Hint One:
Hint Two:
Really, when you think about it, it's fairly obvious what's going on. Those clues are both dead giveaways. Swaim will probably be pissed that I left such easy-to-decipher hints behind, but he can just deal with it.
Thursday, May 28, 2009
Secret Projects
I've vaguely hinted about Michael Swaim and my super secret side projects before, and while I can't provide any real information just yet, I CAN say that it's awesome, and I CAN provide a couple of hints.
Hint One:
Hint Two:
Really, when you think about it, it's fairly obvious what's going on. Those clues are both dead giveaways. Swaim will probably be pissed that I left such easy-to-decipher hints behind, but he can just deal with it.
Hint One:
Hint Two:
Really, when you think about it, it's fairly obvious what's going on. Those clues are both dead giveaways. Swaim will probably be pissed that I left such easy-to-decipher hints behind, but he can just deal with it.
Wednesday, May 13, 2009
Three Updates
Creative-
This is a total blueballs update because there's very little I can/want to reveal just yet, but there are a number of projects that Michael Swaim and I are working on that I'm really, really excited about. It started with just one cooperative project, (which you'll be able to see in a few months), but we just enjoyed working together so much that we decided to tackle some more stuff. One is a little bit bigger and more daunting than the other, both are fairly ambitious, especially considering both of our schedules. I've never had as much ease or fun collaborating with someone before, and I'm hoping that comes across in the work.
Side Projects-
There's a room in my apartment complex wherein all bicycles are stored. Some are new and nice and locked up, while others have clearly gone untouched for years; flat tires, thick dust, cobwebs etc. Of these clearly abandoned bikes, there is not a single one in full working order. Lately, I've been working on a project of restoring and repurposing these bikes, where restoring means "fixing" them and repurposing means "stealing" them, (while I personally believe it's more like "borrowing" or, if I may, "rescuing" them, I doubt the police or previous owners would agree). I've put air in the tires, replaced ruined nuts on the pedals, secured an errant tire, tightened up brakes- really, a number of simple, minor repairs in which I take tremendous pride, because I am by and large not at all a skilled handyman. (Case in point, I'm only doing this because my bike is broken in a way I'm not capable of fixing, by which I mean the problem extends beyond "lack of air.") I rotate the bikes I use. If the original owner(s) ever do show up looking for their bike, it'll never be missing for more than one day. Also, my logic seems kind of airtight. If someone ever catches me and says "Hey, you took my bike," I can respond with "Sir, you left a broken, unused bike here. I restored it, making it a fixed bike, and left in its place my broken bike. As I see it, the amount of broken bike's in the bike room remains the same, and you are neither down nor up. The bike ecosystem is intact. If you want your bike back, I will return it to the state in which you left it, by which I mean, broken and unloved."
Fixing these bikes and subsequently riding them to and fro has been oodles of fun. By mid-summer, I imagine that every single one of those bikes, (with the ironic exception being, of course, mine), will be in full working order. I'm like those elves from that fable that fixed the guy's shoes while he slept, except with bikes. And the elves never stole the shoes the fixed, but probably only because of the tiny feet.
My Gradual Descent Into Madness-
For no recognizable reason, I firmly believe that the gas light in my car is out. I've no reason to suspect this, but all the same, I know it to be true. Further, I can never test this theory, because I know that if I doubt this, it will bite me in the ass. Should I wear the dial down past the "E", waiting for the light to come on to allay my fears, my car will almost certainly run out of gas without warning, stranding me somewhere, and I'll say "Of COURSE you ran out of gas without the warning light coming on, you KNEW that was going to happen." While this would prove that I'm a very specific kind of psychic, it would also mean that
a) I would never be able to doubt whatever crazy feeling I get again and
b) I am stranded without gas.
I can't stress enough that I've no indication that this is true beyond my own certainty that it has to be. I used to see the light pop on and then one day, while driving, I thought "My light's broken" and then I got gas, to be on the safe side. And I've been preemptively getting gas on the safe, (or, more appropriately, insane) side ever since.
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
Ruining Good Deeds #1
[I call this "#1" because I will without a doubt have more entries that fall under this category. It's not like I'm planning on it, I just know me and I know the particular brand of stupid that I'm capable of.]
