A Response from a Part-Time Teacher

The past weekend has been a mixture of joy and depression. Joyful because Tim and I held our first holiday cocktail get-together on Saturday and depressing in large part because of the recent school shooting in Connecticut. But it's not the senseless death that has been depressing me, at least not entirely. What happened in Connecticut is overwhelmingly sad and no amount of words, no matter how eloquently used, will speed up the recovery process. Such acts leave gaping holes in the soul and only time will lessen the pain. 

What has been depressing me over the last few days are the responses from friends and family on Facebook. It seems, over the last few months, that what I once found enjoyable about the possibilities of the social networking giant has now become a burden. I started noticing the disturbing trend during the election process. Misinformation is passed around with absurd ease and is much harder to dispel than the "forward" emails that fill my inbox on a daily basis. Outright hatred, vile and deplorable speech, and insensitivity are all hurled from one end of the political spectrum to the other with indecent abandon. 

There was a distinct and disturbing "us vs. them" mentality that seemed to grow every single day. The point came when I just scanned my Facebook wall for certain key words, most notably: president, presidential candidates, Romney, Obama, politics, right-wing, left-wing, moron, idiot, socialism, communism, wealthy, healthcare, welfare, taxes, economy, and whatever other words associated with the election. I started simply skipping overtly political status updates because I just couldn't handle the rhetoric anymore.

Don't get me wrong, I love and appreciate a well-reasoned argument. But so much of what passes as fact or an attempt at persuasion are nothing more than one or two sentence long "sound bites" used to simplify highly complex issues. And what's worse is that politicians on both sides of the aisle used those very techniques as short-hand to spur their respective constituents into a frenzy. It worked only all too well. So well, in fact, that I saw the very same points made on my Facebook wall on student papers, without the slightest attempt at backing up the claims made. It's like they simply "reblogged" or "shared" what they had seen without giving any thought on the matter. And instead of a well-reasoned, calm discussion we get an increase in volume and ferocity, like changing the manner in which the words are spoken or written gives them more authority.

I've had plenty of phenomenal discussions with people who think and believe differently from me. I try not to descend into a yelling match, but I know, it's sometimes hard, especially if I'm really passionate about the issue. I generally try to walk away from that kind of discussion. The moment my blood starts to boil, or my face burns, I try to take a deep breath and just stop talking. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn't. I do this because engaging in a discussion or debate while angry is not in the best interest of whatever I'm wanting to support. In persuasion, anger is not a valid way of getting your point across to someone who thinks differently; it's only appropriate--kind of--when conversing with those who already with you. 

After five paragraphs, you may be wondering how all of this connects with the tragedy in Connecticut. Well, I'm starting to see the same things happening in the wake of the shooting. Instead of mourning the victims and their families and starting a serious discussion of why shootings like this have become an almost yearly occurrence. 

The discussions that are starting to take place on my Facebook wall can hardly be considered serious. I've seen posts suggesting we arm teachers and administrators. I've seen posts suggesting we "bring God back into the schools" (a curious statement, but I'll get to that later). While I understand the sentiments behind such claims, they seem more like knee-jerk reactions to a horrific event. 

First, let me address the "arming teachers" argument. I am a teacher. I'm also opposed to owning a gun. This is not because I think guns should be outlawed or anything like that. No, I support a person's right to possess a firearm. I just honestly don't think I could take a life. Plain and simple.

Now, I know what some of you may say: "What if your loved ones are suffering?" "What if someone broke into your house and was about to kill you?" and many other "what ifs?" The short answer to such questions is, "No, not even then." However, that statement makes it seem like I don't care about my loved ones or my own safety. That's not all the case, and this highlights the problem with simplistic answers. My answer is more complex than that. After all, I have given it some thought. 

So here's the longer answer. In a life or death situation, there can be no hesitation. You either pull the trigger, or you don't. When the heart is pounding, the adrenaline is flowing, no one really knows what they are going to do in such situations. Yes, we fantasize what we think we would do, but there's no way of really knowing, not until we have actually faced that situation, not until we have a gun pointed at our faces. Only then we will know exactly how we're going to react. I, for one, don't want to hesitate. For, in hesitating I give my would-be killer the opportunity to overpower me, thus arming them. That moment of indecision could cost me my life. That moment of indecision could give a robber a reason to kill me and my loved ones. 

But there's more. I also don't believe I'd be capable of taking a life. Once again, plenty of people have told me I could if put in the situation where it's my life or someone else's. Honestly, I can't be so sure. Just like with the scenarios presented above, they are fantasies, fantasies fueled by films and television where the hero rarely hesitates, rarely makes a wrong decision. 

Life is far more complex than that. In tragedy after tragedy, there are heroes and cowards. We glorify the heroes for their selfless acts, as we should. But then we simultaneously abhor those who are seen as cowards. Why didn't they act? Why didn't they do more? Fear. That powerful emotion that propels us in times of stress, fear can paralyze us, cause us to not act. Is it really cowardice when fear overwhelms the senses of a person who may have never truly experienced it? I don't know how I'd react in a similar situation. I have never faced fear like that. Hopefully, I'll never have to. 

The complexities of tragic circumstances deserve more than a call to arm all teachers and administrators.  After all, aren't they human, too? Aren't some of them dealing with the same emotional instabilities as Adam Lanza, if to a lesser degree? An alarming number of teachers and administrators have used their authority to abuse the students in their care. I shutter to think what might have happened if Sandusky had been able to carry a weapon around with him at Penn State.

The next suggestion, "bring God back into our schools," seems to be just as insensitive. As an agnostic, I don't hold to any particular form of religion, yet I firmly believe that people have a right to express their religion. The problem is that a school has to serve a wide variety of students, all with differing religious beliefs and cultures. Putting God back into schools in today's world is fine as a theory. Spirituality and religion give plenty of individuals hope, guidance, and offer opportunities for social connections. However, it can also lead to oppression and fanaticism. I understand the intentions behind allowing God back into schools, but as an individual who feels religion is private affair, I wouldn't want it in my school. Not as a student, not as an educator. The last thing I want to do is be insensitive to my students' individual religious beliefs; the last thing I want is to be involved in a oppressive environment in my classroom. 

Furthermore, I have a problem with the rhetoric itself. The phrasing used is troublesome for me, and I'm amazed people who are more religious than I am haven't noticed. "God isn't allowed in our schools" is a phrase I wouldn't think the devout should be able to say with a straight face, but they do. An all powerful being, whose omnipotence far exceeds the limitations of our collective intelligence, should not be concerned with not being allowed anywhere. Indeed, the faithful should carry God with them in their hearts, regardless of where they are. It's not like the government has posted signs or erected sensors that block an individuals faith or belief from entering a school building. 

Such rhetoric suggests that God is not all-powerful, and it suggests that the government is attempting to take away religion entirely. It's not, despite what is being said on my Facebook wall. The government is merely attempting to address the changing cultural landscape of our country. I've taught Asian, African, European, and Middle Eastern students, yet I've never felt compelled to ask them to pray with me, or consider the Bible's teachings. That's not my job. I'm not qualified to be a religious leader, nor would I want to be one. And even if I did, I'd be pretty intolerant if I assumed that just because my students reside in the US that they'd want to be preached to by a Christian teacher. Again, that's something best left for church, temple, synagogue, or wherever a student wants to worship.  

