I watched "The House of the Devil" the other night, and liked it well enough. An indie horror flick, very self-consciously crafted to appear to have been shot in, say, the mid-80s, with the simplest of touches -- characters' hairstyles, the mom jeans, the rotary dial telephones, the big Walkman -- and it looks very much like it could've been a movie of that time.
It delivered some good atmosphere and some startling moments, although I felt that too much time was spent creating the mood and when things get out of hand, they get out of hand almost too quickly for it to really work properly, in terms of pacing, like going from too little to too much all at once.
Also, the meta-factoid at the beginning basically throws any proper suspense out the window -- not having context for what was happening might've made it work better on the face of things.
As an exercise in cinematic style (e.g., simulating an 80s horror movie), they definitely hit all the marks properly. As a horror movie itself, I don't know if it'll qualify as a classic of the genre.
I don't know if this was deliberate on the part of the director or not, but there's a lot of eating in the movie -- it kind of draws attention to itself, like business for the characters to do. It becomes a little distracting, all the nibbling that goes on. Maybe they wanted the characters to have more to do than just, say, smoke (which some of them do, too). Not sure. But it was a little distracting for me.
Also, the overall conceit of the story was less than I'd hoped for, and the payoff didn't quite deliver for me. Like they ended at both a good and a bad point, saying more by showing less, but also kind of copping out (just because of the rushed elements of horror in it making the payoff feel perhaps a bit contrived).
Greta Gerwig (one of my indie film crushes, right up there with Parker Posey) is in it, in a small role as the protagonist's friend.
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
Cynical, Cyclical
Sometimes B1 will ask me about something, and I'm torn between giving him the officially accepted(tm) notion of something, and my own cynical take on it. On one hand, I think he shouldn't be burdened with cynicism as a child; but, on the other hand, the alternative is, what, being naive and taking it on the chin?
My life experience to date has made me pretty cynical, I guess. Which is weird, because I still believe in love, in romantic notions -- it's just that I see so little of it around me day-to-day that I think I perhaps adopted cynicism as a kind of armor against the world. It's ironic to me how cynicism attained a negative connotation, and when it did. It walked hand in hand with the advent of industrialism and modernity. Before then, the classic (and accurate) concept of the Cynics was retained. What changed in the world in the 19th century to lead to a negative view of the Cynics?
It's almost like how "conspiracy theorist" evolved as a catch-all term to invalidate a contrary position on something. Like someone can dismiss you by saying "Oh, you're just so cynical" -- without actually addressing what you're talking or thinking about.
Saying something like "It's not what you know, it's who you know" gets you branded as a cynic, even though, in practice, more often than not, it's fucking true.
Anyway, B1 is so sweet, he has this conception of how the world works, and when things don't go his way, he's very reflective about it in a sweet and innocent way -- he reads the best in people (something, sadly, I don't do -- I've been told often enough that I read the worst in people) -- and when people fail him, he tries to figure it out in a kind and rational way, whereas my (ooh!) cynical impulse is to blow it off as a typical result of how people behave toward one another.
For now, I just let him form his own conclusions about things without seasoning them with my cynicism -- for now, B1 can detect my sarcasm rather well and will say "You're just being sarcastic, Daddy." He doesn't yet know that I'm damned cynical, too -- and that I don't think that's a bad thing, either.
There is the way the world works, and the way the world should work, and those ways seldom cross -- and worse, people often fail to acknowledge or admit that this is how the world is actually working. I see that and feel a good deal of pathos.
It's not an easy path to be an open-hearted cynic, let me tell you! My heart isn't hardened by the world, although it should be, given various things I've encountered in my day. I stay young at heart, even while my cynical instincts are always saying "See? I toldja so, Stooopid."
My life experience to date has made me pretty cynical, I guess. Which is weird, because I still believe in love, in romantic notions -- it's just that I see so little of it around me day-to-day that I think I perhaps adopted cynicism as a kind of armor against the world. It's ironic to me how cynicism attained a negative connotation, and when it did. It walked hand in hand with the advent of industrialism and modernity. Before then, the classic (and accurate) concept of the Cynics was retained. What changed in the world in the 19th century to lead to a negative view of the Cynics?
It's almost like how "conspiracy theorist" evolved as a catch-all term to invalidate a contrary position on something. Like someone can dismiss you by saying "Oh, you're just so cynical" -- without actually addressing what you're talking or thinking about.