On my lunch break the other day, I was wondering around Santa Monica enjoying the beautiful weather, as I do, when I saw a woman in a wheelchair, and she was in bad shape. And it was one of those serious wheelchairs, too, that's controlled by a joystick, because she can only move her fingers a little bit, and her legs were completely useless. She sat slump with her head tilted, suggesting some kind of profound disability apart from the general "my legs don't work." She was all alone and, though it was tough to get too much information out of her facial expression, I gathered enough to know that she was troubled, or worried. In no rush to get back to work, I squatted down and asked her if she needed any help.
"Yes," she said, and the word was tough for her to get out.
"What can I do," I asked, my arms outstretched to show that I was at her disposal.
She told me in pained gasps that she needed help crossing the street. It was clear that she doesn't often travel outside on her own. I saw how slowly her chair was moving, I saw how low to the ground she was and I saw how long the street was, and I understood; she was worried she wouldn't be fast and visible enough to safely make it across the street in time, and that broke my heart a little bit. The problems that we face every day are different.
"I'll help you," I said, helpfully, and walked beside her. Now, she still wanted to motor herself across, so I wouldn't be pushing her, and it's not like I'd be carrying her or anything. Basically, I'd be walking next to her while reminding cars not to run over this person. As far as Knights-in-Shining-Armor tasks go, this is a fairly tame one, but also maybe the only kind I'm genuinely capable of fulfilling. As we crossed, she wanted to chit chat, which I thought was admirable. It's got to be difficult for her to speak. If she'd known how beautifully I was going to ruin our conversation, she probably would've just saved herself the trouble.
"Are you out with friends," she asked.
"I am not," I said. "I'm on break from work."
"Where do you work," she wondered.
"Over on Second Street," I told her.
"Oh, you're far from work," she said.
"That's okay," I started, "I really like walking, you know?"
Now, to begin with, 'I really like walking' was just a shit miserable thing to say to a person who is permanently committed to a wheelchair. It's like lording it over your sibling that you got dessert and THEY got sent to their room without dessert, except it's worse because this person does not have working legs. So, already, bringing up how fucking great it is to walk with my legs is bad enough, but I decided to top this shit sundae with some nice asshole sauce by capping it off with "you know?"
The thing is, Daniel, she doesn't know. She can't know. She will never know, and you are the worst person.
At this point, there was little to do. I didn't want to apologize and call more attention to the situation, ("Oh, my bad, that's right, you don't know anything about walking, so forget it. Also, I bet you're in a ton of pain"), and I didn't want to risk opening my mouth again to change the subject because, knowing my luck, I'd just start idly talking about karate kicks, or ask her if she'd ever just started jumping up and down for the hell of it. So, in a rare window of clarity, I said absolutely nothing, and, either out of horror or courtesy, she said absolutely nothing. And we walked that long street with only the buzzing of her wheelchair as our soundtrack. She didn't say "Goodbye" and I didn't say "You can't walk," which, to my credit, was quite an accomplishment. We parted ways, and it was all I could do to not run away in embarrassment because, again, knowing me, I'd just end up shouting "Look at me! Look at what else I can do with legs!"
To Recap:
The Good Deed: Helping a paraplegic cross the street.
The Stupidity: Boasting about how stoked I am about walking around on my functioning legs.
The Verdict: Deed overruled.
Saturday, March 14, 2009
Rewarding Un-stupidity
I do a whole lot of very dumb things. I don't think I'm a dumb person, and I don't generally do things that are disastrously dumb; just your average dumb things. I went to school, and I studied and did well, but that doesn't really stop me from routinely doing stupid things.
I was seeing a girl who once said, while softly clutching my face in her hands, "Dan, you're not stupid. You're an incredibly bright person who does stupid things with shocking regularity." She said it, (presumably), right after I'd done something characteristically idiotic, and she said it the futile hopefulness you'd use trying to teach a dog to use the toilet; she knew how much easier life would be if I'd learned, but she also knew the creature she was talking to couldn't possibly comprehend the lesson. Anyway, I didn't realize it at the time, but that's probably the most succinct and accurate explanation of who I am that I'm every likely to hear.
But that's not the point. The point is all the stupid things that I do. And, I promise you, whenever I do these things, I'm only doing them because I genuinely believe them to be the only logical option. I dropped my car off in Inglewood for repairs and ran home the four miles, on the 405 Freeway. (Historically speaking, possibly the most dangerous Freeway on the planet.) I was pulled over, of course, searched on the side of the road, and then driven home by a very friendly cop who, in retrospect, probably thought I was profoundly retarded. Whenever I tell this story to people, I still maintain that running home was the right thing to do; I had no one to call for a ride, it was only four miles, and the mapquest directions described the shortest route as the one that utilized the 405.