Freedom of religion is about allowing individuals to make their own choices; it does not mean one religion can make judgment calls for everyone. The government and public school systems around the country have recognized this. I just wish more would, too.

All of this seemingly random prose leads me to the following conclusion, something many may have said before, but it deserves to be repeated: The social and cultural issues behind the increase in mass shootings are far more complex and deserve more thoughtful responses than simply arming school officials or putting God back into our schools. I suggest a stronger focus on mental health and research into recognizing the potential triggers of such behavior. We desperately need to recognize the pressures that can lead to this kind of destructive and horrific action. I suggest the media, and those who watch the endless cycles of speculation and simplistic problem-solving, to stop focusing on the sensational aspects of such tragedies.

And I suggest we, as a society, stop looking for quick-fix solutions to our problems. Despite the action adventures we love, not all problems can be solved with the firing of gun. Good and evil are not so readily recognizable in real-life. If they were so easily distinguishable, then we could solve our problems with the firing a weapon. How can we really tell if someone is "evil" or not? What if we're wrong in that judgment? The Connecticut shooter, in his own mind, may have made that very same judgment call, completely convinced his actions were justifiable. This is not a justification for actions that are deplorable, but a recognition that our judgments, as individuals and as a society, are sometimes not so clearly thought out as we hope.

The Connecticut victims and their families deserve better. Humanity deserves better.

Cloud Atlas: A Symphony of Sight and Sound

The last few weeks have seemed like I've been focusing on nothing but Cloud Atlas, which is partly right. There have been other things going on in my life other than David Mitchell's novel and the Wachowski siblings/Tom Tykwer's adaptation. And even though I will ease up on the gushing a bit after this review, these two wonderful works of art will continue to occupy some head space.

I've already written a very long sentence describing the plot in my book review a few days ago, so I'm not sure I'm up to writing it all over again. Will it seem crass to ask my readers to scroll down a bit to another post to read that long plot description? Well, I don't know about crass, but it's certainly lazy, so I guess I should at least quote myself below:

Just to give a brief rundown of what the book contains, the novel starts with the diary of Adam Ewing, a man who has gained passage on a schooner called Prophetess; then the story moves to a series of letters written by Robert Frobisher to a lover, Rufus Sixsmith; from there the story jumps to a journalist in the American seventies, who uncovers corporate greed and a murderous plot; and then the reader is blasted to the near present for the funniest section of the novel, where a poor elderly editor goes through a most ghastly ordeal; over a hundred years later, a fabricant named Somni-451 starts describes ascension into consciousness; and finally, we are propelled even further into a post-apocalyptic future as the remnants of humanity fight for survival and try to connect to their own distant past.

Hopefully, dear reader, you'll forgive my laziness. The film doesn't alter much of the basic plot of the novel, but it does change many of the details, which I found refreshing since I just finished the novel and didn't want an exact replica of the novel. What I did find with the film is a symphonic adaptation of the novel, almost like they took Robert Frobisher's symphony and set images to the melody.

From the first few minutes, the Wachowski siblings and Tom Tykwer set the overall tone and pace of the film. They provide a kind of prologue that gives the audience a chance to get used to the style of the film and as a way to introduce all the main characters and the times in which they live.

This is a brilliant move on the filmmakers part. It's like they realize that an audience will have trouble keeping up with all the individual stories unless they've all read the book, so the filmmakers try to give the audience all the stories at once, cutting rapidly from one story to the another and back again. While this sounds like it could be a disaster, and it very well could have been, the film succeeds beyond expectations.

It's success centers on the editing together of all six stories. Rather than making the same choice as Mitchell, who focused on one story at a time, giving the reader the first half of each story and then giving them the second, the directors decide to cut the stories together to provide the greatest emotional effect, so that when a character succeeds or fails in their endeavors, all of them fail or succeed.

I'm not sure if that last sentence makes sense. As I mentioned in the title, the film is a symphony. The individual parts may not sound like much separately, but when they are put together, they create an experience that is quite powerful. This is especially evident in the directors' choice in casting many of the same actors for all six stories. Take for instance, Doona Bae (whose main character is Sonmi-451). She's pretty recognizable in all of her parts, and so it's easy to pick her out. There's a moment in the film when two of Hugo Weaving's characters threaten and intimidate Doona Bae's. The director's focus on the Bae characters' reactions heightens the emotions of both characters. And they do this with all of the characters, creating a symphony of human emotion that echoes and reverberates in the mind long after the film is finished, much like how I feel whenever I watch a good Shakespearean play, where the language lingers on afterwards in a spectacular kind of afterglow.

The only negative I found in the film was the varying skill of the makeup effects. Some the work was phenomenal. I dare each of you not to be surprised in missing at least a few of famous actors who make appearances. However, some of the work was not at all great, most notably for one of Hugh Grant's characters and one of Doona Bae's. Thankfully, neither is on screen for long enough for the errors to become too glaring. After all, another minute later, the story will move on and the horrible makeup will be soon forgotten.

But this is nitpicking. After all, with the exceptional work throughout the rest of the film, I'm surprised there aren't more horrible makeup jobs. It took awhile for me to recognize Jim Broadbent in the Adam Ewing section.

The book is phenomenal in its style and its propelling narrative. The film works as an accompaniment to the novel, expanding on the themes, translating the novel for a visual and auditory experience. One focuses on language, while the other focuses on sight and sound. This film shouldn't be seen with a mind trapped in trying to figure out the plots and how everything connects. Instead, like with a good symphonic recording, you should just sit back and allow the sights and sounds overwhelm you, allow the film to take you on a journey through time. Cloud Atlas is an experience, and even though it seems like the film doesn't take enough time for me to develop connections to individual characters, I found myself caring for all of them. And that's quite a trick to pull off.

Favorites: The Halloween Edition

I've been trying to get back to reviewing movies for a while now, but for some reason this just hasn't been happening. With my teaching and tutoring schedule, there hasn't been much time for thinking, much less writing. However, at this moment I have stolen a few moments to write up at least something pertaining to movies.

Below is a short list of my favorite horror films, the movies I love watching at this time of year. Granted, horror is a genre, like comedy, where individual tastes play a huge role in defining what's good and what's not. And again, like comedy, it's hard to get it right all the time; but when it is, the result is a magical experience.

1. The Shining

The Shining is my favorite horror film. It's the type of film that's unsettling from the opening shot all the way to the last. And even though Stephen King was not too happy with the adaptation, I find the film is one of those rare exceptions when the film outperforms the book. The film is not gruesome, gory, or really all that violent (at least compared to today's horror standards). Nevertheless, the film always satisfies by providing the kind of haunting creepiness I hope to experience this time of year.

2. The Exorcist

This film is frequently at the top of "best of" lists, and it's for a very good reason. The only reason this film isn't at the top of my list is because there are times when I find the movie unintentionally humorous. On the other hand, there are times when I feel a overwhelming desire to listen to Christmas music after watching the movie. After all these years, it's still the model by which other horror films are judged. Sadly, not many come close.

3. The Blair Witch Project

This is not a film I can watch all the time, not because it's too scary though, because the camera shakes too much. When I saw the movie at the theater, I spent most of the movie covering my eyes because I felt like throwing up. But this doesn't take away from the fact that The Blair Witch Project is still one scary ass movie, especially for anyone who has spent any amount of time camping. Even with the ever increasing dread, those final moments in the house still haunt me.

