Air Balls and Air Guitar

Half court oop

2012-01-19T00:00:00.002-07:00

Did anyone see this alley-oop pass from Jamaal Tinsley to Jeremy Evans the other night? I've seen my share of oops in my day, but I can't recall one where the pass came from so far back court.

Absolutely sick:

Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha... Wipeout!

2012-01-18T10:16:00.004-07:00

Over my winter break, I was a bit laid up with my foot issue, putting me in front of the TV more than the whole rest of the year combined. In that time, I discovered some new shows and rediscovered some old favorites. Always reliable is Diners, Drive-ins And Dives, and same with Man Vs. Food. I started getting into American Pickers and Pawn Stars. I forgot how much I like Dog the Bounty Hunter.

But one afternoon I came across a rerun of ABC's Wipeout. I watched as human beings got flung like rag dolls, collapsed like folding chairs, and bent like pipe cleaners as they took on obstacle courses of swinging beams, swiveling table tops, and gooey flying objects. All the while, the contestants were wearing perma-smiles or priceless looks of terror.

As the name suggests, the wipeouts are the reason for watching -- and they are abundant. Front and back flips, twists, and cart wheels. It's like watching Olympic gymnastics with more violence and zero grace. Each wipeout is like a snowflake -- no two are quite the same. Their motto is "One will become a champion. All will wipeout." And it's true. Some of their obstacles are so hard that they appear to have a 100% failure rate; but I prefer to look at them as a 100% wipeout rate.

I really want to be on this show. But since that's not likely to every happen, I've set the DVR to capture any of them that are on.

Here's a taste:

Get-it-Yesterday Song #23: That's how the yodel was born

2012-01-16T21:23:00.007-07:00

I'm not the biggest country fan. I like some, but you'll never catch me listening to a contemporary country station. Give me some Willie or The Man in Black. But if it just sounds like Top 40 with a twang, I'll pass.

But within that genra, what I really like are the old cowboy trail songs; "Home on the Range" and the like. Think Gene Autry, Roy Rogers, Sons of Pioneers, Marty Robbins, Slim Whitman, etc. There are some great songs like "Tumbling Tumbleweeds" and "Happy Trails." But amongst my favorites are any of them that feature a good cowboy yodel.

If you want to get your hands on a good collection of cowboy tunes, check out the band, Riders In The Sky. They cover all of the old classics, but what I like is that their recordings sound pristine, which is nice because the old versions of these songs from the original artists are usually low fidelity. If they sound familiar, you may have heard them singing the Woody's Roundup theme song on Toy Story 2.

For this GIY Song post I'll recommend "That's How the Yodel was Born." The yodelage is off the charts.

You may not be a country fan. You may not be a western fan. And (I can't imagine why, but) you may not be a fan of yodeling. But get your hands on this song... yesterday:

Pain afoot

2012-01-13T00:03:00.012-07:00

Over the holidays, my blogging dropped off quite a bit. This was due in part to spending the last half of December writhing in pain.

Here's the story:

I noticed a wart or two growing on the bottom of my foot some time ago. I don't know how long, let's just say in the last three to five years. They didn't bother me. I didn't know they were there unless I looked. I knew I needed to take care of them at some point before they got bad, but I kept procrastinating not wanting to deal with the hassle of doctor appointments and the bills that come with them.

On a short trip to San Francisco in August I found myself doing a lot of walking, and that's when the warts started causing me some discomfort and I knew I had to start taking care of them.

I've been going to a podiatrist since late summer and getting treatments on my left foot. What I assume started as a single wart had grown into two large patches--one under my big toe and the other under the heel, as well as a half dozen smaller satellites on other parts of my sole. Each treatment got stronger--various acids and blistering agents were applied. Treatments were doing some work, but not knocking the warts out, so my doc decided to perform a "curettage." Otherwise known as skinning the infected patches from the bottom of my foot like a carrot. A carrot with a #$%*-load of nerves.

It turns out that feet are very sensitive, and/or I'm a total wuss. The injections of local anesthetic was some of the worst pain I've ever experienced. Imagine trying to hold your foot still as someone sticks needles into the it, holds the needle there as the pain killer is injected into it (which, somewhat ironically, you feel VERY MUCH). Imagine doing that half a dozen times in the course of a couple minutes. I've been stuck with needles before, but none were in the ballpark of this pain. Holy. Cow.

When I got home from the first treatment, the local anesthetic was still doing its thing and carried me through the first few hours. But about 12 hours after the procedure I started feeling the pain. Ladies, I know if you've delivered a baby that you'll always have pain bragging rights, but this was WAY more painful than I expected. So painful I was up all night with it. I had been prescribed Lortab, and it barely took the edge off and would wear off after only a couple of hours. Where's the Morphine when you need it!?

It's happened in two parts. In mid-December they cut out the patch under my big toe, and two weeks later my heel. I didn't get a picture of the toe treatment when it was fresh, but here is a picture a day after they cut up my heel:

You can see that the toe is healing pretty nicely 20 days after the treatment, and you can see a couple other spots they'll have to treat still. It's been about nine days since this procedure and I still can't put full weight on my heel. My foot is heavily bandaged and I'm having to wear a specially designed medical shoe that allows my heel to float with no contact.

Here's a picture taken five days later than the one above:

It's coming along and I'm glad it's progressing, but this has been a real hassle mobility-wise and and to the pocket book.

In that spirit, here is my public service announcement:
If you have a wart, get rid of it. Don't wait until it brings its friends to the party. It's much more expensive and much more painful if you wait.

Review: The Serpent and the Rainbow

2012-01-12T14:16:00.007-07:00

A friend at work loaned me his book "The Serpent and the Rainbow" a while ago. I don't remember exactly when, but it was probably last summer. I don't borrow books often, but when I do, (I drink Dos Equis...) I like to think that I don't squat on them. When someone loans you a book or (I'm dating myself a little here) a CD, etc. they're sharing a little part of themselves that they want you to enjoy, too. But it's usually with the understanding that they'll get it back.

Anyway, I borrowed "Serpent" last summer and got off to a good start. I got about 100 pages into it and for some reason lost my momentum. But initially, this book fell into that dangerous gray area for books of being just good enough that I wanted to finish it, but not good enough to keep me from putting it down.

Finally, over the holiday break, I picked it up again and finished it off. It turns out that the book got pretty good in the second half, and I wish I had stuck with it a little longer back during my initial push.

"The Serpent and the Rainbow" is a non-fiction autobiography from Wade Davis, an ethnobotanist--a scientist who studies the relationships between man and plant--who set out to learn if there was any legitimacy and pharmaceutical value to claims of Hatian voodoo medicines being able to turn people into zombis. Now, when I say zombi, I'm not talking about "The Walking Dead" or "Night of the Living Dead" diseased and reanimated corpses who only crave the flesh of the living (typically spelled as "zombie"). This type of zombi is more of a metaphysical slave. That is, the notion that a voodoo priest is able to capture the part of the soul that allows it to have free thought, thereby claiming the person's body to do its bidding.

The book details the travels of Davis to Haiti in the early 1980s to see if the zombi potion actually exists, secure a sample, and bring it back to the US to be studied and reverse engineered for use in western medicine. As the book moves along, he lays out the history and politics of Haiti which gives context to the voodoo religion and its role in driving the social structures of that country. He also lays out the histories of various poisons around the world that were known to share some properties of the zombi potion and how that info helped him zero in on what the zombi concoction could be made of.

The last third of the book describes his exploration into the secret voodoo society itself as he and a fellow researcher attempted to become assimilated into it.

I'll give the book a good recommendation. It's not the best book I've ever read, but it was interesting. I'm a bit cynical of the truthfulness of Davis's report, because it's almost too strange to believe. But if you take it at face value, it's still interesting stuff on the off chance that it's true.

Last of all, if the name of the book rings a bell, that may be because there was a suspense horror movie released under the same title in the mid-'80s. The movie is loosely based on the premise of the book, but it is turned into a fictional and Hollywooded-up version of the story. I actually had seen the movie before I read the book. I have a feeling these words have been said before: the book was much better.

A.P., I promise I'll get your book back to you soon.

Fun in the Sun

2012-01-01T19:41:00.003-07:00

Hello blog, it's been a while.

On Saturday I spent an already lazy holiday break curled up in front of the TV for four hours watching the University of Utah's final game of the season at the Sun Bowl in El Paso playing Georgia Tech.

Utah scored first and rather easily, and also stuffed Georgia Tech on their first drive. I thought this might tell the tale of the game. Not so. On the contrary, to make a long story short, Utah found themselves down 14 well into the fourth quarter. But they came back to tie the game and put it into overtime.

They held GT to a field goal and finished the game off with a TD run from John White IV. Beautiful. I can't remember Utah's overall bowl record, but under Coach Whittingham alone they are 7-1. Nice!

Here are some Ute highlights:

Alan's Little Life Maxims #51

2011-12-13T10:53:00.005-07:00

Raising kids seems to make you age faster but keeps you feeling young.

The extra SMiLE

2011-11-29T22:55:00.022-07:00

Please let me indulge in a little pop music geekology...

Last week, the surviving Beach Boys released their studio sessions from their officially unreleased album "SMiLE"--an album that was supposed to get released in 1967.

There is a long and fascinating back story to what was going on with Beach Boys singer and songwriter Brian Wilson and the rest of the band at this point in their history, but that's not primarily what this post is about. So, instead, I'll point you to Wikipedia to get up to speed on the history of SMiLE, and hit on a few highlights to give context.

Brian Wilson

The quick and dirty:
- In 1966, the Beach Boys record and release "Good Vibrations" on the heels of the "Pet Sounds" album--considered their most mature album thematically and musically to date. The song becomes a #1 hit and is scheduled to appear on their next album SMiLE. The hit whets the appetite for fans. The song shows the complex direction Brian Wilson is taking the band and its sound. The SMiLE buzz begins.

- For many reasons, but mostly due to discord within the band, Brian and the band shelf SMiLE in late 1966. It is not finished or released as it was then conceptualized by Wilson.

- Later in 1967, the Beach Boys released the album "Smiley Smile," widely understood to be a mere shadow of what SMiLE was supposed to be with re-recorded versions of the originals and more songs added in that were not part of Wilson's SMiLE vision.

- From the late '60s into the new millennium, the legend of SMiLE grows. As various tracks, elements, and sessions are made available on bootlegs and a Beach Boys box set, fans begin putting together their own unofficial versions of SMiLE. What would this album have sounded like that pushed Brian Wilson to his creative max and ultimately into an emotional breakdown, driven by a desire to match and surpass the innovation and acclaim of Lennon and McCartney?

- In 2004, Brian Wilson sets out to re-record SMiLE as he feels it would have been as a complete album had he seen it through to completion in the late '60s. He records it with studio musicians and large help from the pop band the Wondermints. With his release of SMiLE, the world finally sees the intended sequence of the album and the role and place of the hours of the recorded elements from the original '60s sessions. Fans use Wilson's release as a template to cobble together versions of SMiLE based on the original Beach Boys recordings then available.

- October 2011, Brian and the surviving Beach Boys finally engineer and sequence the original material and release "The Smile Sessions" which, if you use Wilson's 2004 release as a comparison, puts together a rather complete version of SMiLE.

The Beach Boys

Now you're caught up. So, the question is, which is the "real" version of SMiLE: Wilson's 2004 solo release, or the 2011 release of the original but technically unfinished session material?

The answer: neither and both.

The truth is, no matter how much we wish it, no version of SMiLE--whether Smiley Smile, Brian's 2004 solo, or the band's 2011 release--is going to be what the original would have been. It's impossible. On the other hand, I feel what we do have effectively gets us there. Between the '04 and '11 material, I think somewhere in our imagination we can hear what Brian originally envisioned.

But, like I say, you need both versions to arrive there.

With Brian's solo you get a fresh slate. To borrow the Biblical metaphor, you don't put new wine in old bottles. Brian starts all of the recordings from scratch and makes the album that he said he envisioned in his head. Now, the truth is, that head had seen some hard living, copious drugs and substance abuse, and good ol' fashioned age in that nearly 40-year gap. How do we know he didn't change or attempt to improve on his vision? Well, we'll never really know. But the upside is that we have a fluid album. An organic album with it's own complete DNA. It's made from whole cloth. The tracks blend from one to the next creating a whole suite.

Also, in my own bias, I'm sure there were some advantages to using the latest recording technology that I would hope has advanced in the last four decades. Lastly, the musicians at Brian's disposal were no slouches. They approximate the original Beach Boys sound about as well as I can imagine can be done. Finally, it came directly from the master's hand. Who can argue with the artist himself? If Brian Wilson says it's SMiLE, then it's SMiLE.

On the other hand, the "Smile Sessions," released in 2011, also have claim to their own authenticity. It has the original voice recordings of the band itself. It's the musical recordings made in real time while it was a fresh budding idea in Brian Wilson's mind--not a reclaimed decades old memory. There's an honesty and integrity to the original recordings that cannot be captured in any other way. Only one entity can be the original, and these recording hold that distinction, and anything not these sessions is simply a copy, no matter how well crafted. Still, if there are missing pieces and elements, and surely there are, it's impossible to make them now without compromising the original material itself. It is what it is.

So like I say, neither Wilson's solo or these compiled sessions are the real SMiLE--particularly by themselves. But they compliment each other. They fill in the others' missing parts and elements whether that's continuity, heart, raw energy, or polished mastery.

I love SMiLE. When I say that, I'm not referring to either version specifically, but rather perhaps the idea that the sum of them create. The "real" album is stored and plays somewhere in my heart, mind, and soul rather than my ear drums. SMiLE is a spirit with two bodies. And yet it singularly is one of my all-time favorite albums.

If you're one of those people who upon hearing the name Beach Boys can't get past surf and car songs, I implore you to look deeper. Once you get past "Surfin' USA" and "Little Deuce Coupe," (and don't get me wrong, I LOVE these classics) there is some excellent music, particularly on "Pet Sounds" and iterations of "SMiLE." I already featured one of SMiLE's classics "Surf's Up" in one of my first Get-It-Yesterday Song features. So instead, I'll leave you with another: "Heroes and Villains":

Also, there's a great series of short documentaries that have accompanied the most recent 2011 Smile Sessions release. Here is the first installment:

Alan's Little Life Maxims #50

2011-11-28T15:29:00.004-07:00

The older I get...
The more beautiful beautiful things appear;
The sadder sad things feel;
The more amazing amazing things become;
Perspective is an interesting little thing, isn't it?

A snow bowl for the Utes

2011-11-21T22:53:00.007-07:00

Ah, snow! Beautiful, white, and fluffy. So pure and refreshing, especially when crooned about by Bing Crosby and the gang:

But it's downright nasty when it makes its way onto the football field. And yet, aside from ski slopes, that's one of my favorite places to see it.

It's the great equalizer. All game plans go out the window once the snow starts flying; more particularly, once it starts piling up on the ground. At that point, the game comes down to who can keep their feet, who can hold onto the ball, who can outlast the other guy better having no idea what it's going to take to win, or not to lose.

I saw such a game last weekend and it was glorious. My Utah Utes were playing the Washington State Cougars up in Pullman. Honestly, it was the best game I've seen in a long while. I might have to think back to Utah's '09 Sugar Bowl win -- bypassing last years beat down of Iowa State, or this year's shelacking of BYU -- to get to such an entertaining Utah game. This game with WSU is one I'll never forget; it became an instant classic.

It started as a defensive battle in the first half. But as the game progressed and the snow started filling each empty space, the game ironically took on a frantic, dramatic, high-scoring nature. Big plays, followed by broken plays, followed by amazing plays, followed by heartbreaking plays. The teams were getting chippy with each other. Neither team backed down. Twice, Utah built up a 10-point lead, only to see it evaporate to what ended up in a regulation tie. In overtime, Utah got an interception and kicked a far-fetched 40-yard field goal off the icy ground, through the flack of flakes and between the uprights.

Here is a collection of highlights. (To see some serious snow, fast forward to about the 1:42 mark):

A Thanksgiving Shat

2011-11-21T13:09:00.003-07:00

This Thanksgiving PSA from none other than the venerable Bill Shatner has warmed my giblets this turkey season:

"Dammit, Bill, that's too much oil!"

Perhaps he should just stick with a rotisserie chicKHAAAAAAAAAAAAAN!

Goof in advertising

2011-11-11T14:55:00.010-07:00

I have a fairly substantial commute to work. About 45 minutes and 40 miles one way. So, I get a lot of time to think, talk to myself, listen to music, audiobooks and talk radio. I also see a lot of drivers and driving habits.

One thing is for sure: I see a ton of billboards.

Since I work as a marketing copywriter, it's fun to critique the billboards. I think of how I would have written them differently or better; how a message could have been more powerful or concise with a change or deletion here or there. I start to notice the trends in design and layout--both the professional, and the ones on shoestring budgets. I start to think of myself as a bit of an expert:

"What were they thinking!? That would make a great print ad, but it's an awful billboard."

"Great. Yet another pointless use of stock photography."

"I can tell the owner wrote that billboard. What a turd."

As you move from Salt Lake County (i.e. Salt Lake City) to Utah County (i.e. Provo), you start to see nuance changes in the types of billboards. There are more billboards from start-up and entrepreneurial companies. Also, more billboards targeted at Mormons trying to hawk LDS stuff. Those always feel a little exploitative to me. Nothing like using religion to sell your swag.

Anyway, with that in mind, this new billboard from Sprite gives me a chuckle:

It reads "A TOMAHAWK to the TEMPLE."

It's a billboard for Sprite. It features LeBron James dunking a basketball. For the non-hoops folks out there, this type of dunk is called a "tomahawk jam." Not sure why, maybe it's the swinging motion of the arm like swinging a tomahawk, maybe it's the straightened arm holding the ball that resembles the shape of a tomahawk. I don't know. Also, the reference to "temple" is simply the reference to the body.

Well, I was in "Mormon billboard" mode when I read this. Again, for the uninitiated, members of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints (i.e. Mormons) are plentiful in Utah. I'm one myself. In addition to our churches which are everywhere, we also have temples--they're important in LDS culture.

Salt Lake Temple

So it's in this context that I read the billboard. To be honest, I saw the copy before I saw the image or logo. I wondered what throwing a tomahawk at a temple could mean. Is it talking about physically or symbolically vandalizing a temple? Is it speaking to Mormon and Native American relations (not that there's much to say)? I had no clue. This all passed through my mind in a flash, and right after--once I put the whole thing together in the right sports context--it all made the kind of sense it was supposed to.

Still, I'm sure there are non-basketball-fan Mormons who are thoroughly confused by what Sprite is trying to tell them to do. So if you see tomahawks thrust into temple doors, you'll know that advertising works!

Abidage

2011-11-10T16:02:00.004-07:00

The reason I'm posting this here is simply "because":

And because it's only right, here is the long version.

