Movies I Should Have Already Seen Vol. 3, #7

If dealing with this were school, I'd had a Harvard degree....

Movies I Should Have Already Seen Volume 3, Issue 7

Forrest Gump

This is a hard one to see 14 some years after it's initial release. Not because the movie is unwatchable or bad. Not at all. However, after watching umpteen bench sketches and listening to Weird All Yankovic's Gump (Bad Hair Day was the first ever album I bought) all of the magic of Forrest' s accidental philosophy does not hit me too hard.

So, yes, except for the very end and the whole wrap up with Jenny, all those iconic moments were already with me. The braces falling off, the gunfight in Vietnam, the ping pong, etc. However, it as still wonderful to see them all put together. Visually, the movie struck me with coffee table book landscapes and the CGI seamlesness. While dated, the special effects still hold strong. I didn't know that Gary Sinise's legs were amputated on via computer. It looked amazing and I just thought they subbed in a double amputee. Except for that one clip where Forrest meets John Lennon, everything looked great.

And let's diverge for a moment about Gary Sinise and his Lieutenant Dan character. I loved Lieutenant Dan and the way that Forrest lead his life from anger (I had a destiny!) to happiness as co-owner of the shrimp company. Lieutenant Dan is pimp. If anyone deserves to still be called Lieutenant whatever after the war it is lieutenant Dan. The man stood up to a whole hurricane! And he had no legs! NO LEGS! And he hadn't buttoned up his shirt, which must have made it very chilly. We needed Lieutenant Dan during Katrina! "Your not going to break these levees dammit! Where's God now, huh!?" Also, its FUNNY! Not because Tom Hanks plays someone with an IQ of 75. We are beyond crude retard jokes here at the blog and so was the movie. It's just damn funny, filled with pointed references and visual jests. Amanda taught me the wonder of "Lieutenant Dan! Ice Cream!"

It's a damn sweet movie, but I found it off that Forrest Gump, a movie that crafted many moments with the people in power during the past 40 year, didn't really take a stance. Not that such plot points are required, but the movie made a concerted effort to frame Forrest's adventures in the tumult of the 60's, 70's and 80s. Like a Greek chorus, the radio, TV, or Forrest's asides himself tell us why the world is a crazy place. Did Forrest, the character and the movie, agree with the counter-culture? Or should we all have stayed home? Yes, Forrest is a nice guy, but what happens when you stick that nice guy at the Watergate hotel or at a Black Panthers rally? Where does that nice guy fit in?

Don't get me wrong, I am all for letting books and movies exist just for the sake of story and pleasure. Trust me, Amanda and I live in Ithaca where we have to justify why we saw the latest Hollywood movie and not whatever was playing at the local art house cinema. However, Forrest Gump garnered so much praise and so many Oscars (6) that I wanted it to say something besides "Stupid is as stupid does." I must mention that the movie does touch upon this. In a scene where Forrest is running across the county, a gaggle of reporters ask him why is he doing this? Is it for the environment? Women's rights? World peace? Forrest just says because he wanted to run. And there are other little nuggets of reflection. Maybe we can all find redemption in just being ourselves and staying home? Forrest just did everything people told him to do, never injecting his own thought, and he became wildly successful. Conversely, Jenny rebelled against her life and ended up a druggie. Is ignorance bliss? Should we just ignore all that about Vietnam, Watergate, AIDS, Iran-Contra, MLK, JFK, RFK, Malcolm X, civil rights, Roe V. Wade, the environment, Berkley, etc, for our own good? While anyone can enjoy this film, it was made for Baby Boomers. Isn't everything that Forrest what you ask Baby Boomers? Where the hell were you during Vietnam, dad?! Hell, I even asked my parents that when I was young and we lived in quasi-isolated PR. Imagine if I ever had a kid and he or she asked me, 'Hey, dad. What were you doing during the 2000 Florida re-count, 9/11, or the 2003 Iraq invasion?" And all I gave them was this big smile and a "Meh." That kid woulf probably be pissed.

Maybe the movie as trying to tell us something, but really just wanted us to focus on the heartwarming aspect of Forrest's life. I can give it that, in fact, I feel too many people today do not realize that you can just have fun at the movies whether it be though explosions or a life-story. I enjoyed all the little references sprinkled throughout the movie, which helped merge Forrest's life with the times. However, part of me still wants to know how those two work.

Peace!

Hey Ace!

I should be working, but here is one quick post.

While I still think of myself as partially employed, I am slowly realizing that the paper takes up a good portion of my days off. Sitting in on various meetings eats up most of that time as does the travel time between locations. I don't mind this. I want to write and prefer a lifetime of freelance writing over a day-job.

Even with the effort I put into the paper, I still sometimes feel like I am writing in a vacuum. Amanda is immensely supportive and I love her for that, but we are still a young paper. Like a new business, we continue to introduce ourselves to the audience. That gets better every day and today was a singular day, at least for me.

I went to get a quick picture for a story. It was a head shot of a local official and I had to wait in the lobby of the building while the clerk staff let the official about me. I introduced myself with my Christian name (Long story why I use that tongue twister for bylines) and what paper I was from.

Upon hearing that I worked for a newspaper three other staffers immediately rolled their eyes and one groaned, "Jeez, what's a reporter doing here?"

Contrary to any ill will they wished on pesky old me, I FELT GREAT! I do not think myself as a reporter. And not because of some high-minded semantics. Instead, reporter feels too professional a title for me. Reporters don't have day jobs because the news is their day job. I am proud of what I write, but I know they are not the best pieces. Reporter is a very Romantic term for me and because I am not the best, I don't like to use the name of the best. Forget calling myself a "journalist." Might as well call myself the Pope. Instead, I remain comfortable as a contributor, growing until the one day I feel solid enough to call myself a reporters or even a journalist.

However, how damn cool is it to know that someone felt annoyed, maybe even worried, that I might put their actions to paper! I brought up all these images of Richard Nixon sitting in the Oval Office screaming, "Damn you Woodward and Bernstein!"

I played dumb after hearing the comment. I felt good about myself and is that so much to ask from a job and hobby?!

Consequently, paper-pushers, I was doing my job. If you are going to work for a municipality then be ready for any one to come through that door and corner you with a question. Maybe even the odd journalist, reporter, contributor, fact checker, ranter, video blogger, or activist. If you don't like it, then go to the private sector. Like all the other elected officials and senior staffers on my beat (i.e. your bosses), the person I came to visit was happy to answer my questions!

Peace!

*Image pulled from the George A. Smathers Libraries at the University of Florida.

Dropped Books

In the past year or so, I have become a hard-liner when it comes to book. I employ a strategy called the "100 Page Rule." I read each and every book I get for the first 100 pages and if it doesn't entice me by then, it gets the drop.

I know it sounds mean, but I want to tap into the things that I love and that challenge me. No need for dead weight.

It is with mixed emotions that I have to drop my latest read, Jimmy Carter's The Hornet's Nest.

Readers of the blog will know that I very much like President Carter. Considering his history as the 39th president, you have to mention that when talking about this book.

Carter has about a dozen plus books to his name, focusing on subjects from the presidency to friendly monsters. I haven't read any of his other pieces, but considering that they were produced throughout his lifetime, I know he is doing something right when it comes to writing.

The Hornet's Nest is an ambitious book about the Revolutionary War in the American South. It does a great job at showing what life was like back then and in challenging the ideas of the American Master Narrative. I was excited to read it, and disappointed to have to drop it.

My biggest hangup? If the book were presented as a non-fiction account than I would be fine with it. Carter did an amazing amount of research, learning how Colonials made shoes and bought land. The minutiae in the book create a wonderful sense of place especially as the characters move from Philadelphia and into the Georgia. However, it is supposed to be a novel. As one reviewer on Amazon said, "It isn't a page turner."

With very little dialogue, the book feels handed to the reader. The sheer amount of detail would serve a historical textbook well, but as a novel it takes away from the central action. When the book does feature dialogue, it sounds like something pulled from an 8th grade oral presentation on the Revolutionary War...."Most colonial governments met the official requests from London for financial contributions, which rarely even covered the expenses of the colonies. But, in fact, a lot of merchants, including my own company, continued to trade freely with the French even during the conflict." That quote comes early in the book from a character named Mr. Know, who serves as a sort of Greek chorus for the protagonists. He is referring to the French-Indian War and Colonial involvement in the conflict. Why should our protagonist join the rebels? Insert Know. Oh, know we see!