4. The Cabin in the Woods

The Cabin in the Woods has just recently shot up this list because of its brilliant story and its genius blend of laugh-out-loud humor and some pretty good scares. Roger Ebert, in his review of the film, wrote that the audience won't see the end coming. He was right. I didn't. Nothing prepared me for the final twenty minutes of the film. I will say this: I don't recall the "ding" of an elevator ever being quite so funny, or satisfying.

5. Sweeney Todd: The Demon Barber of Fleet Street

Leave it to me to put a musical on my "favorite scary movies" list. Stephen Sondheim's macabre masterpiece proves that musicals can produce quite a few good scares and whole helluva-lot of creeping dread. Add to the mix, Tim Burton and a brilliant performance by Johnny Depp, and you've got a beautiful and terrifying film on your hands. And what's even better is that by the end of the film, you realize that Sweeney Todd isn't the worst guy on Fleet Street. 

So, there you have it. My favorite movies to watch in October. They may not be the most terrifying ones out there, but they do provide quite a few good thrills, enough to keep me coming back every year.

Cloud Atlas: Our Past, Present, and Future.... All in One Fantastic Narrative

Quite frequently, as I've written before, movies affect my reading habits. And it has happened again. A couple of months ago, I heard of a new movie coming out by the Wachowski siblings, whose imaginative filmmaking talents brought us The Matrix trilogy.  Needless to say, I was excited. Then, of course, I saw the trailer for the film, which is an astounding piece of work all by itself. The trailer is thrilling and mysterious, an exciting combination of sight, sound and powerful emotions. Yes, some of the lines seem a bit pretentious and preachy, but that didn't bother me. I trust the Wachowski siblings; they can handle a visually imaginative epic just fine.

However, I was then faced with a dilemma: I had yet to read the book. Back in 2004, when I was coming ever closer to the end of my undergraduate degree, David Mitchell released Cloud Atlas, a book that would eventually go on to be nominated for the Man Booker Prize. For another seven years, the novel's existence remained a mystery to me. That is, until I found out about the film adaptation.

So, I downloaded a sample of the book from the iTunes bookstore and started reading. Once I blazed through those forty pages, I decided to go ahead and download the rest of the novel, just like I was prompted to do at the end of my sample. I can't say I was disappointed. In fact, having just finished the book last night, I can say that Cloud Atlas is one of the best reading experiences I've ever enjoyed. Just like another favorite book of mine, Wicked: The Life and Times of the Wicked Witch of the West, I found myself emotionally drained and exhausted by the book's end; even more, I didn't want the book to end. Those final hundred pages were torturous because I knew the end was coming, yet I loathed the point when I'd have to step out of Mitchell's world and put the book down.

Describing the plot is an exercise in futility. However, I'll try my best. The book does contain six "novellas," all interlocked, weaving back and forth on each other, connected by coincidence, a birth mark, and the art of story-telling in all its wonderful forms. The novel's focus seems to be on the power and effect of narrative on people, history, and time itself. Nothing quite connects the human race like narratives.

Just to give a brief rundown of what the book contains, the novel starts with the diary of Adam Ewing, a man who has gained passage on a schooner called Prophetess; then the story moves to a series of letters written by Robert Frobisher to a lover, Rufus Sixsmith; from there the story jumps to a journalist in the American seventies, who uncovers corporate greed and a murderous plot; and then the reader is blasted to the near present for the funniest section of the novel, where a poor elderly editor goes through a most ghastly ordeal; over a hundred years later, a fabricant named Somni-451 starts describes ascension into consciousness; and finally, we are propelled even further into a post-apocalyptic future as the remnants of humanity fight for survival and try to connect to their own distant past.

Whew! Now that was a long sentence. Forgive me. The wonderful part is, I just covered only half of the novel. After the post-apocalyptic section, the novel goes back and wraps up the narratives the first half had begun. I use the word "wonderful" because while I wanted the various narratives to wrap up, I didn't want them to end. Each section could have been expanded into six separate novels.

If the narratives weren't compelling enough, the writing is quite beautiful and impressive. Through each section, as Mitchell moves forward and backward through time, the style and format changes. So drastic are the changes that it truly feels as though different people wrote different parts of the novel. Mitchell combines a stunning array of genres in the book, a feat that feels overwhelming at times, but at no point does the book fail to entertain, even in the nineteenth-century section--a style of writing that is far from my favorite.

Throughout my reading experience, I have not felt like crying very often. The final Harry Potter book, and Wicked both moved me close to tears. Now, I can add Cloud Atlas to that list. By the novel's end I felt emotionally exhausted, drained in the effort to finish the book, and drained in the journey across time. The moment I reached the end I had to resist the urge to start the book all over again. After all, sleep sometimes trumps reading... but only sometimes.

For now, I'll settle for watching the movie. I've already made Tim promise that we'd see the movie this weekend. I can only hope--fingers crossed--that it extends the wonderful experience I had in reading the novel.

The Power of Art on Memory and the Heart

Every so often I come across a film or book that is so affecting that I can't bring myself to watch it multiple times. Watching such films, or reading such books, again is an exercise in emotional torture, albeit the good kind. And last week, I experienced yet another example of this very phenomenon, and in a very unlikely place: It occurred while I watched last Thursday's episode of Glee.

This is the second post I've written about Glee; and while I usually think of Glee as a wonderful and fun show, I don't think of it as great art. Inspirational? Yes. Art? No. However, this particular episode surprised me and stabbed me right in the heart; it unearthed some memories that have long been buried, some hurts that have long been forgiven. And I was wholly unprepared for it.

Last week's episode lived up to the title, "The Break Up." (Beware! Spoilers abound!)

Even before the episode started, I figured one of the power couples in the show would be breaking up. I was surprised when damn near all of them broke up, and not all for exactly the same reason.

I've loved this season so far because the show has started to venture outside of the choir room. Oddly enough, I am loving the Rachel and Kurt story lines much more than the New Directions story lines. Well, I guess that's not quite so odd considering that both Kurt and Rachel are the driving forces of the show. Without meaning to, I'm sure, they both have taken center stage.

Anyway, this episode followed the four main "power" couples of the series (Rachel/Finn, Kurt/Blaine, Will/Emma, and Brittany/Santana) as they journey through some treacherous emotional terrain. Each couple is dealing with some kind of separation, mostly through distance, but also in growth and expectations.

As some are experiencing life after high school, those left behind are having to deal with the developing voids in their lives. And those who are experiencing life in "the real world" are having to deal with juggling their past lives with their present realities. The transition from high school to college/work is a difficult one, especially when there are some incredible ties to your former life.

"The Break Up" resonated with me so much exactly because it brought out some long buried memories. It was like watching the emotions I had once lived through. Indeed, a very specific memory came to mind while watching the show, and I found myself becoming overwhelmed.

See, like the characters of Glee, I was in a relationship during high school: my first love. We knew that the transition would be difficult, and so it was.

Now, here's where my memory becomes a bit faulty. I distinctly remember having a conversation that entailed our being free, but still together. Forgive my ignorance, I was in love at the time, and willing to agree to anything to keep that feeling alive, however feebly. That being said, my boyfriend at the time doesn't recall us every having that conversation, so who knows what we had agreed upon.

Really, our lives were taking different paths. He was moving across the state to finish high school and start a college program at a university. I was staying in my hometown (good 'ol Odessa... yay) to work on my basic courses in college.

