Showdown Number One

Ladies and Gentlemen, for my own amusement I have decided to do showdowns between my favourite things.  You will see me measure Lord of the Rings versus Star Wars (Original Recipe, not Extra Crispy) as “Best Trilogy.”  You will see me rank Indiana Jones and Han Solo.  Today, you will see me measure my two favourite Saturday Night Live alumni, Adam Sandler and Will Ferrell.  Basically, I’m going to be going on and on about my opinion about the things I like, and you’re gonna listen!

So, the Showdowns, Number One: Adam Sandler versus Will Ferrell.

Round One:  SNL

 

Adam and Will both really got their careers started on Saturday Night Live, that’s when they made their way into cultural consciousness.  Like Bill Murray, Chevy Chase and Mike Myers, they got attention doing skits on Saturdays.  I never really watched SNL and still don’t, but I was always semi-aware of it.  Once in awhile I would tune in and check it out. 

Sandler is a shy guy and actually started out as a writer, getting promoted to the stage when people realized he was funnier than some (most!) of the actors.  He became known for skits like “Operaman” and “Canteen Boy” who would one day become the Waterboy.  Ferrell was manic, playing crazy characters I never really “got” like in the Spartan cheerleader bit.  His “Night at the Roxbury” character jumped to the big screen, dancing oddly.  But it’s only funny in retrospect, after seeing his current stuff.  I can look at earlier bits and go “oh, that’s what he was going for.”

Round One:  Adam, because the Waterboy could kick both Doug and Steve Butabi’s asses, and Operaman is way funnier than a cheerleader.

 

Round Two:  Cartoons

 

 Sandler made “Eight Crazy Nights” and played at least three characters.  He sings songs (even harmonizing three voices by himself).  It’s crude, rude, a little too long, but there are some laughs.  Ferrell?  He made Curious George.

Round Two goes to Sandler, with a knock-down blow that almost puts Willy down for the count.

Round Three:  Sports Movies

 

We dust off Ferrell from last round, and he comes out swinging.  Talladega Nights: The Ballad of Ricky Bobby.  Blades of Glory.  Semi-Pro.  Kicking and Screaming.  The dude likes sports.  Adam Sandler strikes back:  Happy Gilmore.  Waterboy.  The Longest Yard.  Unfortunately for Ferrell, not only do I like these movies better (with the possible exception of Ricky Bobby) but Adam can actually play the sports in question.

Round Three:  Ferrell stays on his feet, and landed more blows/movies, but Adam made some bigger quality hits and is ahead on points.

Round Four:  Real Acting Chops

Comedians don’t get a lot of respect from film critics.  They’re not “serious.”  They’re “immature.” As if you can compare drama and comedy.  Well, when these two actors decide to get serious, they prove that there’s no boundaries for talent.  Ferrell:  “Stranger than Fiction.”  Sandler:  Punch Drunk Love, Spanglish, and Reign over Me.  Ferrell holds his own with Dustin Hoffman, Emma Thompson and Maggie Gyllenhaal.  Impressive.  Sandler?  He’s got Don Cheadle, Emily Watson, and Phillip Seymour Hoffmann.

Now, Will might have a slight edge on Adam for co-stars (I mean, Hoffman alone is a titan!) but Adam put in three great performances.  “Reign over Me” was a study in trauma and stress, “Spanglish” he plays someone I’d love to have for a best friend, and “Punch Drunk Love,” in my opinion, is a study in Asperger’s Syndrome quirks.  He stims off a harpsichord, the movie is filled with distortions of sound and light, he doesn’t understand social situations or etiquette… I need to talk to the writer and see if he imagined it well, or knows Aspergers.  It’s too much for coincidence.

I loved “Stranger than Fiction” but 3 to 1?  Adam wins again.

Round Five:  Gay Lovers

 

Adam pretended to marry Kevin James in “I now pronounce you Chuck and Larry.”  Will took the extra step and made out with Sasha Cohen (from Borat) in “Talladega Nights.”  I like James from “King of Queens” and “Hitch,” and I’ve never really liked Cohen.  To be fair, I haven’t even seen Borat.  But, you have to give Will credit for not pretending, and actually kissing his co-star.  Not just once, but also at the MTV movie awards.

Round Five goes to Mr. Will Ferrell, for being dedicated to the bit. 

Round Six:  Co-Stars

 

Adam carries around his buddies from movie to movie.  Allen Covert, Rob Schneider, Peter Dante, Steve Buscemi, John Loughran.   Henry Winkler, Drew Barrymore and Dan Akroyd keep showing up.  He likes his friends.  Too bad Will Ferrell is buddies with Owen and Luke Wilson and Vince Vaughn, not to mention Paul Rudd and Steve Carell.  His friends are more famous and funnier.

Round Six goes to Ferrell on points.

Round Seven:  Final Face-off

 

Will Ferrell and Adam Sandler are very funny men.  But the movies that made me fall in love with them as actors aren’t just physical comedy and pratfalls.  They’re movies that, while having that component, are primarily humourous because of funny lines.  Quips, punchlines, random moments, non-sequiters, I love verbal humour.  Ferrell’s best?  Anchorman:  The Legend of Ron Burgundy.  Adam?  What else?  Billy Madison.

Anchorman:  “I don’t normally do things like this, but I saw you from across the party, and felt compelled to tell you something. You have a magnificent… heinie.  I mean, that thing is good.  I want to be friends with it.”