I dropped the book around page 150. Maybe it was building towards something much bigger. Entire chapters were often designated to introduce a new character who could have played a larger role in the later plot. A friend of mine, who read the book, said this was the kind of book you wanted when stuck in an airport. I can see his point. With the amount of details and the sweep of this book, you want to give it a good chunk of time.

I was excited to read the book. Who had ever heard of any standard US history course mentioning anything about the Revolutionary War outside of New England? A great idea and some good words to go with it, but the attempt to fictionalize parts of this unknown history falls flat.

I still think you are one of the coolest, President Carter! I look forward to reading your other books in the new year! Peace!

Mango Raking

As I mentioned in my last post, here is something about what I actually shoveled back home in PR.
While drawing from memories, the piece isn't truly autobiographical. I only raked mangoes once, maybe twice, in my life. And I just used my hands. Fingertips, actually since those things are messy! However, I loved the image of going around picking up mangoes as a chore. I scribbled out some notes in my journal and here is the blog version.

* * *

My grandmother spoke of plants in homespun anthropomorphisms. A tree my father planted never bloomed because it was "manly." A tiny weed, whose leaves reacted to touch, was "magic," and she mentioned an old neighbor that tried to label it as the eight wonder of the world. Right there in Mayaguez, Puerto Rico.

I am sure she would have described the mango tree in our neighbor's backyard as "pregnant." Fruit always seemed present on the tree, hanging down from leathery vines in the branches. While planted in the neighbor's yard, two solid branches jutted over the hibiscus strangled chain link fence and over our property. My mother said rats lived in the hollowed out recesses of the trees roots. "Go pick up the mangoes to stop the rats," she said, handing me crumpled up plastic supermarket bags from underneath the sink.

The mangoes begin rod shaped, hanging hard and green on the tree. They fall to the grass with soft thumps once they turn peppered emerald color filled with tiny black spots. They are in stark relief with the mangoes you see in the stateside supermarket. Those are softball sized balls that look more like avocados. My grandmother called these "Cuban" mangoes, which were better for straight up eating. Our mangoes, Puerto Rican ones, were better for making into jams and pastes. Better for baking too. She also called the hydroponic lettuce sold at store "Puerto Rican Lettuce" because it came from facilities on the island. Each bag was embossed with an outline of the island. This lettuce supposedly made you sleepy. "American" lettuce came only in bundles of threes. A single head of Romaine lettuce would have probably blown her mind.

The mangoes ripened on the ground, even though, at this point they already developed a blush coming from each end. Then like a banana they turned a splotchy black with a cucumber beetle orange skin. If left for too long, they became completely black with intermittent rings of deep purple in the bruises. At this point the fruit was so soft as to quiver when touched. These were my least favorite to pick up as I imagined centipedes and rats under each one. I filled the supermarkets bag full and carried them over to the trash at an arm's length. "Not in the trash, boy," my mother would say. "The rats will get them there!"

* * *

I wrote that stream of consciousness style, with some help from the notes. It shows. But, you got a post, eh!?

Peace!

More EEE!

Hey, you liking the somewhat regular posts, eh? Well TOO BAD because I just got slammed with some more stories for the paper and the Transformers Score came from Amazon today! Only thing greater than the movie was the rocking score composed by Steve Jablosnky. I know even less about music than I know about acting, but I know what I like. Thank you for the moving score Mr. Jablonsky!

Gosh, I'm a sucker for these heavy-handed action scores. Really like the Firefly/Serenity music as well. Especially that one part in Serenity where we pan to the ship re-entering a planet. The scene is very early on it them film, following the title. I dig the curly space banjo coming right after the somber liquid string notes. Here it is on YouTube.
Can you describe music as curly? I guess, I just did. Avoiding the snow by cutting through the IC music school during college finally paid off! YES!

For those of you unfamiliar with the Transformers score, play around on YouTube and take a listen. Here is my favorite:



Geeks: We may not know whose on the Top 40, but we sure can hum our favorite tune from Final Fantasy!

I will bring you a post sometime this week. What did I shovel growing up instead of snow. Mangoes. Yes, mangoes.

Come Mr. Tallyman....

Photo originally from University of California- Davis

Peace!

First Snow 2007

We all awoke to this on the West Hill.

The first snow of the season. Earlier this week, some of the higher elevations around here got a decent first snow, but the valley where the city lays makes for noticeable differences.

Don't expect me to blog all lyrical and Romantic about snow. I don't like winter at all. In the closing chapters of Watership Down, Richard Adams inserts a brief narration on winter. I don't know the exact text , but it goes something like this: "Some men say they like winter, but what they really are saying is they like the ability to combat it. With their coats, fireplaces, and woodlots, they can endure the season and find some enjoyment. But for animals, as for poor men, it is a harsh season when existence is the act of just surviving."

Sorry that I don't have the direct quote, but that thought sums up why I don't enjoy the winter season.

However, winter presents me with an interesting Catch-22. While I dislike winter as much as others longingly await the crunch of hoar frost under their new boots, I love the shovel snow.

Seriously, I LOVE TO SHOVEL SNOW. Just decimate the crap out of it! Carve out islands of non-slippery safety amongst all the white the neighbors have let accumulate. I make games out of it, dreaming up scenarios Walter Mitty or, better yet, Snoopy* style. Imagine it:

First Panel: "Here comes the world-famous snow shoveler."

Second Panel: Digging into the snow, a mound of the stuff already piled behind him, "He has to clear the path for the Colonial Militia! They need those cannons to take Fort Ticonderoga!"

Third Panel: Exasperated and leaning against the handle of the shovel. "It's just practice for Valley Forge!"

I worked for about a year and a half during college as a janitor. Well, Facilities Attendant, actually. It is a neat little euphemism that means you just don't clean toilets, you shovel snow! The sidewalk is a part of the facility, you see. Because it was a residential college, the administration wanted to make sure that every sidewalk and road was plowed. Last thing they wanted was for some kid to slip on the umpteen stairwells on the IC campus and have his or her parents sue the school. There was a joke that circulated amongst all the Physical Plant staff that went, "On the campus you really don't drive through snow, but through slush." Well, that sounds like a motto to live by! I had this "scorched earth" policy to clearing away snow. I used a lot of salt and pulled a muscle the first time I cleared the little dip between Terrace 3 and Terrace 4. When I worked as a barista, we had to clear the snow from the front of the store while on shift. The customers appreciate the plowed strip of sidewalk welcoming them for espresso and brewed coffee. Of course, I, once again, went nuts with the salt to the boss's and our petty cash fund's, dismay. One of these days, I will match when snow shoveling zeal with the appropriate amount of salt. Until then, I appreciated your patience, guys.

Why do I enjoy it so much? Everyone else hates it. It's a chore. Why love a chore!?

Maybe it's because I never grew up with snow, being from PR . Or because I am "selectively compulsive" freaking about having to get that snowed cleared. I do feel a nice sense of accomplishment after I am done with the snow and it does make me feel good. People appreciate plowed sidewalks and roads, and I appreciate their silent thanks. If you need some snow shoveling in and around the West Hill then contact me or look for the cleanest patch of asphalt in town!

Peace!

*I just finished reading a wonderful book called Schulz and Peanuts: A Biography by David Michaelis. Hence, the Snoopy reference. Amazing book about the iconic strip and the conflicted man behind it. I'm also reading Jimmy Carter's The Hornet's Nest which is about the American Revolutionary in the South. Hence, the Ticonderoga reference. Hey, it's a liberal arts blog.

Cracked!

It's fire and ice time here in Ithaca. I don't mean the changing seasons (I saw snow flurries on my walk to work today) or those blasts of hot air that wash out of buildings as you step in from the cold. No, I mean the swing in emotions the local populace can now begin to feel.

Still giddy from the Dalai Lama's visit to Ithaca, locals can now FREAK OUT again because John "Put Some Clothes On" Ashcroft is speaking at Cornell!

That's John "Let the Eagle SOAR!" Ashcroft!

That's John "I Know You Checked Out Danielle Steel Novels" Ashcroft!

John "Patriot Act" Ashcroft!