Review: A Princess of Mars

2011-11-04T17:53:00.009-06:00

We all know what it's like to stick our foot in our mouth from time to time, right?

Well, one such moment for me was on an online forum a few weeks ago where someone posted this trailer for the upcoming movie "John Carter":

I made some smartass comment like "Wow, a Stargate ripoff!"

Well I was the dope (not in a good way) as many fans of the John Carter--or, more accurately the "Barsoom"--series of books came to its defense. I had no idea these existed or had any fan base until my online gaffe.

"A Princess of Mars" is the first book in the series that features John Carter, a series written by Edgar Rice Burroughs, more famously known for penning the character of Tarzan. He actually wrote his first Barsoom book before ever writing Tarzan.

"Princess," being the first book, spends time building the character of Carter, and establishing the basics of the Barsoom universe. Barsoom is what Martians call Mars. It's inhabited by green aliens with four arms, white hairy apes with four arms, and a human-like race with red skin. Carter is a retired officer of the American Civil War, Confederate Army, who mysteriously ends up on Mars--honestly, I'm not really clear on how or why it happens.

Anyway, he soon finds himself a prisoner of the war-like green aliens, and eventually falls in love with a fellow slave--the beautiful Dejah Thoris, princess of the red people of Helium. I'll spare any spoilers from here, but say that I found humor in the simple antiquity of the story. There was an old-timey nature to the characters--definitely not "PC" by today's standards. John Carter is a man's man, and Dejah is a babe of galactic proportions and they play those roles in a way that would make a feminist pale with nausea.

John punches, shoots, stabs, kicks and slays his way to Dejah's heart and to the top of the food chain of Mars. All in good fun. I doubt the upcoming movie will even attempt to capture the camp elements, which is kind of sad.

Anyway, for a fun sci-fi read, check out Burrough's "A Princess of Mars."

Italy travelog: the lazy way out

2011-11-02T11:26:00.007-06:00

I really wanted to do a post about my trip to Italy much sooner than this. But between catching up at work and Anna already doing a good job of posting about our trip, I've not had the time or motivation to do a huge post about it. Boo me; I know.

Lake Como

Anna posted again about it today. There are some good pictures of our time around Lake Como, Verona, Lugano, and Venice. Please check out her post here. There are also other posts here, here, and here.

Milan

Anna has done a good job of hitting the highlights. Here is what I would add:

She notes that my favorite part of the trip was the water taxi into Venice. That was pretty cool, for sure. I also liked the old Castle of Vezio that we toured.

The flights there and back were long. I had never been on a 10-hour flight before. While it was worth it, it took a toll. Also, missing our connecting flight from New York to Milan was not fun. It required us crossing our fingers really hard to ensure that as standby's we got on the next flight to Rome three hours later, where we would then fly to Milan. That's what happened and we ended up in Lake Como about half a day later than we had planned.

When the food was good, it was great. I tried fresh pasta, all kinds of pizza, and heaps of gelato.

Venice

The only time I feared for my safety was in the train station at Milan on our way home from Venice. We looked very much like vulnerable tourists with all of our luggage and no Italian speaking skills. I'm pretty sure the guy that helped us at the ticket machine was a classic pick pocket, but I kept my eyes on him as much as he on us. I was glad to be done with the train travel.

If you want more specific stories I'll encourage you again to check out Anna's blog posts, or feel free to email me and ask any question to aljmac@gmail.com.

No candy for you!

2011-10-31T15:39:00.008-06:00

Here are some pet peeves of mine when it comes to Halloween costumes. If you're tempted to employ any of these, IMO, don't bother "dressing up." For sure don't come to my house asking for candy. I'm more likely to spray you off my porch with a garden hose.

Things that are *NOT* Halloween costumes:

1) Throwing a circa 1990's leather jacket over your white dress shirt and pleated tan Dockers, drumming up a cheap fedora-ish looking hat and calling yourself Indiana Jones.
2) Real life gear (local high school football uniform, dirt bike outfit, hunting camo/orange).
3) Any Halloween-themed t-shirt and/or headband with bats, pumpkins, etc. boinging from springy antennae.

What other weak-sauce costumes am I forgetting?

13 scary short story recommendations for Halloween

2011-10-26T13:04:00.011-06:00

It's close, friends. You can feel it in the air. The darker days, the turning of the leaves. Halloween is here! To me, there is nothing better than a good ghost story or other tingling tale that makes you think twice about looking back at the darkened bathroom mirror after a midnight pee.

If you find yourself with a little time to curl up to a creepy story in the next few nights, here are 13 of my recommendations. They run from a couple pages in length--perfect for sharing at a party--to others that are a more significant read if you're the one stuck at home on trick-or-treat bowl duty.

In no particular order (and I've linked to online versions where possible):

1) "The Statement of Randolph Carter" by H. P. Lovecraft
This is a quick read but it packs in a moonlit night, an ancient graveyard, and an indescribable horror.

2) "The Masque of Red Death" by Edgar Allen Poe
He has more famous stories, but this one is a personal favorite. I love the mood that he sets up in this tale with colored rooms and party going on in a palace while outside a plague ravages the land.

3) "The Willows" by Algernon Blackwood
Make me pick one on my list, and this is my favorite. An honest-to-goodness creepy, supernatural tale. It's probably the longest on this list, but worth the journey if you decide to take it. Probably a 2-3 hour read (but I'm a slow reader). One of the best stories I've ever read that manipulates suspense.

4) "Oh Whistle, and I'll Come to You, My Lad" by M. R. James
A stuffy British professor goes for a holiday out to an English coast beach. He stays at a bed & breakfast at night and explores the coastline by day. He comes across a graveyard and finds something protruding from the ground. Creepiness ensues.

5) "The Yellow Wallpaper" by Charlotte Perkins Gilman
I had read this story a couple times earlier in my life, but it didn't strike me until my latest reading at just how scary this story is. One of the best portrayals of madness I've seen in short story form.

6) "The Burial of the Rats" by Bram Stoker
Stoker is better known for his story "Dracula" but this one, while not dabbling in the supernatural, dishes out a life-or-death flight that has you on the edge of your seat beading sweat on behalf of the protagonist.

7) "Yours Truly, Jack the Ripper" by Robert Bloch
An interesting contemporary take on the famous serial killer by the author who penned "Psycho" which we know Hitchcock turned into a rather famous horror film.

8) "Skulls in the Stars" by Robert E. Howard
A ghost story that features his re-occuring character of Soloman Kane. There is some great mood writing here that deals with swamps, moors, hermits, maniacs, murders, and ghosts. Definitely some bang for the buck in this short story.

9) "The Music of Erich Zann" by H. P. Lovecraft
I'm not sure what to say about this one but that it's down right eerie. A great story that speaks for itself.

10) "The Wendigo" by Algernon Blackwood
If you want some extra effect to this one, read this one outside. Blackwood is one of the best at incorporating the outdoor surroundings into his horror, making them come to life in a way that can scare you to death.

11) "A Cask of Amontillado" by Edgar Allen Poe
Sure, maybe you had to read this as part of your 11th grade English course, but this time read it for the fun of it, not because you're being graded on it. Ask me what my sentimental favorite horror story is, it's this. And, um, don't follow anyone into their catacombs unless you're sober.

12) "The Monkey's Paw" by W. W. Jacobs
Are you into zombies? Then this one might be the choice for you on the list. A classic story of "be careful what you wish for...".

13) "Number 13" by M. R. James
It's a story about a room at an inn that may, or may not, exist.

There you go. I could probably double that list from Poe or Lovecraft alone, not to mention many others, but this is a good list to start with.

All I ask in return is that if you liked one of these, let me know what you thought, and if you have a recommendation for me, PLEASE let me know.

Happy Halloween!

Home, sweet home

2011-10-24T14:50:00.005-06:00

If you're one of the couple of folks who stops in here regularly--first off, thank you.

You'll notice I've let things get a little dusty this month on AirBallsandAirGuitar. That's mostly due to a trip I took with Anna and our friends to northern Italy this month. Because we were gone for nine days, there was a lot of preparation and working late to allow for a smooth absence for us from our kids and my job. Blogging, and any social media, fell way down the priority list in this time.

I have lots of stories, pictures, and experiences to share about the trip. Stay tuned...

Ciao for now!

Alan's Little Life Maxims #49

2011-10-04T13:40:00.004-06:00

A zombie version of anything is automatically hilarious.

***
Case in point, you can find zombie versions of famous folks and legends like President Obama, Elvis, and Santa:

And lesser celebrities like Bob Ross and or archetypes like the classic lunch lady:

How about kids fighting off a horde of zombie kids on a playground:

Or something completely random like a zombie elephant:

I heart zombies.

Perfect September

2011-09-30T09:44:00.004-06:00

I'm going to be sad to see this month come to an end. From day one through day 30 the weather has been perfect.

It had gotten pretty hot during August, as it tends to do around here, but come September 1st, it's like Mother Nature flipped some switch, and it's seemingly been in the high 70's to mid 80s all month long. I don't know for sure because I never checked. All I knew was it felt perfect outside day, after day, after day. By the time we were three weeks into it I started feeling like we were getting away with something. The days have been pleasant, and the nights have had just enough of that crisp in the air to leave windows open and let the early fall air cool things down.

Image of Wasatch Front taken from this site

I think this makes up for the cold, wet, and mucky winter/spring that seemed to go on forever this year. If I recall correctly, it was June before things felt consistently warm. But with the way September has gone, I've almost forgotten about that.

I love fall, and I don't mind when things cool down from here. I even get excited for the first snow (which I hope is still a few weeks away), but I've sure enjoyed the way September has gone. A perfect backdrop for college football, kids starting school, changing leaves, and the displaying of the first handful of Halloween decorations.

Go Fall!

Down in a hole: a review of The Descent

2011-09-26T23:38:00.003-06:00

I've been hearing that "The Descent" was a suspense/horror worth checking out. I finally did last night.

It's about a group of women who go spelunking in an unmarked cave in the Appalachians and run into a rather unfriendly and unknown species down in the hole. Here's a look:

As the movie went along, I thought there was something very familiar about it. Then it hit me! There is an H. P. Lovecraft short story called "The Beast in the Cave" with a very similar plot. I'd be VERY surprised if "The Beast" didn't somehow inspire "The Descent."

If horror and suspense are not your thing, don't bother with this one. It had the typical "boo!" scares, but it had some good things going for it. I liked it for its originality of locale and mood, but the acting was so-so, and I get a little tired of the "f word" when it's dropped as much as it was in this movie. I'd give it four pick axes out of five.

54-10, Go Utes!

2011-09-19T16:40:00.004-06:00

I have lots of friends and family who are BYU fans and supporters, so in respect to them, I'll not crow too loudly.

Image from sltrib.com

This game was a thing of beauty.

I grew up watching BYU paste Utah year, after year, after year so anytime the Utes take the Cougars to the woodshed, it just feels like I've gotten a couple more ounces back of my desired "pound of flesh."

Go Utes!

Review: House of the Seven Gables

2011-09-16T13:35:00.007-06:00

I'm not sure why I read this book. I think I read a summary about it online and saw the word "witchcraft" and that was all I needed. I actually finished it a few weeks ago, but I haven't known quite what to say about it.

It's written by Nathanial Hawthorne--author of "The Scarlet Letter."

Nathanial Hawthorne

There is SO MUCH going on in this story, it's hard to know how to describe it; obviously, I'll be leaving important details out in trying to do so. It takes place in the 1800s in Boston. It deals with the Pyncheon family and the house with seven gables that they built on a property that was secured by accusing a man of witchcraft, then taking his land after he had been hanged.

The first part of the book describes how that land was obtained, and the history of the house and the Pyncheons inhabiting it for the first several generations. The house itself is very much one of the characters of the book, and seems to be a metaphor for the Pyncheon family: dark, musty, both regal and plain, and unapproachable.

The main part of the story deals with Hepzibah Pyncheon who, now destitute, opens a shop in the side of the house. This, she feels, is beneath her and a disgrace to the family, but she has no other choice. She also soon welcomes home her elderly brother from prison who was there for allegedly attacking their uncle.

The home that inspired the story

Soon Phoebe Pyncheon appears for a visit to the house. Unlike her old decrepit cousins, she is young, vibrant and beautiful.

Other characters are Holgrave, a young jack-of-all-trades-master-of-none who rents a room it he house, and Judge Jaffrey Pyncheon who does not live in the house but has his own estate elsewhere.

Phoebe and Holgrave become friends, and Jaffrey starts to harass Clifford and Hepzibah about information he believes Clifford has that could change and increase the fortunes of the family greatly.

I'll leave it here plot-wise in case you want to read it.

What struck me throughout was what an INCREDIBLE writer Hawthorne was. Holy cow. I try to do a little fiction writing on my own, and I'm nowhere near published. But I read books, stories, and novels today and I think--in all my conceit--that with hard work and practice I'm as good or could become as good a writer as many of these authors. But with Hawthorne I'll concede right out of the gate that he is on a plane that I will never touch and that few ever have or will. His command of using language as a form of art, expression, storytelling, and poetry via prose had me amazed page after page, chapter after chapter.

One of the things he would do in this book over and over was set up a tableau and then describe it detail after detail. It could be people sitting at a table, or out in a garden, or anyplace, and he would describe all of the details in the scene to the point that you knew exactly what was going on. This also affected the pace of the story. It really slowed it down. I didn't always like this, but the effect it had on the story overall was that it made time crawl in a way that I think added to the tension of the story.

It was a beautiful read; I definitely recommend it. Pick up Hawthorne's "The House of the Seven Gables."

This is Halloween!

2011-09-13T17:06:00.003-06:00

Last night we pulled out the first couple of boxes of Halloween decorations. We couldn't help it--we're kind of into Halloween at our house.

My one-year-old was into everything, headfirst in the boxes doing his best to destroy anything before we could put it on display.

Anna and I start getting a little excited for Halloween in August because we know fall, football, and the rest of the holidays are right around the corner. Labor Day is still a little early to start throwing skeletons and pumpkins around, so we still wait. By the time mid September arrives we break down.

We show *some* restraint. We don't put up all of our decorations yet. That happens in October. We just put enough out to scratch the itch.

Funny flash mob ad

2011-09-10T07:10:00.000-06:00

This commercial gets funnier each time I watch it:

"Dead" is coming

2011-09-09T12:22:00.002-06:00

Here is the trailer for "The Walking Dead" season two. It starts next month:

Get-it-Yesterday Song #22: In Dreams

2011-09-02T12:20:00.002-06:00

Here is my GIY Song recommendation #22.

Often, with past GIY's, I have some sort of back story or explanation. This one is pretty straight forward: Roy Orbison is great, and his song "In Dreams" rules.

If this song is not part of your music collection, rectify that error yesterday. If you already own this song, hit play, sit back, and enjoy it like it's the first time all over again...

Listen to "In Dreams" here:

Here we go!

2011-09-01T14:06:00.002-06:00

It's on! Ute football starts tonight. First, a little appetizer of Montana State! Then a full course of PAC-12. I've been waiting for this day for quite a while.

BREAK!

Happy birthday, Anna!

2011-08-31T14:08:00.005-06:00

Today is my wife's birthday. In addition to that Anna is the best friend I've ever had. I thought I'd take a moment to give her a shout out!

Anna is a good sport. Her birthday falls a week after mine. Not only that, but it falls after her mom's, father-in-law's, sister's, and I'm pretty sure there is a niece or nephew as well, not to mention our wedding anniversary--all in August.

Today, in particular, was the first day of school for our 3rd child, Ashton. The downside to birthdays is that we're reminded of time marching on, so it doesn't help that Anna had to send yet another of her little daytime buddies away to get edu-ma-cated.

Enough of the downer stuff.

Anna is a brilliant human being. When people talk about a "better half" or "marrying up" those apply to the mystery that is Anna hitching up with me. She's bold, brave, confident, witty, creative, and funny. She's smarter than me and far more capable. She could have a brilliant career in the professional world, as she began to have. For the time being, she has chosen to be the center of the Macfarlane universe. She keeps our orbits true, and provides the light and warmth we need as a family. In the midst of the family circus, she continues to be a brilliant writer and astute editor on the side.

Happy birthday, Anna. Thanks for letting me fool you into marrying me.

Beard of the Apocalypse

2011-08-30T14:37:00.005-06:00

Have you ever seen the commercials for Tax Masters?

They feature Tax Masters founder Patrick R. Cox pitching the services for folks with tax issues, blah, blah, blah...

I can't do anything but focus on that man's beard! It is its own being. It lives! I bow to its majesty! I don't think Mr. Cox has a beard, but rather the beard has Mr. Cox. He lives off the beard like a Remora that mooches off a shark.

Mr. Cox's beard, my hat goes off to you. You are a gentleman and a scholar.

Happy birthdays to me

2011-08-24T00:31:00.001-06:00

What do you say on your own blog on your birthday without coming off like a total Narcissistic jackrabbit? (I guess one option would be "nothing" but what fun is that?)

Here are some birthday memories of mine over the years:

Age 3 (I assume): Had a party in a park in La Jolla. Got a cool set of firetruck toys.

Age 4: First birthday in Utah. Picnic up Big Cottonwood Canyon. Got a Star Trek sleeping bag. I had no idea what Star Trek was, but it was about space so that was cool with me.

Age 6: We were on vacation at Grand Teton National Park. Got a fishing pole and some implement used for "cleaning" fish.

Age 7: Take a group of friends to a rerun of "Star Wars, Ep. 4" (known then as simply "Star Wars"). It's still as cool as I remember it being at age 4.

Age 8: School started on my birthday that year. Got baptized a week or so after my birthday. There was a HUGE hail storm right after the baptism. Good or bad omen?

Age 12: Rented the "Watcher in the Woods" and "Red Dawn." Showed the former at my party. I think I got a Levi jacket.

Age 16: Got my drivers license the day I turned 16.

Age 19: Entered the LDS Missionary Training Center to begin my two-year mission right on my birthday.

Age 21: Recently returned from my mission to Connecticut. Got a weed eater for my birthday. Welcome home.

Age 24: My "Golden birthday" spent on my honeymoon in Puerto Vallarta. Been married for a week. Anna partially blows up her face trying to bake a cake in a gas oven. The front desk has no idea what I'm saying when I frantically call saying "Fire-o. Emergency-o." Spend the day nursing her wounds with bandages and burn cream in front of the little AC unit in our room reading "Into Thin Air."

Age 25: Spent the summer trying to lose the extra 20 pounds I put on in the first year of marriage. I have my first burger and fries from Crown Burgers after a month or two of being good. Crown Burgers is the food of the gods.

Age 26: Anna takes me to Lagoon; she's never been before. She never goes back.

Age 30: Anna throws me a '80s-themed surprise party that features family, friends, co-workers, and church acquaintances. They don't laugh at the same jokes.

Age 35: Get a free shake from Iceberg Drive In; chocolate and coconut.

It's been a beautiful life so far. I'm thankful for my 36 years on this spinning rock, and hope for that many more, plus a few.