“Do you know who I am?  I don’t know how to put this… I’m kind of a big deal.  People know me.  I have many leatherbound books, and my apartment smells of rich mahogany.  Merlin Olsen visits, on occasion.  No, wait, that’s stupid.  Let me start over.  I just want to put something out there.  If you don’t like it, just send it back.  I want to be on you.”

BIlly Madison:  “Missy Lippy, the thing I don’t understand is, the kid looked for his dog for like an hour.  You gotta think, you got a pet.  You got a responsibility.  You don’t just sit on your porch like a goon, you get out off your ass and you find that fuckin’ dog!”  “I think it’s time to play dodgeball.”

“Hey BIlly, who would you rather bone?  Meg Ryan or Jack Nicholson?”  “Jack Nicholson now, or 1974?”  “74.”  Billy  thinks about it:  “Meg Ryan.”

These two movies are super-quotable.  Every day there’s something you can reference.  Hot day?  “It’s too dang hot for a penguin to just be walking around here.” (BM)  Hungover?  “This morning I shit a squirrel.  Literally.  The hell of it is, I’ve got a shit covered squirrel down in the office, and don’t know what to name it.”  “Champ, I think I ate your chocolate squirrel.” (AM)

Lonely?  “I am not lonely.  I am beloved by all of San Diego.  What’s that?  You ate a whole wheel of cheese and shat in the refrigerator?  I’m not even angry, I’m impressed.” (AM).  Teacher grabs your ear?  “I can’t hear you.  I been physically abused in the ear.  I see your lips moving, but there’s no sound coming out.  I’m deaf!” (BM)  Falling in love and blab in on the news?  “I wanted to shout it from a mountain.  But I didn’t have a mountain, I had a newsroom and a camera.” (AM)  Or maybe a friend shoots your mortal enemy in the ass?  “I’m glad I called that guy.” 

Will Ferrell would lay some serious pounding on Adam, if the funniest lines in Anchorman all belonged to him.  But, Adam Sandler is almost the only reason to watch Billy Madison.  He carries the movie, while Will gets help from Paul Rudd and Steve Carell.  I think Carell’s Brick Tamland is the funniest character in the movie, stealing every scene he’s in.  And no one steals scenes from Sandler.

Round Seven: a tie.  Anchorman is funnier, but Adam puts in a strong performance by himself.

Final Tally:  Adam Sandler with a clear victory on points, four rounds to two.  Ferrell put up a good fight however, especially in the final rounds.  No knockout here, but a respectable battle.  If only they’d really go head to head in a movie together.  That would be made of AWESOME.

The Untold Legend of Jonah Chalmers

Here is a sample from a story I’m working on that connects to “No Man an Island.”

 ***

The preacher stepped into a huge pile of shit the moment he entered town.  Both literally and figuratively.  For one, he put his foot down in a fresh pile of horse droppings as he came off the stagecoach.  For another, this was a town where death roamed the streets.

            The driver tossed him his bag from the top of the coach and then rode off in a hurry.  The preacher didn’t even get a chance to thank him.  He stepped out of the dusty main thoroughfare and attempted to rub the manure off his shoes in the dirt at the side of the road.  He was standing with his back to the nearest building and the steps up onto the boardwalk that ran the length of the road, so he could watch for any further traffic and surprise-dropping horses.  Concentrating on cleaning his shoes, it was no surprise that he was oblivious to the people behind him.

            What was a surprise, however, was that the two cowboys physically shouldered past him to reach their horses, tied to a nearby hitching post. 

            “Excuse me, gentlemen, I beg your pardon.  I had no intention of impeding your progress,” he said to them as he regained his balance, attempting to be gracious.

            One cowboy had already mounted his horse and was directing it into the road.  The second was still releasing his reins from the hitch.  They were both trail-worn, and smelled as if their last baths had been in a previous lifetime.  The first simply rode off.  The second gave the preacher a disdainful smirk.

            “Fuck you,” he said, getting up on his mount.  He made sure that his steed kicked dust up onto the preacher’s new clothes as he followed his companion out of town.

            The preacher gritted his teeth and attempted to brush some of the dirt from his pants and coat.  He then went up the splintered wooden steps to the boardwalk and headed for the nearest rickety building.  It appeared to be a saloon and stage rest.  He went through the swinging doors and then blinked, attempting to adjust his eyes to the dim interior.

            Along the left wall was a bar, its uneven plank shelves stocked with various bottles.  A door behind the bar led to another part of the building, perhaps a kitchen.  The back wall had a weathered piano that was missing three keys.  The stairs were along the right wall, leading to the second floor balcony that was overlooking the main floor.  This area was furnished with mismatched tables and chairs, all bearing signs of hard use.  Splinters, cracks, scratches and chips declared a rough history the way battle scars tell the tales of old veterans.

            A lone figure sat at the bar.  His tan coloured hat was on the bar on his left, a bottle on his right.  He was drinking from a shot glass.  With dishevelled, dust coloured hair and three days’ growth of beard, he looked as weather-beaten as his clothes.  Only his guns were well maintained, sitting low on his hips.  They were well cared for, deadly metal.  The owner squinted, staring at the newcomer in the sunny doorway, trying to bring the silhouette into focus.

            He saw a young man, perhaps early twenties and certainly no older than twenty-five.  His brown hair was cut short, and his black clothes were a little too new to have so much dirt.  His shoes weren’t even broken in yet.  He looked soft.  Why, he didn’t even carry a gun!

            “Well come on in and siddown, I’ll buy you a drink.  Yer a goner anyway.”

            The preacher was taken aback by the lack of respect people in this town had for men of the cloth.  But the man’s comment surprised him more.

            “A goner?”

