Football, Movies, and Not-so-stupid Questions.

My buddy Russ was a good football player. About my size, so not a moose, but strong. Sadly, he never really got along with our high school football coach, so his playing time was limited. One Thursday before a Friday game, the coach was going through the game plan: telling the assembled team in some detail general and specific assignments. The team we'd play was bigger, so we'd have to trap-block. The guards would drop back from their man, and run down the line and catch the advancing defensive tackle or linebacker on the opposite side of the line. The running back would take a fake and the fullback would hit the gap between the right-side guard and tackle. Stuff like that. After about 10 minutes, Coach Korn asked the team if we had any questions. Russ, knowing he was not going to be playing the next day- and knowing that the coach knew he knew this- raised his hand. Coach Korn eyed Russ warily: "What is it, Baggett?". "Coach", Russ said as the 80 or so half-padded players looked on. "Coach. If Jesus Christ and Superman got into a fight, who do you think would win?". Through considerable effort, I managed not to laugh. Fast forward thirty-five years: Last night, Lady Di and I saw "Man of Steel" at Walterboro's lone theater, Ivanhoe Cinema 4, and Russ's question popped up again. Confused? Well, yeah. See, in "Man of Steel", Superman is presented as a Jesus figure. Jor-El (played by Russell Crowe), a scientist from Krypton, seeing his planet about to implode, puts his infant son in a ship to a similar planet- Earth- to save his child and maybe to save Earth. Young Kal-El is found in Smallville, Kansas, by the Kent family. Dad (played by Kevin Costner), obviously knows his boy is different, because, you know, he found the kid in a space-ship. Mom and dad also discover his amazing strength, lazar vision, and lightning speed. Over the course of time, mom nurtures him, and Dad tells him he's obviously got a very special reason for being there, and eventually he'll know, but in the meantime, to keep his head down and not to tell anyone about his powers, because he doesn't know his purpose yet, and the world just won't understand him. Not hard to imagine another adoptive father, Joseph, telling young Jesus the same thing. When some bad guys- who, by virtue of their timely banishment managed to survive Krypton's destruction- arrive to conquer and colonize Earth, Superman has to step up to save Earth. Guess how old is at this auspicious moment? How's 33 grab you? There are plenty of other parallels between Superman and Jesus, and I'm quite sure they've been pointed out by lots of folks before (when I excitedly mentioned my theory in my post-mortum of the movie to Lady Di, she was all, "Duh!", so, I'm evidently not breaking any new ground here). Anyway, I thought of Russ, Leto Falcon football, and Coach Korn. And I've finally got an answer: Russ, Jesus wouldn't fight Superman. Jesus is Superman.

An Ode to Sugar Breath.

I was talking to Lady Di last night about a cool app on our semi-new i-Phones: a free sample of Discover Magazine in the i-NewsStand. The issue is "Vital Signs" and it included a little vignette where symptoms are given, and you follow along as they figure out what's wrong. The one I read had to do with subtle changes in the smell of one dude's breath. Lady Di, ever the health educator, offered that it was probably ketoacidosis. One of the things that can cause ketoacidosis is diabetes. You can read up on it in Wikipedia (you can try the link, but ever since Blogspot changed the format, it's kinda hit or miss...  http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ketoacidosis Anyway, the name of the ailment sounded familiar to me... Ah, Mary Poppins! Remember her and Bert dancing on roof tops? At one point or another they sang Supercalifragisticexpialodicious, which sound like the perfect place to plant ketoacidosis. Anyway, first, my take, then, for the purists, you can listen to Mary and Bert.

An Ode to Sugar Breath (sung to the tune of Supercalifragilisticexpialodicious)

It’s too bad we have to smell that ketoacidosis,
Even though a whiff of it is worse than halitosis,
If we complain too loud, they’ll say we have neurosis...
Super stinky sugar breath, it’s ketoacidosis.

Because I was afraid to speak,
When the big guy reeked too bad,
The odor gave me nose a tweak,
Enough to drive me mad.
But then again it can’t be helped,
The situation’s sad,
The super stinky sugar breath, It’s ketoacidosis.

Vacation.

I got a vacation coming up. Got me to thinking about stuff. Dangerous, I know. I've heard lots of folks saying, "Life's a journey, not a destination". Maybe. 'Course, that's not the way my dad viewed trips. Like a lot of dads, he was all about getting there. Rocketing down the highway at a few miles an hour above the posted limit, windows cracked a half inch to allow some of the smoke from the chain-smoked Pall Malls to leave the car. Bathroom breaks? "You should've thought about that before we left". Dad was a classic guys' guy, who always voted Republican and who rooted against Muhammad Ali (or, as Dad would say, "Cassius Clay"), because he was a draft-dodger. But there are other memories, too. Like on a trip to New Smyna Beach, Florida, when dad suddenly stopped the car to pick up and relocate a turtle that was trying to cross the road so it wouldn't get run over. So, we should try to get where we're going, but we need to remember, at every moment, we're also already there. Or, as John Travolta said as the angel Michael, "You gotta learn to laugh".