Review: The Devil in the White City

2011-08-23T11:54:00.000-06:00

A couple months ago, I was talking to one of my co-workers, Scott, who is always listening to a good audio book. He began talking about the one he was listening to at the time that was non-fiction about the Chicago World Fair in 1893 and H. H. Holmes, one of America's most famous serial killers who lived in the Windy City during the time of the Fair. The book was named "The Devil in the White City: Murder, Magic, and Madness at the Fair that Changed America." Scott's short pitch about the book was all I needed. It sounded like a good one, and my hunch was dead on!

The author, Erik Larson, bounces the narrative between the mustering and celebration of the Chicago Fair and Holmes's story. The two are not explicitly connected in a literal way, and yet they shed light on each other. Larson could have easily written two separate books about each topic, but put together, each story uniquely comes to life.

The thread that talks about the Fair primarily follows the life of Daniel H. Burnham. He was the chief architect in charge of designing the Fair, most notably the "White City," the series of buildings that formed the central hub of the fair featuring buildings designed by America's most prominent architects of that day. The book follows the politicking, the salesmanship, the artistry and the business of getting this fair put together on a tight deadline, during an economic downturn, and with the pressure of outdoing the Exposition Universelle put on by Paris in the late 1880s where they unveiled the Eiffel Tower. How would the Americans show up this new world icon built by their rivals across the Atlantic?

Meanwhile, Larson describes the life, deceit, and cold-hearted, calculating evil of Holmes. He wasn't some run-of-the-mill creep. He was the quintessential wolf in sheep's clothing, constructing a building in a Chicago suburb that housed his pharmacy on the main floor, board rooms on the second and third stories (fit with gas chambers and a soundproof vault), and other horrors in the basement. The building was one big complicated machine for victim entrapment and disposal. Truly, one of those stories where truth far outpaces fiction in strangeness and tragedy.

It was educational and entertaining and somber. It shed a light on an era, a city, and series of historical figures that I knew little about before. I HIGHLY recommend this book.

My San Francisco treat

2011-08-20T12:49:00.011-06:00

Last week, I had a cool opportunity through my employer, Adobe, to go to San Francisco for a day to attend a Giants baseball game.

It was a quick stay. I was in SF for a whopping 25 hours--that counts airport time.

I arrived around 11am and went right from there to the Westin where my coworkers and I stayed. I had about two hours to kill before the game so three associates and I hit the pavement to find some lunch and check out the neighborhood.

I had to get a pic of this guy's jacket.

"Lady Gaga, Forever a Lady." Truer words have never been puff painted onto the back of a bleached denim jacket.

After a bite of lunch at a retro diner, we head to the AT&T Park. I've seen several games from this park on TV, but being there in person is a whole other experience. It's absolutely beautiful. The best MLB experience I've ever had on the west coast.

A really lame pose, but I couldn't think of what else to do at that moment.

You know what really surprised me? This game was on a Wednesday afternoon--and the place was packed! I would not have thought less of San Fran if it was less than capacity given the mid-week/mid-day game. But no; Giants fans represented. Paint me impressed.

Travel is oddly exhausting, especially when it involves air travel and (even minimal) time changes. Your body knows it's left its norm. For a short trip, I was already beat by the time the game was over. At that point I head back to catch my breath for a bit. Earlier that evening, my associates and I head out for some chow and found a decent little Indian place off 3rd Street a couple blocks from our hotel. After that, I split off from my friends to head over to Union Square to see what that was all about.

I'm not sure if was looking for, or at, the right stuff, but was not too excited by the Square's offerings. Some chain stores, some restaurants, some hole-in-the wall shops, and the square itself.

I love San Francisco. It's been a few years since I've been there I would have loved to had the time to really stretch out and explore some more, but I had a family reunion to return home to. This time was a bit of a whirlwind, but a fun opportunity to be taken out to the ballgame.

Review: The Book of Mormon (aka Stuff I believe, part IV)

2011-08-19T10:40:00.019-06:00

I'll admit: I've been dragging my feet posting this for three weeks now, but here I go...

Here's the deal. My religious sentiments are dear to me, so it's for my own protection as well as my respect to others (via the old standby of avoiding the topics of religion and politics in public discourse) that I don't bring it up in everyday conversation. I have blogged about it in the past, like here and here, but I like to pick my spots--and they tend to be few. I have no problem discussing my religion with people who bring it up with me (respectfully). So if you have ANY question, you can ask me and I won't be offended. I've heard it all from polygamy to "magic underwear." I know that Mormonism is a different bird when looking at it from the outside in. I have no problem with that; I get it.

With that out of the way...

I like to review the books I read (like this, this, and this). But reviewing the Book of Mormon is a different thing. Generally speaking, Mormons read what we deem to be scripture (the Holy Bible, Book of Mormon, etc.) on a continual basis. We read at our own pace and times, but you'll rarely find a practicing Mormon that doesn't have a bookmark in some form of scripture on his overnight stand. I read books of scripture more than once. It's an ongoing thing, whereas the other books I review on my blog I have read once for entertainment purposes, and typically won't plan to revisit them for a long time; likely never.

But I'm reviewing the Book of Mormon formally because last month I finished reading it in a way I never had before. Rather than reading it a nibble here and a nibble there; a chapter here, a scripture there, like usual, I dove into to it in July with the thought of finishing it in one month. If you read one chapter a day, you'll finish it in about eight months. As logic would have it, the inverse is also true!

So, I did it. Eight chapters a day for a month. About 45 minutes each night.

If you're not familiar with the Book of Mormon, but you have some exposure to the King James version of the Bible, they are very similar. They read the same way; chapters and verses, old-style English (with thees, thous and thines).

But there's a little more to it than that....

What's actually in its pages? Is it a bunch of parables? Quotations from Joseph Smith? I understand that many people kinda, sorta want to know without having to pick one up and see. Let me see if I can help.

What we (members of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints) believe it is is an ancient record, similar to the Bible, that testifies of the divinity of Jesus Christ. It was not written, but rather translated by Joseph Smith. In other words, other men wrote it, and Joseph Smith took their writings and translated them into English. While the Bible primarily takes place in the "old world" (Israel, etc.), the Book of Mormon takes place on the American continent. Where specifically? We don't know for certain, but the general consensus is around Central and South America.

What's actually between its covers? Honestly the best description is in the various intros found at the beginning of the book itself. If you'll allow me, let me point you to these links to three brief reads:

1) Title page
2) Introduction; (feel free to skip the testimony of the witnesses and of Joseph Smith, unless you want a little extra reading--though I do recommend them. But I'm trying to give as brief a taste of the book itself as I can offer)
3) A brief explanation about the Book of Mormon

Between those three references, you get a decent idea about what's in the pages behind them.

There is a common narrative that runs through the Book of Mormon, which is the one that follows the history of a family that left Jerusalem approximately in 600 B.C. and re-settled in the Americas. The patriarch of the family is named Lehi. He has several children, but his sons Nephi and Laman are principle to the unfolding of the narrative. As it continues on, over hundreds of years, the writings follow the posterity of Nephi and Laman--the former called Nephites, and the latter called Lamanites. Basically, they don't get along. Over time, this distinction is more about philosophy and culture rather than blood lines. That is, genetically, the two groups get pretty intermixed through the generations, but the labels are still used as a means of describing these two connected but distinctly separate societies. It's like the Montegues and Capulets played out over the course of 1000 years. There are other societies that make cameos called the Muelekies and the Jaredites, but for simplicity's sake, I'll leave that aside for now.

This is a lot of set up for what will be a brief review.

Reading the Book of Mormon over the course of a month helped me condense the epic. There are various histories, messages, and storylines that I would normally take a week or two to get through. In this reading, I'd get through them in a night or two. As such, I felt like I saw them up close. I made connections from one chapter to another that I normally would lose by setting the book down several times between chapters.

I gained a clearer picture of the chronology than I ever have before. But, also caught a unique vista of the whole book. Here's what I learned, remembered, or felt was emphasized in this most recent reading:

- People then and people today are the same. We love, we fight, we succeed, we fail, we remember God, we forget Him.

- Societies are fragile things. When we remember God and put him first, individuals, families, and societies experience more peace and an increase in joy and meaning in life.

- For some reason (and I have my hunches) there are always individuals who want to bring down families and societies, and they do it through deception and there is no boundary to the means they'll use to do it. It happened then, and it happens today.

- Bad things happen to good people. Good things happen to bad people. It stinks, but we have to learn to love God and our brothers and sisters of mankind in spite of this. It will eventually all be okay. Rather, it will eventually all be magnificent!

- Jesus Christ is real. He lived in and around Judea. He died. Somehow, though I can't explain it, He suffered and died for everyone's sins and pains; he knows them all intimately and can and will take them on Himself and remove them from us. He was resurrected and He lives today--literally. He knows each of us individually. He cares for us, and wants us to find Him. He hopes (and literally prays) for our well being, but He will absolutely not take away our right to choose Him. He wants and needs us to follow Him willingly. He will never force us to do it, but as we humble ourselves and sincerely try to emulate his example, we will experience more peace in spite of the fleeting joys and pains of life.

Friends, family, and online strangers--thanks for indulging me. If you've read this far, thanks. I don't "get religious" in public often, and I don't think I've ever done it to this extent. But, writing is a process that helps me get things off my mind and heart, and this was no exception.

Please don't hold it against me if my subsequent posts return to my typical irreverent, pointless mental meanderings.

Happy Anniversary!

2011-08-17T16:30:00.005-06:00

Today is Anna's and my 12th anniversary. In that time, I've had:
4 kids
7 jobs
7 cars
9 moves
7 homes (not counting stays at parents')
2 states
1 heart scare

It's been a good run! Hoping for many more years. Love you, Anna.

Anna paid a nice tribute to us on her blog.

Review: The Case of Charles Dexter Ward

2011-07-29T12:32:00.017-06:00

In my various book reviews, there are a couple things I try to avoid:
1) I try not to review the same author twice
2) I don't review short stories, unless it's a collection of them from one author

So, in a sense, I'm breaking both rules with this post. I've already done a review of Lovecraft stories a few months ago. But among his stories is a novella called "The Case of Charles Dexter Ward."

H. P. Lovecraft

So what's a novella? According to dictionary.com (not quite the Oxford English dictionary, I realize--but it's free) a novella is "fictional prose narrative that is longer and more complex than a short story; a short novel."

So, while Lovecraft primarily wrote short stories, "Ward" was a different piece; a good deal longer than most of his stories. Page count is subjective, but let's say most of Lovecraft's stories were 5-20 pages. "Ward" was about 100 pages, so it was a significant read.

Enough of the back story. I LOVED "The Case of Charles Dexter Ward." I've said it once, and I've said it a thousand times: I love ghost stories. I mean that in the most general sense. love stories that involve suspense, creepy settings, supernatural events, etc. "Ward" had all of those elements.

Take insane asylums, secret underground catacombs, a mad scientist, skeletons, vampirism, corpses, grave robbers, zombies, murderers, psychos, monsters, witches, wizards and demons and cram them all into one story and you get "Charles Dexter Ward." It's like the quintessential Halloween story.

By way of summary, the story begins with the vanishing of Charles Dexter Ward from an asylum. Ward's family doctor, Dr. Willett, describes the events from his perspective flashing back and piecing together his version of the events leading up to Ward's disappearance.

A significant portion of the story involves retracing the story of an ancestor of Ward's, Joseph Curwen, who flees from Salem, Massachusetts during the witch trials of the 17th century. Curwen is an alchemist who dabbles in black magic with the intent of discovering the secret to immortality (among other, larger and more nefarious things). Ward later becomes fascinated with this ancestor and begins researching, and later trying to duplicated Curwen's experiments. I'll leave it there and let you read it for yourself.

If you like a good, creepy read for the Halloween season, then set this one aside to read then. I quite liked it, particularly the part of the story where Dr. Willett finds himself scrambling through the pitch dark in a secret catacomb littered with open pits filled with indescribably horrific fiends. Good, good stuff!

Now, if you don't think you'll take the time to read it, you have an out. There was a movie made in the early '90s called "The Resurrected." When Lovecraft stories are put to film, they're usually awful. "Resurrected" is one of the few that's watchable. While only 20 years old, it's already dated, and the acting and writing are only so-so. The special effects are "meh," but used minimally and to good effect. This movie won't set your world on fire, but it was entertaining and surprisingly faithful to Lovecraft's story. So if you don't read the novella (which I would recommend strongly), "The Resurrected" isn't a bad contingency:

PAC-12: Let's get ready to rumble!

2011-07-26T10:54:00.002-06:00

Check out this promo for the 2011 football season. It gives me chills. Go UTES!

Review: Desert Solitaire

2011-07-25T12:26:00.002-06:00

By now, after posts like this, and this, you've gathered that I'm a junky for southern Utah. I love it. It is beautiful, holds unique wonders, is barren, and yet full of life. There's an author who shares my sentiments: Edward Abbey.

I've heard of Abbey for years. My childhood friend, Matt, also has an affinity for red rock, and now and again he would talk about this book, "Desert Solitaire," where Abbey describes his time in the '60s working as a park ranger at Arches National Park (then a National Monument).

When I was in Canyonlands National Park last spring, I picked up "Desert Solitaire" in the visitor's center.

Edward Abbey

I have to tell you, I LOVED this book--much more than I expected. There are two things that make this book work:

1) Abbey describes the topography, nature, politics, environment, and history of southern Utah, and to a greater extent, the Four Corners area. From a purely informational standpoint, it's interesting stuff.

2) As a narrator, and as a lens for gathering and processing this information, Abbey is one of a kind. It would be easy to slap a handful of stereotypical labels on him like hippie, loner, granola, anti-conformist, anti-capitalist, hermit, etc. But the truth is, Abbey is a guy who loves the pure, unadulterated outdoors, and just tells it how he sees it. I don't always agree with his assessment of things. (For instance, his description of Mormons was a little less than flattering overall, but funny in some ways and accurate in others). Other times, I was right there with him and felt and understood his passion for the topics he addressed. Overall, he at least got his point across--which to me is the mark of a good writer.

What comes through the pages of this book is the sentiment of a man who is in love with the land. When we love a person, we want to know all about them: what they like, their history, their hopes, plans, etc. Abbey has that sort of relationship with the desert.

My only dislike of the book was the handful of times he got a little gratuitous in trying to describe, in scientific terms, the geography, fauna and flora of the region. I can only take so much description of rocks and plants. But honestly, there's no too much of that.

Instead, you hear about his run down the Colorado river--just he and another friend; his time joining the local law enforcement on a manhunt for a missing hiker; his retelling of a scuffle that happened between two prospectors in the area that included lies, sex, jealousy, and a helicopter. And this is just a small sample.

It's hard for me to know how to recommend this book. I have a familiarity and bias toward the place Abbey is describing. Would it be hard to follow his prose if you weren't familiar with southern Utah? I don't know. But if you have a love of the outdoors, I think you'd like "Desert Solitaire." It immediately became a favorite that will proudly sit on my bookshelf and get re-referenced from time to time.

Alan's Little Life Maxims #48

2011-07-14T13:21:00.001-06:00

Before putting your brain on autopilot, make sure you're pointed the right direction.

Visiting the neighbors for the first time (i.e. Colorado)

2011-07-12T12:37:00.001-06:00

I'm 35 years old. Twenty-five of those years I've lived in the state of Utah. The last I checked a US map, Utah is still right next to Colorado. Last week, for the first time in my life, I paid a visit to my neighboring state. How have I avoided going there for so long?

Truth be told, I think I've had a layover or two at the Denver airport, and there may have been one time during a trip to southern Utah that I made an uneventful token border crossing. But for the most part, Colorado has been unexplored by me.

Now, I'm not some world traveler, but I don't think I'm utterly provincial either. I've been around the United States a little; lived in California and Arizona (and Connecticut). Particularly in the west, I've visited on multiple occasions Idaho, Wyoming, Montana, and Nevada. Why have I never hopped over the fence to Colorado?

Off the top of my head, I'll confess that--and I don't mean this as a knock on Colorado--there's not been any reason to go there. Colorado doesn't really offer anything that Utah doesn't already have. Skiing? Nope. I have 11 ski resorts within an hour of my house in Salt Lake City. Hiking? Mountain biking? Camping? Golf? Beautiful state and national parks? There are eight national parks in Utah alone, and I haven't even been to all of those yet. Snow-capped mountains? Beautiful red rock? We have those here.

As far as tourist offerings go, the states are quite similar. Heck we even share the Colorado River. So, the reason I've ignored Colorado is because there's no reason to borrow an egg from your neighbor when there's one in your fridge.

If you're a sports fan, Denver offers the NFL, MLB, NBA, and NHL. I'll confess, that makes me VERY jealous. Some day I hope Salt Lake has a professional sports scene like that. I have my Utah Jazz, but after that, I'm looking at college or minor league level sports (which I happen to love, but that's another topic for another day). But, I don't think I'd go to Denver just to see a Rockies or Broncos game. I'll catch an Angels or Padres game in SoCal, but I'm typically going there for things like the beach, Disneyland, Sea World, etc. And from my time living in the Phoenix area, which was also a four-team city, I spent a lot less time patronizing the local pro team's than I hoped I would.

With all of that said, I made my maiden voyage into the Centennial State last week. Specifically, a little resort town called Glenwood Springs, situated north of Aspen and west of Vail. It's a beautiful little town built on the north bank of the Colorado River. It has natural hot springs that have been turned into pools and spas. There's a quaint little touristy shopping area, and a cavern adventure park with things like rappelling, alpine slide, bungee jumping, etc. We didn't take the time to check out that part on this particular trip. Next time....

Glenwood Hot Springs spa and pool

Colorado reminded me a lot of Utah (surprise, surprise). The people (both tourists and locals) seemed like the typical middle-class westerners. Also not surprising, is that Colorado (at least the parts I saw) had a hint of Wyoming and Arizona to it. I'm sure there's a commonality to New Mexico, but I'd be speaking purely out of ignorance as I've not been there yet, either.

I'd encourage anyone who wants a beautiful outdoor experience, with nice people, loads of good times, and a free-spirit layed back attitude to visit... Utah. But Colorado is not a bad backup plan. It was sincerely a good time. Thanks neighbor! I'll try not to be a stranger.

Coming up: "Visiting New Mexico, or how to complete my Four Corners state-athon."

Review: American Gods

2011-07-11T12:07:00.003-06:00

I had heard of Neil Gaiman before. I had never read any of his books, but I had seen two movies that were based on them: "Stardust" (meh) and "Coraline" (awesome!).

Neil Gaiman

His name has circled among friends and peers as a favorite author, so I thought it was time to dive into one of his books. I settled on "American Gods." It had all sorts of praise on the front and back covers, including New York Times Bestseller, so I thought that was a good place to start.

Typically, when I review a book, I like to blog about it while it's still fresh in my mind. With "Gods" I've been processing it days, and even weeks later--not sure if I liked it. Did I? I still don't know.