            “Sure.  If the boys in town don’t bury you, the whores will eat you alive.  They love ruining pretty young boys.”  The grinning gunslinger tilted his glass towards the preacher in salute.  “Cheers!  Here’s to your health.”

            “Thank you, but I don’t drink.”  The preacher sat down three stools away, putting his luggage on the floor.

            “You’re going to be bored in this town.  Ain’t much else to do.  Guess you won’t mind the attention from the ladies.”

            “Well, I’m not going to be looking for that either.”

            “What’s a matter with you, you want to be a priest or something?”  The gunman slurred.  Then he took a closer look.

            “Shit.”  He finally noticed the white band around the young man’s neck.  “My apologies.”  He took another drink, emptying the bottle.

            The preacher watched as he dropped it on the floor, where it cracked and rolled to join three others.  The labels identified them all as whiskey.

            “Isn’t it a little early for that?” He asked.

            “Ain’t early if you haven’t been to bed yet.”  The other man smirked. 

            “You’re just going to leave them there?”

            “Why not?  It’s my bar.”  He pushed himself up to his feet and leaned over the bar.  He grabbed another bottle and plunked back down.

            “I’ll drink for the both of us.”  He smiled, pouring two glasses.

            “Why not just drink from the bottle?”  The preacher suggested.  “Wouldn’t that be easier?”
            “Man’s got to remember his manners sometimes, my friend.  Otherwise, he forgets he’s a man.”  The gunslinger took another drink.  “You sure you don’t want to try it?”  He offered the other glass.

            “I’m fine, though I thank you for the hospitality.”  The young man smiled. 

            “No booze and no women…  What the hell are you going to do in this town?”

            “I intend to rebuild the church.  I was given to understand that it burned down recently.”

            “Yes, it did indeed.”  The gunslinger glowered, taking another drink.

            “Could you direct me towards it?”  The preacher asked.

            “I could.  Not that it will do much good.”  He stood up, wobbled, and then headed for the door.  “You coming?”

            The preacher followed, wondering what he was getting himself into.

Oh George Lucas, how I long to shake your hand/slap your face

Hi.  My name is Gavin, and I’m a Star Wars fan.

Okay, maybe it’s not so bad as to be classified as an addiction, I’m certain there are more obsessed fans than me.  However, I do love the Force, I hope it is with me.  The Empire Strikes Back might be my favourite film of all time.  I love the ice planet of Hoth, the swamps of Dagobah, and the creepy mood in Cloud City when Darth Vader and Luke Skywalker finally face off.  It’s compelling and dark. 

A New Hope and Return of the Jedi both have their moments.  The banter between Han and Leia, throughout all three movies, is some of the best dialogue in film history.  “You came here in that thing? You’re braver than I thought.”  “Sorry, I don’t have time to debate this in committee.”  “I am not a committee!”  etc.   The world is complex, dirty, and teeming with life.  The characters are rich:  the wisdom of Yoda, the stoicism of Obi-Wan, Luke’s sense of adventure, Han’s search for redemption, Leia’s guts, Chewbacca’s loyalty, the unique friendship and humour of the Droids…  The original trilogy dominates my childhood.  Heck, I put a “lightsabre”/glowing sword in No Man an Island.

For years, I hailed George Lucas as a genius.  It didn’t hurt that I loved Indiana Jones, too.  And so, it was with great anticipation that I awaited Episode One: The Phantom Menace, at the close of the 1990s.  Nothing but respect.

And then I watched it.  Other than Darth Maul, who speaks one line (and he shouldn’t have spoken that much, it would have been 100 times cooler) not one character was interesting, let alone compelling.  Jar Jar? Not funny.  C-3PO, created by Anakin?  Yeah, right.  Anakin - played by a cardboard cut-out?  Might have been less dry than the child they chose.  Obi-Wan - the one possibly cool casting choice?  Almost never important to the film.  Seventeen minutes of Pod Racing?  Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.  Twice that on the DVD? WTF?  Aarrrrrrrrrrrgh!!!!

It takes tremendous arrogance, or being replaced by a clone, to think that you can direct a great movie in 1977, and then direct another great movie 20 years later, with new, untested technology, and not direct at all in the interim.  That’s demented.  And the computer graphics look like computer graphics, no matter how sophisticated they’ve become.  None of the gritty realism of the original trilogy.

Oh wait, the idiot remastered the original on DVD using computers — so now everything looks too smooth and glossy and fake.  And Han no longer shoots Greedo first, coming across not as a bad-ass you don’t want to cross, but as a slow-gun who got lucky.  Lame, lame, lame.

I don’t understand it, except as a failure in script-writing and directing.  Liam Neeson - good actor, go see Schindler’s List.  Ewan MacGregor:  anything he’s in, but see Trainspotting for a breakthrough role.  Natalie Portman?  Shit, she impressed me as a 12 year old in The Professional.  I thought maybe it was Hayden’s fault, but then I saw Life as a House, and he can act.  So WTF?  “The Attack of the Clones” was lame, and “Revenge of the Sith” handled moments that, in my imagination, are pivotal and amazing, with clumsiness.  I could write a better “Anakin becoming Vader” script IN MY SLEEP.  I felt like I was watching a sixth grader’s version of Star Wars.

So what happened to George Lucas, great script-writer from Star Wars and Indiana Jones?  Did he get abducted by aliens?  Replaced by a clone?  Did money and technology and thirty years of geeky fans worshipping him give him a god-complex?  What happened?

