Why Am I So Nervous About The Odyssey?

Some first reviews are out. Hollywood Reporter has a smattering of headlines.

The professional class, our betters, are gushing.

They are gushing about set pieces and Nolan’s bravery in embracing horror, as well as many other non-book parts of the movie.

If you haven’t been following, the influencers have taught me a new word “ratio’d” during the ramp up to this movie. Apparently the younguns are trying their own hand at reading entrails and the pairing they have noticed lately is when a trailer has less likes than either dislikes or comments. (No news is still good news, it seems. Meaning, comments are never in support of trailers.)

So The Odyssey trailer has been ratio’d. And it has terrible casting.

What does it have in the pro’s category?

IMAX film. Live Action/limited CGI—maybe none. (Not quite sure). Nolan’s reputation. The title matches an epic poem, the epic poem of Western Civilization, that no one has read recently.

That’s about it.

Will I go? No. I have been reading and the honest truth is that it is starting to take its toll on my movie watching. Books are just so much better than their movie adaptations, especially when they are woke. So no. I’m sure I’ll watch it at work. But no money will support these things.

“Friday was good. Saturday was good.” – A Short Story.

Whatever similarity the following short story has to a real conversation last night, a conversation between a husband and wife, I assure the reader that the account is one sided and therefore pure fiction—at least according to all the women.

Our south facing bedroom was dark and remained so despite the sounds of a few belated fireworks which our extraordinarily wealthy and patriotic neighbors to the north were letting fly. I had just plugged my phone in and put it in its final resting place on the nightstand. I remained on my side, facing out, my back to my wife. I had a good amount of covers to work with and couldn’t help but release a final chuckle-turned-outright-laugh at The Office blooper short we had just watched.

Friday was good. Saturday was good. Today had been alright.

There was a pleasant mood for those two days as my wife, bless her heart, had not had a chance in hell to work and so was herself at ease and agreeable for once. She seemed to have truly come to peace with the fact that the great serpent of old, the one with the red, scaly appearance and bifurcated tongue, seemed to genuinely not be her husband. Can you understand what I am trying to say, reader? Married life felt kind of normal.

I decided to test the waters and say something true. I knew it was a risk, but I was feeling risky.

“J- seems to actually need a few days to warm up to me every week that I am home. It’s like he becomes softer as the days go by,” I said. Truth be told, halfway through my brief report, I started to wonder if she was even awake anymore.

“I don’t understand, Baliye,” she replied.

I suppose I ought to clarify here that Baliye is her heathen tongue’s ‘my husband’.

“I’m saying,” I started again, “that I can feel that J-, while happy to see me when I first come back home from my week away, seems to take a few days before he fully relaxes and becomes himself. It’s hard to pick exact behavior differences, but I feel it,” I continued. I didn’t share the one instance that was on my mind, the at church earlier when I had pulled him back from the center aisle into the pew. I sat him next to me again and looked down at him, placing my stern, glaring but sparkly-eyed face right over his. He looked up at me and purposely bonked his nose into mine. He does that sometimes. But not on day one, two, or three. Anyhow, I continued, “And the other week, when I was making a trip to load the car before leaving, he actually burst out crying, saying he thought he told me that he wanted a hug before I left.”

I paused for a few seconds. And then picked it up again, “It’s hard to believe he will actually be home for one more whole year before he goes off to kindergarten.”

I had done it. Or I had thought I had done it. I have long held the belief, informed by who knows what, that women, even depressed, selfish, greedy, complaining wives, want to hear what their husbands really think and notice about the family. Like I thought there was a universal truth: every wife, at any moment loves to hear her husband express something that sounds vulnerable and comes across as intimate.

I was proud. Dare I say I thought I deserved a reward? No, I dare not. I honestly just felt like giving. Like I said, Friday was good and Saturday was good.

She then says, “There is a school nearby, R-, I think-”

-there is no force as yet studied by students of natural science that can cause boiling faster than the words I was hearing-

“-which has a preschool, like three days a week.”

(Here the copy of this fictional tale which I found seems to be missing a paragraph of caps-lock ferociousness.)

She responds, “You said what you think. But I can’t say what I think?”

I think is she genuinely unaware of how conversations work? “No, mee-stee-yay, no. You don’t get to say what you think. Not when the person who spoke before you just expressed how happy they were at a set of circumstances and your thought is a brainstorm of how to destroy those circumstances.” (Mistiye is the heathen ‘my wife’.)

Friday was good. Saturday was good.