According to a couple of articles in the Charleston Post and Courier it's an especially good week to hate, whether it's Local, or International. Sounds like maybe we all need to put a copy of South_Pacific in our Netflix queue.

...and the Oscar for best soundtrack goes to...

I always enjoy the Oscars. Best Actor. Best Director. Best Screenplay. Best music in a film often gets short shrift. It shouldn't. Think background soundtracks don't matter? Thanks to my oldest son, for unearthing this gem:

Whither Vain?

As I puttered into work today, I noticed a vanity tag imprinted thusly: FRMRGRL. After a moments' reflection, I figured that the owner meant to imply that she was an agriculturally minded woman: a "Farmer Girl"; however, my mind was in a strange place, and my first thought was that the owner was a dude that used to be a dame: a "Former Girl". This chain of thoughts led me to think about "The Princess Bride", and this bit:



Farmer Girl or Former Girl? Only her plastic surgeon knows for sure.

Okay! Okay! Take the Acorns!

I dunno. To me this guy just looked... angry. Crazy angry. Like this guy:



Or maybe this one.

A Fistful of Gummi Bears.

Clint rocked Spaghetti Westerns many moons ago.

Son Taylor just wants some spaghetti. Or maybe it was corn chips.

She's Down to Seven Lives...

Poor Puddy Cat. According to an Associate Press article which I read in this morning's Charleston Post and Courier, a freaky feline named Andera has suffered the indignity of being twice_executed in Utah, but she keeps right on living. Obviously, see still has seven lives to go. Either that, or she's...

...a zombie cat. They probably just picked the wrong Pet_Cemetary (I always thought Steven King borrowed his idea for that book from a_short_story_I_read_in_Junior_High_School, but what do I know?

Harry Potter, Ecclesiastes, and Mushrooms.

"There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under the heavens". I've quoted from Ecclesiastes before, and I probably will again. What's got me going on the circle of life this time is Harry Potter and mushrooms. Lady Di and I caught the last Harry Potter on Saturday night (I know, all the real Potter-philes caught it at the Thursday/Friday Midnight show, but I had to work). I loved it, as I knew I would; but I was sad, as I knew I would be. I've read all the books at least twice, and I've seen all the movies more than that (except the last one, which I'd only seen once), so I knew that it had to end and I knew how it would end.

Still, endings are are sad, even if, as Semisonic said a decade ago, "Every new beginning comes from some other beginning's end".

Monster!

I was pulling weeds at La Maison Jaune over the weekend, and I ran into this monster. It looked sorta like a flea, but this sucker was as big as a small cat (which reminded me of a David Bowie song, reflected in the second clip below).

It had a really long spiked tail, too!
Here's my trophy weed at left. It took me ages to get around that rootball and pull it up. I shot it with a silver bullet and ran a stake through it, just to be sure it wasn't coming back.





(My mom, by the way, was not a David Bowie fan, and that song left her a bit cold. Ah, well, what are you gonna do?).

Making Mountains Out of, You Know...

I've ranted about squirrels, it's true; however, my antipathy for "tree rats" is nothing compared to the bile I've generated for moles. Gotta get Austin Powers on the job!

William Shakespeare, Franz Kafka, and Emilio Estevez Walk into a Bar...

Lady Di and I saw two of the plays featured at this year's Spoleto Festival: The Cripple of Inishmaan and "The Understudy". The Irish production of "The Cripple of Inishmaan" has gotten rave reviews in performances throughout the U.S. I haven't checked the reviews for "The Understudy", but I can tell you I enjoyed it immensely. Both plays focus on the absurdity and futility of life. You know: the meaning of life is that there is no meaning to life. That sort of stuff. The Understudy does it overtly, as it is centered around a play about Existentialist writer Franz_Kafka. The Cripple of Inishmaan doesn't refer to Existentialist writers, but, well, it's Irish, and absurdity is sort of in their DNA.

That got me thinking about some of my favorite existential quotes through history. Here is a sampling:

"For who knows what is good for a person in life, during the few and meaningless days they pass through like a shadow? Who can tell them what will happen under the sun after they are gone?" Ecclesiastes 6:12 (NIV)

You think that Bible verse might've influenced the World's greatest playwrite?

"Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow,
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day
To the last syllable of recorded time,
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!
Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage
And then is heard no more: it is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing."

William Shakespeare, "Macbeth" Act 5, scene 5, 19–28

Charlie isn't the only of Martin Sheen's kids that's into absurdity and futility: AndyMan likes to quote Emilio Estevez (who was playing the role of William Bonney in Young Guns II, and has this discussion upon being cornered by folks that meant to kill him): "You remember the stories John use to tell us about the the three chinamen playing Fantan? This guy runs up to them and says, "Hey, the world's coming to an end!" and the first one says, "Well, I best go to the mission and pray," and the second one says, "Well, hell, I'm gonna go and buy me a case of Mezcal and six whores," and the third one says "Well, I'm gonna finish the game." I shall finish the game, Doc."

Today's "Luanne" comic strip has a nice spin on team existentialism:



What's the meaning of life? Douglas Adams told us the answer in "The Life, The Universe, and Everything":



You guys do what you like. As for me? I shall finish the game.

You Say Po-Tay-To, I Say Po-Tah-To.

Beverly Hills sports one of the premier shopping districts anywhere: Rodeo (pronounced Ro-Day-O) Drive. We have a Rodeo Drive in Colleton County, South Carolina, too; however, we pronounce it in the more pedestrian manner "Ro-Dee-O". See if you can distinguish between California's Rodeo Drive from the Boro's:







Julia woulda known the difference.

I Want My Mummy (or Zombie Day at St. Jude's).

My mom was a nun. I've mentioned this before, but I may have neglected to mentioned that a mummy may have helped push mommy to run to be a nun. This shouldn't shock you: There're plenty of monsters in the Bible. There are the god/human giants called the Nephilim, of course. And this Sunday past was, apparently, Zombie Day at St. Jude's (and, at many churches who use the Lectionary). First, we started in the Old Testament with Ezekiel's prophesy of God's raising the dead in the
Valley of Dry Bones. After a brief stop-over for sin and death in Romans, we have more gore in John's account of the raising of Lazarus Now, the dude had been dead for, what, four days? Jesus' friend, Martha, said the body'd be stinking by now, but Jesus went on ahead thusly: "Jesus called in a loud voice, “Lazarus, come out!” The dead man came out, his hands and feet wrapped with strips of linen, and a cloth around his face". So, what do you think Mary and Martha saw when their brother walked out? A zombie or a mummy, maybe.


Which brings me back to mom and the mummy. AndyMan and I used to torment poor mom (or maybe it was just me. It's been a long time). We'd play tricks on her. "Mom, do these socks smell clean?" was mild. We (or maybe just me) stacked a wig-holder on top of a cloaked hat-rack in mom's closet one day. She wasn't sufficiently startled, so I enlisted my buddy, Russ, to play another trick on her. We wrapped Russ' face in an Ace bandage, gave him a black hat, and a long coat, and stuck him in mom's walk-in closet. Mom always came home from work, went to her walk-in closet to get rid of her coat, and came out to make us supper. You could count on it. Well, for some reason, Mom decided to change her clothes outside of her closet on this particular day. Russ, understandably, panicked. He had no desire to see mom changing her clothes, so he stepped out of the closet and said, "Hey, Mrs. Mathews. Do not be afraid. It's me, Russ". 'Course, Russ had an Ace bandage around his face, so what mom heard was "Rrr Grr Uhh Grr Hmmmph!", which scared mom a lot. Did it contribute to her later decision to join a convent? Well, it couldn't've hurt.

Getting the Most Out of Life.

Every work day at the Public Defender's Office I deal with folks that are suffering. They are accused of doing awful things, either because of the awful choices they've made, or, occasionally, because of bad luck or mistakes or malicious mis-statements of others. Whether they are unlucky, or just experiencing the consequences of their own wilful acts, all of them were kids once. Most of them have, or at least had, someone who loved them. What do you tell the kid who is going to prison for a long time for an act, apparently isolated and not in their general character, based on a snap decision that occurred over the space of a maybe only a few minutes? So what do I tell them? Mostly, I tell them that St. Paul, Martin Luther and Martin Luther King did some of their best work in jail or prison. I don't guess I can say it any better than Morgan Freeman did a few years ago:



Of course, you don't have to be in the system to be miserable. I think it was Richard Lovelace who wrote "Stone walls do not a prison make, Nor iron bars a cage, Minds innocent and quiet take That for an hermitage.” Guess we gotta free our minds, too.

Food for Thought.

