Nolan's Rants

Agony and Ecstacy: How the 2010 San Francisco Giants Drove a Grown Man to Tears

2010-11-04T21:22:00.000-07:00

"What we obtain too cheap, we esteem too lightly: it is dearness only that gives everything its value." -Thomas Paine, 1776

"If I die before I witness a San Francisco Giants' World Championship, my life will be somewhat incomplete, no matter what else happens." -Andrew Nolan, 2009

My first thought when the tears came was, absurdly, "I wonder if I've ever cried before 10 a.m. before." The next one was, "I'm almost positive I've never cried in front of this many people..."

I'm not much of a crier. Don't do it at movies (except this one). Didn't do it on the day of my wedding, nor at the birth of my son (nicknamed "Panda" before we decided on his real name because of our love for 2009 Pablo Sandoval). I did get a bit choked up the night the Giants won the World Series for the first time in their San Francisco existence.

Oddly, though I had celebrated effusively that night, I still felt a bit...numb. It all seemed a little unreal. After waiting for my conscious life for this to happen, I couldn't quite process it. This team did it? And with relative ease? I'd built it up to be such a Holy Grail, such a vain fantasy, that when it actually happened, when the Giants actually rolled the Rangers in five games...it was a letdown of sorts. Where was the drama? Where was the torture? This wasn't the team I'd followed these many years, knowing that any success was merely a prelude to a massive failure just around the corner.

Catharsis didn't come until approximately 9:30 a.m. on Wednesday, November 3, the morning of the parade that I'd been hoping to attend for the past...well...since I can remember. And it came in the oddest of places: on a BART train.

There are so many things I could write about the 2010 S.F. Giants, but many others have said them already, and better than I have.

I could tell you that part of my "letdown" was that I realized how attached I'd grown to this particular squad, and I wouldn't get to see them play together anymore. They were a constant in my life since April, and they evolved constantly and intriguingly. I devoted many more hours to watching/analyzing/worrying about them than is healthy.

I could tell you that this was the most likable Giants bunch since the late 80's, and possibly ever. It was a "team" in the truest sense of the word. The best team in baseball, for one magical year.

I could tell you how this was a concrete example of the way sports can bring a region together. It's been a long time since we've had a championship around these parts. I don't care if you were a bandwagoner or a die-hard; the Bay Area was buzzing for the Giants during their run.

I could tell you how euphoric it feels to write these words: The 2010 San Francisco Giants are World Champions.

Instead, I'd like to share with you what got me so verklempt at the Embarcadero station the other day, and how it fully epitomizes my jubilance as a Giants fan.

As any Red Sox/White Sox/Cubs/Indians fan could tell you, there is (or was, in the case of both Soxes) a legitimate fear that lifelong fans could pass away before seeing the team he or she devoted so much time, energy and passion to reach the ultimate zenith.

You can tell my high school students haven't been Giants fans for long enough because they say things like "You gotta have faith!" and "Stay positive!" They were eight or nine years old in 2002. Not nearly old enough to have the hole punched through their heart still be a gaping wound eight years later. Heck, I was 13 when the Giants were swept by the crosstown A's in 1989, not to mention for the myriad playoff flameouts in between. It takes time to build up this much agita.

And here's the thing: I never saw Mays play. Or McCovey. Or Marichal. Other than the occasional appearance at the ballpark, they're just statues and old newsreel footage to me. There are people who've been rooting for this team since it moved to San Francisco in 1958 and became part of the fabric of one of the most beautiful cities in the world. Some of them died before they got a chance to watch the outpouring of joy that the rest of us experienced on Wednesday, November 3, at a parade that part of me dreaded would never take place while I walked this earth.

This championship is for all of us. But even more so, it's for them.

Which is why my eyes clouded with tears when I looked to my right on an incredibly impacted BART train and finally saw the sign the woman in the wheelchair who'd gotten on at Rockridge was holding. She had to be in her 80's and was being wheeled around by her similarly-aged husband. There had been too many people for me to see it before, but once the doors opened at Embarcadero, people got off, and I could see the large, orange sign she was holding. Without warning, I was reduced to a quivering mess.

I took a photo with my cell phone camera as quickly as I could, and then awkwardly half-embraced the man pushing the chair, who had seen me trying to document the moment and aimed the woman and the sign toward me. I stammered, "Her sign...it made me cry." His eyes also began to well up. "Me, too" he replied.

Her dad had raised her a Giants fan, who knows how many years ago. He never got to see them march down Market street as World Series Champions in person.

Well, it finally happened. His daughter made sure he didn't miss it.

Thank you, 2010 San Francisco Giants. Thank you, from all of us.

My Ten Favorite Movies of the Decade

2010-01-04T20:27:00.000-08:00

Same rules apply here as to my music blogs (songs and albums). Unlike with music, I consider myself a pretty astute judge of film. Still, I'm perfectly aware that there are others more qualified than I to make a "Best of" list for the decade. Thus, movies that I consider works of art, such as Brokeback Mountain and There Will Be Blood will only make the honorable mentions list. As great as I think they are, I don't want to watch them over and over again.

Therefore, this list should be considered the 10 movies that I never got sick of. If I see any of these showing on cable, I'm guaranteed to watch for at least 15 minutes.

First, the honorable mentions:

The Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers (2002), Almost Famous (2000), Star Wars Episode III: Revenge of the Sith (2005), Mission: Impossible III (2006), X-Men (2000) and X-2: X-Men United (2003), Hotel Rwanda (2004), Brokeback Mountain (2005), Star Trek (2009), Old School (2003), Casino Royale (2006), Bowling for Columbine (2002), Children of Men (2006), The 40-Year-Old Virgin (2005), Milk (2008), Miracle (2004), Road to Perdition (2002), Super Troopers (2001), There Will Be Blood (2007), Unbreakable (2000), Training Day (2001), Jay and Silent Bob Strike Back (2001), Grizzly Man, (2005), The Bourne Supremacy (2004), Kill Bill, Vols I and II (2003, 2004).

The two films I had the toughest time omitting (Honorable Honorable Mentions?): Batman Begins (2005) and Garden State (2004). Begins would've made it if I didn't like The Dark Knight even better, and Garden State would've made it if Zach Braff had let someone else play the lead instead of moping through his otherwise excellent film.

The top 10:

10. The Departed (2006)
A brilliant mobster/cop flick where everyone's throwing their fastball, sans perhaps Jack, who decided to chew scenery rather than craft a three-dimensional character. The rest of the cast more than makes up for it. Damon and DiCaprio are so good they make me want to see an inverse version of the film where they switch roles. Wouldn't that be fascinating?

The film's got crackerjack tough-guy dialogue as well, like this exchange after DiCaprio punches a guy for demeaning his choice of cranberry juice at the bar:

Mr. French: [calmly] Hey, hey, hey... do you know me?
Billy Costigan: No, no.
Mr. French: Well, I'm the guy that tells you there are guys you can hit and there's guys you can't. Now, that's not quite a guy you can't hit, but it's almost a guy you can't hit. So I'm gonna make a fuckin' ruling on this right now. You don't fuckin' hit him. You understand?

However, Wahlberg gets the best lines. My favorite:

Dignam: This is unbelievable. Who put the fuckin' cameras in this place?
Police Camera Tech: Who the fuck are you?
Dignam: I'm the guy who does his job. You must be the other guy.

9. Anchorman: The Legend of Ron Burgundy (2004)
This loving ode to the 70's is by far my favorite Will Ferrell performance. Is it a great film? No, but it's absurdly funny.

When I first saw this movie, by myself on dvd, I'm not sure I even liked it. Oh, there were some chuckles here and there, but nothing special, I thought. Anchorman is like one of those catchy pop tunes on the radio, though. The lines just went around and around in my head and got funnier on repeated viewings. It eventually ended up my most quoted film of the decade.

To wit:

Ron Burgundy: I love scotch. Scotchy, scotch, scotch. Here it goes down, down into my belly...

Veronica Corningstone: My God, what is that smell? Oh.
Brian Fantana: That's the smell of desire my lady.
Veronica Corningstone: God no, it smells like, like a used diaper... filled with... Indian food. Oh, excuse me.
Brian Fantana: You know, desire smells like that to some people.
News Station Employee: What is that? Smells like a turd covered in burnt hair.
News Station Employee: Smells like Bigfoot's dick.

Ron Burgundy: You are a smelly pirate hooker.
Veronica Corningstone: You look like a blueberry.
Ron Burgundy: Why don't you go back to your home on Whore Island?

[to Baxter the dog]
Ron Burgundy: What? You pooped in the refrigerator? And you ate the whole... wheel of cheese? How'd you do that? Heck, I'm not even mad; that's amazing.

Ron Burgundy: I don't know how to put this but I'm kind of a big deal.
Veronica Corningstone: Really.
Ron Burgundy: People know me.
Veronica Corningstone: Well, I'm very happy for you.
Ron Burgundy: I'm very important. I have many leather-bound books and my apartment smells of rich mahogany.

Ron Burgundy: Discovered by the Germans in 1904, they named it San Diego, which of course in German means a whale's vagina.
Veronica Corningstone: No, there's no way that's correct.
Ron Burgundy: I'm sorry, I was trying to impress you. I don't know what it means. I'll be honest, I don't think anyone knows what it means anymore. Scholars maintain that the translation was lost hundreds of years ago.
Veronica Corningstone: Doesn't it mean Saint Diego?
Ron Burgundy: No. No.
Veronica Corningstone: No, that's - that's what it means. Really.
Ron Burgundy: Agree to disagree.

Ron Burgundy: I'm gonna punch you in the ovary, that's what I'm gonna do. A straight shot. Right to the babymaker.

And, of course, the immortal Brick Tamland (Steve Carrell)...

Brick Tamland: I love... carpet.
[pause]
Brick Tamland: I love... desk.
Ron Burgundy: Brick, are you just looking at things in the office and saying that you love them?
Brick Tamland: I love lamp.
Ron Burgundy: Do you really love the lamp, or are you just saying it because you saw it?
Brick Tamland: I love lamp. I love lamp.

...and my favorite moment of the film:

Ron Burgundy: Boy, that escalated quickly... I mean, that really got out of hand fast.
Champ Kind: It jumped up a notch.
Ron Burgundy: It did, didn't it?
Brick Tamland: Yeah, I stabbed a man in the heart.
Ron Burgundy: I saw that. Brick killed a guy. Did you throw a trident?
Brick Tamland: Yeah, there were horses, and a man on fire, and I killed a guy with a trident.
Ron Burgundy: Brick, I've been meaning to talk to you about that. You should find yourself a safehouse or a relative close by. Lay low for a while, because you're probably wanted for murder.

8. Spider-Man 2 (2004)
A couple years ago, this would be higher on my list, but for whatever reason it hasn't aged for me as well as some of the others. I haven't watched it in a while. It's possible I'm also downgrading it because of the colossal wreck that is Spider-Man 3. Anyway, it's still beloved.

Like many sagas, Spider-Man really hits its stride in the second installment. All that origin stuff is out of the way; now Peter must deal with being a hero and the toll that can take on one's social life. He goes through the same doubt that anyone does when they undergo a huge lifestyle change. What did I just do? Is it too late to take it back?

He loses his mojo for a while, which is something else we can all relate to. However, he has enough of it to save everyone's bacon in one of my favorite scenes of the decade. The train rescue itself is great, but what gives me chills is the part at the end where the passengers catch Spider-Man and pass him backward through the train. When the little kid says, "Don't worry. We won't tell," (unfortunately, it's not in this clip) well, let's just say my allergies start acting up.

7. The Bourne Identity (2002)
The second installment might be a better film, and the third is no slouch, either (although I could never quite get into it the way I can the first two). However, the first Bourne movie was so refreshingly different than any other action/spy thriller that came before it.

It's hard to recall now, but the odds were stacked against this film being a success. Nobody thought of Matt Damon as an action star; it turned out he was the best choice for the agile, cerebral Bourne. The film's director (Doug Lyman) was known for making hip comedies like Swingers and Go, not helming an action franchise. Nevertheless, his kinetic style serves as the perfect tone for the techno cool of the film.

Not only does The Bourne Identity get credit for being awesome on its own merit, it also deserves kudos for inspiring the amazing Bond reboot, Casino Royale. There's no way that movie gets made in the style it did without taking its blueprint from Bourne.

In terms of cerebral action, both Bourne's escape from the embassy and his Mini Cooper joyride are as good as it gets, without our hero firing a shot and with nary an explosion in sight. That sound you just heard was Michael Bay snorting in derision.

6. Borat: Cultural Learnings of America for Make Benefit Glorious Nation of Kazakhstan (2006)
Have I ever laughed harder in the movie theatre? Not in my adult life (seeing The Naked Gun when I was 12 probably wins out all-time). The truly amazing thing about the most hilarious film of the decade is that my expectations were incredibly high going in. I was a fan of The Ali G Show, where the Borat character originated. The buzz before the film's release was otherworldly. Still, I found myself crying tears of laughter along with a packed house on opening night at Sasha Baron Cohen's antics.

Admittedly, some of the scenes are one-trick ponies because of their shock value. You can only get the full comedic effect of the nude wrestling or the "attempted kidnapping" of Pamela Anderson once. But a line like this gives me the giggles just thinking about it:

Sometime my sister, she show her vazhïn to my brother Bilo and say "You will never get this you will never get it la la la la la la." He behind his cage. He cries, he cries and everybody laughs. She goes "You never get this." But one time he break cage and he "get this" and then we all laugh. High five!

Like any great satire, the film can be enjoyed on two levels. My teenage students think it's funny because "It's so racist!" (this applies to stupid adults as well). The rest of us are able to see that Borat is not skewering Kazakhstan or Jews but our own cultural ignorance (not to mention geographical ignorance- the Kazakhstan bits are actually filmed in Romania, neither of which most Americans could get close to finding on a map).

Regardless of one's comedic acumen, everyone is rolling when Borat and his portly assistant throw money at the cockroaches, supposedly a kindly old Jewish couple who have "changed their shape." Or when Borat demands of a woman at a garage sale, "Gypsy, give me your tears." Or when Borat addresses a cheering rodeo crowd, "May George Bush drink the blood of every single man, woman, and child of Iraq!"

5. Lord of the Rings: Fellowship of the Ring (2001)
A funny thing happened here. When I first wrote my list, I had the first Lord of the Rings movie as an honorable mention, and The Two Towers made the Top 10. I had convinced myself that it was my favorite of the three excellent films. Then I started thinking about all the moments from the movies I liked...and 70% of them came from Fellowship.

The mines of Moria scene is still the series' seminal moment. It's the spot when the daunting challenge of Peter Jackson's really long movies about wizards, elves, and hobbits suddenly became, "Holy crap! This is actually going to work!" When it comes down to it, if I could only watch one of the three LOR films for the rest of my life, it would be this one, which came as a surprise to even me.

4. The Dark Knight (2008)
There's been a revisionist tendency to describe this film as overrated after the initial rush of praise. Sorry, I still love it. It's filled with tension; there's not a dull moment. Bale's "Batman voice," first mocked, has now become a pop culture staple. I still believe the movie missed an opportunity, but that will affect further installments, not this masterpiece.

3. The Ring (2002)
I love horror movies the way a fat kid loves cake. It's my guilty pleasure genre, and I end up sitting through a lot of dreck in search of a few good scares. Most of my favorite horror films (Halloween, The Exorcist, A Nightmare on Elm Street) came out before I was alive/allowed to watch them in the theatres; thus, The Ring is the most scared I've ever been at the movies, narrowly edging The Blair Witch Project. When Samara crawls out of the well and through the tv at the end, I can still remember what I said aloud, squirming with the rest of the opening night crowd: "Oh my god, you've got to be f#%&ing s@#tting me."

It would've been one of the best horror films of the decade if it had ended after the harrowing scene with Naomi Watts "rescuing" Samara out of the well. That double climax just made it an instant classic. Basically, you're on edge of your seat from the masterful opening scene with the two girls alone in the house, and it never lets up. The tape that supposedly kills you if you watch it itself is unsettling, and when you get home and realize that you've also seen it, you're just hoping that the tv isn't on static when you turn it on, or you just might wet yourself.

As for The Ring 2, let's all just pretend it never happened, shall we?

2. Donnie Darko (2001)
I already covered this extensively. Click it or ticket.

1. Forgetting Sarah Marshall (2008)
When I sat down to make this list, it was the first one I wrote down. Still, I figured something would eventually surpass it. I mean, it's a silly little comedy movie. Hell, let's face it; it's pretty much a romantic comedy. I hate romantic comedies!

Or do I?

Isn't what I hate about most romantic comedies what I hate about other crappy genre flicks? They stick to formula. They're usually merely star vehicles. They're sloppily written. They're full of flat characters. They're cynically aimed at an audience who doesn't care about any of that; they want to turn their brains off and drink in the formula.

It occurred to me that another favorite, eminently re-watchable movie of mine is Say Anything, essentially another rom-com. So it's not this genre of film I necessarily hate (although I certainly don't gravitate to it), it's just that very, very few of them do love and funny as well as Sarah Marshall.

It's one of the few films that gives me a grin just thinking about it. I own it on blu-ray and also have it saved on my dvr. My wife asked me why, and I told her it was because we don't have a blu-ray player in the bedroom, and I might want to watch part of it when I'm down there. It easily passes the "If it's on cable, will I watch for at least 15 minutes?" test. Speaking of my wife, she had to threaten a divorce if I didn't stop singing "Die...die...die...I can't" from "Dracula's Lament."

There's simply nothing I don't like about this film. Most importantly, all the characters are multi-dimensional and believable. Even the supposed "bad guy," Aldous Snow, is a pretty decent fellow. Main character Peter Bretter reluctantly admits, "Fuck, you're cool!" Those typical "cute" romantic comedy moments never feel forced, even though they're all there: The first kiss, the first fight, and the guy gets the girl.

Then there's the fact that it's funny as hell. Lance already posted a lot of his favorite lines in his own blog about Sarah Marshall, but I can list a bunch more without repeating any.

Brian: You don't need to put your P in a V right now.
Peter Bretter: No, I need to B my L on someone's T's.

Brian: Look. Liz and I, we think the world of Sarah. We think she's great. But, and I'm just being honest here, every time she would come over to our house, she always acted, you know, like a... like a little bitch. Okay, okay, okay, pump the brakes.
Peter Bretter: Dating Sarah is not like dating Liz, okay? Sarah is better than Liz!
Brian: You really want to have this conversation? Do you really want to have this conversation?
Peter Bretter: Yes.
Brian: [screaming] She is the mother of my unborn child!
Peter Bretter: [meekly] Sorry.
Brian: You're my step-brother! We're not even blood! I have no qualms with sticking you! I will equalize you!
Peter Bretter: Sorry.
Brian: You dick!

Sarah Marshall: When were you planning on telling me this?
Aldous Snow: I just told you, then.
Sarah Marshall: Yeah. No, I know. But telling me now isn't really the same as telling me.
Aldous Snow: Well, look, you know, I've not told you I've got genital herpes, because it's not inflamed at the moment...

Kunu: [singing to himself] Oh the weather outside is weather...

Aldous: It was like going on holiday ... not with Hitler maybe — but Goebbels, yeah.

I'll leave you with my favorite moment from the film:

My 20 Favorite Songs of the Decade

2010-01-01T17:36:00.000-08:00

I found this nearly impossible.

Albums are one thing. But songs? Even if you mainly stick to pop and rock (as I do), that's still a ton of material to go through. Initially, I was trying to reign myself in and hold to just 10 songs. However, there were a bunch that I just couldn't stomach leaving out. Then it occurred to me: Why am I torturing myself? It's my blog, ain't it? I make the rules here. So you, constant readers, get 2X the list and 2X the music. Happy New Year!

The same disclaimer applies as it did for this blog on my 10 favorite albums. I'm not saying these are the 20 "best" songs of the decade. I don't know how you'd do that, anyway; musical tastes are so subjective. These are just my 20 favorites as of today. If you asked me to make this same list tomorrow, I'll bet there would be five or six different entries, and the order would be all switched around. Thus, the numerous honorable mentions that follow (and I guarantee I'll be kicking myself for not including tunes on there, as well).

A couple thoughts, before I get on with the main attraction. First, I welcome all criticisms and comments. Half the fun of making lists is the discussion they generate. I would just remind you that it's pretty easy to trash the work of others (and these blogs have taken me several hours) when you yourself put nothing on the line. These are my choices. If you don't like them, suggest some of your own or debate the wisdom of certain picks with thoughtful critique. Simply indignantly spluttering that I have terrible taste in music, with nothing insightful nor intelligent to back up your assertions, kind of makes you an asshole.

One last thing. When writing about one's favorite music, you can take three different tacts:

1. Mention critically-acclaimed and respected acts (Radiohead, The Arcade Fire, etc.) in order to have your assertions immediately backed. Very safe.
2. Name a bunch of esoteric, relatively unknown bands, along with the fact that you don't listen to the radio and hate MTV. This will give you instant indie cred, although few will care about what you have to say, because most have never heard of these artists.
3. Be honest and acknowledge what you love, no matter how it makes you look. The bravest choice.

I guess what I'm trying to say is that by making these lists with a pure heart and putting them out for public consumption (and evisceration), I'm pretty courageous. Not as brave as William Wallace or Martin Luther King, maybe, but probably right around Ghandi's level.

The honorable mentions, in no discernible order:
Coldplay: "In My Place" and "A Rush of Blood to the Head," Jimmy Eat World: "Kill" and "Big Casino," Bouncing Souls: "Lean on Sheena," Augustana: "Boston," Pearl Jam: "Come Back," "Unthought Known" and "Force of Nature," Outkast: "Hey Ya," Muse: "Hysteria," Social Distortion: "Don't Take Me for Granted," Taking Back Sunday: "Cute Without the 'E'," Taylor Swift: "You Belong With Me," My Chemical Romance: "Helena" and "Famous Last Words," Frightened Rabbit: "Head Rolls Off," Katy Perry: "Hot and Cold" and "Thinking of You," Fountains of Wayne: "Mexican Wine," Regina Spektor: "On the Radio," All-American Rejects: "Swing, Swing" Alicia Keys: "No One," The Strokes: "Sometimes" and "Reptilia," Rhianna: "Umbrella," Liz Phair: "Why Can't I?" and "Red Light Fever," Dashboard Confessional: "Vindicated," Hilary Duff: "So Yesterday," New Found Glory: "My Friends Over You," Interpol: "Evil," MXPX: "Heard That Sound" and "Quit Your Life," (my first-dance wedding song) Death Cab for Cutie: "I Will Follow You Into the Dark," Jack's Mannequin: "The Mixed Tape," Yellowcard: "Empty Apartment," Mary J. Blige featuring U2: "One," The Killers: "Jenny Was a Friend of Mine," "All These Things That I've Done," and "Spaceman," Bloc Party: "Helicopter," Silversun Pickups: "Well Thought-Out Twinkles" and "Panic Switch," Against Me!: "Thrash Unreal," Paramore: "Crushcrushcrush," Kate Nash: "Foundations," MGMT: "Time to Pretend," The Ting-Tings: "That's Not My Name," Glen Hansard and Marketa Irglova: "Falling Slowly," M.I.A.: "Paper Planes," T.I. featuring Rhianna: "Live Your Life," The Sounds: "No One Sleeps When I'm Awake," Avril Lavigne: "Don't Tell Me" and "How Does it Feel?," Enrique Iglesias: "Escape," Lady Gaga: "Poker Face" and "Bad Romance," The White Stripes: "Blue Orchid" and "Icky Thump," Pink: "Don't Let Me Get Me" and "So What?," Blink-182: "Always," "Feeling This," and "I Miss You," Green Day: "Waiting," "Minority," "Church on Sunday," "Holiday," "Letterbomb," and "Whatsername," Rhett Miller: "Our Love," The Shins: "New Slang" and "Phantom Limb," The Fray: "How to Save a Life," Britney Spears: "Oops, I Did it Again."

My top 20:

20. The Killers: "When You Were Young" (Sam's Town, 2006)
The mark of any truly great song is that you never tire of hearing it. I'm not sick of this one yet, despite its ubiquitous presence.

19. U2: "Walk On" (All That You Can't Leave Behind, 2000)
Back from when U2 "reapplied for the position of biggest band in the world." Mission accomplished, at least for the first part of the decade. Then they made No Line on the Horizon and ended not with a bang, but a whimper.

18. All-American Rejects: "Move Along" (Move Along, 2005)
A real pick-me-upper, this one. Yeah, it's relentlessly earnest, but I'm about as cynical as they come, and this song inspires me.

17. Taking Back Sunday: "Makedamnsure" (Louder Now, 2006)
Hardcore TBS fans will castigate me for choosing the band's mainstream hit, but there's a reason it's their biggest song: It's awesome. I even made this the ringtone on my phone for when Eileen called. "I just wanna break you down so badly..." Completely ironic, of course.

16. Beyonce: "Irreplaceable" (B'day, 2006)
"To the left, to the left." Beyonce's fierce kiss off to a cheating spouse is irresistible, no matter one's gender.

15. Grandaddy: "Now It's On" (Sumday, 2003)
A melodic, quirky little tune whose greatness sneaks up on you. Had this video saved on my tivo for a year because my former roommate "British" Sam Dean would request me to play it by saying, "Mate, give me my click" (watch the beginning of the clip, and you'll get it).

14. Jimmy Eat World: "A Praise Chorus" (Bleed American, 2001)
Driven and sentimental, this is the song that made me fall madly in love with Jimmy Eat World. Contains several allusions to other rock songs, the most obvious being "Crimson and Clover," but there are more subtle references to acts as widely disparate as Motley Crue and They Might Be Giants. Clever, hopeful songwriting.

13. Weezer: "Perfect Situation" (Make Believe, 2005)
I love the way the opening guitar builds in intensity and then explodes into a sweet solo, leading into River's plaintive lyrics. It's also one of my favorite videos of the decade; it captures Elisha Cuthbert (24's Kim Bauer) at the apex of her hotness.

12. My Chemical Romance: "Welcome to the Black Parade" (The Black Parade, 2006)
Epic, bombastic, impassioned...right up my alley.

11. Dashboard Confessional: "Hands Down" (MTV Unplugged, 2002)
Despite the annoying sing-a-long crowd, I prefer this version to the electric one. Based on this song's inclusion, you'd think I was a hopeless romantic. I'm not, but whatever romantic bone I have in me is tickled by this charming little ditty.

10. The Dixie Chicks: "Not Ready to Make Nice" (Taking the Long Way, 2006)
I despise most country music. But this song isn't country. It's punk. It's a big, angry F.U. to the ignorant masses who turned on the Chicks for having the gall to suggest the Iraq war wasn't such a good idea. Boy, the egg's really on their faces, huh? The best part is the the violin solo after Natalie Mains' incredulous wail about dealing with death threats from moronic rednecks. Chills.

9. All-American Rejects: "The Last Song" (The All-American Rejects, 2003)
I want this song played at my funeral. There won't be a dry eye in the place.

8. Snow Patrol: "Run" (Final Straw, 2003)
I can remember hearing this for the first time on the radio and thinking "Who is THAT?" I'm a sucker for a soaring guitar solo, and this song's got a great one.

7. Sum 41: "Walking Disaster" (Underclass Hero, 2007)
I still can't figure out why this song never took off on alternative radio. Whatever; it pushes my foot to the gas pedal, the mark of any great rock tune.

6. Fall Out Boy: "Sugar, We're Going Down" (From Under the Cork Tree, 2005)
I dig the way the song starts, with the drum beat then the guitar crash. Even better are the lyrics: "I'm just a notch in your bed post, but you're just a line in a song" just edges out "Wishing to be the friction in your jeans." Classic.

5. My Chemical Romance: "Disenchanted" (The Black Parade, 2006)
Sometimes you can like a song because you haven't heard it a ton of times. This one never became a single, which makes me overvalue it, perhaps. All I know is that it's my favorite song on one of my favorite albums.

Kelly Clarkson: "Since U Been Gone" (Breakaway, 2004)
The odds of this song being this high are astronomical once you factor in that I have a petition to ban American Idol posted in my classroom. Before I heard this, I was willing to hate on anything that was spawned by that mind-sucking show. Such is the power of this incredibly singalong-able tune. The quintessential pop song of the decade.

3. The Killers: "Mr. Brightside" (Hot Fuss, 2004)
Who doesn't love a good "My heart has been ripped out of my chest and stomped on" song? The tune's got just the right pinch of optimism to go with Brandon Flowers' repeated lament after the bridge: "I never..." Never what? I don't know, but I never tire of listening to his pain.

2. Green Day: "Jesus of Suburbia" (American Idiot, 2004)
By all rights, this song shouldn't work. It's a nine-minute magnum opus by a band known for poppy three-minute chordfests. It has five distinct movements. It's incredibly thematic and ambitious, bordering on pretentious. To get any radio airplay at all, it would have to be magnificent. Done and done. This anthem will be remembered in the same way something like "Won't Get Fooled Again" is.

1. Jimmy Eat World: "23" (Futures, 2004)
No matter where else I turned, this one kept coming back to me. I believe it's the song I listened to the most this decade, and since it clocks in at over seven minutes, that's a lot of time we spent together. I have an intensely personal connection to it, despite being 28 when it came out, not 23 (I'm probably at least five years immature, anyway). The song simply speaks to me, especially regarding my relationship with my wife (who wasn't my wife then). It's about coming to terms with adulthood, with waking up one day and realizing it's about time to get your shit together and grow up. If it weren't so long, we probably would've used it for our first dance at our wedding. Musically, I'm enthralled by its slow build and epic climax, followed by the gentle fade out. Achingly beautiful.

Blog-a-Movie Month Thoughts, Clarifications and Acceptance Speech

2009-12-31T12:30:00.000-08:00

Well, another Blog-a-Month challenge has come and gone, and again I have prevailed. Lance and Scott didn't even bother to claim victory, such was the enormity of the gap between us. I'd like to thank you, constant reader, for anointing me champion yet again. Without your comments and support, I wouldn't have been able to complete this most arduous and worthy of tasks.

