He hated the label, "monster," but he could understand why they called him that. He saw the papers; he knew the routine. They refused to meet with him, discuss what he figured out was the most important--deciding on an agenda that worked only for them.
Yet he was the monster.
He exercised as they did. He ate at thei same restaurants. And he practiced his ability to love just like everyone else. They let the fucking homos do what they want--even gave them their own television shows.
But not him.
There was a time, when he was younger, he would sit on the stoop in front of his house and have a cricket or a cicada taped to teh pavement. They never cried out as used his mother's twizzers pull it's legs in opposite directions. It did not weep. Instead it merely appeared annoyed at the procedure and tried to pull away.
And he wondered, why don't humans do the same?
He practiced with his subjects. He told them what we was going to do, but they protested. They were the lonely ones--wassn't this what they wanted? Attention until they died?
The latest report in the newspaper labled him Marlowe Monster for his use of hookers on Marlowe street. But these women had already given up on their lives. He was just helping them die faster then their lifestyle would allow.
Yet he was the monster.
Wednesday, August 08, 2007
Movie Review: Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix
Ah, what be said about Harry Potter that hasn't been said already. I love the kid, frankly, seeing how he gets kids gett so riled over his printed page. I wish my students could do the same. My kids can't read their own names a majority of the time.
But even they know Harry. The books and movies go beyond a tremendous success. They connect with audiences on a different levels. Here, we remember that time in our own lives--starting with such promise as we are young and starting out to when we leave to the adult world, when reality has moved in and shoved ideals to the back.
Such is the journey of Mr. Potter; such is our jouney with him. The time of this movie is when we realize the wonderment of the world around us becomes oh-so-much smaller. Harry's friend has died in the last movie; but the world he livees in refused to believe him when he says that Voldemort, the nememis of this tale, did it.
It's like when adults refuse to believe their children's dreams or visions for the future. We die just a little; Harry's is emphasized by the size of the picture.
It is a hard picture to watch. It is complicated for those of us not familiar with the book. The pages appear to be up there as much as possible.
But it works. Surely, the magic is gone, but if a person has followed the story in some manner, it is truly complete. And a bit frightening. Even sad.
The movie also hit me on a chord it did not intend. The plight of American public schools under the tyranny of this current administration. In this realm, schools are judged from outsiders and of course, negatively--giving polictics a reason to shut them down and use them for their own devices.
Harry is accused by the ruling class of his world, the Ministry of Magic. He is believed to be lying and that the school is up to something--so they'll send their own emissary a terrifically evil acted Imelda Staunton's Dolores Umbridge--to deem the school worthy of closure. Then they won't have any more doubters born from the location.
So she arrives and then has shake the tree. She tells them everything is wrong (it isn't) and that they just ahve to take and pass their exams to the elimination of everything else (sorta like state testing--to the exclusion of everything else...). I do not know if author JK Rowling had intended to make that message, showing the stupidit of No Child Left Behind, but it was there for this teacher.
Making me appreciate Mr. Potter's storylines just a bit more.
Is it a good movie? Not for those outside. Inside? I think you'll be more that satisfied.
But even they know Harry. The books and movies go beyond a tremendous success. They connect with audiences on a different levels. Here, we remember that time in our own lives--starting with such promise as we are young and starting out to when we leave to the adult world, when reality has moved in and shoved ideals to the back.
Such is the journey of Mr. Potter; such is our jouney with him. The time of this movie is when we realize the wonderment of the world around us becomes oh-so-much smaller. Harry's friend has died in the last movie; but the world he livees in refused to believe him when he says that Voldemort, the nememis of this tale, did it.
It's like when adults refuse to believe their children's dreams or visions for the future. We die just a little; Harry's is emphasized by the size of the picture.
It is a hard picture to watch. It is complicated for those of us not familiar with the book. The pages appear to be up there as much as possible.
But it works. Surely, the magic is gone, but if a person has followed the story in some manner, it is truly complete. And a bit frightening. Even sad.
The movie also hit me on a chord it did not intend. The plight of American public schools under the tyranny of this current administration. In this realm, schools are judged from outsiders and of course, negatively--giving polictics a reason to shut them down and use them for their own devices.
Harry is accused by the ruling class of his world, the Ministry of Magic. He is believed to be lying and that the school is up to something--so they'll send their own emissary a terrifically evil acted Imelda Staunton's Dolores Umbridge--to deem the school worthy of closure. Then they won't have any more doubters born from the location.
So she arrives and then has shake the tree. She tells them everything is wrong (it isn't) and that they just ahve to take and pass their exams to the elimination of everything else (sorta like state testing--to the exclusion of everything else...). I do not know if author JK Rowling had intended to make that message, showing the stupidit of No Child Left Behind, but it was there for this teacher.
Making me appreciate Mr. Potter's storylines just a bit more.