Saying something like "It's not what you know, it's who you know" gets you branded as a cynic, even though, in practice, more often than not, it's fucking true.
Anyway, B1 is so sweet, he has this conception of how the world works, and when things don't go his way, he's very reflective about it in a sweet and innocent way -- he reads the best in people (something, sadly, I don't do -- I've been told often enough that I read the worst in people) -- and when people fail him, he tries to figure it out in a kind and rational way, whereas my (ooh!) cynical impulse is to blow it off as a typical result of how people behave toward one another.
For now, I just let him form his own conclusions about things without seasoning them with my cynicism -- for now, B1 can detect my sarcasm rather well and will say "You're just being sarcastic, Daddy." He doesn't yet know that I'm damned cynical, too -- and that I don't think that's a bad thing, either.
There is the way the world works, and the way the world should work, and those ways seldom cross -- and worse, people often fail to acknowledge or admit that this is how the world is actually working. I see that and feel a good deal of pathos.
It's not an easy path to be an open-hearted cynic, let me tell you! My heart isn't hardened by the world, although it should be, given various things I've encountered in my day. I stay young at heart, even while my cynical instincts are always saying "See? I toldja so, Stooopid."
Upchuck Truck
I get parent points for last night, for quick thinking while on Emergency Puke Patrol. B1 was a little pukey last night from what I think is the flu (the real flu, mind you, not "stomach flu"). All the coughing I think makes his tummy sensitive. Anyway, he's on the top bunk, and I'm on the bottom bunk, and I'm hearing him coughing (I'd given him cough medicine earlier, but it hadn't kicked in, yet), and I hear him kind of gag, and I'm like "Are you gonna puke, Buddy?" and he's like "Yeah." But I can tell that he's not gonna make it down the bunk in time to reach the bathroom (and Exene's in there showering, anyway), so I snag a plastic dump truck that's in reach and I hand it up in time for B1 to hurl in it. He fills it up nicely, and I'm like "Whew." (because I know B1 would likely just lean over the side and puke over it in a pinch). So, I tell him "Hold the truck; keep it level and steady." and then I ran and got some paper towels and a mixing bowl and he swabbed his face with the towels and I swapped out the dump truck for a mixing bowl. Then I cleaned out the dump truck in the kitchen sink, grateful that the truck had a solid bed in the back, therefore leakproof. Whew! I cleaned it out and sterilized it and left it on the kitchen floor.
The next morning, B2 came in and said "Heyyy, what's my dump truck doing in here?" and I said "Oh, I think the pixies must've taken it for a spin." and He looked around suspiciously, said "Pixies?"
I do feel like writing the company and thanking them for the quality toy dump truck, which proved very good at handling the pukeload of an 8-year-old.
The next morning, B2 came in and said "Heyyy, what's my dump truck doing in here?" and I said "Oh, I think the pixies must've taken it for a spin." and He looked around suspiciously, said "Pixies?"
I do feel like writing the company and thanking them for the quality toy dump truck, which proved very good at handling the pukeload of an 8-year-old.
Monday, April 26, 2010
Transcribed
Alright, so I finished transcribing the screenplay. It's currently 99 pages long, and I've got over a month until the deadline, so I'm well ahead of schedule. Next up, printing it out and reading through it, and then tightening it up and revising as required, then blocking it out and judging the pacing, all of that kind of stuff. Then I'll let some folks read it, see if they like it, try to incorporate their feedback in as timely a fashion as I can, and get it submitted before the June 3 deadline.
I really, really hope I win! Need some good luck for a change!
I really, really hope I win! Need some good luck for a change!
Where's the fun?
I was amused the other day, getting some cold medicines from CVS for B1 -- in addition to the receipt, I got an additional slip saying "Preventing Teen Cough Medicine Abuse." and I snickered at this, which had the clerk (a 20-something) chuckling, too. I said "Can't abuse that cough syrup, now can we?" and he said "I know, right? Where's the fun in that?"
Boys will be...boys?
I'm home with the boys today -- B1 had a fever last night, a chest something-or-other that had him coughing a fair piece, so I'm keeping an eye on him and taking care of him and his brother today. B2 had his usual preschool stuff to attend to.
I also did the dishes, took out the trash, and am in the process of cleaning the boys' room and looking for new jobbage.