Of course they always come up with a number of different options. Finding different directions, for example. Taking a bus, or a cab. The Hyundai dealership, it turns out, would even pay for the cab. And, of course, this all makes sense now, but as I was running down the 405, with the police sirens blaring behind me, I honestly believed that I'd considered every alternative and the one I'd chosen was the one that made the most sense. (Also, it gets a little bit worse. I was running with a bookbag that happened to have a knife in it, the reason being that there was a knife in my car, and I cleaned my car out when I dropped my car off. I even consciously brought my bookbag solely because cleaning the car out at the dealership was part of my plan. That's usually the part that gives people pause- Why wouldn't you clean your car out at home, they ask. I still don't have an answer.)
I do things like that all the time. I solve what I perceive to be insurmountable problems in an idiotic way and, when I describe them to people, they're inevitably shocked by my actions. "Why would you do that?" I get that a whole lot.
I do stupid things so often, in fact, that I feel like I should be rewarded whenever I don't. Mostly stupid forgetful things. I need a magnetic key card to get into my office and every morning, without fail, I leave it on my kitchen table, walk to my car, realize my mistake and walk back. On the rare days where I actually remember the key card, I really feel like I deserve a reward. I acknowledged something stupid that I COULD have done, and then I didn't do it. That's the closest thing to a miracle I'll ever experience. The other day, I remembered to take my Tupperware home from the office refrigerator, after it sat there for maybe six weeks. I could've forgotten it again, but I didn't. That's fucking astounding to me, and I think it warrants a reward, (other than the inherent reward of having Tupperware).
It's the same way I feel about bills. I always pay my bills on time and I feel like Time Warner, or my landlord or Direct Loans should, at the very least, congratulate me every once in a while. Granted, I'm not over-paying, and I'm not tipping or paying anyone else's bills; all I'm doing is sending a check on or before the due date on the bill, which in all fairness, is totally unremarkable. But, you know, still. The point is, I'm a stupid enough person that forgetting to pay my bills on time is COMPLETELY in my wheelhouse. All I'm saying is that it seems like nothing short of an act of God that every month I actively remember to pay my bills on time, and I think Time Warner should acknowledge this. "Hey, you pay your bills so efficiently all the time, you've earned a month where you don't have to pay anything. Congrats." Or "Here, here's a discount on your next rent payment. It's our way of saying we appreciate how difficult it is for your tiny caveman brain to remember that you need to pay for things." So many people pay bills late, or not at all. Is it too much to ask that someone say "Great job" when I pay on time? I submit that no, it is not too much to ask.
And this is Rewarding Un-stupidity. I'm gonna design a Certificate and everything. It doesn't signify any kind of real merit or genuine accomplishment. All it does is commend the recipient for not acting like an idiot, but ONLY when that recipient clearly identifies how stupid they COULD have been. If you're about to call the office Tech Support guy but then you realize (all on your own!) that the computer isn't plugged in, congratulations- You get an Un-stupidity Reward. If you almost lock your keys in your car, or if you almost leave your phone charger at work but stop yourself at the last second, you get an Un-stupidity Reward. I fixed the copier at work and I felt like Stephen Fucking Hawking.
All those smooth-talking, intellectual elitists can have all the Nobel Prizes they want; I'll settle for a certificate that commends me for not leaving my clothes in the washer overnight.
I was seeing a girl who once said, while softly clutching my face in her hands, "Dan, you're not stupid. You're an incredibly bright person who does stupid things with shocking regularity." She said it, (presumably), right after I'd done something characteristically idiotic, and she said it the futile hopefulness you'd use trying to teach a dog to use the toilet; she knew how much easier life would be if I'd learned, but she also knew the creature she was talking to couldn't possibly comprehend the lesson. Anyway, I didn't realize it at the time, but that's probably the most succinct and accurate explanation of who I am that I'm every likely to hear.
But that's not the point. The point is all the stupid things that I do. And, I promise you, whenever I do these things, I'm only doing them because I genuinely believe them to be the only logical option. I dropped my car off in Inglewood for repairs and ran home the four miles, on the 405 Freeway. (Historically speaking, possibly the most dangerous Freeway on the planet.) I was pulled over, of course, searched on the side of the road, and then driven home by a very friendly cop who, in retrospect, probably thought I was profoundly retarded. Whenever I tell this story to people, I still maintain that running home was the right thing to do; I had no one to call for a ride, it was only four miles, and the mapquest directions described the shortest route as the one that utilized the 405.