Many of you have written and suggested different "reviews" for me to write. I'd like to clarify that I wasn't writing reviews, per se. I used to do that for my college newspaper, and what I've written during BAM month wouldn't fly there.

Early on, I wrote about how our own experiences and expectations inform our enjoyment (or lack thereof) of movies. I took most objective film criticism out of these entries and tried to judge them based on what I personally felt about the movie, which depended largely on how old I was when I saw it, what was going on my life, and what I'd heard about the film before I watched it. Proper journalistic film reviews do not and should not be written that way. But it's my blog, and no one's paying me, so I can do whatever I want.

My grading system reflects that. Sometimes, the hardest part of the pieces would come at the end, when I had to give it a mark. Oddly, a lot of times other people's critiques of the film would factor into the grade.

For instance, Taken probably isn't a D+ unless you factor in that it made a ton of money. When crappy movies are financially successful, this makes me angry, and I take that rage out on middling films. Ditto award-winners. Million Dollar Baby won Best Picture. I consider that a travesty. As a film existing in a vacuum, it's probably better than the C I gave it. But film doesn't exist in a vacuum, now does it? Black holes do. I think.

On the other hand, I tried to write about movies that I consider underrated, thus upping their grades. Ironically, I've now increased people's expectations for something like Kicking and Screaming to the point that they will almost certainly be let down. Trainspotting may not actually be an A+, but it came out when I was in college, and I had the time to watch it roughly 27 times.

I'll end the month with two more examples to illustrate my point: My favorite and least favorite movies of all time.

The Empire Strikes Back is the first film I can remember seeing in the theatre. I was four years old, and I don't think I'd seen the original Star Wars (A New Hope). Remember, this was in the days before most people had access to watching movies in their homes, other than on t.v.

I was enthralled (and a little terrified) from the first scenes where Luke is attacked by the snow monster. I was convinced it was the same one that lived at the top of the Matterhorn ride at Disneyland. Then came the AT-AT walkers. They could've ended the movie after the AT-AT attack, and I would've left convinced that there would never be a better one. By the time Vader reveals he's Luke's father, I think it's safe to say that my mind was not just blown. I'd say obliterated is a better term. I spent the next three years driving my dad insane by repeatedly asking the same two questions: "Is Darth Vader really Luke's dad?" (I was still hopefully clinging to Luke's assertion, "It's a lie! It's not possible!") and "When does the next movie come out?"

As I grew, the film grew with me. It's undeniably the darkest of the original flicks, and there are no wasted moments. Every scene either develops the characters or moves the story along (which cannot be said for the unfortunate prequels). It's got one of the greatest ad-libs of all time (Han's "I know" response to Leia's declaration of love), a great cliffhanger ending, plus Boba Fett and Lando Calrissian. Magnificent.

Nolanometer Final Grade: A+

Transformers is the perfect example of a very bad film that has now reached national disaster status because of the reactions of others.

I'm not going to go into everything that's wrong with this excruciating movie because it's New Year's Eve, and I have a party to go to. Lance does it here, anyway, and I'd just be repeating what he wrote.

What really makes me hate Michael Bay's cynical, clusterfuck of a film (and although I haven't seen the second one, from everything I've heard, it's even worse) is that it appeals to only the most base instincts of moviegoers. Actually, it doesn't even appeal to that. As Lance noted, the action scenes are loud and confusing. There's absolutely nothing likable about the film, at least for someone who has seen movies before and cares about the medium of film.

Yet, teenagers and unsophisticated adults (I chose that last adjective carefully- you should've seen some of the ones I discarded) made this a giant hit. Many will assure you that it's one of the best movies ever, if not the best.

Here's where personal bias comes into play. If you don't work with teens, you probably didn't have to hear over and over again how "amazing" this piece of dung is. You didn't see the way Bay and co. were able to market and sell this abortion to the unthinking masses. You didn't have to deal with the fact that rewarding detritus like Transformers with huge box office receipts only means that they're going to make more awful, noisy, plotless nonsense like this, and I'll have to hear about how "amazing" those movies are with every coming generation, while I have to try and convince them that there just might be more merit to, say, Shakespeare.

Anyway, on its own, Transformers is probably somewhere in the D range. But because I'm stuck with all these ignorant admonitions about its greatness, it's currently my least favorite movie ever. Until Michael Bay fucks up some other treasured childhood memory, that is.

Nolanometer Final Grade: F-

Again, thanks for reading all this indignant nonsense. I'm announcing my retirement from any other Blog-a-Month endeavors, as I'm going to have a son near the end of next month. From what I'm told, they take up at least 15 minutes or so of your time per day, so squeezing in mandatory blogs could be tricky. Have no fear; I'm not retiring from blogging in general. As long as you keep reading them, I'll keep writing them. Remember, without feedback, I don't know who's paying attention, so drop me a quick comment whenever you can to let me know you're out there.

As a parting gift, be sure to check out three special edition blogs to start off the new year. I'll be posting my top music and movies of the decade. So you've got that going for you, which is nice.

Bowling for Columbine

2009-12-30T13:42:00.001-08:00

Michael Moore's best movie is also his most misunderstood. He has a well-deserved reputation as a dyed-in-the-wool liberal, but this is perhaps his least political film. People who haven't seen it (largely because they despise Moore and won't watch anything involving him) think it's a pro-gun control film, and that message is certainly present. But it's certainly not the overarching one.

What Moore set out to do was explore a question that most citizens just assume as a way of life in this country: Why do Americans kill each other with guns far more than anyone else does? What is it about our culture that causes gun violence?

As he points out in the film, if it were simply a matter of the number of guns or having access to them, Canadians would have even more gun deaths than we do. If it were violent video games or movies causing, then lots of other countries would have the same problem. If it were merely "a violent history," then wouldn't nations with a track record of starting wars (yeah, we're lookin' at you, Germany) have bigger problems?

There is simply something about the American character that causes us to solve our problems with firearms. Moore's thesis is that stricter gun laws would help, but more importantly, our attitudes need to change. We simply must learn to solve conflicts non-violently. That applies from the street corner to the Middle East.

Although we think of ourselves as a brave people, Columbine shows us to be a fearful nation, overreacting to every conceivable danger. It shows us Canadians who leave their front doors unlocked. It doesn't make them an ideal society; people still get robbed. It does show that they don't let fear govern their lives, along with their national foreign policy.

Most identify the movie by its final scene, where Moore confronts Charlton Heston, then the head of the National Rifle Association, who refused to cancel an NRA conference in Denver just a week after the Columbine shooting. Depending on where you fall on the political spectrum, you either saw that segment as an ambush of a harmless old man, or as a "gotcha" moment where the leader of a powerful and damaging organization is confronted with the consequences of his group's actions. You can probably figure out which side I fall on.

To me, though, the film's most telling moment is when Moore interviews the father of one of the Columbine massacre's victims. He asks the man, "What is it about Americans that makes us kill each other with guns?" The father replies, "I don't know, what is it?" Moore answers, "That's what I'm asking you!"

The film doesn't have a definitive answer (nor solution), but at least the questions it asks are fascinating and essential. In fact, I've had teenage students watch the whole thing, not even realize they've just viewed a documentary. Some of them even want to discuss it afterward. Believe me, that's quite a feat, no matter what your politics are.

Nolanometer Final Grade: A-

Marley and Me

2009-12-29T11:29:00.000-08:00

I don't cry at movies. Ever. In fact, I don't really cry all that much in general. Maybe once every couple of years or so at a funeral, but that's it. Occasionally, I'll get a bit choked up and feel some tears welling while watching something like this, but that's about it.

This movie destroyed me.

I know I'm not alone, especially because my mom told me about weeping when she and my stepdad saw it in the movie theatre. But moms cry all the time. And here's the thing: I had read the book. I knew exactly what was going to happen. From looking at the dopey poster and the goofy trailers, I thought they were going to turn the film into a schmaltzy romantic comedy.

I give the filmmakers credit. It could've easily been merely a vehicle for Jennifer Aniston and Owen Wilson featuring comic relief from an adorable lab. But it's really not a rom-com at all. There aren't a lot of sappy moments. The couple can't even "meet cute;" the story starts after they've already been together for some time. It's a far better movie than it has any right to be, since it's essentially just the story of a man trying to deal with his family, his career, and his dog.

Of course, the dog is key. Marley is "the worst dog ever," but that's part of his charm. Well, at least most of the time. He drives Aniston's character to the brink at one point; she even threatens to get rid of him for good. Ultimately, the sweet and adorable moments Marley provides (such as the touching scene where he calmly rests his head in a sobbing Aniston's lap after she learns she has miscarried) make him a valued member of the family.

I'm reasonably certain that I'm not spoiling anything by going into the ending here, but just in case you've never heard of this flick, you might want to stop reading now. Anyway, Marley gets old near the end of the film and eventually must be put to sleep. I knew this was going to happen. I had read the friggin' book. I thought I was prepared. But man, Director David Frankel really went for the heartstrings here.

If this were a movie about a dying person, I would've rolled my eyes and moaned at the emotional manipulation. But here's the thing: Dogs are better than people. They're more loyal, loving, giving, fun, repentant, protective, etc. One of my favorite sayings is "Lord, please help me be the person my dog thinks I am."

What the movie does well is show the loving simplicity of the relationship between a dog and its owner. All the other aspects of Wilson's life are complicated and full of trials and tribulations. But every day when he comes home, Marley's happy to see him. Marley will always go for a run. Marley will always chase the ball.

Until Marley starts limping a little. And then his stomach twists on itself. And then Wilson is hunched over a terminal Marley, lying limply on the veterinarian's table, and he's stroking the dog, and telling Marley "You're a great dog" over and over...

At that point, I was still holding it together...barely. But then they cut to a shot of the oldest son, putting in a videotape full of Marley moments with the family. Back to the vet's, where the camera shows the needle going into the i.v. tube, and it's all too much. If you've ever loved a dog through its natural life and had to put it down, you will sob just like I did. By the time they bury Marley in the backyard, and they ask the boy if there's anything he wants to tell his dog, and he tearily responds, "He knows," well, you'd have to be Stalin or Idi Amin or something to not be affected.

This qualifies as a pretty good movie that I never want to see ever again. It's just too much trouble to change that "Has gone ___ days without crying" sign hanging in my mantic.

Nolanometer Final Grade: B

Doomsday

2009-12-28T16:10:00.000-08:00

A few weeks back, while discussing illegal immigration, a few of my more machismo boys suggested building "a giant wall, like in Doomsday!" Be reassured that I attempted to bring the conversation back to a more intellectual direction, but they kept referencing scenarios from this movie I'd never heard of with a degree of superficial reverence only teenage boys can muster. I saw that it was showing on cable, so I dvr'd it and took it on one night.

It's a loud, gory, unrelentingly stupid film. That's what I get for listening to my students. To be fair, it isn't horrible. It has its charms (likable or interesting lead characters are not among them). However, it plays like a mishmash of three or four different 80's apocalypse movies, with The Road Warrior being most prevalent, along with a dash of Escape from New York. What seemed fresh and edgy to these kids who've likely never seen the source material was hackneyed for me.

Doomsday straddles the line between wanting to be an big, suspenseful action thriller and laughing at itself, tongue firmly in cheek. Director Neil Marshall (who played it straight in the excellent The Descent) really needed to choose a side here and decide whether he was making an homage to those 80's films or just ripping off their most sensational aspects. He never quite gets there, and the result is a bloody mess.

Are you waiting for me to tell you the plot? Trust me; it doesn't really matter. The premise is that Scotland has been walled of because of a killer virus, and those left behind the wall (but immune to the virus) go all Mad Max. It's a zombie movie without actual zombies, just the dying and the insane. There's rape, cannibalism, and a stage show with pyrotechnics.

There is one truly unique, memorable aspect to Doomsday. If you like beheadings, this is your flick. There have got to be at least five or six different instances of decapitation. Some of them are posthumous, some of them sudden and shocking, and at least a couple are replete with the head still reacting after being detached or even shrieking as it flies through the air.

If that's your kind of thing, you may think this is the greatest movie ever. Twenty years ago, I'd be right there with you.

Nolanometer Final Grade: C-

Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince

2009-12-27T15:59:00.000-08:00

Incubus, Dostoevsky, Law and Order, white wine, NASCAR. What do all these things have in common? They are beloved by many, but I just don't get them. The Harry Potter phenomenon belongs at the top of that list.

Before the HP legions descend on me in fury, I'm not saying that Harry Potter is stupid, or poorly written, or trendy, or anything. I just don't get it.

When I tell this to fans of the franchise, they always look at me as if I just said, "You know what tastes good? Poop on a stick."

They always have the remedy: "Well, have you even read the books or watched the movies?"

I tell them yes, I read the first two books. They both struck me as elongated Scooby Doo episodes, where a group of young detectives must solve a mystery that reveals the villain at the end. They always say, "Oh, but it gets so much better!" Well, if I'm not into it at all after two full novels, I don't think a lightbulb's suddenly going to go off in my head when I plow through five more.

Then there are the movies. After yesterday's interminable viewing of Half-Blood Prince, I've now seen all of them except Order of the Phoenix. I guess I sort of liked Prisoner of Azkaban. That's about the best thing I can say for any of them.

Clearly, I'm missing whatever d.n.a. that causes one to like Harry Potter. There's really no reason I shouldn't. I like fantasy; the Lord of the Rings movies are great. I like coming-of-age stories. Many people whom I love and respect are huge fans of the series, most notably my wife.

I just don't get it. It doesn't work for me. I have complaints, but they're all pretty nitpicky.

I really dislike that although Dumbledore and the rest of the staff are supposedly powerful wizards, they don't do seem to do anything. Harry and his crew are left alone to battle evil on their own. Hogwart's also seems to have more double agents than all the seasons of 24 put together. Are there any "good," effectual, adult wizards? Not to my knowledge.

The kids are also put in unnecessarily dangerous situations. I found fault with some of the scenarios in Goblet of Fire. They were going to let one of the kids drown as part of the competition? What kind of school does that?

I know what fans will say: There wouldn't be a story if Dumbledore and the adults had their poop together. There needs to be danger. Ok, fine. Give me a reason why the kids are on their own so much; that's all I'm asking. I haven't seen it in either of the books I read or any of the movies.

I also can't deal with the wand fighting. The wands seem to be able to do lots of different things, with firing lightning the most common. But whenever there's a battle, it's just a lot of waving wands and people flying around. It leaves me cold.

Then there's quidditch. Quidditch is the dumbest game ever, and I will not argue this. You win and the game ends if you catch the snitch, yet only one person from each team is looking for it. Everyone else is flying around, bashing into to each other, trying to throw balls through hoops that net you only a fraction of the points that a snitch does. This makes absolutely no sense.

It's also incredibly dangerous. Presumably, players fall off their brooms all the time, from high in the air. As far as I know, there is no net nor safety precautions of any kind. Wouldn't this result in a lot of death?

I can also never really figure out what's going on. I know that Harry Potter fans could explain this to me, but the problem isn't that I am too stupid to understand complex plot structure. The problem is that the story never gains enough momentum for me to care about what happens next. I know there's a bad guy named Voldemort, but I still haven't figured out what he's doing that's so bad, other than boring me to death.

The Half-Blood Prince struck me as a bit darker than the earlier films, so it was perhaps more enjoyable. Still, I found myself bored by it, and my attention started to wane. The thing is, I know there must be something to it; it's got a great score on rottentomatoes (as do most of the other films). Whatever it is, I'm not getting it (although my wife didn't love this one either, at one point commenting that Prince "felt like it was going on forever," and also being confused as to what was going on).

I've come to accept that, for whatever reason, Harry Potter is just never going to grab me the way it does so many other people. It actually kind of makes me sad. I love a good franchise and anticipation of sequels as much as anyone, but I just can't share in the excitement.

Nolanometer Final Grade: C+

My Ten Favorite Albums of the Decade

2009-12-26T19:05:00.000-08:00

With the aughts coming to a close, I figured it was time to make some pop culture lists. Why? Everyone loves lists. They're fun to make, and they're even more fun to argue about. Here's my initial post to my top-10 t.v. dramas list, if you're curious.

Do you know what's really scary? I work with teens, and most of them have only a vague concept of what an album is. I'm not kidding. Ask them the song they're listening to, then ask them what album it's from. Most of the time, they won't know. It's a dying art form. But I'm kickin' it old school, so the following list contains only cd's that I actually own.

Disclaimer: Notice the word "favorite"? That's key. These are the ten albums that I played the most when I was alone in my car. This is not a judgment of musical quality, which is a highly subjective exercise, anyway. I'll leave the top-10 lists based on artistic merit to Rolling Stone. I'm a sucker for poppy tunes that make me sing along. The good news? That means you won't see any entries where I try to sound hip by naming some obscure Belgian triangle-playing outfit.

It was tough for me to narrow it down to ten, so first permit me a lengthy Honorable Mention list, in no particular order:

Pearl Jam: Backspacer (2009), U2: All That You Can't Leave Behind (2000), Taking Back Sunday: Tell All Your Friends (2002) and Where You Want to Be (2004), The Strokes: Is This It (2001) and Room on Fire (2003), Dashboard Confessional: MTV Unplugged (2002), Less Than Jake: In With the Out Crowd (2006), Jack's Mannequin, Everything in Transit (2005), All-American Rejects: Move Along (2005), Blink-182: Blink 182 (2003), Liz Phair: Liz Phair (2003), Yellowcard: Ocean Avenue (2003), Yeah Yeah Yeahs: Show Your Bones (2006), Fall Out Boy: From Under the Cork Tree (2005), Muse: Absolution (2003), Bloc Party: Silent Alarm (2005), Pink: Missundaztood (2001), Various Artists: Garden State Soundtrack (2004), Cake: Comfort Eagle (2001), Fountains of Wayne: Welcome Interstate Managers (2003), Regina Spektor: Begin to Hope (2006), Our Lady Peace: Spiritual Machines (2001), MXPX: The Ever-Passing Moment (2000), Radiohead: Kid A (2000), The Killers: Sam's Town (2006), Weezer: Make Believe (2005) and Raditude (2009).

On to the Top 10:
10. Coldplay: A Rush of Blood to the Head (2002)
By far their best album. It appears they shot their wad here, because their last two haven't been close. I love "In My Place" and "The Scientist," but my favorite is the haunting title track from the end of the album. Moody, melodic, and brilliant.

9. Avril Lavigne: Under My Skin (2004)
I hear the snickers, and I don't care. Avril's sophomore effort displays a wide range of her considerable talent. From the angsty up-tempo of "He Wasn't" and "Happy Ending" to the heartbroken ballads "Don't Tell Me" and "How Does it Feel?" to her touching tribute to her deceased grandmother, "Slipped Away," this is a much more mature (but just as enjoyable) effort than her debut record.

8. Frightened Rabbit: The Midnight Organ Fight (2008)
I promise this is will be the only band on this list you've never heard of. If you like sensitive Scottish indie rock (and who doesn't?), give this album a try. If you enjoy this inspirational tribute to secularism ("Head Rolls Off"), then ask me to burn you a copy of the cd. I probably will, just to spread the unadulterated joy with which this video fills me:
I go to maybe one concert every two years, and this was the last one I saw. I even interacted with the band (i.e. yelled out something witty and got a response), but that's a story for another blog.

7. Jimmy Eat World: Futures (2004)
The first of two albums on the list of the band I'm anointing as my favorite of the decade. It's highlighted by a cadre of one-word song titles ("Work," "Pain," "Kill," and "Futures") that range from earnest to angry. It's capped of by one of the best album closers ever, the ridiculously epic "23." A confident album made by a band in its prime.

6. Sum 41: Underclass Hero (2007)
This criminally underrated album can't seem to find its way out of the door pocket of my car. Many of the tracks are filled with poetic, Canadian rage at lead singer Deryck Whibley's parents or ineffective politicians. "Walking Disaster" is the most foot-stomping anthem from an impressive field. But the record also has a soft side, with a few excellent ballads like "With Me" that I can only assume were aimed at Whibley's then-wife...Avril Lavigne. If you don't think that doesn't get it bonus points in my book, you haven't been paying attention.

5. Weezer: Green Album (2001)
The captain has just turned on the "every single song on the record is good" sign. Weezer's "comeback" album is the sweet blend of the poppiness of their first album with a dash of melancholy from their second. Clocking in at only half an hour or so, it makes every second count with hits like "Hash Pipe" and "Island in the Sun." I actually prefer the thrusting guitar beat of the opener, "Don't Let Go," the catchy, repetitive verses of "Simple Pages," and the soulful lament of the closer, "Oh, Girlfriend" (by far the longest song on the album, at 3:49). Weezer have had other good records this decade (see above), but this is the only one that doesn't contain filler. Nearly flawless.

4. The Killers: Hot Fuss (2004)
Just incredibly addictive. The Killers brought back the 80's and gave them an edge. The last time I air-keyboarded before hearing the superlative opener, "Jenny Was a Friend of Mine" was probably for the Thompson Twins.

The album runs the gamut. You've got the dance club pulse of "Somebody Told Me." Then there's the distinct guitar riff and tortured chorus of "Mr. Brightside." Just when you think you've got the sound down, they bring in a gospel choir for the incredibly, stupidly fun-to-chant "I've got soul, but I'm not a soldier" in "All These Things That I've Done." The only downside is how front-loaded the record is, which makes the merely decent second half pale in comparison. But, my God. Those first five songs...

3. Jimmy Eat World: Bleed American (2001)
How often does an album change one's life, or at least one's perception of music? I have to give credit to my students for this one. They introduced me to JEW (yes, I know that Clarity was their breakthrough, but I'd never heard it) just before "The Middle" blew up. To be honest, if I'd only heard "The Middle," I probably wouldn't have given the band a second look. Although it's still JEW's most well-known song, it's one of my least favorites on the album.

I loved this record so much that it inspired me to start listening to other bands in the emo-pop genre. Without Bleed American, I might've never gotten into Taking Back Sunday, Jack's Mannequin, Yellowcard, or Dashboard Confessional. My faves here are "Get it Faster," "The Authority Song," "My Sundown," and of course, "A Praise Chorus."

2. My Chemical Romance: The Black Parade (2006)
I know lots of my contemporaries are turned off by the band's name, or hell, even the font on the cover. It does look pretty Hot Topic. Well, that's their loss. This is one of my favorite concept albums ever, and it's actually the first one I thought of when I started trying to figure out my top ten of the decade.

It practically sounds like a greatest hits album; there are seven or eight songs on here that I ended up putting on different mixes. The album is best played through from the beginning, however, which is what's such a shame about the way people listen to music nowadays, picking and choosing singles.

I love the Queen-esque bombast and theatrics. I love the soaring anthems. I love that this young band had the balls to go all-in at the risk of looking overly earnest and pretentious. I especially love the breathtaking tandem of "Disenchanted" and "Famous Last Words" that close out this brilliant rock opera.

1. Green Day: American Idiot (2004)
One of my favorite bands' best work- a quantum leap forward. I'm going to de-friend the next person who tells me Dookie is a better record. I just don't have room for that kind of stupid in my life.

American Idiot was released at the perfect time, just before the 2004 presidential election. Naively, I actually believed at the time that this album's power could help sway the populace away from the evil forces of Captain Shit-for-Brains. I was wrong, but that doesn't detract from American Idiot's brilliant amalgam of rage, despair, and hope.

How many other albums this decade spawned a Broadway musical? As I wrote in my blog about the show, one thing that struck me was that the first four songs are all home runs: The title track, "Jesus of Suburbia," "Holiday," and "Boulevard of Broken Dreams." It's like listening to a greatest hits soundtrack of the decade. The back end of the album isn't exactly filler, either, with "Letterbomb," "Wake Me Up When September Ends," "Homecoming," and the sublime closer "Whatsername."

American Idiot is the reason that we should still treasure albums, rather than picking and choosing singles. It's a cohesive rock opera, and not only is it my favorite record of the decade, I'd also argue it's the best, period.

Milk

2009-12-26T15:02:00.001-08:00

I wrote in an earlier entry that I feel that Milk should've won Best Picture last year over Slumdog Millionaire, and I won't beat a dead horse. I don't have anything against Slumdog; I just don't think it's nearly as weighty or timeless as Milk. I also realize that my connection to Gus Van Sant's biopic about slain San Francisco city supervisor Harvey Milk is largely personal and biases my judgment.

I moved to San Francisco in 2003, renting a flat with two roommates in a quiet neighborhood called Noe Valley, which borders the infamous Castro district (in fact, one of my cross streets was Castro). San Francisco is essentially run by a mayor and 11 city supervisors. My new address was in the same district Milk represented during his term in the late 70's.

In February of 2004, Mayor Gavin Newsome legalized gay marriage in San Francisco. Sure, he didn't have the authority to do this, and it was largely a political stunt, but it's hard to quantify how it energized the denizens of The City. One day during those few weeks, Eileen and I were driving through The City, and we began to get frustrated with what seemed like an unexplainable traffic jam. After 10 minutes or so, our exasperation turned to elation when we saw what was causing the hold up- we were nearing City Hall. The same steps where Harvey Milk had given rabble-rousing speeches 25 years earlier were now filled with a line of gay couples, many dressed for the occasion and holding signs, waiting to finally have their love legally acknowledged inside that beautiful building.

I honked the horn, and Eileen rolled down the window and yelled "Congratulations!" Many of those in line waved back, smiles lighting up their faces. Perhaps it's hard to relate, but this was one of the most purely happy moments of my life. For that one instant, all the old prejudices and ugliness died away, and all that remained was joy and love. Even when the state stopped and invalidated the marriages, everyone who'd been around those events had something that perhaps they hadn't felt before: Hope. Harvey's legacy lived on.

In 2006, I moved in with Eileen, at the top of the hill in the Castro. For the first time in my life, I was a minority of sorts; there were far more gay people in my building and neighborhood than straights (or "breeders," as we're sometimes derisively called).

The news that renowned director Gus Van Sant was bringing A-list star Sean Penn to the Castro in order to portray Milk's life on film had the neighborhood buzzing. The Castro got a facelift: The area's landmark, the struggling Castro theatre, was remodeled in a vintage 70's style for authenticity. Other businesses agreed to be superficially transformed with older signs and window dressings while posting notices (taken down during actual filming) that informed passers-by that yes, this was still, in fact, "The Sausage Factory." Only in The Castro is that the local pizza joint's name.

For a few months in early 2008, you never knew when you'd be detoured around Castro street, night or day. It never bothered me much. I loved movies, and now one was being made in my own backyard. One night, as I was coming home from playing softball across town, they were filming the scene where Emile Hirsch's character addresses the angry mob. I parked a couple blocks away and got out, hoping to watch film history. Instead, I nearly got frostbite while watching a bunch of 10-second takes that only involved extras. I saw the top of Van Sant's head at one point and called it a night.

The film would've had to be dreadful for it to be a disappointment for me. On the contrary, it's mostly everything that I hoped it would be. I give it a lot of credit for not shying away from Milk's sexual appetite and not depicting him as a politically correct saint (he affectionately refers to Diego Luna's character as "Taco"). Josh Brolin is great as Milk's assassin, fellow supervisor Dan White. Van Sant's inter-splicing of old newsreels with new footage lends the film a documentary feel. It's a fascinating window into San Francisco history.

Then there are the political implications. The movie's central battle (and eventual gay rights victory) is about a state ballot initiative, Proposition 6. Unbelievably, Prop 6 sought to ban gays and lesbians from teaching in California's public schools, with the possible power to dismiss those who supported them as well. It's nearly unfathomable to believe that this happened as recently as 1978, or that it would've passed without the mobilization of thousands of gay activists who chose to come out to their families, friends, and communities in order to show that gays were already valued members of society, not deviants and pedophiles, as the bill implied.

Of course, the movie came out just as the most recent controversy over gay rights flared up, with the state Supreme Court's legalization of same-sex marriage and the subsequent ratification of Prop 8, which took it back. This was obviously a huge setback for civil rights (to read my feelings about it, click here), and a movie can't make that all go away.

Students sometimes ask me why I mark them down for saying something they don't like is "gay" or calling each other "fag." If I'm not gay, why do I care?

Well, I wasn't around in the 60's. I didn't get to protest segregation or the Vietnam war. This is my generation's civil rights battle, and in many ways it's the final frontier of the war. Movies like Milk show that those still battling gay rights are swimming upstream against the current of history.

Harvey Milk understood that 30 years ago. He knew as long as you can give people one thing, they would never truly give up. Had he been alive to see the passage of Prop 8, I think he would've shrugged, pointed to the increasingly frequent legalization of gay marriages all around the world, and repeated his signature line:

You gotta give 'em hope.

Nolanometer Final Grade: A

PS: For another excellent take on this film from the fascinating perspective of someone who was once on the other side, check out my colleague Joel Swett's blog.

Christmas Edition: It's a Wonderful Life

2009-12-25T12:38:00.000-08:00

I hadn't seen this charming holiday chestnut until a few years back. My in-laws took my wife and I to see it at a quaint little theatre in Colonial Williamsburg in Virginia, near where they live. For those who don't know Colonial Williamsburg, it's an historic recreation of one of Colonial America's earliest settlements. Everyone dresses in authentic clothes and talks and acts like they're from the 1600's. It's basically like this episode of South Park.

Of course, I already knew the film's general plot: Man (Jimmy Stewart) feels like a failure and thinks about killing himself until ghost shows him how different things would be without him around. One of the things I liked about the film is that the protagonist's impact isn't overstated. It's not like Back to the Future II where Marty's dad is dead and billionaire Biff is married to his mom. Instead, it sends a much more subtle and attainable message. A simple life full of good intentions and good deeds is a life well-lived, and others will be affected positively by such lives.

That's the moral of the story that most people take from this movie, and it's a valuable (and true, I hope) one. However, there's another significant theme at play here, one that most people (including my staunchly Republican in-laws) either miss or refuse to see.