Here’s What I Tell Myself, Mr. Gazette

I’m telling myself that in the subscription world, of which I have zero training, you guys have to have 3 months security money up front in order to operate. I’m telling myself that because I cannot understand any of what you just told me on the phone when I called to cancel on the day the pull actually happened, prior to the three months delivery. I cannot “get there from here” over how I cannot stop payment on the day it comes out, nor get a refund, pro-rated at that, when I cancel.

None of it makes any sense to me. Normally I take something back, unused, and get my money back.

But on the whole, all of this nonsense is still easier to deal with than the Faith and Values section of yesterday’s Sunday paper having as its article a piece on some West African sh!t-hole country’s Voodoo resurgence. WTF, over?

I only ever read the funny papers. But this is ludicrous. Also, for interested readers, I just learned there is a website called “gocomics” which is far more affordable and user friendly. So in 90 days, I’ll be winning again.

Review of the Christian Nationalist (haha) Stage Musical, “Finding America”

I have a friend who, in short, helped shuttle the worried BIPOC migrants around Minneapolis during last winter’s Surge. He loved PTA’s One Battle After Another. And we had a few conversations exploring the Talerico-style interpretation of Jesus.

That friend is to whom I texted pictures of the auditorium. This was the screen.

We bantered back and forth for a minute about how different this crowd likely was from the No Kings rally in San Francisco that his trip there had randomly allowed him to witness. My main point was despite all expectations, my room was pretty diverse (mostly due to international crowd), whereas the No Kings crowd is almost exclusively white (and not internationally relevant).

I put the phone away and sat back, unsure of what to expect.

Afterwords, I sent him the following notes, accompanied by the program/scene descriptions.

Here, I want to take a moment to flesh these observations out a bit.

“Nothing like the Lefties would expect”

I like to believe that I am very sensitive and in touch with the passing scene. In other words, I don’t need communists’ help to notice the group or subgroup known as “Christian Nationalists.”

The difference (besides the fact that I am no longer hell bound, Glory Hallelujah!) between the Lefties and me, however, is I will bravely enter the CN’s den. And guess what? The Lefties have it all wrong. The main problem with their imaginations is that white supremacy has no part in Christian Nationalism.

Again, white supremacy is certainly a reality for some folks, no different than Christian Nationalism is real. But the two are not linked. Here’s how I know. Ever since I married an immigrant from Ethiopia, I have dreaded the experience of being around “whites”. You know who I mean. Those people who need to compensate for something by making a point to come over and chat. I know who they are because I am the same person I have always been—and they never showed interest. But now that there is some manner of compensatory atonement available, they are chatty Kathy. Again, I don’t avoid these moments, but I dread them.

But here’s the point: among these Christian Nationalists, we were totally ignored. Ignored by Hindustan-ians (Dot not feather), Europeans, Africans, Asians, etc. The group was legitimately diverse.

“Somehow Not Silly”

Anytime adults play-act as GW and William Tyndale and pilgrims and settlers and Indians (feather not dot) and colonial Blacks anymore, I totally expect silliness. And I know this is the result of the Left’s influence on me. And yet this Stage Musical was somehow not silly. My gut says that it was because even these Christian Nationalists are very aware of the criticism the Left has launched at overly romantic portrayals of colonialism and colonial times in America. So the script just avoids landmines.

I also commented to my wife (who had spent a couple days earlier in the week at the Family Camp and was the reason we went yesterday) that sometimes the phrase “loosely based on true events” is used. And that in this case, the “looseness was so loose that it would be difficult to say they even were making historical claims that could be verified or found wanting.” But I am on Vol 5. of GW’s biography and can comfortably feel the thematic relationship to history. In short, the musical definitely claimed “historical accuracy” but not completeness. And in this, it succeeded.

I’d be remiss if I didn’t comment on the whole Christian part of the lesson. Does it take more than one Indian Christian, more than one Black Christian to teach us that Jesus died for all? No, no it does not. I can’t make their decision for them, no different than I can make your decision for you.

“Easier to pick on audience than the performance.”

I have young kids. The effect this has on me is that I enjoy the idea of dressing or acting more loudly than my “quiet professionals”, special operations trained self would otherwise allow. I don’t wear an American flag as clothing, but I do like being around people who do. And I might get there someday.

Just the same, it is merely fun to me. And it bedazzles even me. Are these people serious? Or just having likewise fun? I can’t always tell. But again, the performance was so polished that it would be difficult to mock. And this was not the case regarding certain stars and bars bedecked citizens.

“Attracting Out Group”

I would include more links etc, but the website bills the show for today and yesterday only. And this is part of my issue with this idea of these uber Christian events (Chosen being most well-known, ergo most egregiously guilty) as evangelism. How would a non-believer even know about these things? And I am number one movie-fan and music-fan on earth when it comes to flatly admitting the best of secular music/movies/shows is generally incomparably more appealing than religious attempts. There is just something missing in Christian attempts at entertainment. I would say it is the fear of impurity. But whatever it is, the whole idea that Finding America or Chosen is on par with Broadway and Hollywood or even “close enough” is laughable to me.