Jumpin' Jimminy! We're growing meat from stem cells in Charleston! That is to say, we WERE growing meat from animal stem cells in Charleston. The paper referred to it as a "meat lab". According to the Charleston Post and Courier newspaper article photographed at left (which you can link: HERE), the Medical University of South Carolina suspended the Director of the project for insubordination and "unacceptable behavior". The article also contained the following: "While the future of the meat lab remains uncertain, the suspension also calls into question the future of a separate project, a $20 million effort that aims to create human organs from a person's own stem cells". Hmmm. The Director in charge of the "meat from animal stem cells" is suspended, and the project for harvesting organs from human stem cells is in jeopardy. Anybody remember the early seventies Charlton Heston Sci-Fi movie Soylent Green?

Some Times You Feel Like a Nut; Sometimes You Don't.

You remember that old commercial for Mounds and Almond Joy candybars? Sometimes you feel like a nut; sometimes you don't? No? Well, I do. It was like that for the denizens of 590 Otis Road last week. Among the movies we viewed over the Christmas holiday were "The King's Speech" and "Little Fockers". Both films feature Academy Award winning actors, but it's pretty unlikely you'd confuse them with each other.

"The King's Speech" is a much-ballyhoo'd critic's darling. Critically acclaimed, sure; but it's also entertaining and emotionally satisfying. "The King's Speech" follows the personal struggles of the man who would become King George VI. Colin Firth plays the stammering George brilliantly. George is pushed by his wife, played by Helena Bonham Carter, to seek the help of an untitled Australian-born speech therapist, played by Geoffrey Rush. Rush turns in an Oscar-worthy performance as a frustrated actor turned speech coach, Lionel Logue, but it's Helena Bonham Carter's work as George's wife that I enjoyed the most (but then again, she makes any movie she's in better: "Fight Club" was the Brad Pitt/Edward Norton show, but without Carter's foil it'd've been a lot less; Beatrix LeStrange in the Harry Potter movies would've been a good role for anybody, but she owns it now).

And what's a movie about British Royalty without an exploration of class differences? Interesting juxtaposition between George's need to consort with commoner Logue for the good of the Empire; and that of his brother, "David"- briefly King Edward- who abdicated in order to experience connubial bliss as husband to twice-divorced American Wallis Simpson. This is a wonderful movie. It's a history movie that plays like a sports movie: Will George be able to set aside his fears to lead his people at the on-set of World War II? Will he learn to love himself and to be and have a friend? Will be able to get through the most important speech of his life? When George greets his wife at the end of the movie, you can almost hear Rocky shouting "Adrian!" into the crowd at the end of his title fight. As we walked out of the lovely Terrace Theater in Charleston, Lady Di heard a fellow theater-goer opine, "That's the best movie I've seen in five years".

Which brings me to the other movie I saw over the weekend...

"Little Fockers" is the third installment in the Ben Stiller/Robert DeNiro "Focker" franchise. I didn't expect much, and I wasn't disappointed. Projectile vomiting, crotch jokes and broad humor are generally a hit with audiences, if generally not with critics. I'm not sure The Three Stooges ever won an Oscar, but I'd bet you money that more people know Curley's laugh than the name of
Citizen Kane's sled. You don't go to McDonald's looking for Roast Duck with an orange glaze, do you? During our visit to the Boro's lone movie theater, one lady howled with laughter during "Little Fockers". I saw her talking to her husband as we all exited the movie. "Well, I kind of enjoyed that", she noted, with a look of embarrassment. Me, too (just don't tell anybody).

Harry Potter Rocks!

Lady Di, the Twins and I, could not've been hotter for Harry Potter. So we hopped in the car (Charleston's not far), and got tickets for all at the Citadel Mall. Voldemort's won is how it looks (but we're not worried: we've read the books!).

Take Me Home, I'm Stupid.

Just got back to the Boro today after a week of lots of sun, fun and, well... fun and sun. Yeah, I know. I said there'd be lots of wedding and Honeymoon photos. That's mostly Facebook stuff, but I'll post something in the next few days ('course, I've got tons of work to get caught up on, but I'll post something). Anyhow, after a memorable and all to brief stay in Charleston, Lady Di and I went cruisin'.
Which cruiseline? You mighta seen the commercials showing the bright red fin at the back of the boat. No? Well, apparently a smokestack is as good a selling point as any. And it is as fine a looking smokestack as you're ever likely to see. So fine, in fact...
...that they made a mascot out of it. Meet Fun Ship Freddy. Say, that little fella looks familiar. Where have I seen this guy before? Oh, wait. I know.

Hellboy.