Is it a good movie? Not for those outside. Inside? I think you'll be more that satisfied.
Movie Review: Hairspray
A time existed, not that very long ago, when musicals did more then bring tourists to New York City. The pop standards, still found on the occasion internet radio, were brought the public in these small wonders. Songs covered almost every allowable topic--but mostly the important stuff, you know, love. And people would pay to hear the songs they could hear for free on the radio (or the internet) and maybe sing along.
That was the power of the musical.
It never really went away, either. The sixties brought Hair, and ability for the audience to understand what the boomers were going through; the sevenites brough A Chorus Line and the audience could understand teh angst of very show before them. The message, of course, was neatly tucked away behind a delicious hummable tune of happily rhyming words or powerful, emotional ballads. All approachable by the wiling ear.
That, too, was teh power of the musical.
Broadway is an interesting place--using audience's knowledge to drag them back to teh Great White Way and justify their ticket purchase by using a topic they are already familiar with--movies. I can't say this is a bad thing. It means, finally, the tourists are returning. And sometimes, jsut sometimes, the musical improves on the source movie.
Look at The Lion King. Decent Disney flick, not classic. But the playwrights took it to a new level and made it a celebration of the stage using cultural references and puppest that the audience had never experienced before. Children were aware of the Disney label going into the house; they left with the potential that musical theatre carries.
Which brings us to this review--Hairspray. The origianl movie I saw in my teen years. A tale from my personal fave, Jon Waters, it mocked the world in which I lived in.
And what teenager can say no to being against the establishment?
In this case, a daily, early 60's television dance program had fully white dancers bopping to fully white music. But the times hadn't changed. African Americans were marching for equal representation. A young, portly young lady, named Tracy Turnblatt decides she wants to buck the scene. She is not the standard of television beauty; and her friends are black. She was going to get on that show and shake everything down.
It was Waters at his best. It used the medium of film to carry a heavy message in a wave of comedic commentary.
The movie could have been iimrpoved on.
But some dancers and musicains saw tehree was a chance to improve. They made it into a musical in NYC in 2002. It was a hit. THe message was sstill there and still strong, but it was easier to digest. Now it was mixed in with the same ditty tunes that helped carry the message as the audience exited humming.
it was only a matter of time before a movie was made.
And it's a good one. For the same reasons as mentioned.
It is, quite possibly, the best movie of the summer. It is very hard to contain this movie. The smiles are broad on the actors as much as on the audience--ironic, considering the messsage--one about intergration and racisim. But I do believe, we, as a people laugh together better than fight.
And here is a bit of a movie to do it. No violence, no sex (however, a TON of inneundo) make for a movie that truly a whole family can attend.
It works, not only for the reasons above, but because the cast really are having a good time. You have John Travolta, in drag no less, practically screaming "watch this!"; you have terrific newcomer Nikki Blonscky celebrating her role with all the energy of a cheerleader on a pot of coffee. She's happy she got the role in the movie--dammit, we should be to.
And we are. I think of it of a friend who loves computers. The dude lives, breathes and eats PCs. He can talk about them forwards and backwards, perhaps even upside down. And he's so excited when he talks about them--you can help but be caught up--even if you don't know what the heck he's talking about.
Such is the strength of her performance. Such is the strength of the entire cast.
I loved it. It will become a guilty pleasure, that's for sure.
That was the power of the musical.
It never really went away, either. The sixties brought Hair, and ability for the audience to understand what the boomers were going through; the sevenites brough A Chorus Line and the audience could understand teh angst of very show before them. The message, of course, was neatly tucked away behind a delicious hummable tune of happily rhyming words or powerful, emotional ballads. All approachable by the wiling ear.
That, too, was teh power of the musical.
Broadway is an interesting place--using audience's knowledge to drag them back to teh Great White Way and justify their ticket purchase by using a topic they are already familiar with--movies. I can't say this is a bad thing. It means, finally, the tourists are returning. And sometimes, jsut sometimes, the musical improves on the source movie.
Look at The Lion King. Decent Disney flick, not classic. But the playwrights took it to a new level and made it a celebration of the stage using cultural references and puppest that the audience had never experienced before. Children were aware of the Disney label going into the house; they left with the potential that musical theatre carries.
Which brings us to this review--Hairspray. The origianl movie I saw in my teen years. A tale from my personal fave, Jon Waters, it mocked the world in which I lived in.
And what teenager can say no to being against the establishment?
In this case, a daily, early 60's television dance program had fully white dancers bopping to fully white music. But the times hadn't changed. African Americans were marching for equal representation. A young, portly young lady, named Tracy Turnblatt decides she wants to buck the scene. She is not the standard of television beauty; and her friends are black. She was going to get on that show and shake everything down.
It was Waters at his best. It used the medium of film to carry a heavy message in a wave of comedic commentary.
The movie could have been iimrpoved on.