Of course they always come up with a number of different options. Finding different directions, for example. Taking a bus, or a cab. The Hyundai dealership, it turns out, would even pay for the cab. And, of course, this all makes sense now, but as I was running down the 405, with the police sirens blaring behind me, I honestly believed that I'd considered every alternative and the one I'd chosen was the one that made the most sense. (Also, it gets a little bit worse. I was running with a bookbag that happened to have a knife in it, the reason being that there was a knife in my car, and I cleaned my car out when I dropped my car off. I even consciously brought my bookbag solely because cleaning the car out at the dealership was part of my plan. That's usually the part that gives people pause- Why wouldn't you clean your car out at home, they ask. I still don't have an answer.)
I do things like that all the time. I solve what I perceive to be insurmountable problems in an idiotic way and, when I describe them to people, they're inevitably shocked by my actions. "Why would you do that?" I get that a whole lot.
I do stupid things so often, in fact, that I feel like I should be rewarded whenever I don't. Mostly stupid forgetful things. I need a magnetic key card to get into my office and every morning, without fail, I leave it on my kitchen table, walk to my car, realize my mistake and walk back. On the rare days where I actually remember the key card, I really feel like I deserve a reward. I acknowledged something stupid that I COULD have done, and then I didn't do it. That's the closest thing to a miracle I'll ever experience. The other day, I remembered to take my Tupperware home from the office refrigerator, after it sat there for maybe six weeks. I could've forgotten it again, but I didn't. That's fucking astounding to me, and I think it warrants a reward, (other than the inherent reward of having Tupperware).
It's the same way I feel about bills. I always pay my bills on time and I feel like Time Warner, or my landlord or Direct Loans should, at the very least, congratulate me every once in a while. Granted, I'm not over-paying, and I'm not tipping or paying anyone else's bills; all I'm doing is sending a check on or before the due date on the bill, which in all fairness, is totally unremarkable. But, you know, still. The point is, I'm a stupid enough person that forgetting to pay my bills on time is COMPLETELY in my wheelhouse. All I'm saying is that it seems like nothing short of an act of God that every month I actively remember to pay my bills on time, and I think Time Warner should acknowledge this. "Hey, you pay your bills so efficiently all the time, you've earned a month where you don't have to pay anything. Congrats." Or "Here, here's a discount on your next rent payment. It's our way of saying we appreciate how difficult it is for your tiny caveman brain to remember that you need to pay for things." So many people pay bills late, or not at all. Is it too much to ask that someone say "Great job" when I pay on time? I submit that no, it is not too much to ask.
And this is Rewarding Un-stupidity. I'm gonna design a Certificate and everything. It doesn't signify any kind of real merit or genuine accomplishment. All it does is commend the recipient for not acting like an idiot, but ONLY when that recipient clearly identifies how stupid they COULD have been. If you're about to call the office Tech Support guy but then you realize (all on your own!) that the computer isn't plugged in, congratulations- You get an Un-stupidity Reward. If you almost lock your keys in your car, or if you almost leave your phone charger at work but stop yourself at the last second, you get an Un-stupidity Reward. I fixed the copier at work and I felt like Stephen Fucking Hawking.
All those smooth-talking, intellectual elitists can have all the Nobel Prizes they want; I'll settle for a certificate that commends me for not leaving my clothes in the washer overnight.
Sunday, March 8, 2009
Watchmen
Watchmen
This review probably contains spoilers.
I want to start by saying that I am a fan of Watchmen the comic. The opinions I've formed are from a fan's perspective. I don't know how this movie works as a standalone flick, and I don't know if people who've never heard of the comics will like it. It's impossible for me to look at the film objectively, or as anyone who isn't the huge fan that I am.
I loved this movie. Maybe it's unfair, because I went into this movie prepared to love it, and it would've taken a pretty serious disaster to convince me not to. But I don’t really care about that because, luckily, Snyder and company made exactly the kind of Watchmen movie I wanted to see. It wasn't perfect and I'll move on to specifics in a second, but I want to be absolutely clear up front: I loved this movie and can't wait to see it again. I am a fan who didn't go into the movie prepared to hate it. I think that makes me the perfect audience for this movie. Which is cool, because it means that Zach Snyder managed to get a shitload of money to make a movie that was directly targeted for people like me.