Hear me clearly: in evangelism the goal is to faithfully proclaim the Gospel of Jesus Christ, the same one the Bible writers do. This includes your actions too.

Final Thought

I like talking and contemplating politics. I love America. I fully believe American-led, Western Civilization is unique and a great boon for the inhabitants of planet Earth. And this belief is the result of great study and wide experience among different cultures and conditions. I went to the musical because our other plans here in tinderbox Colorado were cancelled and I wanted the kids to see Christian Nationalists for what they were. I would go again because it is fun to be around people who like life—not for a history lesson or to learn from it. That’s what books are for.

Oh. Final, final thought. Did my kids do anything to indicate they have a brain? Good question. Yes. The performance opened with some GW revolutionary war scenes, and when they switched to the Christian/church history stuff, unprompted, A- (5.87 yr old) turned to me (after declaring that she thought it must be night outside because it was so dark inside) and said, “Now they’re talking about Jesus.”

That’s all I could ask of a person. Discernment.

Dad vs. Park Grandma

A- (5.85 yrs old), J- (4.25), and I biked 2+ miles to our favorite park. No training wheels. No issues. It wasn’t the first time.

Somehow, once at the park, while walking their bikes, I heard a noise and turned to see J- had fallen. Two moms nearby fulfilled their unsolicited and unhelpful duty of pitying the boy. I pedaled on, wondering why my progeny ever got off their bikes.

After our lunch at the park, it was now A-’s turn to make a noise while falling which attracted my attention. This time it was a nearby, skinny grandma who lurched and wobbled in indecision as she couldn’t decide her place in the wide world.

I, projecting loud enough to be sure this skinny (I want to say “crackhead” but you’ll think I’m judgy) grandma would hear, said, “She’s okay! She’s okay. Bruce Wayne’s dad let him pick himself up, and he became Batman. So I figure that’s the best way.”

I would’ve expected silence, and maybe a chuckle. I mean, what options had I left open for response anyhow? Firstly, it ain’t her kid and the father made his pronouncement—even giving the reason. Secondly, mind your own business, especially when a father is around.

But nooooooo.

She replied, “Or how ‘bout she just has girl power?”

It’s been over an hour and I am still under a disturbed spirit.

If my daughter had girl power, if girl power existed, then she wouldn’t have fallen, ya stoop-id b-!

No, ma’am. My daughter doesn’t have girl power. She has a dad. And her dad likes Batman, especially in the role of allegory. And her dad knows that humans of both sexes fall down, and when that happens, the only thing to do—the best practice for all places and times—is to let kids learn how to pick themselves up.

The Best List of the Top 13 Pieces of Source Material Copied by Avatar 3 that You’ll Ever Enjoy Reading

Growing up in Johnson County, the 30-plex cinema experience was the norm. Nearly every weekend I would look forward to spending my hard-earned money to see the latest best movie. Sadly, this is not the case anymore. Couple spending a lot of time in the Deep South where movies just aren’t the fashion with having a family of my own and there just isn’t time or money to go to the (oftentimes crummy) theaters every week. Add to that the severe reduction in quality of movies today, and there is usually just one movie a year which gets my derrière to the reclining theater seats. Last year it was Superman.

This didn’t mean that I didn’t want to see Avatar: Fire and Ash, it just means that I didn’t want to pay to see it.

Enter the world famous “co-worker’s Disney+ account” however, and I finally got the chance to see it on my own terms.

Here’s how this list is going to work. I took notes, starting about half-way through the movie, of aspects of A:F’n’A which are completely unoriginal. But once the wheels started turning, I also remembered things from earlier scenes and so not everything is chronological. Just the same, the point (besides simple reading pleasure) will reveal itself to savvy readers long before this blog post is finished. Let’s jump in.

1. To begin, the overall story is a simple re-telling of Dances with Wolves. Here again we see the White Man who as a group loves to explore and as an individual has a natural propensity for wanting to learn about PreHistory Man from PreHistory Men. But the collision of pen and paper with cooking-over-open-fires is inescapably destructive, so the life struggle begins. This is a perfectly fine storyline. But we’ve seen it before.

2. As a high point of the movie, the dialogue, nearly in its entirety, is great. That said, there are far too many “bro’s” dropped, and “My Jake’s” lines at the several major “you’re still alive!” reunion moments were uninspiring—as were the battle speeches. But the Colonel’s lines were on point and cathartic throughout. I personally credit the actor. Ever since we met in Tombstone, Stephen Lang just seems like a man who wouldn’t want to be heard saying stupid lines.