But some dancers and musicains saw tehree was a chance to improve. They made it into a musical in NYC in 2002. It was a hit. THe message was sstill there and still strong, but it was easier to digest. Now it was mixed in with the same ditty tunes that helped carry the message as the audience exited humming.
it was only a matter of time before a movie was made.
And it's a good one. For the same reasons as mentioned.
It is, quite possibly, the best movie of the summer. It is very hard to contain this movie. The smiles are broad on the actors as much as on the audience--ironic, considering the messsage--one about intergration and racisim. But I do believe, we, as a people laugh together better than fight.
And here is a bit of a movie to do it. No violence, no sex (however, a TON of inneundo) make for a movie that truly a whole family can attend.
It works, not only for the reasons above, but because the cast really are having a good time. You have John Travolta, in drag no less, practically screaming "watch this!"; you have terrific newcomer Nikki Blonscky celebrating her role with all the energy of a cheerleader on a pot of coffee. She's happy she got the role in the movie--dammit, we should be to.
And we are. I think of it of a friend who loves computers. The dude lives, breathes and eats PCs. He can talk about them forwards and backwards, perhaps even upside down. And he's so excited when he talks about them--you can help but be caught up--even if you don't know what the heck he's talking about.
Such is the strength of her performance. Such is the strength of the entire cast.
I loved it. It will become a guilty pleasure, that's for sure.
Sunday, July 29, 2007
Movie Review: Ratatouille
Did you honestly think that I could write a bad review for a DisneyPixar release of any kind?
I didn't think you could.
But the fact is, I'm more than willing to admit that this is not one of their stronger releases.
There I said it! Ratatouille is not a strong Disney/Pixar release. Garsh that is cathartic. Now I don't want you to think that I went in specifically looking for a problem with this movie, for there is little wrong. It wasn’t as if I needed something wrong to point out the fallibility of this wunderkind studio.
It is a pretty cute little tale of a rodent named Remy with dreams of cooking at a great Parisian restaurant like Maxim's named Gasteau’s. He reads the books by the author and when the opportunity is afforded to him, he takes the chance to cook. Pretty simple—and what could be predicted by the trailers. The young rat finds a decent enough patsy, a quasi-nerd that just wants to succeed at something. The rodent uses the young man as a front to make his own dreams come true.
Now I said this is a good movie. Heck it sounds like it was tailored for someone like me--a great lover of delicious food. So we have a Disney movie AND a foodie movie. So, there, you have two biases, right next to each other. So any negative criticism takes on a new sort of importance.
The kind of movies Pixar makes are profoundly more mature then the audience tends to aim for when heading out to the matinee. Look at Toy Story 2. Toys being taken away to Tokyo for a musuem? What 9 year old is going to get that? Power problems in Monstropolis in Monsters Inc.? That doesn't go well in the single digit set.
And great cuisine created for a most difficult critic in all of Paris?
See? I loved the movie, but it just did not fit the definition of a good Disney film. Sure, the rodents are cute when alone; but when we are treated to them en masse, our brain immediately cuts to images unintentional-rats that carry fleas and the plague.
It is innate for all of us. It is like flinching when you see a snake. You might have no fear of them, but if one appears in your vision, you jolt.
Protagonist aside, there are some other drawbacks to this movie that distract from the fact that this is a Disney movie. Kitchens are serious places in my world. It is one locale. How do you make it funny for the tykes? The filmmakers add a series of slapstick moments where the rat manipulates the geek named Linquini into becoming the best chef in the world. Remy uses hair pulling to make the geek a total puppet and leads to some great, old-fashioned, silent-movie-reminding gags.
But it appears forced. The movie is still so top notch, it is like adding a fight scene in the middle of "Terms of Endearment." It may have worked on paper, but in execution, it is uneven.
Such is the whole movie. It is brought down by a being such a mature movie and a perspective that running around merely ‘enhances’ it’s story.
It hurts me as I write this. The filmmaker, Brad Bird, has a special place in my heart. He worked and created both the Iron Giant and Incredibles. Both are highly intelligent flicks and every moment is used as if it is supposed to be there.
These mistakes surprise me.
My guess is, I have recently learned, the film was abandoned for a period of time while Pixar ironed out their contract with Disney. This flaw shows. It shows because the rest of the film is so good. It was as if some teens were given the helm, added the silly 'puppet' sequences and by then, it was too late. They went ahead and edited what they could.
The main thing is Pixar tried. They really did. Who would have thought of an animated film about rats and cooking? It's brilliant in sheer audacity! And for me, that gives me home that these moviemakers will continue to make films that are creative and deep.
I didn't think you could.
But the fact is, I'm more than willing to admit that this is not one of their stronger releases.
There I said it! Ratatouille is not a strong Disney/Pixar release. Garsh that is cathartic. Now I don't want you to think that I went in specifically looking for a problem with this movie, for there is little wrong. It wasn’t as if I needed something wrong to point out the fallibility of this wunderkind studio.