I honestly don’t know.  But I do know this:  I am really worried that he ruined Indiana Jones the same way, although the preview looks pretty cool.  However, if the movie is good, I’m going to give credit to Harrison Ford and Spielberg, because they will have kept Lucas under control.  I also know this:  should I ever meet George Lucas, I’m going to shake his hand and thank him for six great movies, from 1977 to 1989.

And then I’m going to bitch-slap him upside his head, for the disaster of the prequel trilogy and the remastered DVDs.  Just a word of warning George - I love you but I hate you man.  Learn to duck.

An Alien from a different planet

I grew up wanting to be Superman.  I wanted to have been born on Krypton.  What I didn’t realize at the time was that I came awfully close.

I have Asperger’s Syndrome, in the Autistic Spectrum.  I was diagnosed in 2006, at the age of 26, after living more than a quarter of a century wondering why I didn’t quite fit in with the rest of the world.  I felt as isolated as Superman, living on a planet not his home, and never quite understood why.  It seemed like everyone else knew what to say, what to do, to fit in together.  I always felt like I was missing some private joke, like everyone else had all attended this big meeting about how to be a community, and left me out.  I didn’t understand people’s feelings or their jokes, didn’t grasp why they talked about certain things in certain ways.

Getting diagnosed made the world make sense.  I knew why I was different.  My brain was structured in a unique way.  It made me cry, with the fear that I could never learn to properly communicate with others.  There was some good news:  I’m extremely high functioning.  That’s why no one really had a problem with me for a quarter of a century.  There were little things, quirks, but nothing that screamed PROBLEM!  The misery was mine to endure alone, must people didn’t even suspect how clueless I was about day to day life.  In part, because “extremely high functioning” translated into a straight-A student who tests as a genius.  Who would suspect such a child had a disability?

No Man an Island was supposed to be my Lord of the Rings, a long epic story of good versus evil, and it was supposed to take decades to write.  It began in the past, with Raphael and Hannah, and was meant to go forward from there.  I started it in high school.  In university, my life became chaotic:  my friends were scattered to the four corners of Canada, I was alone, and in three years some twenty people connected to me died.  So many, in fact, that I missed at least five funerals.  So much chaos is bad for anyone:  for an autistic person, it’s maddening.  I nearly lost myself. 

To make sense of my life, I turned to telling myself stories, as I had as a child.  And my real-life stories started getting incorporated with my fictional ones, enriching and inspiring my imagination.  Pretty soon, my real-life history was influencing NMAI and making it better.  The Companions became based on some of my best friends, bringing them “closer” to me, despite being scattered.  Ethan started reflecting me, unintentionally at first, but then more and more.  Perhaps in a “Mary Sue” way, although I have deliberately appropriated that trope and subverted it.  

When I was diagnosed with Asperger’s, I looked at the story.  And it reflected my own mind back at me.  Ethan had Asperger’s and the story was as much about his struggle with that isolation, as it was about faith, love or adventure.  In fact, he sought all those things because of his isolation.  In a way, as much as Asperger’s made my life make sense, it made the book make sense too.  I don’t expect readers to know a lot about autism, so I have included some information here from Wikipedia for educational purposes.

Asperger’s Disorder is defined in the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders (DSM-IV) by six main criteria:

1. qualitative impairment in social interaction
2. restricted, repetitive and stereotyped behaviors and interests
3. significant impairment in important areas of functioning
4. no significant delay in language development
5. no significant delay in cognitive development, self-help skills or adaptive behaviors (other than social interaction)

As readers have noted, Ethan can be quite self-centred, and has no clue how to deal with the opposite sex or his friends.  His social impairments are obvious.  His repetitive interests include literature, movies, science and theology, and in fact are the framework for how he interprets the world.  He has sensory impairments, like not reacting to roller-coasters, staring at tail-lights or snow, standing too long in the shower, and not being able to handle the chaos of dance clubs.  His cognitive and language development is above average, so even he is not aware of his Asperger’s until this chapter.  He almost blended in. 

But it is the “almost” that is the tragedy of the story.

(If anyone has further questions, feel free to ask in the comments.  I am learning more and more about AS every day, especially since I live with it, and am happy to answer.)

My Secret Identity

So, as you know by now, I grew up a huge Superman fan.  In fact, I grew up wanting to BE the Man of Steel.  Unfortunately, I’m not tall enough.  Nor bulletproof, so far as I know.

 But, in a sense, I’ve accomplished my goal.  How so?  Let me explain.

 When I was a child, I had a book that collected several Superman stories featuring the affects of the different kinds of Kryptonite.  It showed his designs for lead suits to deal with the radioactive material, stories about the weird affects of the red version, attempts by Luthor to poison him with the green.  But one story stood out in my mind, and still has a hold on me.  Hear the story of the truth about Superman, and who I wanted to be when I grew up:

 A villain named the Fixer attempted to make synthetic Kryptonite.  But, instead of killing the Man of Steel, it erased his memory.  Lost, wandering, a random hobo helps the amnesiac Clark Kent and calls him “bud.”  Another calls him “mac.”  He puts two and two together to get five:  His name must be “Bud Mack.”  He travels the country, trying to figure out what has happened to his memories.

A baseball manager notices Bud Mack is stronger than average, and hires him to play for his team.  Sure enough, Bud is a great pitcher, a fast base runner, and able to hit home runs with ease.  But what no one knows, is that he holds back his great strength, and also possesses X-ray vision and super senses. 

One day, Bud hears two boys outside the stadium with his superb ears.  They’re talking about how they’re too poor to ever buy tickets.  One boy remembers a stadium policy:  if a home run ball leaves the premises, whomever retrieves the ball gets free front-row seats.  The other boy wishes they could be so lucky, but notes the odds are impossible.