Based on the first 400 pages, I'd probably say no. I found myself pressing merely to get through it, not really enjoying the ride. But based on the last 190 pages, the scales evened. It got better as it came to the dramatic climax and wrapped up.

It's about a guy named Shadow who gets released from prison and ends up in the employ of a "god"--let's just call him an immortal, as his right hand man. Shadow then finds himself in the middle of a raging war of religion, culture, and immortality. Along the way there are living corpses, leprechauns, and serial killers.

Seriously, I don't know if I liked it or not. I read somewhere that HBO is going to make a series out of it, so it definitely has its fans and critical acclaim out there.

So, I'm not sure what to say about "American Gods." Maybe this is my passive aggressive way of saying that I didn't like it. I'll put it this way:
1) I have no urge to hunt down another Gaiman novel right now
2) I don't care what happens to my copy of "Gods" (as in, it hasn't been given its own nook on my living room bookshelf)
3) I've felt little emotion about the the book since I closed the back cover

So, I won't say I hated it. It just didn't do anything for me--and I'm not sure why. I love supernatural fiction. I love monsters and battles and zombies. I've read much better books, and (at least after one sample) better authors. Someone please tell me what I might be missing.

I'll give Gaiman another shot some day because his acclaim and reputation are too big to judge by reading one book, but I'm not in a hurry.

Running the Sahara

2011-06-27T10:17:00.007-06:00

I saw a very cool documentary over the weekend. It might be more appropriate to say it was "hot." It was called "Running the Sahara."

The story followed three men who attempt to run across the Sahara desert from west to east. These men are each extreme runners, for whom running a marathon is practically a morning jog. To make this journey, they had to average about 50 miles a day for a little over 100 days without a day off.

While all three men and their crew had interesting stories, I found myself most intrigued by the man named Charlie. He's the prototypical thrill seeker who had ruined his life on substance abuse and chasing other extreme highs before he got seriously into ultra marathoning. He is incredibly driven, to the extreme.

What is interesting is to see the fruits of that drive. On one hand, it enables him to accomplish amazing things. At the same time, there is a selfish and manipulative nature to this drive. People have to line up with his goals and his way of doing things or he gets extremely agitated. It seems he is unable to see the world through any lens but his own narrow, self-serving one. It is a double-edged sword; his nature pushes he and his friends through an amazing adventure, but is it worth the cost?

I saw it streaming on Netflix. Check it out if you get a chance:

Get-It-Yesterday Song #21: If You Were Here

2011-06-24T13:44:00.006-06:00

If you're keeping score at home, here is my prior GIY song recommendation.

It's time for an '80s New Wave GIY song; it's time for some Thompson Twins.

The Thompson Twins are significant to me because they were my first, very own, favorite band. The "very own" is an important distinction...
Like most little kids growing up, I was influenced to like the music of my parents. What else are you going to do when you have no money and you can't drive? So, I grew up with an unusual affinity for the Beach Boys, Kingston Trio, and Neil Diamond. Now, there's nothing wrong with that music; I'll defend Neil to the death--and if I have any sense, he'll be a GIYS feature soon enough. But the Thompson Twins were the first band that was "mine"--assimilated free from parental influence.

The Thompson Twins
(No... they're not twins, or Thompsons)

I was introduced to them from my neighbor and buddy, (and closest thing I had to an older brother) Thomas M. He was a year older than me, and one of the first of my peers to introduce me to "modern" music.

I really took to the Twins and wanted an album (er, "tape"). My allowance was burning a hole in my pocket and one Friday night I talked my dad into taking me to a music store. Do you remember how the kid in "A Christmas Story" had his elaborate schemes for convincing his parents that a Red Rider BB Gun was the logical gift choice for him? I felt like I was doing something similar convincing my parents that I needed a Thompson Twins album. I did so by playing some of if for them and saying, with all sincerity, "See, they sound like the Beach Boys!" I'm sure my parents humored me and just went along with it. I thought I had them convinced. I was concerned when the album art had a naked little kid on it.

What worried me, I'm not really sure, but I didn't want there to be any reason my parents would say no, and I figured the naked kid couldn't possibly help my cause.

All ended well, and I bought "Here's to Future Days" on cassette.

In honor of the Thompson Twins, here is a song I recommend. It's not from "Future Days," and it's better known from the "Sixteen Candles" soundtrack, but it's a killer Thompson Twins classic. If you don't have "If You Were Here," GET IT YESTERDAY:

Saline Solitude

2011-06-22T10:13:00.000-06:00

The other day, I took a day off from work. Among other things I did, I took a solo trip out to Antelope Island--one of the islands that sits in the Great Salt Lake.

I'm finding that I love the Great Salt Lake and the areas surrounding it more and more. For having the largest city in Utah named after this particular lake, and for having it reside so close to the city, it's a strangely unknown feature to the local residents. The truth is, it is very barren, kind of smelly, and that's what I love about it!

It is such a unique beauty. Its loneliness and alienation is its appeal to me. Just 10 minutes from the bustle of the Wasatch Front, you look out to the west across the Great Salt Lake, and it appears like the land that hasn't changed in eons. I love the ancient solitude of the area. The sound-scape is a mix of light breezes, the lap of the thick, salty water on the shore, and the buzz of insects. So simple, and so refreshing!

Here are some shots I took from the visitors center and the top of Buffalo Point--one of the lookouts from Antelope Island:

Review: The Tragedy of Pudd'nhead Wilson

2011-06-18T15:00:00.002-06:00

Several weeks ago I was looking around on Netflix for something to watch. Somehow, I settled on watching a documentary on Mark Twain. I have to admit, I knew very little about this man.

I know that he had a home in Hartford, Connecticut, but I still thought of him as a southerner. While he was born in Missouri, and spent some time as a Mississippi River boat captain, he actually spent time living all over the country, and was quite the world traveler.

Mark Twain (heaven help you if you don't recognize him already).

Now, I haven't read much Mark Twain. In high school, I read "Huckleberry Finn." I'll give myself the benefit of the doubt that I read it and didn't simply skim the Cliff's Notes.

Later on, I started to read "The Prince and the Pauper" and didn't get very far.

In the documentary, there was a mention of a Twain story I had never heard of: "The Tragedy of Pudd'nhead Wilson." Similar to "Finn" is was a social commentary about race relations in America.

I read the book, and thoroughly enjoyed it.

It's about a slave, Roxy, who is 1/16th black, and therefore very fair skinned. She gives birth to a son, Chambers, who also the son of a white man so he is even more fair than his mother, but still legally and socially a slave. At the same time, Roxy takes care of her master's son, Tom, who was the same age as Chambers.

Long story short, in an effort to spare her son, Roxy switches the two babies, and Chambers grows up in the privileged circumstances of a upper-class white heir, and Tom in the life of a slave.

It's heavy stuff, but Twain approaches it with his folksy honesty that somehow sheds some humor on an otherwise complex situation.

While the story focuses on the deeds (and misdeeds) of Chambers--now living Tom's life--there is another character in the book who hangs around as part of the cast of characters, but helps bring the story to a close in the end. His name is David Wilson.

Early in the book, David passes the bar exam in Missouri and comes to the town of Dawsons Landing to set up his practice. He's a slightly eccentric man, but very bright. He makes a comment about a boisterous dog (suggesting that if he owned half that dog, he'd kill it) which backfires on him. Instead of seeing the wry humor in the comment, as it was intended in the delivery, the whole town interprets it as literal comment made by a fool. As such, the town of simpletons ironically label Wilson as the town moron and he is known as "Pudd'nhead Wilson" from that day on. His law practice never gets traction, and he makes a living as an accountant and following his other strange hobbies.

I'll not spoil the rest of the story from there, but say that "Wilson" has all of the clever wit you'd expect from Twain. Each character is rich in idiosyncrasies and personality, and when any of these characters interact, the combined strangeness becomes exponential--which is what makes it a classic Twain.

Twain's style is timeless. If you get a chance, read "Puddn'head Wilson."

Fear and loathing and swimming lessons

2011-06-07T12:38:00.015-06:00

My five-year-old son started swimming lessons yesterday. I thought they were held down at the nearby county rec center. I found out today that he's actually attending them farther uptown at Cottonwood High School. Shudder.

To most of you, that will mean nothing. The significance to me is that that's where I had swimming lessons almost 30 years ago. I HATED my swimming lessons at Cottonwood. I was scared to death of the high school and the high school kids. I HATED having to walk in through the locker rooms and seeing "big kids" doing big kid things. I was forever scarred when, after swimming lessons, I went to the locker room to find that someone had stolen ALL of my personal belongings. It was the feeling of violation that was disturbing more than riding home shoeless and wet.

I remember seeing this "teenager" (and I say that with the four-letter-word emphasis I would have meant it as a little kid) walking around the locker room opening and slamming lockers--just for the heck of it--so hard that they'd get stuck shut. He didn't care if someone's stuff was in the locker, in fact, I think that was his hope and intention.

I was freaked out by a life guard whose looks fell somewhere between Velma from Scooby-Doo and pure androgyny. She's the one who would yell out "Play TIME!" at for the last ten minutes of the lessons. I'm sure she was a great soul, but there was something about her that unsettled me.

I was scarred when my neighbor, I think it was Stephanie, came out of the locker room with her feet bleeding because she stepped on broken glass in the showers. (Those dang teenagers--once again destroying all sense of safety and goodness in this world!)

Then there was the "dead-man's float." Why they made us do this was beyond me. It was part of the certification at the highest level. They made us get in the diving pool and float face down. When we needed a breath, we were to bring our arms down below us, bring our head up for air, then assume the dead mans' float again. It seemed like they made us do that for an eternity. I resent the name of the exercise as much as anything--that started it all out on the wrong foot.

Several of my neighbors and my sisters would take these swimming lessons at Cottonwood High School. We would carpool, which meant doubling up and sitting on laps to get 10 kids in a 6-passenger sedan to the lessons. We would sing all the way there and back. One of the songs we'd sing was the old Kentucky Fried Chicken jingle that started out "It's so nice, nice to feel; so good about a meal..." and instead of ending in "...so good about Kentucky Fried Chicken" we would replace it with "Kentucky fried frog legs!" We were so hilarious. We would also sing that camp song "Hello muddah, hello faddah..." as well as some echo song that started out "Oh one fine day (oh one fine day), I met a bear (I met a bear)...".

None of this matters aside from the fact that these songs became a soundtrack of horror for me. They all meant I was on my way to swimming lessons to dodge nefarious teenagers and broken glass in the locker room and deal with the he-she and dead-man's float in the pool.

Sorry, son. Good luck at your swimming lessons. It's all for your own good.

Fun with word verification

2011-06-05T00:19:00.000-06:00

Yes, I'll admit, I share a level of humor with that of a typical 14-year-old male. With that said, I couldn't help but laugh at this recent "word verification" I was presented with:

Old 97's, serendipity, and a Memorial weekend

2011-06-02T00:07:00.008-06:00

This post topic has been bumping around my head since the middle of Memorial Day weekend. I haven't been sure how to write what I want to convey, but I'm going to try to get it down here....

PART I - Booyah!

I went to my fourth Old 97's concert. Who, you ask? The Old 97's. A band I randomly discovered 13 years ago due to a bout of insomnia and a late Austin City Limits rerun on PBS. This band was just killing it on the stage. They weren't country. But they weren't alternative rock. They were something else, er something both. I was hooked.

Fast forward to Memorial weekend, 2011. The 97's are in town. Anna--also a fan--is with me. Before the show, we make a stop to Lucky 13 for dinner. I was a little less ambitious this time around, which served me well. I got a burger called the "Ol' man" or the "Stinky" or the "Stinky ol' man." I don't know for sure. Either way, it was good.

Off to the show...

Anna and I waited in the rain for the Urban Lounge to open. Once inside, we moved our way around the club, the same way a dog sniffs and scoots around on a sofa until it finds just the right spot before plopping down. For us, that was eventually up front on the left side of the stage, behind two guys: one of them was really huge, and his friend was even bigger.

Sarah Jaffe

The opening act was Sarah Jaffe. I'd never heard of her before, but she was a gracious entertainer, interacting with the crowd and having fun with it all.

The Old 97's

When she finished up, the crowd shifted, morphed, and settled. That ended up putting us in front of the two big dudes who bailed for some beers, but were soon behind us again. The Old 97's came out, and I could tell the lead singer, Rhett Miller, was already a little buzzed.

The band was rocking. They made their way through new hits, old hits, twangy hits, and poppy hits. I found myself crammed in the crowd and non-consensually grinding with one of the big dudes behind me. Between the loud cheers from the grinding dude and the speaker right in front of me, my left ear took a sonic beating. It was a full 36 hours later before my hearing returned without a ring.

After the show, the band mingled with fans over at the merchandising table. Anna picked up a t-shirt, and I bought a poster, and the band was nice enough to sign and personalize our swag for us.

PART II - Serendipity

The next morning was back to normal life. For me, on Sunday, that means church and all of its responsibilities. By now, most of you know I'm LDS (aka "Mormon"). This particular Sunday, I was asked if I would take the sacrament (similar to a Catholic Eucharist) to the elderly shut-ins who are part of our congregation (or, what we call a "ward"). I had never done it before, but I was glad to help.

This is the mural on front of the "Edgehill" LDS ward building where I attend.

I have a second cousin, a real salt-of-the-earth guy named Dan, who is also in this ward with me. He had taken the sacrament to the shut-ins before, so I asked him to join me and show me the ropes so I could show someone else the ropes next time around.

One of the people we visited was a sweet old widow who I'll call "Sister S." Dan and I blessed the bread and water and served it to her. (For those who are unfamiliar, an LDS sacrament consists of regular bread, and regular water--both in small portions--about a thimble full of water, and a piece of bread maybe the size of a quarter.)

Typical LDS sacrament serving

After taking it, she related a story about Dan's and my great grandfather, Marvin O. Ashton. As it turns out, Marvin Ashton was the very first bishop of the Wasatch ward, the ward Dan, Sister S., and I attend today. Bishops are the head of a ward, like a priest or pastor in other Christian sects. This ward, the Wasatch ward, was formed in 1917, and, like I said, my great grandfather was its first bishop, holding that position for the next seven years.

Sister S. related the story of how my great grandfather helped her family get through a very hard time when she was a very young girl. To make a long story short, Sister S.'s father left his wife and kids. Sister S. related how my great grandfather was a moral support to Sister S. and her mother through that trying time. By my math, it looks like Marvin was done with his role as bishop at this time, and probably just a concerned member of the ward.

Sister S. said that meant everything to her and her mother. According to her, it kept her family together and their faith intact in a time when they had felt ultimately abandoned by their father.

My great grandpa, Marvin O. Ashton

It was a neat feeling. A strange circle-of-life moment to hear this woman telling me and my second cousin about our great grandfather and what a profound role he played in her family's life. I never knew this man. Heck, he died before my mom knew him. But as genetics go, a part of him may have carried to me. Am I made of the same stuff? Am I living up to the kind of person he was?

PART III - How it comes together, sort of

Here, in the space of 12 hours, I had the extreme fun of seeing a favorite band up close and personal--it was an awesome time--and then experiencing this simple moment with a widow. Both were awesome experiences. Both left a mark, very different from each other. But, I wouldn't trade either of them. I think life needs to have both the fun 'n' rowdy and the meaningful.

Life is a delicate, beautiful, and sometimes brutal thing, and I feel fortunate to have diverse experiences like those mentioned here, and to be surrounded by good people.

I found this quote from President George Albert Smith (8th president of the LDS church) about my great grandfather at his funeral:

"This good man was not interested in winning the favor of those who were great and strong and powerful, but if a man or a woman or a child was in distress, he found pleasure in relieving that anxiety and sorrow if it was possible to do so. What more could we say of a human being?"

I have a long way to go before I'm any good at it, but hope to be a person like this.

Scott Pilgrim vs. Total Awesomeness

2011-06-01T10:45:00.006-06:00

Sometimes I'm a little late to the game. But here I am, in way-too-late fashion giving "Scott Pilgrim vs The World" its props.

I saw it for the first time last night. Two things dawned on me as it played:
1) I'm starting to feel old, and
2) I thought this movie was ridiculously awesome.

In a few words, the movie, (which is based on a comic) is about a loser guy who falls in love with a girl, and has to defeat her seven evil exes in arcade-/anime-style battles (think Mortal Combat) to secure her affection. I'll leave it at that. Hilarity ensues.

Here is the trailer:

Goodbye, Harry Potter!

2011-05-26T12:35:00.007-06:00

Well, I finally did it. I finished all of the Harry Potter books. It's been a project that started about a decade ago and finally came to a close this month.

I was late to the whole Harry Potter gig. The series was already quite popular when I dove into it; enough to warrant a large-budget movie. So, sometime back in 2001, I decided to read the book, at least the first one, before the movie came out. That tradition stuck.

The truth is, this has been a journey that Anna and I have been taking together. A lot of the time, we would get the books on tape, and plow through several chapters on our various road trips. In fact, it will feel strange to hit the road this summer and not have ANY Harry Potter to listen to.

It took me a long time to get through book seven--"The Deathly Hallows." We bought the audio book back in March of 2010. We got through a good chunk of it at that time, then lost the momentum. But we got far enough that we covered *almost* everything in Part One of the "Hallows" movie. The last 10-20 minutes of that movie was stuff I hadn't read yet, and that was the first time I had watched any Harry Potter and not known what was about to happen. It was kind of nice.

Still, the remainder of book seven sat unread. I got restless. I started to see some early promotion of the final movie and decided to finish it on my own, not waiting to listen to it with Anna. Boo me. Oh well.

But it's done now, and I actually really liked the finish. In all of my Harry Potter fatigue, I started to feel like no ending would befit the long road to get there. I was pleasantly surprised to be wrong. I thought Rowling paced the conclusion of the book nicely.

Now, a word about Rowling herself. I've heard some folks be critical of her as a writer. Looking back on the whole series, I have to hand it to here. I think she's a better writer and storyteller than she gets credit for. As her complete Harry Potter series starts to age on people's bookshelves like fine wine, I do think the books will be looked at as not only entertaining stories, but solid literature. She was writing for young adults, so she doesn't go crazy with adult vocabulary, but I didn't feel like I was reading "See Spot Run" either.

Her characters were rich. Her universe was interesting and blended realism seamlessly with fantasy. The overall story arc played out elegantly, and there were good sub-plots along the way.

All in all, I'm glad I'm done. While I really enjoyed the series, I do still have the aforementioned Potter exhaustion that may take another decade to erase.

But, as with the seven times before, I'm really looking forward to the movie this summer.

Travelogue: Arches, Canyonlands, and bodily functions

2011-05-11T22:09:00.003-06:00

Like last year, my longtime friend Matt was kind enough to invite me along on his spring backpacking trip with his brother Mike. We had had fun last year in Zion National Park, and I was looking forward to our reprise to southern Utah.