It is a pretty cute little tale of a rodent named Remy with dreams of cooking at a great Parisian restaurant like Maxim's named Gasteau’s. He reads the books by the author and when the opportunity is afforded to him, he takes the chance to cook. Pretty simple—and what could be predicted by the trailers. The young rat finds a decent enough patsy, a quasi-nerd that just wants to succeed at something. The rodent uses the young man as a front to make his own dreams come true.
Now I said this is a good movie. Heck it sounds like it was tailored for someone like me--a great lover of delicious food. So we have a Disney movie AND a foodie movie. So, there, you have two biases, right next to each other. So any negative criticism takes on a new sort of importance.
The kind of movies Pixar makes are profoundly more mature then the audience tends to aim for when heading out to the matinee. Look at Toy Story 2. Toys being taken away to Tokyo for a musuem? What 9 year old is going to get that? Power problems in Monstropolis in Monsters Inc.? That doesn't go well in the single digit set.
And great cuisine created for a most difficult critic in all of Paris?
See? I loved the movie, but it just did not fit the definition of a good Disney film. Sure, the rodents are cute when alone; but when we are treated to them en masse, our brain immediately cuts to images unintentional-rats that carry fleas and the plague.
It is innate for all of us. It is like flinching when you see a snake. You might have no fear of them, but if one appears in your vision, you jolt.
Protagonist aside, there are some other drawbacks to this movie that distract from the fact that this is a Disney movie. Kitchens are serious places in my world. It is one locale. How do you make it funny for the tykes? The filmmakers add a series of slapstick moments where the rat manipulates the geek named Linquini into becoming the best chef in the world. Remy uses hair pulling to make the geek a total puppet and leads to some great, old-fashioned, silent-movie-reminding gags.
But it appears forced. The movie is still so top notch, it is like adding a fight scene in the middle of "Terms of Endearment." It may have worked on paper, but in execution, it is uneven.
Such is the whole movie. It is brought down by a being such a mature movie and a perspective that running around merely ‘enhances’ it’s story.
It hurts me as I write this. The filmmaker, Brad Bird, has a special place in my heart. He worked and created both the Iron Giant and Incredibles. Both are highly intelligent flicks and every moment is used as if it is supposed to be there.
These mistakes surprise me.
My guess is, I have recently learned, the film was abandoned for a period of time while Pixar ironed out their contract with Disney. This flaw shows. It shows because the rest of the film is so good. It was as if some teens were given the helm, added the silly 'puppet' sequences and by then, it was too late. They went ahead and edited what they could.
The main thing is Pixar tried. They really did. Who would have thought of an animated film about rats and cooking? It's brilliant in sheer audacity! And for me, that gives me home that these moviemakers will continue to make films that are creative and deep.
Friday, July 20, 2007
Journal Entry: Sunsets
My journal ideas said that a sunset is virtually impossible to describe. Guess what this story is about?
Hortie had always thought she would fall for a Deaf man. She knew it. She figured they would never tease her fro her weird sounding name; she knew they never would tell her that her singing was bad, even in the shower.
She never thought she would have fallen for a man who was blind. Robert Banks was everyone a single woman at her age would have hoped for. He had finished high school early, he played on the only sports team offered to him, goalball. He ran daily and read and spoke three different languages. He played the guiltar to calm himself on rainy days when the thunder confused him and made his dog anxious.
They worked together for a strong five years at the Deaf and Blind school in varying capacities. Working together was a bad description--they were separate buildings but their concerns and comrades were the same. They saw each other almost daily. She admired him and his drive.
She gave a small laugh when had asked her to 'see' a movie. The irony of the statment made him quip, "it's okay, I've used that pick-up line on several ladies and you were the first to get the joke."
She was smitten all of a sudden.
They datged off and on for several months when another rainstorm yelled across the Front Range. When the water stopped dropping, she stated she needed to get out and feel the cleaniness.
He had no idea, but since she was the only one who could drive, he concurred after a quick stop for warm coffees.
She found them a decent rock facing west high on the hill and smiled.
"You're smiling, it's good to hear," he mentioned.
"Haven't I been lately?"
"I think you might be asking the wrong person, don't cha think?"
Her smile broadened.
In the silence, she moved closer.
"It's sunset, your favorite time."
"It is."
"They say it's impossible to describe a sunset."
"I've heard that."
"Can you desribe it for me? I'd like to know why it's so important for you."
He sensed her tense. It was not out of fear of asking her to do something so esoteric. It was because she did not consider herself a poet.
She paused.
Then she put her arm around the blind boyfriend and pulled him tight to her.
"Thanks for doing that," he said,"I think I get it."
She did not let go until sometime later.
Hortie had always thought she would fall for a Deaf man. She knew it. She figured they would never tease her fro her weird sounding name; she knew they never would tell her that her singing was bad, even in the shower.