Our first semester apart didn't seem to be too hard. We talked on a regular basis, at least as regularly as we could; and soon into the fall semester I decided to pay him visit. This visit was the moment when the end of what was became a reality in my mind.

While watching Glee, I was struck with how much they got right. The awkward merging of two people's lives when they have some time apart. Both Blaine and Finn travel to New York to visit Rachel and Kurt. However, it soon becomes apparent that their lives have become vastly different. The pace, the rhythm, the very energy all of them once shared has altered. One pair is enjoying the direction their lives have taken while the other only feels stuck, incapable in truly sharing in the joy.

I felt that awkwardness. I felt that shift in rhythm. It was not pleasant.

The moment I found myself in my boyfriend's apartment I knew something was different, but I told myself that the difference lied within me. After all, I am not the best traveler, and I don't react all that well to change.

He was living a life vastly different from my own. He was living the typical "college life," enjoying classes, new social connections, and (naturally, I guess) partying with friends. My life at that point focused almost entirely on work and classes. There wasn't much time for new social connections since so many of closest friends had moved away.

Despite the alteration in how we related to each other, I persisted. I was going to enjoy my time there. And I did. Right up until the point when I found myself vomiting in a bathroom.

I was so determined to have a good time and prove that I could hang with his new-found college friends that I found myself playing a drinking game at an apartment, not my boyfriend's. I don't even remember the game. All I remember is playing the game and becoming, for the first time in my life, excessively intoxicated. I think the most accurate word is "plastered."

My memory here jumps from playing the game to finding myself alone at the table, smiling rather stupidly I imagine. Suddenly, I knew a trip to the restroom was going to be a necessity. So, I gingerly made my way through the crowd of people in the living room, found the line to the restroom, and patiently waited for my turn.

The rest, I'm sure, is not too hard to imagine. I was gone.

The only things that were real to me in that moment were the toilet, the coolness of the restroom floor, and my own spectacular retching. To this day, I can't stomach a vodka cranberry.

An old high school friend (not my boyfriend) found me in the restroom (I'm guessing that people started to complain about how long I had occupying the one restroom in the apartment) and led me to a bedroom, where a trash can was produced so I could continue vomiting without interfering with the other partyer's restroom breaks.

Through the fog of memory it soon became clear that I had been left there by the very people who had brought me. I was taken back to my boyfriend's place (grocery sacks were needed for the car ride), and I was guided up the stairs,  stumbling and apologizing all the way up that spiral staircase. I can honestly say it wasn't my shining hour. And for the next month and a half I couldn't stand the smell of alcohol, which is interesting when one considers the fact that I was the only one at my restaurant who could serve alcohol.

The point of this is not to place blame on anyone. It is merely the memory that surfaced while watching Glee last week. And I don't want anyone to think negatively on my ex-boyfriend. To be honest, we both didn't have the same expectations, desires, or even the same goals after high school, so my persistence in believing there was anything left of our relationship has a lot to do with my inability to let the relationship die. For the longest time I was unable to let go of the love between us. I didn't want to face the fact that we had moved beyond what we'd had in high school, beautiful though it was at times.

Just like certain smells can suddenly, forcibly, remind us of a loved one passed, a good piece of art can pull on those bits of emotions we'd thought long buried. The love I was felt for my ex-boyfriend is long gone. However, I was surprised to be reminded of the hurt and awkwardness of feeling stuck, of feeling left behind.

Weird, so often as adults we try to act as though the experiences of our younger years have no bearing or effect on our present. But it only takes a smell, a photograph, a story, or even a brilliant piece of art to force those emotions to the surface, purge them, if you will. In my line of work, we call this a catharsis.

It is rare for me to actually feel catharsis in today's art, but it still happens. Even more rare is discovering a cathartic moment in a television series. I cannot remember a moment in any series I've watched feeling so viscerally moved by an episode. Honestly, I can't believe such a reaction happened while watching Glee. However, it did, and I have to be honest with how I feel. Art is subjective, after all. And while I don't expect to feel this way again for a long time, I am happy to have experienced it.

Under the Dome: A Not-So-Subtle Allegory, Then Again, This is Stephen King

After making my way through the horror that is Fifty Shades of Grey, I was happy for a dose of reality and good storytelling. So, I decided it was time to finish Stephen King's brick-sized behemoth, Under the Dome.

It was a relief to read something that pulled on my attention, as opposed to something that made my soul weep with every turn of the page. King's own unique style is not one of my favorites (although it is enjoyable); however, he is nothing else if not a strong storyteller, right up to the end, where he will invariably cut you off. King doesn't do this with every book and story I've read, but he does do it frequently enough that it can result in a frustrating reading experience. The only time I found this actually worked for the story is in his Dark Tower series. As for Under the Dome, such an abrupt end only served to leave the story lacking despite the incredible build up.

King begins with a very simple premise: What would happen if a small town was suddenly and inexplicably isolated from the rest of the world? How would the citizens of that town react to being cut off from everyone they love?

The answers are pretty frightening.

Within the first chapter, the town of Chester's Mill, Maine is cut off from the rest of the world by a giant, clear dome. People and animals are immediately killed as it comes down, most cut in half, and at least two people die because their plane crashes into the dome.

Almost immediately, the town is further split into two distinct factions: good guys versus bad guys. And believe me, it's very clear who is who. The Good are led by Dale "Barbie" Barbara, a former military interrogator, and Julia Shumway, the editor of the local newspaper. The Bad are led by the second selectman of the town, James "Big Jim" Rennie, who also happens to be enjoying the profits from a massive "side project."

As the events unfold, the town joins one camp or the other, with more following Big Jim ("we support the home team") rather than Barbie, who after all is an outsider, a newcomer to the town, and thus untrustworthy.

King is a master at developing multiple story lines, juggling a seemingly endless array of characters, and at generating pulse-pounding suspense. The last is especially important since the book is over a thousand pages long. Each character is distinct and developed enough to propel the story. Even better, the plot doesn't seem like it's following a generic path. The characters make decisions that are believable and determined only by how King draws them. Despite this, King creates an unpredictable atmosphere, where the reader is constantly wondering what the characters are planning, in addition to wondering what will happen next.

The story begins to fail near the end, where everything wraps up far too quickly. After a phenomenal build up, the climax and resolution of the plot arrive in rapid succession. It was like I had awoken from a wonderful dream because someone threw a bucket of ice cold water into my face. I needed resolution; I needed to know what came after.

Unfortunately, King doesn't pander to my needs as a reader, only to what the story requires; and apparently this story only covers what happens under the dome. Even so, it was a frustrating end to an otherwise wonderful experience.

On a side note: Under the Dome is a thinly veiled political allegory, an intriguing look at the years following 9/11, and how America now exists in and creates policies in reaction to a state of terror. As stated in my title, the book is a not-so-subtle cultural statement by a not-so-subtle writer.

Fifty Shades of Grey, or, Yet More Proof I'm Gay

Finally! After what feels like an eternity, I have finished reading E.L. James' popular erotica novel, Fifty Shades of Grey. I cannot say I was impressed. Maybe it has something to do with my own preferences. I think not. More than likely it has something to do with the other books I have been reading, or finished reading, lately. Two of those books were The Other Wes Moore and Nickel and Dimed. Some of the others I've started and finished while reading James' book include The Great Gatsby and The Bell Jar. I've also been reading Stephen King's Under the Dome, which I haven't finished, but that's not because of a severe lack of interest; no, it's just a damn big book.