3. As I mentioned in my recent podcast recommendation blog, the next place A:F’n’A uses someone else’s source material blatantly is having the PreHistory Man be armed by the bad guy White Men. This is Russia giving Chinese communists weapons throughout the 20th Century; this is America giving the South Vietnamese weapons in the 60s; America-Afghani’s-80s; this is Iranians and Ukrainians wanting America to give them weapons today. Why can’t the PreHistory Man just lead the way in military technology? Or even hold their own?

4. Abraham’s unsuccessful sacrifice of Isaac makes an odd appearance as “Jake Sooly” determines to kill “monkey boy” for fear of some future genocide of the entire Na’vi. Sure, there was no mountain climb, no wood on the back that typified Jesus carrying his cross, and no ram in the bush. But, there was a father raising a knife and ultimately not killing the boy. That’s Abraham and Isaac through and through. (Bible)

5. Deepwater Horizon and Last Breath are two must-see movies, assuming accurate-seeming depictions of mazes of metal tubes and cables are your thing. In A:F’n’A, the White Man has been busy and built a compound which is basically a giant oil rig. Through, above, below, and, most importantly, between all these pipes and cables Mr. Cameron sends his PreHistory dragon riders flying. Star Wars IV is definitely the influence, but my main thought while trying to enjoy the action was, “Is this really all I get during my time on Earth? A repeat of same concept, just with different looking faces and vehicles?”

6. In the “strengths” column, the movie definitely creates men and women as separate beings. Men are men and only men. Women are something totally different. I don’t know that there is one movie which counts as the definitive example of this much-needed reality, but First Blood and Steel Magnolias might call to mind the right idea.

7. Unfortunately for my kids, there is a scene of attempted suicide by a spoiled pre-teen. So they won’t be watching part 3 anytime soon. But what really turns me off is that the messiah half-sister cheers him up by saying, “There’s greatness in you!” Yeah, right. That’s just what I’d want to hear after feeling so low that I don’t want to feel anything anymore. How about just tell me that I’m beautiful after the mirror cracks at my ugliness? No, Mr. Cameron, the answer to suicide is not lying. In any case, source material is What Dreams May Come, and just about every chick flick where a crying female is consoled with superficial platitudes.

8. In the main attempt at a Braveheart battle cry speech, which was so half-arsed that it is disrespectful to the concept, Jake says, “Many arrows can’t be broken!!!!” as he holds real arrows in the air, thus symbolizing what the PreHistory Man surely has concrete knowledge of. Source is, of course, Aesop’s Fables, but movie-wise, the line is so cheesy that it calls to mind Con Air and Cameron Poe’s southern-drawling, “My daddy taught me many hands make light work.”

9. As the White Man’s COO leads the water attack, he showcases absolute command over his forces. This brings to the fore the always intriguing notion of whether mercenaries (private) could ever be better soldiers than military (public) men. Sicario explores this topic, as does Miami Vice, to name a couple. (My own vote is for public servants, obviously. But I agree the jury is out, thus it is a fun debate.)

10. Of course, it goes without saving that despite every effort to offer profound commentary on PreHistory Man’s religions, the entire concept of an all-the-life-of-a-planet fighting some invading force is comprehensively introduced in War of the Worlds.

11. I want to keep this post safe for work, but I need to use a word that may not be. You see, taboo or not, we all know that there exist for many people something called fetishes. Many people have fetishes. These are unreasoned hungers that should never be publicly owned or expressed. Mr. Cameron’s fetish, that apparently no one had the gumption to tell him was his fetish, and was not some compelling, “me too” plot point, is pregnant women engaging in kinetic war. It is disgusting to think about and repulsive to watch. It is also a direct copy of One Battle After Another. (Interestingly, now that I think about it, both of these are BIPOC women to boot. He’s a sick one for sure, I tell ya!)

12. In the same category, “How did that make it into the movie?”, Sully actually says the words “My”, “You”, and “Wingman” in close proximity to each other. Source material anyone? Give me a break.

13. The supposed-to-be epic final, final, final fight scene takes place in stormy weather. It’s not a direct copy of the rain fight of Matrix Revolutions, or the lava fight of Revenge of the Sith, but it is the same—just the same. The main problem I have with Cameron’s copy is those other two movies’ environments were part of the story (a nuclear-cloud covered earth would necessarily result in rain many days, and Obi Wan only caught up to Anakin on Mustafar because that is where Anakin was completing a tasker). In Avatar, the Flux Devil plays no role in the story beyond creating stupendous visuals.

Speaking of visuals, if there is one “skill” Mr. Cameron possesses in an amount greater than anyone else on this planet, it is maintaining clarity in the pinch-zoom. I am a qualified judge of this skill, even more so than all of you, because every morning I peruse a digital copy of the newspaper, the funny papers in particular. (This keeps me sane.) I then screen capture any strips that I believe are worthy of sharing. Sometimes the formatting of the newspaper in the wonky app is frustrating and I have to take a picture of only a small part of the screen and then hope that when it fills the screen the text is still readable. What can I do if it proves to not be legible? I mean, the words are half the point. In any case, you get my point: I know pinch-zooming and Mr. Cameron is tops. Countless are the times he starts far away and rapidly zooms in, and all without losing any fidelity. Good job, Sir!

Finally, Avatar: Fire and Ash did introduce one topic that I had not previously considered. It is this. The only way to turn a mortal enemy into a friend is to save his or her life. On top of this, if we could get the leader of every tribe, clan, country, government, and family—simply put, all the leaders of the world, including future leaders—to fight and stay alive for so long that they each have a chance to return the favor of saving their previously mortal enemy’s life, then I truly believe, after seeing A:F’n’A, world peace would ensue, and endure, as the abstract formula would have been verified by experiment.

The Value of Communicating Waters Cannot Be Understated

In reading Vol 4 of Washington Irving’s Life of George Washington (taken together with my memories of Africa’s chapter in Conquests and Cultures by Thomas Sowell) I cannot help but walk away with the thought that it cannot be overstated how valuable waterways which can be navigated by large ships are.

If you need an easy to remember, due to superlatives, summary of the history of life on planet Earth (how has it unfolded), as told by winners, it is this: victory has come to those people who were interested in communicating aloud with the most people, the most frequently, and who were able to command the waters which communicated the heaviest amounts of goods, the farthest distances, at the fastest speeds.

In short, open-minded, talkative, and good-listening entrepreneurs on the banks of waterways of significant depth and breadth hold the keys to the Kingdom of Earth.

Maybe My First Podcast Recommendation Ever

I can’t recall ever using this blog to recommend a podcast episode before. In any case, I haven’t done it often. But I just listened to one that is a “must listen”, if such a thing exists.

It is Peter Robinson’s latest. He interviews a historian on the topic of The History of Communist China. (It is just over an hour.)

Do you know any communists? If so, listen.

Have you somehow marooned yourself and your WordPress Reader alone on an island? If so, listen.

Let’s just say, upon completing the episode, I have begun teaching A- and J- (5 and 4 respectively) two general and absolute truths. (I do it catechism-style, Q&A.)

Firstly, What is the first defense against communists? The first defense against communists is books—communists hate books.

Secondly, Who do guns protect us from? Guns protect us from communists.

In the same vein, it seems now is as good of time as ever to share another national security proverb my young progeny get to repeat, “The Democrats are not the fifth column.”

On Juneteenth’s Despair

Anyone else’s read of the passing scene include that the Juneteenth folks are desperate? They are even more lame than most pastors and evangelists. No matter how ambiguously noble they make their particular “holiday” sound, no matter how much of the population they invite, no matter how family friendly they make it, I will never celebrate Juneteenth.

Why?

Because it is rooted in victimhood.

Lincoln didn’t wait for someone to tell him it was okay to be free. Neither did GW or TJ.

The slaves, however, waited. The enslaved waited. And they always will wait. That’s what makes them slaves. That what allows them to become enslaved.

So “no”, my family and I won’t be celebrating.

Their cause isn’t noble. Their invitation isn’t sincere. And the whole family friendly ploy is a joke. If bounce houses had any value, world peace would have broken out, starting in urban neighborhoods—last generation.

Literate vs Illiterate Love According to Hollywood

I recently rewatched The English Patient. (You should too.)

I also am looking forward to seeing Avatar’s latest installment, but refuse to pay.

Today I want to draw attention to the way Hollywood handles the constantly interesting problem (to literates) of illiteracy still existing on the Earth.

In EP, she says, “I wanted to meet the man who could write such a long paper with so few adjectives.” Any man who could write that paper would know instantly that she was his for the taking.

In Avatar, there is an assertion (“I see you”), which is context dependent. Men can say it to men in greeting, but it can also mean, “I want to have babies with you.” Here’s the second meaning’s scene.

Question to ponder: Are they actually communicating the same idea?

Follow-up for “this-is-difficult camp”: Are they even able to communicate the same idea, as in, can illiterate people actually “see as far/much/deep” (metaphorically) as the literate?

Enjoy!