I love the red rock of southern Utah. It's in my blood. I've been heading down there since I was a little kid on family vacations for fall and spring break, and in high school and college, started exploring the back country on backpacking trips with my friends. I love all the beautiful scenery down there, but I have a particular fondness for Arches National Park.

On this trip, the plan was to make a token stop at Arches and the neighboring city Moab, then head down to the Needles district of Canyonlands National Park.

But, as the saying goes, plans go out the window once the bullets fly...

En route to Moab/Arches our group of 6 (Me, Matt, his brother Mike, their two bro-in-laws Alan and Kevin, and Matt's college friend Jeff) made a pit stop in Green River. To that point, I had been crammed in the very back seat of the van with Mike. As we pull in to the Subway for a bite, Mike says he's not feeling so well. He sits down with us but doesn't eat. I've only seen the shade of gray his face was on two types of people: zombies, and dudes about to blow major chunks. Thankfully, he was the latter; (that's the best spin I can put on it).

By the first-hand accounts of those among our party who were in the restroom at the time of the incident, Mike purged everything including his left leg into the porcelain throne. As luck would have it, Mike is an M. D. as is Jeff, so Jeff called a Moab Pharmacy on Mike's behalf. (Incidentally, my professional training as a writer and editor didn't come in handy at that time, but I'm putting it to good use now.)

We got to Moab, and got Mike the meds. At that point we drove to Arches, dropped Mike off at the visitor's center to write his name in vomit in the parking lot while we went for a short hike atop Courthouse Towers. (Mike insisted we go. And like insensitive, instant-gratification-desiring males, we took his offer to leave him behind for an hour or two.)

Courthouse Towers is beautiful. As the name suggests, it's a series of high, sheer-cliff bordered formations of rock. The view from on top was majestic. We climbed it at dusk and got some amazing sundown vistas.

We picked up what was left of Mike sitting in the dark of the visitors center.

At that point, there was little debate that he needed a hotel room rather than the camping site we were scheduled to use, an hour-and-a-half drive away near Canyonlands. We found a room at one of the motels in Moab. As luck would have it, they only had ONE LAST ROOM. We booked it.

Mike puked spectacularly one more time outside the motel, then retired for the night. Matt kept vigil with him. The four of us who remained behind debated our options which, at 10pm, were pretty limited. We drove to a neighboring motel and asked their rates. They were $40 more than where we left Mike. We decided to send one from our party back to Mike's motel and see if a different person could get a different answer. I was our representative. It turns out, they had ONE LAST ROOM! How convenient, since we got their other ONE LAST ROOM just 30 minutes prior...

With Mike on his death bed, we debated altering our plans and finishing up our trip in Arches, staying near the relative civilization of Moab, and foregoing Canyonlands. We slept on it and reconnoitered at the continental breakfast dining room the next morning. Mike was on the phone with his wife and looking like a new man. Over a meal of powdered eggs and muffins, we decided Canyonlands was back on!

We were a little behind schedule but after a couple hours of driving, an hour topping off water supplies and getting instructions from the Park ranger, we hit the trail of Elephant Canyon. We had about three miles to go to our campsite.

The first quarter mile was a beast. Basically it was straight up. It didn't take long for this trail to start taking its toll on Mike who had left his significant mark, and half his body weight, in Moab the prior 12 hours.

Many times, when your heading out on a trail, the trail itself is marginal in beauty, but your goal is to end in some spectacular place. Not so in Elephant Canyon. It was awesome all the way along. Beautiful pink, orange and red rock formations that look like petrified play dough. After a couple hours, we made our stop. Mike looked like he was about to die, so we set up a tent, left him there and head out for Chelser Park--another 2-3 miles from our site.

The trail to Chelser Park didn't get any less amazing.

And the Park itself was a unique scene. A virtual ring of sandstone formations surrounding a grassy plain. Ranchers used to bring their herds there to graze and the animals were penned in by the natural corral of the rock fins.

We were losing daylight, but ventured into the Joint part of the trail where you're walking through narrow fissures of rock with sheer rock walls going up 20-60 feet above your head.

Due to our delays, we didn't have time to hike the whole Chesler Park loop, but turned around and head back to the camp to see if Mike was still alive. He was. We ate our packed-in dinners, chatted on the sandstone, did our best impersonations of Aaron Neville singing just about any song we could come up with, farted a several times each, then turned in for the night.

In the morning, we were up at an ungodly early hour, but the sun was up, the tent was hot, and it was time to hit the trail again. We ate breakfast, belched, left our camp and head off toward Druid Arch about two miles from camp.

The trail followed a dry river bed then head up into a sandstone canyon. The last quarter mile, or so, was a lot of rock hopping and scrambling, but once at the end of the trail, the view was sublime. Druid Arch is actually a series of three arches in one formation.

More magnificent than the arch was the view down Elephant Canyon. There are no words to describe it.

At that point, we headed back, and each step was a step closer to home and the end of the trip. We broke camp, put on our packs and head back to the van.

The night before, I had felt some blisters starting to form. They weren't there yet, but I can recognize the heat-like pain of a spot on the foot that is getting too much wear. I had brought some medical tape, and taped up the balls of both feet that morning. My problem was, I had forgotten to bring any gauze, so I was applying the tape right to the skin. It did a great job stopping the blisters from progressing on the bottom of my feet, but made some beautiful ones on the tops of my feet where the end of the tape pushed against my skin. As I removed the tape, it efficiently removed my skin with it. It didn't feel good, nor was it pretty to watch. But I scored some band aids from my hike mates and put that life lesson behind me.

At that point the rest of the trip was driving, stopping in Moab for dinner, and smelling Mike's stomach flu-laced flatulence all the way back to the Wasatch Front. It smelled like rotten eggs mixed with Meatloaf's sweaty arm pit. Power windows were our friend.

We got home no worse for the wear. I saw some beautiful country and had a good time with old friends, and some new ones.

Review: Major Pettigrew's Last Stand

2011-05-11T14:03:00.005-06:00

Reading is just like life: you hit good strides, and there are the unavoidable slumps.

As part of the intra-marriage book club Anna and I have, the next book on my stack was one of Anna's choices: "Major Pettigrew's Last Stand" by Helen Simonson.

It took me two months to get through this book. It's was more like a couple weeks once I diligently picked up the book. I don't know why I struggled with this one.

I'll be honest, once I actually finished the book, I realized that I enjoyed it. I had grown an affection for the characters. I think I was unprepared for the journey and it took me a few chapters to realize how to smell the roses in this one. Maybe it was a jolt to the system to leave the sci-fi, adventure novels I had been plowing through just prior.

"Pettigrew" is a story about love and self realization. The title character, Major Pettigrew, is the consummate Englishman. He's a widower entering his golden years. His only son is grown and mixed up in the fast-paced business world of London. The story begins with the death of the Major's brother, and the battle over a pair of antique pistols given to the brothers from their father upon his death. The Major feels that the pistols belong together and resents that his brother's family wants to sell the pair to the highest bidder.

Meanwhile, the Major strikes up a friendship with the widowed Muslim shop owner--Jasmina Ali--in his little English countryside town. As he becomes familiar with her world, he's introduced to her nephew, a devout Muslim who resents his Aunt's unorthodox ways, and his ex-girlfriend who we find out later the nephew fathered a child with.

As the book unfolds the Major, his son, his son's girlfriend, Jasmina, the nephew, the ex-girlfriend and her son get wrapped up together into a fun, wild, silly, emotional, and unsteady ride.

I'm embarrassed it took me so long to read it. After putting a little more effort into it, I liked the story. Give it a read if you get a chance.

Stuff I believe, part III: bin Laden's death, etc.

2011-05-02T09:35:00.011-06:00

Amidst the pointless drivel I usually post about around here, I occasionally feel the need to put some thought down that are a little more substantial. This is one of those posts. The first two are here, and here.

***

I was watching "Celebrity Apprentice" with Anna last night when the news broke that Osama bin Laden had been found and killed.

What an accomplishment. After "9/11," once we had Mr. bin Laden in our sights, I didn't think it would take this long to get him. While the USA is not perfect, our history of accomplishment speaks for itself. So, I thought finding this madman in the rocky labyrinths of the Middle East was, while difficult, just a matter of time.

I suppose it was, just a longer span of time than I anticipated. It was almost a decade--and what a decade.

Since the hunt began, I've moved states, moved back, had four jobs, bought and sold a house, lived in seven different homes, and had four kids.

It struck me that my kids have no idea who Osama bin Laden is. My older two kids might get a lesson on the significance of this day in their elementary school classes, but otherwise, it was odd to me that this man who completely changed how the world functioned after September 10, 2001 doesn't even register on my kids' radar. How nice, and yet how sad at the same time. They don't know who he is, but they'll feel the influence of his hate and fear mongering the rest of their lives.

My mom talks about how simple the 1950s seemed when she was a child. I have similar sentiments for the 1980s when I did a lot of my formative growing. It wasn't a perfect time, but for me, it was a peaceful time. All my kids will ever know is a post-9/11 world--and they didn't even experience 9/11 itself.

While I'm proud of the hard work, diligence and bravery it took to find and kill Bin Laden, I'll be honest that there's a measure of cold comfort in it. Exterminating covert bands of thieves and murderers like this is like fighting the Hydra. For every Osama bin Laden we kill, there are two more guys who think he was a hero murdered in cold blood, and they take up his cause with more blood, hate and fervor than he.

Evil, like al Qaeda, will continue to exist. That's the reality of the world we live in; a world full of terrorists, murderers, rapists, pedophiles, thieves, slave masters, connivers, abusers and liars. But there is also a lot of goodness. There are loving fathers, mothers, children, grandparents, neighbors, friends, churches, community groups, all that have it in their hearts to love, do good, and build us up collectively.

In times like these, I have to lean on my religious beliefs that ultimately all will be made right. God has given all his earthly children the right to choose for themselves how to act and treat others until things are made right. Some choose to act with love, others choose to inflict pain for whatever motivation they have. God's son, Jesus Christ, is aware of all the evil and suffering. He sacrificed, suffered, and died for it all and knows exactly what each individual is suffering, no matter the age, race, gender, religion, issue, problem or pain. He will make it all better. In the meantime, let's show as much love, tolerance, and understanding to each other as we can.

Axe men

2011-04-28T22:46:00.000-06:00

It's time to talk guitarists.

I'm going to lay out the ones who I think are the best, and the ones who are my favorites--not necessarily the same thing.

To narrow the field, I'm considering guitarists that primarily play rock, blues, pop, and the various other genres that inspired or spawned from those. So, sorry Esteban, you're out of this discussion.

Full disclosure: my favorite type of guitar is blues rock. As the style suggests, it's a hybrid of the two. I can't talk music theory in a technical sense, but you know rock guitar when you hear it (think Eddie Van Halen) and you know blues guitar when you hear it (think B. B. King). I like guitar that is somewhere in the middle, or rather, something that is both. I like the soul of the blues, and the grit and edge of rock guitar. When a guitarist is well versed in both it's magic.

What makes a good guitarist to me is much more than technical ability. There are a host of guitar players in the world who have that. The best-of-the-best guitarists are artists. They take their ability and meld it with pure emotion; they and their instrument become one.

Let's start with two who I deem to be the best. They're not necessarily my favorites (though I'm a big fan of both), but if you can't at least appreciate these two, you're absolutely crazy.

The first is Jimi Hendrix. He's probably the quintessential blues rock guitarist. The guy could slay, but he could also let the guitar cry. His specific blend of blues, rock and distorted psychedelia make him one of a kind. I had a heck of a time deciding which of his greats to feature here. But alas, here is his cover of "All Along the Watchtower":

Tied for the best with Jimi is Stevie Ray Vaughan. Dudes, this guy is SO smooth. His guitar playing is like baby oil dripping off fine silk. His notes just slide off the strings like raw egg. For a good taste of SRV, check out his opening of "Texas Flood":

Now to my favorites, in no particular order:

Jimmy Page
Known for his work with Led Zeppelin and the Yardbirds, Jimmy was the essence of blues rock. I don't know what it is about his style that I love, but it's VERY distinct for me. I know when I'm hearing Page. His creative licks sear white hot with a undercurrent of cool blues. Here is tasty collection of his solos:

Alex Lifeson
This might be my curve ball. As the lead guitarist for Rush, Alex leans more toward rock than the others in this collection. His style started very much in the early hard rock and prog sound (think Cream) like a lot of his contemporaries from the late '60s and early '70s, but has developed his own rock style along the way incorporating styles from from all along the pop and rock spectrum. His style might be the hardest to describe among the those presented here. He sounds very technical and precise, a little experimental and yet traditional rock at the same time. Here's an interesting collection of solos:

Jack White
I'm not sure Jack is human. He is pure emotion when he gets his hands on a guitar (or simply in front of a mic). Known primarily for his work in the two-person band the White Stripes, he's also spends time with the Raconteurs and the Dead Weather. Rock, blues, country, metal, rockabilly--Jack plays it all and just lets it launch from his fingers. I sincerely think he'll go down as one of the VERY greatest. Check this nasty out:

David Gilmour
Last, but certainly not least is Mr. David Gilmour. If you make me choose one guitarist, I think Gilmour might be my personal favorite. He definitely has a blues leaning that is deep and soulful. I can listen to the guy play guitar all day long. From the beginning in his days with Pink Floyd, his style includes a lot of slowly sliding and soaring notes. He's not necessarily a hot lick guy--he lets the game come to him. It's often his slow hand approach that invites the pathos in his playing. It's also his ranginess; he'll dabble around down low, then glide to some magnificent highs. Here's some good stuff from "Comfortably Numb":

I have to let you see this one. Check out his "outro" from "Fat Old Sun." He's not a young man anymore, but I'm not sure he's ever sounded better than this. The whole song is an all-time favorite, but check it out from the 3:22 mark on:

And one more solo from his solo song "The Blue" (also a past GIY song of mine):

There are many favorite guitarists of mine. Honorable mention goes to:
Eric Clapton
Robert Fripp
Pete Townshend

Who would you suggest?

Review: Carmilla

2011-04-26T09:55:00.014-06:00

I read that there was a vampire story that pre-dated and likely influenced Bram Stoker's writing of "Dracula." The book is called "Carmilla" by Joseph Sheridan Le Fanu.

Le Fanu was an Irishman who was widely known for his tales of mystery and ghost stories in the mid-19th century.

"Carmilla," in particular, is a story about an ex-pat English family living in a castle in Austria.

The family, through strange circumstances, takes a beautiful, young female guest into their home. At that same time, young women in the small town of Styria begin getting ill and dying.

The female guest, named Carmilla, takes a serious interest in the daughter of the family named Laura. Carmilla has odd habits of sleeping late into the day, and appearing to wander off or sleepwalk at night. She also has wild mood swings. During Carmilla's stay, Laura begins to have strange dreams of being stalked and attacked at night while taking on the same symptoms of illness as the other girls in the village who are becoming weak, sick and dying.

J. Sheridan Le Fanu

Some of the older more superstitious members of the village suspect a vampire is haunting them.

There is a family friend, General Spielsforf, who's daughter was killed by the vampire, who meets up with Laura and her father. Joining him is a man named Baron Vordenburg, who is an expert on vampirism, and whose ancestor had hunted down and killed a group of vampires in Styria several generations before. Together, this group searches for the hidden crypt of the vampire.

I'm sure you can gather by now that the vampire and Carmilla are one in the same. Still it takes an interesting road to get to that point and for the protagonists to realize this. Once it's revealed the tension continues to mount as the hunt is on.

This story may sound typical, even cliche for the vampire genre. Forget that, "Carmilla" was the original. This is the story that inspired many that followed it.

While you enter the story likely knowing who the vampire is (just like how you already know that Jekyll is Hyde) you can still enjoy the story because Le Fanu does an excellent job of building mood and suspense.

I loved this story and highly recommend it.

Marty Feldman moment

2011-04-19T10:10:00.006-06:00

A friend had posted a Marty Feldman clip on his Facebook status yesterday, and it got me watching some more of him. I'm not too familiar with the googly-eyed Feldman's work outside of "Young Frankenstein," where he was brilliant.

I came across this clip from a movie I've not seen, but it gave me a good chuckle.

It leans on the grown-up side of humor, so if there are any little kiddies near, shoo them out for a couple minutes. Enjoy:

Review: 20,000 Leagues Under the Seas

2011-04-13T21:51:00.006-06:00

Jules Verne's "20,000 Leagues Under the Seas" was an epic in every sense of the word. It was a hefty novel that took me a couple weeks to get through. I loved it, hated it, endured it, and savored it all at the same time.

It's about three men: a scientist named Professor Aronnax, his man servant, Conseil, and a Canadian harpooner, Ned Land, who are thrown from a warship that is hunting what they assume is a giant narwhal that has been sinking ships with its spear around the world. It turns out this narwhal is actually an underwater boat, or "submersible"; (this was written before there were such things as submarines as we know them--and refer to them--today). The submersible is named the "Nautilus" and was invented, designed, built and commanded by Captain Nemo.

Not much is revealed about Nemo in this book. We learn that Nemo means "no one" in Latin. He speaks a language that Aronnax has never heard. The Nautilus crew speaks the same language. Nemo shows no sign of a nation of origin, and based on some of the portraits, books and artifacts within the Nautilus, he embraces certain philosophies and sensibilities from all over the world, while rejecting all nations wholesale.

Until reading this, my exposure to this story was through the famous Disney movie adaptation from the '50s. I also saw some other version that was newer, but I don't remember much about it.

Jules Verne

By comparrison, this novel left me with a very different impression. As you can imagine, movies need to keep a pace that holds a viewer's interest for 90 minutes. So the movies place emphasis on the action sequences. The book was very different. There were interesting chapters of adventure, but they were usually bookended by long spells of dialogue between the main characters and seemingly endless slabs of exposition that often included scientific classification of marine species, geographic formations and other maritime conditions.

I could have easily just skipped through the slow parts, but by gum, I was in it for the long haul, so I pushed through pages and pages that read like this:

"During their games, their bounds, while rivalling each other in beauty, brightness, and velocity, I distinguished the green labre; the banded mullet, marked by a double line of black; the round-tailed goby, of a white colour, with violet spots on the back; the Japanese scombrus, a beautiful mackerel of these seas, with a blue body and silvery head; the brilliant azurors, whose name alone defies description; some banded spares, with variegated fins of blue and yellow; the woodcocks of the seas, some specimens of which attain a yard in length; Japanese salamanders, spider lampreys, serpents six feet long, with eyes small and lively, and a huge mouth bristling with teeth; with many other species."

Stretches of description like that could go on for some time.