This film is virulently anti-capitalist.

The villain is a scowly old due named Potter who looks like Dick Cheney with glasses. He's a slumlord and bank owner. He's constantly trying to screw over the middle class people of the town and take advantage of his wealth. He's big business, capitalism without a conscience, and Jimmy Stewart represents the mom-and-pop industry that's in danger of being taken over.

Check out this scene, where there's a bank panic, and Potter offers "50 cents on the dollar" to the town's denizens. Stewart pleads with them to keep their money in the community bank:

Sounds downright socialist, doesn't it?

Still don't believe that one of America's most beloved movies criticizes one of the country's most cherished tenets? Well, the F.B.I. sure thought it did. They declared it "communist propaganda" in an official memo.

It didn't slip by everyone. Check out the comments on imdb from a user in Dallas. Although I don't agree with him politically, he's dead on about the film's themes:

The movie appeals to the socialist nature of one's sense of life, and was an anti-capitalist propaganda film on the virtue of altruism. For instance, people who wanted their money at the beginning of the "run" on the savings and loan were negatively painted selfish. Old Man Potter was painted as the evil banker, when in fact a much more interesting and accurate spin would be to look at the lives positively affected because Potter managed his bank so well (he had the liquidity to handle his depositor's claims). Good ol' George, presented as the epitome of the virtuous man, possesses in fact an ethics of self sacrifice. Incompetent Uncle Billy, having "lost" the banks capital in a brown paper bag, is nevertheless sympathetically presented as Potter's victim, when in fact he is merely the price of George's immoral (and anti-capitalist) practice of sacrificial nepotism.

The fact that thousands of Americans probably purchased this movie at their local Walmart this holiday season is both amusingly and maddeningly ironic.

Nolanometer Final Grade: B

Zach and Miri Make a Porno

2009-12-24T11:28:00.000-08:00

I understand what Kevin Smith was trying to do here, I think. He wanted to combine a raunchy, "R"-rated porn farce with a sweet romantic comedy. The problem is, certain things shouldn't be mixed together. Tequila and Dr. Pepper. Britney Spears and clipping shears. Raider fans and fire. Add Zach and Miri Make a Porno to the "failed experiments" list.

The first 45 minutes or so work well enough. I especially enjoyed the scene at their high school reunion where Superman and the Mac are gay lovers. There's the usual plethora of Kevin Smith dick jokes; the Star Wars porno they're making actually looks hilarious.

The film goes off the rails when it shifts from crass to cheesy. Zach and Miri must consummate their up-until-now platonic relationship on film. It's not romantic. It's gross. It made me legitimately uncomfortable. Such an intimate moment should not occur on film. Porn is voyeuristic by nature; actual "lovemaking" between two people who are just now discovering their love for each other should not take place in front of a cadre of onlookers, with the camera rolling. The whole thing is icky.

The scene doesn't work on a romantic level, nor does it work on a risque, pushing-the-boundaries level. It would've at least been daring had Seth Rogen and Elizabeth Banks bared all for their scene, as one would expect in a porno movie. Instead, they keep their clothes on and leave the nudity for porn veteran Katie Morgan and a tattooed, pierced Jason Mewes.

It becomes a completely different film at this point, basically a re-tread of When Harry Met Sally. The edgy, bawdy movie I'd been enjoying was gone, replaced by a predictable romantic comedy.

Kevin Smith is still looking for that elusive mainstream success, but hopefully he learned that Boogie Nights+Jersey Girl = box office poison.

Nolanometer Final Grade: C

2007: No Country for Old Men vs. There Will Be Blood

2009-12-23T20:03:00.000-08:00

The good news is that a film worthy of Best Picture won this year. The bad news is that a better film didn't.

I have little against No Country for Old Men, only a couple minor quibbles. I didn't care for the way Josh Brolin's character would talk to himself in order to serve as a narrator. I also didn't like the shift in point of view when Brolin is killed. We'd been through so much with the guy, but his end is shown through the secondhand, too-little-too-late eyes of Tommy Lee Jones' sheriff. I just felt like the viewer gets cheated by the anti-climax.

I also had to google the meaning of Jones' description of his dream that abruptly ends the film. After reading some theories, I found one that makes sense for me. I regard the fact that a film doesn't give an easy answer and makes you reflect as a good thing, which I know puts me at odds with much of the American movie-going public. Don't worry; I'll blog about Paul Blart: Mall Cop tomorrow to make up for it.

No Country for Old Men is a great movie. However, There Will Be Blood is a classic, or at least will be regarded as such one day. Full disclosure: I have a sizable man crush on Daniel Day-Lewis that renders my opinion completely unobjective.

Still, There Will Be Blood strikes me as one of those films where every single shot is meticulously planned out. Paul Thomas Anderson's vision is poetic, even when its themes are ugly.

As I've stated before, the goal with any Best Picture winner should be to fast-forward ten years and figure out the one that will best stand the test of time. That usually means a film that's not just entertaining and well-done, but one that's also about something. The bigger the idea, the better. No Country uses Jones' character to act as a meditation on how violent the world is becoming, leaving behind those who yearn for a simpler time (that may not even have existed in the first place).

Blood's ambition is much more grandiose. It aims at the core of America itself, the idea of win-at-all-costs capitalism. Daniel Plainview (even the name's meaningful) is the ultimate embodiment of that spirit, and he is a monster, morally corrupt and devoid of any emotion except the will to crush his competitors. He's an oilman because it works well visually and a metaphor for the "blood" that he values, rather than his own human relations, but the character could've just as well been any captain of industry.

It is an indictment of one of America's most deeply-held values; thus, it's a film that makes many uncomfortable. It's certainly not as accessible as No Country, which likely ultimately cost it the Oscar. Nevertheless, There Will Be Blood will be the film taught in college classes decades from now, and it won't be limited to film theory.

Nolanometer Final Grades:

No Country for Old Men: A-
There Will Be Blood: A

Taken

2009-12-22T11:10:00.000-08:00

To paraphrase Lance, you're not necessarily stupid if you liked this movie, but this movie was made for stupid people.

Sadly, this explains how it made so much money; it cynically targets our most base instincts. Just look at the poster; everything you need to know is right there. People want to identify with a guy who becomes an unstoppable killing machine in order to rescue his lost daughter. It's the perfect outlet for the rage we would feel in that situation. But why does the rest of the film have to be so mindless?

I can't remember all the points in the film that struck me as being ridiculous, but I do recall writing something on facebook to the effect of "Taken has plot holes big enough to drive a Hummer through, which is exactly the vehicle fans of this movie wish they could afford." I know one scene that bothered me is when he has the bad guy's voice on recording and somehow gets the right guy to say it, even though there are several men in the room.

I didn't even find the myriad action sequences all that enjoyable. Liam Neeson's enraged father beats the crap out of everyone who crosses his path. None of it's terribly inventive, and it happens over and over again. Lather, rinse, repeat.

There's also an underlying message to Taken that's insidious and irresponsible, especially in light of how xenophobic America has become: Europe is a scary place.

You can get kidnapped out of an upper-middle class neighborhood in Paris in the middle of the day because you flirted with a guy at the airport. It will be Albanians who do it, and you don't know where Albania is, but you're sure it's in Europe somewhere, and therefore evil. There's this huge sex slave trade network, and they don't care whom they steal, from whatever country. In fact, it's a bonus if you're an American. Oh, and just in case you're expecting the French government to help you (especially when your dad is friends with a higher-up), forget about it. They're in cahoots with the bad guys. Because they're French, and therefore evil.

Of course, anyone who's ever been to Europe could tell you this is ridiculous, that you're a lot more likely to encounter violence here at home. But I'm afraid that for a lot of the unwashed masses, this will only confirm their suspicions about traveling abroad. We just lived through eight nightmarish years under a yokel who never bothered with Europe until he was elected president, even though he was rich, and his father at one time was ambassador to the United Nations. I'll bet people who voted for Bush love this movie. As well as teenagers, of course.

All of this seems odd when juxtaposed with the fact that the film's star is an Irishman. Paradoxically, Neeson is the only thing I really like about the movie, yet I'm a bit disappointed in him for participating in such a vapid exercise. I understand everyone needs to get paid sometime, but even Love, Actually had more brains than this.

Nolanometer Final Grade: D+

Some Like it Hot

2009-12-21T17:58:00.001-08:00

A few years back, I decided to try and watch all of the AFI's top 100 movies. I may never finish, as there are some I'm just not looking forward to seeing (Your ears are burning, Jazz Singer).

Sometimes, I don't see what all the fuss is about (A Streetcar Named Desire, The Manchurian Candidate). Other times, I like the film well enough, but its greatness doesn't connect with me, for whatever reason (The Maltese Falcon, Rear Window). Then there are those that I watch and say, "Yep. This is a classic. Even if it's hella old and in black and white, it's awesome." Casablanca and On the Waterfront are good examples.

Well, add Some Like it Hot to that last category. In a word, it's delightful. Comedy doesn't usually hold up as well across generations, but even watching it alone, I found myself lol'ing. One of the great things about watching these flicks is finally getting all the cultural allusions that have sprung from them. I mean, without this film, there's probably no Bosom Buddies! I never knew where that "I Wanna Be Loved By You" song with the "Boo-boo-be-do" line came from. It was also largely filmed at a locale where I've actually been, the Hotel Del on Coronado Island in San Diego.

Jack Lemmon and Jamie Leigh Curtis' dad are hilarious as cross-dressing musicians on the run from the mob. I especially enjoyed Curtis' husky woman voice and Lemmon's screwy facial gesticulations.

Then there's Marilyn. To be honest, I never completely got the appeal before. I'd never seen one of her movies, just a bunch of still shots (yeah, you know the ones I mean) and newsreel footage. Well, I get it now. She's sexy as hell. I can't say that she's much of an actress (her lip-synching is so off that I assumed that wasn't really her singing those songs until I looked it up), but who cares? Apparently, there was quite an uproar when the film was released (the Catholic League rated it "C" for "Condemned"), and I can see why. Even though it's just kissing, Marilyn simply oozes sex.

Then there are the not-so-subtle homosexual themes. Lemmon's character dreams of running away with an effete millionaire. The two make quite a couple, even if Curtis tries to reason with him, "What would a guy want to marry another guy for?" Ah, the innocence of 1959. Then there's the film's closing line: "Well, nobody's perfect!" I'll leave the context out to avoid spoilers, but it's funny, trust me.

Nolanometer Final Grade: A-

Young Guns I and II

2009-12-20T18:59:00.000-08:00

When I was growing up, I just didn't "get" westerns. All those grainy John Wayne cowboys and Indians flicks never grabbed me, and the slower-paced Clint Eastwood spaghetti westerns tried my pubescent patience. In 1988, when I was 12, Young Guns was released. I suddenly liked westerns.

Despite its "R" rating, Young Guns was clearly a rock n' roll western; it was meant to appeal to teenagers. Not just the boys, either. The six leads were all eye candy to varying degrees, with Kiefer Sutherland being probably the most drool-worthy at the time.

I loved this movie. It was violent, it was cool, it had catchphrases ("Yoo-hoo! I'll make ya famous"). Sure, it was a bit over-the-top, but so was the ending of The Wild Bunch, and that's considered a classic. It also had one of the more shocking early death scenes of any film I can remember, killing off biggest-star-at-the-time Charley Sheen's character barely halfway through the film.

The thing is, I grew out of a lot of films that I loved as a teenager, or at least I saw the silliness in them as I got older. Not so for Young Guns and Young Guns II. I still love them in exactly the same way I did in my adolescence.

The films are ostensibly about Billy the Kid, but what's really appealing about them is the simplicity of their message: "Pals." It's about a group of guys who stick together no matter what, led by Emilio Estevez in his career-defining performance as William H. Bonney (a.k.a. Billy the Kid). Billy sometimes wields the group's bond like a club as he pressures them to act in an increasingly reckless manner, but he is a fiercely loyal friend at his core.

The sequel is better than it has any right to be, taking the remaining "regulators," now on the run for their lives, and introducing William Petersen as Billy's eventual murderer Pat Garrett, who betrays his former friend. Did Pat Garrett really run with The Kid's gang before he took the money to hunt him down? I don't know, and I don't care. The Young Guns movies should not be seen as Billy the Kid biopics. The relationship in the film is much more interesting that way, so it's fine by me. Sometimes I think I even like Young Guns 2 more than the original.

Young Guns runs at 40% on the tomatometer, with Young Guns II at 38%. That's about what I'd expect. Here's the thing, though: I've never met anyone who disliked these movies. Sure, they're not high art, but they are incredibly fun. I'm willing to bet they turned plenty of kids from my generation on to westerns as well.

Nolanometer Final Grades:

Young Guns: B+
Young Guns II: B+

This song remains my favorite "written explicitly for the movie" song of all time.

Sleepaway Camp 2: Unhappy Campers

2009-12-19T15:29:00.000-08:00

I have zero time tonight, so this will have to be a short one. This relatively unknown cult classic will appeal to you if:

1. You like horror films with creative/disgusting death sequences. My favorite is when Angela, the killer camp counselor, drowns a camper in an outhouse by using a larger branch to submerge the unlucky victim's head beneath the muck. Classic.

2. You like gratuitous nudity. Lots and lots of it. You're sold already, aren't you?

3. You like the 80's. The perms, mullets, and short shorts.

4. You like happy, yet oddly creepy camping songs that get stuck in your head for days. "Oooooohhhh, I'm a happy camper! I love the summer sun. I love the trees and forest; I'm always having fun!"

5. You like your movies to follow the plan: The promiscuous, drug-abusing teens go first, and that's that.

6. You like sequels where seeing the original is not required. I've actually seen the original, and I'd advise against it. They tell you what you need to know in the beginning around the campfire, anyway.

7. You like celebrity relatives. Angela is played by Pamela Springsteen. That's right, The Boss' sister. And the "Final Girl," Molly, is Renee Estevez, sis of Emilio and half sis of Charley Sheen.

I'm going to assume you can find this on dvd, but I still own a trusty vhs copy. It just feels right.

Nolanometer Final Grade: A-

Things Fall Apart: Mystic River and Million Dollar Baby

2009-12-18T14:02:00.000-08:00

Both these films were directed by Clint Eastwood. Mystic River was nominated for Best Picture in 2002. Million Dollar Baby took home the trophy in 2003. What else do they have in common? Their absurd endings largely ruin both films. Spoilers follow. Read on if you dare. Oh, and as with most films I didn't particularly enjoy, I've only seen these once each, so if I get some of the details wrong, let me know.

Of the two films, I prefer Mystic River. It's got incredible performances from Sean Penn as an ex-con consumed with rage over the violent death of his daughter, Tim Robbins as his friend who just might have committed the murder, and Kevin Bacon as their cop buddy stuck in the middle.

The film builds toward an emotionally wrenching climax when Penn confronts Robbins on the banks of Mystic River and forces him to confess to his daughter's killing at the barrel of a gun. He stabs and then shoots his lifelong friend; it's devastating.

That is, until you find out that Robbins didn't do it. It was the brother of the girl's boyfriend. Why did he shoot her in cold blood, drag her body away, and hide it? I have no idea. The kid was just barely in the film. He had no motive, no character development, no role to play other than just appearing in a scene or two. There was nothing that made you say, "Of course, I should've known it all along!" Basically, it's more tragic if Robbins didn't actually kill Penn's daughter, so it's pinned on a fringe character with no back story.

I felt manipulated. If you want a twisty, crushing ending, fine. Set it up properly with a plot line that makes sense. But the film's central focus (Who did it?) can't come down to, "Oh, I don't know. How about the brother of the boyfriend with the gun he stole from the liquor store their family owns?" Just lazy, sloppy storytelling. Perhaps the book the movie's based on gives a more detailed sketch of this character, but I'm going with what I saw onscreen.

Million Dollar Baby makes me even more upset. Much like Mystic, I was enjoying myself through much of it. It had all the right elements to enter the echelon of great sports movies: A young underdog upstart (Hilary Swank) who persuades a crusty, jaded trainer (Clint Eastwood) to give her a shot through much sweat and perseverance. As an added bonus, Morgan Freeman does what he does best: Narrating the action while occasionally showing some young pups what's up in the ring.

Then it all goes titanically wrong. Maggie earns an undercard championship bout in Las Vegas. During the fight she appears to be winning, despite cheap shots worthy of the WWE. Seriously, the Drago/Balboa bout in Rocky IV is more believable.

Then comes the piece de resistance. The bell rings, the ref waves his hands to indicate the round's over, and Swank is walking back to her corner. After getting herself off the ropes, her nemesis rushes her. Swank looks back, and her opponent unleashes a mammoth roundhouse flush to Swank's face. Again, the round has been over for several seconds. Swank is stunned and collapses toward her corner, where for some reason, the corner guy has set the stool out on its side, and, as Eastwood tries frantically to move the stool, her head lands awkwardly on a corner, snapping her neck and paralyzing her. Oh, and I'm pretty sure the cheater boxer wins the fight and doesn't get charged with anything, but don't quote me on that.

It's meant to be shocking and tragic. It's not. It's hilariously absurd, at least for anyone who possesses even one iota of boxing knowledge. It's a completely ludicrous turn of events, unworthy of a film that won Best Picture, for chrissakes.

The last 30 minutes become a completely different movie. Swank's cartoon-evil white trash family visit, attempting to get at her women's boxing fortune. She tries to kill herself by chewing on her own tongue, hoping the blood will drown her and end her suffering. She pleads with Eastwood to kill her, and he eventually does, thus ending her suffering and mine for sitting through this sham of an Oscar pick.

Nolanometer Final Grades:

Mystic River: B
Million Dollar Baby: C

Boyz n the Hood

2009-12-17T14:51:00.000-08:00

How often does a film truly change one's life, or at least one's perception of it? I cannot recall a movie that had a greater impact on my view of society and culture than tonight's entry, Boyz n the Hood.

I know what you're thinking. This white kid from the suburbs of Lafayette didn't know any black people, so this was a whole new world for me.

Nope. I knew several black people. I didn't know any poor people.

My entire experience with the environment where Boyz n the Hood takes place was riding in the car to and from the Oakland Coliseum for A's games. I saw the windows with bars on them and figured those people just didn't want anyone breaking in their house at night. Sure, I knew these urban areas were more violent and drug-ridden than where I came from, but I couldn't imagine the struggle that Boyz n the Hood so unflinchingly portrays.

The thing that struck me about the film was how the childhood experiences of the characters were very much like mine, yet they were also totally alien. I moved between two houses/environments due to divorced parents. I wanted to be like Ronnie Lott. I liked bbq's. I liked goin' to the store, even if I had no money. I would go anyway (Note: My sister and I recreated that particular exchange roughly 850 times after we saw this film on vhs).

Then again, I never saw a dead body on my way to school. My dad never had to shoot at anyone who broke into our house. There were never toddlers belonging to crack moms wandering in the streets. Perhaps most significantly, no one ever pointed a gun at me. I never had any of my friends get shot (or fire on others). My dad lived in Martinez, then Pittsburg. That was as close to "hood" as I got.

It's an amazing film with outstanding performances from Laurence Fishburne as an intellectual if somewhat distant father determined not to let his son fall victim to the culture of violence that has claimed so many young men. Cuba Gooding Jr. overcomes a truly ludicrous shirt in his breakout role.

Speaking of breakouts, Ice Cube delivers the film's signature line with understated grace, lamenting the lack of attention paid to the tragic death of his brother Ricky, an aspiring football star: "Either they don't know, don't show, or don't care about what's going on in the hood. They had all this foreign shit. They didn't have shit on my brother, man."

It's the father of all "hood" movies, and still the best one. I'm betting it taught a lot of sheltered suburbanites like me "what was going on in the hood," without glorifying the violent or illegal aspects of that life. That's quite a feat.

Director John Singleton was rewarded by becoming the youngest-ever Best Director nominee at 24 (besting Orson Welles, who, as I understand it, is hella old now). However, Boyz n the Hood wasn't nominated for Best Picture. I have no problem with the inclusion of winner Silence of the Lambs or JFK, which are both iconic. I haven't seen Prince of Tides, although I understand it's a chick flick. I have seen Bugsy, and it's about 1/16 the movie Boyz n the Hood is, and about 1/100 as memorable. Then there's Beauty and the Beast. A cute little Disney cartoon is a more important contribution to the film canon than a landmark movie that essentially created an entirely new genre?

You know, if I were some sort of wacky conspiracy theorist, I'd say that the Academy has a habit of throwing films largely starring/produced by people of color a few bones with lesser nominations, but very rarely acknowledging those films as being among the best. But that's just crazy talk, I'm sure. No evidence for that at all, despite these past two blog entries.

Oh, and Terminator 2 got robbed this year as well. Prince of Tides? Please.

Nolanometer Final Grade: A

1989: Driving Miss Daisy vs. The Field

2009-12-16T19:01:00.001-08:00

I finally got around to seeing 1989's Academy Award winner for Best Picture, Driving Miss Daisy. I was 13 when it came out, and my only impression of it then was that it was "an old people's movie." I wasn't too far off. The youngest person in this movie is probably Dan Akroyd, in his 40s at the time.

Still, that doesn't make it a bad movie. In fact, I quite enjoyed it. Morgan Freeman and Jessica Tandy are great, and I particularly dug Freeman's soft, deferential Southern cadence. It takes a very insular view of race relations in the deep South without resorting to stereotypes. Miss Daisy doesn't think she's a bigot, but she does have a habit of saying "those people."

You probably know the rest. Freeman's character is hired to drive her because she's getting older, and she's initially resistant. A bond is slowly formed, they become lifelong friends, she drops all prejudice, and he ends up feeding her in the old folks home in a touching final scene. It's a sweet little film, and not heavy-handed like another film I could name that won Best Picture in 2005.

However, it's not Best Picture material, particularly not in a year with as many quality films as 1989. You know what's amazing? If you're anything like me, you're probably looking at all the posters listed above, and you're saying, "No way. It lost to Glory? And Do the Right Thing? What were they thinking? Here's the crazy thing: The two most enduring, relevant films of that year weren't even nominated.

I admit that I've only seen Do the Right Thing twice, and not recently, so I can't make the best case for its merits. As far as I'm concerned, it's still Spike Lee's best, most impassioned work. Although it does lose points for introducing the world to Rosie Perez (but gains some back because she goes topless).

Glory, however, is one of my 10 favorite films ever. I watch it at least once a year; it holds up extremely well. Even moments that could've felt forced and trite are delivered with such poetry by Freeman and Denzel Washington (who won Best Supporting Actor) that they are weighted with emotionally validity. Freeman's undressing of Denzel is a particularly outstanding monologue:

[Trip and Searles are about to fight when Rawlins steps in]
Rawlins: Look, goddamn it! The whole world gotta stomp on your face?
Trip: Nigger, you better get your hands off me!
Rawlins: Ain't no niggers around here! Understand?
Trip: Oh, I see, so the white man give you a couple a stripes, and suddenly you start hollerin' and orderin' everybody around, like you the massa himself! Nigger, you ain't nothin' but the white man's dog!
[He starts to walk away, Rawlins stops him and slaps him]
Rawlins: And what are you? So full of hate you want to go out and fight everybody! Because you've been whipped and chased by hounds. Well that might not be living, but it sure as hell ain't dying. And dying's been what these white boys have been doing for going on three years now! Dying by the thousands! Dying for *you*, fool! I know, 'cause I dug the graves. And all this time I keep askin' myself, when, O Lord, when it's gonna be our time? Gonna come a time when we all gonna hafta ante up. Ante up and kick in like men. LIKE MEN! You watch who you call a nigger! If there's any niggers around here, it's YOU. Just a smart-mouthed, stupid-ass, swamp-runnin' nigger! And if you not careful, that's all you ever gonna be!

I've always thought that one of Glory's best attributes is its magnificent score. I own the soundtrack and can listen to it beginning to end, then press play again when the cd runs out. This is where Driving Miss Daisy really loses points, by the way. It's got that 80's keyboard sound; totally out of place with its mid-1900's setting. It completely dates the film.

Glory is also one of the few movies I can show students that they all "get," even though it doesn't talk down to them. Heck, I don't even get complaints that it was made "back in the day." As a plus, it's one of the few historical Hollywood epics that is actually fairly accurate as to its source material, according to my Civil War professor at Davis, anyway.

Unlike Glory and Do the Right Thing, the other two posters I put at the top of the entry did earn Best Picture noms, and both of them would be better choices than Daisy (the other two nominees were Dead Poets' Society, which I find overwrought and more than a little homoerotic, and My Left Foot, which also fits the definition of "nice little movie").

Field of Dreams is definitely corny and saccharine, but it does capture the beauty of baseball and its role in American history and culture (I still prefer Major League as my favorite baseball flick). Twenty years later, people aren't saying "Now, drive slow to the Piggly Wiggly." But they do say "If you build it, he will come." If you say the line "Hey, dad. Wanna have a catch?" to the right man, his eyes will well up.

Born on the 4th of July has its issues (it's too long by 20 minutes), but Oliver Stone's biopic of paraplegic Vietnam vet Ron Kovic perfectly captures the naivete of small-town, patriotic Americans and how they were sucked into a war they didn't understand by a government who didn't understand it, either. It also exposed the dirty little secret of how we treat our soldiers when they return from war. The veteran's hospital scenes alone make this a worthy film.

Apparently, the Academy wanted something safe this year. Driving Miss Daisy is the last non-rated "R" film to win the award. Clearly, they preferred a submissive, polite black man to the angry, violent version, either in the Civil War or modern-day Brooklyn.

Nolanometer Final Grades:

Glory: A+
Do the Right Thing: A-
Field of Dreams: B+
Born on the 4th of July: B+
Driving Miss Daisy: B

2005: Brokeback Mountain vs. Crash

2009-12-15T15:05:00.000-08:00

Although I rarely watch the Oscars (last year may have been the first time in my life that I watched it from beginning to end; I must be getting old), I do usually pay attention to who's nominated and who wins. Unlike the Emmys, which tend to leave out deserving shows (The Wire was never nominated. End of conversation), or the Grammies, which have become a complete and utter joke, the Academy's choices are usually competent and defensible to some degree.

However, they almost always seem to get the Best Picture winner wrong, in my not-so-humble opinion. To me, the voting shouldn't be that hard. Which film will hold up best over time? Which one will people still be watching and analyzing 10 years later? You want people to look at the list of winners and say, "Yeah, I remember when that came out" rather than "What's that one about again?" The most egregious modern example is, of course, 1998's travesty of Shakespeare in Love over Saving Private Ryan. It honestly pains me a bit to even write that. Last year wasn't as bad, but in a few years people will look back on Slumdog Millionaire as a heartwarming romantic novelty, not a timeless, politically charged piece of art like Milk.

Nevertheless, at least I liked Slumdog. The same cannot be said for Crash, 2005's winner.

Crash is the kind of movie teenagers think is "deep." Teens typically don't like dramas unless they're extraordinarily heavy-handed, which Crash is, in spades. I can't site a lot of specifics because I only saw it once, a few years ago, but I recall a lot of anguished slo-mo scenes.

Then there's the pseudo-intellectual babble of the film's coda: "It's the sense of touch. In any real city, you walk, you know? You brush past people, people bump into you. In L.A., nobody touches you. We're always behind this metal and glass. I think we miss that touch so much, that we crash into each other, just so we can feel something."

What does that even mean? People in Los Angeles get into car accidents because they long for human contact? There's really no other way to interpret it, is there? No deeper metaphorical level I'm missing? To me, that statement epitomizes the film. It aims to be a brilliant and incisive swirl of clashing cultures and identities, but it's ultimately hollow at its core.

Prediction: In ten years, people will say, "What's Crash? Is it that one where Matt Dillon's a racist cop, or is it the one where James Spader gets in car accidents to get his rocks off?

Contrast that with Brokeback Mountain. Will people ever forget this movie? It's become a cultural touchstone. Sure, the argument could be made that it's mostly known as a source for comedy routines. But that's only because the movie's breathtaking beauty made it a big enough mainstream success that everyone gets the reference.

Consider that if this film wasn't pitch-perfect in every way, what a mockery it would've become. Most of the jokes that are made put others in the film's situation (like this one); they typically don't poke fun at the film itself.

Anyone who's seen it knows there's little that's funny about the situation. It's heartbreaking, tragic, and revolutionary. Ten years from now, it will be known as a landmark of American film, and people will scratch their heads and wonder, "How did that not win Best Picture?"

Good question.

Nolanometer Final Grade for Crash: C+
Nolanometer Final Grade for Brokeback Mountain: A-

Se7en

2009-12-14T13:34:00.000-08:00

As I wrote in an earlier entry, I usually claim The Empire Strikes Back as my all-time favorite move. Catch me on the right day, though, and I might name Se7en instead. There's simply nothing about it that doesn't enthrall me. I can still remember the "Holy crap, is this really happening?" experience of seeing it in the theatre for the first time. Hell, the first three times I saw it I jumped out of my chair when the heroin addict suddenly comes out of his deathly stupor after the SWAT team arrives.

I'm not going to waste time pointing out what's great about this film. If you've seen it, you know it's amazing. If you haven't, stop reading now, and don't come back until you've remedied the situation. Oh, and you're not allowed to watch it on basic cable with commercials, all cut up. Rent (actually, buy it; you'll thank me later) the dvd, turn out the lights, and hang on for the ride. I suppose there are those squeamish types who can't handle the intensity of Se7en and claim it's "too violent." That's ironic, since there is virtually no onscreen violence; none of the murders are depicted, only their aftermath.

What I want to write about is an angle that I only came up with after viewing the film perhaps six or se7en times. As far as I can recall, I discovered it on my own, although I'm sure others must have the same theory. When I bring it up to people, even those who've seen the movie bunch of times, most poo-poo it. But I'm convinced the subtext is there, a malignant tumor hiding under the scaly surface of this magnificent flick.