It'll be easiest to explain how I like this movie, and why I'm the perfect fan for this movie, by talking about the opening credits. If you haven't seen it yet, the opening credits features shot after shot of various stages in this alternate history, to really set up the world in which the movie takes place. There's shots of the Minutemen fighting crime and posing for pictures in the 40s. Shots of the original Silk Spectre retiring. Shots of The Comedian and Dr. Manhattan fighting in Vietnam. Shots of Dollar Bill's unfortunate death, shots of Silhouette and her controversially sexy lesbian lifestyle. Shots of The Comedian shooting JFK. No words, just a moving visual timeline that spans over forty years. We see the transition of carefree, tabloid-craving celebrity superheroes of the 40s to a darker, more realistic breed of hero. Watching the opening credits, my immediate thought was "If they do this for the entire movie, I'd be okay with that. If they did this for the full two hours and forty-three minutes, I would be totally fucking fine with that." Because, Look- it's the Comedian on screen. That's exactly what he's supposed to look like. And there's Hollis Mason publishing Under the Hood. That's exactly what HE'S supposed to look like. It's all of these characters I love, brought to life and doing exactly what they're supposed to be doing. And that's what I wanted. I already know why the Comedian's my favorite character. Now I want to watch him running around, doing what he does.
To stop myself from making a completely fawning review, I'll admit there were things I didn't like. Malin Ackerman's performance was the weakest part of the movie. Maybe I'm biased, because I never totally cared about Silk Spectre II, anyway, so it's possible that I'd be bored regardless of who played the part. But I don't think that's the case. I think she's just an average actress playing a wooden, underdeveloped character. She certainly gets naked, and I do appreciate that, but she brings nothing to the table. I think the scenes between Rorschach and the psychiatrist were unfortunately cut short and that their particular dynamic was handled poorly. There are some lines that I wish made it to the screen. I also thought Lex and Tim were annoying as shit, but I still think Jurassic Park is an awesome movie. If you're looking for flaws, you'll find them.
If I'm thinking about important things that I missed, it would be Hollis Mason's death. In the comic, this was important to me because it had nothing to do with superheroes or conspiracies or nuclear war. It was just a very horrible, very unfortunate and very real freak occurrence. It was a way of saying "Yeah, superheroes are so burdened and tortured and they've got it so tough but, you know what? It's tough all over. Terrible things happen to good people for no reason all the time. This is our world." I always thought that was really effective. But, again, it's not something that I'm going to crucify this movie for leaving out, because I love all that they left in.
Apart from Malin, I don't have a single complaint about the casting. Matthew Goode is a standout to me right now, not because he was better than anyone else, but because, in my mind, he had the hardest task. Ozymandias just isn't an exciting character. Until the end of the comic, he just comes off as this tedious, yuppy sellout. In the movie, he's the one character who I feel became more realized as a result of the performance. Goode really brought out the kind of colossal disconnect and loneliness that could only accompany the World's Smartest Man. Billy Crudup was a brilliant and inspiring choice, but I've been such a fan of his for years that it didn't even matter if he sucked, I would've loved it anyway. Jackie Earle Haley was another brilliant choice and, when he removes his mask at the end, it was the closest I'd come to crying in probably thirteen years. And I don't know how it happened, but Patrick Wilson managed to figure out what voice I was picturing in my head when I read Dan Drieberg's parts, and he used it in the film. As soon as I heard him speak, I thought "Yeah, that's how he sounds...How did you do that?"
And, of course, The Comedian. Most people I've talked to, about both the comic and the movie, point to Rorschach as their favorite character. That's understandable, but my favorite character is and always has been The Comedian, because he's just so real. Sure, you want your superheroes to be like Nite Owl II, a smart guy who follows the rules and just wants to help people, and you wish you had superheroes like Rorschach, people who are committed and uncompromising and dependable. But, here in real life, you'd get a world of Comedians. Power corrupts, and who has more power than a superhero/government-sanctioned assassin? The Comedian is what happens when you give someone unfiltered access to do whatever is necessary in the interest of serving his country. He's a patriot and he's a monster, and it's ugly but it's real. I went into this movie watching Jeffrey Dean Morgan more closely than any of the other actors, and I was not disappointed. A fucking smirking alpha male beast. He played the complex and burdened character to perfection, and now I'm kind of a little bit gay for him.
