All That We Had Were Moments

            Nobody likes to hear about other people’s dreams—let alone read about them—but just bear with me a moment.

            It wasn’t remarkable for how realistic it was—you know how some people, when describing their already boring dreams, lapse into that seemingly endless feedback loop of, “I—I can’t really explain it. It was just… So real… I can’t explain to you in words how real it felt… It just felt… So real…” and on and on, until you want to cry with boredom. And we’re all grown-ups here, so I’m not going to give you the old closing line, like a quarter with a string tied around it, “…And then I woke up.” I wouldn’t do that to you. And this isn’t about how weird or scary it was—sure, it was both of those things, but neither of those things were what stuck with me after I’d woken up. What stuck with me was how much it surprised me.

            My wife and I were over at a friend’s house, though I’m not sure who exactly this friend was supposed to be; within the logic of the dream, all I knew was that this other person was a friend. His place—condo or house, I’m not sure—had the chrome fixtures and white walls that I associate with the future. One long wall that ran along the length of the entire place was a giant, floor-to-ceiling pane of glass, which, from our apparently elevated position, boasted a panoramic view of a cityscape—somewhere, perhaps, like Los Angeles.

            Stephanie, my wife, was back in this friend’s bedroom—either just hanging out back there by herself or napping—while our friend and I socialized in his living room. I don’t remember what the two of us were talking about—we might have just been squawking to each other like the adults in the Charlie Brown cartoons as a kind of fill-in conversation—but our conversation was soon cut short by the tinkling sound of the glass fixtures around us. Anybody who’s ever lived in southern California for more than a couple of years knows that sound. A lamp tipped over. Books shook themselves loose from their shelves, falling into piles. The tiled floor beneath us shook with a swelling violence. Before I could even think the word, earthquake, the white walls of the room burst into a fiery orange, bright enough to make you see spots when you blink, illuminated by some ultra powerful light source pouring in through the window. I cupped a hand above my eyes, turning to see where the light was coming from, and stood staring at it, unblinking and mouth agape. It was as big a flaming baseball held out about an arm’s reach away, but in reality, it must have been miles. Tens of miles. Something that looked like the sun, but only the size of a small planet was nose-diving towards the ground, stretching behind it a kind of comet’s tail that reached all the way up through our atmosphere.

            Oh shit, I thought. Then I said it aloud.

            I knew what it meant in that first quantum second of seeing it. There would be no planning. No strategy. No hope. I could be on the other end of the planet and stand just as much of a chance as if I were right under it. Watching it burn its course towards Earth, I knew what it meant.

All that we had were moments.

            I turned without another word and sprinted back towards the bedroom. When I got there, Steph was just opening the bedroom door and stepping out, rubbing a knuckle into one of her eyes—so I guess she was napping—and yawning, “Hey guys, what’s going on out here?”

I grabbed her around the waist and tucked her back inside the room, then, with one hand cradling her head and my other arm looped around her back with my hand planted against her shoulder, I laid her down on the bed like I was tackling her in gentle slow-motion. We lay like that together, side by side, eyes closed and me pressing her face softly into my chest, caressing the back of her head.

“Honey, I’m scared,” she said.

“Don’t be scared.”

“But I am, honey. I’m really scared.” I could feel her tears through my shirt.

“Don’t be scared, honey. I’m here. Everything’s all right, okay? Everything’s going to be all right. Trust me. I love you.”

“Okay, honey. I love you too.”

The bed shook so hard at that point, it was sliding around the room. The ceiling peppered us in its white flakes. The roar of everything rumbling around us was deafening. Somewhere out in the distance, there was a low, reverberating thud like the kind you sometimes hear on quiet nights in the weeks leading up to the Fourth of July. Even with my eyelids crushed tightly shut, I could make out some kind of light coming at us. It approached with a sound like ocean waves. The closer it got, the brighter the light shone through my eyelids until I could see pure white.

After that, I was the white.

I stayed in that whiteness for a long time, until eventually, I opened my eyes again and I was back in my own bed. When Steph woke up, I told her about the dream and she hugged me and told me she was sorry.

“Sorry? Why?”

“Because it was so sad.” She gave me a look that implied an added, duh.