While in the midst of this, I hear squabbling in the other room, B1 crying out, and I see B2 astride his brother, B1 on his stomach, with B2 brandishing the ball peen hammer we use to drive the tent stakes when camping. I always keep it high above B2, out of his reach -- but Exene had put all the camping gear in a box on the floor, where B2 could reach it, and he used it to go after his big brother. Lordy. I managed to intercede before B2 could get more than one clumsy blow on his brother's shoulder, but lordy, lordy.
B2 is so much more of a scrapper than his sweet big brother. B1 is much bigger than his baby brother, but he's also so much kinder and sweeter -- it doesn't occur to him to take a rubber mallet and use it as a weapon.
I'm sure households with lots of girls in them have their own issues, but somehow, a household of boys makes a ball peen hammer bludgeoning likelier, no? I'm just glad I got the hammer from B2 before it really became Hammer Time.
Sheesh. I made B2 take a time out and then come out and give his brother a hug and a kiss and apologize for hitting him.
AND, I put that hammer back where I had it before, hell and gone from B2's diminutive-yet-deadly clutches!
I should also add that B2 loves and idolizes his big brother. He just adores him. But he is also much more of a rough-houser than his big brother, and that comes up from time to time.
I also did the dishes, took out the trash, and am in the process of cleaning the boys' room and looking for new jobbage.
While in the midst of this, I hear squabbling in the other room, B1 crying out, and I see B2 astride his brother, B1 on his stomach, with B2 brandishing the ball peen hammer we use to drive the tent stakes when camping. I always keep it high above B2, out of his reach -- but Exene had put all the camping gear in a box on the floor, where B2 could reach it, and he used it to go after his big brother. Lordy. I managed to intercede before B2 could get more than one clumsy blow on his brother's shoulder, but lordy, lordy.
B2 is so much more of a scrapper than his sweet big brother. B1 is much bigger than his baby brother, but he's also so much kinder and sweeter -- it doesn't occur to him to take a rubber mallet and use it as a weapon.
I'm sure households with lots of girls in them have their own issues, but somehow, a household of boys makes a ball peen hammer bludgeoning likelier, no? I'm just glad I got the hammer from B2 before it really became Hammer Time.
Sheesh. I made B2 take a time out and then come out and give his brother a hug and a kiss and apologize for hitting him.
AND, I put that hammer back where I had it before, hell and gone from B2's diminutive-yet-deadly clutches!
I should also add that B2 loves and idolizes his big brother. He just adores him. But he is also much more of a rough-houser than his big brother, and that comes up from time to time.
Sunday, April 25, 2010
There and Back Again
So, managed to squeak out around five hours of fun time with the Boys yesterday, before the storms came. Exene and I pitched the tent and they played, and meantime, the weather got worse and worse. We managed to join in on the dinner -- where B1 got go mad/upset at Exene trying to make him eat some of the cookout food (chicken, in this case) that he puked up what he had eaten, which annoyed her immensely. Nice going!
As ever, I crossed paths with the dads -- in this case, one of whom (a cop, no less) comes up and shakes my hand, says "I can't remember your name" and I gave it, and then he keeps a grip on my hand and starts walking me over to the mess tent -- of course, I'm no fan of being manhandled (literally) so I pry my hand loose of his (prompting him to go "Whoa, whoa, you can't get away that easily!") and he introduced me to one of the other dads and told me to wrangle up some kids to fill the collapsible water containers they had (there were a half-dozen of those high-capacity ones). First off, if you want me to do something, just fucking ask me -- don't try that bullshit faux-friendly ballbusting power-gaming crap on me with your control-grip policeman's handshake shit. That's just plain rude.
I pour one of the water containers to fill one of the hot water pots they're using for the dishwater. Then, I look at those water containers, and having worked with'em before on my own, I know that they get damned heavy, and because they're collapsible plastic, they're very awkward. Looking around at the kids (all of whom are still eating), I think two things: 1) these containers are likely too awkward and big for the kids to handle -- they're little kids, for fuck's sake, and 2) they're all busy eating, so why don't I just handle it, myself?
I take two at a time and walk'em over to the water pump, and fill them up. They're damned heavy, like 30-40 lbs. full. In no time at all, I have'em hauled up and back. The cook-dad I met saw me hauling the last one back, and he carped "You're SUPPOSED to have the BOYS do that!"
Now I'm really fucking annoyed, thinking "Forgive me for being efficient about it and doing it myself, and letting the kids eat. Is this some sacred function or something? Will the kids become juvenile delinquents now because I got the water, instead of ordering some kids I don't even know around and having them do it?"