In a nutshell, I believe that Morgan Freeman's detective Somerset is a mildly dirty cop who unwittingly helps John Doe find and kill his partner's wife.

Consider the following:

-In an early scene, Detective Mills (Brad Pitt) tells his wife (Gwyneth Paltrow) "Serpico's gotta go." She responds by saying, "Serpico's got a crusty in his eye." Anyone who's seen the excellent Pacino flick knows that Serpico was an honest cop brought down by a thug's bullet when crooked members of his department failed to help him.

-After Mills goes off on the photog in the stairwell, he asks Somerset, "How do those guys get here so fast, anyway?" Somerset replies calmly, "They pay police officers for information, and they pay well." Mills' responds, "Hey, I'm sorry, man."

-Then there's a moment that's easy to miss because of everything else that's going on in the scene: After Doe walks into the police station to turn himself in ("DE-TEC-TIVE!"), the camera focuses on Somerset's shocked expression and then cuts to Doe, who is looking at him curiously. Amidst Mills' shouted admonitions, Doe quietly notices, "I know you." Why would he know Somerset and make a point of saying so unless they had a past connection of some sort? Say, an agreement to sell information about police operations and even fellow officers?

-Less solidly, there's a lot going on during the ride to the desert between the three men. The interplay between Mills and Doe is full of barely concealed rage, while Somerset is much more measured and cautious. He's polite and deferential toward Doe, almost as if he's trying not to anger the prisoner. Why not? Is he afraid Doe will reveal their connection? I say yes.

-When Doe taunts Mills by informing him that his wife was pregnant when he killed her, Mills only looks at him in bewildered anguish. Doe gives a small smile and turns to Somerset, saying, "Oh. He didn't know." But Somerset does know. Tracy tells him over lunch in an earlier scene. Did Somerset let that nugget of info slip to the man who was paying him for information? By itself, it doesn't mean much, but stacked up with everything else, it's intriguing, ain't it?

-Lastly, there's the overall theme of the film. The whole thing is Biblical in nature, with the seven deadly sins being the most obvious connection. But Mills' character can also be seen as Christ-like. He's incorruptible. He comes to a morally bankrupt society and attempts to change things through his shining example. Ultimately, he becomes part of Doe's plan when his anger over the loss of his beloved wife causes him to murder Doe. He doesn't die, but his life as a policeman and respected citizen is essentially ended.

However, through his death, Somerset is given new life. For most of the film, he is an apathetic burnout bent on retirement. However, as they load Mills into the car during the film's final scene, one of the other cops calls out, "Hey, Somerset! Where you gonna be?"

With a sadness tinged by a new-found resolve, Somerset replies, "Around. I'll be around."

Nolanometer Final Grade: A+

Starship Troopers

2009-12-13T18:16:00.001-08:00

One of the most misunderstood films of the past 20 years, one's opinion of Starship Troopers relies largely on one's ability to recognize irony and satire. Much like the film Lance wrote about yesterday, Robocop, this film is much more than the sci-fi shoot 'em up most people regard it to be.

Starship Troopers is based on a late 1950's-era novel by science fiction author Robert Heinlein. Heinlein's novel was criticized by the sci-fi community for its militaristic themes. How militaristic? 50 years later, it's still on the reading list for the U.S. Army, Navy, and Marines.

Paul Verhoeven's 1997 film version keeps those militaristic themes but turns them upside down. He claims he never even finished Heinlein's book because he found it "boring and depressing." Indeed Verhoeven claims on the director's commentary for the dvd that his film's intended message is that "War makes fascists of us all" and that it was a satire of American militarism, not a promotion of it like its source material.

You really wouldn't need the dvd commentary to explain that to you if you're paying attention to the film. The movie succeeds because the viewer starts off rooting for the "good guys," the humans, who are under attack by the bugs. But as the film goes on, we start to notice the theme.

For one thing, there's an absurd love of violence and disregard for human life in this future society. For another, it becomes clear that the bugs are merely defending themselves from human aggression. Furthermore, there are all those clever parodies of propaganda films shown throughout. Then there's the fact that those uniforms they wear a little too closely resemble those worn by members of Germany's Third Reich. Doogie Howser's character is basically a space version of Dr. Mengele. When he reads the captured bug's mind and the end and declares triumphantly, "It's scared!," so are we. But not of the bugs.

Then there are the protagonists. They're just...sorta...stupid. It's no coincidence the wooden-but-sculpted Casper Von Diem was cast in the lead role. Verhoeven wanted a Nordic-looking superman. Rico's not supposed to be smart; he's not supposed to ask questions. He's supposed to hate and kill bugs. The main character is nothing but the perfect soldier. It always amuses me when people complain about the acting in this film. These vapid but good-looking actors were cast because they were vapid and good-looking. This is Denise Richards' best role (well, other than Wild Things, obviously); it's made for her.

The film itself mostly works as an action flick; although, the whole thing has an aura of absurdity that leaves irony-impaired viewers (who often share the aggressive mindset the film critiques) to say things like, "That movie's hella stupid. It's just about killing a bunch of bugs."

Hint: It's not the movie that's stupid.

Nolanometer Final Grade: B+

Donnie Darko

2009-12-12T17:11:00.000-08:00

The remarkable thing about Donnie Darko is that it's impossible to classify. Is it a horror movie? A teen drama? Science fiction? In the end, it doesn't matter. It's simply a film of transfixing beauty.

Trying to explain the plot is a fruitless exercise. In short, an intelligent, independent, sensitive teen named Donne Darko is haunted by a giant rabbit. He sleepwalks and wakes up in strange places, like the local golf course. Lucky for him, because one night a jet engine falls from the sky and crashes through the roof of his bedroom.

I'll save the rest for the end, where I give my theory on the film's meaning. The plot is secondary, anyway. What makes the movie great is its sheer artistic vision.

For whatever reason, writer/director Richard Kelly chose to set the movie in the 80's, which makes it a nostalgic pleasure for people of my generation. I believe I owned the aqua Hobie T-shirt that Donnie sports in one scene. It also allows the characters to make clever observations about pop culture relics such as the Smurfs (more specifically, Smurfette's role) and Married With Children.

The 80's soundtrack is also a large part of the film. I'm not sure if Kelly directed music videos before his feature work, but his mixing of songs with visuals is unparalleled. Classic 80's bands like Echo and the Bunnymen, The Church, and Duran Duran all provide tunes that set the film's melancholy tone. However it's this jaw-dropping scene in which Kelly documents the daily minutiae of high school life to Tears for Fears' "Head Over Heels" that is the film's defining moment.

Jake Gyllenhaal does a nice enough job with the title character that I continue to call him "Donnie Darko" no matter what movie he's in. His real-life sister Maggie plays Donnie's sister in the film. They get off one of the film's best exchanges over the dinner table.

Donnie: You are such a fuckass.
Elizabeth: Did you just call me a fuckass? You can go suck a fuck.
Donnie: Oh, please, tell me Elizabeth, how exactly does one suck a fuck?
Little sister Samantha, after a pause: What's a fuckass?

The rest of the film isn't nearly as profane (with the notable exception of the aforementioned Smurfette rant), but it's consistently clever. By the end, I found myself mesmerized, even though when it was over I honestly had no idea what had happened. After watching it a half-dozen more times and talking it over with other Darko junkies, I've formed a theory; major spoiler alert.

Basically, the film boils down to Donnie making the choice to allow himself to be "squished" by the jet engine. The jet flies through a wormhole, losing the chunk of itself that crashes through Donnie's bedroom. Due to Frank's interference, he's not there the first time it happens. Frank warns him that "the world will end" in about a month. This is an overstatement; the world will end only for Donnie, if he chooses "God's path."

Over the next month, he is shown what will happen if he's not in his room when the engine falls on it. His girlfriend will be killed by a car, Donnie will shoot the driver, and his mother and youngest sister will be on the fated aircraft which will breach the wormhole (and presumably disappear). He alone is able to see the worm-like apparitions that emanate from every person, marking their path in the universe. As he sees the wormhole forming over the town, he makes the decision to allow himself to be killed in order to save the people he loves, negating the events of most of the film. The excellent final scene reveals this when his girlfriend rides up to the scene of the crash on her bike and doesn't know who Donnie is.

Essentially, some sort of higher power gives him a choice, and he chooses others over himself. This makes the film more satisfying for me, but it's not necessary in order to love the film. Just sit back and let it wash over you. Save your questions for when the credits roll.

Nolanometer Final Grade: A-

Road House

2009-12-11T18:13:00.000-08:00

It's Friday night, and this is the perfect Friday night flick. First of all, if you're a female, you can forget about the rest of this blog. There's basically nothing here for you. Even if you think Patrick Swayze's dreamy, his mullet and monosyllabic performance will probably turn you off.

This is a dude's movie. It's got tough talk, violence, and most importantly, boobs. And it's got scads of all three.

It also may very well be the best "bad" movie ever made (coincidentally, Swayze's Point Break is also high on that list). Make no mistake; it's terrible. It's just terrible in all the right ways.

Consider the poster. I didn't photoshop that caption on there. It really reads "Last call...for action!" It sounds like a schlocky B-movie, not a studio pic with a rising star in the lead role. Nevertheless, that's the beauty of this film. It's unapologetically trashy.

Do you care about the plot? Here's all you need to know: Patrick Swayze's Dalton is the most badass bouncer in...the continental United States, apparently. I had no idea that there was such a thing as a famous "cooler," but that's the kind of information you can glean from the majesty that is Road House. Anyway, he's hired by this guy who owns a bar called "The Double Deuce" that's "The kind of place where they sweep up the eyeballs at closing time." The dude offers him a ton of cash to do the job, so Dalton leaves his old gig to move to Florida. Which is ironic, because Dalton doesn't care about cash. He lives modestly. He just wants the challenge. How the owner of a shitty road house bar is rich/ambitious enough to drive to another state and get a prize free-agent bouncer is not relevant.

Dalton arrives at the new bar and immediately goes to work training his staff.

Dalton: If somebody gets in your face and calls you a cocksucker I want you to be nice.
Hank: [With resignation] Ok
Dalton: Ask him to walk, be nice, if he won't walk, walk him, but be nice, If you can't walk him, one of the others will help you and you will both be nice...I want you to remember, that it's the job, it's nothing personal.
Steve: Being called a cocksucker isn't personal?
Dalton: No, it's two nouns combined to elicit a prescribed response.
Steve: What if somebody calls my Mama a whore?
Dalton: Is she?
Dalton: I want you to be nice.. until it's time..to not be nice.

Little does Dalton know he's in for more than he bargained for. There's a town crime lord that really doesn't like Dalton's righteousness...or something. All I know is that Bard Wesley is such a kingpin that he can do the following without police involvement of any kind:

1. Swerve leisurely across both lanes of a two-lane highway while crooning "Life Could Be a Dream."

2. Hire a group of thugs to wreck any bar or establishment he feels threatens his autonomy.

3. Burn down Dalton's temporary residence, the hayloft he rents from from kindly Southern gent Emmett. Emmett's philosophy? "Calling me 'sir' is like putting an elevator in an outhouse, it don't belong. I'm Emmett."

4. Using a monster truck to destroy a competitor's car dealership in front of dozens of witnesses. Read that sentence again. He destroys a car dealership with a monster truck in front of dozens of witnesses. There might not be a more patently absurd (or awesome) scene in cinematic history.

Then there's Road House's signature violence. Dalton rips a guy's throat out with his bare hands. 'Nuff said. Sam Elliot comes in halfway through the film and is Sam Elliot, which is always a good thing.

Oh yeah, then there are boobs. Plus an absurdly implausible finale that causes a grown man to utter the line "A polar bear fell on me."

Nolanometer Critical Grade: D+
Nolanometer Friday Night Grade: A

Edit: I just saw the director's name on IMDB. It's Rowdy Herrington. Rowdy. I'm not making this up.

A Christmas Story

2009-12-10T11:22:00.000-08:00

Earlier this week I was talking to my class about a scene from The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn. I always try to tie the literature in with contemporary bits of pop culture that are more familiar to teens, especially with a novel as old as Twain's masterpiece. I mean, it was written "back in the day."

Anyway, there's a part in the book where Tom and Huck have dug a tunnel into the shed where the slave Jim is being held captive. They forget to close off the outside end of the tunnel, so when another slave brings food in for Jim, the dogs smell it, rush into the tunnel, and appear from under the bed in Jim's shed. This causes chaos and makes the slave bringing the food believe he's being haunted by witches.

Whenever I read this scene, it always reminds me of the end of the holiday classic A Christmas Story. Remember when the Bumpus hounds get in through the open back door, knock over the turkey, and proceed to maul it? "BUMPUSSES!!!"

I threw the connection out there. About 2/3 of the class nodded along, grinning. But a few of them looked at me like a had a boog hanging. "What? I have no idea what you're talking about. I've never even heard of that movie."

These weren't kids who had just moved to this country. These were lifelong Americans! Is it me, or is there something unpatriotic about not having seen this flick by the time you're 10 years old?

During the month of December, it runs on TNT roughly 40 times. That's not an exaggeration. It was on last night, the 9th. They play it on repeat all day and night on Christmas and Christmas Eve, if I recall correctly. Whenever there's a break in whatever sporting event we're halfway paying attention to, we flip to TNT and halfway pay attention to A Christmas Story for awhile. You can jump in and out at any time, because after all, we've all seen it dozens of times. I assumed every family had a variation of this ritual.

Alas, that's not the case. I quizzed my three other American Threads classes, and there were always seven or eight kids who hadn't seen the movie. Thank God, the ones who had were just as apoplectic as I was, and would recount their favorite scenes to the bewildered ones, incredulous that none of moments would spark a memory of the greatest American Christmas film.

Here's what we came up with. Feel free to add your own at the end:

-When Ralpie's little brother Randy falls in the snow while wearing his oversized red jacket, can't get up, and whines, "C'mon, Ralphie...ooohhhhh, Raaaalphiieeeee." My wife and I often use the expression "Oh, Ralphie!" to express whiny frustration.

-When Randy "eats like a piggy."

-When Ralphie freezes on Santa's lap until just before he's kicked down the slide, with Santa's final admonition, "You'll shoot your eye out, kid."

-When Flick gets triple dog-dared to stick his tongue to the frozen flagpole and accepts.

-When Ralphie, after dropping the lugnuts, utters "the mother of all bad words," and claims he heard it from Flick instead of his profane father, resulting in an over-the-phone beating for the perplexed and terrified Flick.

-The way the red-headed bully (with "yellow eyes") is always accompanied by the music from Peter and the Wolf.

-Ralphie being forced to wear the bunny suit. "He looks like a pink nightmare!"

-Everything about the leg lamp. "It's a major award!....Oooh, fra-gee-lay. Must be from Italy!" My friend Derek and I started calling each other Fra-gee-lay sometime in junior high. It continues to this day.

-The Chinese restaurant on Xmas. "Fa ra ra ra ra, ra ra ra ra."

Nolanometer Final Grade: A-

Aliens

2009-12-09T21:03:00.000-08:00

Writing that list yesterday of the movies I watched most frequently in college got me thinking. With only a couple exceptions, those films all came out when I was in college. I listed 1986's Aliens as #1 because it's the one film I'm always in the mood for.

I don't know how many times I've watched that flick (or parts of it on tv) since it first came out, but it's a ton. I was too young (10 years old) to see it in theatres, but I remember when I first laid eyes on it. It was at our annual summer trip to an r.v. vacation spot on Mission Beach in San Diego known as "Camperland." Every once in a while, they would wheel out a vcr and a tv onto the big lawn there and show a movie. I sat in a folding chair in the back row, a blanket clutched around me, and watched with enraptured wonder at the images that flickered across the 25" screen. I had simply never seen anything like it.

It was funny. It had salty language. It had suspense, drama, action, monsters with two mouths, an android, a giant queen, and most importantly, awesome guns with digital readouts of how much ammo was left. By the time the Queen appeared from underneath the shuttle to rip poor Bishop in half, I was completely overstimulated. This was basically an 11-year-old's wet dream.

I watched a lot of action flicks in my teen years, and loved most of them (after all, most are made with an adolescent boy's intellect in mind). Save 1988's Die Hard, none of them have held up remotely as well as Aliens. In a pinch, I'll even give it a nod over Die Hard in that it has the sci-fi element going for it as well. You wouldn't think it would be that hard to pull off a great action sci-fi flick, but consider the obstacles Director James Cameron had to overcome:

He didn't direct the highly-regarded original, which itself was known for its never-seen-before innovation. Alien is essentially a slasher movie set in space. I saw it after I saw Aliens, and I was pretty underwhelmed. I know there are those who prefer it to the magnificent chaos of Cameron's epic, but I just can't understand it. It feels like snobbery.

This is a long movie. The special edition I first saw (and now thankfully own) is over two-and-a-half hours. If you don't watch the special edition, you won't see the auto-turrets. I don't want to live in a world without auto-turrets.

The hero of the movie is a heroine. Sure, Sigourney Weaver's Ripley was the lone survivor of the first one, but she was more resourceful than a badass. Cameron actually does a brilliant thing by juxtaposing her character with the tough machismo of the marines (of which a couple are also women). As these trained soldiers lose their shit, Ripley seizes control and command. She even demands to learn how to use the automatic rifles and attached grenade launchers. "You started this. Now show me everything."

Cameron also made the movie without any other real stars. But thank God for the high comedy of Bill Paxton doing Bill Paxton things. The dude is not a leading man. But damn, does he have some iconic roles. Chet in Weird Science is great, but nothing tops his whiny, panicky performance as Hudson in Aliens. How many great lines does he get off?

-After the transport ship crashes: "Game over, man! Game over!"
-To the masculine female marine: "Hey Vasquez, have you ever been mistaken for a man?" She retorts, "No, have you?"
-After another marine's observation that it's "Hot as hell in here," Hudson adds, "Yeah, but it's a dry heat!"
-"Hey, I don't know if you're keeping up on current events, but we just got our asses kicked, man!"
-After Ripley tells him that "This little girl survived longer than that with no weapons and no training" Hudson wails, "Then why don't you put her in charge?!!!"

The film still looks great. It's amazing how much better models stand the test of time as opposed to cgi. The scene where the aliens come in through the roof as the marines are reading them on the motion tracker is one of the all-time great heart-pounding set pieces in cinematic history. The movie could've ended when Ripley escapes the planet with Newt, and it still would've been a classic.

But then Ripley has to operate that robo-lifter thing to battle the Alien Queen. She growls, "Get away from her, you bitch!" and it's nirvana. I love it just as much now as I did on that cold grass field when I was 11, and how many films can you say that about?

Nolanometer Final Grade: A+

Trainspotting

2009-12-08T13:32:00.000-08:00

Here's a top ten list of the movies that I watched over and over again in college:
10. Scream
9. Braveheart
8. A Clockwork Orange
7. The Usual Suspects
6. Swingers
5. Clerks
4. Beaches
3. Pulp Fiction/Reservoir Dogs
2. Seven
1. Aliens

Ok, just kidding. I never watched A Clockwork Orange. I just wanted to sound tough. Take that one out, move everything down one, and put today's subject at #1. I know Trainspotting is an acclaimed film and mostly well-known, but I still can't shake the feeling that it's vastly underrated,at least in the U.S. The British Film Institute (BFI) named it the 10th-best British film of all time. Ironically, the film's director Danny Boyle was given no love by the Academy but won last year for a good film that nonetheless doesn't come close to Trainspotting's brilliance, Slumdog Millionaire.

There's simply nothing I don't absolutely love about this movie, but Ewan McGregor's soul-bearing performance as Renton stands out the most. There has been no greater ommission in the 20 years (or so) that I've been paying attention to the Oscars than his lack of an acting nomination. He's funny, snarky, self-destructive, desperate, together, and malicious. The dude showed more range than Torii Hunter, and he got snubbed. Lame.

The other characters and actors are outstanding as well, highlighted by Robert Carlyle's psychopathic Begbie. You have no idea how often my friend Charley and I have boasted "Ah'm playin' like Poll Fockin' Newman, by the wee" while shooting stick with one another. There's also Sick Boy's rant about Sean Connery and losing "it," and of course the high-on-meth Spud's priceless job interview with a travel company, when he's asked why he's interested in the job: "In a werrrd? Playsha. My playsha in otha people's laysha."

Between this movie and repeated viewings of Braveheart, is it any wonder I do a much better Scottish accent than an Irish one?

Then there's the soundtrack, which perfectly pulses along with the beat of the film and its characters' plights. How good is it? It features techno. I hate techno. But I own and cherish that cd. Everyone knows the first cut from the first scene, the foot stomping thrill of Iggy Pop's "Lust for Life," which perfectly captures the deranged, chaotic spirit of the movie. But I prefer the closing song of the film, "Born Slippy," whose melodic keyboard shifts into a thudding, driving beat as Renton walks across the bridge, gym bag of money in hand, headed back into all his old mistakes, into his self-imposed doom.

The film's subject, which is largely heroin use, makes this a flick that most people won't see or give a chance. Indeed, it is not for the faint of heart. Its intensity in scenes like Renton's overdose, his withdrawls, or when he memorably dives into "The Worst Toilet in Scotland" make for a viscerally compelling film that many would have a hard time watching.

There's also the nuanced portrayal of drug use and addiction. While the film quite clearly shows the lows and ultimate destruction of hard drugs, it doesn't shy from exploring the reason people take drugs in the first place. As Renton says,

People think it's all about misery and desperation and death and all that shite, which is not to be ignored, but what they forget is the pleasure of it. Otherwise we wouldn't do it. After all, we're not fucking stupid. At least, we're not that fucking stupid.

Take the best orgasm you ever had, multiply it by a thousand and you're still nowhere near it. When you're on junk you have only one worry: scoring. When you're off it you are suddenly obliged to worry about all sorts of other shite.

Got no money: can't get pissed. Got money: drinking too much. Can't get a bird: no chance of a ride. Got a bird: too much hassle. You have to worry about bills, about food, about some football team that never fucking wins, about human relationships and all the things that really don't matter when you've got a sincere and truthful junk habit.

Bob Dole even called Trainspotting out during the 1996 presidential campaign as part of the typical "Here's all that's wrong with society" Republican platform, although just as typically, he admitted later that he hadn't actually seen the movie.

Ultimately, one of my favorite things about the film is its sense of place. Even if you've never been to Scotland, you'll get a sense of what its weather, architecture, domestics, and night life are like. You'll also get Renton's brilliant monologue on the little brother syndrome some Scots have about their country:

TOMMY: Doesn't it make you proud to be Scottish?

RENTON: I hate being Scottish. We're the lowest of the fucking low, the scum of the earth, the most wretched, servile, miserable, pathetic trash that was ever shat into civilization. Some people hate the English, but I don't. They're just wankers. We, on the other hand, are colonized by wankers. We can't even pick a decent culture to be colonized by. We are ruled by effete arseholes. It's a shite state of affairs and all the fresh air in the world will not make any fucking difference.

Nolanometer Final Grade: A+

The Worst Movie Ever: Batman and Robin

2009-12-07T20:05:00.000-08:00

Students sometimes ask me what my favorite movie is. That's a pretty tough question. It doesn't account for genre, mood, or quotability, amongst myriad other factors, but gun to my head, I usually go with The Empire Strikes Back.

I have no idea how to quantify "The Best Movie of All Time." The AFI says it's Citizen Kane, but again there are just too many factors to consider.

I have no similar compunctions about naming what I consider to be the Worst Movie of All Time: It's 1997's catastrofuck Batman and Robin. Don't get me wrong: "Worse" films have assuredly been made in terms of plot, watchability, acting, etc. But Batman and Robin is the perfect storm of suck, for so many reasons. It fails miserably on every single level. It ruined or set back the career of everyone involved. It nearly killed a lucrative franchise.

Most of the blame lays at the feet of director Joel Schumacher. If you're given an unlimited budget to make a tentpole movie, then you have no excuses for making a big, steaming pile of feces. I've tried to imagine the production meeting where Schumacher discussed the look he wanted.

"I want everything to look like those glow stick thingees that teenagers take to raves," he demands.

"But, uh...Joel? Batman's supposed to be kind of a dark-themed story."

"GLOW STICKS!!!"

His action scenes are silly and nonsensical. I've never once left a film early in the theatre. But the opening sequence of this film, with its air-surfboards, made me want to. If I hadn't been reviewing it for my college newspaper, I just might've. As it was, I was tempted.

Consider that Schumacher was a fairly well thought-of director with a number of hits to his resume, including the best Grisham interpretation, A Time to Kill, only a year previous. He's been relegated to indies like Tigerland and Veronica Geurin and mid-budget shlock like The Number 23 ever since. No one trusts this guy with big projects, and I can't blame them.

The actors fared no better. Ah-nold basically went into semi-retirement after cashing a $25 million paycheck for hamming it up as Mr. Freeze. The only notable part he had after this disaster was his reprisal of his most iconic role in Terminator 3. The crazy thing: I thought his performance was probably the best one in the movie. At least he seemed to be having fun with how ludicrously bad his lines were. Everyone else looked upset and confused by having to show up on this dysfunctional set.

Chris O'Donnell's career went into hibernation. Uma Thurman had to wait until Kill Bill to resurrect hers. Only George Clooney emerged mostly unscathed, although he had a giant hit show (E.R.) to fall back on.

Then there's the sad tale of Alicia Silverstone. It's hard to remember now, but Clueless (along with some steamy Aerosmith videos) made her the biggest young female starlet in the world. Two years later, she moped her way through this abomination, and she's essentially never been heard from again. She could live next door to me for all I know.

The franchise itself imploded. Although another film, Batman Triumphant had already been written and greenlit, after Batman and Robin came out, Warner Brothers did the first smart thing they'd done with the series in years: They scrapped it.

Of course, all it took was for a Nolan to get involved and bring the franchise back from the dead. In retrospect, maybe we can thank the colossal awfulness of Batman and Robin for the complete reversal in tone and realism in the marvelous new Batman flicks.

If you've noticed I didn't write that much about the actual film, it's largely because I saw it exactly once, back when it came out and I reviewed it. Its overall crappiness is seared into my brain, and it's not one of those movies that's enjoyable to watch because of how amazingly bad it is. It's just bad, period. The worst ever.

Nolanometer Final Grade: F

The Day the Earth Stood Still (2008)

2009-12-06T19:42:00.000-08:00

I've got a little bit a writer's block going tonight and not a lot of time, so I'm simply going to write about the last movie I saw. I have a bunch of cable movies saved on my dvr, and sometimes I'll watch 20-30 minutes of a flick in bed before falling asleep. It's not the idea way to view films, of course, but these are usually movies for which I have fairly low expectations. They don't merit the blu-ray big screen treatment, in other words.

Anyway, I started watching the new version of The Day the Earth Stood Still Friday night. I knew that it had bombed in the theatres and that it starred Keanu Reeves, so the bar was set extremely low. I had almost zero knowledge about the original version, except that the line "klaatu barada nikto" was featured in it, and I only knew that reference from Army of Darkness.

I probably watched 40 minutes or so Friday night, and I was mildly impressed. This is a good role for Keanu- he's supposed to be wooden, and Keanu does wooden like no other. I liked where the plot was going; there was mystery and suspense about what the aliens wanted and why they were here (again, remember that I knew nothing about the original film).

Thus, I was looking forward to finishing the film last night. Maybe this didn't do well because it differed from the original, I thought. Or maybe people just expected a big, bombastic sci-fi movie and this didn't deliver. Perhaps I'd stumbled onto something that, if not exactly a hidden gem, was a passable film that had been underrated.

Nope.

The second half is pure drudgery. The coolest thing about the movie is this giant robot thing that shoots down any attacks made on the big, glowing orb that's sitting in Central Park. But the army catches the giant robot and examines it in an underground bunker. Meanwhile, we get a lot of pleading from Jennifer Connelley about how humanity can change and a lot of whining from Will Smith's son about how he wants his father back.

Ultimately, the aliens are intent on saving the Earth by eliminating humanity. If they'd done it by sending an army of the robot things, it might have been cool. Instead, their instruments of Armageddon are hordes of microscopic black termites that simply chew through everything. If big glowing spheres flying around and CGI flying black clouds destroying CGI stadiums and buildings are your idea of terrifying, this is the movie for you.

I fast-forwarded through a lot of the last 20 minutes, which ideally should have been the most exciting part. I was just bored and wanted it to be over. The worst part is that if I ever see the original 1950's version, I've now somewhat tainted the experience. This isn't a terrible film, which is too bad because it doesn't even qualify for "It's so bad it's good" status. It just feels uninspired and lethargic.

Nolanometer final grade: D(ull)

Malice

2009-12-05T19:52:00.000-08:00

It's Saturday night, and I'm just not feeling writing a big, involved blog. I thought I'd drop another underrated film from the 90's, although this one's hardly unknown like Kicking and Screaming. It's one of the "new classics" on TNT, so there's your stamp of approval.

What's it got going for it? Let me count the ways.

1. Aaron Sorkin wrote it. You know what else he wrote? The tv shows Sportsnight and The West Wing. The movies An American President, Charlie Wilson's War, and a little indie you might have heard of called A Few Good Men. Interested yet?

2. Okay, well how about Nicole Kidman and Alec Baldwin in their physical primes and at the top of their games? Kidman's never been sexier, and Baldwin's at the peak of his arrogant prowess. Even the normally innocuous Bill Pullman acquits himself nicely as the cuckold-turned-avenger husband.

3. The supporting players may be even better. George C. Scott, Bebe Neuwirth (Lilith from Cheers), and Peter Gallagher turn in solid performances, and there's even a "Hey, isn't that...?" moment with a dirty blonde Gwyneth Paltrow. But the late, great Anne Bancroft steals the show as a bitter, alcoholic hermit. She gets off a couple great lines with her raspy purr, including "Single malt scotch. That was classy, mistah. I haven't had single malt since '79." After playing a card trick on Pullman, she shows him what a rube he is by growling "Then how come I got the jack of clubs in my fuckin' pocket!" She also begins the third act of the film with a grudging smile as she congratulates him, "Welcome to the game."

