets. Unemployment. Wars in Afghanistan, Iraq and Libya. These are all serious problems that (with all due respect to President Andrew Shepherd (and Aaron Sorkin) from "The American President") need serious leaders to solve them.
So Washington, put away the egos, stop holding your collective breaths and throwing tantrums, and embrace the idea of compromise. If the Founding Fathers could do that for the most important of ideas - independence - than why can't you? Sure, they didn't need to worry about getting re-elected. They were just worried about little things like, oh, treason and being hanged. Slight difference there.
Best get it together, Washington, or the problems of today will persist. And if that's the case, then some of our leaders are likely to be heard metaphorically singing another lyric from that comical "1776" song - "We may see murder yet!"
Wednesday, June 15, 2011
The Power of Gold
Andrew Gold died June 3rd.
You may not know who Andrew Gold is, but he came from musical pedigree. His father, Ernest, was an award-winning film composer. And if you've ever seen the movies "West Side Story", "The King and I", or "My Fair Lady", then you are familiar with his mother's work. She did the original singing overdubs for Natalie Wood, Deborah Kerr, and Audrey Hepburn in those classics.
No surprise than that Gold became a musician. And you likely know some of his work. "Thank You For Being a Friend" was one of the American singer/songwriter's biggest hits, long before it became the theme song for the popular sitcom "The Golden Girls".
But back in 1977 - what a year! - Gold was near the top of the charts with "Lonely Boy", a stirring pop number about a boy who feels neglected by his parents once they welcome his younger sister into the world.
It was a jaunty, piano-based tune typical of the era. But there is something about that song, even today, over 30 years after hearing it on the AM radio of our discolored station wagon, that still makes the hairs on my arm stand on end.
We have know way of knowing how we will be affected by songs, books, movies. They can inspire us, move us to act, stir up anger, dare us to dream, as well as so many other emotions. So comparatively speaking, in the course of a lifetime, think of how many more words we say to each other and the impact they can have. Words can inspire. Words can move us. They can also cut us down. Words can hurt us. We go through our days likely not even considering that fact.
One day, not so long ago, I bumped into a former student who I hadn't thought about in years. After some obligatory catching up, she informed me that I was responsible for her career choice - one that had taken her around the globe and one for which she has achieved great acclaim. Stunned, I listened as she told me the story of how she was struggling with what to do with her life. And how I had told her to do something she loved. Which she happily did.
I do not remember the conversation whatsoever. It is one of millions that I've had which have subsequently passed into the mist of time. I have no delusions that most of them were as inspiring as this one turned out. It is more likely there are a greater number that skew to the negative rather than to the positive. And that's a shame. Think of all the conversations we have during one day, one week, one year. Now, how often do we consider the power of our words and the impact they may have on someone?
I never met Andrew Gold. But 30 years later, one of his songs still manages to move me, to lift me up, to shake me out of whatever funk I may be in at the time. Music can have that power. So can our own words. And Andrew Gold continues to remind me that what we say (and often how we say it) can have a lasting influence long after we've forgotten what we even said.
R.I.P., "Lonely Boy". And thank you for being a friend.
You may not know who Andrew Gold is, but he came from musical pedigree. His father, Ernest, was an award-winning film composer. And if you've ever seen the movies "West Side Story", "The King and I", or "My Fair Lady", then you are familiar with his mother's work. She did the original singing overdubs for Natalie Wood, Deborah Kerr, and Audrey Hepburn in those classics.
No surprise than that Gold became a musician. And you likely know some of his work. "Thank You For Being a Friend" was one of the American singer/songwriter's biggest hits, long before it became the theme song for the popular sitcom "The Golden Girls".
But back in 1977 - what a year! - Gold was near the top of the charts with "Lonely Boy", a stirring pop number about a boy who feels neglected by his parents once they welcome his younger sister into the world.
It was a jaunty, piano-based tune typical of the era. But there is something about that song, even today, over 30 years after hearing it on the AM radio of our discolored station wagon, that still makes the hairs on my arm stand on end.
We have know way of knowing how we will be affected by songs, books, movies. They can inspire us, move us to act, stir up anger, dare us to dream, as well as so many other emotions. So comparatively speaking, in the course of a lifetime, think of how many more words we say to each other and the impact they can have. Words can inspire. Words can move us. They can also cut us down. Words can hurt us. We go through our days likely not even considering that fact.
One day, not so long ago, I bumped into a former student who I hadn't thought about in years. After some obligatory catching up, she informed me that I was responsible for her career choice - one that had taken her around the globe and one for which she has achieved great acclaim. Stunned, I listened as she told me the story of how she was struggling with what to do with her life. And how I had told her to do something she loved. Which she happily did.
I do not remember the conversation whatsoever. It is one of millions that I've had which have subsequently passed into the mist of time. I have no delusions that most of them were as inspiring as this one turned out. It is more likely there are a greater number that skew to the negative rather than to the positive. And that's a shame. Think of all the conversations we have during one day, one week, one year. Now, how often do we consider the power of our words and the impact they may have on someone?
I never met Andrew Gold. But 30 years later, one of his songs still manages to move me, to lift me up, to shake me out of whatever funk I may be in at the time. Music can have that power. So can our own words. And Andrew Gold continues to remind me that what we say (and often how we say it) can have a lasting influence long after we've forgotten what we even said.
R.I.P., "Lonely Boy". And thank you for being a friend.
Tuesday, June 7, 2011
None of the Above
In the 1985 comedy remake "Brewster's Millions", Richard Pryor plays Monty Brewster, an aging minor league baseball player who inherits $30 million from his uncle. But a provision of the will allows for Monty to inherit the true value of the estate - some $300 million - provided he spends all of the original $30 million in 30 days. He can't give any of it away, he can't damage anything, and, perhaps hardest of all, he cannot tell a soul, including best friend (and team catcher) John Candy, why he is engaging in such monetary madness. At the end of the 30 days, he has to own absolutely nothing but the not-so-proverbial Cubs jersey on his back. Otherwise, he gets nothing!
It isn't as easy as you might think. Unaware of the codicil of the will, friends place bets that shockingly pay off or make investments that reap unexpected rewards for Monty, leaving him right back where he started. Even a satiric run for Mayor of New York City - under the protest banner of "None of the Above" - backfires when Brewster begins leading in the polls and learns that he will earn a salary if he wins.
There was a primary election today. I didn't vote. Ordinarily, I would feel guilty about that. The freedom to vote is one of the tenets of America that makes this country great. It affords citizens the chance to have their voice heard and to impact who the decision-makers will be - or in the case of a primary, which candidates will face-off against each other come November. It doesn't feel right to pass up the opportunity to participate in such a truly democratic principle, especially when one sees so many around the globe fighting for that very privilege.
Except today's ballot featured no options for any office in my area. Everyone was running unopposed in their respective parties. I didn't understand the logic of that - or the subsequent purpose of holding the primary at all. PL chimed in - you'll hear alot from her, as do I - PL chimed in that it allowed for the possibility of a write-in candidate. Okay, I get that. But what if Mickey Mouse, Lebron James, Carrot Top, Obi-Wan Kenobi, and Holden Magroin - all popular write-in names in the past - are having off years?
Few elections are ideal. I suppose there will always be elections when it seems like you can't find a coherent candidate. Or when you are regrettably choosing the lesser of two evils. Or - and I don't abide by this, but I do understand it - when exercising the right NOT to vote sends a message (or intends to) that the potentials aren't up to snuff.
And suddenly, a "None of the Above" ballot doesn't sound so bad. Where have you gone, Monty Brewster?
It isn't as easy as you might think. Unaware of the codicil of the will, friends place bets that shockingly pay off or make investments that reap unexpected rewards for Monty, leaving him right back where he started. Even a satiric run for Mayor of New York City - under the protest banner of "None of the Above" - backfires when Brewster begins leading in the polls and learns that he will earn a salary if he wins.
There was a primary election today. I didn't vote. Ordinarily, I would feel guilty about that. The freedom to vote is one of the tenets of America that makes this country great. It affords citizens the chance to have their voice heard and to impact who the decision-makers will be - or in the case of a primary, which candidates will face-off against each other come November. It doesn't feel right to pass up the opportunity to participate in such a truly democratic principle, especially when one sees so many around the globe fighting for that very privilege.
Except today's ballot featured no options for any office in my area. Everyone was running unopposed in their respective parties. I didn't understand the logic of that - or the subsequent purpose of holding the primary at all. PL chimed in - you'll hear alot from her, as do I - PL chimed in that it allowed for the possibility of a write-in candidate. Okay, I get that. But what if Mickey Mouse, Lebron James, Carrot Top, Obi-Wan Kenobi, and Holden Magroin - all popular write-in names in the past - are having off years?
Few elections are ideal. I suppose there will always be elections when it seems like you can't find a coherent candidate. Or when you are regrettably choosing the lesser of two evils. Or - and I don't abide by this, but I do understand it - when exercising the right NOT to vote sends a message (or intends to) that the potentials aren't up to snuff.
And suddenly, a "None of the Above" ballot doesn't sound so bad. Where have you gone, Monty Brewster?
Saturday, May 28, 2011
For Openers
And thus begins The Cultural Prism experiment. Some people have been encouraging me to start a blog for awhile and now that the alleged Judgment Day has passed without incident, it seemed a safe time to start. I just wasn't sure what to write about. The obvious avenue was to write about Star Wars - and there will be time for that, believe me - but there are so many blogs about Star Wars and, truthfully, I wanted to try something different.
Reading or watching the news every day, I am struck by how often I distill what's going on in the world through the prism of the arts: movies, music, books, even sports. I guess it's my way of processing things that I either don't know enough about or simply don't understand. The arts have been ingrained in me from a young age.
Saturday night was movie night in our family. Mom and dad would pile all us kids in the station wagon and traipse off to the twin theatre (no movieplexes then!). It was family night and we all went together. Great fun! It also meant that I saw alot of movies and, as the youngest, plenty that I probably shouldn't have seen at my age. But I got my love of movies from those Saturday nights.
Elsewhere, my brother fed me a steady diet of The Beatles, Bruce Springsteen and many other great acts at an early age as well. Even now, there is always music playing for me, at home, at work. Just not in the car - that stereo has been broken far too long.
Sports was a given - three brothers. You kidding me? And as a writer, books have always been important. So using the arts to interpret life is like breathing for me. So here goes. Hope you'll stay along for the ride, wherever it may lead!
First up: the aforementioned Apocalypse/Rapture. I am not one to poo-poo anyone's beliefs. One man's faith is another man's folly, or vice-versa. To each his own. So I can't say I was surprised by some of the wilder stories regarding last weekend's non-event/end of the world. I don't begrudge anyone their right to calculate the End of Days, or worship a goat, or to believe in nothing at all. But I worry when children are subjected to adults' beliefs.
Now don't get me wrong. Faith is an idea passed on from generation to generation. And the roots of that faith are usually sewn at an early age, regardless of the faith. Eventually, at some point, most of us grow up and begin asking tough questions and end up deciding if what we were exposed to as a child really makes it for us, faith-wise. 'Tis always been so, and always will be.
But when I read about the man who drove his family from Maryland to California - some 3,000 miles - to experience the Rapture in Oakland with a group of like-minded followers, my mind immediately raced to the film, "The Mosquito Coast".
Starring Harrison Ford, in one of his few non-heroic roles, "The Mosquito Coast" relates the story of Allie Fox, an idealistic inventor who moves his entire family to a remote village in South America in an attempt to create a Utopian society, with predictably bad results. Ford's performance is as powerful as his character is unsympathetic. But I especially remember the look on the face of his son - the late, great River Phoenix - excited by his father's brilliance, but eventually shocked by his father's descent into trying to play God. That really stuck with me.
"I was hoping for [the apocalypse] because I think heaven would be a lot better than this earth," said the man who traveled across country for the Rapture last week. I wonder what his kids thought? Did they believe what he said, or did they just believe in him? And when Saturday passed without so much as a ripple in the pond of time, did his children look at him the way River Phoenix looked at Harrison Ford?
Too often in an impatient search for paradise, people end up creating their own personal hell. I guess I wouldn't mind so much, if they didn't subject their children to it.
Reading or watching the news every day, I am struck by how often I distill what's going on in the world through the prism of the arts: movies, music, books, even sports. I guess it's my way of processing things that I either don't know enough about or simply don't understand. The arts have been ingrained in me from a young age.
Saturday night was movie night in our family. Mom and dad would pile all us kids in the station wagon and traipse off to the twin theatre (no movieplexes then!). It was family night and we all went together. Great fun! It also meant that I saw alot of movies and, as the youngest, plenty that I probably shouldn't have seen at my age. But I got my love of movies from those Saturday nights.
Elsewhere, my brother fed me a steady diet of The Beatles, Bruce Springsteen and many other great acts at an early age as well. Even now, there is always music playing for me, at home, at work. Just not in the car - that stereo has been broken far too long.
Sports was a given - three brothers. You kidding me? And as a writer, books have always been important. So using the arts to interpret life is like breathing for me. So here goes. Hope you'll stay along for the ride, wherever it may lead!
First up: the aforementioned Apocalypse/Rapture. I am not one to poo-poo anyone's beliefs. One man's faith is another man's folly, or vice-versa. To each his own. So I can't say I was surprised by some of the wilder stories regarding last weekend's non-event/end of the world. I don't begrudge anyone their right to calculate the End of Days, or worship a goat, or to believe in nothing at all. But I worry when children are subjected to adults' beliefs.
Now don't get me wrong. Faith is an idea passed on from generation to generation. And the roots of that faith are usually sewn at an early age, regardless of the faith. Eventually, at some point, most of us grow up and begin asking tough questions and end up deciding if what we were exposed to as a child really makes it for us, faith-wise. 'Tis always been so, and always will be.
But when I read about the man who drove his family from Maryland to California - some 3,000 miles - to experience the Rapture in Oakland with a group of like-minded followers, my mind immediately raced to the film, "The Mosquito Coast".
Starring Harrison Ford, in one of his few non-heroic roles, "The Mosquito Coast" relates the story of Allie Fox, an idealistic inventor who moves his entire family to a remote village in South America in an attempt to create a Utopian society, with predictably bad results. Ford's performance is as powerful as his character is unsympathetic. But I especially remember the look on the face of his son - the late, great River Phoenix - excited by his father's brilliance, but eventually shocked by his father's descent into trying to play God. That really stuck with me.
"I was hoping for [the apocalypse] because I think heaven would be a lot better than this earth," said the man who traveled across country for the Rapture last week. I wonder what his kids thought? Did they believe what he said, or did they just believe in him? And when Saturday passed without so much as a ripple in the pond of time, did his children look at him the way River Phoenix looked at Harrison Ford?
Too often in an impatient search for paradise, people end up creating their own personal hell. I guess I wouldn't mind so much, if they didn't subject their children to it.
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