So, I'm peeved and I leave the mess tent, having played Water Bearer long enough, and getting carped at for my efforts. Around that time was when B1 puked, although I wasn't there to see it.
Anyway, the weather turned sour (really bad, as I knew it would, judging from that radar), and we took everything down (but not before getting soaked -- I drove the Sienna up and had the Boys wait in there while we took it all down). We got completely soaked, and were glad we didn't try to ride it out, as the wind was really strong.
The boys seemed to have fun in the time they had, although B1 was peevish about the storm cutting short the camping, groused about that a bit. Still, we got home ahead of the storm (just ahead of it -- it kicked up about 10 minutes after we got home), and that was that.
B2 took one of the play-tents we have and set it up in the living room, promptly fell asleep in there. B1 played with a flashlight I'd gotten him at Target.
Onward and upward. I'm taking advantage of still having the rental van to make a grocery store run today.
As ever, I crossed paths with the dads -- in this case, one of whom (a cop, no less) comes up and shakes my hand, says "I can't remember your name" and I gave it, and then he keeps a grip on my hand and starts walking me over to the mess tent -- of course, I'm no fan of being manhandled (literally) so I pry my hand loose of his (prompting him to go "Whoa, whoa, you can't get away that easily!") and he introduced me to one of the other dads and told me to wrangle up some kids to fill the collapsible water containers they had (there were a half-dozen of those high-capacity ones). First off, if you want me to do something, just fucking ask me -- don't try that bullshit faux-friendly ballbusting power-gaming crap on me with your control-grip policeman's handshake shit. That's just plain rude.
I pour one of the water containers to fill one of the hot water pots they're using for the dishwater. Then, I look at those water containers, and having worked with'em before on my own, I know that they get damned heavy, and because they're collapsible plastic, they're very awkward. Looking around at the kids (all of whom are still eating), I think two things: 1) these containers are likely too awkward and big for the kids to handle -- they're little kids, for fuck's sake, and 2) they're all busy eating, so why don't I just handle it, myself?
I take two at a time and walk'em over to the water pump, and fill them up. They're damned heavy, like 30-40 lbs. full. In no time at all, I have'em hauled up and back. The cook-dad I met saw me hauling the last one back, and he carped "You're SUPPOSED to have the BOYS do that!"
Now I'm really fucking annoyed, thinking "Forgive me for being efficient about it and doing it myself, and letting the kids eat. Is this some sacred function or something? Will the kids become juvenile delinquents now because I got the water, instead of ordering some kids I don't even know around and having them do it?"
So, I'm peeved and I leave the mess tent, having played Water Bearer long enough, and getting carped at for my efforts. Around that time was when B1 puked, although I wasn't there to see it.
Anyway, the weather turned sour (really bad, as I knew it would, judging from that radar), and we took everything down (but not before getting soaked -- I drove the Sienna up and had the Boys wait in there while we took it all down). We got completely soaked, and were glad we didn't try to ride it out, as the wind was really strong.
The boys seemed to have fun in the time they had, although B1 was peevish about the storm cutting short the camping, groused about that a bit. Still, we got home ahead of the storm (just ahead of it -- it kicked up about 10 minutes after we got home), and that was that.
B2 took one of the play-tents we have and set it up in the living room, promptly fell asleep in there. B1 played with a flashlight I'd gotten him at Target.
Onward and upward. I'm taking advantage of still having the rental van to make a grocery store run today.
Saturday, April 24, 2010
Where in the hell am I?
Can you find me on this map?
Now, imagine me driving the boys to a campsite (#$%# Cub Scouts), in a Toyota Sienna, and setting up camp for tonight and tomorrow. Nothing like thunderstorm camping! Woo hoo! Provided no tornadoes come and sweep us up into the stratosphere, I figure we can take refuge in the Sienna, if we have to. The storms are perfectly timed to make a camping trip appear feasible, without actually being so.
Now, imagine me driving the boys to a campsite (#$%# Cub Scouts), in a Toyota Sienna, and setting up camp for tonight and tomorrow. Nothing like thunderstorm camping! Woo hoo! Provided no tornadoes come and sweep us up into the stratosphere, I figure we can take refuge in the Sienna, if we have to. The storms are perfectly timed to make a camping trip appear feasible, without actually being so.
Friday, April 23, 2010
A Close Shave
Before I got home, B2 got into the medicine cabinet and snagged one of Exene's Venus shavers, and shaved his chin -- he now was three cut-lines on his chinny chin-chin.