4. It's a film noir movie with plot twists that doesn't fall apart on repeated viewings. The surprises are subtly foreshadowed, and you'll notice things you didn't notice the first time. It doesn't disintegrate with inconsistencies, and the characters behave in a fashion that makes sense. Just a clever, tight little screenplay.

5. Anyone who knows anything about film knows that Baldwin's greatest scene ever is this one from Glengarry Glen Ross. But his monologue in Malice is pretty damn good, too.

Nolanometer final grade: B+

There's Something About Mary

2009-12-04T16:24:00.000-08:00

Yesterday's entry about The Hangover got me thinking about how much expectations shape one's movie-going experience. The buzz on that film was so good, both before and after I saw it, that it honestly probably made me like it a little less because I was anticipating something that would make me pee myself, and I only got a steady stream of chuckles. This was confirmed by Lance's comment that he saw it after I had told him it was overrated, thus lowering his expectations. Of course, he loved it.

I have no better example of this than today's subject, the much-beloved Something About Mary. I went to Europe for two-and-a-half months after graduating college in 1998. It was an amazing experience, but I passed up some things happening back in the states. One was the Clinton/Lewinsky scandal, although that played on the news in every country; the commentary was just in another language. Another was the Sosa/McGwire home run duel, which I really lamented missing out on at the time, only getting sporadic updates from the occasional USA Today. Considering the fervent anger, moralizing, and betrayal most people now express when talking about baseball that summer, I'm o.k. without those memories.

There were three big films that summer that people were talking about across the pond. Armageddon came out first, which unfortunately forced me to listen to that sappy Aerosmith song in every Euro bar. It was out of theatres by the time I got home; I settled for an underwhelming viewing on vhs. Saving Private Ryan was still playing when I got home, and even though I'd heard a ton about how viscerally real it was, it completely blew me away. Eleven years later, it still sets the standard for modern war epics.

The third, obviously, was Something About Mary. Even in Europe, I heard and read plenty about how hilarious and ground-breaking it was. It was setting box office records for a summer comedy. Everyone and their mother had already seen it twice. As the weeks wore on, the newspapers were less restrictive about revealing spoilers, and I got the gist of some of the jokes. Thus, the "hair gel" scene that was so shocking for patrons during the film's first few weeks was already pretty much spelled out for me. As was the ball-zipping, the sun-dried boobs, and the handicapped humor.

I saw it with a British friend of mine who had come with me to visit America. We went on a weeknight, and there were probably five other people in the theatre. It was definitely at the tail end of the movie's run. I'm sure I probably snorted or guffawed a few times, but I left the film thinking one part was legitimately hilarious: The end scene where Stiller calls Brett Favre "Fav-ruh?"

The whole rest of the movie struck me as one sight gag set piece after another. From the prom night accident to Dillon's oversized white teeth to Chris Elliot's skin rash to the completely absurd and unfunny resuscitation of the dog, the gay rest stop, in addition to the other bits I'd already mentioned, it felt like the plot existed merely as a vehicle to get to the next over-the-top gross-out joke.

Both my friend and I were completely underwhelmed. We walked out of the theatre and both said, "I don't get it." This was what all the clamor and praise was about?

I've watched it in pieces since then. It's still no better than a slightly amusing movie to me. Would my feelings about it be different if I'd watched it during opening week in a packed theatre? Undoubtedly.

But I didn't. So I have to go with what I saw.

Nolanometer final grade: C+

The Hangover

2009-12-03T13:53:00.001-08:00

Hollywood loves an against-the-odds success story, and the entertainment media made this "The Little Movie That Could" of the summer. NO ONE SAW THIS COMING, they breathlessly decreed. You would think that it was a $25,000 indie movie from the narrative the press spun, with first-time actors and a director fresh out of film school, maxing out his credit cards to get it made.

Yeah, except the guy who directed it (Todd Phillips) also directed Road Trip, Old School, and Starsky and Hutch. Ever heard of any of those art-house projects? As for the actors, one is a veteran of two of America's most popular t.v. shows (Ed Helms of The Daily Show and The Office), another (dreamy Bradley Cooper) was on Alias and was a major character in another comedy blockbuster, Wedding Crashers, with a third lead (Justin Bartha) cashing checks as Nic Cage's sidekick in the successfully awful National Treasure franchise. None of them were exactly missing meals.

Sure, this was Zach Galifianakis' first mainstream gig, but he already had a sizable following as a stand-up comic. Throw in small roles for Mike Tyson and Heather Graham (and Heather Graham's breasts, of course), and this wasn't exactly a cast of unknowns. However, because it didn't have an "A-list" star or director, it was depicted as something it wasn't: a low budget miracle full of newcomers.

You know what else it's depicted as that it's really not? An instant comedy classic.

Don't get me wrong. The Hangover is a funny movie. Very funny at times. I saw it in the theatre and chuckled and guffawed pretty continuously. I was amused by all the zany situations and the fact that it only slightly exaggerated the crazy, drunken shenanigans that can happen to a group of guys in Vegas. I had a good time, and I left the theatre pleased I'd seen it.

Over the next few days, as the buzz around the film's comedic pedigree continued to grow, I tried to remember what I liked about it. What were the really funny parts? Well, Tyson's tiger, sure. Galifiankis' deadpanned dimwit character. The end credits were amazing (has anybody figured out how they managed an "R" rating with some of those raunchy photos?).

Then I tried to go back and think of the key to any eternally re-watchable comedy: The lines. Every supremely funny movie has them. There were great sight gags in The Hangover, but what about the cleverly amusing dialogue? When I saw Forgetting Sarah Marshall a year before, I couldn't stop quoting from it, even after just one viewing. What could I remember from this Hangover (pun lamely intended)?

I came up with one line that had really made me laugh, after yet another low-comedy sight gag where the Chinese crime lord exits the trunk of the car naked and violent. After beating up the boys and leaving them to lick their wounds in the desert, Bradley Cooper's shocked character whines, "That guy was really mean!" It's not even the line that's all that great; I just loved the delivery.

That's it. That was the only line I could remember that truly made me laugh. This doesn't mean there weren't more that did at the time, but nothing stuck out.

Over the next few weeks when I talked to others who had seen it, I started noticing something. Everyone loved it and talked about how hilarious it was. I would always agree that yes, it was funny, but I didn't think it was quite as funny as it was made out to be. Most people looked at me like I was crazy. How dare I suggest that the funniest film in recent memory, the box office overachiever, could be...gasp...overrated?

Well, it is. The Hangover is overrated. That doesn't mean it's not a funny, well-done film. However, I don't see it standing the test of time as something people will still be watching and talking about years from now. It certainly didn't supplant Swingers as the ultimate Vegas-based comedy.

Low comedy films full of gross-out gags and wacky situations will bring the masses and, most importantly, attract repeated viewings from the youth market. The Hangover does low comedy better than most, and that's what made it a huge success. But if you needed any further proof that it wasn't quite as good as the hype made it seem like it was, I have damning, completely anecdotal evidence.

It was, by far, my high school students' favorite movie of the summer. They are notoriously bad judges of film, to the point that if they like something too much, I tend to shy away, and vice versa. Some of them have seen it three or four times and still can't give you more than one or two lines from it, but boy, do they love it when "that guy loses his tooth."

Comedies are hard to do well, and this is a very good one. But not great.

Nolanometer final grade: B

Kicking and Screaming

2009-12-02T19:53:00.001-08:00

You know what makes me crazy? The fact that many of you probably clicked on this link and expected to see that suck-ass Will Ferrell soccer movie. There should be a law about naming something totally crappy the same thing as something totally awesome.

And awesome is what Noah Baumbach's 1995 ode to the graduating college student is. A big, heaping bowl of awesome that has become the most genuine of cult classics. No one saw it in the theatres. It came out before the advent of dvd's. I'm betting that most people caught it like I did, on late-night showings on cable. It's one of those movies that gets better on repeated viewings. I would catch 40 minutes here, 25 minutes there, and I was eventually given the vhs version by the roommate I lived with in Berkeley after graduating from UC Davis.

This film will undoubtedly appeal largely to those who have experienced the same post-college paralysis I went through. Put simply, it is my generation's The Graduate. I don't care if that sounds pretentious. This is a great film that perfectly captures the aimlessness and terror of the purgatory between student life and adulthood.

If you didn't struggle with the transition from college, it won't appeal to you quite as much. If you're not yet college age, you will most likely think this movie is "hella boring" unless you have an especially well-developed sense of humor. In other words, if Transformers 2 and New Moon are the pinnacle of filmmaking for you, go ahead and skip the rest of this blog.

The plot's pretty irrelevant, but if you must know, it starts with the university graduation of a group of four friends with fairly ridiculous names: Grover, the sensitive writer, Skippy, the adolescent who refuses to grow up, Max, the sarcastic hipster, and Otis, the neurotic mess. Although they've gotten their degrees, they aren't yet ready to leave the comfort and routine of higher education. They attend dorm parties, re-enroll in classes, and try to avoid entering the real world at all costs. In other words, they're leaving college...wait for it...kicking and screaming.

Chris Eigeman's Max is a sarcastic, narcissistic hipster who gets off some of the best lines, such as noting that getting in a parking altercation with a guy whose pickup truck bumper sticker reads "I'd rather be bow hunting" isn't a great idea, reasoning "This is bad. He'd already rather be bow hunting, so any additional aggravation..."

However, Carlos Jacott's Otis steals every scene he's in. He's got the perfect blend of neurosis and childlike innocence. He accidentally packs the t.v. remote when he leaves for his job in Milwaukee. He refuses to leave the house until he knows the fate of a stained shirt on a detergent commercial. He wears pajama tops under sport coats.

What makes the movie something special is Baumbach's ear for dialogue. It's no coincidence that the cover of the Criterion dvd is just a series of quotes from the film. One of the largest motivations for this blog is in the hopes that more people see one of the most quotable movies of the last 20 years so that when I say something like "Go away, Cookie Man!" people high five me instead of looking at me like I have two heads.

Two more reasons to check out Kicking and Screaming: There's a delightful, believable romance between Grover and Jane, (played by the older sister from The Wonder Years), so it's not a total dude's movie. The other is that it features one of the 90's most enduring and underrated songs, "Bad Reputation," by Freedy Johnston. It fits perfectly during the credits of one of the 90's most enduring and underrated films.

Nolanometer final grade: A-

Movie-a-Day Month: The Dark Knight

2009-12-01T19:56:00.000-08:00

Thus begins Movie-a-Day Month. The rules are similar to Blog-a-Day Month, where, as many of you recall, I was voted the champion. Basically, you just have to write about a movie every day. As I've seen at least 31 films, I don't think this will be all that hard.

The question then becomes, what exactly does "write about a movie" entail? Is it a review, a critique, an homage, or what? I have no idea. I think I'll try to give a take on each film that is at least somewhat original. It might be that I feel it's overrated/underrated, that it's a hidden gem, a work of art, a piece of dung, or I might just fall back on my specialty...nitpick it to death.

Tonight's inaugural entry: The Dark Knight.

Like pretty much everyone else, I love this movie. You don't need me to tell you the reasons it's great, not the least of which is that it's directed by a guy named Nolan.

If you're sensing a "but" coming, you know me too well. I guess now would be a good time to mention that spoilers will follow; although, if you haven't seen The Dark Knight yet, the odds you are able to work the internet are pretty low.

I have never read a Batman comic in my life. However, when I was in junior high/high school, I used to come home and watch Batman: The Animated Series, which was pretty damn cool. My absolute favorite plotline was the Two-Face story arc. Harvey Dent was Gotham's District Attorney, Batman's ally, and a force for good. Then half of his face gets horribly disfigured in an accident that Batman tries to but can't prevent, and he becomes a conflicted villain. The coin-flipping gimmick is meant to demonstrate his dual nature: Part of him is still benevolent, while the other half is bent on mayhem and revenge. He's not an all-evil, all-the-time guy like the Joker; he still retains much of his humanity.

Apparently, Tommy Lee Jones never saw that cartoon nor read the comic it was based on. His performance as Two-Face in Batman Forever was all cackling lunatic. The movie itself was terrible; the way Two-Face's character was glossed over, never explained, and made a sidekick to Jim Carrey's Riddler was a travesty. Here's one of the most nuanced villains in the Batman canon, and he's reduced to a hammy caricature.

Thus, I was beyond excited when the trailers for the new Batman film showed glimpses of Aaron Eckhart, a fine actor, as Harvey Dent/Two-Face. But wait- wasn't the Joker to be the main focus of this newest installment? I worried that the Nolan Batman series would fall victim to the Burton/Shumacher syndrome of too many villains.

I needn't have worried. Christopher Nolan is too strong an auteur to fall into that trap. Dent's character is well-developed, and his relationship with Batman/Bruce Wayne is intriguing and meaningful. The explosion scene that ruins his features and takes his girlfriend's life is suspenseful and dramatic.

I bought that his rage would lead him to despicable acts. The inner conflict was there. But...

Why did they have to kill the guy off?

One of my favorite parts of Batman Begins was the final scene when Lieutenant Gordon shows Batman the Joker card. It made the three-year wait for the sequel a task of delicious anticipation.

Wouldn't it be cooler if Dent's "good" side was touched by Batman's actions, and Batman still took the heat for Two-Face's misdeeds? You really wouldn't need to change that much of the film. The part with Gordon's family at the end seems anticlimactic anyway after the tension of the boat scene and the Joker's capture.

The idea of Two-Face somehow retaining a position of power amidst the chaos of Gotham, striving to do the right thing while battling his psychotic tendencies makes me giddy. The myriad possibilities for the next film would be staggering. Would he be able to hold himself together? What would make him snap? Would he go after the now-rogue Batman? I guess we'll never know. Sigh.

Still, a fantastic film. Nolanometer final grade: A.

"Star Trek": Black Holes and Plot Holes

2009-11-29T19:01:00.000-08:00

Ok, I watched the new Star Trek movie twice more over vacation, and I still really like it. The first 10 minutes are absolutely sensational.

Unfortunately, after those first 10 minutes, I am left with many, many questions that have only multiplied after repeated viewings. I would appreciate fellow dork assistance. If there are answers to these seeming plot holes, please enlighten me. If you have other questions, pile on.

Mild spoiler alert!

1. Why does Nero's mining vessel have so many weapons on it?

2. What does Nero do for the 20+ years between destroying the Kelvin and attacking the Klingons/Star Fleet?

3. Why does he attack the Klingons?

4. What is the "lightning strike in space"? Is it the ship appearing through the event horizon/time warp, or is it destroying ships with their advanced weapons? Because in the Kelvin's case, it seems to be the former, but in the second Nero spotting (attack on Klingon warbirds), it seems to be the latter.

5. The biggest one: How does he know the exact time that (old) Spock will reappear through the rip in space? He's right there waiting for him, even though theoretically it could be any time, right?

6. Why doesn't he go back to Romulus and warn them that their planet's going to be destroyed in 100 years instead of being such a colossal prick about something that hasn't actually happened yet? Granted, he's not all that rational, since he blames Spock for little-to-no reason in the first place.

7. If one drop of red matter is enough to destroy an entire planet, why is Spock traveling around with a giant ball of it?

Victory is Mine!

2009-10-31T18:16:00.000-07:00

I want to thank everyone who voted for me as winner of Blog-a-Day Month. I knew when I started this campaign that I was going up against two veterans in Scott and Lance. However, I was counting on the fact that their routines had grown old and stale, and I figured the public would be ready for a change.

Boy, was I right. You, the people, overwhelmingly elected me Blog-a-Day Month champion, with Lance coming in a distant second and BADM founder Scott finishing a disappointing third.

Exit polls showed that those who voted for me did so because they liked the variety of my topics, the volume of my work, and the quality of my prose. In contrast, they said that Lance tended to repeat himself, and Scott was just plain weird.

"That one guy just writes about comics all the time," commented Antonio Edelwiess of Lance C. Johnson. "He does some stuff on religion, yeah, but all of his cheeky references to Norse gods get a little old."

Voters also questioned the moxie of Johnson's silly dietary crusades. "He quit a day early on the vegetarian thing," said Richard Shiner. "And what kind of man even pretends to be a vegetarian in the first place? Give me a carnivore like Nolan, who can't even remember the last day he didn't eat flesh."

As for Scott C. Harris, voters often had the same reaction as the title of his blog, "What?"

"Dude admitted to writer's block about halfway through, and I was like, 'no s--t,'" said Amanda Huginkiss, a former paramour of Harris'. "He was just posting photos of his vacation. What is he, my grandparents?"

Other voters declared Harris' Thursday night blog the final straw. "He interviewed himself! Isn't there some rule about not just posting a bunch of rambling nonsense?" asked Hugh Jass, once a Harris supporter.

Although my election as BADM winner was a landslide, it was not unanimous. Analysis shows that Scott won the octogenarian demographic while Lance swept the pedophile vote.

On a serious note, I'd like to thank everyone who took the time to read my rants, and especially those who took the time to comment on them, either here on blogspot or on facebook. If I didn't think anyone was paying attention, I wouldn't have made it through the whole month. I crave affirmation, but not enough to make one of those quizzes about how well you know me, so this is my only outlet.

I don't think I'll do Haiku-a-Day month in November. It just seems beneath my talents. I'm not sure yet if this blog death march made me likely to blog more often (my last one before BADM was in August) or less. I guess we'll see.

I do know this: I am grateful to my loyal fans for the landslide victory they provided. I humbly thank the also-rans, Scott and Lance, for providing me with the minimal competition they managed to muster.

Peace! I'm outta here!

"That's Just the Way I Was Raised"

2009-10-30T20:11:00.000-07:00

There may be no lamer way to defend one's point than this old chestnut, which simultaneously ends any conversation and also attempts to put the speaker on a higher moral plane than the other side. I have parents. They raised me right. You were probably raised by wolves.

I've seen this saying pop up all over recently. One of my mom's friends used it over Facebook as a dig after my mom voted "yes" in a poll about allowing gay marriage. "I'm surprised at you, Kathy. I was raised to believe that marriage is between a man and a woman." By implication, my grandparents must've dropped the ball with my mom.

Also by implication, this lady couldn't possibly have learned anything about acceptance or come to her own conclusions in the past 60 years. Once your parents stamp you with their intolerance, you're set for life. Nothing you can do about it.

It's also used frequently by racists. Oops, sorry. They're not racists. They were just raised to believe differently than non-racists. I saw this most recently in the excellent HBO documentary Prom Night in Mississippi. It focused on a high school in Mississippi that had been having segregated proms (organized by the parents) for the past 50 years. They were still doing this into 2008.

But not because they were racist. You see, they was raised to be believe that blacks should be with blacks, and whites should be with whites. The white parents don't have nothin' against the blacks, they just didn't want their youngins dancin' with 'em. Ain't nothin' wrong with that, right? Just good ol' Southern tradition.

I'm not saying that this expression is never appropriate. Writing prompt thank you letters because that's how you were raised is unquestionably a good thing. Always making your bed is swell, too.

However, basing decisions involving social justice on antiquated, bigoted religious beliefs or drunken, redneck ramblings of your primary caregivers is no way to go through life. If every generation followed the example of the one that came before it, there would be no progress.

Imagine a world where everyone used this phrase as an excuse for everything they did. I'm a drug addict because my mom did meth when she was pregnant with me. I kidnap and murder young boys, for my dad was Jeffry Dahmer. I vote Republican; my parents were lifelong GOP fundraisers. You see how bad it can get?

The Story Told, Part IV: The Aftermath

2009-10-29T19:38:00.000-07:00

I wrote the following email to the editorial board of The Claw just hours after my "reassignment" meeting. It's pretty melodramatic in retrospect (esp. comparing myself to Obi-Wan Kanobi), but it was a pretty melodramatic situation.

Claw Editorial Board 2006/2007-

I wanted you guys to hear this from me before it's everywhere.

I was called into a meeting with (the principal) and (vice principal) today where I was told I was being "reassigned" from journalism to an English II class because my "professional and educational training was better spent in the core curriculum."

You all know the real reason for this. We told the truth too much this year, and we upset the people at the top. I was asked to soften and change things, and I repeatedly told them that wasn't my role as an adviser of journalism. I don't regret any of it, and I wouldn't change a thing (except the staged fight photo of Greg and Ron).

I know many of you will be angry, and that's fine (I'm plenty angry, too). You are free to make your voices heard in any proper, acceptable format. I don't know whom the new adviser will be, although I doubt anyone currently employed at CP would take the job.

The greatest service you could do for me (those of you returning next year) is not to resign. Instead, remember what I taught you all year long. That journalism is important, that you are the watchdogs of a free society. Never let anyone hold your leash. They can't STOP you from printing what's true and newsworthy, and if they do, they are breaking the law and violating the U.S. Constitution. Keep that spirit we had this year alive, pass it on to the new minions, and all the time and heart and soul I put into being your adviser this year will not have been in vain.

It was a privilege to work with you all...even Dimaggio. I can't thank you enough for all the hard work you put in and the hours of your time you gave me so that we could make The Claw a better newspaper. Above all else, do not doubt that: it was better. I have heard too many unsolicited comments from students and faculty to refute that claim. I'm sorry I won't be around to reach my goal of making it the best student newspaper in the area.

Many times, there's a price for doing something differently and challenging authority. This is a good life lesson for each of us. Perhaps it is better, as Mr. Antolini tells Holden in "Catcher in the Rye," to live humbly for a cause, rather than die nobly for one. But I'm pretty headstrong and don't like being told what to do. Thus, my love for journalism.

If any of you ever need me, you can always reach me at this email. Kinda like Obi-Wan Kanobi, I'll be with you, always. I'll never forget the year we spent together. What a ride it was.

Thanks again. Take care,

Nolan

From then on, I let nature run its course. I did not solicit a single plea for my reinstatement. Two of my friends and colleagues (Lance Johnson and Joel Swett) wrote emails to the principal, expressing their disappointment and disapproval with the decision. I believe Lance's was signed by other members of the English department. I received a few emails from other staff members who wrote that they had truly enjoyed the paper that year and couldn't believe the principal's decision. Over a dozen more approached me and made similar comments. It's safe to say it was a nearly universally unpopular decision.

Keep in mind this happened the last week of school. Finals were going on. Students and teachers alike were concerned with other things. Still, my case became somewhat newsworthy. I got this email from a Contra Costa Times reporter two days after my meeting with the principal:

Hi Mr. Nolan,

Students and teachers have been calling me in an outrage over what seems to be your reassignment. Apparently, you will not be able to teach journalism next year?

If you are interested in talking with me about it, please let me know ASAP.

I gave the newspaper an interview that came out a week or so later. It ran on the front page of the local section, replete with a photo. Other media outlets started picking up on it, as a version of the Times story ran in the San Jose Mercury News. I can't link to those articles because their online archives don't go far enough back, but here's a mini-editorial that the S.F. Chronicle wrote about it. I had friends and acquaintances contacting me to let me know they'd heard my name mentioned in a news story on KCBS radio. A while later, the California Teacher's Association (CTA) Magazine ran an article about academic freedom that featured my story and comments. My old ally, The Student Press Law Center, penned an article in its newsletter about my case as well.

I actually missed most of the hubbub. I left for trip to Europe with my then-girlfriend shortly after school ended. Meanwhile, the kids were attempting to fight the battle. Keep in mind, many of them were seniors who had just graduated. School was out for the summer. They had their parents calling the school nonstop, demanding a meeting with the principal. I believe they finally may have gotten one, but she just stuck to the line "It's a personnel decision, and we don't comment on those." She also would not comment for any other stories.

What could she say? It wasn't a terribly defensible position. Cleverly (no doubt with help from district advisers), she had waited until the last possible minute to get rid of the nuisance. Now she just had to ride out the summer and wait for it all to die down by the time school started again in September. It didn't die down quite as much as she had hoped. There were three articles referencing the staff's disagreement with my reassignment in the first issue, including this touching tribute from new co-editors in chief Ron Lee and Jessica Shea.

When I came back from getting engaged in Europe, I had two contacts from legal organizations. One was from the ACLU. The other was a lawyer from CTA.

After meeting with the ACLU in their offices in San Francisco, they decided that they didn't have cause to take legal action, but they wrote a letter of reprimand to the principal and intimated a "we'll be watching you" approach.

The CTA lawyer felt that we might have the basis for a complaint and filed one on my behalf (without cost to me, of course. I neither asked nor paid for legal representation). The ensuing details are beyond tedious, but the bottom line is that the complaint was dismissed. The principal had done nothing illegal. She had "reassigned" me, as was her right as principal. She has ultimate authority over those decisions. I now understood why she had said nothing criticizing my performance as journalism adviser in that meeting, even though I had confronted her about it. Making a case that I was doing an unsatisfactory job wouldn't help her in the least; it would only cause her difficulty. Better to vaguely claim it was a "personnel decision."

In September of 2008, the Governator signed into law the "Journalism Adviser Protection Bill" The law took effect on January 1st of this year and protects an employee from being "dismissed, suspended, disciplined, reassigned, transferred, or otherwise retaliated against" for solely acting to protect a pupil's speech, or for refusing an administrator's order to illegally censor speech.

In other words, what happened to me is now against the law.

Apparently, this sort of thing happened enough so that even California's politicians took note. If there's any lasting good that came out of this whole ordeal, I'd like to think that my case formed at least one brick in the wall that eventually formed this bill. I'm sure there are still principals abusing their power over student publications. If you're reading this, and you know of any incidence of this sort, the best favor you could do for me is to let the kids and their adviser know that the law is now on their side. They don't have to be pushed around anymore.

What happened to the paper after I left it? I'll tread carefully here out of respect for the work the staff and their advisers put into it. Many of my ex-staffers soldiered on and did their best, but I think it's safe to say The Claw hasn't been the same these past four years. A huge part of the problem has been continuity. In the three years after I was removed, the newspaper had five different advisers. That is not a misprint. One year they had three different teachers.

Although by any objective standard the newspaper is less successful than it was during my tenure, the principal got exactly what she wanted. It's reverted to publishing the traditional "all one big happy family" fare, without a whiff of controversy. I highly doubt anyone has been called into the office recently because of an objectionable topic. I do have it from a very reliable student source that two years ago the principal forced a writer to change part of a story after again indulging in the (illegal) practice of prior review. The adviser didn't put up a fight. Of course, there were three of them that year, so I can't put the blame there.

I believe that a quality school newspaper can unite the student body and imbue the campus with a sense of pride just as well as a great football team can. That is what is so frustrating. We had actually gotten kids excited about a student-run publication, and it was ripped away because of the insecurities of a small group of administrators. They chose their own comfort and interests over the interests of the school.

It's been three-and-a-half years, and I'm clearly not over it. Probably never will be. But at least now the story has been told.

And that's the way it was.

The Story Told, Part III: Tension and Termination

2009-10-28T18:18:00.000-07:00

Please take a gander at Parts I and II, or you're just going to be lost here.

I left that second meeting after assuring the principal and vice principal that we would make a concerted effort to check news items with them and get their stance when applicable. But I also made it clear that we would continue to seek out and report on stories of interest to the student body, whatever they may be.

From then on, things got frostier. Our first edition of the new year (2006) was led by the headline "December Brings Freshman Violence Epidemic." We reported on a spate of five altercations during the month, replete with student accounts, no doubt further endearing ourselves to the administration. In addition, we ran a feature article on school violence/safety in general. At the wrap-up meeting, we decided that we were running the risk of beating a dead horse, and concluded that we wouldn't run anything more about fights unless something extraordinary happened.

The edition also included an editorial about how abstinence-only education was harmful, and a letter from a vice principal that pointed out an inaccuracy in a past issue about the funding of agenda planners that were given to students at the beginning of the year. I wrote to the V.P. privately and thanked her for holding my reporters accountable for their mistakes; I couldn't possibly catch everything they misunderstood or just plain got wrong. I smelt a brief whiff of progress; this was the free press in action and consequence.

Then came issue #7 in March, and from then on out, things were pretty much hostile. We scored a major coup by getting a hold of a student's schedule which showed that he was slotted to be in a "systems management" class. This would essentially have made he and another student school-wide tech support. For some unknown reason, the administration had moved both students into other classes.The Claw had been banging the drum all year over the lousy state of campus technology, and now we had irrefutable proof that the administration not only hadn't tried to make things better, they'd actually made things worse. The article contained several quotes which attributed the schedule change to a specific V.P. We tried repeatedly to get a statement from her, but she dodged us, and we ended up with a "no comment."

It was student journalism at its finest, but it was more egg on the face of those who run the show.

Even more controversial was the article on the dangers teens faced on the social networking site myspace.com. The article itself was fairly tame; what happened behind the scenes surely helped me along the road to reassignment.

The kids had caught wind of a sophomore runaway; the rumor was she left home in order to meet up with an older man she met on myspace. I checked the web; there was a story in a local paper citing the girl's name and situation. One of our reporters called the girl's mother, who had apparently contacted major news organizations railing against myspace. She went off on the perils for teens due to the website's lack of oversight but would not address how it had affected her daughter personally.

After the writer got off the phone with her, the mother called our principal and demanded that we not print anything about her daughter's disappearance (the girl had since returned unharmed and resumed classes). I received a memo from the principal instructing me not to allow my reporters to write anything about the girl or her case. She claimed she didn't want us "to get sued."

I was almost positive what she had done was illegal, but I wanted confirmation. I emailed an organization called The Student Press Law Center in Virginia. They wrote back and informed me in no uncertain terms that the principal had committed "prior restraint," which is, in fact, illegal. It violates two sections of the California Education Code, along with that pesky First Amendment of the U.S. Constitution.

I went back to the editorial board and presented them with their options: We could run the story using the girl's name, we could mention her case but keep her anonymous, or we could leave her out altogether. I couldn't have been prouder of the decision they made. They believed the fact that a CP student ran away because of a connection made on myspace was relevant, but they didn't see the need to put her name out if she didn't want it (she refused to comment for the story).