Overall, I struggled with the voice of the narrator. As a scientist of the marine biologist sort, Aronnax's sensibilities leaned heavily to the analytical side, which often felt starchy and buttoned up; not what I associate with an undersea adventure. How different would the story have been had it come through Ned Land's eyes rather than Aronnax's. This was my first Verne story, and I understand that his protagonists were often scientific, logical sorts. I don't always mind that. That's very similar to the ghost stories I read fr0m M. R. James, which were always narrated by antiquaries--researchers of ancient artifacts. So, I didn't completely hate Aronnax's point of view, but it did lend to a handful of long sections that tested my patience.

But there were some amazing tales in this book. The most iconic image of this story is the battle the Nautilus crew has in the grips of a giant squid. In truth, it's actually squids that the crew is fights off with axes, rifles and harpoon on the surface of the ocean. It really is a classic scene.

Image posted with the permission of Scott Daly.
Find his illustrations at www.scottdaly.com

I also loved the Nautilus navigating through boiling volcanic waters, through a fictional tunnel that connects the Mediterranean Sea to the Red Sea, and past graveyards of sunken ships. But I think my favorite part was when the crew was down at the South Pole and found themselves trapped on all sides by shifting icebergs. Verne is in great form as he describes the predicament of the Nautilus trapped by water becoming solidified, air running out, and no way out. Good stuff!

Here's the best way I can go about recommending 20K Leagues: if you think you'd enjoy a book like this, then give this a try. If you don't think it's your cup o' tea, stay away; I guarantee you'll struggle with it, if not abhor it. For myself, I like a classic adventure, so there was enough exquisite stuff to get me through some of the slower sections.

As it turns out, there is actually a sequel to "Leagues" called "The Mysterious Island." I have it queued up in my iPod, but I may wait a few weeks or months to take it on.

Alan's Little Life Maxims #47

2011-04-12T06:54:00.002-06:00

There's nothing like a prominently-placed zit on the face to make you feel young again.

Disintegration

2011-04-11T00:06:00.012-06:00

Here's a story I wrote. As a promise to some old friends, I'm posting it here.

I drive a long way to work every day. It's about 40 miles each way. The idea for this story came on one of those drives. It still needs a lot of work, but I thought I'd put this draft out anyway. I hope you enjoy it.

***

"Disintegration"

I sit down in my car and place my black leather work bag in the passenger side. I stick the key in the ignition, start the engine, place both hands on the wheel, and stare straight ahead to the back of the garage wall.

Another day. Do I have do do this all over again?

I put my right arm around the passenger side head rest, look behind me, and back out onto the street. I make a perfect 90-degree arc--it’s almost artistic--until I’m facing the road ahead. I’m pointed forward, not moving, with the car still in reverse.

You don’t have to go. It’s not too late. The wheels haven’t gone forward yet...

I put the car in “Drive” and apply the gas. I’m on my way.

The routine begins, again, just like every day. I’ve done this so many times, it feels like it is all I know. All I’m meant to know. I’m an appliance. If I think hard enough, I can faintly remember stepping onto yellow school buses, running through sprinklers, or cycling after an ice cream man. I think that was me. Maybe I saw it on TV. I don’t know.

I steer the usual combination of right angles which lead me onto the freeway. With more speed, the hum from the tires against the concrete increase in volume and intensity. At 68 miles an hour, the vibration becomes a beautiful all-encompassing sound that overtakes every wave in my brain, allowing thoughts to traverse on frequencies that freely weave in and out of my skull.

You’re not actually there yet. You’re simply on your way. Just enjoy the ride...

White dotted lines approach me and I consume them. Cars glide and crisscross. Brake lights and orange signals flicker.

I’m on autopilot. Is it autopilot? If a washing machine is churning, is that considered autopilot, or is it simply justifying an existence? Lucid thoughts swim on the vibrations of the road, mixing, swirling, and evolving from idea, to notion, to daydream.

Do appliances daydream?

Freeway exits, on-ramps, and billboards. One recommends a lawyer. Another, liposuction. Stray pet adoption.

The freeway introduces a bend, from the south to the west. It also presents a gentle incline. The distant mountains sink as if their foundations suddenly succumb to quicksand. Before me is blue sky. Not a cloud. Just blue. I recall that the reason the sky appears blue is because light waves rain down from the universe and collide with a mass of molecules that make up our atmosphere. Many rays get through, but not the blue ones. They collide with atoms and fire off in every direction. This widespread violence paints the ether we stare at during the daytime hours.

I continue to surge west. A commuter aircraft enters my line of sight on the left, coming from the south. It’s way out, several miles. From where I sit, it’s tiny and slow, steadily progressing north across my path. It looks like a pill, a little white pain reliever, slowly inching its way across my windshield.

Where are its passengers coming from? Are they tired from a business trip? Maybe it’s a vacation that’s about to officially come to an end. Husbands returning to wives and children. Roommates returning from a weekend away. Pilots pushing buttons, flipping toggles, sitting in front of a dashboard full of orange needles at various angles. Flight attendants pouring coffee, gathering empty cans of ginger ale and bags of honey-roasted peanuts.

The aircraft is now straight ahead; just below and to the left of my rear-view mirror. It explodes. From one solid mass, it breaks into many pieces of various sizes: some white, others aflame, and the smaller ones like tiny, black specks. The trajectory of these pieces softly arc toward the earth. Heavier debris leads the way, while smaller, lighter items hang back and take their time. What are the small articles I can’t identify? A piece of luggage? A man?

How must it feel to plunge toward the earth? The cold wind rushing past my body, pulling at my clothes and hair, shoving its way into my lungs. Ears so full of white noise that it almost feels silent...

All the shards, pieces and scrap pass out of sight, beyond my dashboard, hood, and concrete barrier on the side of the road. Miles away, the raining material connects with the earth; a momentary precipitation of metal, cloth, and bone.

I drive on, following the gray, flavorless concrete path in front of me. The freeway slowly begins to veer to the south again following the contour of a foothill that lies lazily at the edge of the valley. In my rear-view mirror are streaks of white and black smoke, pointing like arrows to the location of the remains. As the freeway continues to bend, the images in my rear-view mirror slide away like sets on a stage.

I just saw a plane explode.

Did I just see a plane explode?

Maybe I didn’t. If I did, then violent and crowded atmosphere--with its light waves colliding with infinite Nitrogen, Carbon and Oxygen pebbles--will be joined by radio waves. Chattering voices spitting news, emergency dispatches, and mobile phone calls like a planet full of auctioneers.

I drive.

I’m an appliance....

A night at the ball game

2011-04-10T21:25:00.017-06:00

Last week, I left Anna at home with the little one and took my older three kids to an exhibition game between the Salt Lake Bees (of the AAA Pacific Coast League) and the University of Utah baseball team. It was a little windy, rainy, and cold, but it was a fun night watching America's pastime.

The kids weren't quite as into the game as their old man, so I had to take them to the playground w/in the ballpark for the middle innings.

The pros beat the joes by a score of 4-1 with the game getting pretty rainy and cold by the end. On the way out, the older two struck a pose with Bumble. Ashton was a little uncomfortable and hid behind me as I took the pic. What's so scary about a six-and-a-half foot bumble bee?

It was a fun night. Mr. Miller, Jr., if you're out there listening: do this again next year.

Writing that inspires me, part I

2011-04-08T12:56:00.007-06:00

Now and again, I'll post snippets from some of my favorite writings I've read or heard. It may be a paragraph or two from a novel, a poem, or even a pop or rock lyric.

Herman Melville

Here is the first sample from Herman Melville's "Moby Dick," chapter 70, titled "The Sphinx." I read it several years ago, probably in my mid-20s, but this one section has stayed with me since.

Let me set the scene: Captain Ahab and his crew have slaughtered a sperm whale and severed the body from the head, and kept the head (where the value of the whale really lies) hanging over the side of the boat. Ahab addresses the head in this genius bit of prose:

"Speak, thou vast and venerable head," muttered Ahab, "which, though ungarnished with a beard, yet here and there lookest hoary with mosses; speak, mighty head, and tell us the secret thing that is in thee. Of all divers, thou hast dived the deepest. That head upon which the upper sun now gleams, has moved amid this world's foundations. Where unrecorded names and navies rust, and untold hopes and anchors rot; where in her murderous hold this frigate earth is ballasted with bones of millions of the drowned; there, in that awful water-land, there was thy most familiar home. Thou hast been where bell or diver never went; hast slept by many a sailor's side, where sleepless mothers would give their lives to lay them down. Thou saw'st the locked lovers when leaping from their flaming ship; heart to heart they sank beneath the exulting wave; true to each other, when heaven seemed false to them. Thou saw'st the murdered mate when tossed by pirates from the midnight deck; for hours he fell into the deeper midnight of the insatiate maw; and his murderers still sailed on unharmed--while swift lightnings shivered the neighboring ship that would have borne a righteous husband to outstretched, longing arms. O head! thou hast seen enough to split the planets and make an infidel of Abraham, and not one syllable is thine!"

Wow. That still gives me goosebumps.

Oh..."K"?

2011-04-04T09:58:00.008-06:00

I was way, way, way off in my prediction for the new University of Utah basketball coach.

Once again, Utah's athletic director, Chris Hill, came out of nowhere with a coaching hire. To replace Coach Boylen, Hill brings in Larry Krystkowiak. Interestingly, Larry was considered the lead candidate last time around. At that time, Krystkowiak decided to stay with the Milwaukee Bucks organization and be promoted to their head coach position, and the Utes secured the services of Boylen.

This time around, Krystko didn't have another HC job to leverage. He was currently an assistant for the New Jersey Nets.

I'll admit, I had higher hopes for who Utah would get for this position. As such, I went through all the stages of grief when the news broke Saturday night. By now, I'm fine with it and I support Utah's Coach K. (We need a different nickname; "Coach K" has been taken.)

Here's to a new start for Runnin' Utes basketball post-Majerus (...again). Third time's the charm, right?

Play Ball!

2011-03-31T16:00:00.007-06:00

It's opening day today for Major League Baseball.

It's still a meaningful day to me. I'm not as into baseball as I was when I was a boy (when I was the biggest Angels fan outside of SoCal), but most of the time once I love something it remains a part of me. So it is with baseball--even though my days of playing baseball as a young teen came to a pathetic, humiliating end. (That's another post for another day).

I don't live in a Major League town, but I like to get out to the AAA ballpark here in town and catch a couple of games. My boys have no idea what farm teams are or what it means to get "called up." They just see big dudes in bleached white uniforms looking all official under the stadium lights and that's good enough for them. I'm lucky if I can get them to actually watch more than an inning or two. And if I don't buy them a hot dog or some other over-priced ballpark snack, they think I'm the meanest dad in the world. But there is something right about taking your kids to the ball game.

Two years in a row now, I've bought myself a new Salt Lake Bees ball cap. And I have a hoodie. I'm not some giant Bees fanatic. I like the novelty, the quaintness, simplicity and pureness of AAA baseball. It's petty, but I like that no one else is wearing a Bees hat outside Salt Lake (and often inside it).

When we go to games, we'll sit about where the uncovered bullpen is on the sideline, just beyond 3rd base. That's where the visiting team's pitchers warm up. When the pitcher throws it to the catcher my kids and I will make a noise like "bweeeep!" with our tones going from low to high as the ball sails from hand to mitt. When the catcher throws it back we all say "bweeewwwp" with our voices going from high to low. We didn't invent it. We heard other people doing it one time, and cracked us up so we adopted it.

The opening of baseball is a tell-tale sign that spring is really here (or should be). It means the air will start to change its scent from chimney smoke to warm grass and blossoms.

It means the cover can come off my grill.

It means grabbing some sandwiches at Subway and heading to the park for dinner with my wife and kids.

Play ball, indeed!

Dem bones

2011-03-28T13:37:00.021-06:00

The other night, Anna and I were talking about where and how we want to be buried. (Our evening conversations are not typically this morose, but we tend to cover the gamut.)

Both of us are of the opinion that the older we get, the more pleasant the thought of cremation and having our remains spread, sprinkled, (choose your verb), in some beautiful or sentimental place.

So, if we both agree, what's to debate, right?

Well, plenty of people who are very likely to survive your demise have their opinion about what to do with the worm food you've left behind. Sure, you can force their hand in your will, but it makes some sense to have some sensitivity to those who have to actually carry it out.

For some reason, in western culture, we're still a little squeamish about scorching a body to ash. Instead, we prefer the thought of taking a corpse, pumping it full of formaldehyde, dressing it up in a nice suit, placing it in a gilded box made to look all cozy inside, and burying six feet underground (for the worms, water, and time to do their thing anyway). Why do we feel better treating the deceased in this way?

If I go before Anna, and I had my remains cremated, I could see her placing my remains in any or all of these places:

Orson Spencer Hall, University of Utah. This is where Anna and I met in a writing workshop.

Devil's Garden, Arches National Park. Yes, I get the irony in the name, but that aside, this is one of the most beautiful places I've visited and did a lot of hiking and backpacking in my younger days. I've definitely left some of my heart in Devil's Garden. My friend Matt would know just where to sprinkle a little Alan dust.
Colter Bay, Grand Teton National Park. Another place I spent a lot of time.
The beach. I don't really care which one. SoCal, Hawaii, Mexico. I've been to them all and loved them all. If you made me pick, I'd probably say La Jolla.
Nutree Drive, Cottonwood Heights, Utah. This is where I grew up. We moved there from California when I was three, and I spent the next 16 years living there until I left on an LDS mission, and for three more years after that while I finished up college.

That house still represents my most formative years.

My hope is that as I live some more life, that there will be other places that have left an imprint on me. Maybe there will be so many options, my kids, (hopefully another 50 years from now) will say "Heck with it!," pump me full of chemicals, put me in a suit, then a box, and finally a 6-foot deep hole at the local mortuary.

Alan's Little Life Maxims #46

2011-03-28T07:00:00.000-06:00

It's hard to find replacement shoe laces as good as the ones the shoes came with. So... tie gently, my friends.

Who are the people in your Twitterhood? @Karenfayeth

2011-03-25T07:03:00.008-06:00

This post is the second in my series of interviewing folks I've become acquainted with via Twitter.

Today, I bring you @Karenfayeth, otherwise known as, well... Karen Fayeth. (That's one thing I like about Karen: no bull.)

I came to know Karen through a flash fiction writing contest hosted by Twitter's @NYCMidight. I've been in that contest twice, and both times I've connected with other Tweeters, but Karen has become my favorite of that bunch.

Karen has a blog called "Oh Fair New Mexico." When I went to it initially, it caught my eye. I, too, lived in the southwest for a little over five years. My wife, Anna, is an Arizonan, so I've come to appreciate the magic and beauty of that part of the country. But enough about me...

She was kind enough to let me lob some questions her way to share with me and you a little more about her...

***

Alan: Give me the 100-word story of your life.

Karen: Born in Las Vegas, not that I remember it. Moved to Albuquerque as a tot. Gawky, awkward girl through high school. Went to New Mexico State University. (Alan: Go Aggies!) Discovered "freeeeedom" from mom and dad. Chased a lot of cowboys. Caught quite a few. Graduated with an MBA. Worked in Albuquerque at same company as my parents. "Wait, this isn't my life's script!" Moved to the Bay Area. Scared witless. Settled in. Very homesick. Went through a Very Dark time. Struggled mightily. Eventually came through. On the other side, met this really amazing guy. Who me? Married? Ok. Happily Ever After. Mostly.

Alan: Your posts and tweets about work are funny. What is your biggest pet peeve about corporate/office life?

Karen: Working an office job seems so insincere to me. The things that I get so worked up about only matter within the four cubicle walls. The world doesn't care that I have to give a PowerPoint presentation to a group of thirty people and can't get the transitions to work right. And yet I'll stress about that for days.

Also, I think I'm too sensitive to survive well in a big corporation.

Alan: You live in the Bay Area, and have for several years, but your blog title "Oh Fair New Mexico" hearkens back to your upbringing in the southwest. That's always fascinated me. What is it that keeps you looking back to that region and part of your life?

Karen: Back in 2007, my husband suggested I write a blog about New Mexico as a way to work out my homesickness, and that's the key. As much as living in the Bay Area has become a part of me, I've never actually fit in here. I miss New Mexico ferociously, and yet, when I spend more than about four days back home I know I have to leave because it starts to feel restrictive again.

I guess I’m not done with New Mexico, or its not done with me.

Alan: I've never been there. My youngest sister lived in Albuquerque while I lived in Phoenix, and, like a bad brother, I never hopped east to visit her during that span. I've always wanted to check it out though.

Okay, lay it down: red or green chili?

Karen: First, I just gotta mention: It's spelled chile. Chili is the meat and bean stew-like dish. Chile is the pepper. It's a common confusion.

(Alan: I should have known that. Carry on....)

And for me, the answer is green. A medium heat Hatch green chile is like a religion.

Red has a more bitter flavor that works great with carne adovada and posole, but for burritos, enchiladas, and most everything else, I'm devoted to green.

Alan: I'm suddenly very, very hungry. I acquired a taste for chile verde in recent years. So, I'm with you on that one.

You currently live in Northern California. What do New Mexico and the Bay Area share in common that people might not think about?

Karen: A sense of reverence for history.

In New Mexico, there are people who can trace their family ancestry to the Spanish Conquistadors.

In San Francisco, the town slipped into a dark grief when a clock from the late 1800's was accidentally smashed by a delivery truck.

In New Mexico, there are ancient adobe ruins that remind us who walked those lands before we did.

In San Francisco, you can still see a show at The Great American Music hall, which opened its doors in 1907.

That sense of knowing who we are because of where we've been speaks to my soul.

Alan: I can definitely relate to that. The older I get, the more I become fascinated with those who went before me. What was life like for my forbears that lived in the British Isles, or established the Utah Territory, etc.? I'm finding that people are more similar than different across geographies, and I assume it's not much different across time, either. A westward pioneer or feudal serf had good days and bad days, just like me.

Last New Mexico question: Roswell UFO incident - Is there something to it, or is it just a fun modern mythology?

Karen: I think there is something to it, but I don't think it involves extra terrestrials. I'll bet you dollars to donuts that whatever it was that crashed in Roswell was something top secret that the post-war government needed to keep secret. White Sands Missile Range isn't terribly far away from Roswell. Neither is Fort Bliss in El Paso, Texas. I'm just sayin.'

As an aside: Roswell itself is a sleepy little ranch town and the residents get a little weary sometimes of the alien stuff. To go there, you'd never know it was internationally famous for aliens. It's just another cow town in southeastern New Mexico.

Alan: I'm a cynic who thinks that anything is possible; (yeah, I know, I can't explain it either). I'm very interested in local myths and legends, and I think the stories that surround Roswell are some fun ones. Truthfully, I'm not that well read on the incident, aside from television programs, etc., but it's sure hard to think that something peculiar didn't go down there. I don't think it was E.T. either, but I love the stories and the mystery that surrounds it.

You drive a Jeep? Say a few things about it.

Karen: I love my Jeep. It's a 2001 Cherokee, not Grand, but the classic boxy body style. That was the last year they made the Cherokee and she's a beauty. It's only the second car I have ever bought with my own money. The first was a 1995 Cherokee.