James' novel suffers from a very serious flaw: It's boring. To be fair, I did think, for a time, that my boredom could be a result of being gay. It's a fair assumption to make until it becomes clear that I've read a lot more about straight sex than gay sex. The world of literature is filled with straight sex. Henry and June, by Anais Nin, comes to mind. As does Lady Chatterley's Lover, by D.H. Lawerence. Both of those books contain quite a bit of sex, and I didn't find either one boring. So it seems that my reaction to Fifty Shades of Grey has nothing to do with sexual orientation.

Then why did my eyelids grow heavier and heavier every time I picked up the book?

First, I believe the biggest culprit is in how James establishes and draws her characters. To be frank, they are just not that interesting. Even Mr. Grey, who is supposed to be this incredibly beautiful man, suffers from a lack of personality. And no, his preference for S & M style sex does not make him interesting. Nor, really, does he become interesting through how he was introduced to sex, courtesy of an older woman (who's name, Mrs. Robinson, produced an eye roll from me every time I read it). Of course, Mr. Grey is also incredibly wealthy, but I think that's only to serve the fantasy element of the plot--that Grey can do pretty much anything he wants--and doesn't really provide any interesting information about Grey. Thankfully, being rich is not a personality trait.

The main character, Anastasia Steele, also suffers from a lack of personality. Oh, James tries very hard to demonstrate just how intelligent and well-read Ms. Steele is, usually by dropping references here and there to other famous works, like Tess of the d'Ubervilles, by Thomas Hardy. Granted, Thomas Hardy is not my favorite writer. I was forced to read Jude the Obscure in college and have recoiled from his name ever since. The fact that Ms. Steele actually loved him didn't exactly make her endearing.

The most egregious reference, a reference which stabbed me in the heart, occurred when James referenced a line from Hamlet, "what dreams may come." She inserted the line arbitrarily, where it had no discernible reference to the original work. Ms. Steele was falling asleep after an especially "hardcore" sexual escapade and the line just popped into her head as she thought of what dreams she might have that night. Since the line from Hamlet has nothing to do with literal dreams but what the soul may see while journeying through that "undiscovered country" that is the afterlife, the line does not fit well within the scene. It's as though James thought, "Oh, that's a nice line, and it's about dreams, so I'll just put it there." It doesn't work.

But, moving on....

References to other works don't create a personality, and Ms. Steele's lack of personality is even more disheartening in that James chose to write the book in first-person. This choice, and a few other similarities, reminded me a lot of another popular novel with a very boring character: Twilight. Like with Bella and Twilight, I found Ms. Steele so uninteresting that it was a chore to finish the book. I pushed my way through the headache inducing writing, through the boring sex scenes, and through all those literary references hoping that something good would come out of the whole experience. Sadly, no. I have absolutely no desire to continue reading the adventures of Steele and Grey. I'd much rather read more from Anais Nin.

Hell, I'd much rather read the latest volume of Boys on Boys, or something like it. At least with those books I'll have something to relate to, even if the writing is mind-bendingly awful. Those books aren't trying to be more; they're a "wham, bam, thank ma'am" kind of affair. And, sometimes, that's all right with me.

The Bourne Legacy: Good Acting, Good Final Chase, but Missing a Reason for Existence

Whew! I've been busy the last couple of weeks. So much so that I have had little time or energy to sit down and write this review. In fact, I saw The Bourne Legacy before the start of the madness that is the first two weeks of the school semester. However, the intervening time between viewing and this piece of writing has not diminished how I feel about the movie. In short, the film has some good parts, but the whole left me rather unfulfilled, wondering why the film needed to be made in the first place.

Legacy's story actually starts near the beginning of The Bourne Ultimatum's timeline, when poor Simon Ross is assassinated for looking too deep into the Treadstone/Blackbriar projects. Integrating Legacy's plot with the previous installment is one of the best attributes because there's a sense of unity between the two projects.

In the middle of all that drama and intrigue is Aaron Cross (played by Jeremy Renner), who is navigating his way through a snowy, mountainous terrain. That is, until he meets up with another CIA operative like himself. Apparently, everyone within the program has been taking medications that have increased their mental and physical capabilities. Jason Bourne is a curious anomaly because he has somehow weaned himself off of the "chems" and still managed to outsmart the entire CIA.

Cross is different; he needs the "chems" much more than Bourne does, and most of the film follows his progress as he searches for the people that make the pills. His endeavor is made even more difficult. As it happens, because of Bourne's antics, the "higher ups" at the CIA (namely Retired Col. Eric Bayer, USAF, played by Edward Norton) have decided to scrap the entire program, which means killing everyone connected with it, including field operatives and the doctors who developed and administered the medications.

This unfortunate development also affects the life of Dr. Marta Shearing (played by Rachel Weisz). Due to the complications mentioned above, she has to flee her home and enlist the protection of Mr. Cross. The rest of the film is basically one long chase. There's lots of running, lots of vehicles speeding and crashing, a moderate amount of gunfire, and lots of hand-to-hand combat.

As a whole, the film just didn't work for me. I left feeling, well, "blah." See, the previous night, I had watched Ultimatum to immerse myself in the world of Jason Bourne. The direction of the Bourne films is famous for its fast editing style and tight direction. Legacy seems to move away from this style in the beginning, opting for longer shots and wide vistas. Normally, as someone who gets nauseous with the "queasy cam" style, this would seem to be an improvement; however, Tony Gilroy (director) doesn't create much tension with the composition of his shots.

Indeed, there wasn't much tension at all throughout the entire movie, which means I spent much of the film bored. The only highlights came from the performances of Renner, Weisz, and Norton, but even their acting skills could not save the story. Characters are not introduced in such a way for us to care about them. Even the final chase sequence lacked tension because we had no idea who was chasing Cross and Shearing. Why should I care about them surviving if I haven't seen the assassin in action? Cross shows himself to be more than capable of handling himself and dispatching various law enforcement officers and assassins, so why couldn't he turn around, face the bastard, and get rid of that guy just as quickly? (I'll tell you why, because the film just had to end with a spectacular chase. That's why.)


These questions keep popping up when I think about Legacy, and I hope any future installments will have more story and character development. Renner, Weisz, and Norton are all gifted actors. I just wish they had been given something more to work with. The Bourne Supremacy still remains my favorite of the series.

*On a side note. Why did Cross have to kill people who were simply doing their jobs? Bourne tried not to kill people, simply knocking them out. Some may not have found Cross' actions disturbing, but I found them a serious flaw in a character who was supposed to be the hero. Not very heroic in my eyes.

A Year and a Half and I'm Still Writing.... What do you know!

For some reason, over the past few months, I was under the impression that I had started this blog in 2010. Apparently, I hadn't really looked at my archive because if I had I'd have noticed that my first blog post was posted in February of 2011. Oh well, you know, I've never said my memory was the greatest.

Well, it's a year and a half later, and I am pleased to note that I have yet to give up on this little project (though it may seem that I have forgotten about some of the writing projects I'd started here). This blog has been a fascinating experience so far, and the most fascinating part is seeing which of my posts generate the most pageviews. From the beginning, I had always planned on writing about a variety of things: work, writing, movies, books, whatever strikes my interest. This has led to a random series of blog posts that don't seem to have a connection to one another, nothing but a series of essays.