I sent a letter to the principal, informing her of our decision. It read, in part:

Since your memo to me re: the (student's name) situation, I did some research. You’ll find attached an email from the Student Press Law Center in Virginia, a resource I found in an accredited guidebook.

At an editorial board meeting today, The Claw decided to pursue the story. We will give (student) and her mother the option of anonymity, although, legally we do not have to. We will be talking to both on Friday. Regardless, her situation will be a significant portion of a larger article on the potential dangers of myspace.com and how it relates to CP. We think it’s an important story that needs to be told.

Please read the attached email; it spells out quite clearly what your responsibility is as principal. If you have any information or clarification to add to the story, feel free to let us know.

Cordially,

Andrew

I tried to be nice about it, but I wasn't backing down. I didn't hear back from her. What could she say? She had clearly overstepped her bounds. I still have a copy of the memo.

The next issue was our traditional April Fool's satire issue, known as "The Flaw." It contained the usual Onion-style tomfoolery, and I found myself in the office yet again after we delivered it. This time, there were "several complaints" (none to me personally, of course) about one particular item. Our managing editor, Tomo Hirai, had dressed in drag, dolled himself up, and created a fake personal ad. His "likes" were "rich old men, kitties, and puppies." His dislikes included "homophobic people." It was pretty tame stuff, unless you consider the mere act of cross-dressing potentially offensive.

The principal apparently did. She was worried that the school's gay students would be insulted. This was especially laughable if you knew Tomo at all. He was about the least likely member of the staff to denigrate the gay community; in fact, he was responsible for the article earlier in the year about being gay on campus. I told the principal that I felt she was worried for no reason and promised to ask the LGBT club on campus if they were miffed by the ad. The outfit's president told me the whole group thought it was funny as hell. Crisis averted.

In the next couple months, there was a bell schedule controversy where the principal became upset that I was revealing the content of faculty meetings to my reporters, who were then going to ask her questions about what she had said. Even though we tried to keep the administration in the loop and give them the chance to go on the record, as I'd promised back in December, they almost never responded to interview requests. A lot of times we were forced to run the standard "despite repeated attempts, so-and-so was unavailable for comment," as with this story.

The final straw came after the annual multicultural assembly. A group of Latina girls had caused a disturbance by coming out of their seats and down to the floor, dancing. One of them had been chased around half the gym by one of the campus supervisors, in full view of the half the student body who attended that assembly.

We had already planned on writing a story about the assembly, and now we had an angle. My reporters went to work interviewing some of the girls involved. One of them claimed the school was racist in persecuting the Latinas for merely showing their spirit. She wished to remain anonymous in part because of her inflammatory comments and also because she had ditched class and gone to both performances, in violation of school rules. We also interviewed the campus supervisor to get her take.

The principal caught wind of the thrust of the article and asked if she could see it before we published it. This could also be construed as an infraction of the California Ed. Code; a principal does not have the right to preview content before it goes to print. It's called prior review. However, she hadn't demanded it, so I decided to play nice in the spirit of diplomacy and let her see a rough version of it. She wrote me an email about it with the heading "Personal and Confidential," so I won't reprint any part of it here. However, I'll let you fill in the blanks by showing you what I wrote in response. It's easy to see now that this email sealed my fate:

(Principal)-
To address your points:
As for the matter of these being "confidential" issues dealing with student discipline, they cease to become confidential when the students themselves tell
reporters about them and the information is gathered in a legal and ethical way.

As for what is or what is not "responsible journalism," that is obviously a subjective matter. You are right; it is my job to teach them ethics, and they
know that anonymous sources are not preferred but are only tolerated when there is good reason for the person to remain anonymous (all newspapers do this). In this case, we believed there was. I should also note that I had them cut part of the girl's quote where she had said "(The campus supervisor) should be fired," and explained to them that we should not allow this girl to slander specific people while choosing to remain anonymous.

I allowed them to run the incendiary comment you referred to because while I do not believe that College Park is a racist or sexist high school myself, I do understand that it is a representative view of at least this group of students that it is. That is newsworthy. Again, another person might see this differently, but that is what my seven-plus years of journalistic experience and instincts are telling me.

Another part of teaching them journalistic responsibility is getting both sides
of the story (being "fair to all," as you said). The reporters went and interviewed (the supervisor) after talking to these girls. She gave her side. We printed it. This is another of the issues I was trying to get Ali to let you comment on for additional representation, but you two never connected.

A controversy (two sides disagreeing) is what makes a news story. I understand that as the primary representative of the school, you would prefer not to have controversy exposed or highlighted. Again, that is not the objective of the free press, even a student newspaper. Journalism is not about avoiding controversy. It is about finding out what's on people's lips and minds and investigating the story. After the multicultural assembly, few students were talking about the content of the assembly- most were talking about this girl being chased by (school officials). I actually never witnessed it. It was entirely student motivated. I don't believe the article was unfair, unethical, or irresponsible.

If you want someone to be advisor who will never allow the school to be portrayed in a negative light or will suppress information or opinions which could be considered controversial or troublesome, then I am not your man. I believe strongly in the ideal that the press should be independent and especially report on things that the people in power don't want exposed. My favorite quote on this subject is from Dan Rather, who said, "It's only news if someone doesn't want people to hear it. Otherwise, it's just advertising." I will not be in charge of a propaganda publication, no matter how good its cause. It just doesn't interest me.

It will perhaps please you to know that I am going to make communicating with
the administration and getting better representation from that faction a primary goal for next year, if indeed I am still adviser.

You may also be pleased to know that in the final draft of the multicultural
article, a quote has been added from (the girl) where she tries to explain away the
fact that she was at both assemblies in a clear violation of school rules. She
comes off like a real brat.

-Andrew

There it was. I made my ideals clear, once and for all. I had told the kids I would fight for them, and I would not compromise or bend to the will of the people who controlled my fate. Looking back, I was basically daring her to take me off the paper. However, I still don't regret what I wrote or the stance I took. I still believe in every word.

The final issue came out on Friday, June 9th, the last week before finals. Ironically, in my last "Nolan's Rants" column, I thanked the principal for "not making it personal" even when the paper's content "found the crosshairs squarely upon the administration." I ended by writing that, "I consider her a friend."

The following Tuesday, during the last week of school, I was called into the office for the last time. I honestly didn't know what to expect; although, I knew it probably wasn't good. As you can tell from my documentation of the events, I was still shocked and angry.

June 13, 2006

8:39 AM

I was given an official memo to meet at 8 AM this morning with (the principal and vice principal). When I arrived, the principal immediately informed me that she had decided my “professional and educational training were better suited to the core curriculum.”

My job assignment from April (4 classes of American Threads and the journalism class) was recanted, and I was assigned an English II class in journalism’s place.

I let the principal know that I was disappointed and told her how hard I’d worked and how many hours I’d spent trying to make The Claw a better paper. I asked for a better explanation that the one she gave me, because that was a politician’s line, a beaurocrat’s line. She said she was sorry I felt that way, but in terms of the “big picture” (including that students tell her I’m the best English teacher they’ve ever had) that me “professional and educational training were better suited to the core curriculum.”

I told her I felt betrayed, that this was a stab in the back. I also told her I knew that this was not about the core curriculum, this was about me not being the journalism adviser anymore. She would not engage me, only saying that she’d thought about this for several months and decided it was what was best.

At no point did she offer a criticism of my work as journalism adviser. At no point did (the V.P.) say anything.

This is all told to the best of my recollection, 45 minutes after the fact.

-Andrew Nolan

Tomorrow: What happened next.

The Story Told, Part II: Early Success and Controversy

2009-10-27T17:00:00.000-07:00

Before I go on, I want to reiterate that I'm writing this mostly from memory, so the sequence of events may be off, and I may not remember who exactly said what, but the essential facts are all here. Furthermore, I have hard copies of all the old issues and saved memos and emails from the principle (pun intended) players.

I knew putting out the first issue would be tough. I had zero experience working with the computers, the off site printing company, or the staff. Very few of them had any idea what they were doing, either. I focused on controlling what I could control: creating a storyboard with page layouts, editing as much of the copy as I could, and imbuing the paper with a new attitude.

Find out what students are worried/talking about, and write to that, I told them. Don't worry if it will upset people. Furthermore, even the most "boring" stories have something that makes them interesting. If they're fixing the potholes in the parking lot, find out where the money came from to do it and who's upset that it wasn't spent on another problem. It's one of the oldest tenets of journalism: Find the angle.

Oh, and one other thing: I stressed that there would be no more making up quotes for stories. I knew for a fact it was rampant in the years preceding me. I demanded reporters take notes with citations.

As I recall, we had planned to have 16 pages that first issue but had to cut down to 12 (because of the way it was printed, the paper had to come in four-page increments) due to several stories being too short, poorly written, or just not handed in. As I mentioned in yesterday's blog, there was a lot of dead weight on the staff. I quickly learned which reporters/editors were reliable and who should not be counted on.

Cutting down pages on the last day of production would become a recurring theme. So would staying until after the street sweeper went by on Viking Drive, at approximately 1:00 a.m. on Tuesday nights. That first issue, some of us were there until well after that.

When the inaugural issue came out that Friday, I had mixed feelings. It sure wasn't much to look at. There was too much text and not enough art. It contained a lot more typos than I was comfortable with. The stupid falcon illustration was bleeding into the top headline. After distributing the edition, I had the class spend an hour-and-a-half combing the paper for any errors they could find and noting them on the board. I made it clear that we were striving for 100% perfection.

At lunch, quite a few teachers told me they were really impressed with the paper. One said, "Just from looking at the headlines, I can tell it's better (than previous years)." Looking at it now, I'm proud of lots of the stories.

We led with the controversial teacher decision not to write letters of recommendation for students as part of the faculty's contract dispute with the district. Ali Saragoza, who would become our star reporter, also scored an interview with then-Superintendent Gary McHenry about the negotiations. Managing Editor Tomo Hirai wrote an editorial critical of the teachers' stance, while the talented Angelica Bell wrote a counterpoint. There were stories about aggressive enforcement of parking rules, student complaints over "fat testing" in P.E., MTV's sway over teenagers, and a feature that asked the question whether the cross country team was simply a very dedicated squad of runners or some sort of demented cult of personality. We even managed to make a traditional homecoming story interesting by pointing out that the dance and football game overlapped, forcing students to choose which to attend. We were learning to find the angle.

Editor-in-Chief Robby Sutherland also wrote a "Welcome Back" letter where he told the readers that The Claw would no longer be covering national news stories that would largely have to be lifted from other publications. We would focus on local stories that affected our readership directly. He also encouraged any feedback, criticism, or suggestions.

After the first issue came out, I received a letter of congratulations from the Principal. I thanked her for it and told her the next one would be better. She looked quizzically at me and said something like, "I thought since you were new, you were just going to do two or three a year." That was the end of the good times.

After the second issue came out, I got called into the principal's office, where I was met by the Principal and senior Vice Principal (an excellent administrator and great guy), along with the first two issues of the paper, covered in yellow hi-lighter. It seems they had some concerns. Mostly what I recall from this meeting was that they didn't like "focusing on the negative," in particular campus violence.

The V.P. pointed to one hi-lighted headline that read "Violence Increases With New Term" and asked, "What do you mean by increases? From when?" I explained that there seemed to be more fights than last year, as evidenced by the quote within the article from another administrator which read, "I think that there have been more fights simply because there are more students this year." I also noted his own quote in the story, where the Veep commented "Usually, I've noticed there are more fights in the beginning of the year because of the heat" in addition to the fact that the freshmen were still "getting used to each other."

The school discipline issue became a point of contention throughout the rest of the year. Administrators would often decline to comment on these matters, citing student confidentiality. They would get upset that names of students were used in the paper, saying that those matters were private.

What they failed to (or refused to) understand is that the newspaper's job is not the same as theirs. If a fight happens in front of 50 witnesses, it is a public event; therefore, it is newsworthy. It is on the minds and lips of the student body. Our job was not to sweep it under the rug. Furthermore, The Claw used only the names of kids who would willingly talk to the paper and didn't mind being quoted. We never named the "victim" in a fight (although most students could've told you who they were).

Since we relied on students for quotes, there would often be inconsistencies. One fighter claimed he had to go to an expulsion meeting for his actions. The Principal denied this and was upset that we had allowed his quote to appear as such. The problem was, she couldn't verify to the reporter (because of the aforementioned confidentiality) whether his stance was accurate. I told her we'd do our best to make sure kids we interviewed knew their facts, but any newspaper is going to have misinformation, and that's quadrupled when you're dealing with students and student journalists. It's the price of free speech. The best we could do is run corrections and letters to the editor.

It should be noted that I had to eat some major crow in this first meeting. One of the items they had hi-lighted was a staged photo of two journalism kids fighting (at night, no less) to illustrate the school violence story. It was stupid, bad journalism, and I never should've let them take the photo or run it. Being up at two in the morning on a weeknight and desperate to fill space makes you punchy. Still, it was bad judgment on my part, and I admitted it right away and swore nothing like it would ever happen again. Nothing did.

We left the meeting amicably. They believed they had gotten their concerns through to me. They had. Other than the stupid staged picture, I didn't share their concerns. It wasn't my job to produce a newspaper for the administration. It was my job to teach journalism. Unfortunately, those two interests often collide. It's the nature of the game.

I went back and told the class what the school officials had said, and assured them than other than the ridiculous photo, we wouldn't be changing a thing. One edition later, I was back in the office.

This time, there was no hi-lighter. Their main concerns were twofold.

The first was that they felt the tone was "too negative" and that we should try to "focus on the good stuff that goes on around here." This is about a clear example as you can get of the powers-that-be trying to control the content of the newspaper.

In particular, they were upset about a story claiming students were apathetic about a long-running senior experience project. I assured them that these were student reporters who understood the pulse of the campus much better than their wishful thinking did. Besides, I pointed out, although the thrust of the piece was that most seniors weren't excited about the project, I had made sure the story included a quote or two from some who were. That's called balance, another journalistic attribute.

They were also frustrated about perceived "inaccuracies." The two that I can recall them bringing up are difficult to categorize that way. Our lead story in the third issue dealt with the sorry state of technology at CP. We cited the teacher who used to be the on-site tech guy as having resigned over what he claimed was a lack of support from the administration. They debated that claim. I tried to explain that this wasn't an "inaccuracy" but a matter of opinion. They should feel free to write a letter explaining their position.

Next, we entered the Twilight Zone. The Principal pointed to an article which stated that she needed to hire extra biology teachers because biology was being moved from sophomore to freshman year, thus, the need for twice as many bio teachers for that year only. I asked her how that was untrue. She admitted that it wasn't, but she "didn't want them to think they would lose their jobs at the end of the year." Isn't that a possibility, I inquired? "Yes, but I don't want them to know that" was her answer. This actually happened.

To be fair to the Principal here, she wasn't being malicious. It was her job to keep everybody happy and on board, and this is why she disliked that year's version of The Claw. We pointed out the school's dirty little secrets and aired its dirty laundry, without resorting to tabloid tactics.

In that same issue, we published a groundbreaking article about being gay at College Park. We turned out a special eight-page issue for Winter Break where we managed to report on a bomb threat that took place on the day we went to press. We were doing good work, and people were starting to notice. Issues of the paper no longer littered the hallways. There was a buzz around the school when the newspaper was delivered. We got more letters than in all the past years I'd been there combined. I got compliments from other teachers and emails from parents. One read, in part: "First of all, let me tell you that the newspaper seems much improved over the past years. It seems so much easier to read and the articles very interesting. The articles written seem to have more depth to them than in previous years."

Furthermore, in the words of Lou Brown, it was startin' to come together. We'd worked out a lot of the kinks. We were still there late into the night, but every issue was better-looking and better proofread than the one before. For the first time in College Park history, we put the paper online, starting with the third issue. You can view the articles here, but be aware my tenure only extends through issue #11 of 2006.

There's a special bond formed on a newspaper, replete with stressful nights, drama, craziness, tantrums, laughter, cursing, and most importantly, lots of burritos, KFC, and pizza. One editor quit; another had to be replaced because his heart wasn't in it. Unexpected stars rose: The precocious Angie Barber (and her ever-peeing puppy, Mamba) vaulting into Co-News Editorship, the entirely-too-energetic Dan DiMaggio stepping up as Sports Editor, the invaluable and tightly-wound Ron Lee as Layout Editor, the just as invaluable and even more tightly-wound Managing Editor Tomo Hirai, Jessica "Teddy Bear" Shea as the relentlessly positive Business Manager, Chelsey Clay, the reliable and grounded Entertainment Editor, the often "sick" but loyal and talented News Editor Erica King, and the more-interested-in-watching-sports-but-usually-at-least-there Editor-in-Chief Robby Sutherland.

If you don't know these people, that paragraph was probably pretty tedious, but they all deserve mention for putting the work in for me that year. I challenged them to do something great, and by and large they responded. I can still hear Tomo playing "The Internet is for Porn" on the computer, followed by Ron softly crooning a medley of "Hey, There Delilah" and "Hands Down," accompanied by his acoustic guitar. The fact that they're most likely the only ones still reading this is also key.

I think it's time for a break. Tomorrow, s*&t gets major.

The Story Told, Part I: The Prologue

2009-10-26T19:41:00.000-07:00

This may very well turn into two parts, because I want to get it all out, every aspect, and there's no better time than now.

It's been over three years since I was "reassigned" as adviser of College Park's student newspaper, The Claw. All the kids who were on my staff have now graduated. No students currently attending C.P. can remember a time when I ran the newspaper or seeing the original "Nolan's Rants" column in print rather than in blog form.

A lot of what happened in my one year as adviser has begun to fade from memory; although, the embers of anger still flare occasionally. The first issue of the current edition of The Claw came out Friday and raked the coals a bit. There was a time when the smoldering rage would keep me up at night. That's what happens when you put your heart and soul into something, The Man takes it away, and there's not a damn thing you can do about it.

The Saga:

In the summer of 2005, I heard that the long-term adviser of The Claw had taking a job in greener pastures at another district. It was a position I'd always been interested in. I'd been a three-year staffer on my high school newspaper (where there was actual competition to get on staff), and I'd been the sports and managing editor. I idolized my adviser there; he was grizzled veteran. He had set up a system where he didn't have to do all that much because he'd built a culture of journalistic know-how that was passed down by the editors.

I then went to college and wrote for U.C. Davis' student newspaper, The California Aggie, for three years. I also took journalism classes. I was, beyond a doubt, the most qualified teacher on campus to teach the journalism class at CP. I was also the only one who actually wanted the job. Neither of these things has changed in the past four years.

I asked for and was immediately awarded the position by the grateful first-year Principal. Before I go further, I'd like to clarify that I think she is a decent principal in general. I just have this one giant issue with her because I believe she short-sightedly chose her own self interests over those of the school and the kids. Someday, perhaps I'll forgive her for that. It hasn't happened yet, mostly because she hasn't apologized.

I started the year hoping to re-create the culture of my high school paper but quickly realized it was impossible. At Campolindo, students had to apply, submit writing samples, and interview if they wanted the honor of toiling for La Puma (yeah, that's the real name). The Claw, like most of College Park's electives, was a dumping ground for underclassmen. Freshmen and sophomores were thrown into the class with absolutely no skill or desire for journalism. The first day of class, there were something like 45 kids (the contract max is 37). I asked who had no interest in being there, took down the names, and turned them into a friendly secretary for removal.

Then I assessed my talent. I had perhaps seven or eight experienced staffers from the year before, including two or three editors. I also had a few upperclassmen whom I knew to be quality writers. In general, though, I had a lot of dead weight. I felt like Manager Lou Brown at the beginning of Major League.

Since I didn't really know any of them, I conducted interviews for editorships, giving weight to experience and seniority. I chose a senior named Robby Sutherland as editor-in-chief, not because he seemed to know what he was doing (the kid still confuses "your" and "you're"), but because he seemed to get what I wanted to do with the paper, and I sensed a connection. I knew I could yell at him and push him, and he wouldn't break. Well, unless Nip/Tuck were on, and then he would tune me out.

The biggest problem from the get-go was changing the culture. The former adviser had been in charge of the paper for years, and she pretty much ran the show. She took most of the photos, she wrote the headlines and captions, and she laid the paper out on the computer. She was not just the editor-in-chief, she was pretty much the editor of everything. Not only did I not possess the computer skills to do all that, I wanted it to be the kids doing the work. I hoped to re-create the system that had worked so well in high school, with the teens taking responsibility for making sure their newspaper was something they could be proud of, all the while training new staffers and passing that attitude down to them. I really think we could've gotten there. But I never got the chance.

The other huge shift in culture was getting across that the class wasn't "Newspaper." The class was journalism. Since I'd first started at CP, the paper had come out on time, looked reasonably good (although replete with its share of errors), but it was incredibly milquetoast. I can't remember one time it stirred controversy or even captured the school's attention. It covered all the usual events: Homecoming, football games, Prom, fundraisers, school plays, etc. It was journalism by the barest minimum standards. It was just there.

On the first day, I told the class that business as usual was over. We were going to stir the hornets' nest. We were going to report the truth, even if it made people (including school officials) uncomfortable. Actually, we were going to do it especially if it made them uncomfortable. I made them a promise: As long as we were practicing good journalism, I would have their backs. I wouldn't allow anyone to tame the content of the paper as long as I was in charge. I would fight for them.

I kept my promise. It produced unequivocally the best newspaper of the 11 years I've been at College Park.

It also cost me the job.

To be continued...

The Death of Newspapers...and Journalism?

2009-10-25T20:41:00.000-07:00

Ever since I went to college, I've been getting the San Francisco Chronicle delivered daily. I could never understand why everyone didn't get a newspaper every day. It was incredibly cheap, and it had the written equivalent of a long novel's content every day: News, features, sports (my favorite), entertainment, comics, classifieds, etc. And that was before you even counted the special weekly sections like food, automotive, real estate...right to your door, before you were even awake.

I think I paid something like $15 every three months. What an amazing deal. It's almost surreal when you think about it. All stuff for around 25 cents a day? What an amazing country we lived in.

I just got the notice for my most recent three month subscription. It's about $65 for three months. It's no longer an amazing deal. I'd be better off picking one up for 75 cents out of the box occasionally while reading most of the paper online. Yet, I continue my subscription every month, even as reports continue that the Chronicle, like almost all other metropolitan newspapers, is a sinking ship. Even the Gray Lady, the New York Times, just laid off 100 reporters, after laying of 100 last year.

I know it's free to read them online, but here's the problem: Nobody's figured out a way to make money off that yet. So the newspapers desperately reorganize, rearranging deck chairs on the Titanic. Meanwhile, journalism schools go kaput. Bloggers are the new journalists. Can you imagine taking someone's blog seriously?

What will happen if all the newspapers go out of business? I shudder at the thought. Will there be any more journalism, or just "news organizations," both television and online, broadcasting their own biased talking points?

I don't have a solution to this. I'm this close to dropping my subscription myself. I'm aware it's a changing world, and maybe journalism can change with it. As a former journalist myself, though, I am extremely concerned.

People already have enough trouble obtaining information without a filter. I'm terrified of a time when we won't even realize the filter's there.

Party Over Principle, Part II

2009-10-24T19:34:00.000-07:00

Now that Barack Obama and the Democrats have a super majority, we can do whatever we want. We have been busy repairing the ravages of eight years under Bush.

What have we done, you ask? Well, basically our focus has been saving the economy. I mean, can you believe how badly things were effed up by the last administration? Anyway, we fixed it. We threw a ton of money at the problem and bailed out some failing companies. The system itself is fine. No changes needed there. It wasn't the lack of corporate oversight that killed the economy; the free market is all good. Well, as long as we keep throwing money at it when it fails, anyway.

Then there are those two pesky wars. Those are Bush's fault, of course. Yeah, yeah, lots of us voted for them, but what were we gonna do, look like pussies? Barack's got everything under control.

We're gonna get out of Iraq any day now. What's the rush? Violence is way down, and the defense industry is the only part of the economy that's booming (no pun intended). As long as we leave eventually, Obama's kept his campaign promise.

Afghanistan is more difficult. You think it's easy to occupy and control a country that for centuries has been the place where imperial military power goes to die? Obama's doing exactly the right thing: Stay the course, maybe add a few troops here, subtract a few there, and we'll have this place locked down in no time. Even if it doesn't look like he has a plan, that's part of the plan.

Oh, and you know how he promised to end the ban on gays in the military? He will. When it's convenient for him. Yeah, we know there are a bunch of guys who have been discharged from the armed forces, their careers ruined, for merely being who they are. Yeah, Obama could make that all go away with the stroke of a pen. But he's really busy dealing with all the stuff Bush messed up, remember? He'll get to it when it has the highest possible political impact. That's way more important than allowing thousands of soldiers to resume their lives and remedying a national embarrassment.

We've also been really busy with health care reform. It's our number one priority. Now, you'd think that since we have a filibuster-proof majority, we could pretty much pass whatever we want. And you'd be right. But what fun would that be? The Republicans were such giant douchebags; we don't want to be like them. So we compromise.

Yeah, 70% of Americans want a public option, but what do they know? That was just something we floated out there so we could take it back later. And the stupid Elephants bought it! You see, by letting them essentially write the bill, we let them feel like they're still involved. Barack's also done a clever thing by cutting deals with the drug and insurance companies. Know your enemy, right?

If you're looking at what we've done so far, and saying "What have you done so far?" then you don't understand politics at all. The Republicans have it easy; they all think exactly the same. We Dems encourage everyone to think for themselves; party unity is fascist.

A cynic might ask what the point of even having a Democratic party is if we can't band together and get things done, even when we have all the power...

Hey, have you seen how good-looking and charismatic our President is?

Party Over Principle, Part I

2009-10-23T20:53:00.000-07:00

I'm a Republican, so I hate Barack Obama, the Democrats, and everything they do.

I was hoping that the U.S. would get the Olympics, but then I heard it was going to be in Chicago, Obama's home base, and I started rooting against it. When he went to Europe to campaign for it, and it failed, I was elated. Let someone else benefit from the world's largest sporting event, as long as Obama doesn't get another feather in his cap!

Speaking of bogus cap feathers, can you believe Obama getting the Nobel Peace Prize? What a joke! Even though he said he was surprised by it and didn't think he deserved it and had nothing to do with his selection, you know he orchestrated it somehow. He probably made some commie deal with those commie European countries, because he's a socialist. You know, being a communist and a socialist is the same thing, and he's both.

Then there's this whole bailout disaster. He's giving our tax money to businesses because they're too big to fail. He claims it would destroy hundreds of thousands of jobs and entire cities. Where did he get such a commie idea? When Bush did it, he was just saving the free market from itself. Obama wants the government to own everything. Even my big screen t.v. And he will not get my big screen t.v. Supposedly, he's following the example of another commie Democrat FDR. You're taking cues from the guy in the wheelchair? What a loser.

Did you see the video of this white kid got beat up on a bus by a bunch of black kids? You know who ordered it, right? Obama!

Remember when he ordered those Somalian pirates killed? What a racist! If they were white, he never would've done that. He's half white, you know. He just pretends to be all black to get all the blacks to vote for him. What a fascist move, taking out those pirates. Fascists and communists and socialists are all the same, you know.

Did you see when he killed that fly? Ha! He claims to be all environmental, and he kills a fly? What a hypocrite!

Did you know Obama has a puppy! Puppies are the worst! Any real American would have a cat!

Then there are his democrat cronies. Can you believe the Donkeys elected a comedian to the senate? What qualifications does Al Franken have? At least Ahnold was an action star. That's someone who knows how to get things done.

And did you see the bill Franken proposed? It protected employees of government-contracted companies (like Haliburton) from getting gang-raped. Can you believe that? I mean, what's a better example of good 'ol American capitalism than gang rape of federally contracted employees? We had no choice but to vote against that nonsense.

At any rate, both those wars are shams. What's Obama thinking in Afghanistan and Iraq? They're both dead ends. Whatever solutions he's proposing are wrong. Send more troops? Wrong. Pull troops out? Wrong. Stay the course? Wrong, wrong, wrong.

As long as the Dems run things, nothing can be right. Nothing.

"They're Gullin' You, Mister!"

2009-10-22T20:14:00.000-07:00

The titular quote ("gullin'" is slang for "fooling") is from one of my favorite literary characters, John Proctor, in The Crucible. Proctor was a Puritan. Puritans definitely would've been Republicans: Strict, religious, anti-science, yet possessing the occasional proclivity for an adulterous sex scandal. They would've fit in just fine.

As far as modern Republicans go, there are essentially three groups. The first two I totally get. The third puzzles me.

The first group are essentially modern-day Puritans. They're defined by what they don't like. They hate abortion, evolution, religions other than Christianity, gays, immigrants, and, if you catch them after a few beers, most people of color. I totally get why these people vote Republican.

The second group is defined by what they do like: money. They're well-off, and damn everybody else. They disdain taxes and love hedge funds. Inconsistently, they tend to support costly wars and are usually Christians themselves, which contradicts the whole idea of getting rich and screwing the poor. Hypocrisy aside, I get why these people vote Republican.

The third group is the one that frustrates and perplexes me. They are social moderates, often pro-choice and trusting of science instead of a very old book. They're usually middle to lower-middle class. They often benefit from the services government provides far more than they pay into the system. Yet they hear the word "taxes," even if those taxes are aimed far above the bracket they belong to, and they see red. They oppose any impediment to the "free market," such as limiting executive pay and golden parachutes, even as their homes are foreclosed and their cost of living goes up without any pay increases. They despise unions (except the one they happen to belong to). Their patron saint is Joe the Plummer, a man who was convinced that his American Dream was going to be trashed by Obama's tax plan if, in fact, he had WAY more money than he actually did.

They look at statistics that show that CEO compensation has risen from 30-1 in the 1960's to 300-1 in the 2000's and don't blink. It doesn't phase them that every economic statistic that can be measured shows that the top 5% are getting richer, while the middle and lower class either stays the same or goes backward.