She never thought she would have fallen for a man who was blind. Robert Banks was everyone a single woman at her age would have hoped for. He had finished high school early, he played on the only sports team offered to him, goalball. He ran daily and read and spoke three different languages. He played the guiltar to calm himself on rainy days when the thunder confused him and made his dog anxious.
They worked together for a strong five years at the Deaf and Blind school in varying capacities. Working together was a bad description--they were separate buildings but their concerns and comrades were the same. They saw each other almost daily. She admired him and his drive.
She gave a small laugh when had asked her to 'see' a movie. The irony of the statment made him quip, "it's okay, I've used that pick-up line on several ladies and you were the first to get the joke."
She was smitten all of a sudden.
They datged off and on for several months when another rainstorm yelled across the Front Range. When the water stopped dropping, she stated she needed to get out and feel the cleaniness.
He had no idea, but since she was the only one who could drive, he concurred after a quick stop for warm coffees.
She found them a decent rock facing west high on the hill and smiled.
"You're smiling, it's good to hear," he mentioned.
"Haven't I been lately?"
"I think you might be asking the wrong person, don't cha think?"
Her smile broadened.
In the silence, she moved closer.
"It's sunset, your favorite time."
"It is."
"They say it's impossible to describe a sunset."
"I've heard that."
"Can you desribe it for me? I'd like to know why it's so important for you."
He sensed her tense. It was not out of fear of asking her to do something so esoteric. It was because she did not consider herself a poet.
She paused.
Then she put her arm around the blind boyfriend and pulled him tight to her.
"Thanks for doing that," he said,"I think I get it."
She did not let go until sometime later.
The BoogeyMan of Devil's Lake
More random fiction---unfinished and unedited. Whilst in spinning class--I heard the song, "I'm Your BoogeyMan" by KC and the Sunshine Band. This is the result.
Rob had finished driving a good two hours from Grand Forks into Devil’s Lake. He checked out bright and early from the Best Western, in hopes of beating any traffic out of that city. He realized as he greeted the roads that he was still stuck on several big city ways—there never was any traffic any where near Grand Forks.
But the early rising of unfamiliar surroundings of Eastern North Dakota did not fulfill his need for breakfast. He could have stopped in several of the truckers’ stops along the way, but he knew that many the roadsters were piloted by the husbands of the women in Devil’s Lake. He could not risk discovery from someone.
He arrived in the Lake shortly before ten am and felt it would be safe enough to hit only coffeehouse in area. He was normally there, however much earlier, on Saturday mornings.
The bells rang on the front door of the small parlour of the bistro. Every single face turned to look. Some waved at him, including some students.
One such student was working at the counter as both cashier and barista.
“Good morning Mr. Bryson! How was Grand Forks?”
“Um, good morning, Cherise. I’ll just go with my usual skinny mocha. You know how to make it the way I like it,” Rob explained.
“Oh, yeah, sure,” she took his money and looked down quickly.
“Thanks.”
Noises shrieked from the espresso machine and over the din, louder now, Cherise continued her line of questioning. Rob was not sure if she just couldn’t take a hint or thought there was an emergency.
“Did they take your manuscript?”
Seeing that she choose to pick the OBJECT in his arm and not the company he might have had (the large, juvenile, accidental hickie on his neck he would discover when he got home), he figured it alright to admit some travel.
“No, they didn’t. Wouldn’t even really look at it. How did you know?”
“I didn’t. But you are all dressed—not in your running garb. And Brian’s cousin works at the Best Western. Good choice. When we go for football games, that’s where we stay.”
Rob would have cursed under his breath had he not had an audience of students behind him. They were not watching outright, that came from experience, but they were listening, he would later discover.
“Was that one of your private tutor, I don’t know, what you’d,” the machine exhaled into Cherise’s face and caused her to step back. She began again, “Was that one of your private tutor, I don’t know, what you’d call a tutoree?”
“Mentoree? Yeah, he was. He was a mentoree. An old student now at UND,” he lied, “good kid, wanted to do better in his English course.”
“Sure he did. And you’re the best for that,” she said as she prepped the toppings on the coffee.
He could not tell if she believed him.
He fumed and left the café as fast as he could. His stomach whined some when he saw the donuts on display on the counter, but thought it would best to just leave and not give an opportunity for the conversation to be elaborated upon.
The internet is a wonderful thing. Rob knew exactly what he was getting to when he moved to this town. Some liked to lable it the halfway point between Bismarck and Grand Forks, but Rob knew better.
It was the entrance to small town hell.
Every single stereotype, the chatting, the nosy neighbors, all the things that kept the intellluctuals away--it was all true by this point, 3 school years later.