When it comes to reviewing this movie, for me it's easier to address the complaints I've heard from other fans and fan boys. I've heard and read a lot of responses from superfans who hated this movie. They can point to specific scenes that were in their minds wrongfully left out. A skipped panel is looked upon as a grievous sacrilege, and they use every example of an altered scene as reason enough to condemn the whole movie. You've read reviews like this; "They left out scene [x] or shortened this speech, which RUINS THE ENTIRE MOVIE." And yes, if your ability to appreciate this movie hinges on whether or not the Comedian will ever wear his gimp mask, than you will have ample reason to hate it. Because that's what you want to do. At the risk of sounding presumptuous and insulting, I get the idea that the fans who didn't like this movie went into it prepared to hate it. They called it "unfilmable" in advance and sat in the theater, already snarling, and taking mental notes every time a line was skipped or a fight scene was extended. They didn't like the new ending, despite the fact that it kept the spirit of the original ending while also being monumentally less retarded. That's an improvement in my book. It just seems strange to me that people can say "Silk Spectre said Dr. Manhattan's line at the end and it DESTROYED THE ENTIRE FUCKING MOVIE," or "Dr. Manhattan didn't catch Silk and Nite Owl fucking and I ALMOST KILLED MYSELF."
Yes, the movie was more violent and the fight scenes were longer than they were in the comic. You know why I like that? Because action scenes in comics are, almost without exception, boring as shit. They can look beautiful, sometimes, but if I ever got a comic that was 25 pages of explosions and wordless fighting, I'd be bored. This isn't specific to Watchmen, either. Frank Miller's Dark Knight Returns is one of my all time favorite comics, but I don't like it because of Batman's fight with the giant king mutant freak. I don't like it for the Superman/Batman battle at the end. I like it for just about everything else. And Bendis, one of my favorite comics writers working today, can't write battle scenes for shit, and that's fine. When I think of Secret War, I don't think about the big river fight at the end, I think about the brilliant way the story was told, the complex position Nick Fury was forced to take and, like always, Bendis' unmatched knack for crafting the perfect dialogue for Spider-man.
So, sure, Watchmen the movie had extended fight scenes. Wanna know why? Because fight scenes in movies are cooler than fight scenes in comics. There's been a trend in movies for that really close up, gritty Bourne-style fighting. It's cool, I guess, and probably realistic, but I can rarely tell what's even going on. Watchmen didn't take that approach, and had some of the coolest fight choreography I've seen in a while. Watch this movie again. Watch the scene where Rorschach is fighting off a ton of cops, and tell me that isn't some of the coolest looking shit you've ever seen. So intricate, so fast, so much going on. Really impressive stuff. That fight isn't anywhere near as impressive in the comics and, likewise, Alan Moore's judicious use of violence in the comic is more effective than it would've been in the movie. Comics and movies are different, and each used their inherent possibilities to their advantage. This has been my first lesson in "Things that Are Different from Other Things." Test Tuesday.
I think the difference between me and these fan boys is that I went into the theater knowing that my favorite part of the comic wasn't going to be included. You know what my absolute favorite part was? The excerpts from Under the Hood. Without a doubt. I love how much of Hollis' character comes through, I love how much you can learn about the time period by reading his thoughts. I wish they sold a fully realized version of that fake autobiography so I can read it all, because it just seemed so damn charming and interesting. I knew there wasn't going to be a portion of the movie dedicated to old Hollis reading full chapters of his book, and I was okay with that. None of those parts were in the movie, and, hey, I didn’t lose my shit over it. The important parts of Watchmen remained intact, and that's what matters. If I really want to experience parts of the comic that I liked that didn't make it to the movie, I could just, you know, read the comic again.
The people who point out the small reasons to hate Watchmen, the nitpicky things, I honestly don't know what kind of movie they wanted to watch. Truly. I have no idea how to put myself in their heads. They wanted, I suppose, a film version that was identical to the comic version. This, no matter what anyone says, is impossible. Impossible. That's not saying that it's impossible to make a good comics movie, or a good Watchmen movie, just that it's by definition impossible to film a movie that will yield the exact same experience as the comic on which it's based. And even if they could, why would I want a movie that's exactly like the comic?
I already have the comic.
That's, I suppose, the thesis I want to get out to all of the fanboys who hated the movie. Nothing is being taken from you. Nothing is being replaced. You can still say the comic was better. You can even still read the comic. Hell, you can even still walk around with that smug sense of superiority if you want. I know I'm still going to read the comic, because I love it. And I'll watch the movie again because, though it's different, I love that, too.