I may not get to go four wheel driving like I did when I lived in New Mexico, but driving my Jeep is important to me. I adore rolling my decade old Jeep into the parking lot at my oh-so-fancy Silicon Valley job. I squeeze 'er in there among the Mercedes and Beemers and I laugh.

I've never really bought into that whole "my car is my identity" but I can reluctantly say, that Jeep says a lot about who I am.

Alan: My wife, Anna, and I bought a white Jeep Wrangler early in our marriage. It was some sort of early '90s model, as I recall. It was mostly "her car," and she did look cute in it. While it did have some big tires on it, it was a four-cylinder, which doesn't really impress anyone in the 4WD community. I think we were relieved when someone actually bought it from us. They paid cash, and we didn't ask any questions.

If you could be a movie character and live in their world, who would it be?

Karen: Hmm, that's a tough one. I'd have to say Ramona from "Scott Pilgrim vs The World." One, she's tough. Two, she can travel through sub-space. Three, she knows her mind, despite that pesky devotion to Gideon. Plus she dresses rad and doesn't take any shit off of anyone.

Too geeky?

Alan: Too geeky? Nah. It takes a lot to get to that point with me.

I haven't seen the Scott Pilgrim movie or read the graphic novels, but when the movie came out, one of my friends said it was a "must see" because the humor is right up my alley. So, in the near future, I'll have a better idea about what it means to want to be Ramona Victoria Flowers.

When did you discover that you liked and were good at writing?

Karen: I've always loved words and was pretty handy with a phrase, but it was in the late 1990's when I had a dream that moved me. I couldn't shake it off and I felt like I had to write it down. So I did. That actually became my first completed novel, and I was astounded I was able to do it. It's not great, but it is a coherent story across 80,000 words.

Then a couple years later, I had another story idea and I wrote it out. I'd managed to finish yet another full-length novel. It was mind boggling!

Finally, I stumbled across National Novel Writing Month. Going through that process really broke something open inside of me. It helped me learn to wrangle my inner editor into submission and from there I began writing in earnest.

I've always hated the advice of "write every day" and I rejected it outright. But I gotta say, over the four years of writing my blog, I've watched my writing improve by leaps and bounds.

Alan: As you say, you're handy with a phrase, and I've enjoyed reading your stories in the contests we've been in. I'm glad you mentioned your blog as a writing outlet. I've enjoyed my blog as one more way to get my yah-yah's out. Seldom do I get to write selfishly at work, so I compensate on my blog.

What is it about Merle Haggard that works for you?

Karen: Merle's music has always been there in my life. When I hear him sing, it puts me in a place and time and makes me feel safe.

Plus, when you've danced to "Silver Wings" at the Deming, NM LULAC Hall with a gorgeous long-limbed cowboy in a perfectly creased Stetson...well that’s just magic. Listening to Merle always captures a bit of that magic back for me.

Alan: I'll take your word for it when it comes to dancing boot-to-boot with cowboys. But it was in my twenties that I started to gain an appreciation for "old country." I don't know how to define it, but if I say Johnny Cash, Willie Nelson, and throw in a dash of Gene Autry, Marty Robbins, and Sons of Pioneers, that's the country I like. Maybe that's considered western? If people ask, I say I don't like country, because I don't like the contemporary stuff, unless there's a rock n' roll grittiness, like Shooter Jennings.

What high school clique were you in?

Ouch, tough question. High school wasn't great for me. I didn't really fit in anywhere. I did have a couple good friends, and we tended to be a part of the Speech and Debate team geeks. I competed back then and wished I had better confidence. The person I am now could have brought home the trophies. Back then, I only brought home one prize, but I'm very proud of it.

Alan: Oddly, that's a hard question for everyone to answer, so thanks for taking it on. I wonder if even the "cool kids" thought they were cool?

I'm a fan of ghosts and ghost stories. Do you believe in ghosts? Why or why not? Any stories to share?

Karen: Despite my answer to the Roswell question, I do actually believe in aliens and yes, I do believe in ghosts too.

Not sure why, I guess in New Mexico believing in the ghosts that walk the world is sort of baked into our culture. Dia de las Muertos (Alan: A sadly under-recognized holiday outside the southwest) really works for me. I love that on that day the "veil is thin" so we can be with our loved ones again.

Also, there is that legend of La Llorona that still scares me you-know-whatless. I know it's a scary story meant to keep kids out of drainage ditches, but I buy into that story!

I love haunted houses, but am usually disappointed by them. The Winchester Mystery house is just wacky. It doesn't feel haunted. On a trip to San Diego I wandered into the Whaley House and only later did I read that it's considered one of the most haunted places in the US.

Then there's Alcatraz. I didn't see any ghosts but that place just feels freaking haunted. Then again a crumbling prison on a freezing cold island isn't exactly a happy place.

I think that the place I feel like is most haunted is a bar called The Saloon in San Francisco. Opened in 1861, it's the longest continually operating bar in SF (meaning it survived prohibition).

It used to host a bawdy house upstairs and downstairs young guys would get drunk and get shanghaied (not a very politically correct term, I know), meaning they'd sober up and find themselves the newest employees of a ship out to sea.

I used to spend a lot of time in that bar (my boyfriend at the time was a musician). I swear I used to see ghosts in there a lot. I'd see someone standing off to the side then turn to look and...nobody. I think there is a loooong history of bad/sad stuff there. Ripe territory for ghosts! Fresno Alley right outside the door is creeeeepy.

Moss Beach Distillery in Half Moon Bay is also actively haunted. I've been there when the lights move and doors slam shut and cold chills take over the room. I love EVERY second of being scared out of my mind when I have dinner there.

Alan: I hear ya with La Llorona. I hadn't heard of her until I lived in Arizona. There are some creepy stories on that subject. Anna and I are planning to head out to the Bay area soon, and the Winchester House is at the top of my list.

Similarly, I believe in ghosts, but don't believe most of the stories I hear (back to that "open-minded cynic" again). But that percentage that seems credible (or, at very least is well told) always gives me goosebumps.

Last question. What are five things you can't live without?

Karen: Outside of people...

1) Music (all kinds but mostly classic country)
2) Green chile chicken enchiladas with an egg and sour cream on top (Alan: Now you're talkin'!)
3) OPI nail polish in the color Kennebunk-port (a gorgeous red)
4) A good Makers Mark Manhattan (Alan: I had to Google it.)
5) My iMac, which gives me a way to get words out of my head and onto the page.

Alan: Karen, you rock the Casbah . Thanks for participating! See ya 'round the Twitterhood.

Review: The Invisible Man

2011-03-24T12:03:00.003-06:00

I finished reading H. G. Wells' "The Invisible Man." It's the second book of his I've read, having already paged through "The War of the World s" earlier this year.

As I read it, it reminded me a lot of two other books I've read recently: "The Picture of Dorian Gray" and "The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde." Particularly the latter. But all three books deal with man altering his nature and having it backfire.

I have to say, of the three, I'd put "Invisible Man" below the other two. I'll discuss why below, but I still liked it.

Images posted with permission from Scott Daly.
Check out his stuff; it's VERY cool:

www.scottdaly.com
http://scottcdaly.blogspot.com

In a nutshell, "Invisible Man" follows Griffin, the invisible man, as he roams English townships dealing with and trying to reverse his invisibility, then succumbing to it. He makes stops into pubs, markets and homes trying to survive and find the people and resources to help him, all the while causing a sense of terror wherever his presence becomes known.

I have not seen the Universal Studios movie, and have only seen parodies of the book in cartoons, etc., so I was not terribly familiar with how the original story went, or what the character was like before reading it. What I did not expect was for Griffin to be a villain. Welles writes him as an ego-centric, spiteful man whose sanity deteriorates as the story progresses.

So, here's where I had an issue: the premise and the character are great! I just wish Welles did more with them. The story has SO MUCH potential. Are you kidding? A man who has made himself invisible!? What would he do? Where would he go? Throw in the fact that he's a madman and it gets even better.

I felt like Wells didn't let the story explore the space it could have.

There were things I liked. For instance, Griffin has a cold throughout the story caused by his exposure to the elements (due to his common state of nature) which is something he's constantly challenged with as he attempts not to be discovered.

His invisibility also had some limitations. For instance, when he eats, the food he consumes is visible, appearing to hang in the air until it gets assimilated into his body (a point that has its own issues if you really think it through...).

It sounds like I'm bagging on the story. I'll reiterate that liked it. I liked it more than most books I read because it fits into the classic monster/sci-fi/horror/suspense genres that I love so much. But among those genres, I've read better books, starting with Wells' own "War of the Worlds."

So, if you like those weird fiction genres, definitely pick it up. It does stand on its own, and my only problem was that I thought it could have gone much further than it did--a sin of omission, if nothing else.

Calling my shot: new Utah Utes basketball coach

2011-03-22T00:07:00.011-06:00

Below is my prediction based not on what I want to happen (zombie Coach Wooden is not looking like a viable plan), but what I think the bones are pointing toward with the hiring of the new University of Utah men's basketball coach:

Option 1 is BYU's Dave Rose. That's why things are so bloody quiet. Nothing can happen until the zoobs get bounced from the tourney. For my sanity, and for all that is holy, I hope that happens this week.

Rose

Option number 2 is Randy Bennett from St. Mary's. (For those of you keeping track at home, that's in the West Coast Conference). In the eyes of Utah's athletic director, Chris Hill, Bennett is a nice consolation prize if he can't lure Rose away.

Bennett

Option 3 is Mark Gottfried. He's unemployed and most recently was the head coach at Alabama back in '09. He has a lot of experience, but just enough question marks to put him at the bottom of Hill's list. But, since he's not going anywhere, he's the emergency parachute if options 1 and 2 don't open.

Gottfried

What happens:
Rose seriously contemplates it. But he already has a healthy, rolling program and the personal fallout of leaving BYU for their hated rivals to the north is something he's not sure is worth the money and higher ceiling Utah offers. Still, BYU--due to their pride, with a dash of myopia--matches Rose's offer to lock him up. They can't afford to lose another bidding war to the Utes like they did with Whittingham.

bad mutha trucka

Randy Bennett takes the gig. He's seen enough of the WCC to see the writing on the wall. He's done as much as any coach can do with the Gaels. Also, with Rose staying and continuing to build the WCC-bound Y program, he knows that St. Mary's is likely knocked down a peg, and an at-large post-season bid for the 3rd place WCC team is a virtual impossibility in the 1-bid mid major league. If you can't beat 'em, join a better conference. Welcome Coach Bennett.

Sorry, Mr. Gottfried. ESPN is still a good gig.

Let's see how this plays out. Grab your popcorn. Go Utes!

Black Lagoon Creature Feature

2011-03-18T11:23:00.007-06:00

Everybody is familiar with the image of the Creature from the Black Lagoon (aka "Gill-man"), right? I can recall his visage about as long as I can for Dracula and Frankenstein's monster. But, until the other day, I had never actually sat down and watched one of the movies that feature him solely.

I saw on Netflix that they had the original "Creature from the Black Lagoon" available to stream. So, I took my chance to see it.

I enjoyed it. While a little dated (in just about every way) it was still entertaining, and I didn't find myself getting bored like I expected to. I thought I'd see zippers running up the back of the Creature and he would look too much like a guy wearing a rubber mask. There was some of that, but the makeup and effects were far more convincing than I expected. Nice job, Universal! I crack on you guys more than I should, but I need to give credit where it's due.
In a nutshell, scientists go down to the Amazon to look for fossilized remains of an advanced amphibian species they theorize to exist. They get more than they bargained for when the creature is alive and well (and not too happy they're there).

There is some cool underwater cinematography including interesting scuba chase scenes and underwater knife-harpoon-and-creature struggles. Some of the notions were far fetched (like a paralyzing chemical thrown into the water as a means of stunning the beast) but I expect that stuff from a movie from this genre, and that just makes it more fun.

The movie is a classic in the horror, sci-fi and monster genres, and now I know why. I'm anxious to see some of the sequels when I get a chance.

As an interesting side note, the story reminded me a lot of some of H. P. Lovecrafts notions of elder creatures that exist without mankind knowing it. I have no idea if his writings influenced the plot of this movie at all, but I at least projected some of that into it.

Here's the trailer:

Alan's Little Life Maxims #45

2011-03-14T21:58:00.001-06:00

One of the best parts of every single vacation I go on is returning to my own bed.

Review: The Turn of the Screw

2011-03-09T11:52:00.009-07:00

I finally got around to reading a well-known ghost story "The Turn of the Screw," by Henry James. The story is not new to me. I saw a movie based on the book and blogged about it back in '09 called "The Innocents."
The book is about a young, innocent governess who is asked to take care of two orphaned children--a sister and younger brother--by their uncle who wants nothing to do with them. He lives the life of a bachelor in London, and has sent the children to his estate out in the country. This is where the story plays out.

Not long after arriving, the governess finds out that the boy, Miles, has been expelled from his school and is unable to return and is, for the time, home bound. Simultaneously, the governess starts to see a man and a woman appear to her separately on the estate grounds. She assumes they are some of the grounds staff, but after describing them to the housekeeper, Mrs. Grose, it appears these two are the ghosts of the late groundsman (Peter Quint) and former governess (Miss Jessell).

Image from the movie "The Innocents"

The governess comes to find that Quint and Jessell had a physical relationship prior to their separate, and seemingly unrelated deaths. She also senses that the two children, Miles and Flora, can see the apparitions. Lastly, she notices a change in the behavior of the children; while initially sweet and innocent, they seem to have become secretive, and unruly.

The governess sets out to find the connection between the children and the specters.

It's a great read that is high on mood, suspense, creep factor and paranoia. If you like ghost stories in a Victorian setting, you'll like "The Turn of the Screw."

Frankenstein Must Be Destroyed

2011-03-07T09:39:00.010-07:00

I saw my third installment of the Hammer Film series of Frankenstein movies--"Frankenstein Must Be Destroyed"--over the weekend. I blogged about the first two here:
"The Curse of Frankenstein"
"Revenge of Frankenstein"

"Destroyed" is actually not Hammer's third Frankenstein film, but their fifth. I still need to see "The Evil of Frankenstein" and "Frankenstein Created Woman." But, there is really not too much of a thread that connects one Hammer Frankenstein movie to the others, so it doesn't really matter.

With "Destroyed," Hammer is not deviating much from their formula, but adding a slight twist of Frankenstein transplanting the brain of a fellow doctor into the body of another surgeon, rather than some criminal. Aside from that, this version seemed a lot like the other two I saw. So, I'm starting to feel like a broken record posting about these, because I'm liking and disliking the same things from film to film.

Once again, Peter Cushing plays the title role of Baron Von Frankenstein. In this version, the role is written for him to be more evil than in past films. He's still egocentric, but with a darker side, such as being a rapist, blackmailer and murderer. In the prior movies, he was simply more of a blind opportunist. In this one, I think he has more of a conscious that he is not a good man in spite of his scientific ambitions.

Regarding the rape scene, I found it troublesome. It was tactful--if there's such a thing. They were trying to find one more way to give depth to Frankenstein's evil and selfish nature. But, to be honest, it was ridiculous. For those who don't know, Peter Cushing is a little, skinny, frail guy. The woman he's taking advantage of seems like she could break him in half. It was also hard for me to see Cushing play a role where his libido drive his motives. He's usually more intellectually evil. I found that element of the movie annoying.

Once again, the monster is very "un-Universal." That is, he's not a lumbering 8-foot tall zombie with green skin and bolts in his neck. In this case, he's actually a very normal looking man with a scar around his scalp. The victims in this case were both doctors. One was insane, and of course, it was his brain that was transferred. Frankenstein thought he could cure the ill brain, then gain knowledge from it, since its owner was also a specialist in brain transplants. (Did you follow all that?) But I thought the scenes where the monster is on the loose were interesting. Not because he was on a murderous rampage, ransacking the countryside, but because he went home to his wife and tried to convince her of who he really was. I thought that was an interesting take.

As the movie progresses, the monster realizes what he is and what was done to create him. He's disgusted with himself and Frankenstein, and attempts to destroy both. I'll not spoil it from there.

In summary, I did like the movie. I know I've done more negative critique than praising. I guess if I'm growing weary of anything, it's that these Hammer Frankenstein movies are becoming formulaic based on the three I've seen. But, it's a good formula. It's not unlike complaining about James Bond movies: yeah, they're all similar, but they're similarly cool.

Here's the trailer:

Alan's Little Life Maxims #44

2011-03-04T09:01:00.003-07:00

It's taken me over 30 years to discover how comfortable it is to wear a hoodie to bed--with the hood on--during the winter months. Pure nocturnal bliss!

Endless Summer in the winter

2011-03-02T21:53:00.008-07:00

A few days ago, I posted about how reading "Dandelion Wine"--a story all about summer--was the perfect balm for overcoming the dark, cold days of winter. Well, I found another aid: watch "The Endless Summer."

"The Endless Summer" is a documentary from 1966 where the director, Bruce Brown, follows two surfers (Robert August and Mike Hynson) as they chase the summer season around the world surfing beautiful and balmy climates during California's winter months.

I love the beach. I love the ocean. Watching these guys surf with their international brahs was very cool and relaxing. In some alternate universe, I'd be doing the same bloody thing.

There are lots of places where you can read up on the history and adventures of "The Endless Summer," so I'll not go into depth here. But if winter is getting you down, check out this movie.

My favorite part is when they went to a remote beach in South Africa called Cape St. Francis where they encountered countless "perfect waves." It doesn't even look real to see these guys catching wave after wave that look like they were ripped from a travel brochure:

Dudes, winter is almost over. I can feel it.

Review: The Phantom of the Opera

2011-02-25T16:59:00.016-07:00

This is primarily a review of the book "Phantom of the Opera" by Gaston Leroux--the story that inspired all of the other adaptations in movies, stage, and more.

Gaston Leroux

In the course of discussing the book, I will be referring to these other media versions because they are so ubiquitous in today's pop culture, that they're virtually unavoidable to use as a frame of reference.

First off, I have to say that I LOVED the book. For some reason, I had trepidation about reading it. I had a feeling that it wouldn't live up to other iterations I'm more familiar with. I had a totally unfounded hunch that the book would be boring and that the musical and various movies took a few cool elements of the story and made something better.

I could not have been more wrong about that point. There were a couple chapters that dragged--like most novels--but for the most part, it was compelling, creepy, exciting, romantic, painful, horrific and fun!

Also, I was concerned about reading a book that was a translation. I'm not bilingual, unless you count the two years I dinked around in German class in high school. But, the little I know about foreign languages, I've learned about how meaning gets "lost in translation." It's inevitable. No matter how hard someone tries to translate a message, certain precious nuances are lost. So unless I could become fluent in French, I would never really get a precise understanding of "The Phantom of the Opera" by relying on someone's French-to-English translation.