For those of you that have taken the time to read even one of my blog posts, thank you. I know that I tend to write a lot, especially for reading on a computer, but hey, that's what you get for knowing someone who fancies himself a writer.

This post will be considerably shorter than most. Really, I just wanted to use this post to mention a few of numbers, and to hit another: 60. Sixty is the number of posts I have written in the last year and a half. Some of them aren't very long, but I'm proud of writing so much. It's proof that I can write a lot in a year, and if I ever get published, it's proof that I can write the equivalent of a first novel relatively quickly. As of right now, I've written around 60,000 words on here (small fist pump!). That's about 40,000 words fewer than Guardians and Dreamers.

In honor of my sixtieth post, after a total of nearly 1,070 pageviews, I wanted to list my top five most viewed posts, complete with links. Granted, these aren't huge numbers (definitely not Perez Hilton numbers), but I'm happy to have generated over a thousand.

Top 5 Posts by Views:

5. Hanging with Karlee: Part 3: 25 views

I loved writing my "Hanging with Karlee" series. It was probably the most fun I've had writing this year, and I'm very happy it has generated such interest in others as well.

4. The Gay Bubble Just Outside My Window: 37 views

This post was written after spending a wonderful birthday with my family, my 30th birthday to be exact.

3. Reflected Images: JK Rowling's Posthuman Epic: 39 views

You have no idea how happy I am that this post makes this list, or maybe you do, I wouldn't want to presume. Needless to say, this shortened version of my thesis is one of my favorite posts. It provided an opportunity for people to read my theory without having to slog through my entire thesis, with all it's academic jargon and heavy reliance on theory.

2. A Life Full of Food, Family, and Plenty of Laughter: 42 views

This particular post was posted in order to reach out to family who could not make my grandmother's memorial services, to express my own grief, and to leave a more permanent reminder of my grandmother's life. I deeply wish I hadn't had the occasion to write it, but I'm glad others will know she lived and loved.

1. It's More than Chickn' Ya'll: 105 views

Somehow, I wish some of my other posts had made this spot. I wrote this one out of frustration and irritation. I can't say writing this was a happy experience, but at least I had an avenue to vent how I feel. And it seems to have struck a chord with many of you as well.

Thanks for reading everyone!

Total Recall... I'd rather not

There were moments during Total Recall when I actually felt something, but it was mostly directed at the wrong character. In fact, much in this movie goes right (mostly under the umbrella of special effects), but there's even more that goes wrong. As a remake, this version begs an answer to the following question: Why? With two very good "reboots" out there in theaters today, I'd suggest to save Total Recall for Red Box, Netflix, Amazon Prime, or whatever rental/streaming service you use. And even then, you'd be better off with the 1990 version.

Total Recall (2012) follows the same basic storyline of the original, so there are very few actual surprises. The biggest "surprise" is that our heroes no longer have to worry about traveling to Mars. Instead, most of the Earth has been decimated by chemical warfare, leaving all but two regions inhabitable. A massive, for lack of a better word, tube connects the United Federation of Britain and The Colony (formerly Australia). Workers from The Colony are transported to the UFB every day to do factory work, mostly to build the robots that act as a police force.

Most of this is delivered in a prologue of sorts. We're also informed that space is incredibly limited and comes at a high price. Apparently, the UFB are the "haves" and The Colony are the "have nots". Poverty and crime run rampant in The Colony; at least, from what I can tell, because I didn't see much crime with the exception of a prostitute who can probably charge extra for her "extra goods".

Douglas Quaid (played by Colin Farrell) lives in The Colony with his wife, Lori (played by Kate Beckinsale). He has nightly dreams of running from police forces and being captured, but that's not all. Quaid sacrifices himself for a lovely woman, who we later learn is Melina (played by Jessica Biel).

Quaid is dissatisfied with his life, wondering if there could be more. One day, he decides to try Total Rekall, a company that specializes in providing a "vacation" of the mind. They implant memories into your brain, probably at a much cheaper rate than a real vacation. Plus, with only two possible destinations, where else would anyone go for a little R & R?

Of course, Quaid doesn't get to enjoy the experience because his "trip" is cut short by the operator who discovers that Quaid is actually a spy, much to the surprise of the man sitting in the chair. And of course, at that moment, police forces storm into Total Rekall and attempt to kill Quaid. Since he is the main protagonist of the film, I think it's safe to say that he survives.

Len Wiseman has an interesting style, but the biggest flaw in the film is its basic story. I was not moved by the plight of Quaid or Melina, which is depressing because I know Farrell is a good actor, quite capable of moving an audience. Unfortunately, the only character I was rooting for was Lori, which is an odd feeling since I found myself rooting for the woman set on killing Quaid. Beckinsale is so determined and ferocious that any scene without her is lessened. I kept waiting for her to return.

The special effects are very well done, but I didn't feel the same awe I felt watching the 1990 version, and I didn't feel any of the tension either. How am I supposed to truly believe that the UFB government would wipe out the entire population of The Colony all for more space? If Wiseman had taken the time to show some shots that established the need for more space, then maybe I would have believed it. As it is, what little I saw of the UFB looked to be pretty spacious to me.

"Living space" as a motivating plot device just simply didn't work as well as atmosphere. Many of us can live in some pretty cramped conditions, but none of us can live without breathable air.

The only action set piece I found fascinating to watch involved Lori chasing the protagonists through a massive elevator system. Again, I wished she had succeeded.

All in all, Total Recall is a reminder that very few reboots or remakes are necessary. I wish I had spent my money on something else. Oh well, not every film can be part of the Dark Knight trilogy. A movie like Total Recall made me wish I'd seen The Dark Knight Rises again instead, or at least spent the time watching the original that contained a more relatable Arnold Schwarzenegger.... which, now that I think about it, is a weird thing to write. 

It's More than Chick'n Ya'll

Weighing in on this whole Chick-fil-A business is rather foolish, but I have now reached a point when staying silent on the matter is no longer a possibility for me. Yes, this blog post will most likely not make it into the wider world; however, I'm content with it circulating at least among my friends.

Protesting is a loud act. I am not a loud person. I protest quietly among my friends and family. Funny, that's also how I feel about religion. For me, as I've mentioned in a previous blog, the practice of religion is a private act, something that should be between God (in whatever form he/she takes for you) and the individual. Public displays of religion do have their place in society. After all, celebrating one's faith in the privacy of his/her home is hardly celebrating, merely a party of one. And who wants to party alone? That being said, religion has a place in society: church. That's what they're there for, to act as meeting places for believers.

I don't have a problem with how people practice their faith, nor with what they believe, but I do have a problem when someone else's faith starts dictating how I should and should not live my life, especially when the beliefs of others begins to encroach on the freedoms that are supposedly guaranteed to all Americans.

One of those freedoms is free speech, which according to the precedents set by the Supreme Court means that Chick-fil-A's CEO has every right to say what he said. He has a right to follow his beliefs. He also has the right to use the profits from a successful business however he sees fit.

Of course, the logic goes that I have a right to not eat at his establishment. I also have the right to protest how he spends his money should I feel it's in violation of my rights as an American.

Now, this whole thing has been blown out of proportion. I blame Mike Huckabee, mostly, and the other governors who have spoke with or against Chik-fil-a's CEO. It may not be the place of a city mayor to decide what businesses set up shop in their city.....