Why not? It's because of that great American myth that's been pounded into our heads from the day we were born: All of us can be millionaires. It just takes hard work and a little luck. So they keep voting for politicians who look to help the upper class almost exclusively because they firmly believe that they will be the elite earners someday themselves. It's the equivalent of basing your vote on the assumption that you'll win the lottery eventually.

In the meantime, this demographic ignores a very basic fact: There is only so much wealth, so many resources to go around. I'm no economist, but I can explain this in basic terms. Wealth is like a pie. If the top five percent are taking over 60 percent of the pie (that's approximately the number), there's less of it for the rest of us. So, you say, "I don't begrudge those CEO's making millions; what does it have to do with me?" They're taking huge chunks of the pie, and you're offering them seconds out of your own measly portion. They'll be happy to keep eating as you keep voting for the guys who take their marching orders from them.

I'm not naive enough to believe that the Dems don't take their cues from corporations, also. This is why I usually vote Green. But for middle-class, non-Evangelical citizens to keep helping out the Elephants is contrary to their own interests. Worse, they're being "gulled" by very cynical people who smile and promise future riches even as the they count their supporters' money and feed them peanuts.

My Man Crush

2009-10-21T21:19:00.000-07:00

One of the benefits of society becoming more accepting of different forms of sexuality is that men can finally talk openly about other men they consider attractive. Let's face it; we all have one guy (or several) that we look at and think: "You know, I'm not gay. But if I were..."

Ironically, the fact that you're able to admit to your "man crush" makes you more heterosexual, not less. Only someone secure in his sexuality can admit that he likes the cut of another man's jib and not feel self-conscious about it. It's those who lack confidence in their manhood who splutter, "What? You think another guy is hot? That's so gay!"

My man crush has been unwavering since I was a teen (although I never would've admitted it then). When I saw Last of the Mohicans, I saw a representation of all that is man: Daniel Day-Lewis.

Not only does DDL exude masculinity and charisma, he's a fantastically talented actor. From My Left Foot, to In the Name of the Father, to Gangs of New York, to There Will Be Blood, he's a completely different person. Can you believe this guy-

and this guy-

are the same person? Amazing, right?

I just finished up The Crucible with my juniors, and they're well aware of my man crush. I'm so impressed by his turn as John Proctor in the film version that I pattern my own performance after it while reading the play aloud in class. I swear I think I almost squeezed out some tears this year during the climactic scene. What can I say? The man inspires me.

Here he is, exuding unwanted sexuality as he calls Abigail (Winona Ryder) a whore:

So, how about you? Who are your man crushes? Ladies, go ahead and pick your woman crushes. It's nowhere near as taboo, but it's always entertaining for us fellas.

An Open Wound

2009-10-20T20:25:00.000-07:00

In June of 2008, I was cocky and naive. I wrote a blog entitled "It's Over," about the gay marriage issue.

The polls at the time were showing that more and more Californians were in favor of it, fabulous gay nuptials were springing up all over, and I couldn't care less what the rest of the backward-ass country thought of us. Once again, my state had it right, and we led the way. Prop 8 was on the ballot, but I wasn't really worried about it. At the end of the entry, I wrote that I was hoping this was the last I'd be writing about this issue for a long time.

Then came November 4. I was just so...fucking...ashamed.

I can still remember that night vividly. The surreal sight of Barack Obama and his family, looking so wonderfully, completely different than any other president in history, coming out to accept victory. Tingles. Chills. Elation.

Perhaps ten minutes of good feeling. Maybe it was only five. Checking the computer as the polls closed in California. What? 54 to 46 in favor? Sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. Elation becoming shock. Exchanging Facebook posts with other incredulous Californians. Disbelief. Sadness. Shame.

Denial became guilt. I should've done more. I hadn't even gone to any rallies. I'd tried to go to one, but it was raining, and there was traffic...I had donated $100 to No on 8, but I could've given more.

Then I realized that I wasn't really ashamed of myself. For the first time in my life, I was ashamed of California. I was ashamed of us.

Guilt became anger. It's been almost a year. The anger hasn't left.

We took a huge step forward by electing our first minority president. Many of those same people who voted for Obama caused us to take two steps back by voting Yes on 8. This is more than incongruous for me. This actually makes my head want to split wide open.

How do you go to the ballot box and make the decision to take away someone's civil rights? To negate their happiness for something that affects you not in the least? How did this happen?

Riding my bike to school the morning after the election, I came across one of those plastic yellow "Yes on 8" signs on the ground. I stopped, got off my bike, and put it in my backpack. At the time, I wasn't sure why I was doing it. When I got home, I put it in the closet in my "Mantic." Whenever I catch a glimpse of it, it still raises my ire. The illustration depicts the silhouettes of a happy little family, all holding hands under the sunny "Protect Marriage: Yes on 8" banner. It makes me wretch.

Years from now, when my kids ask me "Why would people vote that gay people couldn't get married?" I'll show them that sign. I'll tell them about the fear and misinformation the homophobic, compassionless masses spread in the name of their religious beliefs.

They said children would be taught about gay marriage in kindergarten. I'm not even going into all the ways that this is ridiculous, but the most illogical aspect of it is the fear of zealots that exposing youth to the idea of homosexuality encourages them to be homosexuals. As if being unaware that there's such a thing as homosexuality is the only way to not become gay oneself.

They said that their rights would be infringed. Their churches would be forced to marry gays. There would be lawsuits. What this completely ignored was that churches already had rules in place about who could get married in their cathedrals. I should know. I had to satisfy all sorts of requirements in order to get married in a Catholic ceremony by a priest. The Mormons don't even let non-Mormons watch their wedding ceremonies. The gays would somehow be able to ruin all that.

They claimed morality. Their justifications start with "Well, I'm a Christian, so..." and "That's just not the way I was raised." You wonder why we atheists can't just be neutral toward religion, why we claim it's actively dangerous? Look no further than Prop H8te. Not all religious people voted for it, but those who did were almost exclusively Christian. Why their religious beliefs supersede someone else's civil rights and happiness is something no one has able to explain to me.

Then came the backlash of people even angrier than I. I in no way condone acts of vandalism or violence. But supporters of Prop 8 act bewildered that the rest of us just can't accept the majority's decision and move on. They just don't get it. This wasn't an election about a new tax, or a new park, or re-naming a frigging street. This was people's lives. This vote told an entire segment of the population that they were second-class citizens. You organize and fundraise an effort to take something away from people that you personally enjoy, and you don't like it when they show up in front of your church? Tough. You reap what you sow.

Of course, the great irony in all this is that Prop 8 only postponed the inevitable. Either a court ruling or a counter-vote will remedy the situation within the next 5-10 years. Even the homophobes must understand that, at least subconsciously. I was right in that original post; I just underestimated how hard intolerance would die, and how effectively it could rally, to paraphrase Henry Ward Beecher. I think that's what gets to me the most. It's so easy to chart the course of history, yet the ignorant ignored all that and voted based on their own personal prejudices.

If you voted for Prop 8, you have sinned against your fellow man and everything this country's supposed to represent. You have shamed our state and tainted its reputation.

Repent.

Ode to My Family

2009-10-19T20:16:00.000-07:00

This week I'm assigning the Heritage Project to my juniors. They basically have to put together a portfolio detailing as much of their family's history as they can find. The project also entails a good deal of reflection; we want the kids to understand that they are the product of the generations that came before them. Our relatives pass on more than just physical traits to us.

Every year, this gets me thinking about what I would've done had I been tasked with this undertaking. Knowledge of my own family history is sorely lacking. I'm aware that I'm Irish and German (hungry, angry, and tipsy), but as far as I know, we can't name when or who the ancestors were who came across the pond.

Although my grasp of long-ago Nolan/Houser history is cloudy, I was fortunate to know my four grandparents quite well. They've all passed on now, but they each imprinted me with distinct parts of my personality. This isn't going to be terribly interesting unless you're related to me; as Delores O'Riordan croons in the ballad that inspired this entry's title, "Does anyone care?" If you stick around till the end, you can watch the video; it's one of my all-time favorite songs.

My Grandma Ruth Nolan was one of the most giving people I have ever known. She lived to make others happy. The only thing she really liked doing for herself was playing bridge with her friends for a quarter a hand. Then during the summer, on our annual r.v. camping trip to the beach in San Diego, she would give my sister and I all of her winnings from that year. When I was a kid, nothing made me happier than having a surplus of quarters to spend at the arcade. Any philanthropic instincts I have are influenced by her.

My "Poppa" Ivan Nolan was a salty Irishman with a Russian name. A recovered alcoholic, he kept packets of gum all over the house, presumable to fight the cravings. There were Wrigley's containers in every conceivable drawer and cabinet. No man ever loved dogs more (he had one Irish setter after another), which certainly applies to me.

However, what I most took from Pop are two of his defining traits. First was that the man couldn't stand to go to bed. There was always one more light to be turned off, one more door to make sure was closed. He would shuffle up and down the hallway well past midnight. I think of this sometimes when I'm up late reading Facebook status updates rather than turning in for the night.

The second thing I inherited from him is much more evident to those who know me. Poppa had an incredibly dry and sarcastic sense of humor. Not everyone "got it," but from an early age I thought the dude was hilarious. It could border on mean, but there was always a twinkle in his eye, and I understood he wasn't malicious. There was also no one else in the history of the world who could growl the word "S*#tfire!" as magnificently as he.

My "Gammie," Maxine Houser, did not put up with a lot of nonsense nor suffer fools well. She did not tolerate excuses for laziness and rude behavior, and she never let me get away with giving less than a good effort. I'm making her sound like a taskmaster, which she wasn't. She could be fun, too. But when I find myself glowering at a student who's trying to snow me or give me some lame excuse as to why he or she is late for the third time this week, I know I'm channeling my Gammie.

I once called my "Gramps," Norman Houser, "The only perfect person I know." He seemed to know everything, from who wrote what book, to what to do for a head cold, to how to fix a broken...well, anything. He was meticulous and intellectual. He was a high school principal who also wrote a moderately successful book about the dangers of drug use. He played the organ every morning and could charm the neighborhood peacock into entering the house.

He and Stephen King are probably the two biggest reasons I ended up an English teacher. Gramps read to me relentlessly, and always pushed me to read above my level. At his behest, I read both Lord of the Flies and To Kill a Mockingbird (two books I now teach) years before being assigned them in high school.

Oh, and if he'd ever been on Jeopardy or Wheel of Fortune, they could've sent everyone else home.

And now, as promised, The Cranberries!

I Thwart Terrorism Yet Again

2009-10-18T20:44:00.000-07:00

I went back to Davis last night for the homecoming game against Winston-Salem. Near the start of the game, five boisterous young men sat in front of us. They stood out a bit because they had streaks of blue and gold paint on their faces; Aggie football doesn't exactly invite face-painting intensity.

They were speaking another language and didn't seem to totally understand the rules, although they were spirited. I finally asked them where they were from: Saudi Arabia. They are here studying English, and they said they hoped to stay and go to school in Davis. They professed to love Davis and asked me questions about football. I noticed that they also weren't averting their eyes when the cheerleaders and their short skirts pranced in front of us.

As I was leaving, I told them I was glad they were here, and I hoped they enjoyed Davis. It was a very positive experience.

It also confirmed one of my oft-stated ideas. Instead of forcing democracy on people using a barrel of a gun, give them football. Give them cheerleaders. Give them beer.

We spend so much time talking about how we're the greatest country on earth, but the face we present to much of the world is wearing camouflage and yelling, "Get your hands in the air!" If the Taliban is as rotten as we say it is, it should eventually fall on its own. People want freedom. They want Rock Band. They want big screen televisions and cargo shorts and porn. They don't want foreigners breaking their doors down; they don't want their houses bombed.

Conservatives credit Reagan with "winning" the Cold War and bringing down the Soviet Union. It may surprise you to know that I don't. I think rock n' roll and blue jeans did it, along with the the lack of basic necessities like toilet paper. Gorbachev opened the door a crack, and Western Civilization came flooding in, without a shot fired.

Instead of dropping artillery, we should drop dvd's of Mad Men. We should leaflet their streets with copies of Playboy. Our Humvees should blare Kanye West, and our soldiers should throw beads and tube socks (that's what they were launching into the crowd last night, the Saudi Arabians ate it up, along with everyone else).

Give them running water, electricity, and a McDonald's on every corner, and they'd never think of blowing themselves up.

$13,000>Transformers 2

2009-10-16T22:28:00.000-07:00

As an avowed horror movie junkie, I had to check out the highly-buzzed-about new flick, Paranormal Activity. It was made for $13,000 with no recognizable actors, gore, or special effects. It's a close cousin to The Blair Witch Project, but with less mystery at the end. If you liked that one, you'll like this.

I can already project the trajectory of this movie. There's going to be a huge rush of praise, followed by the inevitable backlash of people who see it after being told how good it is, go in with their expectations too high, and proclaim it's overrated.

What I liked most is that I can tell you what's good about it. Remember what that was like? Before the days of big, overwrought, CGI nonsense like Transformers 2, G.I. Joe, and the excruciatingly awful-looking 2012 took over the multiplexes? Try asking someone what he liked about those movies. You'll get "It was hella cool" and "It had so many 'wow' moments" and "Megan Fox is hot."

Here's my breakdown, sans spoilers ("sans" means "without," for all my younger readers):

What's great about the film is that it plays with our feeling of safety. Blair Witch took place in the woods. Those people went looking for trouble. Paranormal Activity is shot exclusively within a young couple's San Diego house. We're trapped inside with them, and the claustrophobia builds. Furthermore, most of the really bad stuff happens in the bedroom, while they sleep. That's the place we all should feel the safest, but when we sleep we're never more vulnerable. That paradox played havoc with me for 90 minutes.

As per horror movie tradition, things start innocently enough with some soft thumping and harmlessly moved personal items, and the suspense builds from there. There's the typical macho arrogance from the alpha-male who thinks it's all a big joke...until s*&t gets real. And boy, does it ever get real. There are some slow moments, but the last ten minutes are as harrowing as it gets.

I wasn't impressed by either of the two main actors, particularly the woman, but they were passable enough to keep things in the realm of believability. The film's strength is the way the suspense keeps building with the use of very simple techniques that don't take an army of computer programmers. The use of stop-motion photography. A light going on and off. A menacing growl.

Low-budget success stories like this show that all is not lost for filmmakers who aspire to be more than glorified video game programmers or purveyors of torture porn. If you loved Hostel because "It was hella sick, bro," this flick's probably not for you. But if you are able to let your imagination run wild and don't mind being haunted when you turn off the lights, this is a pretty creepy Activity. Lol hahahahahahaha.

Only in America: The Mormons, Part II

2009-10-16T16:53:00.000-07:00

Before I get to all the things I like about the Mormons (and there are many), I didn't want to leave out any of the highlights of their totally unhinged beliefs. It might be too late already, but yesterday's warning applies: Easily offended Mormons should stop right here, although today's post will focus a bit (and only a bit) more on what's valuable about the Latter Day Saints.

Where to begin? Well, there are the temple garments (sometimes derisively referred to as "magic underwear"), which some church members claim can ward off physical dangers such as knives, bullets, and auto accidents.

Then there's the idea that if you're a really good Mormon, God will reward you...by making you a God yourself! Perhaps this is why the Mormons convert people at such a rapid rate, even with their ludicrous story. Who wouldn't want to rule his or her own universe?

Side note: I don't fully trust the sanity of people who are converted to Mormonism as adults. This guy is the best example.

I haven't even gotten into the single aspect that the Mormon church is best known for: polygamy. It's too easy a target, quite frankly. I actually don't have too much of a problem with "plural marriage," as the LDS puts it. I'm a bit of a libertarian, and what goes on between brainwashed consenting adults and their extremely virile men is their business. The fact that several of Joseph Smith's 30 wives (conservative estimate) and Brigham Young's 55 brides were minors, with some being as young as 14, troubles me more. If my prophets were verified pedophiles, I might think twice about giving away 10% of my income to said church so they can build fancy temples that exclude visitors. Just sayin'.

Right now, you might be thinking to yourself, "Hey, jerk. When does all that good stuff about Mormons start?" Well, how about right now? For those who are enjoying it so far, don't worry; I've saved one of the most insane, offensive Mormon practices for later.

Here's the thing: Mormons are some of my favorite people. Heck, they're everyone's favorite people. That's the great thing about the South Park ep I posted yesterday. It's really hard to dislike a Mormon, much less be angry with one. Mormons are kind, caring, polite, responsible, and intelligent. They are almost always exceptional students. Just a couple weeks ago, I witnessed one of my Mormon students do something incredibly touching for another student who had recently experienced a tragedy (intentionally vague to protect confidentiality here).

Clearly, the LDS are producing people of outstanding character. In Under the Banner of Heaven, Jon Krakauer asks, "How do we get Mormons without Mormonism?" Is it possible to create the benevolent character traits seemingly inherent in Mormons without instilling them with all that crazy crap?

I would ask a follow-up question: If we could do that, would we want to? What kind of society would we breed?

The only way that Mormons all turn out sharing those similar qualities is the steady and persistent indoctrination they face from the moment they are born. Make no mistake; it is the very definition of indoctrination. There's a reason their kids go to school before school. Largely, this prevents them from becoming the little a-holes that many of their public school peers turn into. They are bred to be subservient to authority. After all, with a story that nuts, the fewer questions they ask, the better. I'm consistently amazed that although they're the some of the smartest kids I have, very few seem to question the totally illogical/impossible story they've been fed. That's some serious mind control.

What would the world be like if it were made entirely of devout Mormons? It would basically be the plot to the movie Pleasantville.

Women's roles would be narrow and well-defined. Mormon women are expected to get married at an early age and breed. Career is not a priority. I doubt any Mormon women would disagree with me here.

There would be art, but it would be Pat Boone, Walt Disney, Stephanie Meyer, and paint-by-numbers. Mormons are not skilled at outside-the-box thinking. Their entire life is about structure. Mormons would've never invented jazz, rock n' roll, The Godfather, Caddyshack, "The Cask of Amontillado," The Great Gatsby, Guernica, or David.

The Mormon ban on viewing R-rated films deserves its own paragraph. Nothing speaks to the irrationality of the faith more than outlawing some of the greatest art of the past century because five strangers (the MPAA) somewhat arbitrarily decided that people under the age of 17 shouldn't watch it. Yet that's exactly the policy. The words "close-minded" don't come close to describing it.

Civil rights issues would be just fine, as long as you're a white, heterosexual male who wants lots and lots of wives. The LDS has a long history of stubbornly dragging its feet until they are forced into the fire. They only gave up polygamy when President James Buchanan sent the Union army to Utah to halt the practice. The beauty of the Mormon religion is that God is constantly passing on revelations to the church elders, so they were able to save face and say that God no longer wanted them to engage in plural marriages. Convenient.

Race has also been a thorny issue for the Mormons. First, there's that whole "the Indians are dark because God cursed them" thing. Then there was Brigham Young's virulent racism that restricted blacks from becoming members of the priesthood and restricted them from other temple ordinances. He made these decrees in 1850. To the LDS' credit, they saw the error of their ways quickly and rescinded them. In 1978. Hey, at least it didn't take the Union army to change their minds this time. Just a decade or so of mulling over the civil rights movement and what it meant for them.

Then there's the church's latest triumph, the massive funding and organizing effort that helped push the anti-gay Prop 8 over the top. This time, when the public used their own free speech to push back against the church's stance to deny people equal rights, they claimed to be the oppressed minority. They'll probably be issuing a revelation changing their position on this one in 2060 or so, 20 years after the rest of America.

Perhaps the worst aspect of an all-Mormon world would be the utter arrogance the church exudes. One of the church's lesser-known practices is baptism for the dead. Not satisfied with converting the living through their mandatory missionary service, Mormons have a ritual within their temples where a congregation member (often a youth) will stand in for one or more dead people as the deceased's names are read. These souls are thought to be posthumously given the opportunity to be "saved" by the LDS. The church has some of the best genealogy research in the world in order to make sure they don't miss anybody.

Your dead ancestors, yes, yours, have probably already been baptized by the Mormons. How do I know this? Because they've already gotten to Adolf Hilter, as well as millions of Jews who died in the Holocaust. Stunningly, the families of those who perished because of their Jewish faith objected to this procedure. To its credit, the LDS agreed to stop baptizing Holocaust victims. As far as I know, everyone else is still fair game.

All those rosy smiles and good behavior come with a cost. Just ask the Arkansas emigrants who died at the hands of Mormons dressed up as Indians in the Mountain Meadows Massacre.

I still adore my Mormon students and friends. But I wouldn't want a world full of them.

Only in America: The Mormons

2009-10-15T08:24:00.000-07:00

"Mr. Robinson, Mr. Robinson!"
"What a horrible mess!"
"I broke your window with my ball."
"You?"
"And I've come to confess!"
"You knew I'd be angry! ("Yes!") Aren't you afraid? ("Yes!) You'll have to pay for this mess you have made...but I'm proud of you, child, for you have displayed honor, the stuff from which heroes are made!"
"I told the truuuuuuuuuuuth!"
"He told the truuuuuuuuuuuth!"

If you grew up during the 80's and watched television, you recognize the preceding exchange. I haven't seen that commercial in probably 20 years, yet I didn't have to watch it again before composing those lines from memory. I could've recited the whole thing. I love that ad. Not only is it well-produced and catchy (and stars a young Alphonso Rebeiro), it's got an undeniably moral message: Own up to your mistakes. The world would be a better place if more people took the song's message to heart.

I must've seen that mini-musical hundreds of times in my youth, along with scads of others like it. The one where the dad bursts into his daughter's room and angrily yells, "Are you guys having a pillow fight in here?" at a bunch of terrified teenage girls, then says, "Cuz I sure wouldn't want to miss a good pillow fight!" as he joins in is my second favorite. This one is awesome (and culturally diverse) as well. At the end of these, it would always say, "Brought to you by the Mormons! The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints (LDS)." At the time, I couldn't care less who was paying for those commercials; all I knew was they were kick-ass in an incredibly cheesy way.

Although I knew Mormons growing up (my basketball coach and his son come to mind), I didn't really understand how the LDS was different from my own church until high school. There I realized that Mormon kids were waking up an hour-and-a-half earlier than I was to go to some sort of special Mormon training every day. This was completely unfathomable to me. I couldn't stand one hour of church a week. They were getting up early to do it on a daily basis? From then on, I realized that the LDS wasn't like any other Christian denomination.

Before I go on, let me be clear that I am going to generalize at certain points in the rest of this blog. These are my impressions from my lifetime of relationships with Mormon acquaintances, students, and friends. I realize that all Mormons are individuals, with their own thoughts and feelings, but most do share similar traits. As religions go, they are about as homogeneous as it gets. To paraphrase BADM also-ran Scott Harris: If you're a Mormon, you probably shouldn't read the remainder of this.

The fascinating thing about the Mormon religion is that it is uniquely American. Other forms of Judeo/Christianity rely on ancient history from the Middle East. The Latter Day Saints' prophet, Joseph Smith, grew up in New York during the 1800's. It's so much more immediate, not to mention patriotic.

It's also completely insane.

The Mormons believe all the illogical and impossible stuff of the actual Bible; in addition, they tack on loads of other easily-refuted nonsense. For instance, the Book of Mormon claims that Native Americans are actually descendants of Jews from the Middle East who crossed the ocean in 600 B.C. Read that sentence again. It's not just preposterous, it's preposterous in a whole bunch of different ways. Joseph Smith's dictations also include references to elephants and horses, neither of which would have lived in America in the time he describes. Oh, and all mankind descends from Jackson County, Missouri. That's where the Garden of Eden actually was, you see.

Even the most amateur anthropologist/archeologist could explain how all these claims are ridiculous. These things are simply not true. You can believe that the sun spins around the earth (as most religions did for thousands of years), but that doesn't make it so.

Even more ludicrous is the story of how Joseph Smith dictated the Book of Mormon. Here's the version on Wikipedia. In case you're worried about bias, I suggest you go to the LDS website. Better yet, ask a Mormon to tell it to you. Their versions will all be basically the same. No matter how you hear the story, you will be struck by one thought, assuming you possess an ounce of rationality: This story has more holes in it than Sonny Corleone. I don't have the energy to get into all of its absurd aspects, but what's not in dispute is that a man looked into a hat and translated aloud "golden plates" using a "seeing stone." He had to return the golden plates to the angel Moroni when he was done, of course, so nobody can see them.

One of the fastest-growing religions in the world is predicated upon the belief that a man spoke the revelations of God by looking into his hat. Only in America.

I have lots more to say about the Mormons, including much praise, but this is already getting long. Damn my verbosity. I'll pick up with Part II tomorrow.

If you're left wanting more, check out this brilliant South Park episode. It's one of the few times that there is no satire needed; they just tell the story of Joseph Smith and welcome incredulous laughter. I would love to hear the reactions of any Mormons who've seen it (although they may not be allowed to watch it).

Religion: Force for Good or Evil?

2009-10-14T10:49:00.000-07:00

As I mentioned in yesterday's blog, although I'm an atheist, I am surrounded by believers. Not just in the world in general, but in my personal life. I noted two blogs ago that my parents were both churchgoers, and my mom was a longtime (and still occasional) choir director.

But you can't choose your parents. More instructive is that fact that my wife is a lifelong Catholic, and we were married in a huge Catholic church. In fact, I long-term dated two Catholics before her. Obviously, despite my own disbelief, something draws me to people of religious upbringing.

It is clear that religion can foster many excellent qualities, if they're espoused correctly. Love, peace, justice, empathy, responsibility, and devotion are all qualities my wife possesses, and the church has been a large part of her life since she was born. I myself grew up in a tight-knit church community, full of laughter and people who helped raise me. When I venture back for a service or a funeral today, I can still feel the unmitigated love of members of the congregation who have known me since I was born. I am almost assuredly a better person because of growing up in this church, even though I despised much of it at the time.

Then what's my beef?

Well, first of all, the church I went to growing up isn't typical of most. It's about as liberal as it gets, with emphasis on brotherly love and not judgment. I recall hearing very little about Hell. Furthermore, the stuff I enjoyed about it had nothing to do with the Christianity. I liked the games and fundraisers and retreats. I loathed the sermons and rituals and Bible study.

Furthermore, whereas my church was accepting of all types of people, that certainly isn't the case in most denominations, which are exclusionary by nature. Oh sure, they'll say that God accepts everyone, but they'll point out all the "sins" you're committing and need to repent. Catholics, Jehovah's Witnesses, and Mormons still excommunicate people. I'm sure other sects do as well.

That's before we even get into the bleak, violent history of worldwide religions. I don't intend to do so here, because it would take too long, but there's no way to debate that misplaced faith is responsible for the persecution and deaths of millions of people throughout human history, continuing on through present day. For a more comprehensive view of the damage religion has done, read God is Not Great, by Christopher Hitchens.

Still, religious belief is at least partly responsible for the character of people like my wife, mother, and many of my friends and family. I see goodness in it. I have agreed to allow Eileen to raise our kids in the Catholic church, at least until they get to be old enough to decide what's right for themselves. If she is able to discard the Pope's less-tolerant decrees, I have no doubt my progeny can as well.

It comes down to this for me, then: Is being fed irrational nonsense worth the net result of producing people of good character? Do the ends justify the means? And, the big one: If I had my way, would there be religion or not?

First, let me be clear. I am not in favor of outlawing religion or trying to forcibly remove it from society. I would be just as bad as the zealots who punish those who do not succumb to their beliefs. Although I would prefer that more people think critically and rationally and come to the conclusion that there really is no all-powerful being who oversees and keeps track of our every move, I'm not in favor of limiting anyone's beliefs, so long as they keep them from interfering with anyone else's.

Clearly, a belief in imaginary things does not hinder one's development. I am no worse off now because I believed in Santa Claus, the Tooth Fairy, and Puff the Magic Dragon when I was younger. But what if I still believed those things today? What would that say about my intellect or grasp of reality? If I believe that God loves me and wants me to do well, what's to stop me from gambling my mortgage payment on a horse named after my favorite saint?

That's silly, you say. Well, how about this, then: Do you realize that U.S. foreign policy in the Middle East has been largely influenced by Evangelical Christians who believe that Israel must be protected, not for the nation's benefit, but because the Jews must inhabit that piece of land in order for armageddon to occur? They are hoping that the rest of the world burns while they are taken up to Heaven. I'm not making this up. Do some research if you don't believe me. Tack on to that the ignorant and ongoing challenges to all fields of science by dogmatic literalists, and that's reason alone to do away with faith and superstition.

I know the argument follows "Not all followers believe in literal translations of their holy books! Lots of us believe the really crazy stuff is metaphor." Nevertheless, all major religions believe in some sort of supernatural occurrences. Christians believe not only that their savior was born from a virgin, but he rose from the dead after three days. Stop right there. That defies all natural law. That's magic. If you believe that, you believe in magic. If you're willing to believe in one form of magic, what's preventing your credulity that the Virgin Mary appeared in a tortilla? Or believe in ghosts? Or ESP? Or David Friggin' Blaine?

Everything has a logical explanation, but not everything can be explained. Just because we don't know how the universe came to be doesn't mean the default is "God did it." I guess what I'm saying is, I do believe we'd all be better off as a whole if there were no religion. It's held back progress and intellectualism for too long.

In the meantime, I'll try to remember the good things about it, because there are plenty of them.

The Tyranny of the Majority

2009-10-13T18:51:00.000-07:00

Our job was to select someone to speak for everybody. And I just couldn't in good conscience vote for a person who doesn't believe in God. Someone who honestly thinks the other 95 percent of us suffer from some form of mass delusion. -Contact

In yesterday's entry, I mentioned that personally finding religion silly, superstitious nonsense is difficult to reconcile at times with people I love and consider intelligent human beings. The above quote from the only mainstream Hollywood movie (as far as I can recall) to celebrate atheism and science over religion (don't think so? Go back and watch it again) illustrates the difficulties non-believers have. We're badly outnumbered. It may not be 5% here in the U.S. (I think it's more like 15%), but there still aren't a whole lot of us to go around. If we decided to create and maintain relationships solely with people of like mind, we'd be pretty lonely.