Bud immediately slams the next pitch with his bat, directly through the wall of the stadium, to land in the boys’ hands.  They get the seats, and a great memory.  So did I.  What’s the moral of the story?  What does an amnesiac Bud Mack have to do with the truth of Superman?

The real Superman isn’t Clark Kent with his bumbling, nor the costumed Man of Steel and his powers.  No, Superman is an ideal.  The guy who does the right thing, for anyone, even total strangers.  Because it’s the right thing to do.  And that’s what I try to be, day to day.  Even though I can’t fly.

The Song of the Sky

Did you know the whole universe is singing?  Everything that moves vibrates, and every vibration causes sound waves.  Even stars have their own radio signals.  However, I like the way the Bible puts it, in Psalm 19:

  

The heavens are telling the glory of God;

 and the firmament proclaims his handiwork.

Day to day pours forth speech, and night to night declares knowledge.

There is no speech, nor are there words; their voice is not heard;

yet their voice goes out through all the earth,

and their words to the end of the world.

In them he has set a tent for the sun,

which comes forth like a bridegroom leaving his chamber,

and like a strong man runs its course with joy.

 Its rising is from the end of the heavens, and its circuit to the end of them;

and there is nothing hid from its heat.

 

I am not big on having “Beliefs,” with a capital “B.”  What I mean by that, is I’m not really willing to assume I know something so well that it’s an eternal truth.  I like to try and keep an open mind.  I don’t take anything at face value, I test and re-test.  A friend of mine in university, Myke, said that I was more “spiritual than religious,” meaning I looked for the heart of things, but didn’t really buy into the codified structure and traditions.  I think that’s what he meant, anyway.  But part of that, to me, means that I’m not going to set down my ideas in stone, at least not without a lot of reflection.

For instance:  I respect the Bible, as a work of literature, and I think it might contain some witness to the truth of reality and the nature of the universe.  But the respect, for thousands of years of effort that went into it, and the culture that produced it, is more important to me than taking it word for word.  Because I have a similar respect for the religious texts of other faiths as well.  I think they might have pieces of the truth too.  The Bible is more important to me, because of where I am culturally and geographically.  Had I been born somewhere else, I’d have a different perspective.

For another thing:  no matter how many spiritual experiences I’ve had (I guess that might be the subject of another post some day), I don’t assume that they are definitive for other people, or even meaningful.  And I don’t assume that it means God “Really Exists,” because our minds are capable of so much on their own.  We seem able to pyschosomatically convince ourselves of almost anything.  I can’t prove the Bible is true, I wasn’t there when those experiences occurred, nor was I present when it was written.  It’s a marvellous piece of literature, but on its own it is not “proof” of anything.  It’s a book.

So what do I believe, at the end of the day?  I believe that I’m connected to the universe, as my earlier post about the nature of light might indicate.  I hope that the heart of the universe is alive, and I call that hope “God.”

But here’s an idea I have about God, and why so few of us hear anything, despite the universe singing:

I watched the movie “The Horse Whisperer” in high school, with friends.  I liked the story in it about the girl reconnecting with her horse.  The love story between Robert Redford and her mom felt tacked on, and made the movie long and boring.  I only saw it because I was with a group of friends, and they really liked horses.  I would have picked something else, were I alone.

 But it showed me something, that I think is important.  Redford’s job was to help calm a horse that had been wounded, kind of a horse therapist.  But instead of training it, or talking to it, there’s a scene where he takes it to a field and lets it run by itself.  He sits at the edge of the field.  For hours.  The horse stays as far away as possible.  For awhile.  Eventually, because he’s so quiet, because he’s so still, the horse begins to believe he is safe.  He approaches the man, and the healing begins.

Our culture is so rushed, so fast-paced, I think we overlook the magic of silence and calm.  We try to “get things done,” but hard work and effort would have chased that horse away.  It would have spooked him. 

I think God is like the Horse Whisperer, and we are like the horse.  We run around, afraid of our lives and our problems, rushing to get things done.  I think God is sitting “at the edge of the field,” quietly waiting for us to wonder why, to stop still and look back, and listen.  I think that when we pray, or meditate, or find silence in our lives, we stop rushing and learn to hear the silent song of the heart of the universe.

 Sit still and listen.  Can you hear it?

 

The Suspension of Disbelief, or Why I Won’t Watch “Superman Returns”

Any good story makes you care about it.  Regardless of how impossible it seems, you find yourself imagining it is real, and responding to characters in a way that you would friends or family.  You involve yourself in the story-world.  This is commonly called “the suspension of disbelief.”  Without it, you don’t hold a reader’s attention for very long.

 Anyone that knows me well, knows I adore Superman.  At the age of two I ran around my house wearing a kitchen cloth as a cape.  My aunt Karen bought me a real red cape, thinking it looked stupid to let me wear dish towels.  I eventually had tshirts, sweaters, and even underwear.  I think every picture of my childhood features at least one of those items:  the days I looked “normal” I would almost guarantee featured the underwear, as a “secret identity.”

I no longer wear the cape, and the clothes, but I still think about my favourite hero often, in the back of my mind.  I like “Smallville,” a lot, and loved Christopher Reeves’ movies.  I enjoyed “Lois and Clark,” with Teri Hatcher, even though I didn’t think Dean Cain was a great Superman.  Tom Welling might be the best casting ever, and I would make movies with him.  But then there’s the newest film, “Superman Returns.”