I guess I'll never know if the story I read captured the spirit of Leroux's original writings, but I can say that what I read was VERY good.

What surprised me was actually how faithful Webber's play was to Laroux's book. All sorts of nuance was captured and inserted into the stage adaptation. For instance, in the play, when the Phantom is taking Christine down to his catacombs and he has her on horseback, I figured that was just for dramatic effect. Maybe it is, maybe it isn't, but either way that part is directly from the book.

I also assumed that the "Angel of Music" was probably a Webber notion, weaving more musical themes into the story. Nope. The concept of an Angel of Music is quite central to the story.

Something I didn't know was that the Phantom has a name: it's Erik. And it's not just some off-hand reference. The whole second half of the book he's referred to as Erik as much as the Phantom, Opera Ghost or Angel of Music combined.

What I loved about the book was how the lines between the real and the supernatural are blurred throughout the book. Leroux does an excellent job of painting a surreal canvas on which the story takes place. For instance, the Paris Opera House is almost a character unto itself in the book; large and mysterious with as much going on beneath the surface as above. It is an ornate belfry, and the Phantom is its resident bat.

The Phantom himself is a great character; a total bad mofo. He's quickly become one of my favorite villains--right up there with Darth Vader and the Joker. He makes traps, is an ace with a "Punjab lasso," has his own torture chamber--all in addition to being a prodigy musician and composer. How rock 'n roll is that!?

He's ugly. Forget this handsome Gerard Butler garbage. He looks like a corpse. He has no nose. He stinks of death, has thin, bony fingers and little to no hair. He's pale and has eyes that shimmer in the dark like a cat. His overall countenance is often compared to a death's head. Lon Chaney's incarnation comes the closest to Laroux's description of the versions I've seen, but the book makes him even more horrible.

Like I said above, the book has it all: adventure, romance, horror, suspense. I'm pretty sure it's landed in my all-time top ten favorites. Give it a read if you get a chance.

Goodbye, Deron Williams

2011-02-23T10:44:00.005-07:00

I'm in a little shock at his being traded.

I'm not sure how I feel. I was the biggest John Stockton fanboy there ever was. So on one hand, I appreciated all the ways DWill was like him. I never got on board with Williams as a true leader, the whining, and the "tough guy" persona. Then again, I forgave Malone all those things when they were winning.
Anyway, Williams is a heck of a talent, and I'd rather the Jazz have him than not. As some people have said, I agree that he's the best point guard in the league. But the rumor is that the impetus of this trade is that we were going to lose him anyway after next year, so we might as well get something in return. I can't argue with that.

Welcome back to the rebuild, Jazz fans. Hopefully we can navigate it better than post-Bird Boston or post-Jordan Bulls. Heck, at least they had nice, big, golden trophies to hug and cry over in the interim.

Go Utes?

Review: Dandelion Wine

2011-02-21T23:01:00.005-07:00

I've figured out one way to get through the dark, cold, snowy, depressing days of winter: read "Dandelion Wine," by Ray Bradbury.

Bradbury is mostly known for his science fiction and other paranormal stuff like "The Martian Chronicles" and "Something Wicked This Way Comes." But "Dandelion Wine" is a bit of a departure from those.

It's a book about summer. More specifically, it's a semi-autobiographical story about a 12-year-old kid named Douglas Spaulding, and his 1928 summer experience in his small northern Illinois town, fictionally named Green Town.

Each chapter is its own short story, and not all of them include Doug, but when he's not the central figure of a specific story, he's still somewhere in the tableau. Some of the stories connect to each other, and some stand alone, but the point (I gathered) was all about the final picture that they all paint collectively.

Bradbury describes "Dandelion Wine" as a very personal novel. And you can sense that. It's full of sentiment. Some might describe it as overly sentimental, but what I sensed is that Bradbury was trying to unload some of the most pure, innocent and sincere feelings and emotions about his boyhood. Sometimes he does it through very poetic and symbolic prose. Other times, the writing is very straight forward and folksey.

What I like is that the mood and flow of the story loosely weaves its way around, twisting organically like a whisp of smoke. There are very real moments, for instance, of kids running around their small town on hot summer afternoons among the growing grass and canopy of trees. But it's interspersed with surreal moments like one of the town's residents being accused of witchcraft, and a serial killer on the loose in the town.

Ray Bradbury

Each time I dove into the book, it was like reading someone else's dream. Like a dream, the sensations and emotions were very real, though the situations ebbed and flowed from being very real and simple to those that were fantastic, sublime or surreal.

After reading it, I like to think I understood what Bradbury was trying to convey. I got it, but I can't explain it. But I ended up enjoying the book a lot. It's one I think I'd like to read again sometime. It does such a good job of bottling up summer within its pages that, like I say, it makes for a perfect read for a time like now, when the dog-days of winter are bearing down.

Burger of my dreams? Or nightmares?

2011-02-18T12:02:00.008-07:00

Last night, my wife and I hired a babysitter and went out for dinner. The whole thing was random for many reasons, but two mainly: 1) We rarely go out on a date on a school night. 2) My wife actually had a hankering for a burger. She's more of the salad-and-bread-and-soft-cheese-type.

So we left our house with the goal of hunting down a good burger. There were lots of choices I launched at her that she promptly shot down, including both local and national chains: Crown Burgers? Scaddy's? Smash Burger? Red Robin? The Training Table? Sonic, Burger King, McD's!? No, no and heck no!

I remembered reading online about a local bar that was known for serving up some mean burgers that I had never tried before. It was called Lucky 13 Bar & Grill, located just west of Salt Lake's AAA baseball club's stadium, on 1300 south (hence the name).

An immediate and good sign was that we could not find a parking spot. The place was packed on a Thursday night with no other obvious event going on nearby that evening.

We walked in and the place was dark. There were a lot of people already enjoying food and the assortment of brews. We took our seats and checked out the menu. At a first glance, there were lots of burgers. They started at about $6, and ranged up to their $15 burger called "The Lucky 13."

Based on its description, I had no choice but to get the signature "Lucky 13." It's composed of something like this: half-pound beef patty, roasted habaneros, sauteed onions, jalapenos, pureed habanero sauce, sliced tomatoes, lettuce, served between (get this!) two grilled cheese sandwiches. I ordered it without hesitation.

Eating it was another matter.

I'll admit, when I looked over the ingredients, I read "habaneros" but they registered in my mind as "jalapenos." It wasn't until I had my first couple of bites that I made the connection about what type of chili pepper was actually smothering this burger.

My face felt like it was on fire. Like an idiot, I had ordered the Cajun fries, so there was no relief there. I kept eating, and just on principle finished the first half of the burger, though I could have easily stopped 2/3's through the first half and been fine with it.

Now, I like spicy food. Not often do I surpass my own threshold of heat, but when I do, it's usually too late. That was the case here.

Today, I've felt like I wanted to die as the Lucky 13 keeps laying doom through my GI tract.

I LOVED the burger, but I'll NEVER get it again. I will definitely return to Lucky 13, but I'll opt for something with a tamer BTU rating next time. Just like the AAA ballpark across the street, I might still be a minor leaguer when it comes to the mass and overall heat of what I can consume. Next time, I'll leave the Lucky 13 to the professionals.

For another read on the Lucky 13, check out my wife's version, and this one.

Review: The Catcher in the Rye

2011-02-17T11:43:00.010-07:00

Well, I finally did it. I read J. D. Salinger's "The Catcher in the Rye." This was a process that started almost 20 years ago when I was a junior in high school.

I was in "honors" English. Don't let that fool you. I was not an honor student. I think I was trying to keep up with my group of friends who were all in A.P., well... everything.

At one point in the year, my English teacher, Ms. Beaudoin, gave us a list of books. We could choose anything from that list to read and then write an essay about it.

I picked "The Catcher in the Rye." I have no idea why. If I had a reason for picking it over the others, it probably would have had something to do with it seeming like the easiest option; but then again, I don't know if I'd give my high school self that much credit for thinking it through that far.

Like a good high school student, I went out and bought my copy of the book and promptly set it on my overnight stand to see if it began reading itself. (Apparently they don't, but I had a month to find out for sure.) Weeks passed. In the final days of the deadline, I knew--or at least underestimated--my abilities to get through a book quickly. So, like any red-blooded American, I went out and got my hands on the Cliff's Notes.

Like the Cobra and the Mongoose, or Red Sox and Yankees fans, Cliff's Notes and English teachers are mortal enemies built to fight each other. Teachers always claim that they "knew if you only read the Cliff's Notes." It's probably not unlike how your parents insist they know when you're lying. It's really a bluff. But like someone who puts an alarm system sticker on their home window without actually having the system, it's a rather effective bluff. If they're assertion is true, you're screwed. If it's not, they have a decent shot at guessing right anyway.

So, in a plan doomed to fail, I skim read the Cliff's Notes. Dumb.

Somehow I excreted a paper and probably got something less than a C on it. And still, the book sat in my room.

The book has moved with me, and even joined me in the last 11 years of my marriage. In fact, my wife picked up the book and read it about 10 years ago. Once she did that--read the book cover to cover like I was supposed to have done--and ended up liking it, I felt like the gauntlet had been thrown. And, yet, I still stared at that gauntlet on the ground for the last decade.

I don't know what got me to pickup "Catcher." I've mentioned in this blog that Anna and I started and intra-marriage book club of sorts. "Catcher" was not one of the books we decided to read, but while I was waiting for Anna to finish the one I was to read next, I picked up "Catcher" and read the first few pages. At that point, I felt the need to charge through it. So now, Ms. Beaudoin, I finished my assignment; I'm sorry, I'm turning it in late.

J. D. Salinger

"Catcher in the Rye" is about 16-year-old Holden Caulfield. He's a snarky, spoiled, self-centered kid who gets kicked out of his boarding school. He doesn't want to tell his parents, and plans to go home at the time they expect him in less than a week. He gets in a fight with his roommate, then leaves suddenly to kill time in Manhattan where his parents and sister live. He has some cash on him and spends it staying in rundown hotels, wandering New York, drinking, etc.

You could get all of that by reading the Cliff's Notes, but I promise I didn't. I'm glad I read it from a cathartic standpoint, but I can't say that it left any other mark on me aside from what I've written in this post.

Get-It-Yesterday Song #20: The Air That I Breathe

2011-02-14T06:00:00.003-07:00

It's Valentine's Day, which means I'm allowed to wax a little cheesy for my GIY Song recommendation.

Even still, whittling down the pile of good cheesy love songs is no small task. There's a wealth to choose from. That said, I settled on a classic from the Hollies, "The Air That I Breathe."

A few years ago when I was working at credit union in Phoenix, I had a co-worker, Chris, who was a connoisseur of cult, kitschy, and simply long-forgotten pop culture gems. If not for him, I'd never have known about the Star Wars Christmas Special or William Shatner's version of "Rocket Man." Chris was like the oracle of classics found outside the mainstream, and down a lonely dirt road.

We would trade music, but mostly it was him digging up classics for me like David Bowie's "The Laughing Gnome," or Styx's "Lords of the Ring." I was the Plato to his Socrates. At one point he gave me a two discs; one had what he thought were the quintessential rare songs of the '80s, and the other of the '70s.

Among all the hits of the '70s was "The Air that I Breathe." I had heard the song before, but I had never listened to it. Besides being a cool, catchy song, it was very interesting lyrically. The song starts out, "If I could make a wish, I think I'd pass..."

That's kind of a different approach for a love song, no? Most love songs are all about wishes: upon stars, the moon, or at wells. Not this song. All the guy needs is air to breathe and his babe by his side. Yeah, it's sonic treacle, but I like it.

Happy Valentine's, all!

If you don't have "The Air that I Breathe" by the Hollies, get it yesterday! Check it out:

Review: The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde

2011-02-11T11:26:00.008-07:00

Last week, I read through "The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde," a classic from Robert Louis Stevenson. In fact, it wasn't until I downloaded it that I realized that Stevenson--author of one of my favorites, "Treasure Island"--was also the author of Jekyll & Hyde. I thought it had been written by H. G. Wells or Jules Verne.

So, I've not read any Stevenson in several years. But a story like Jekyll & Hyde is an interesting one because it's been woven so completely into the fabric of our culture. My first exposure to the story was likely through the Looney Tunes adaptation of it, (with Tweedy Bird being the victim of the formula).

Robert Louis Stevenson

But that's just how ubiquitous the story of Jekyll and Hyde is. All we have to see is a cultural reference to an otherwise pleasant person turning into a creep, and no one has to tell us it's a Jekyll & Hyde situation.

So it's interesting to actually read a story that I've not read, and yet have it feel so familiar. It was fun to see what characteristics of the story our culture portrays consistently, and what nuances have been lost over time.

Here were two things that crossed my mind while reading it:

1) While a great piece of drama, horror and early science fiction, "Hyde" was primarily a mystery. But today, everyone knows that Hyde is Jekyll, so it's impossible for a modern reader to experience it from that mysterious standpoint. It was such a great story, that I can only imagine how much better it would have been to learn of the twist as I read it, not before I even picked it up. Each generation must have a plot twist it calls its own, I suppose. I can at least say that it was Darth who told me he was Luke's father.

2) It's common and accepted to portray Hyde as a larger, more physically imposing version of Jekyll. This is not true in the book. I don't think I'm spoiling much to those yet to read it by saying that Hyde is often and consistently described by Stevenson as being slight and small in stature, often wearing clothes that seem too big for him.

As he's often portrayed in film, Hyde's face is described as being somehow deformed, but not in any specific way that an observer could point out, but there is an unavoidable contortion to his overall countenance and other bodily features.

The plot of the story moves along from the point of view of Jekyll's lawyer named Gabriel John Utterson. Utterson gathers some strange tidbits of information that cause him to start investigating the nature of Mr. Hyde, who is named as the lone beneficiary on Jekyll's will.

It really is good, and even knowing the main plot twist doesn't destroy the story. In fact, I think it can be enjoyed in a completely different way as you watch the various characters come to the knowledge that you as the reader already possess from the outset. I highly recommend it!

Jerry Sloan retires

2011-02-10T16:14:00.004-07:00

Well, the news came suddenly today. Jerry Sloan, head coach of the Utah Jazz, has retired.

I was expecting to see that headline any year now, but not in the middle of a season.

There are a lot of rumors going around about why this happened so suddenly and in the middle of a season. There will be plenty of time to sort that out. But for today, I just want to say "Thanks, Coach."

His era paralleled and augmented some of the best years of my life; from my own childhood, through high school and college, and now in fatherhood as I watch my oldest son run down the rec center court in his "Junior Jazz" little league jersey.

I'll leave with one of my favorite Sloan-isms:
"That'll get you a toothpick and a glass of water when you're hungry."
-Coach Jerry Sloan

A (rolling) barrel of laughs

2011-02-09T09:30:00.006-07:00

For the last several days, my wife, Anna, had been begging me to watch a documentary that she had seen a few days earlier. It's called "The King of Kong: A Fistful of Quarters."

It's a documentary about the men who fight for and hold the all-time highest score for the classic Donkey Kong arcade game.

It's after watching a movie like this that I learn where the sayings "Truth is stranger than fiction" and "You can't make this stuff up" come from.

In a nutshell, there is a guy named Billy Mitchell who scored the world-wide high score in Donkey Kong back in 1983, and the score held for years. Along comes a talented, but down-on-his-luck unemployed engineer named Steve Wiebe who begins to get pretty good at Donkey Kong from his arcade in his garage. Suddenly the cult status Billy has enjoyed for over twenty years due to his unbeaten record becomes threatened.

The makers of the film did a good job of putting a white hat on Steve, a black hat on Billy, and acutely pointing out the crowd of nerdy minions Billy had in his back pocket to maintain his kingdom. Who knows what these guys are like in real life, but the film was immensely entertaining.

It doesn't matter if you consider yourself a documentary film fan, or not. You WILL enjoy this movie.

Check out the trailer:

Review: Anthem

2011-02-03T12:06:00.006-07:00

I had heard of Russian-born author Ayn Rand a long time ago. Back in my teenage years, in fact. I read about how some of Neal Peart's--the drummer for Rush--song lyrics were inspired by her writings. Thus noted, I tucked that tidbit of trivia in my back pocket where it's remained for nearly two decades.

I finally got around to reading Ayn Rand myself. I got my hands on the audiobook version of "Anthem."

(As a side note, yes, some of the books I blog about and review are books I've listened to, rather than read. I'm putting this here to satisfy my dear wife who thinks it's cheating to consume a book via audio and then to say you "read" it. I get where she's coming from, but to me it's splitting hairs. Listening and reading are two different ways to consume written content. I do both, and I don't prefer one over the other, aside from the fact that "reading" is the more perilous option of the two when I'm driving. Anyway...)

"Anthem" fits into the genre of future dystopian novels like "1984," and "Brave New World." In this case, the protagonist is born into a society where the needs and progress of the whole are valued over that of the individual. In fact, the protag, who is the narrator, doesn't even know the word "I" or "me"; they've been scrubbed from the vocabulary and effectively forgotten. So, as you read the book, the instances of "we" is often referring to the "I" of the narrator.

The narrator is named Equality 7-2521. Everyone has names like that. He, like everyone else, is raised with his peers. There are no families. All people are property of the world populous. Every child goes to school from age five to age 15. At that time, each child is assigned a job or career path, and they then live and train with those of their similar career. In the case of Equality 7-2521, he was designated to be a street sweeper.

From an early age, Equality 7-2521 is looked down upon because he is taller and more intelligent than his peers. He's more inquisitive. It's for that reason that we're led to believe that he's put into a career with low social standing where he will be less likely to cause trouble.

It's while out on his rounds of sweeping streets with the two other members of his sweeping team (International 4-8818, and the partially disabled Union 5-3992) that he comes across an entrance to an underground cavern--a subway--that was not discovered or sealed up by their society. Equality 7-2521 begins sneaking away to this "cave" to write and conduct scientific experiments--to teach himself, which is against the law.

That's where the story really takes off.

I quite liked it. It was a quick read. One that I finished the day I began it. It made me curious about Ayn Rand, and I began reading about her and watching video of her online. She began a philosophy called "Objectivism" which--in a very small nutshell--is the belief that the individual is the most important entity of all. I found myself very split by her views. But even with the thoughts of hers I disagreed with, I could see where she was coming from. I found her to be very intelligent, sincere and brave for holding to her beliefs and not judging those who wanted to damn her for her views. She didn't push her philosophy on others; in fact, that would go against what she believes.

Ayn Rand

I liked "Anthem" and, at least after one book, consider myself a fan of Ayn Rand. Her book made me think. Her views challenged me. I hope to read her better known novels "Atlas Shrugged" or "The Fountainhead" down the road. Ideally both.

Happy Groundhog Day!

2011-02-02T10:05:00.006-07:00

In honor of this special day in which we embrace underground den-dwelling rodents and their singular aptitude for divination, I give you the Time Bandits performing "Me and My Shadow." Thank youuuuu: