Reverting to a childhood mindset or: How I learned to lower my expectations and enjoy an action movie

Like the rest of cinema obsessed America, I still get tinglings of excitement when whisperings of a good sequel travel on the Hollywood winds. However, years of feeble coattail follow-ups and theatrical disappointments have left me apprehensive of remakes and silver screen successors. So when I heard about a Tron continuation I was both thrilled and chilled. Before I continue, if you've even made it to the end of this sentence, here is the available trailer:



So, what are the details behind Tron Legacy and will it be any good? Disney's endorsement doesn't give me immediate confidence in the project, but at least it's not some unknown production company either. (Disney backed the 1982 version.) Jeff Bridges reprises the character Flynn and I trust Bridges' judgment when accepting a role. The original director Steven Lisberger is taking a producing credit this time around which doesn't say much either way. There's promise when original players come back, (when they weren't under contract to do so), but money can corrupt all men so we won't assume the script is solid gold. However, as writing credits go we could do worse. Lisberger contributes as he did for the original, as well as Adam Horowitz and Edward Kitsis; both are writers and producers for numerous Lost episodes. The big question is, who's directing?

His name is Joseph Kosinksi and yes, he's a nobody. His background, besides being quite limited, is in commercials and video game trailers, and it's obvious from viewing a few of his projects that he is focused on special effects and CGI. While the game and graphics portfolio makes Kosinksi an appropriate choice for this movie, it leaves little hope for the actors and story. These type of directors lack the skill to get real performances from the stars and would probably rather not deal with people anyway. Human elimination from film has been tried and fails miserably each time. Think Final Fantasy and Beowulf. For sex appeal they've included Olivia Wilde and Serinda Swan (rumored), which only confirms my doubts of this being an actor fueled picture.

The trailer reveals what we can ultimately expect from Tron Legacy: visual effects, explosions, slow motion action and maybe some occasional dialogue. I'm picturing The Matrix with an alternate color scheme.

While I'm not going to pretend the first Tron was an awesome and untouchable film, I still greatly enjoyed it and don't want to see it tainted. Perhaps it's more nostalgia and a respect for pioneering effects that keep my interest in the original, because a current review of it is quite unfavorable. The acting was mediocre then as well and the story was kind of silly. In the end, both Tron pictures will have been visually driven with little regard to much else. But sometimes, that's all we want and just what we need.

The Mike Aubrey...Intervention

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Many among us have a legitimate beef with Hitler. He was a vial, anti-Semite, dictator. The man corrupted and stole the lives of millions of men. His legacy is one of fear, sadness, and regret. Of greatest significance in his sustained influence through time, he succeeded in single-handedly spoiling an entire facial hair configuration.

The abbreviated mustache will forever be associated with hatred and genocide and, despite Chaplin's noble comedic, heart warming efforts, can be worn by no other. No one has a more justified anger for Hitler than men with very specific harelips, but even they have accepted that this unique grooming composition is now forfeit.

Despite the universally shunned development of this miniature soup strainer, Mike Aubrey, host of HGTV's Real Estate Intervention, is pushing the limits of acceptable mustachiosity. Aubrey narrowly escapes public ridicule with a slight lower flaring, expanding a few degrees out at the bottom like a trapezoid, but we are not fools. You're only a flick of a wrist away from the Adolf special Aubrey, so grow it out or cut it out.

With so many glorious options for the showcase of masculinity, why can't you choose a less offensive bristly signature? The chops, the goat, the chinstrap, the handlebar, the soul patch. All of these well established choices already make such powerful statements as to your character, interests and disposition. There's no need to mess around with the square haired upper lip, especially if you might scare away the home buying Jewish clientele.

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The Sure Thing

A soldier may suffer one of a thousand different deaths. Whether he goes out cowered in the foxhole or charging the enemy line, his death will likely be considered honorable. Just for voluntarily donning the uniform, anyone in the military at least possesses a modicum of bravery. Not everyone, however, will meet their end with grace or courageousness. There are over 100,000 accidental deaths in America every year. People fall from ladders, forget basic gun safety, or mix the wrong medications. These people die because they're careless or stupid and their lives were really just a delay of the inevitable. But what about the other kind of accidental deaths, like car crashes or hurricanes? Are there no circumstances that are out of our control or is our death predetermined and inescapable?

Nature may be unpredictable to a degree but it also establishes itself quite well in certain areas of the world. Information on natural disaster frequencies is readily available, so God is not to blame when your Florida home is demolished by a hurricane. Where you make a home is a circumstance well in your control. I may be calling karma into question on this one, but when you construct a wooden house next to a tree that eventually falls on you, this is a vengeful justice.

There are

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things we've become accustomed to that are completely unnatural so it's a little odd when we question why someone dies in a car collision. We can jam pack airbags and safety features throughout our vehicles but we're still needlessly traveling at high speeds in boxes of metal, plastic, rubber and glass. What's worse, obtaining and maintaining a license to drive a car is possibly the least restricted and regulated safety measure put into place in this country. We can all agree that there are plenty of stupid drivers out there and we can all agree that motor vehicles are dangerous, yet over 250 million vehicles actively speed down our American streets and highways. There is no dumb luck when someone dies from a car wreck. It's a risk we knowingly enter into every time we climb in the car.

I don't really believe our deaths are fixed from birth but I also don't believe that the dangers of life can be completely avoidable. Part of experiencing the world is accepting the hazards that accompany it. Take the risk if you value the reward and live the life you want. Your death is only as significant as your life has been.

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WriterType

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A friend of mine, many moons ago, pegged me as wanting to be the type of writer who would drink too much and spew prose like others would spew their last meal. I knew he was right even then, that I would gladly embrace any excuse for my mediocre storytelling. The only problem is that writing is one of the only things I just can't do when drunk. I can still verbalize a good joke and weave an amusing tale for the crowd while intoxicated. I just can't project a complete thought onto the page.

When I first began to think myself a writer, I romanticized the pains and trappings of the profession. Images of my future self bubbled up through my imagination like freshly poured champagne. I'd naturally be a success, I thought, but I'd avoid the spotlight and shun my fans. I'd be gruff, haggard and unkempt, wear an old torn and stained sports coat, wreaking of gin or whiskey. My publisher would loath me and my editor would dread my idea of a finished product. Though I would fail to know war, like Hemingway I would be brutal, tenacious, stoic and periodically inconsolable. Yes, this is the terribly wonderful man I wanted to be.

No one employs me as a wordsmith and likely never will, but I'm still drawn to the practice and the persona. Perhaps it was my nascent familiarity with these traits that prompted my journalistic desires at all. Maybe I didn't want to be a writer. I was just psychologically suited for it. Of course I have no novels to speak of and no screenplays to promote. I write now because it keeps me grounded and gives me purpose. It keeps me alive.

However, if anyone wants to start paying, I can start shopping for sports coats.

Nothing to see here

In an effort to find blog configuration and content inspiration I often abuse the "Next Blog" button on Blogger's navbar. (Just look up.) It takes you to a random blog, with no regard to nationality, geolocation, or linguistic comfort zone. It is especially ignorant to reader interests and, with no confinement of subject matter or membership exclusivity, Blogger unveils a spectrum of drudgery that I had not believed possible.

There are blogs dedicated to farming, sneakers, and sewing. There are merchant sites, selling

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clothes, bedspreads, and purses. Then there are the endless sites about people's pets and/or their children, which seems like an incredible waste of Internet real estate. Now, while none of these sites hold my interest, I am glad to know that anyone can have a voice here. Everyone has the right to express their opinions and concerns with the world. If they don't have any gripes they have the right to just share their hobbies with the world. If they are completely vacant shells they can visit the retail blogs and continue their flickering existences as mere consumers, as we all have the right to make money from the insignificant. Most importantly, I am glad that I have the right to spurn and chastise all previously mentioned groups within my own blogging sovereignty.