But wait! If we follow that logic, then adult stores and strip clubs can set up anywhere they want, right? The obvious answer is no, they cannot. And there's a pretty logical reason for that, too. In city planning, the city government can decide whom to grant permits to based on how the city managers want their city to be represented, a fact that's illustrated in that strip joints and adult stores are usually relegated to "out-of-the-way" places. Though, apparently, that doesn't stop them from erecting signs that are clearly visible for miles.

Anyway, I digress.

The point is, if a particular business doesn't fit the city government's ideal, or doesn't represent their city in a positive light, then they have every right to dictate where a business can and cannot set up shop, cities like San Francisco, Boston, and Chicago.

I've heard from a couple of friends that it's foolish and idiotic to protest a company like Chick-fil-A (After all, they have the right, right?). I've heard that with so many in the world suffering from starvation and extreme poverty, it seems rather cruel and petty to be discussing the spending habits of one of the Chicken Kings. That's a first-world problem, right?

You know what else is a first-world problem? Civil rights. If we didn't have the freedom to protest such things, then we wouldn't be the nation we are today, a nation where people can speak out against injustice, against inhumanity. If we are to remain a leader in the free world, then we must first demonstrate the very principals that that started this government: Equality for all and the freedom to create a government that meets the public's needs.

Equality unequally distributed: that's a third-world problem.

I am very thankful I have the freedom to drive to the nearest Chick-fil-A and show just how much I dislike the fact that its CEO spends millions of dollars to support "definition of marriage" laws, or anit-gay legislation. And I am very thankful that I can choose to spend my money elsewhere.

Some have mentioned that it's silly to argue over chicken. Now that's idiotic. This is not about chicken, never has been, and any indication all of this aggravation is strictly about chicken is completely missing the point. Trivializing this situation by claiming that's it's "only chicken" does nothing but avoid the conversation, holding it at arms length, hoping it goes away.

It won't go away. The argument is over the kind of power corporations have over individuals, that they can spend millions of dollars to support causes that continuously deny rights to Americans. Proposition 8 passed in California, remember?

Religion seems.... no... IS the driving force behind all of this, and I am growing tired of the politicization of God. "God" no longer signifies the divine, or the awesome; "God" no longer means love and mercy. No, "God" is a tool for politicians to manipulate the masses. It's an SEO key term politicians use to get more votes. Because, obviously, anyone who merely uses the word, "God," is an O-K guy, right?

There seems to be a strange, and growing, ideology in this country that equates morality with religion, that somehow those without religion, or those who don't speak about it behind megaphones, must somehow lack any kind of morals. Naturally, those without religion must spend their nights plotting how to convert all those good Christian (the loudest in this country, or at least the ones I hear from the most, are usually Christian) souls over to the devil. Naturally, all those immoral people want nothing more than to collect souls for hell. Naturally, all those people would allow rapists, murders, and pedophiles roam free, attacking at will.

Anyone who spends any amount of time with people of other, or differing, faiths (or even those with no faith at all) knows that a different religion or no religion does not mean "immoral." Those who are speaking up the loudest seem to be exercising the same kind of power and control that Chick-fil-A's CEO is attempting to obtain.

Normally, I wouldn't care what any of them do. However, it's starting to affect my personal life.

How?

Last summer, on our third anniversary, my boyfriend took me to the restaurant atop The Contemporary Resort at Disney World. There, we had excellent food, wonderful company (in the form of my best friend, Christi, and her husband, Neil), and an excellent view of Magic Kingdom. We were also in a great position to view the firework show that closes the park.

After the fireworks, which are always inspiring and magical, Tim turned to me and started to speak. Tim's not one for speeches in the middle of dinner, at least not ones where he's extremely nervous and formal. I started to get nervous, too, wondering what he was planning to do.

As I was starting to suspect his purpose, Tim pulled out a ring and asked me to marry him.

I said yes and kissed him right there in the middle of the restaurant. In fact, those who were watching looked genuinely happy for us. They didn't care that we were two men; they were simply happy to see two people so in love that they would want to solidify that love by getting married.

It was a beautiful moment, but the beauty of it soon faded because two men getting married is a fantasy in today's political climate. There are only a few states where we can get married, and even if we did get married in those states, we'd have to stay there, or our marriage wouldn't exist. Thank you Defense of Marriage Act.

Sure, Tim and I can get married in a ceremony here in Texas. No one could stop us. After all, a marriage ceremony is another excuse to party. No problem with that.

Except there is a problem: It's not legal. There's no certificate; there's no binding legal contract that comes with saying "I do"; there are no protections should the worst happen.

Yes, Tim and I could hire a lawyer and have him/her draw up tons of paperwork that would do nearly everything an official marriage would accomplish. But why should we have to go through all of that? A heterosexual couple can pay a small fee and get a marriage certificate that grants them a marriage, and we have to hire a lawyer and carrying around copies of those documents with us in case something bad should happen.

Granted, religion, and apparently God himself from what many say, doesn't look too kindly on our relationship. Many of them say it's a choice. Well, I guess in a way they are right. I could follow the advice of Michelle Bachman and marry a woman. That would solve my marriage problems. Thank you, Mrs. Bachman!

The problem is that many people still feel being gay is a choice. For me, it's not. I can marry a woman, but what would that accomplish? I'd be a productive member of society; my wife might even pop out a couple of kids, but what kind of a life would that be for my family?

I don't ask for religious acceptance. Sadly, I gave up on that a long time ago. It takes time for religions to change, which is a good thing, for them.

I do, however, ask that those religious extremists stop their assault on my life.... Actually, no, I can't ask that of them. I mean, they are extremists. Many of them will go to their graves, screaming and fighting.

I want the moderates to start speaking up in this country. So often I hear from individuals that say, "They don't speak for me. That's not the church I go to. God loves everyone."

Those extremists are speaking for those of you who refuse to speak up; they are putting those words into your mouths; they are electing officials that pander to their voices. And all those corporations who send money to organizations that are working to deny my rights as an individual are listening to those extremists.

I don't like extremism of any kind. As I said above, being loud isn't my thing. However, I will exercise my first-world right and speak up. I'm tired of living in a bubble, afraid of what extremists think. I love this country; I love the freedoms we have in this nation. I love that I can stand outside, or inside, a business establishment and kiss my fiance in an act of protest. Again, it's not the chicken we want (although it is good chicken, and I miss it), we want the ability to be treated as equals in society.

Many of my friends and many of family members agree with me already, a good reason why I love them all. There are many who vehemently disagree with me, and that's okay. I'm not writing to either groups of people. I could include quotes from the Bible and the Constitution, but those documents are susceptible to interpretation. Some prefer a static, unchanging view of both. I prefer an adaptable interpretation of both documents. As society changes, so to should how we use and interpret the documents on which our country was built.

Unfortunately, the religious extremists of this country feel that the Bible and the Constitution are rigid documents, meant to last throughout time just the way they were originally written. This idea wouldn't be all that bad to begin with, but the fact that both documents have changed over the years completely undermines their arguments. It doesn't bother me that people have a literal interpretation of these documents, but these same people pick and choose which parts pertain to them and ignore the parts that are inconvenient for modern society. Such distinctions are beyond my comprehension apparently, mainly because they don't make much sense.