I won’t watch it.  I looked forward to it at first, just because I like Superman and wanted to see what new special effects could do with the character.  But then they cast Brandon somebody instead of Tom Welling, and he looks like a model.  Superman is a big guy, not a twelve year old prepubescent.  He looks vaguely like Christopher Reeves, but guess what:  Reeves could act like Superman and Clark Kent, but he needed to gain about fifty pounds to really look like him.  He pulled it off with presence, which The New Guy doesn’t have.  If you don’t even look like the character, how am I supposed to believe you’re him?

That was the first problem.  Batman Begins came out, and Christian Bale made the new Superman look like a pansy.  If they ever met, the new Batman would bitch-slap the new Superman and make him cry like a sissy.  Considering the real Superman is invulnerable, that should give you an idea of how much I think the casting sucked on this one.  If I’m more impressed with Batman, how can I believe you’re the Man of Steel?

Then, I learned more.  The director, Brian Singer of “The Usual Suspects” (awesome film!) decided he liked Richard Donner’s original “Superman” so much, that he would do an homage and make his film a sequel to “Superman 2.”  Well, Superman 2 is a stupid movie.  It features Superman selfishly giving up his powers to have sex with Lois Lane, and then murdering three Kryptonian criminals once he gets his powers back.  He then beats up a trucker who assaulted him when he was a powerless Clark Kent.  Superman would a) never abandon his responsibilities to humanity by giving up his powers, b) abuse those powers by harming someone weaker, or c) commit murder. 

So, the new movie, “Superman Returns,” is based on this piece of garbage.  Superman, after proving his devotion to Lois in Superman 1 by going against the Kryptonian time travel rules, decides to leave her and go find Krypton, because he hears that it might not have been destroyed after all.  Duh, his father told him it was, and the kryptonite he’s allergic to proves it.  So he abandons the woman he loves (after ignoring Krypton law in her favour) to find it?  And comes back years later to find that the one time he had sex with her resulted in a child.  Huh?  Totally unbelievable. 

It gets worse:  Lois is now played by a girl in her early twenties (Kate Bosworth) who looks nothing like Margot Kidder, and yet is supposed to be older and a mother, and the same character.  Because this is a sequel, remember?  And no one seems bothered by the fact that Superman and Clark Kent both went missing for years, and have now returned.  At the same time.  Right.  And being a Kryptonian, Superman couldn’t mate with a human until he lost his powers.  So why does it seem like his son might have super-powers of his own?  Aside from the fact he would have kicked through his mother’s uterus (See “Mallrats”!) he had a human father.  Plus, he never should have existed:  the real Superman would have married Lois.

I can’t suspend disbelief and watch it.  I’ve read a lot about it, and the plot summaries I’ve encountered tell me one thing:  DO NOT WATCH THIS MOVIE.  I find it hard to believe anyone ever thought it was a good idea to make this monster.

They should have done what “Batman Begins” did so well:  revamp the character for a new generation.  No one asked for a sequel from a movie made 25 years ago.  No child today has probably even watched it.  Reinventing the character, or using the well-established Tom Welling, would have been so much better it boggles my mind that they went in this direction.

 

That’s my two cents on Superman.  Not that anyone asked me, but it’s something I needed to get off my chest.  The character deserves better.  Especially considering I’m looking forward to the new Batman film, “The Dark Knight,” and I don’t care if they ever make another Superman movie right now.

The Structure of Reality, and the Subtext of Writing

Reality seems like one thing and is really another, under the surface.  Right now, you’re a person sitting at a computer, reading my writing.  You have a body, a chair, a computer, a place to live, and so on.  Well, on a totally separate level, you’re really light operating at different wavelengths, so that the protons/electrons/neutrons of the light called “chair” don’t pass through the light called “body.”  They aren’t really solid, they’re different waves of light bouncing off each other like stones rippling over the surface of a pond.

 In other words, you may look solid, but you’re really light.  All these tiny little pieces (atoms) floating together close enough that it looks real.  Reality is kind of a big hologram.  In fact, that’s why you can digitize pictures of it (like for television or the internet) and have it travel from place to place to be seen somewhere else on a screen. 

You can’t see without light:  you don’t see a person, you see the light bouncing off their wavelength, that travels from them to you, into your eye, which converts the beam of light into information your brain can interpret.  And your brain is running on light, too, electrical signals travelling through neuron chains.  In relativity theory, Einstein explains how you as the observer are in fact the centre of your universe, and the whole universe’s physics can be understood from your perspective, as the place where the light gathers to be seen.

 

 What I mean by that is, if you’re standing on a boat, throwing a ball up and down, it goes straight up and straight down for your perspective.  The light you see shows you “straight up, straight down, catch the ball.”  Well, if I stand on shore as the boat moves along, I will see that same ball travel in an arc, as it moves with the boat.  From your perspective you were standing still, but from mine you were moving.  According to Einstein, the physics for both are correct when studied from their individual perspectives.  From where I’m standing, you’d look about two inches tall on your boat, because you’re at a distance.  In my reality, according to Einstein, you ARE two inches tall.

 Stuff like that can make your brain hurt.  My point is, perspective is everything.  Each person is the centre of their own information universe, all the light travels inwards towards them to be interpreted.  At the same time, the light that comes in to be interpreted is also bouncing off you and going outwards, radiating so people can see you in their universe.

 

So the source of light is a focal point, radiating outwards, and the receiver of light is a like a focal point, absorbing inwards.  Flowers collect sunlight, minds collect information, and the universe radiates information/light.  With me so far?