I put all of my razors high out of the boys' reach. Apparently not Exene.
*shaking head*
I put all of my razors high out of the boys' reach. Apparently not Exene.
*shaking head*
Thursday, April 22, 2010
Two Words
Want to know how to piss me off using only two words? Want proof of a godless, pointless, meaningless, senseless universe?
Diablo Cody.
Everything about Diablo Cody pisses me off. Literally everything about her. I'm getting too pissed off to even iterate all the ways in which she pisses me off, so I'm just stopping right now, because I'm breaking into a pissed-off, red-faced Dave face-sweat right now.
Diablo Cody.Everything about Diablo Cody pisses me off. Literally everything about her. I'm getting too pissed off to even iterate all the ways in which she pisses me off, so I'm just stopping right now, because I'm breaking into a pissed-off, red-faced Dave face-sweat right now.
Sunny Delight
So, I've transcribed 93 pages of the screenplay, am nearly done with that part of it, although the work's not yet done (thankfully, plenty of time until deadline). I think it'll probably be 90 pages long when I'm finally done with it, upon revision and tightening it up. Since one page = one minute with screenplays, that's more than enough time, as I see it. I'll do what I can to tighten it all up, once it's all transcribed.
I'm drafting a lot of notes for the next book, while I'm also currently working on one (which is still nearly all written longhand, unfortunately -- I haven't yet gotten a Netbook).
Very sunny today, although chilly, too. Brrr! Yesterday was downright cold, but I think that's just the vagaries of weather here.
B1 got his report card yesterday, and did very well -- 6 A's, 4 B's. His teacher had nothing but good to say of him. He's such a sweet, good boy. Genuinely decent. We jaywalked the other day, and he said "We shouldn't jaywalk, Daddy." and I said "I know, but the bank's right across the street from here, it's not a busy street. Normally, I'd never do it, but we're RIGHT THERE." and he said "I know, but I just don't like breaking the law." Oh, my. My Lawful Good son. Such a sweetheart. I wonder how that'll stack up against the world at large, how that'll play out. I hope he never loses that sweet heart of his.
B2 is a wilder child -- he's sweet, but he's wild and wicked, too. He likes stirring the pot. He absolutely loves chaos -- you can see it. I'm a fan of chaos, myself, up to a point, but B2 is a maelstrom when he really gets going. He's also incredibly scrappy -- he seems to have gotten my fighting instincts, only wilder. Good lord, yes. I try to gently offer some moral guidance for B2, but he's still pretty resistant to it, when it suits him to be. Although he is keen to join in on things, and I can sometimes hoodwink him into being responsible by going to work on something and his desire to join in brings him to me where if I asked him to do something, he'd just blow me off.
Oh, and this should've been the theme music for my bus ride this morning.
I'm drafting a lot of notes for the next book, while I'm also currently working on one (which is still nearly all written longhand, unfortunately -- I haven't yet gotten a Netbook).
Very sunny today, although chilly, too. Brrr! Yesterday was downright cold, but I think that's just the vagaries of weather here.
B1 got his report card yesterday, and did very well -- 6 A's, 4 B's. His teacher had nothing but good to say of him. He's such a sweet, good boy. Genuinely decent. We jaywalked the other day, and he said "We shouldn't jaywalk, Daddy." and I said "I know, but the bank's right across the street from here, it's not a busy street. Normally, I'd never do it, but we're RIGHT THERE." and he said "I know, but I just don't like breaking the law." Oh, my. My Lawful Good son. Such a sweetheart. I wonder how that'll stack up against the world at large, how that'll play out. I hope he never loses that sweet heart of his.
B2 is a wilder child -- he's sweet, but he's wild and wicked, too. He likes stirring the pot. He absolutely loves chaos -- you can see it. I'm a fan of chaos, myself, up to a point, but B2 is a maelstrom when he really gets going. He's also incredibly scrappy -- he seems to have gotten my fighting instincts, only wilder. Good lord, yes. I try to gently offer some moral guidance for B2, but he's still pretty resistant to it, when it suits him to be. Although he is keen to join in on things, and I can sometimes hoodwink him into being responsible by going to work on something and his desire to join in brings him to me where if I asked him to do something, he'd just blow me off.
Oh, and this should've been the theme music for my bus ride this morning.