Sometimes, this whole "majority rules" argument is used by theists as proof for their cause. After all, billions of people can't be wrong! There must be something out there to cause this kind of dedication and faith. Well, this theory sure would be a lot stronger if everyone believed the same thing. If 99% of the world were Jehovah's Witnesses, then I'd probably seriously re-think my atheism. But it's not.

There are a plethora of different faiths, all saying different things. Only one of them can be right. Heck, even within major religions, the differences are stark. Mormons and Catholics are both Christians, after all, but if Joseph Smith rose from the dead, went to the Vatican, and knocked on the Pope's door, hand-in-hand with Jesus Christ, I'm thinkin' His Holiness pretends he just went out for a carton of milk.

Then there's the argument that many great scientists and intellectuals believed in God. Well, before the 18th century or so, the Catholic church was pretty good at making sure science didn't get in the way of their religion. Galileo was put under house arrest for having the rocks to suggest the Earth revolved around the Sun, not the other way around. But even if lots of smart people did (and do) believe in God, that doesn't prove anything.

By the way, Einstein is used by both sides in this debate. Here's part of the text of a letter written toward the end of his life. Draw your own conclusions:

The word God is for me nothing more than the expression and product of human weakness, the Bible a collection of honorable, but still purely primitive, legends which are nevertheless pretty childish. No interpretation no matter how subtle can (for me) change this.

Of course, Einstein's lack of faith doesn't prove there is no God anymore than hundreds of millions of impassioned Indians proves the existence of Ganesh (by far my favorite religious deity. To quote Apu: "Please do not feed my God a peanut"). You can't prove a negative. But simply to say, "Well, so many people believe in something, it must be true" doesn't follow Occam's razor, either.

So, why? Why do so many people believe in a higher power? Well, speaking of Occam's razor, how about another Contact quote:

So what's more likely? That an all-powerful, mysterious God created the Universe, and decided not to give any proof of his existence? Or, that He simply doesn't exist at all, and that we created Him, so that we wouldn't have to feel so small and alone?

We humans feel many natural impulses that the existence of God helps to assuage.

We are the only creatures who understand that we will all die one day; understandably, we are anxious about that fact. We want to be assured that death isn't the end, and that we'll meet up with all the people who have passed on before us. Believing that makes their passing more bearable. But it doesn't make it true.

We want to believe there's someone on our side, someone looking out for us, someone we can ask for help when times are hard. It's much harder to accept that we're on our own. However, as Flannery O'Connor wrote, "The truth doesn't change according to our ability to stomach it."

We can't possibly understand the complete majesty of the universe around us, so we attribute it to a sky wizard. I couldn't hope to explain how an Iggy Pop song from 30 years ago is able to fly through the air wirelessly and come out of my computer speakers 10 seconds later via iTunes, but that doesn't mean God did it.

Back to the original quote: Do I believe that religious people are suffering from a "mass delusion"? No. With the exceptions of people who actually believe God speaks to them/through them, most believe for the reasons I mentioned above, and also for the single biggest one: It's the way they were raised.

I also don't believe people of faith are stupid as a rule (although many, many are), just because they don't ask the same sort of questions (or at least come to the same conclusions) I do. I believe that they are human and desire the comfort, assurance, and tradition that comes with believing in a higher power. Although I don't agree, I can't fault them for doing what seems natural to them.

I was once told by an angry Christian woman to "believe in something!" It is tough to deal with all the questions and uncertainty that being a non-believer can bring. Yet it's also freeing in a way. We only have to worry about the here and now. We don't spend time worrying about things that we can't explain or are out of our control, like what happens to us when we die. I would love to explain my philosophy in my own words, but a few years back I read this passage by Jon Krakauer at the end of his amazing book Under the Banner of Heaven, and I said to myself, "Yes. This is exactly how I feel." He explains it much more eloquently than I ever could. If you'll allow me one more quote:

There are some ten thousand extant religious sects -- each with its own cosmology, each with its own answer for the meaning of life and death. Most assert that the other 9,999 not only have it completely wrong but are instruments of evil, besides. None of the ten thousand has yet persuaded me to make the requisite leap of faith. In the absence of conviction, I've come to terms with the fact that uncertainty is an inescapable corollary of life. An abundance of mystery is simply part of the bargain -- which doesn't strike me as something to lament. Accepting the essential inscrutability of existence, in any case, is surely preferable to its opposite: capitulating to the tyranny of intransigent belief.

And if I remain in the dark about our purpose here, and the meaning of eternity, I have nevertheless arrived at an understanding of a few more modest truths: Most of us fear death. Most of us yearn to comprehend how we got here, and why -- which is to say, most of us ache to know the love of our creator. And we will no doubt feel that ache, most of us, for as long as we happen to be alive.

Wherefore Atheism?

2009-10-12T19:35:00.000-07:00

One of the guys that got me into this damnable Blog-a-Day death march is my colleague and friend, Lance Johnson. Although his blog is named "Comics, Beer, and Shakespeare," he spends a lot of time writing about his personal religious journey from true believer to atheism. It's compelling stuff, especially since he used to proselytize for Christianity, and now he's switched sides.

I've never written about my own journey to atheism, mostly because I didn't think anyone would care. It's not all that dramatic. But if I'm trying to churn out one of these suckers every day, hey, anything's fair game.

There's a tendency amongst Evangelicals to blame godlessness on left-wing hippie parenting and ultra-liberal university education. That certainly wasn't the case with me.

I was raised by two church-going parents. My dad sang in the choir; my mom was the choir director. To be fair, it was a pretty liberal sect of Christianity called The Disciples of Christ. They were accepting of openly gay people in the congregation, and I never heard any talk about burning in hell. I went to Sunday school every week and was a member of the youth group into high school.

So what turned me? To be honest, the first crack in the fortress of theology came when we learned about the first page of the Bible. You know, Genesis? Where they explain how God created everything? Well, in first grade they told us about the dinosaurs and how they lived hundreds of millions of years before humans did. But the Bible says that humans and animals were all created on the same day. I started asking questions in Sunday school, and the teacher said something about days being really long (not just 24 hours) because the universe wasn't set, or some rationalization like that.

Even at six years old, I could smell horse manure when I heard it. I mean, it's easy to say now that's the explanation, but for the first 1,700 years or so of Christianity's history, everyone was claiming it was a traditional day, because that's what the Bible says. It makes no allotment for a longer period of time. It seemed to me then and is obvious to me now that they were changing the story to fit the facts. Again, this bothered me in first grade. This is why I'm constantly amazed at how religious a country we are. Didn't other people learn about dinosaurs in first grade and have similar questions?

Anyway, I became the kid who asked questions in Sunday school. The poor teachers were just volunteer parents, not masters of theology. They couldn't tell me how Jonah could live for so long in the belly of a whale. They couldn't tell me how, if the human race began from Adam and Eve, where the other random people came from who pop up throughout Genesis. They couldn't tell me why God loves us and says not to kill, but he mass-murdered the entire human race except for Noah's family because he was displeased. The idea of getting exactly two of every species of animal on a boat, and being sure that they were all male/female pairs of proper breeding ability was outright preposterous. That this bothered me at such an early age yet does not seem to bother people I love and consider intelligent (in addition to legions of people I consider morons) is something that I still haven't been able to wrap my head around and is the topic for another blog.

Eventually, one of the Sunday school parents suggested the minister should meet with me one-on-one to answer some of these questions. I don't remember much of that powwow, other than he told me it was good to ask these things, and God loved and understood me. I mostly stared at the giant gumball machine in his office and hoped he'd give me a free one at the end.

Church service itself was pure drudgery. It wasn't so bad when I was younger because all the little kids got to leave before the sermon and after a delightful little bit of improv from the minister called "Sunburst Surprise." Every week, a child from the congregation got to take this empty box home and bring it back with something in it. The minister would then try to relate the object to God or the Bible in some way. After I brought a dead lizard one week, they had to create the "Andrew Nolan Rule," which stated you couldn't put anything living or once-living in the box.

Once I got to be 11 or 12, I was no longer allowed to leave at halftime and had to sit through the interminable sermons and the baffling process of communion. At first, I though it was kind of cool because I got free bread and grape juice, and it meant that church was over in five minutes. Then I actually listened to what this act symbolized. Wait, what? I'm eating Christ's body and drinking his blood? Gross! Aren't there better ways to honor and remember him than through cannibalism and vampirism?

Eventually, I threw a minor tantrum (replete with tears) at church because I wanted to go home. My mom tried to talk me down, but I finally told her I just didn't believe in this stuff. She kept up the fight for another couple years, but eventually I got too big for her to drag out of bed on a Sunday morning, and she gave up when I was about 15. The woman also had competition. To me, Joe Montana was a much more powerful God than anyone from an old book that I could never see. If Jesus Christ had hit John Taylor in the back of the endzone to beat the Bengals in the '89 Super Bowl, I might have been a bigger fan.

Up until a couple years ago, I would tell people I was an agnostic, because I didn't want to presume to be as arrogant as the people who are sure that there is a God by being positive that there was no supreme being. Lance made the point that if someone's 99.9% convinced of the reality of a Christian God, that person is a Christian. Therefore, if I'm 99.9% convinced there is no God, I'm an atheist. I guess he's right. I think I'd always resisted the label because it's been demonized and has connotations of immorality, which is nonsense, of course. Even today, I'll almost always say "I'm not religious," instead of "I'm an atheist," particularly in my classroom, just to avoid the implications from people thinking I'm trying to corrupt their children because they hear the "A" word.

I'm Praying for an End to False Outrage

2009-10-11T20:00:00.000-07:00

Lately I've been seeing and hearing more and more people complaining society's going to hell because we've taken God (more specifically the Christian version of God) out of our public schools. This is one of those issues that conservative pundits tend to pull out when they're run dry of other fodder for whipping their mindless masses into a frenzy.

Even more than usual, this is a controversy almost completely based on distortion and ignorance. These seem to be the three main points:

1. Students aren't allowed to pray in public schools. I'm not a terribly religious person, but it's my understanding that one may pray wherever, however he or she wishes. Nobody's stopping kids from praying. In fact, when I pulled up to school the other day, a group of them (and one teacher) were in a prayer circle around the flagpole. There's a group that meets weekly called "Lunch with Jesus." It's a school-sanctioned club. It's in the bulletin and announced over the loudspeaker.

What we don't do is have a mandated prayer time. That's not the role of public school. The government should not promote any sort of religious beliefs, nor should it restrain individuals from practicing them. I find it ironic that most of the people clamoring for prayer in schools are those same type of flag-waving teabaggers who consider themselves America's greatest patriots. Yet they'd have no problem ignoring one of the core tenets that made America so unique and successful because they feel that we're better off being "a Christian nation." If you want a theocracy, go live in Saudi Arabia. What? That's not the religion you practice, so you object to the government forcing it down your throat? Hmmmmmm.

2. Teachers aren't even allowed to talk about religion. This would come as a huge surprise to my juniors, who've had to listen to plenty of talk about Puritan beliefs, including a 15-minute mini summary of the book of Genesis, the rest of the Old Testament, Jesus' crucifixion, and how it affected the way the earliest European settlers behaved. In The Crucible, the Ten Commandments are part of the plot. I don't insist we skip that part or anything.

Teachers are free to mention religion whenever it's relevant to the curriculum, which, in English class, is frequently. What we're not supposed to do is promote it, or on the flip side, denigrate it. If you took a poll of all of my former students, I'd be very surprised (and disappointed) if any of them said that I disparaged their beliefs in any way in a classroom setting.

3. Speaking of the Ten Commandments, that's the other thing the school prayer folk always bring up. Private businesses and citizens can post them all they want. Again, government buildings cannot be seen as promoting any religion's tenets over any other. Forget for an instant that the majority of the Ten Commandments aren't even laws (that's a topic for a whole different blog), but how would these folks feel if the Koran were displayed under glass at every courthouse? I'm guessing they wouldn't be as high on "religious freedom" then.

How hard is it?

2009-10-09T23:29:00.000-07:00

If you clicked on this looking for something dirty, get your mind out of the gutter. The question refers to the making of horror films, or more specifically good ones.

I'm a big fan of the genre and have been since I was a kid. Perhaps I'll address my favorite horror flicks in another blog; I'm trying to keep this one short. I'll watch just about any thriller that comes out, even those with terrible reviews (which is nearly all of them). But that doesn't mean I think they're good. In fact, usually when I'm done I wish for that 90 minutes of my life back.

How hard is it to make a quality horror film? Judging by the past 10 years, it's virtually impossible. Of course, studios aren't looking to make good films, they're looking to make money. They know they can churn out Saw 11 (that's not even much of an exaggeration) for $3 million and make $16 million on bored teenagers in the first weekend alone. It's a cynical, formulaic genre, but when it works, I fall in love with it all over again.

Here's my very rushed list of horror movies I've enjoyed since 2000. Most of them are at least moderately flawed, but I still liked them. I'd love to hear fellow followers of the genre chime in on their favorites of the decade if I've missed anything.

- Final Destination
Yeah, it's basically The Omen without the anti-Christ plotline, but the plane explosion in the beginning is awesome, some of the deaths are unexpected, and it has a pretty high-caliber cast. Fun (but not scary) from beginning to end.

- Saw
The first one only. I saw II and III, and they got progressively less clever and more disgusting. That giant pig blender thing was ridiculous in III. The original installment was a clever psychological thriller with some nice twists. Not terribly scary, though.

- 28 Days Later/28 Weeks Later
Liked the first one better on repeated viewings. Bought the second one on dvd after I loved it in the theatre and haven't watched it. I don't know why not. At any rate, I must not have loved it as much as I thought I did. Or I just play too much Rock Band. These are my favorites out of the crowded zombie sub-genre. I just don't find zombies all that terrifying. Oh, and I don't classify Shaun of the Dead as a horror film, for the record, but it's great.

- The Descent
Stephen King was high on this, so I bought it, liked it...and haven't watched it again, even though that was three years ago. I used to be able to watch horror movies over and over again. I think being married to someone who hates them with a passion has something to do with my lack of repeated viewings. Anyway, this was good, and I should watch it again.

- The Strangers
There are things I LOVE about this movie, but it falls into horror movie cliches too often. Still, if I see that it's on cable, I'm usually hooked for 30 minutes or so. There are some legitimately frightening moments, which is rare for modern horror movies. And yes, I realize the irony of that sentence. But I really liked how the killers didn't really have a motive and you never really knew who they were. Creepy.

- Funny Games
Perhaps it doesn't belong on this list because it's more of a satire of our obsession with blood and gore than a horror film itself. But it's by far the most unnerving film I've seen in the past decade. Impossible to get out of your head. It's also been on cable recently, and I've been enthralled with how well-made it is when I catch parts of it again. Amazing flick.

- The Ring
The only true horror film on this list that's basically perfect. I wouldn't change a thing about any of it (except that I would try to wipe its godawful sequel from my mind forever). It's terrifying as hell; I was actually talking to myself when I saw it opening night in the theatre. Everyone in the place was cringing in fear when Samara crawled out of that well. Having a top-notch director and actress really aids its pedigree.

Aaaaand...You're Blocked, Part II

2009-10-09T20:39:00.000-07:00

While I am consistently annoyed by teenagers' thoughtless musings, at least they all come with a built-in excuse. They're young. Most of them will grow out of that behavior. What's far more troubling are the myriad adults I've blocked from my feed, almost all for the same reason: They're boring.

The problem with Facebook's status update function is the question is asks is so inviting and open-ended. "What's on your mind?" it inquires, prompting legions of uninteresting people to publish for the world their uninteresting thoughts. If I ran Facebook, the prompt would be changed to "Write something here that someone besides you would actually care about." That would cut down on so much nonsense.

I've been thinking all day about all the ways people have been hidden for boring the crap out of me, and I came up with so many, I honestly don't think I have the time or memory to write them all. But I'll give it my best shot.

- People who take quizzes and post them. If this blog were Family Feud, this would be far and away the #1 answer as to why people get blocked from my feed. I'm convinced the folks who create these despicable things are terrorists bent on making America dumber and more self-involved, superficial quiz after superficial quiz. That would totally explain the lack of usage and grammar skills in them, wouldn't it?

Look, I can understand boredom and self involvement. If you have nothing better to do than spend your time seeking and filling out these things, so be it (I honestly don't even know how to find them, other than when they're posted on my feed by others). I'm not going to claim that my leisure time activities are any more meaningful.

But for the love of God, what are you thinking when you choose to post them to your feed?

"Oh, man. Everyone's gonna totally flip when they find out what Disney princess I am!"

"My friends will be so jealous when they find out the Beatles song that best describes me is 'Paperback Writer!'"

"Damn, I thought I was a Charlotte! I better comment that I think this quiz calling me a Samantha is b.s. I don't want people to think I'm a slut."

I, too, crave attention. However, it has never once occurred to me to seek it by filling out and then posting one of these inane personality quizzes. If you're one of the people who designed a "How well do you know so-and-so?" quiz for yourself, ask someone for a hug next time. It's a much subtler way to obtain affirmation.

- The above rant also applies to posting whatever score you got on whatever game you just played; although, it doesn't annoy me as much, for whatever reason. Maybe because one time I took a grammar quiz that my sister sent me where I went 10 for 10. Can I get a WHAT WHAT???!!!

- Any cliche sayings. "Everything happens for a reason." "Live life to the fullest!" "Is proud to be an American." Have an original thought; apply for reinstatement to my feed. The people who "like" or give accolades to this drivel are the very worst kind of enablers.

- Generic, tedious stuff that applies to pretty much everyone. "Is looking forward to the weekend." Really? Not me. Tuesdays are the bomb! "Is enjoying this beautiful sunset." They have sunsets where you are? Crazy! "Loves kicking back with a glass of wine." Whoa, seriously? I thought that practice died with the Romans!

- Posting constantly about your wonderful spouse/significant other and how much you love him or her. It's the equivalent of internet PDA. Nobody wants to read about how great your relationship is. If he cheats on you with the babysitter, by all means, give us the sordid details.

- Parents who only write about their kids. "Can't believe Jayden just made the cutest noise!" "Is amazed that Sofia's almost standing up!" "Hopes I don't catch Connor's cold. Poor little guy!" This always makes me think of the Seinfeld episode when the gang is forced to go "come see the baby." We understand that your kid is precious to you, but if we're not related to you, odds are we don't care. Props to those who use the comedy their kids generate for entertaining status updates. Amongst my friends, Molly Topf and Alex Traverso come to mind.

- Relentless happiness, especially on weekdays. This is especially true for Facebookers without traditional employment. If the rest of us are slaving away on a Wednesday at 1:30, you better not be talking about how great the weather is in Napa while you're wine tasting. When you go on vacation, be careful about when you post cheery little updates, especially those with photos. If it's on a Monday morning, your friends just might want to murder you.

Aaaaand...You're Blocked, Part I

2009-10-08T18:06:00.000-07:00

A few weeks ago, a casual friend of mine whom I haven't seen in a couple years sent me a private message on Facebook. He wrote that while he couldn't stand most people's status updates and wished he saw less of them, he wished that he saw more of mine. He thanked me for keeping things interesting.

This got me thinking about two things:

1. I am awesome.

2. A lot of facebook status updates thoroughly and consistently suck. So much so, that if there were no "hide from feed" function, I would spend a lot less time on the site, or at least I'd be much more choosy about the friend requests I accept.

I accept pretty much anyone who asks, and since I have 150 students every year, that inflates the number of "friends" I have. I've only ever "defriended" one person, a CP student who seemed determined to insult me on a personal level. However, I've blocked a lot of people from appearing on my news feed. On the occasion of this blog, I decided to count exactly how many.

128 out of 636. 20%. One in five. To put this in perspective, look at the person in front of you. Then look at the one behind you. Then at the ones to your left and right. If none of those people are blocked, it's probably you.

Please don't write and ask me if I've hidden you; I won't say. I don't like hurting people's feelings directly. I prefer anonymous missives. Occasionally, I post that I'm dropping you on the update/quiz/poll that annoyed me. Mostly, I just brush you into the dustbin of my hidden list, and you're never the wiser. If you suspect that you might've gotten blocked, read on, and ask yourself if any of the following things may apply to your posts.

This is already long, so I'm going to break this into two categories. Tonight will be things that are mostly unique to high school/college students.

Why do I block thee? Let me count the ways:

- My three current most hated things, in order:
1. The Los Angeles Dodgers.
2. Kids who use multiple letters where they don't belong.
3. Brett Favre worship.

I can't do anything about #1 or #3. But if you consistently post things like "so tireddddddd" or "I hate hommmmeworkkkk," you've been dropped. Now, if you're a little on the dim side, you might be saying, "Wait! Look at the title of your blog! You're a...a...whatsitcalled...hippopotamus!" Let me clarify: I'm not against multiple letters used phonetically. That's the way I wanted to say "and," with the drawn-out "a" sound. No one (except, perhaps those with speech impediments) pronounces "tired" with multiple "d's" at the end.

I've had kids tell me they do it "for emphasis" or "it's just for fun." Nope. They do it because they see their friends do it, and they want to be cool. There's absolutely no reason to do it otherwise. It adds nothing and makes you seem like you're trying to hide the fact that you can't spell. If you want to write this nonsense, you won't be doing it on my feed.

- Using the word "gay" as a pejorative. Not only is it offensive, if you're the kind of person who unthinkingly posts that way on a public forum, your other posts are not likely to be full of witty repartee.

- In that same vein, overuse of profanity will get you dropped. Don't get me wrong; I'm a big fan of cursing, if it's done artfully. But my young "friends" aren't exactly Quentin Tarantino or Kevin Smith. They see swearing as a form of rebellion and cool. I saw a quiz in the past couple days that a few kids had taken called "What the shit-fuck are you?" That's not clever. That's just appealing to lowest common denominator. Blocked.

- Complaining vaguely about friends/significant others. Stuff like "who needs friends when they treat you like s%*#?" or "Fine, don't call. Grrrrrrr." These things are either personal and should be kept private, or you need to tell us the whole story. In between is just a whiny plea for attention.

- That nervous, giggly internet laughter. "is going to the mall with Casey lol. We're gonna shop hahahahaha." "Remember when I saw you today lol? Hahahaha Math class is so boring haahhahahaahahahahahahahahaha."

If you're reading this, and you're older than your early 20's, you might be in disbelief that young people actually write this way. Trust me; it's rampant. But don't get smug. There's plenty of things you grown ups do that have gotten you blocked as well. Part II coming tomorrow.

Lies My Teacher Told Me

2009-10-07T22:06:00.000-07:00

Framed and hung in my "Mantic" is an essay I wrote when I was in third grade, entitled, "When I'm 23." I don't remember writing it, but from what I'm able to ascertain, I was asked what I'd be doing when I was 23 years old, which I assume was 15 years from the day I was asked to perform this prognostication.

In the paper, I write that I will have two cats, a goldfish, and two adopted sons. I also claimed I'd either be playing professional soccer for the (now defunct) San Diego Sockers or become an astronaut. The only thing I got right was that I wouldn't be married, and I only wrote that because I thought girls had cooties.

I've never owned a cat or a goldfish, nor do I have any intent to adopt children. Nevertheless, these are at least attainable goals. What in the world could've made me believe that I could play professional soccer (I'm one notch above completely sucking at it) or be an astronaut (no way could I handle the amount of math that would take)?

I think I know. It was that great American myth that was pounded into my head from the day I started kindergarten: You can be whatever you want when you grow up. You just have to work hard, and you can achieve anything.

Hogwash. Nonsense. Bullcrap.

We're all born with certain aptitudes. Some people get more than others. Some people win the genetic lottery and are extraordinarily gifted in an area that society prizes the most: Being able to dunk a basketball without jumping, being gifted with amazing oratory skills, being able to hit a golf ball farther than anyone else, and of course being really, really, ridiculously good-looking.

But the thing is, if you don't have the natural inclination for mathematic equations, you're not going to be the next Stephen Hawking. If you can't spell and struggle putting words in the right order, you're not going to be the next Bill Shakespeare. If you can't pick up the seams spinning on a curveball, you're not going to be the Kung Fu Panda.

Sure, you can practice all of these skills and get better at them. And when you're a kid, I suppose there's no harm in believing that the sky really is the limit (or the stars, in my case).

However, at some point, we've got to face reality. I knew full well by junior high or so that I wasn't going to be a professional athlete, at least in a sport that had already been invented. Since girls showed more interest in their jelly bracelets and hair scrunchees than talking to me, so being a famous model or actor was probably out. When I couldn't cut algebra during 8th grade and was sent back to pre-algebra, that pretty much ended any future with substantial math in it.

Sure, these things hurt. But that's part of growing up. You learn to focus on what you're good at and work hard enough to get by in the stuff that doesn't come naturally.

The problem is, there's a school of thought out there that if you ever tell a kids that they're not good at something, you're crushing their self esteem. Here's the crazy thing: In my experience, teenagers have too much self esteem, not too little. They've been told their whole lives how good they are at everything, and they've built up unreasonable expectations for themselves.

You should hear the apoplectic parent responses we get when we do something cruel and malicious, like...hold on to your hats...not recommend their kids for an honors class. To them, we're breaking their kids' hearts and crushing their spirits. To us, we're simply saying they're not good enough. And guess what? That's going to happen a lot in life.

No, you can't be whatever you want when you grow up. But that's not the end of the world. Find something you're good at, and do what makes you happy.

Unless it's something evil, like mutilating puppies or being the world's craftiest pedophile. If that's the case, please stop reading my blog, 'cause it's creepy.

Mawwiage. Mawwiage is what bwings us togethaw today.

2009-10-06T11:34:00.000-07:00

Today is my 2nd wedding anniversary. Since I am about the least (openly) sentimental person I know, readers won't be getting 1,500 words on how great marriage is and how much I love my wife.

Marriage is fine, not that much different than living with somebody except for the financial aspect (which can be a huge problem for some couples, but Eileen and I don't have issues, at least not yet). I love my wife more now than I did two years ago, but not in a dramatic way. I've never once in the past two years thought I made a mistake or second-guessed my decision.

Before we got married, we went to a pre-marriage counseling session where I admitted that I didn't know if I'd have the commitment to stay married forever. This alarmed Eileen a little, but I wasn't being pessimistic. Once I explained it, she understood. I was being realistic. Nobody knows what will happen; anyone who says so is relying on faith, and that's not my bag. Notice I didn't write that I doubted I'd be able to be married the rest of my life, I just didn't know. I'm unable to imagine my life that far into the future. All I know is that I like being married to Eileen, I am looking forward to our son being born in January, and I can't imagine a life without her. That's good enough for now and the foreseeable tomorrows that follow.

However, marriage isn't for everybody. Certain people shouldn't be married. Some realize this; some don't. You can't even always tell when a marriage isn't going to work; although, most of the time you can. Sometimes everything can look perfect and go swimmingly, and one person (or both) just...changes. It happens. I don't think there's anything that can be done about it.

Jane Austen once wrote, "Happiness in marriage is entirely a matter of chance." I would agree that she's on to something, but I would change the word "entirely" to "often." While there's no way of knowing everything that could go wrong in a marriage beforehand, there are some obvious warning flags.

Disclaimer: Reading past this point may cause some married people to be offended. Please remember that this is my opinion only, and I am a total dumbass. None of what I write means your marriage is doomed; in fact, I have no control or influence over your marriage at all (unless I'm a bad influence on the husband because we hang out, drink beer, and watch sports together). If you read on, I accept no responsibility for whatever wounded pride you feel.

Three paths to an unhappy marriage:

1. Getting married because you think you're "supposed to," all your friends are doing it, you're worried about dying old and alone, etc. Desperation is never a good reason to get married. Buy a dog. Go to bars. Enjoy the freedom that married people don't have.

Of course, nobody says these are the reasons they're getting married. But deep down lots of people are thinking these things when they tie the knot.

2. Getting engaged (not married) to someone you've been dating less than two years. Two years may seem like an arbitrary number, but it feels about right to me. The first six months to a year of any relationship are a honeymoon phase. It's after the magic wears off that you find out if you're compatible. The reason I write "engaged" is because once the ring goes on that finger, it takes an act of God to stop the ceremony. There are definitely people who get married just because they're too chicken to back out of the wedding. I personally think it's a good idea to live together for a little while before you're married to see if you can handle their sounds, sights, and smells, but I wouldn't say a marriage is doomed without it.

3. Getting married before the age of 25. People are getting married older and older. Part of the reason is that more of the focus is on their careers, but a lot of it is because the past couple generations are learning from the mistakes (and massive divorce rates) of our parents. You do a lot of changing in your 20's. You are simply not the same person at 28 that you are at 21. Neither is your spouse. With two people going through such a transitional period, they are apt to have conflict and grow apart. It's the same reason you shouldn't get a tattoo of your favorite band as a teenager. You may not like death metal as much when you get older.

As I stated before, you can never be assured a person won't change in a fundamental way, blowing up the marriage. But the odds are a lot more in your favor if you wait until you're a bit more settled and mature. I thought I was sane in my relationships when I was in my early-to-mid 20's. It is easy to see now that I was not. That's the problem with youthful insanity; you can believe something feels right with all your might right up until the moment it all comes crashing down on you, and later you see that it was crazy from the start. Thank god I didn't marry somebody. "Somebody" is even more lucky she didn't marry me.

I would say there's one exception to this one. If you've been going out since high school, and particularly if you survived being at different colleges, and you're still together, go for it. But there's no need to rush. Why not live together for a couple years like heathens, or have a two-to-three year engagement? You have the rest of your life to be married. Be young and fun as long as you can.

And always remember that marriage isn't a guarantee of happiness. As Chris Rock said, we all basically have two choices: "Married and bored, or single and lonely." Just make sure you find the right kind of boredom.