He selected the small town because it had what he needed and nothing else. In this land of internet connectivity, he knew he wouldn't be far from life, if the need surfaced. But he didn't want a life, at least, not when he moved her. Coming out of the closet was not the easiest of situations to deal with--his parents ignored the fact that he had two degrees but with Sum Cum Laude honors. They only saw him as filthyand wished nothing more of him in the Illnois outback. It wasn't much sooner afterward that his first love, his only physical love by that point decided, "let's just be friends."
It was time to grow up--and get away.
Devil's Lake was the answer. He knew no one there, they did not know him. He had little urge to slam back the closet door and lock it, so approached it all with an open mind.
It did not help.
When a person is seeing only the negative and only one hope to get out of it--well, one's glasses become a bit rosy. Rob was that way. The pay was terrific at the school he worked at; and outwardly, if he did not pay attention, no one said a word to him.
But in the silent stares and quiet of the supermarket, given nothing else to think about--he knew they were talking about him.
He could see their glances over the aisles. He could hear them when they felt him out of earshot.
He knew they stared at him and wondered. Not only if he was gay, but if he did things that they read about in magazines. Did he want to have sex with the football team, the basketball team (the first team he had ever seen that was all white) and the baseball team together.
He could not ignore them.
So he escaped them everyday.
Rob wrote. He wrote a journal, a blog, a myspace and several bulliten boards. Stories drifted out of him like his next breath.
Scary stories.
He knew better then to go to the public library with all the glances.
He did much shopping on the internet as well.
His most famous tale, the one that got him some noteraity, was a short one that was included in an anthology of the Year's Best Short Stories. It had dealt with a teacher who hated life so much that he sold himself out to the college he worked for--by blowing the place up violently.
He liked dragging it out and reading it again and again when the mood suited him.
Rob met Howie at the one YMCA housed in Devil's Lake. Rob hated glancing in the locker room. THe small town housed only old men who were not worth the time or his own high school students who might turn on him. That was why he williing glanced at Howie. He lived elsewhere, for his gym bag was a carry on from a recent flight that still had tags. That was evident.
That and the young man wore two bathing suits.
As the young man disrobed a mere two lockers from Rob, Rob realized that they were the only two there that evening. THe young man pulled two bathing suits out and put both on. One was torn and ripped and the brief was snug over the top. The layering caused Howie's rear to bulgde and it made Rob laugh to himself. The young man lived elsewhere and had strange habits.
Rob smiled the next day when he learned that Howie had come from UND in Grand Forks to intern in his colleague's classroom. The youth called Minneapolis home, his blonde hair a testament to his Norweign hertitage.
His swimming trunks belied the fact that he competed in triathleons all over the nation.
The rainbow on the back of Howie's car gave the rest of the information away. Rob dare not bring it up, but the students filled in the gaps with their gossips and looks. Rob knew more about Howie before meeting him then most people should.
Rob had finished driving a good two hours from Grand Forks into Devil’s Lake. He checked out bright and early from the Best Western, in hopes of beating any traffic out of that city. He realized as he greeted the roads that he was still stuck on several big city ways—there never was any traffic any where near Grand Forks.
But the early rising of unfamiliar surroundings of Eastern North Dakota did not fulfill his need for breakfast. He could have stopped in several of the truckers’ stops along the way, but he knew that many the roadsters were piloted by the husbands of the women in Devil’s Lake. He could not risk discovery from someone.
He arrived in the Lake shortly before ten am and felt it would be safe enough to hit only coffeehouse in area. He was normally there, however much earlier, on Saturday mornings.
The bells rang on the front door of the small parlour of the bistro. Every single face turned to look. Some waved at him, including some students.
One such student was working at the counter as both cashier and barista.
“Good morning Mr. Bryson! How was Grand Forks?”
“Um, good morning, Cherise. I’ll just go with my usual skinny mocha. You know how to make it the way I like it,” Rob explained.
“Oh, yeah, sure,” she took his money and looked down quickly.
“Thanks.”
Noises shrieked from the espresso machine and over the din, louder now, Cherise continued her line of questioning. Rob was not sure if she just couldn’t take a hint or thought there was an emergency.
“Did they take your manuscript?”
Seeing that she choose to pick the OBJECT in his arm and not the company he might have had (the large, juvenile, accidental hickie on his neck he would discover when he got home), he figured it alright to admit some travel.
“No, they didn’t. Wouldn’t even really look at it. How did you know?”
“I didn’t. But you are all dressed—not in your running garb. And Brian’s cousin works at the Best Western. Good choice. When we go for football games, that’s where we stay.”
Rob would have cursed under his breath had he not had an audience of students behind him. They were not watching outright, that came from experience, but they were listening, he would later discover.
“Was that one of your private tutor, I don’t know, what you’d,” the machine exhaled into Cherise’s face and caused her to step back. She began again, “Was that one of your private tutor, I don’t know, what you’d call a tutoree?”
“Mentoree? Yeah, he was. He was a mentoree. An old student now at UND,” he lied, “good kid, wanted to do better in his English course.”