Of course the real question is, do other blog cruisers see value in my written word? It is conceivable that not everyone would enjoy my particular flavor, but at least then they would have an opinion. They could then blog about their opinion, moving themselves immediately up the ranks of those constituents here who actually contribute. It's a win/win scenario either way. Well, I suppose that doesn't address those whose eyes glaze over when they show up here. For them there's always "Next Blog."

You got cheap thrills

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Of all the wonderful things the Internet has brought us over the years, legal and otherwise, I have to say my favorite thing is the Domino's Pizza Tracker. It's simple, personal, and more entertaining than watching the microwave timer when waiting for my meal. When it first came about I thought it only mildly amusing, dismissing it as merely a representation of a countdown, not an actual pizza play by play.

Then one day we realized we forget to ask for extra sauce. I had glanced at the tracker, taking casual note that "Wayne" had prepared my pizza and chuckling to myself at the software's effort at generically naming virtual employees. Then I called Domino's to correct my blunder and Wayne answered the phone. I was taken aback.

"Wayne? As in THE Wayne who just finished prepping my dinner?"

"Yes sir? How can I help you?"

I stumbled through the conversation like a starstruck fan asking for an autograph, then hung up. Pizzaless nights passed. Sometime later I began to doubt the reality of that occurrence, and slid back into disbelief, marking it all as coincidence or some drunken memory warp. The name Wayne is fairly common I thought. Maybe it's always Wayne.

I was of course proven wrong. The names changed and even began to denote ethnic variety. Shoneka would prep. George would bake. Tiffany would box it up. Michael delivered, just like the tracker promised he would.

The red glow of the pizza progress bar still keeps me coming back to online ordering. The only downside is when it reaches delivered status and it all ends. Sure the pizza is delicious but its journey isn't over quite yet. Why can't the tracking continue?

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S.S.D.D.

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We are inarguably creatures of habit, both good and bad. Sometimes it's easier to maintain the bad ones, and it's definitely easier to start a habit than it is to quit one. The "good" habits are really just repetitive mundane actions, routine behavior that keeps us doing what is necessary to get through our daily lives. Straying from this routine, intentional or accidental, can disrupt the chain of daily events. A few days ago I altered my normal morning routine and forgot my lunch and my watch, leaving me starving and lost in time.

Sticking to the "norm" would appear to be what's best, but adhering to our benign habits is ultimately stealing away our lives. There is a part of our brains that allows us to function through everyday activities without requiring much focus, allowing us to keep our sanity. It's the reason you arrive at work and can't remember anything from the commute. We supress the commonplace acts in order to use our mind for more worthy situations. The problem is that most parts of life become mundane, repetitive, and commonplace, given a long enough span of time. When every day is the same we suppress more and more of our mortality. Then, once we actually stop to think, we discover that time is speeding up. We lose the substance and depth of our lives. We age faster. We remember less. All because there's nothing fresh, nothing new.

Job security is a retired concept and monetary stability is a fluctuating abstraction. There is nothing concrete in this world and what goes unchanged collects dust and is forgotten. People are convinced that healthy living assures a long life, but age is meaningless without significance, crux, or purport. Change is not only good, but it's necessary. Uproot yourself. Start over. Make life refreshing and new so the years, no matter how many or how few, will be abounding and complete. Break the habit. You risk forgetting lunch but it's better than forgetting your life.

Didn't hear it from me

Keeping a secret is one of the hardest things a person can ever do, requiring more commitment and dedication than marriage and better proof of devotion than all other tests of loyalty. Make any other mistake, break any other promise, and you can likely be forgiven. Expose someone's true secret and the strongest bonds are irreparably severed, friendships dissolved. This is why personal facts are so rarely isolated amongst only two people and why the prospect of discovering a secret is so titillating.

Just mentioning the possession of confidential knowledge excites interest for anyone listening, and it's the biggest reward for agreeing to its shared ownership. Of course, mentioning the secret at all to those outside the trust is the first step into the pitfalls of swearing secrecy. As great as it feels to be accepted into such an exclusive club, holding onto a secret is an erosion of the mind and will. Maybe it's the acidic nature of being sole proprietor over such information that fuels our need to tell another, and justifies forgiving ourselves when the deed is done.

Releasing this mystery upon someone else is a confession, a relief from a heavy burden. A good secret can be a powerful weapon, but one that's volatile and unstable. When we break it all down, nothing is a secret for long. It's a game of revelation hot potato, and the only guarantee is that someone will get burned.

4-n aid

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Well it's the 4th of July, America's birthday, and even North Korea is stepping up to help us celebrate our independence! It's a really sweet demonstration, launching ballistic bottle rockets out over the East Sea, though Alabama roadside stands carry stronger firepower.

It's not the first time they've joined in on the ceremonies but they have some large shoes to fill in regards to foreign congratulatory gestures. I'm speaking of the giant French kicks worn by our Lady Liberty. In related news, welcome back to her hat! After much anticipation people can once again climb around in the green giant's head though, as much fun as it is to play brain parasite, that's not what this day is about.

No, Independence day is about helping China's economy, buying up as many miniature American flags, pool toys, and explosives as possible. Through pro-American propaganda we can help circulate the dollar and yuan like a sparkling Saxon. But China is not the only country who will profit this year. Anheuser-Busch continues to be one of the top companies benefiting from Independence Day celebrations and, thanks to inBev's purchase of America's largest brewery, more US paychecks will go to this Brazilian and Belgian based company.

Make no mistake. I'm no poster child for patriotism and I don't check the labels of my shirts for manufacturer location. I just enjoy thinking a little deeper about the irony of situations like this. I'll probably continue to buy Toyota in the future but maybe just for today I can put a little effort into displaying my American pride.

I'll eat too much, express an air of undeserved superiority, and maybe drive home intoxicated, but if I'm drunk on Yuengling the cops are sure to be more forgiving. Anything else would be unAmerican.

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Putting your best Facebook forward

Despite my hermit-like avoidance of social networking sites, I land on a few from time to time. None hold my attention for very long, but I do thumb through the pictures despite the often

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shallow and redundant content. Cameras can now take hundreds of pictures which should greatly magnify our ability to capture rare events and brief moments in time, yet the majority of online photo albums feature the same predictable scenes: friends posing as if staged for a portrait, holding up their drinks, flashing their "victory" fingers or wagging their tongues (how happy the day will be when this trend dies).

The background, foreground and context are ignored and candidness apparently goes without consideration, unless of course it's in catching someone in a compromising situation. This raises the real point of concern.
When teens through twenty-somethings are documenting the unruly, experimental, law-breaking, party-dedicated experiences of their youth, what kind of photographic legacy are people leaving for their children?

The photos I have of my relatives are respectable scenes, depictions of civil social gatherings. I don't have a picture of my grandfather doing a keg stand or my mother hanging on men who were not my father. I know they were all young once and went through similar experiences, maybe made similar mistakes, but the world wasn't watching then. Their was no chance their embarrassing situations would end up on YouTube.

When generations down the line are assigned a genealogy project for school, they'll compile their ancestral information with ease by simply plugging our names into Google. What sorts of images will they find?

Who am I to question me?

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As I returned to work this morning with my Starbucks coffee in hand, I began to wonder about who I had become and how far from my twenties' self I had strayed. There was a time when the day began at noon and a beer for breakfast was not a rarity. I was a failure at school, had no goals or dreams for a stable future, and lived only for the moment. The word venti was nowhere in my vocabulary.

Though I was aware of the disapproval others had for my lifestyle, I was fine with being emotionally driven, motivated only by prospects of pleasure, in search of the next good time. I was a hedonist, and felt no guilt for sluffing responsibility for the immediate return of self-gratification.

Time passed and I didn't die a young rebel going out in a blaze of glory. To my surprise I got older and life progressed, if not at least continued. I dropped out of college, was fired from several jobs, and regarded my friends and family as faded apparitions.

Years Later.
Now I'm working in a respected profession, making a decent salary, and live in a trendy Midtown Atlanta apartment. Reflecting on that past era in my life I suppose I should see how stupid I was or consider those years a waste, but I don't. I was young, directionless, and a bit of a thick-headed jerk, but I was pursuing happiness which is what we're all still doing.

The old me never wanted to be a button-down, stuck up, Starbucks drinking professional, and never thought he would be. The old me would have knocked the overpriced chain retailer coffee right out of my hands. I hope however, with some explanation, he would still be okay with who I am.

Okay. I'm a bit typical. I do what most guys my age do, still clinging to their youth. I drink beer when I can and wear throwback T-shirts to show people how cool I still am. (I'm okay with my Atari shirt and my Bob Ross Happy Trees tee.)

Part of me needs the respect and understanding of my old self, hoping I'm not what I would have considered a "total sell-out." The newer part of me though wants to punch the old me right in the nose and tell him to "get it together."

I know however that I am both men, a blend of the good and bad parts of each. So I've started to look to the future and make some plans, but I can still be impulsive. I'm a working professional but I still say inappropriate things around coworkers. I make more money than I used to but I'm still cheap, er thrifty. (I saved my coffee cup from the day before to get the refill discount the following day.)

I'll never be truly comfortable as a button-down type, though that's mostly due to my problem with losing buttons off my shirts. I'm not too worried about becoming a faceless conformist because I'm still a snob when it comes to music and movies. I've used valet parking and been to a non-movie theater show, but I'm not a materialistic upper class citizen. (My class is well revealed just by how I spell theater.)

I may drink Starbucks but I still have a few steps to go before I'm a completely pretentious douche bag prick. When I buy a BMW and start yelling at hotel staff I'll become worried. Until then I think both old and new me have balanced out just fine.

The window treatments to the soul

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My attraction for women is not always founded on baseline physical attributes, meaning a well dressed woman or one that takes the extra time with her hair can be equally as attractive as one with well formed curves. There are many variables in play as to what might peak my interest in any given woman. Some of these variables I acknowledge and understand as obvious reasoning or perhaps having cross-related areas of pleasure.

One such example is my affinity for waitresses. There is no struggle for logic here. It is a woman who brings me food and drink upon request. She is beautiful in my eyes. The added flirtation that has worked its way into the food service industry is just a bonus element, holding parallels to well established "dance" clubs and houses of ill repute. It consists of women feigning intrigue for a man with the end goal of slimming down his wallet, a lifelong exchange of money for coquetterie. This is a condition for which both men and women are at fault and both are worse off with its perpetuation. Women monetarily win out in the short run but ultimately lose, having continuously failed relationships and finding it hard to discern why men don't take love seriously.

My less transparent attraction enhancement, in both rationale and reality, is when a woman wears sunglasses. Every woman, regardless of age or physical makeup, is slightly more of a woman behind those tinted shields. Within a world of fading mystery, there is little left untouched or beyond comprehension or examination. It is silly, but in plastic eyeware I can find a bit of wonder again.

What color are her eyes? Green? Brown? Red with tears?

Is she looking off into the distance or staring at me?

The eyes reveal so much about a person and stripping this essential insight into one's humanity causes my imagination to churn. As a character in my mind, her depth is endless, but the fantasy proves time and again to be better than the tangible truth. All good stories have a sad ending depending on when you stop reading, and eventually the glasses come off. The majority of the time, like with the bras of today, what was covered looked better before, and the thrill subsides. Every once in awhile though the mystery woman is as she was supposed to be, a reflection of projected perfection. It's then that the world seems right and my day is better for it.