Wednesday, April 21, 2010
Holy Shit
One thing I notice a lot on Facebook is how people who likely self-identify as "Christian" are so often hard-hearted little souls who snarl angrily about the poor and the needy. It galls me that me, the resident atheist, apparently has a bigger heart than these supposed Christians. And when I see it over and over again, this stew of hatred and anger and malice and lack of empathy (to say nothing of sympathy) from folks, it bothers me more than a little. The jester in me wants to comment to these people "What Would Jesus Do?" when they go on one of their little tears, although that would likely just be "Oh, Dave's being a smartass" kind of thing, even though I'm really calling them out a little.
I'm busy teaching my sons to be kind and compassionate (with B1, it's hardly something I even need to do -- he's kind and sweet and sensitive and already has more moral sense than most of the adults I know), and I see these other people who purportedly embrace Christianity spouting hate and venom, and I think "My poor sons are gonna be sharing the world with these hard-hearted people's spawn."
It is haunting and frustrating and makes me sad. I'm kinder-hearted than most people probably actually think -- behind my sarcastic, snarky, cynical exterior, I'm fundamentally kind. I routinely give to the poor and the needy, and I'm reflexively empathic to the suffering of others. In a purely philosophical, Judeo-Christian ethical sense, I am more Christian than most of the Christians I know.
My least-Christian quality is that I don't hurt those who don't deserve to be hurt -- sorry, but if smacked in the face (literally or figuratively), I will smack back -- I'm far too Celtic to truly turn the other cheek, although I'm far more forgiving than I ought to be, and I never start anything, but I'm sure to finish it, if provoked -- I don't believe in initiation of force, but I do believe in self-defense, and that applies in a variety of settings, whether physical, emotional, mental, social, or spiritual. I do believe in Live and Let Live as an atheistic detente with the world around me. I won't hurt you if you don't hurt me, but Tit for Tat definitely is part of my character.
Anyway, it just bothers me to see hate and vitriol flung by people who've clearly been drinking the Christianist Kool-Aid and spew that kind of partisan venom at the poor and the weak and the needy. C'mon, people. It's very, very American to do that, really -- like to think that Christianity is more "God helps those who help themselves" than "Love one another." Or that Christ was somehow this oily entrepreneur, this venture capitalist for the soul, instead of a genuine spiritual radical who embraced the weak against the dictates of the strong and the powerful. Yet this obvious theological point seems lost on so many people.
As I've long said, I think Christianity came to America to die -- Europe bled itself dry of religiosity in countless wars, and our young country gleefully embraced (and distorted) Christian theology to its own end. Clearly, the nearly communist doctrines of actual Christianity are entirely un-American, so I wonder just what kind of Christianity those folks are embracing, precisely -- a "Christianity" where the strong kick the weak in the teeth, where the rich are free to enjoy the fruits of others' labors with impunity, where the powerful ride roughshod over the poor, where the bold inherit the Earth (standing on the backs of the meek, mind you).
The hostility people felt toward the health care reform is only one symptom of this spiritual sickness -- that reform was very, very mild (and, shhh, very conservative and pro-business) -- but those venom-spewers (good "Christians" one and all, for sure) got seething mad about it. And I looked at it and said "It's giving health care options for people who didn't have them. If Jesus saw that, He'd approve -- if anything, He'd say it didn't go nearly far enough to help the helpless." But noooooo, they lost their minds over people getting health care!
It doesn't bode well for this century, truly, that these cockeyed crusaders are busy taking swords to whetstones to "save this country" when, in truth, they are going to destroy it. And under the banner of "Christian values." Holy SHIT, people. The reactionaries a century ago realized that religiosity was the perfect shield for them to hide behind, and they surely are. We are seeing their foot soldiers marching under that banner of moral certitude and righteousness, while pursuing an agenda of anger, fear, and hatred. Yeah, good things will come of that, Lord knows.
I'm busy teaching my sons to be kind and compassionate (with B1, it's hardly something I even need to do -- he's kind and sweet and sensitive and already has more moral sense than most of the adults I know), and I see these other people who purportedly embrace Christianity spouting hate and venom, and I think "My poor sons are gonna be sharing the world with these hard-hearted people's spawn."
It is haunting and frustrating and makes me sad. I'm kinder-hearted than most people probably actually think -- behind my sarcastic, snarky, cynical exterior, I'm fundamentally kind. I routinely give to the poor and the needy, and I'm reflexively empathic to the suffering of others. In a purely philosophical, Judeo-Christian ethical sense, I am more Christian than most of the Christians I know.