“Sure he did. And you’re the best for that,” she said as she prepped the toppings on the coffee.
He could not tell if she believed him.
He fumed and left the café as fast as he could. His stomach whined some when he saw the donuts on display on the counter, but thought it would best to just leave and not give an opportunity for the conversation to be elaborated upon.
The internet is a wonderful thing. Rob knew exactly what he was getting to when he moved to this town. Some liked to lable it the halfway point between Bismarck and Grand Forks, but Rob knew better.
It was the entrance to small town hell.
Every single stereotype, the chatting, the nosy neighbors, all the things that kept the intellluctuals away--it was all true by this point, 3 school years later.
He selected the small town because it had what he needed and nothing else. In this land of internet connectivity, he knew he wouldn't be far from life, if the need surfaced. But he didn't want a life, at least, not when he moved her. Coming out of the closet was not the easiest of situations to deal with--his parents ignored the fact that he had two degrees but with Sum Cum Laude honors. They only saw him as filthyand wished nothing more of him in the Illnois outback. It wasn't much sooner afterward that his first love, his only physical love by that point decided, "let's just be friends."
It was time to grow up--and get away.
Devil's Lake was the answer. He knew no one there, they did not know him. He had little urge to slam back the closet door and lock it, so approached it all with an open mind.
It did not help.
When a person is seeing only the negative and only one hope to get out of it--well, one's glasses become a bit rosy. Rob was that way. The pay was terrific at the school he worked at; and outwardly, if he did not pay attention, no one said a word to him.
But in the silent stares and quiet of the supermarket, given nothing else to think about--he knew they were talking about him.
He could see their glances over the aisles. He could hear them when they felt him out of earshot.
He knew they stared at him and wondered. Not only if he was gay, but if he did things that they read about in magazines. Did he want to have sex with the football team, the basketball team (the first team he had ever seen that was all white) and the baseball team together.
He could not ignore them.
So he escaped them everyday.
Rob wrote. He wrote a journal, a blog, a myspace and several bulliten boards. Stories drifted out of him like his next breath.
Scary stories.
He knew better then to go to the public library with all the glances.
He did much shopping on the internet as well.
His most famous tale, the one that got him some noteraity, was a short one that was included in an anthology of the Year's Best Short Stories. It had dealt with a teacher who hated life so much that he sold himself out to the college he worked for--by blowing the place up violently.
He liked dragging it out and reading it again and again when the mood suited him.
Rob met Howie at the one YMCA housed in Devil's Lake. Rob hated glancing in the locker room. THe small town housed only old men who were not worth the time or his own high school students who might turn on him. That was why he williing glanced at Howie. He lived elsewhere, for his gym bag was a carry on from a recent flight that still had tags. That was evident.
That and the young man wore two bathing suits.
As the young man disrobed a mere two lockers from Rob, Rob realized that they were the only two there that evening. THe young man pulled two bathing suits out and put both on. One was torn and ripped and the brief was snug over the top. The layering caused Howie's rear to bulgde and it made Rob laugh to himself. The young man lived elsewhere and had strange habits.
Rob smiled the next day when he learned that Howie had come from UND in Grand Forks to intern in his colleague's classroom. The youth called Minneapolis home, his blonde hair a testament to his Norweign hertitage.
His swimming trunks belied the fact that he competed in triathleons all over the nation.
The rainbow on the back of Howie's car gave the rest of the information away. Rob dare not bring it up, but the students filled in the gaps with their gossips and looks. Rob knew more about Howie before meeting him then most people should.
Wednesday, July 18, 2007
Movie Review: Transformers
Have you ever heard of a melodrama?
In the olden days of the Wild West, they were theatre for masses. Storylines bordered complex, but the presentation was kept juvenile enough that a man, drunk off his butt could come in and get the story midstream. They were the purest form of entertainment--really hard work for sophisticated actors to take a great idea and whittle it down into something a general audience could digest.
I think I just saw a melodrama.
Transformers is what Pirates of Caribean should have been; it is what all summer movies really should become. I felt like I was in a drive-in.
Micheal Bay, for some reason, is continulally given this big budget pictures for really crappy movies. Armaggedon? Crap. Pearl Harbor? Historical crap.
Sure, both movies had their moments. They seamlessly combined top-of-the-line special effects with actors and kept your jaw on the floor and your head spinning.
Depth? That was down the hall at the art theatre. Mr. Bay wants explosions, lotsa, lotsa explosions.
So I had very little hope for this movie going in. Growing up, my mother subjected me to fifties movies of her youth. Now I'm becoming the adult and now I've got my precious 80's, of which the famed "Transformers" cartoon and toy were born of.
My turn. My partner's turn. Now we can look back at the happy times. That's why we went to see this movie.
But something happened.
Seems that Mr. Bay's childish style of moviemaking worked here much better. The simpler plot, the lack of depth worked to his benefit.