WOW! A real former member of the Bush junta is coming here! A Cabinet member! The sound you hear is the collective Ithaca Sound Machine pushing the dial way past 11! Or the Ithaca zeitigeist cracking in half.

I wasn't a fan of John Ashcroft and his Attorney General policies. However, I think it is wonderful he is coming here to speak. It's much different to hear an opponent actually speak and elaborate on why they think what they are doing is right, then to just listen to the sound bites at Moveon.org. I have learned from the townies and given up on trying to get tickets, but maybe there will be a live broadcast or a speech archive later.

I wonder if CU will cover up the naked statue outside Uris Hall for the event?

Peace!

More Great Works Defiled!

JESSE JAMES BUNNY!

I'm the greatest American outlaw! I took the lives of over 15 men and feared no Pinkerton operatives. I never meet a train I wouldn't rob or a stagecoach I wouldn't turn. Oh, and the South shall rise again.

OH NO!



PIGGY FORD!

I sure did like Jesse, but I loved the reward money even better! I shot Jesse James, governor Crittenden! Love me! Oh, and fuck the South, even though I am from Missouri.

"Bah! Whatever, Piggy Ford! No one named Pokemon villains after you. Or whole American mythologies either, by the way."

"Whatever. I still killed you. Cause it's 187 on an undercover cop! YEAH!"

"What? That lyric isn't relative at all!"

"Oh, um. That picture is awful dusty?"

"Those are my last words! You thieving Yankee cowardly piggy!"

__________________________________________

Amanda and I saw The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford last week and I thoroughly enjoyed my first ever Western. However, I was disappointed by the lack of gunfights in my first ever Western. More gunfights! More swindling and horse rustling. More stereotypes!

Scratch that. I don't know very much about the Old West, but I do understand that most of the action around it was framed by the Reconstruction period. Former Confederates flew to the Territory hatching schemes on how to bring back Dixie. However, it was also known national for federal expansion and the conflict over local autonomy. Finally, it's the frontier and living on any frontier isn't easy. Gun fights weren't as deadly as in the movies because, well, it wasn't the movies. The railroad dominated the landscape and you had to be one tough criminal to take them on. Like most things in the American "Master Narrative," the imagery sometimes does not hold up to the reality.

I enjoyed the films rolling narrative and thought the voice overs were a nice touch. I read some reviews on Rotten Tomatoes that found it too didactic. While it did feel like the book the movie was based on just came onto the screen, the technique is justified. Jesse James story was a whole myth and you needed a separate storyteller to build all that. If we had that all through some words flashed on the screen then it would have been harder to absorb. They also gave the movie a good sense of pace, leading up to Jesse's assassination, building him as all to real man that was still legendary. Imagine if someone described you in a solid, haunting, lyrical voice-over.

By the time he was 23, Garik would be diagnosed with asthmatic allergies, as if the air were too rich for his introspection. He took full claim for all 93 blog entries, but little would read them. And he never meet justice for all the drinks he screwed up while as a barista for he fled Tompkins County to parts where people would believe, 'Yes, it's decaf.' I swear."

Finally, I like Brad Pitt no matter what anyone says. And I also like Ben Affleck and his brother is in the movie giving a great performance. It feels weird for me to say someone acted well. I don't know anything about acting except that I certainly couldn't even do a second of screen/stage time. Even if I was "Pedestrian 4" in the far left corner of the screen, I could not produce the right combination of standing in my costume and staying quiet necessary for high-caliber cinema. Forget it if I even had to move. Imagine me as "Guy Buying Fruit 2." Disaster.

With that said, even all those directors frien...err...I mean struggling actors you see in student films could out act me. Still, Brad Pitt and Casey Affleck rocked their respective roles. Pitt having this hurt bravado, a man increasingly paranoid, but still believing he was in control. Affleck runs with a dangerous innocence, someone inherently harmless and weak, but still capable of the simplest violence. Imagine a five-year old with a gun. Or something like that.

For more (eloquent) reading, the film critic for our paper, Nicholas NiCastro, did a great review of the movie for the paper in our October 29-November 4th edition. Check it out!

Peace!

More Local Legends

Been a while since I have blogged. I have been doing a lot of brainstorming about what I should focus my blog posts on. I tried comics for a while, but the comics blog-o-sphere is loaded with tons of little fish trying to be as good as the masters. I could weigh in on local issues, but that would be really unprofessional considering my position at the paper and I am just a pesky transplant anyway. Of course, there are masters there as well. Books maybe? You guys like books and reading? We shall see.

Here is a little series of anecdotes I wrote up about a little rumor my lovely GF Amanda told me about. I enjoy the fragmented style, but I realize that I am not that deft in applying it. It is more of a crutch for me, a handy way to frame stories. The style gives the narrative a "newsy" feel as if we were trying to garner the full picture from things we overheard on the radio or on the news ticker at CNN. Palahniuk did this with his last book Rant, framing it as an oral history of his protagonist.

I tend to write in sound bites anyway. A little scene here, then a quick scene there. I have focused what little professional writing I do on journalism because I do not have the patience to write a full fledged short story. Except for these blog posts, I write in a world where 800-words is a lot of space. I tried to find something, anything, about this rumor, but could not turn up anything. Tioga County is a relatively rural county with no county-wide newspaper. Maybe their local media haven't made as big a presence online. If anyone from Tioga County or Candor stumbles upon this, are these rumors true? Did someone every release cougars up there? Peace!

___________________________________

Shadow Cats

Terrence Liddle reinforced the floorboards in the tree stand. Since his grandfather passed, there had been little interest in hunting in the household and the wood turned soft and green. With the rumors, Gran forced him to take the post and protect the family investment on White Church Road. At the gas station, Gran heard that the animals could gauge out the siding from a house with their paws as big as catcher's mitts and claws longer than pocket combs. Terrence believed all that to be exaggeration, having looked up cougars in the old set of World Books his father kept in the crawl space.
"I don't think they get that big," he told her while Gran tried to convince his daughter Jamie of the gravity of cougar attacks.
"Oh, maybe this ones special because the whole town is talking about them!" She grabbed Jamie by the waist and made the girl sit on her lap. "I will stay here with her while you make sure that stand is alright."
Terrence remembered something from the encyclopedia, but ignore it. He made a final check of the new pine boards and nestled a cushion from the sofa up there. "Might as well be comfortable," he mumbled, the evening before his first watch.

* * *

"Lions, tigers, and bears! OH MY!"
"Shut up!"
"Lions, tigers, and bears! OH MY!"
"SHUT UP!"
"Lions, tigers, and bears! OH MY!"
"Oh, fuck you, Luke!"
She choked the silver door handle of the Buick and swung the heavy car door open. The hinges popped as the door swung shut. From the outside she fumbled for her cell phone under the yellow light of the lonely streetlight.
Luke rolled down the passenger side window. "Oh, c'mon, Marie. It's just a joke! A rumor!" He leaned further over and managed to get the crack the door ajar. "There aren't any cougars!"
"It was in the paper," she interjected. Far out on Route 33, the hills block any phone service and her phone chirped, "We're sorry" in harsh, soft tones.
Luke rolled his eyes. "The Random Observer, Marie. The new golf course on Route 95 was the headline. Just get back in the car."
Marie cocked her head to the side and saw the white glow of Dassy's Gas Station and Mini Market down below. She popped a leg over the wire divider and prepared herself to skitter down the embankment to the valley below. It wasn't that steep and even in the night the grooves would be familiar from the highway cleanups she did back in 4H.
Luke heard the gravel crunching. "Where the hell are you going!?"
"Away!" She slid off the gravel and began jaunting down the weedy hillside.
"Hey, hey!" Luke screamed from the driver's seat asking, "What the hell do I tell your parents when you don't show up!"
"A cougar did it," said a voice from close to the bottom.

* * *

Police Chief Deborah Capet spent the evening preening through the pages of a yellowed HTML help book the department bought years ago. No one had updated their department's website in years. She hammered out a quick message before a call on the radio reported another mysterious sighting.

* * *

Killing time in the public library and getting near the end of his 30-minutes, computer limit Virgil Stakum stumbled across the police department website. He ran search for "Tendia Town" and "Crime." On the welcome page he found:

Please be advised that it is illegal to discharge firearms within the borders of the Town of Tendia and all other county municipalities unless in self-defense. Illegal discharges and hunting will be prosecuted. Call 557-3870 for more information. Ask for Chief Capet. Thank you.

* * *

Trying to find a comfortable distance form the tape recorder, Town Supervisor Larry Corradino dismissed the rumors. He had dealt with reporters from Binghamton before, but he couldn't find his footing with this story. He later told his wife that, "There is no way to sound intelligent about it. The whole cougar fiasco."
But he tried with the reporter.
"Look the only cougars here are those at the high school," he said trying to crack a smile. The reporter didn't carry a notebook with him, so Larry got in close to the microphone, ignoring his previous apprehensions. "That's the mascot, you see."

* * *

The sound of gunshots disrupted church service all month long. Taking a historian though a tour of the First Presbyterians country cemetery, councilmember Peggy White apologized for the red discharged shells that peppered the woods behind the graves. "People just get a little carried away here when it comes to safeguarding the town!" She smiled her widest grin. "It's why we have so much history!"

* * *

The deer didn't seem to mind the supposed cougars. They still strolled down in the early light of Main Street, stripping the young leaves of forsythia shoots. Opening her bakery, Hope August told the newspaper delivery man if he had heard about the rumors. "Oh, yeah, Hope. Even as far as Syracuse where my cousin lives. He told me, 'Hey, Vince be careful with those cougars!'
Hope helped him heave a bundle inside and made sure the loud thud could be heard by the deer. They scampered away when it hit. "Well, sometimes I hope they had done their duty and controlled some of those deer," she said.

* * *

When the town library checked out all its book on big cats it started a wait list. Michael Bassett, terrified for his family, went to the elementary school library and sat in the plastic bucket chairs around the nature section. When a little girl asked him what he was doing, Michael just held up the cover of the book and the girl understood. "Ohhhhh, OK."

* * *

Elsewhere in the elementary school, Ms. Janson asked all her sixth grade students to write a short poem for their language arts class. Most centered around cats. Eve asked Ms. Jason if it was OK if her poem didn't rhyme.
"Well, sure, Eve. But why did you choose to go that way?"
Eve shrugged her shoulders, acting for the class as much as asking. "Nothing rhymes with cougar!"

* * *

Another child from Ms. Jason's class, Darien, spent the rest of the day in Principal Sherman's office. When he finally meet with Adelle Sherman, she asked Darien to read his poem again. Ms. Janson was there and so was Superintendent Digger. He read it:

Tiger, tiger, burning bright
In the forest of the night
What immortal hand or eye
Could frame thy fearful symmetry

"That's awful good for 12-year old boy," said Principal Sherman.
Darien almost cracked a smile, but Superintendent Digger quickly jumped in. "Ok, where did you steal that from?"
"It's Blake, Jim," interjected Ms. Janson.

* * *

At the coffee shop someone asked, "Where did all these cougars come from?" They must have been a tourist passing through to the wine trails in the next county. No one remembered their face. Could have been in a group. No one knew the answers. "They just are here," said a Denise Hutchinson, a waitress. Everyone agreed. After the stranger left, word began to circulate that Terrence Liddle had bagged one from his grandfather's tree stand.

Election 2007

Locally, (i.e. City of Ithaca) this year's election for various county positions is not too excited. My first election ever as a citizen of this city and everyone is running friggin' un-opposed! However, it's hard to keep me down when it comes to voting. It's the Puerto Rican in me. Puerto Rico has so many problems, in so many ways, but one thing that is so amazing is how it fields near 80% voter turnout each and every election year.

Seriously, I love to vote, and you should too, because no amount of Star Spangled knick-knacks can trump a single vote.

Democracy is kind off a big deal, so, if you are in Tompkins County, please get out a vote in any and all our your local elections. It's very un-progressive to not vote so if you are part of the "Ithaca Sound Machine," put all the rhetoric on the record. If you really like Carolyn Peterson, all of Common Council, and Herb Engman, then solidify their victories! It will probably make then feel a lot better if they win by a true mandate and not their closest dozen friends. And it will also clearly say that this is the local leadership we want, not some powerful circle of (insert your favorite pejorative here) that can scream the loudest.

If you are a part of the "Silent Majority" then STOP BEING SILENT! Write-in the opponents who lost in the primaries and, hell, write in Matt Murdock or Bruce Wayne! Deny them the sheer technical win! Tell them that maybe we weren't strong enough to have a candidate this year, but we will next time! And remember, this is Ithaca, so even just a handful of write-ins will get some sort of committee started-up where you can discuss the effectivenes of Zachary Winn or a kick to the face.

There is a competitive election for the state Supreme Court and the Sixth Judicial District and I admit that I am woefully un-informed. Seems like most of the action is concetrated in the candidates home areas and I don't spend any time in Coopperstown, NY! I got some research to do.

PEACE!

Up A Mountain, and Down Some

Jon Krakauer is a writer I just came across, but I have devoured his short list of books. I do not tend to like specific books, instead focusing on specific writers, and its is a lot easier to pack away Krakauer than Sherman Alexie or Kurt Vonnegut.

I cried after reading Into the Wild. I do not plan on watching the recent movie about it because this is the first book ever where I don't want my imagery influenced by a directors, even if it's Sean Penn. Good books leave concrete images in your head. If they leave amorphous shapes that you need a movie to shape up then something was lost in translation. Don't take that as my stance against Hollywood or people making movies out of books. It just was a damn fine story to begin with, regardless of medium.

Looking back at lists of books I have read, I am amazed at how I have forgotten entire details from certain books. The House on Mango Street by Sandra Cisneros, which I just read last year, is lost to me. I remember liking the book, but I guess not enough to really enjoy it. However, Krakauer's Under the Banner of Heaven will always stay with me. The mix of gumshoe reporting and honest analysis of America's homegrown religion, Mormonism, is signature of Krakauer's style. All his books are honest, no spin, which is why those involved in them sometimes get pissed at him. He deals in very personal subject. The death of a lone boy in the Alaskan wilderness. A warped faith fueled double murder in rural Utah. Or a disaster on Mount Everest. I have to sympathize for all those families because Krakauer has the wonderful ability to craft final moments to his readers. In Into Thin Air, the subject of this post, he relates the final moments of an experienced Everest guide, Rob Hall, as he is trapped at the top of the mountain in a freak storm. Krakauer presents the time through a series of radio snippets that Hall shared with a camp lower on the summit. They eventually patch him through to his wife back in New Zealand where his last words to her are: "I love you. Sleep well, my sweetheart. Please don't worry too much." Remember, Hall is at THE TOP OF THE WORLD IN A HURRICANE-FORCE SNOWSTORM! The preceding conversation with his wife was rather cheerful, with both dismissing the fact that the had no hope. His wife, also an experienced climber, was later quoted as saying anyone stuck up there might as well be on the moon.

Krakauer makes it feel like he is there in the radio tent exchanging the dispatches. However, he is actually at another camp, trying to save his own life after stumbling off the summit in the early throes of the storm. However, his journalistic integrity shines through and he creates a highly involved narrative of the events from his research.

Krakauer also writes, gut-wrenchingly, that while he lay in his tent, another climber stumbled in. Being in better shape, this climber tried to rouse Krakauer and tell him to come out and shine lights and bang pots around the camp. His hope was to create a makeshift beacon for those trying to escape the whiteout. Krakauer, fighting off exhaustion and frost bite decides to stay, later learning that only 350 yards away there were survivors trying to find there way back in. During his research back in the states, Krakauer discovers that once he did go out into the storm to search for survivors he thought he saw Andy Harris, another climber that perished on the mountain. For months, Krakauer's report was considered the official report of Harris' death. That Krakauer saw him, but in the whiteout and scramble for human lives, though he was OK for the momemnt. It was assumed Harris died of exposure and his body never recovered. Krakauer later discovers, during a routine interview, that he mistook another survivor for Harris. He later had to tell the authorities and Harris's family that he was wrong and that no one exactly knew what had happened to Harris. Some later reports believe he took a wrong step in the storm and fell of a ridge and the face of the mountain.