So, instead of quoting either the Bible or the Constitution, I'll quote someone else:

A just law is a man-made code that squares with the moral law or the law of God. An unjust law is a code that is out of harmony with the moral law. To put it in the terms of St. Thomas Aquinas: An unjust law is a human law that is not rooted in eternal law and natural law. Any law that uplifts human personality is just. Any law that degrades human personality is unjust. All segregation statutes are unjust because segregation distorts the soul and damages the personality. It gives the segregator a false sense of superiority and the segregated a false sense of inferiority. Segregation, to use the terminology of the Jewish philosopher Martin Buber, substitutes an "I-it" relationship for an "I-thou" relationship and ends up relegating persons to the status of things. Hence segregation is not only politically, economically and sociologically unsound, it is morally wrong and awful. Paul Tillich said that sin is separation. Is not segregation an existential expression 'of man's tragic separation, his awful estrangement, his terrible sinfulness? Thus it is that I can urge men to obey the 1954 decision of the Supreme Court, for it is morally right; and I can urge them to disobey segregation ordinances, for they are morally wrong.

--(Martin Luther King Jr., "Letter from Birmingham Jail")

King may have been discussing the segregation of the races. Some will rightly argue that this is not the same situation. It isn't. However, there is still a clear distinction between the rights of one group over the rights of another. While the situation is different, the inequality is similar in its effects. As a tax-paying and voting member of this society, I don't feel as though I have an equal standing in America, and that feels wrong. I am not an "it," and I refuse to be treated as such.

Thank you to those who have spoken up. Now I have to wait for the one's who are sitting on the sidelines, silently agreeing with me, but not speaking up, holding the argument at arms length, waiting for others to make the hard choices, waiting for change. Until that change comes, Tim and I will continue to wait, in limbo, hoping to one day to sign a marriage certificate in America, in Texas, the country and state we love so much.

For now, I'll enjoy this hysterical video, minus those waffle fries. :)

The Dark Knight Rises with a BOOM!

Christopher Nolan promised that The Dark Knight Rises would be the end of his widely successful Batman films, and boy does he ever end on a high note, or, if not on a high note, definitely a loud one. I happened to see Rises in IMAX, where the music and gunfire sent vibrations throughout my entire body. It was an assault on my senses, and I enjoyed every minute of it.

While I have been a fan of Nolan's interpretation since Batman Begins, I was worried that Rises would not be able to top The Dark Knight. It may take a few more viewings, but I think Rises at the very least is a worthy conclusion to a phenomenal series.

When I first started to write this review, I kept thinking that the lack of a "Joker" type character somehow lessened the film's tension. Heath Ledger's performance created so much tension, and his dialogue was so fascinating (terrifying, actually, in that his logic lead down some dark alleys), that it was hard for me to imagine Nolan repeating the feat. However, I feel this approach was all wrong. Rises is a new film, a continuation of what Nolan started in Begins. Comparing Rises directly to Knight based solely on the performance of one actor would be a disservice to the story of the latter film.

Wisely, Nolan sidesteps any mention of the Joker. In fact, any references to him are indirect, most notably in a picture of Rachel Dawes (played by Maggie Gyllenhaal in the second film), and of course in any reference to Harvey Dent (played by Aaron Eckhart). All of these references are merely flashbacks, mile-markers to aide the audience in understanding the motivations of the characters in the current film.

Rises opens with an impressive, almost Bond-like, capture of an airplane in mid-flight, all for one man, Dr. Pavel (played by Alon Aboutboul). This scene introduces us to Bane (played by Tom Hardy), the central villain of the film. Bane's reasoning behind the kidnapping of Dr. Pavel is later revealed and will have devastating implications for the city of Gotham.

Meanwhile, it has been eight years since the events of The Dark Knight. Bruce Wayne is a recluse (leaning on a cane), Batman hasn't been seen in years, and Gotham has enjoyed what I'm guessing is a crime level that is relatively peaceful compared to the Joker's antics eight years prior. It's probably safe to assume that crime occurs, especially since the police are still needed, but organized crime has been virtually wiped off the streets.

Commissioner Gordon (played by Gary Oldman) has lost his family (his wife has taken the children and moved out of their house) and his feeling of self-worth because of the lie he is forced to maintain: that Batman is to blame for the Harvey Dent murders. In addition, it's revealed that Gordon may not be the Commissioner much longer.

Enter Selina Kyle (played by Anne Hathaway), who starts the film in Wayne Manor as a waitress. Quickly, however, she establishes herself as a very accomplished thief. Hathaway is quite an adept actress (I still feel like her best work is in Brokeback Mountain), and she establishes herself as an equal to all the other fantastic actors Nolan has assembled.

There's also the problem of Wayne's finances and his relying on Miranda Tate (played by Marion Cotillard) to save Wayne Enterprises, Bane's successful takeover of Gotham and defeat of Batman, and Wayne's subsequent imprisonment. Going over all of the plot points in the film would take much longer than is necessary for a blog post. Suffice it to say, everything goes to hell.

Nolan's film is well-paced and never once feels like a long movie, and at two hours and forty-five minutes many might consider it a very long movie. For me, the film is as long as it needs to be to tell the story. It's impressive that Nolan is able to juggle all the characters, allowing them space within the film to establish their characters, even the ones you'd think we knew quite well.

Hardy is quite effective in creating menace and terror with just his eyes, and it's even more impressive how large he got for the role. I don't remember that much bulk in Inception. Even though I couldn't understand all of his dialogue, but that doesn't matter; his intentions are clear, and other characters have the responsibility of providing his motivation. He's even allowed a moment of vulnerability near the end of the film.

Hathaway looks impressive as Selina Kyle (she's never once referred to as Catwoman), and I'm not talking about her cat-suit either, which fit her figure quite well. She was able to look convincing in her fight scenes, a regular femme fatale who's motivations are questionable.

Michael Caine also has some wonderful moments. As always, he carries the emotional center of the film, and his relationship with Wayne is definitely put to the test.

Nolan has mentioned before that one word drives each of the three films: "fear" for Batman Begins, "chaos" for The Dark Knight, and "pain" for The Dark Knight Rises. All three represent the arc of Wayne's character development. "Fear" drives Wayne to become Batman. "Chaos" is a reflection on the consequences of his actions, and it also illustrates the very nature of him being Batman, an agent of order who is breaking the rules by being a vigilante. And now, "pain" represents the pain each character must overcome to move on, especially Wayne's own pain, and that if we fail to overcome that pain we can turn into monsters.

The film brings everything full circle. While some critics may feel that the characters are not fully developed and that Nolan's composition style lacks a three dimensional quality, I feel otherwise. The editing style never confused me, nor did the lack of meaningful compositions affect my viewing of the film. I happen to like Nolan's style, so it's probably a matter of taste. Over the last few years, he has created some of the best films I've seen. Each time I've gone to one of Nolan's films I've enjoyed myself immensely, usually smiling at some point, and I usually feel an emotional satisfaction I cannot deny.

My only concern with the film is the complete disregard for Gotham's citizens. Is there never a point when the people of Gotham rise up to help fight for their city? In The Amazing Spider-Man, there's a wonderful moment when the people of New York help Spider-Man, not so in Rises. Everything depends on Batman and his friends.

The Dark Knight Rises may not meet the incredibly high expectations of The Dark Knight, but I might change my mind after a couple of viewings. Either way, it's a wonderful conclusion to an incredible series of films.