And kept those explosions.
I could go on about the plot, but if you've read the poster, you pretty much got what's going on. An alien race with the ability to mimic machinary brings their war down here.
Simple. Now have the good aliens and the bad aliens fight. Alot.
Explode things.
Folks, as I reread this, I may be sounding very angry at this movie. It's not bad at all. Just simple. And violent.
I'd like to call the robots themselves "eye-candy" but that would not do these amazing behemoths service. They are indeed huge robots with all the guts of a car or truck hanging from one place or another.
They are more like "eye-heroin."
You cannot take your eyes off the screen. The camera in the older days would be static and the special effects would be brought out to you like a good stiff drink. Here? Director Bay moves the camera like a photojournalist in war, giving glimpses of these huge monstrosties in the environment. They fight, they scream and, truly, it is amazing.
What is also amazing is a young Shia LaBouf. Far from the usual teen pinups who use their looks to gain fame, he has cut his teeth with growing up in the business. He is given very little to do with the movie (actors are merely something to watch between special effects sequences in Bay's movies) but you can't take your eyes off of him. He is the kind of kid you met at some party and just knew he was clean-cut enough to accomplish something in his life. That drive is right there on the screen. I want to see him do more.
Yes, he suffers from the 'ugly' theory I once proposed. That the uglier the actor, the better the performance. Don't believe me? Look at Forrest Whittaker as Adi Imin in THe Last King of Scotland. The man is very definition of excellent.
Shia is not exactly Playgirl material.
And we may never see him again because he doesn't have the 'leading man' qualities of Leo DiCaprio or Daniel Craig.
Tis a pity.
I hope this doesn't happen to young Shia.
I hope, also, you might take the time to visit this movie. It isn't a sequel. You might enjoy the noise. There is no commitment. You will truly have a good time.
In the olden days of the Wild West, they were theatre for masses. Storylines bordered complex, but the presentation was kept juvenile enough that a man, drunk off his butt could come in and get the story midstream. They were the purest form of entertainment--really hard work for sophisticated actors to take a great idea and whittle it down into something a general audience could digest.
I think I just saw a melodrama.
Transformers is what Pirates of Caribean should have been; it is what all summer movies really should become. I felt like I was in a drive-in.
Micheal Bay, for some reason, is continulally given this big budget pictures for really crappy movies. Armaggedon? Crap. Pearl Harbor? Historical crap.
Sure, both movies had their moments. They seamlessly combined top-of-the-line special effects with actors and kept your jaw on the floor and your head spinning.
Depth? That was down the hall at the art theatre. Mr. Bay wants explosions, lotsa, lotsa explosions.
So I had very little hope for this movie going in. Growing up, my mother subjected me to fifties movies of her youth. Now I'm becoming the adult and now I've got my precious 80's, of which the famed "Transformers" cartoon and toy were born of.
My turn. My partner's turn. Now we can look back at the happy times. That's why we went to see this movie.
But something happened.
Seems that Mr. Bay's childish style of moviemaking worked here much better. The simpler plot, the lack of depth worked to his benefit.
And kept those explosions.
I could go on about the plot, but if you've read the poster, you pretty much got what's going on. An alien race with the ability to mimic machinary brings their war down here.
Simple. Now have the good aliens and the bad aliens fight. Alot.
Explode things.
Folks, as I reread this, I may be sounding very angry at this movie. It's not bad at all. Just simple. And violent.
I'd like to call the robots themselves "eye-candy" but that would not do these amazing behemoths service. They are indeed huge robots with all the guts of a car or truck hanging from one place or another.
They are more like "eye-heroin."
You cannot take your eyes off the screen. The camera in the older days would be static and the special effects would be brought out to you like a good stiff drink. Here? Director Bay moves the camera like a photojournalist in war, giving glimpses of these huge monstrosties in the environment. They fight, they scream and, truly, it is amazing.
What is also amazing is a young Shia LaBouf. Far from the usual teen pinups who use their looks to gain fame, he has cut his teeth with growing up in the business. He is given very little to do with the movie (actors are merely something to watch between special effects sequences in Bay's movies) but you can't take your eyes off of him. He is the kind of kid you met at some party and just knew he was clean-cut enough to accomplish something in his life. That drive is right there on the screen. I want to see him do more.
Yes, he suffers from the 'ugly' theory I once proposed. That the uglier the actor, the better the performance. Don't believe me? Look at Forrest Whittaker as Adi Imin in THe Last King of Scotland. The man is very definition of excellent.
Shia is not exactly Playgirl material.
And we may never see him again because he doesn't have the 'leading man' qualities of Leo DiCaprio or Daniel Craig.
Tis a pity.
I hope this doesn't happen to young Shia.
I hope, also, you might take the time to visit this movie. It isn't a sequel. You might enjoy the noise. There is no commitment. You will truly have a good time.
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