Well, my brain has been absorbing a lot of information.  I’ve studied education, theology, literature, philosophy, history, science, mathematics, and languages.  And I have a natural tendency to see the interconnections of these things, rather than as discrete independent categories.  I naturally want the whole picture, instead of pieces, as I make sense of my universe.  After absorbing it, this is what I want to put out there:

 

It is possible for all these different things to be the same thing.  The way your body and chair are in fact light.  The universe is one thing:  light operating at different wavelengths, so that from our perspective it looks separate, but is in fact a whole.  Put white light through a prism and you’ll see multiple colours:  diversity inside unity.  That’s the way the universe works, being two things at once, connected and separate at the same time.  It just takes shifting perspectives to see the whole and the part.

Now, we know light radiates, and it radiates in all directions at once.  We know the universe is made of light, radiating outwards.  Some scientists believe that there are multiple universes, an infinite number.  There’s a universe where you turned right instead of left, so it’s fairly familiar.  And there are universes so different from our own as to be unrecognizable.  That’s the theory, anyway.  There’s even a theory that it’s not your body that moves, but your consciousness, based on your choices.  You choose to go right, so you go into a universe of “right,” while the person you’re talking to chose left, goes to the “left” universe, and you continue the conversation with his dimensional counterpart, who chose to go “right” while talking to your counterpart, who went “left.”  The conversation seems the same, because from your perspective, there was no noticeable transition.

Sounds messed up, right?  But that’s what physics might be indicating, even at the quantum level of the light energy making up your atomic body. 

How does this apply to writing?  Because that’s in the title of this post, and this blog is about me, the writer, ranting about things that are usually relevant to you, my readers, who generally got here from No Man an Island.  Well, all of this is subtext for the novel.  These are things that I thought about while writing. 

Why did I think about it?  Why is it relevant?  Well, this is my idea:  if there is a God, God is the focal point of the multiple universes, radiating the light outwards into Creation.  God is the name we give the source of light, and God can see all the different directions light takes all at once.  So God has access to all the information:  hence, omniscience.  Light exists outside of time and mass, and is infinite.  So God sees the past/present/future all at the same time.  Prophecy is possible, because it’s just telling someone in the past/present about the future that God can already see.  From God’s perspective, it’s already happened.  You and I just aren’t there yet.

And it makes predestination and freewill possible at the same time, from a scientific perspective.  God made/can see all the infinite possibilities from the focal point.  All the diverse realities and universes.  Well, here you are, sitting in your chair in one of those universes.  Your next choice will pop you into one reality, but the opposite choice still exists out there in the multiverse.  You just don’t experience it.  But God does.  At any time, you can change the direction of your life by making a different choice.  Good or evil, a different path.  God sees all of them, and knows exactly where your consciousness is standing amidst the infinite.

So you choose.  You have free will.  Left or right, good or evil, which way to go.  All the possibilities exist, and God keeps track of all of them.  But they existed before you chose, and still exist even when you don’t choose them.  Put it another way:  You want to go from your house to the library.  On the map, there are multiple streets to choose, lots of houses and trees to see on the way.  You have the free will to choose your route.  But the map, the library, the streets, the trees were already there.  You choose your way:  the destination was predetermined.  Free will and predestination at once:  you’re choosing from an infinite variety that God built before you even showed up.

So, in my mind, God lies at the heart of science, the physical building blocks of the universe, light.  I’m obviously not a traditional thinker.  Well, this affects Ethan’s character, he’s thinking about these things too.  Here’s the chapter it comes up:  The Middle:  Different Car, Same Day .  The rest of what I’ve written here is not in the novel, it’s subtext.  But not many of you have probably studied quantum mechanics, the Big Bang theory, or theology.  So I’m including it here so you can learn more about it, and maybe be inspired to learn more on your own.  When I get time, I’ll search down some pages and links for as much as I can find on the internet.

So what am I trying to say?  Anything is possible, and thinking makes it happen.  It’s all light, and words like “you, me, universe, God, atoms,” are just ways of saying the same thing.  We participate in creating what’s around us.  Furthermore, and this is fun:  the ENTIRE universe is inside your body, at the same time you are inside the universe.  What? - you ask.  What am I talking about?  Well, okay, bear with me:  look in a mirror.  The light of the universe (or your bathroom ceiling) reflects off your body to the mirror, showing it what you look like.  And then the mirror reflects the light back to your eye, allowing your brain to interpret the image and see yourself.  Well, it doesn’t matter how far away that mirror is:  a mile, a lightyear, on the other side of the universe — all light travels onwards infinitely, carrying the image of the object it touches, and picking up the images of other objects along the way.  Light keeps travelling, and carrying information.  Light has no density, you can put as much as you want into any volume.  Like focusing sunlight through a magnifying glass, you can’t fill that little spot, you just add more energy.

So, since light carries the image of everything it touched, and carries your image onwards into eternity, you are both here and out in the universe (as light information, someone could pick up a mirror in the next solar system, magnify the image, and watch what you did decades ago).  And, since the light of your body is made of the light of the universe in the original Big Bang, theoretically that light carries all the information of the universe, the way one cell of your body holds all the genetic information of your entire body’s DNA.  Coincidence, I think not.  And I can back that up with some science (I still need to see how much I can find on the internet) because one tiny part of a hologram in fact holds the entire image.  A penlight will reveal your reflection just as much as the sun:  light travels and carries information, no matter how small the source of light.

 Infinite regression and infinite expansion.  I love science.

Movie Dreams, continued

So yeah, here’s a preliminary list for some more characters.  I would have the most expensive movie cast of all time.  I better become the world’s best-selling author pretty darn quick to be able to pull this off, huh?