My least-Christian quality is that I don't hurt those who don't deserve to be hurt -- sorry, but if smacked in the face (literally or figuratively), I will smack back -- I'm far too Celtic to truly turn the other cheek, although I'm far more forgiving than I ought to be, and I never start anything, but I'm sure to finish it, if provoked -- I don't believe in initiation of force, but I do believe in self-defense, and that applies in a variety of settings, whether physical, emotional, mental, social, or spiritual. I do believe in Live and Let Live as an atheistic detente with the world around me. I won't hurt you if you don't hurt me, but Tit for Tat definitely is part of my character.
Anyway, it just bothers me to see hate and vitriol flung by people who've clearly been drinking the Christianist Kool-Aid and spew that kind of partisan venom at the poor and the weak and the needy. C'mon, people. It's very, very American to do that, really -- like to think that Christianity is more "God helps those who help themselves" than "Love one another." Or that Christ was somehow this oily entrepreneur, this venture capitalist for the soul, instead of a genuine spiritual radical who embraced the weak against the dictates of the strong and the powerful. Yet this obvious theological point seems lost on so many people.
As I've long said, I think Christianity came to America to die -- Europe bled itself dry of religiosity in countless wars, and our young country gleefully embraced (and distorted) Christian theology to its own end. Clearly, the nearly communist doctrines of actual Christianity are entirely un-American, so I wonder just what kind of Christianity those folks are embracing, precisely -- a "Christianity" where the strong kick the weak in the teeth, where the rich are free to enjoy the fruits of others' labors with impunity, where the powerful ride roughshod over the poor, where the bold inherit the Earth (standing on the backs of the meek, mind you).
The hostility people felt toward the health care reform is only one symptom of this spiritual sickness -- that reform was very, very mild (and, shhh, very conservative and pro-business) -- but those venom-spewers (good "Christians" one and all, for sure) got seething mad about it. And I looked at it and said "It's giving health care options for people who didn't have them. If Jesus saw that, He'd approve -- if anything, He'd say it didn't go nearly far enough to help the helpless." But noooooo, they lost their minds over people getting health care!
It doesn't bode well for this century, truly, that these cockeyed crusaders are busy taking swords to whetstones to "save this country" when, in truth, they are going to destroy it. And under the banner of "Christian values." Holy SHIT, people. The reactionaries a century ago realized that religiosity was the perfect shield for them to hide behind, and they surely are. We are seeing their foot soldiers marching under that banner of moral certitude and righteousness, while pursuing an agenda of anger, fear, and hatred. Yeah, good things will come of that, Lord knows.
Monday, April 19, 2010
Public Service Announcement
Q: Do you know what all of these actresses have in common?
Winona Ryder.
Neve Campbell.
Selma Blair.
Katie Holmes.
Natalie Portman.
Camilla Belle.
A: If you answered "they're all brunettes!" You'd be WRONG! That is not what they all have in common! Rather, the answer is: They all suck -- they're non-acting actresses! "Hacktresses," if you will! All of them are distractingly boring and wooden in any role they play in any movie they star in. They are a flock of albatrosses sure to sink any film they're in, if directors aren't careful. I imagine if all of them were put in one movie (I don't know, like "The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants III: Dude, Where's My Pants?" there might be some rift in space-time, killing us all with boredom).
Seriously, start a drinking game if you want, and any time
Even in the above stills, you can see the doe-eyed inertness they represent.
Winona Ryder.
Neve Campbell.
Selma Blair.
Katie Holmes.
Natalie Portman.
Camilla Belle.A: If you answered "they're all brunettes!" You'd be WRONG! That is not what they all have in common! Rather, the answer is: They all suck -- they're non-acting actresses! "Hacktresses," if you will! All of them are distractingly boring and wooden in any role they play in any movie they star in. They are a flock of albatrosses sure to sink any film they're in, if directors aren't careful. I imagine if all of them were put in one movie (I don't know, like "The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants III: Dude, Where's My Pants?" there might be some rift in space-time, killing us all with boredom).
Seriously, start a drinking game if you want, and any time
- You CANNOT guess what emotion they're trying to portray in a scene, take a drink.
- You catch them attempting to act, too, take a drink.
- They unconvincingly try to portray some occupation or lifestyle in a scene, take a drink.
Even in the above stills, you can see the doe-eyed inertness they represent.
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