As readers, we all find this interesting, but we need to remember this all happened recently and in our lifetimes. These aren't stories of the Titanic or Mt. Vesuvius. These are people whose families could read this very blog and critique what I have to say. Writing from the comfort of safe haven, Krakauer, justifiably, presents, the climbers that day as archetypes we are familiar with. A posh Manhattan socialite that drags accessories and portable TVs up the mountain. A Japanese housewife trying to defy the gender roles in her country. Rival climbers trying to beat each other to the top. Of course, all these people are not that simple, but we need to create instant bonds with them, if not, then the book is lost. And because Krakauer wrote the book (He first wrote a magazine article about the piece) as a form of catharsis, the entire plot is framed as his way of handling the events. Being that the book is cathartic*, even Krakuer admits it is not his best, and it does feel a little weaker then his others, a little bit more jumbled at first before it all becomes clear. With the other books he had the distance of an investigative reporter with no investments in the stories he chronicled. Of course, it is still a great book, only diminished by the fact that Krakauer is trying to fight off personal demons at the same time. Others have critiqued his narrative saying he ignored certain stories (particularly about his own climbing slip-ups) and did not interview everyone involved. To many, including myself, he is the official voice of that tragedy, but everyone has a story and everyone wants to make sense of the event in their own way. His just happened to gain the most attention because he is an amazing journalist!

Peace!

*In the introduction to the book Krakauer says, "I agree that readers are often poorly served when an author writes as an act of catharsis, as I have done here." That is a sharp piece of writing advice. Most of the posts on this blog are cathartic, if not masturbatory, and you can judge the quality of them. Must be the whole writing for an audience of one:yourself. However, like Krakauer, I hope to pull something from all this.

Books I Should Have Already Read, #2

I am back after another long hiatus. I did spend a lot of time watching Transformers, but its the usual excuses for why I have ignored the blog.

And to return, here is the long awaited second installment of a blog series that premiered earlier in the year.

Books I Should Have Already Read #2

Watership Down

Damn, I loved this book. And not just because it is about rabbits! Rabbits that sing songs and tell animal myths to each other! Rabbits that survive against countless enemies, including themselves. Rabbits with names like Cowslip, Bigwig, and Blackberry! OH MY NO!

I am not going to deny that the sheer amount of bunnies in this book didn't make me heart get twitterpatted. I adore rabbits, mostly because, like everyone, I can conjure up instant images of them. However, living in PR, I had not bunnies to chase around or even look at. We had lizards. Lots and lots of lizards. Anoles are just not that evocative. The first time I saw an Eastern Cottontail rabbit pop out of the forsythia bushes on the Ithaca College campus, I freaked! Here is a reenactment. Just this tall awkward guy squatting over some grass and clapping his hands saying....

BUNNNY! EEEEE! YAY!

I think someone might have called Campus Safety upon seeing me. But, I got away. Quick as a bunny!

I don't know much about writing. Have you read what I post here? And I know even less about writing children's literature, but I can see the classics when they come across.

Watership Down never, ever talks down to its audience. For a book compiled from bedtime stories Richard Adams told his daughters, it never loses it edge, which is weird since it is book about rabbits-the iconic prey animal.

Imagine being one of his daughters and seeing this wonderful gift your father gave you. If your parents ever had some goofy character they threw around in stories and yarns then imagine Chambon* or El Culebron** becoming this modern classic. And then they made a movie. And an animated series. And they referenced it Donnie Darko, Lost, Gundam, and Wallace & Gromit. That George Lucas considered it one of his inspirations for the uber-mythology of Star Wars. That there are over 300 editions and it have never been out of print! Yeah, awesome! Thanks, dad!

People that are not into fictional universes often ask why would someone get so wrapped up in fake people and events like with Star Trek, Lord of the Rings, Doctor Who, or The Rocky Horror Picture show. There are as many answers as their are cult-classics and geek fests, but I always appreciate the amount of effort put into creating these fake universes. Great ones reflect our own real world and they should always invite another visit, whether it be through tons of crazy stuff happening in the background (ex., The Simpsons) or the mythology in Watership Down. Adams actually researched rabbits, discovering that wild bunnies live in a quasi-caste system with some dominant males ruling warrens. That the cutesy animals are actually vicious little fighters that can tear each other apart when fighting over food or mates. And that the bucolic imagery of rabbits living happily in the fields is false. Everything kills them.

The book portrays a group of English rabbits (The only rabbits in the world to actually live underground) that listen to the prophecy of one pipsqueak named Fiver. The group flees their home because Fiver feels it will be soon destroyed and then travel across the English countryside looking to establish a new colony. Realizing they are all guys (Do'h!), they try to find some female rabbits to populate the new home. Hilarity does not ensue. But we do get adventure, heroism, tragedy, and action!

Adams gives the rabbits the standard commando team breakdown. Of course, this probably wasn't as cliched back then, but you got: the tough one (Bigwig), the smart one (Blackberry), the leader (Hazel), the first lieutenant (Silver), the annoying one (Fiver), etc. He throws in a villain (General Woundwort) and disastrous uncontrollable events like dog attacks and farmers. He creates a dichotomy between domestic and wild rabbits. The band tries to free some domesticated females from the farm and, in a funny exchange, begin to fantasize about the dolled-up domesticated females with their ears that hang down or fluffy Angora fur! The rabbits have a language called Lapine which consists of a sort Hawaiian/Celtic, onomatopoeic jumble of letters. "Hrududu" means any man-made vehicle, "Silflay' for eating out in the open, and "Hlessi" for a rogue wandering rabbit. A true triumph the imagination.

Watership Down has a certain darkness to it, showing that nature, while adorable, is vicious. The rabbits believe in a sort of rabbit Robin Hood named El-ahrairah (Yeah, I can't say it either) who defied the Creator (Firth) and brought doom upon all rabbits In a take on the Judeo-Christian original sin concept, El-ahrairah's insubordination destroyed the equality of all creatures. Firth gave all the other animals unique attributes to better hunt and kill rabbits.

"For Firth has give the fox and the weasel cunning hearts and sharp teeth, and to the cat he has given silent feet and eyes that can see in the dark..."

Other children's literature would dismiss the sheer suffering of rabbits. We would know that the fox and weasel eat them, but our band will never say such things. It will be like Finding Nemo where the sharks are bumbling fools! Yay! Adams does not dismiss any of this. He does have Firth give the rabbits great speed and intelligence, but still hands them the shaft.

"All the world will be your enemy, Prince with a Thousand Enemies, and whenever they catch you, they will kill you. But first they must catch you, digger, listener, cunning, prince with the swift warning."

I love the message and it sums up why I wish I had read this book as a kid. Kids will be "Sweet rabbits on adventures!" But as adults we can come back to this intelligent read and be soothed by the rabbit's travels, whether how saddening. So no matter who your enemies are (Foxes, bill collectors, rampaging robots, the landlord, your boss, Republicans, etc.), take a lesson from the rabbits and keep fighting because it will only enrage them more and, hey, you might even make it. Adams is not the first to write down such a philosophy. During the Spanish Civil War, author and bane of my existence during Spanish AP literature class, Miguel De Unamuno told a Nationalist leader, "You will win, but you will not convince." That same spirit lead the US civil rights era. I am sure everyone has heard or read the famous quote "It is better to die on your feet then live on your knees," which is often attributed to Emiliano Zapata. "The people united will never be divided," is a close second behind "Fur coat and cowboy hats aren't immune to tear gas!" when it comes to my favorite protest chants. However, Adams is the first time I have ever heard those words and been actually moved. It is one thing to get angry or challenged, but the rabbits pluck and determination just made me feel good.

I don't do the book justice. I get all lackadaisical when talking about things that I truly enjoyed. I am right now reading a phenomenal biography on Charles Schulz that I will share on the blog soon, and already I am struggling with the words. I hope you read the book or even check out the old 70's animated movie, which is up on You Tube. I have no idea who reads this blog, but if some random parent stumbles across this, maybe looking for the Transformers DVD or something, I hope that you get your kids to read this book. Some of said that the violence and darkness in it (especially the movie) are too much for kids***. We spend a lot of time as a society trying to hide ourselves from the ugliness in the world. Nothing makes me sadder or angrier then when someone says, "I don't watch the news because it is just so depressing." or "I don't get involved in politics." AAARRRGGGGHHH! It is so easy to dismiss things, instead of trying to understand and challenge them. The rabbits could have easily laid down and waited to be eaten by one of "the thousand." Instead they fought, challenging the role that the creator itself gave them. The book's biggest achievement is demonstrating that courage, compassion, and cunning exist in creatures most, incorrectly, view as cute and dumb.

PEACE!

*What my nephew calls his imaginary friend. I think it's supposed to be French. "Chambon, I am with zee Freeeencch Reziztanze!

**Some imaginary wrestle my mom would call herself when we played fight. It means the big snake, which is getting a bit to Oedipal for me.

*** Don't worry! The story has a marvelously happy ending! No joke, a bit realistic since even the pluckiest wild rabbit dies of old age at four years, but happy nonetheless!

EEEEEEE!!!!

Transformers comes out today on DVD! EEEEEE!!!!

Deleted scenes where we get to see more of Starscream! EEEEEEE!!!!

Commentary track where we get to here Michael Bay explain the beauty of the 360- degree shot! EEEEEEE!

BUY IT NOW! RENT IT NOW! WATCH IT!

Peace!*


*Oh, I know smart ass. It is funny that I rave about Transformers the day after I got on my soapbox about sustainability. I'm keeping it real, nerd and environmentalist and all.

World Blog Action Day

In celebration of World Blog Day, here is my little essay on the issues surrounding the "new school" vs. "old school" debate of sustainability. I need to add one cavaet. I realize we are all striving for the same goal and that sustainability is an attempt to market environmental concerns to a new group of people, but I have meet many a person who treat sustainability as some sort of avant garde thinking. Environmentalism, believing in systems beyond just yourself, was pretty avant garde back in the 60's and still is today. The essay is more a response to the sustainability groupies then the actual concept itself, no matter how much of a tongue twister it is.

Enjoy!

_________________________________________

Here’s an idea! Here is how we will reclaim the environment; the whole environment! Forget sustainability! Throw away all it’s derivatives as well: sustainable style, sustainable design, sustainable art, etc. Revert to the actual word environment, realizing it already encompasses everything. You don’t need a Venn Diagram to see that. Both proponents and detractors of environmentalism pigeon hole the concept of environmentalism as something in the exclusive realm of nature. That is where the slur “tree hugger” comes from and why we call our movement as “green” movement.

"Hey, meet the new boss!Same as the old boss!"

Such stereotypes make the movement seem like it never left Walden Pond. That while everything around us falls apart and ecological services go to the way of Woolworth’s, we slap on Birkenstocks and skitter up and down the Adirondack trail. We did leave Walden Pond and we never lived there. The environment in environmentalism means home and, looking at the bigger picture, my home includes the material in my walls and decisions of my politicians. Not just the cries of songbirds in the backyard. Sustainability wants us to think that this is all new and grand. “We killed old-school environmentalism and replaced it with this new concept you will all love!” However, what is so new about looking at the big picture? Even flawed concepts like Malthus and the 60’s Population Bomb viewed environmental degradation beyond how many trees would be bulldozed to make room. They talked about food production and potential conflict over limited resources. The concepts of agriculture productivity and land availability are wide ranging. Americans talked about energy issues and conflict about them back in the 70’s. The English enclosure movement didn’t just fragment ecosystems, but also brought all the issues of feudalism and serfdom. The environmentalist movement has cast the net wide for years, only now realizing that this is the real way to go!

There is power in the word “environmentalism” It conjures up images and whether those images are stereotypical or dynamic, its effect is instantaneous. Sustainability is a conceptual curveball. What is the exact definition of sustainability? I have heard many and they all require a good four to five sentences, or a Herman Melville-esque sequence of punctuation. However, here is a nice definition of environmentalism.

It’s caring about where you live. That’s planet Earth.

Here is another example of imagery and word play. Think about the word “attorney.” What comes to mind? Maybe an empowered Atticus Finch? Johhny Cochran? Stuffy English magistrates with white wigs? Now imagine the word “legal.” Well, what does the hell does that really mean. Sheets of paper that are 11” by 17?” Just like you can’t imagine a legal system without the players in it, you can’t imagine sustainability with the life support systems it means to help. Environment is a powerful word. So is the word environmentalist. That word has done innumerable things. It has pissed off powerful people, created powerful people, cost jobs, found new jobs, asked questions, protested, bombed, sung, cried, voted, chanted, rioted, and had a good time trying to save the world. What do the hell do you even call someone all about sustainability? A sustainability advocate? A sustainabilitizer? Sustainability groupie? Many consider Rachel Carson, author of Silent Spring, a mother of traditional environmentalism. But did anyone call her a tree hugger back in 1962? Chemical companies attacked her on the fact that she was a woman and that she wrote a book in common vernacular for the masses. Save the birds is a big message in her book, but another big message is “Don’t trust big business.” Environmentalism had dynamic though before the recent surge in sustainability.

What does the average, American third grade class, 4H club, or Lion’s Club do on Earth day? They probably go and pick up litter from a scenic vista. Sustainability sneers at this as too “old school.” It’s a very Western, particularly American, thing to do. Go pick up litter to save all the fishies and birdies. Impoverished people in the slums of Mexico City view those rubbish heaps as treasure troves. And, yes, it is a very American thing to do. The rest of the world better understand the “Big E” environmentalism I subscribe to. But just think about that spot. Maybe it used to be a real nice pond filled with fish that Gramps used to catch. An idyllic pond with fish a jumpin’ and frogs’ a croakin.’ All that garbage on the pond makes Gramps say, “Ah, back in my day that used to be a pond. I wish I could take little Billy there to fish, but, alas, the pond is filthy.” Then, however, that third grade class shows up with their limited view of the environment and we got a nice pond. Now Gramps can take little Billy down to the pond so that he and his grandson can bond. Maybe little Billy won’t spend so much time in front of the Xbox since he will really like to fish. And he will lose a couple of pounds because it takes a while to walk to the pond. And maybe little Billy will want to stay and raise his own family in said town because he wants to share these memories with his own son. Thanks third graders!

I realize this argument is silly and oversimplified. But isn’t it grand how a piece of land can fight obesity and gentrification, while strengthening family bonds? Don’t dismiss the power of a nice piece of a land or a nice community because it will have ripple effects. If a group of inner-city kids cleans up a vacant lot and turns it into a community park, then maybe kids will stay safe and not join gangs. Again, that is an oversimplified example, but it happens and myriad groups strive for such stability. Maybe the people building a community park in the city aren’t thinking about the Redwood trees in California, but being able to walk to a park right in your neighborhood is better for the whole biosphere then everyone driving to a community park.

Sustainability groupies point out their “new” model emphasizes the economic and social issues that environmentalists always forget. Sustainability freaks think about people, profits, prosperity, and planet. However, did our financial decisions only now begin to effect other things besides our wallets. If I buy from a store that treats its employees like crap then that is an environmental decision. Maybe those employees are my neighbors and those neighbors make up my environment. Maybe the store pays people nothing and my neighbor has to pull a double on Election Day. No one wins elections by just one vote, but maybe my neighbor’s vote would have helped get a politician in power who support renewable energy. Maybe the hard working neighbor doesn’t have the time to go to the community clean-up or try to help the poor, who have to go live in the woods at the city limits, because he has to work all day. Maybe that business forces Nicaraguan women to sew sweaters for nine cents a day so that they have even less time to get their community and countries out of the profiteer’s stranglehold. Those women live in my environment, the whole planet, and we will need their help to save the entire biosphere. Maybe I should stop supporting that business.

Just one more maybe. Maybe a sustainability hard liner reads this and says, “Stupid Garik! That is exactly what we are saying.” I know that, but I feel I already had inklings about this when I was just a kid reading 50 Things You Can Do To Save The Earth. It isn’t to say that I was some sort of prodigy, but just that I realized environment where I lived. Why would I want to drink dirty water from the river? Yeah, that makes the birds sick, but it would also make me sick and eight year old Garik pretty much looked out for number one!

The environmental movement has always had room for the bankers, bureaucrats, and, impoverished. The biggest flaw the movement made wasn’t in picking too narrow a viewpoint, but in failing to vocalize how wide ranging the inherent movement was. Sustainability isn’t something new; it is just a reaction to environmentalism earlier misstep. If there were kings and queens of sustainability then they were just environmentalists realizing there were just too many people who thought negatively about the word “environment.” They made up a new word. I don’t think environmentalism needs to die. The power in that word and concept needs to go back to its roots. It’s roots as an idea that everyone wants a good place to live. Some of us already have a comfortable place to start from and others need to get out from poverty or desperation. Environmentalism’s roots as a conceptually American idea born of Muir, Thoreau, Leopold, and even Nixon* and given to the world to adapt and change to every community and ecosystem This is “Big E” environmentalism. The environmentalism we always needed, before detractors said it was just bunch of hippies in the woods, and supporters made it actually a bunch of hippies in the woods. Preaching sustainability as something that will blow environmentalism away only makes a bunch of good-hearted and caring people circle the wagons and shoot in. It makes it easier for those that fail or just don’t want to look at the big picture to profit in the long term. Only a fool would say “I only care about the trees! Fuck everything else!” And we have had such fools (i.e., hippies), but we have always had intelligent people waiting to make a difference for the entire biosphere that includes all of nature’s creations, and those of humanity.

Peace!


Picture source originally UNESCO.

Actual Posts!

Monday October 15th is the first ever Blog Action Day and the lowly Fear of the Blank Page will join a digital global voice on the environment. As of this posts, there are 11,867 blogs registered with the action day. I will be rocking the blog-o-sphere with my soap box speech on "Big E" environmentalism.

I have embedded a YouTube promo video created by the Blog day organizers. I hope you check it out and tell any of your blogging friends to join up. Even if you don't think of yourself as green, the environment is too broad a term to be claimed by any one belief or group*. What do you think of all the issues surrounding the environment? If you think global warming isn't that big of a deal then say why? If you feel powerless as to do anything, then why? If you feel empowered to do something then tell everyone what made you empowered! SPEAK! DO SOMETHING!



I had hoped to do a weekly series of posts about the environment leading up to the day, but I forgot. Instead, you got Huckleberry Piggy and Carson Rabbit Sawyer.

Peace!



*I am looking at you, hippies! Remember folks, hippies don't do anything. Environmentalists do!

Great Works Defiled

Huckleberry Piggy!

I'm a picaresque, conflicted American hero! Maybe I am a nascent racist that can't escape the social norms of my 19th century ante-bellum South! Or maybe I will rise up an do the right thing? In the words of the great George Saunders, I ask, "How can anyone be truly free in a country as violent and stupid as ours?" I represent an America where one follows their moral conscience, even though it might not be what society expect or want of us Oh, and I wear a straw hat.


Rabbit Sawyer !


I show up at the end of Piggy's book and take much of the human drama out of it. I only care about what you can gain from others, whether from adventure novels, river grifters, or just bamboozling Aunt Kate. I represent an America where you look out for number one. Don't trust me to paint your fence. I wear a straw hat too, because it's kind of what we did during the Antebellum period.

"Wait, what the hell, why does Piggy get more text than me!?"

"Because, I'm a complex character! You're one-sided and lack depth!"

"Whatever, at least kids don't try to blast out 11th English grade papers about me. Most just read the Cliff Notes anyway."

"Hemingway said all American literature comes from my book and he can beat you up!"

"Damn old man. Forget him and that fish. And those Hills Like White Elephants!"

Peace!*


*Actual posts to come soon, folks. World Environmental Blog Day on October 15th and the second installment of Books I Should Have Already Read!"

Windows

I have this thing about windows. While I was crafting the post about the local Ithaca monsters I realized I had very vivid images about looking through and at windows. First, the more anecdotal ones before I try to make something creative out of memory.

Like I said in the previous post, around the mid 90's I had a fear that an escape gorilla from the zoo was stalking our neighborhood. We had a laundry room in our old house which was nothing more than a sort of big mud room off the backyard porch. Being Puerto Rico, all the windows were of the shuttered variety,except these were just panes of glass that folded over one another. My mom always made me go to the laundry room at night and close that window. I don't know exactly why. Maybe to keep bugs out? Whenever I did look at that window, I expected a pair of red glowing eyes to be looking back at me. Our had a sort of living fence made of wild ginger plants. They were tall, stalky plants, almost like corn, that could hide any sort of creature in them. And I thought this creature was a gorilla. The first Chupacabra sighting in PR was in 1994 and I believe I inserted the gorilla as some sort of proxy for the creature. The monster lived about six counties over in the outskirts of the rain forest. We didn't have any rabbits or chickens for it to feed one and, besides, it wasn't even real! Was it? I knew gorillas didn't have red eyes, but the Chupacabra did and that is why I believe I just substituted the crazy (scaly blood sucking beast) to the sitcom-esque (Oh no! Escape gorilla!).

Speaking of eyes, after first learning about Mothman* in the wonderful Big Book of the Unexplained, I am even more frazzled by looking through windows. Especially at night. I can't sleep with the curtains up. Not because of ambient light coming through the windows, but because last thing I want to see is a pair of hypnotic eyes rise up from below the windowsill and stare at me! At least with curtains, I have some time to prepare myself for terror!

My last window memory isn't that scary, even though a storm can certainly be characterized as scary. The context is that during 1989's Hurricane Hugo, I watched the lemon tree in my backyard fall because of the winds. It was all from a bathroom window and rather physical, as well as visual. This window didn't have any glass. It was some metal shutters placed in the wall behind some metal grating and a screen panel. Here is a little something about it.

___________________________________

My cousins lived out by the bay and after many phone calls and a threat from the police they eventually decided to evacuate. But not to a community shelter. But to our house, which was on a hill and made of the appropriate concrete. "That is what family is for," said my uncle as he came through the front gate. "Yes, family," said my father as he welcomed everyone in.

Hurricanes are notoriously boring. You can only watch the local channels that come in over the air and then they are just running the news. When the power goes out, we need to save the batteries for flashlights, not that portable TV. I hardly read, something I usually enjoy, because it is hard to read by candlelight. To get any decent light, you almost have to burn your book.

My cousins are all younger; six, eight, and nine. But, because I'm bored, I play their games too. We run through all the potted plants that mom brought in from the terrace. It's a jungle in there and we hoard some of the food from the pantry in case the hurricane takes the adults away. Most of our rations are potted meat and water crackers. One cousin, Tuto, tries to eat a palm frond, swearing he saw someone at school do it. He later vomited it up on the backyard porch, right as the first rain storms came through.

"Hey, come look at this!" It was my father's voice and we all blasted out from the jungle to find him in the master bedroom. "Here, in the bathroom!" The rest of the adults were behind us now. My uncle, mother, and aunt pushed us into the bathroom. Through the metal grating over the actual shutters, we all saw the lemon tree sway in the winds. Father explained that he though the neighborhood houses were capturing the wind and bouncing it off the sides of the house. The tree did seem to circle around, with the weaker branches snapping off and twirling down the grass. We heard the soft tuft of a lemon hitting the side of our house. It must have been close to the actual window, since the wind was so strong, that the metal shutters creaked.

"There it goes!" My uncle jabbed out a finger and pressed his nail into the screen grate before the shutters. A sort of cross wind must have caught the tree and sent the top branches in opposite directions. The force ran down each of the main branches and into the base. The tree wasn't very old or strong. The base trunk was as thick as a softball and the wood split down the middle. Each side cam down on separate side of the lawns, held together by splinters of wood at the base. Father let out a swear and mother said good riddance. "It was dying anyway. Did you see that black soot on its leaves."
"Ah, yes," said my aunt. "A fungus."
The fallen branches still moved in the wind, almost twitching with every gust. Though it rained hard and I imagined they were heavy with all the water, the movements were springy as if each branch wanted to crawl away from the wreck. I pressed m had against the spot where my uncle had jabbed the screen. I felt the divot and the squirts of water coming in from the outside. The rain squeezed itself through the metal squares. It was also broken during the hurricane.

_______________________________

Peace!

*If you want to learn more about how terrorizing the Mothman is, I suggest you stay away from the lackluster Richard Gere movie. The Big Book story (presented in comic book form) just really highlights the creepiness with lots of single panels of those eyes.

Local Legends

Local blogger Ez over at Ithaca Sucks recently spoke about a blogging gap. Kids with every damn MySpace widget and poll always get more hits than people who try to put up actual content. Well, here is something in solidarity with Ez and all of us "third tier" bloggers that just keep trying for the hell of it.

Local issues, away!

After just seeing an episode of The X-Files, I realized that what Ithaca really needs* is some sort of local monster. And not some silly lake monsters, because that would be too easy. A serious monster. One that walks up all those scenic gorges that criss-cross the Cornell campus and eats college kids whole! He would make those kids really scramble for those blue light phones. A hairy beast that would skitter across the rooftops like the crack heads in a Dave Chapelle routine, commiserating with the other scraggly denizens of the Bernie Milton Pavilion. We started our own money and patrol the streets in Yellow VW bugs. We are up to this. We're Ithaca and we are going to make ten committees, keep to a modified consensus, cue up some buzzwords, and get our monster, dammnit!

Imagine the hilarity that would ensue! You would have vigilante hunting squads up in the rural areas ("I don't care what it is. It's probably a transplant and I hate it!"), while the folks at EcoVillage still couldn't reach a consensus about what they think about it ("Sorry to sound so Republican, but I just have to say it. I am not feeling the monster Zephyr. ") Frat kids at Cornell would be trying to get it drunk ("The dude totally loves Stones, bro.") and those people from the Twelve Tribes would try to recruit it. ("Want some Mate, friend?"). The skater punks on the Commons would ask it for money ("Got any spare change? You most with that sweet hair.") and Common Council would be trying to slap solar panels on the side of it ("If we could only just move all this hair!"). We could all agree that everyone would ask why taxes are so hign.

Where have all the monsters gone? Replaced by exotic invasive monster species introduced in the ballast tanks of ocean freighters? Out competed for human flesh by zombies? Those meddling kids?!

I am surprised that CNY doesn't hold some sort of monster myth. Maybe it does and I have jut not heard of it. I am dreaded transplant. Any longtime residents know of any? Even my crude grasp on local history can draft up some starting points. An old Haudenosaunee legend? Pent up frustrations from the Sullivan campaign? An angel that Joseph Smith didn't talk to?

And what would the creature look like? Of course, it would have to be bipedal. That is just how it has to be. A something shaggy, so it can handle the winters. Scaly guys like the homegrown Chupacabra can stay in the tropics. And since I am creating the thing, I say let us give it some sweet spines, sharp claws, and a knowledge of all things CNY. He's a Rust Belt mean motherfucker with a hankering for apples and a resistance to cold. We would call him the Ithaca Hill Beast. Igby for short.

HOLY SHIT! THERE HE IS NOW!

(Eyewitness rendition of monster as seen emerging from the pine barrens of Ithaca's West Hill. Sorry for the quality, but the witness was running for his life!)

Well, there you have it folks. Move over Jersey Devil because there is a new East Coast bigfoot!

Old School

Bah! Now I have gone and creeped myself out with all those pictures of the actual Jersey Devil. I used this one because it came from an actual NJ State website! You can download the print and color him in! For some strange reason I have a vivid childhood memory of fearing that an escape gorrilla from the zoo stalked our neighborhood. I grew up during the initial Chupacabra media hype in PR and maybe that is just a cultural memory from then. I will blog about that later, in an actual prose piece. Until then, Igby lives!

Peace!


* Actually Ithaca needs a lot of things more important than a monster. Lowering taxes, fighting racism in the school district, strip development, and town-gown relations all are those things voters care about. Puny voters. Igby eats civilly engaged fools like you!

Triple Sized Installment!

This will certainly make up for all the inactivity on the blog of late. Here is a TRIPLE-SIZED Movies I Should Have Already Seen for you! DAMN!

Movies I Should Have Already Seen Vol 3., #4, 5, & 6

Close Encounters of the Third Kind

Bleh, I must say that I didn't like this movie very much. I believe it is definitely something that you had to have been there to truly appreciate. Imagine being in the summer of 1977 and going to see this while you were still on your Star Wars high? Pretty sweet, eh? However, we all live in a post Encounters world and all I could think of during that scene where the aliens take Barry is the similar scene in Signs. Time has ruined me and also ruins this review. I must also admit that I am biased. I am TERRIFIED of alien greys. Real or not, those little skinny, almond-eyes bastards give me the creeps. They will always be a menacing figure to me and that is why I reciprocate with movies like Signs and Alien. I realize this was the whole point of Encounters, to challenge the monster from space motif, but alien greys are just creepy. Encounters does the creepy part well. The scene where the crablike ship flies over those corn fields, and all we see is its shadow, really shook me up. So did Barry's toys coming to life at the very beginning.

It's not a bad movie at all, but unlike other 70s science fiction classics (Star Wars and Alien) I don't understand why it endures except for the very point that it was amazing when it premiered. Laser gun fights will always be exciting and some big slimy thing coming at you will always be scary. That is what carried those two classics into today! But, Encounters? Spielberg, maybe? Many artistic works suffer this same fate. You ever wonder why we have to read what we do in literature class? However, I have never struggled so hard to appreciate something as I have with Encounters. I feel like I should like it, but I don't.

However, in the end, Richard Dreyfuss does get that bigger boat!

Fargo

This is one of those movies where I have to quote Jim Gaffigan:

"Hey guys! I just saw Fargo!"

"Fargo!? That movie came out like ten years ago!"

"Yeah, I know! Let's talk about it!"

"No."

"Oh, but I want to talk about it now!"

And, I will damn-it!

I loved Fargo! I loved it, eleven years late, but I still loved it. Ya, hear that the 90's! The prodigal son has come home! Now, I just need to watch Reality Bites.

First, I am sucker for atmosphere. The cold plains and all those wide shots really reeled me in. The location helped framed the movie. Who could imagine all this could happen up in the icy flatlands of northern Minnesota? And the scenes with Frances McDormand all seem just so homey. I couldn't help but smile throughout the entire movie even during those scenes that you really shouldn't. Like the kidnapping scene or where they shoot the state trooper. It was the accent. The Coen brother played off the "Nice Minnesota" stereotype well to add to each characters pluck and/or villany. Imagine the scene between McDormand and Macy, before he flees the car dealership, in anything else but that accent. They even threw in some "darn tootins!" EEEE! Minnesota can do no wrong in my book. It gave us the Coen brothers, Mystery Science Theater 3000, and has a lot of lakes, which if you read this blog, get me waxing all nature writer like.

Transformers: The Movie

Because Amanda and I still can't stop talking about the live action version, I saw this movie. I must admit that I was never a big Transformers fan. I was too young, in some instances not even born, to watch their first time TV adventures. When it came to reruns of 1980's cartoons, I was more of a GI Joe kid. Hell, my sister was apparently a huge He-Man fan, so that means our household missed one part of this animated trinity.
People get all nostalgic about this movie, but since I never saw it in the first place, most of its appeal is lost on me.

In retrospect, these were some horrible shows. Lackluster animation designed to make us buy the latest toys. This movie gets some regards for being a bit "heavy." Many characters do die on-screen including Optimus Prime. Before Aeris died, there was Optimus Prime's death. It was pretty well done for a cartoon. The creators strengthened his death by countering it with his previous invincibility. If we expect the movie version of TV shows to do bigger and bolder things then we got it with his death.

I knew that Orson Welles was in this movie, but I flipped out at some of the other notables in the voice work. Robert Stack of Unsolved Mysteries fame! Leonard Nimoy! Judd Nelson! Eric Idle of Monty Python! SWEET!

I must comment on how much 80s there is in the movie. You got the power ballads ("You got the touch!") and the Weird Al Song "Dare to Be Stupid!" along with neon. Lots and lots of neon.
You also have endless marketing potential. Every robot is joining the fray and every planet hold something else that transforms into something. I can give the movie that Cybertron is full of transforming robots, but every other freaking planet!

And for some weird reason, the entire movie reminded me too much of anime.* At the risk of being flamed off the blog-o-sphere, I don't like anime. At all. I used to. Oh boy. I used to. There was there a time (ages 13-18) where I was a mindless "otaku" but, now I say forget anime. I can get all nostalgic about Robotech and old school Gundam and still have a weak spot for Digimon** , but most of it (Especially the ones kids are all crazy about now. I am looking at you Naruto! Fucking ninjas.) makes a bit queasy. Before this develops into a a seperate post, my big issue with anime is that there are so many people here in the US that assume because it is anime it must be good. No, not good, but AMAZING! If art exists everywhere, then so does crappy art. Including anime.

Peace!




* I can only guess here, but shows like Gundam and Robotech might have influenced the Japanese origins of Transformers. And all those animation studios, where they do the tedious work, are overseas in Asia. Oh, and the movie had a brief scence that reminded me too much of a "tentacle scene." Google that term at your own risk.


** It is superior to Pokemon.