Hope Kelley

  I think Kate Bosworth, who I first saw in “The Horse Whisperer,” would be a good Hope.  I really like “Blue Crush,” which I saw with my wife, and she even played Lois Lane.  Those of you who know me, know I am a big Superman fan.  Those of you who know me, also know that I will never actually watch “Superman Returns,” in which she played Lois.  That is actually material for a future rant:  the concept for the movie really pisses me off.  Worse than the new episodes of Star Wars.  (note to self:  Star Wars rant in near future)

The Angels

 I think Ewan MacGregor, of “Star Wars” and “Trainspotting,” would make an excellent angel.  As would Jude Law, Orlando Bloom of “Lord of the Rings” and “Pirates of the Caribbean,” and Sean Bean (also from LOTR) and maybe Daniel Craig, the new James Bond.  Fair-haired, smooth, refined, these British actors could pull off the classy but cold angels of No Man an Island’s Heaven.

I’m torn between Ewan, Jude and Orlando for Raphael, actually.  Ewan seems nicer and more down to earth, but Orlando is younger and has a more action-oriented background.  Jude just looks cool, but I don’t think he’s done any action movies.

Dare to Dream

I was a day dreamer growing up.  I dreamt of true love, starting a family, being in theatre, running cross country, being an artist, a writer, a teacher.  I wanted to run for student government and help people.  And, I wanted to finish writing a book.

 At this stage in my life, I’ve accomplished all my dreams.  I’m only 28!   So I need some new ones.  The book I’ve finished, No Man an Island, has been to an agent, who gave the very good advice that I should write a more focused narrative first, to get my foot in the door, because publishers are probably unlikely to want such an experimental piece from a first-time author.  After I’m established and it’s been cleaned up, then it might be worthwhile to publish NMAI.  So, I need the new goal of a second book, and then getting it published.

Now, my far-fetched, cross my fingers, hope but don’t worry about it dream, is to make NMAI a movie.  Here’s my dream cast, which you will never, ever see.  Not alone because it’s a longshot that it will ever be a movie, but also because you’d never get this many big stars, and sadly, one of them is dead.  I can dream, but I have to wait for Heaven if I want the cast I pictured.

 Alexander Rothrock

 I picture Ashton Kutcher to play our Lancelot, because Alex is based on a friend of mine who looks a lot like Ashton.  He’s funny, and charming, and he’s also proven to be a good dramatic actor.

Jason Shelagh

 Cody Kasch as a young Jay, and Doogie Howser himself, Neil Patrick Harris, as the older version.  I think they’d be perfect.

Astarte

 I’m not really sure, but I think I might like to see Monet Mazur from “40 Days and 40 Nights” and “Torque,” to play the fallen angel Astarte.  She’s got this smouldering, “I’m bad but cool” thing going on.

Genevieve Pitney

 I have a lot of difficulty casting Genevieve.  I can’t think of many blue-eyed brunette actresses.  I settle on Emily Browning as a young Evie, from “Lemony Snicket’s Series of Unfortunate Events.”  I pick her because she’s good, and I think she looks a little like Angelina Jolie.  She can do action, drama and comedy, and I need to pick actors that look similar for the different time periods of the story.  You know, for my hypothetical movie.

Zoe Rothrock and Gwendolyn Pitney

 I really like Anne Hathaway because a) she’s named after Shakespeare’s wife, b) she’s actually a really talented and beautiful actress.  Zoe is a smaller role in the novel, but Anne is so cool it makes me wonder if I need to make the role bigger.  Summer Glau from “Serenity” and “Firefly” might make a better Zoe, she matches Heath’s colouration well for the Rothrock clan, and then we can give Anne blue eyes and make her Gwen.

Neal Rothrock

 One of the reasons this movie will never get made the way I want it to, is the sad reality that Heath Ledger has passed away.  I think he was a marvellous actor, and “Knight’s Tale” is one of my favourite action movies.  I first saw him in “Roar” on television, and knew he’d be bigger.  I look forward to this summer’s new Batman movie, “The Dark Knight,” because I think he’s going to be a fantastic Joker.  He would have made a very nuanced and interesting Neal, but it’s only a dream now.  Rest in peace, Heath.

Ethan Pitney

 Ethan was really hard to cast.  I mean, after all, he’s got a big part and it covers more than forty years.  I’ve always liked Joshua Jackson, ever since “The Mighty Ducks,” and I think Eric Dane from “Grey’s Anatomy” looks like a rugged, older version. 

Mara

 I think it’s really difficult to cast an angel, especially when the character is so important to the story and yet shows up so rarely.  Keira Knightley from “Pirates of the Caribbean” and “Bend it like Beckham” seems to possess the willowy grace and ethereal beauty of the character, don’t you think?  Natalie Portman might be in competition though — I’ve had a fan crush on her since “The Professional.”

Obviously, this isn’t everyone.  I don’t have Raphael, Dan, Owen or Evan.  Primarily because Raphael would be really hard to cast, and the others I don’t have a really clear idea of what they look like yet.  For that matter, I need to find my sketches of Jay and Zoe, and maybe then I can try drawing the others.  Evan is hard because you’d need someone who’s a musician as well as an actor.  Dan is tricky because he has to be a really big guy.  Owen, well, how many redhead actors do you know in their twenties?  I’m not casting Ron Weaselly.

So, what do you think?  Any favourites of your own?  Who would you picture?  I don’t want readers to take this list as definitive — it’s very much a work in progress, and not quite how I picture my creations in my head.  These are just the people that come closest right now.  Send me your thoughts!  Who knows, maybe someday I’ll actually accomplish this dream, and your picks might be available for casting!  I wish .