I told her that while it was depressing that we both died in the dream, I was actually really happy with the way that I handled the situation. I didn’t complain, I didn’t fall apart, I didn’t go into some bewildered trance—I did exactly what I wanted. I told her that I was surprised that my subconscious could make such good decisions under pressure.

A Straight Man's Guide to Gay Karaoke Bars

            Say it’s Friday and you just got paid. You don’t have work in the morning and you don’t have any plans for tonight. You call up a friend who tells you that there’s a gay karaoke bar close by, and that it’s supposed to be pretty cool. Maybe your first reaction is, Awesome! Let’s do it! Look out other-people’s-ears, here we come! Then again, if this is a new experience for you, you might be more hesitant to answer at first; you might even find that your mind is swimming with questions for your friend, like, What should I wear? And, Will I have to sing? And, You know I’m not gay, right?

            If you happen to fall into that anxiety stricken latter category, then you can soon rest your mind at ease. Together, we are first going to figure out if gay karaoke bars are the right kinds of places for you, and, if it’s a good fit, we’ll then go over some frequently asked gay bar questions, and lastly, we’ll lay down some basic guidelines to ensure that you and those around you have a fun, safe, and memorable experience.

            So before we go any further, let’s see if a karaoke gay bar is the kind of place for you with a brief questionnaire (check as many dots as they apply to you):

o   I enjoy friendly, laidback environments.

o   I enjoy an occasional drink, and don’t mind being around others who do.

o   I like to sing/listen to others sing (or try to sing).

o   I am a fan of musicals.

o   I think gay people are awesome.

o   I can laugh at myself.

o   I am homophobic.

o   I am a generally mean/angry/cynically hostile person.

o   I am Liza Minelli.

If you checked “yes” to most of the first six questions, then the odds are that you would likely be a good fit at a gay karaoke bar. If, however, you checked any of the dots from questions seven through nine, then chances are that it’s not a very good idea for you to go (question nine, in particular, being a matter of personal safety since you would likely get mauled by a mob of drunken, adoring fans).

So, if you’ve gotten this far, it seems that you would fit in fairly well with the gay karaoke crowd, but you probably still have a few questions. That’s understandable. Let’s dive right in what is likely the question at the forefront of your mind:

Did I mention that I’m not gay? Well, I sort of implied that you said that in the opening paragraph—but that’s okay. Gay bars have no rules discriminating against people of any sexual orientation, and even if there were, it’s not exactly like there’s any way to enforce it—“You’re supposed to be gay, huh? Prove it; go kiss that guy over there.” So the short answer is: no, you don’t need to be gay to enter.

Is there a certain way I’m expected to dress? Once more, the short answer is: no. Don’t let the stereotypes of the denim cut-off shorts, the ass-less leather chaps, and the Freddie Mercury mustaches give you the wrong impression; though you might see one or even all of those things throughout your evening, they are not the norm. I might add, however, that while you’re not necessarily expected to dress any particular way, you may certainly use this as an occasion to dress up and express yourself and your style without fearing that the people around you are calling your sexuality into question. If you want to use it as an excuse to buy stylish new clothes, go for it; if you feel like pulling out that purple vinyl disco shirt that none of your friends will let you wear around them (but you refuse to throw it away), this is what you’ve been saving it for; if you’ve always wondered what it’s like to wear a skirt and heels, then feel free. Nobody will care. Worst-case scenario: you might get some pointers if you look like you’re having trouble wearing them right.

Do I have to sing? Once more: no, but you may. These places tend to have a pretty even three-way split between those who can sing, those who try (bless their hearts), and those who are hilarious. Whether you’re the seasoned vet who knows you can pull off Bohemian Rhapsody all by himself or the guy who’s had a few too many and misses ninety percent of the lyrics to Macho Man—with the exception of the chorus’s, “I’ve got to be… *burp* …Macho!”—know which of these groups you’ll fit into, play it up with all of the charisma you can muster, and have fun. You might well be surprised at the conversations that your drunken rendition of I Will Survive could spark.

Lastly, let’s try to go over a few general tips to ensure that you can make the most of your gay karaoke experience.

·      Use common sense. If it applies at a straight bar, it probably applies at a gay bar too. Treat others with respect, tip well, and drink responsibly.

·      Don’t be afraid to step outside of your comfort zone. Strike up a conversation with a stranger. Don’t worry too much about getting hit on; chances are, if you’re straight, you won’t even need to tell anyone—they’ll know. If you’re a girl, sing a boy song (suggestion: Around the World by The Red Hot Chili Peppers), and if you’re a guy, sing a lady song (suggestion: Bonnie Tyler’s Total Eclipse of the Heart. You know you know the words—or enough of them anyway). And obviously, if you feel like dancing, then dance!

·      Lastly: Don’t stare at the drag queens... But if they catch you staring, don’t go up to them and tell them something like how convincing they look—you wouldn’t tell that to a woman, would you?—just make a complimentary, flirtatious gesture and mouth something vague, like, I love it, or, You rock!

As the Roman poet Horace once said, “It’s a good thing to be foolishly gay once in a while.” An evening out at a gay karaoke bar can be a wonderful, memorable experience if you can keep these simple guidelines in mind—and like most things in life, a lot of what you get out of it is what you put into it. Keep in mind that unlike many straight bars, you’ll never find some sad-sack-loner propped against the bar, or a couple arguing loudly in the corner ruining the mood for everyone else (because who can even hear them?), and of course, if you’re bored at a gay karaoke bar, you might want to check if you still have a pulse. The people who attend gay karaoke bars are there with the primary intention of having fun—and gay people happen to do fun very well. They might as well change the gay definition back and call them as ‘happy’ karaoke bars. So, after learning a little bit about gay karaoke bars, hopefully, the next time a friend invites you out to a gay karaoke bar, your first reaction will be: Awesome! Let’s do it! Look out other-people’s-ears, here we come!

Re: Pirates of the blah, blah, blah

        My friend, Heba (who, as far as I know is the only living soul besides myself who is aware of this blog), read that last post about Pirates, and when she finished, she texted me, "Interesting review[...] I know you didn't set out to write a scathing review, and that's fine, but I'd like to know more about why you didn't like the movie and less about everything else. lol." So that's Heba (who will likely appear a lot on this blog since--aside from my wife--she's my very best friend and the only person in the world who reads all of my stuff).

        So anyway, in the few days since I wrote that last post about Pirates of the Caribbean, I've been thinking about what I wrote--particularly the part in the beginning about reading and writing 'slam reviews'. After more consideration, I've found that I have a bit more to say on the subject, namely: What the hell was I talking about? and Of course I read scathing reviews! I freakin' love 'em! 

        This does, of course, deserve some clarification (since, you know, because it completely contradicts my original stance on the subject). What I meant to say is that I don't read negative reviews about shitty movies that nobody (including the people who made it) believed could be any good. I don't need to see Richard Roeper make a few catty remarks about Transformers 3 to know that its special effects are filling in for its story. I don't need Peter Travers to tell me that Final Destination VIII is predictable and doesn't pack the punch of originality from the first film. Excuse the expression, but no shit.

        What I like--no, love--about scathing reviews is when they are more than just reviews, but rather when they are deep, insightful dissections that stand as a cautionary lesson about what can go so horribly wrong in the creative process. While I've read many articles like this, they often tend to be so well ordered in terms of their ideas and their insights that I get swept up in the analysis, it becomes less about the subjective good or bad-ness of the movie, and more about understanding what works and what doesn't. A well thought out, calmly written analysis can often eliminate the angry undertone that so often stains a review with the reviewer's own emotional, intuitive response, rather than their logical appraisal. This is when reviewers tend to make dumb comments that would be completely irrelevant had the movie actually been good. You know those comments, right? Like the kind of comments people made about Tom Hanks's weirdo hairdo in The Da Vinci Code. Really? His hair? Like that would have been any kind of problem if the movie was actually good. Nobody ever said anything about how the Coens's decision to give Javier Bardem a Dora The Explorer haircut ruined that movie. My point is that bad movies are bad because of issues that run far deeper than the cosmetic, and when people get emotional, they tend to lose their focus of the actual issues and grasp frantically at whatever is readily available to justify their overall claim. It's not just movie reviews either. Think about the last time you've listened to a friend complain to you about someone else. "So this guy, he just, like, obviously cut in front of me in the concession line, then when he turned and saw the look on my face, he was just like, 'Oh, sorry about this; my movie's about to start.' Can you believe that? Whatever though, his fat ass would have probably passed out if he had to go another five minutes without eating. I know, right? What did his weight have to do with being so obviously inconsiderate? But I digress...

        After kicking this horse until it's just a fly-covered pile of horse-mush, my point is this: if done right, the bad reviews can be some of the best. One of the best examples of this that I can think of is Mr. Plinkett's epic movie reviews (http://redlettermedia.com/plinkett/), in which he makes videos that span upwards of an hour and a half, and while the vulgar creeper/serial killer schtick that runs throughout the reviews gets old really quick, he really takes his time to get the reviews right. His reviews of the Star Wars prequels (which run a whopping 533 minutes combined) don't fall into the typical, generalized "George Lucas raped my childhood" type of comments that are so often floating around the internet, but really pinpoint and isolate everything that went wrong at the most basic level of artistic craft, and offers up support that depends less on knowledge of its esoteric universe, and more on the truths of storytelling that have been around since Aristotle.

        So Heba, if you're reading this, I am sad to say that I am not going to go back and write a more extensive review of Pirates because that would probably involve me watching it again to take down and list all of my complaints, and I don't think I'm up for that kind of punishment again. I will say this though: if I decide to vent any more of my grievances on here, I will do my best to flesh them out more and really lay it all out there, instead of stooping to platitudes like, "Stop watching shitty movies."

        You have my word.

        Now, onto my next target: The Office, seasons 4 - 8.

Pirates of the Caribbean: Curse of the Rushed Script

        Let me start this by saying that I'm not crazy about reading scathing reviews. I'm just not. Sure, I might check out a snarky headline and smirk (the most recent one I recall was for the movie adaptation of Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close, and it was titled, "'Extremely Loud' is incredibly phoney"--I appreciated this on a certain level because, while I have yet to see the movie, I was against its adaptation from the moment I'd heard of its casting), but when it becomes clear to me that the review is a slam, I don't usually get past the headline. In my experience, slam reviews have the tendency of nitpicking the issues with a movie that--let's face it--nobody expects to be good in the first place. Honestly, after the first Twilight movie was released, did anybody need to write another review of any of its sequels? Sure they're garbage, but some people like garbage, and no review is going to convince those people not to see it.
        Now, with all of that said, I didn't go into the fourth installment of the 'Pirates' franchise expecting greatness. I didn't even expect to be as pleasantly surprised as I was with the first movie--which, I should add (with level of uncool guilt), I am a fan of. What I expected was to not spend the majority of its run-time grimacing. I'd say that's a reasonable expectation. It's like going out to the corner to check your mail and expecting that someone's not hiding behind the bushes ready to jump out and attack you. Johnny Depp, Geoffrey Rush, Penelope Cruz, and Ian McShane--they're all great actors, right? And Rob Marshall--well, I still haven't seen Nine, but I loved Chicago. Even all of the same writers from the first 'Pirates' are back, with the addition of the story being loosely inspired by the novel "On Stranger Tides" by Tim Powers. So if the film was in such capable hands, then what went wrong?
        Let me take a break here to address the looming fallacy of 'begging the question', since I have not yet established that anything is, in fact, wrong with this film. I don't want to linger here for too long, but let me illustrate my point just a little bit by comparing this fourth film to the first in the series, Curse of the Black Pearl. As I mentioned earlier, I actually really enjoy the first 'Pirates'. The characters all have unique connections and relationships with one another, and those relationships change organically throughout the story, depending on what the characters want from one another and what they are willing to sacrifice in order to get what they want. Will wants Elizabeth. Elizabeth wants freedom from her high society social constraints (she also wants Will, but he is another restriction of her position in society). Jack wants his ship, The Black Pearl, back. The villain has perhaps the greatest motivation of all, since he and the rest of his crew suffer a hellish curse that they are desperate to break. Hell, even the two gay comic-relief flunky pirates, Pintel and Ragetti*,  have a motivation (beyond that of simply breaking their curse): they want to get enough plunder to be able to afford a real glass eye that fits Ragetti's socket (to replace the wooden one that keeps popping out). My point is that these people behave in ways similar to real people, by positioning themselves nearer to their individual goals at every chance they get, by refining the tactics they use to get what they want from other characters, and in how they end up growing as people in response to their changing circumstances and relationships.
        Okay, so I'm just going to hope and assume that this single point I've listed here about character relationships is enough to convey that this movie has at least some level of creative integrity, and that I don't have to go into an in-depth, blow-by-blow breakdown of everything that I enjoyed about it.
        Good. Now onto 'Stranger Tides'. The movie opened on a somewhat confusing note, then after a few minutes of superfluous chasing, we are treated to a few minutes of blatant dialogue exposition between Jack Sparrow and Mr. Gibbs, as to the story's vague (unimportant?) setup. While we know from the end of the third movie why Will and Elizabeth aren't around, we are never given any kind of explanation as to what Jack's been up to. So what, you might be thinking. So this: if we don't have anything other than fifteen minutes of chase scenes from this movie to base his character on, then we have no choice but to base everything we know about him (his wants, his motivations, his emotional state, etc.) solely on the other films. Well, that kind of sucks when he's the main character of this movie. Why should we care what he's doing if we don't know what he's doing any of it for? Then he's tossed a love-interest (at least, I guess that's what she's supposed to be) in the form of Penelope Cruz. The summary we are given of their past history (also clumsily shoved in through stilted, expositional dialogue) is at least as vague as the story's setup. I'll say this and nothing more about their relationship throughout the movie: we are never once shown--shown, not told--that there exists any kind of tenderness between them.
        This is not to mention the movie's numbing abuse of play-it-safe, uninvolving action set-pieces, or the flimsy romantic subplot between the mono-dimensional missionary and the absent-dimensional mermaid, or the fact that Blackbeard is magical just because, or that really none of the characters share any kind of real relationship with one another beyond that which will move the plot along, or that--oh god, I could really go on forever, but that would be doing what I set out to avoid doing in the first place.
        The funny thing is, what I wanted to address here more than anything has nothing to do with this movie per se. As bad as this movie is (and I do believe it is bad), what I find most offensive is this emerging attitude of moviegoing audiences who, after sitting through a two hour long eye-roll, simply shrug and say, Whatever, man, it's a movie about friggin' pirates, you can't expect it to be good.
        So, wait, let me see if I've got this right: All things that are movies which involve pirates are... Bad?
Is it something intrinsic within the pirate subject matter itself that dooms a movie of such high production value (and not to mention budget) to the failure of telling a good story? Well what about the first one? Wasn't that good? Ebert liked it. I liked it.
        The other excuse I hear it, Well, you know, it was, like, made for kids, so it's not going to be exactly, you know, stimulating**. Right. Like how Up, and Wall-E, and Spike Jonze's Where The Wild Things Are were made for kids. I was more emotionally involved with the side characters in those movies than with any character or relationship in the new Sherlock Holmes movie (even though I enjoyed it a hell of a lot more than this latest 'Pirates').
        Ultimately, my point is: we need to stop making excuses for shitty movies. We need to muster our self-respect and not lapse into the defeatist attitude of, Well, at least I didn't have to do nothin' for an hour and a half. Stop seeing shitty movies (yes, even the shitty "kiddie" movies like 'Chipmunks', 'Smurfs', and 'Yogi Bear'--or any other rehashed CGI/live action movie based on cartoons that were around before their target demographic were born). If we stop seeing them, they'll stop making them.

*I looked the names up; I don't love the movie so much that I have all of the background character names memorized.

**I've also heard the 'It was made for kids, so it must be bad' argument in response to The Last Airbender--which was a disgrace to the amazing show it was based on--and Tim Burton's latest Hot Topic cash-in, Alice In Wonderland. Not a valid excuse in either case.

Ceci n'est pas une blog. (This is not a blog.)

They really make the homepage look blank--just dead really--until you post something.

So I'm posting something.

I'm not entirely sure yet where this blog is going to go or what shape it will end up taking, but it will be nice to have this channel open for me to get my ideas out in a place where they can possibly be perceived by others.

I guess that's it for now.

Marck