I wanted something new. Something that still spoke to the heart of Watchmen, but still something new. I wanted to see these characters come to life and say the words they're supposed to say and do the things they're supposed to do. And that's what I kept thinking in the theater. Dan would walk down the street and give Kovacs an odd look, or the Comedian would light a cigar and grin, or Dr. Manhattan would look perpetually distracted, (junk a-flopping), and I just thought "Yes, that's what's supposed to happen. That's what they're supposed to look like, and that's what they're supposed to do."
This review probably contains spoilers.
I want to start by saying that I am a fan of Watchmen the comic. The opinions I've formed are from a fan's perspective. I don't know how this movie works as a standalone flick, and I don't know if people who've never heard of the comics will like it. It's impossible for me to look at the film objectively, or as anyone who isn't the huge fan that I am.
I loved this movie. Maybe it's unfair, because I went into this movie prepared to love it, and it would've taken a pretty serious disaster to convince me not to. But I don’t really care about that because, luckily, Snyder and company made exactly the kind of Watchmen movie I wanted to see. It wasn't perfect and I'll move on to specifics in a second, but I want to be absolutely clear up front: I loved this movie and can't wait to see it again. I am a fan who didn't go into the movie prepared to hate it. I think that makes me the perfect audience for this movie. Which is cool, because it means that Zach Snyder managed to get a shitload of money to make a movie that was directly targeted for people like me.
It'll be easiest to explain how I like this movie, and why I'm the perfect fan for this movie, by talking about the opening credits. If you haven't seen it yet, the opening credits features shot after shot of various stages in this alternate history, to really set up the world in which the movie takes place. There's shots of the Minutemen fighting crime and posing for pictures in the 40s. Shots of the original Silk Spectre retiring. Shots of The Comedian and Dr. Manhattan fighting in Vietnam. Shots of Dollar Bill's unfortunate death, shots of Silhouette and her controversially sexy lesbian lifestyle. Shots of The Comedian shooting JFK. No words, just a moving visual timeline that spans over forty years. We see the transition of carefree, tabloid-craving celebrity superheroes of the 40s to a darker, more realistic breed of hero. Watching the opening credits, my immediate thought was "If they do this for the entire movie, I'd be okay with that. If they did this for the full two hours and forty-three minutes, I would be totally fucking fine with that." Because, Look- it's the Comedian on screen. That's exactly what he's supposed to look like. And there's Hollis Mason publishing Under the Hood. That's exactly what HE'S supposed to look like. It's all of these characters I love, brought to life and doing exactly what they're supposed to be doing. And that's what I wanted. I already know why the Comedian's my favorite character. Now I want to watch him running around, doing what he does.
To stop myself from making a completely fawning review, I'll admit there were things I didn't like. Malin Ackerman's performance was the weakest part of the movie. Maybe I'm biased, because I never totally cared about Silk Spectre II, anyway, so it's possible that I'd be bored regardless of who played the part. But I don't think that's the case. I think she's just an average actress playing a wooden, underdeveloped character. She certainly gets naked, and I do appreciate that, but she brings nothing to the table. I think the scenes between Rorschach and the psychiatrist were unfortunately cut short and that their particular dynamic was handled poorly. There are some lines that I wish made it to the screen. I also thought Lex and Tim were annoying as shit, but I still think Jurassic Park is an awesome movie. If you're looking for flaws, you'll find them.
If I'm thinking about important things that I missed, it would be Hollis Mason's death. In the comic, this was important to me because it had nothing to do with superheroes or conspiracies or nuclear war. It was just a very horrible, very unfortunate and very real freak occurrence. It was a way of saying "Yeah, superheroes are so burdened and tortured and they've got it so tough but, you know what? It's tough all over. Terrible things happen to good people for no reason all the time. This is our world." I always thought that was really effective. But, again, it's not something that I'm going to crucify this movie for leaving out, because I love all that they left in.
Apart from Malin, I don't have a single complaint about the casting. Matthew Goode is a standout to me right now, not because he was better than anyone else, but because, in my mind, he had the hardest task. Ozymandias just isn't an exciting character. Until the end of the comic, he just comes off as this tedious, yuppy sellout. In the movie, he's the one character who I feel became more realized as a result of the performance. Goode really brought out the kind of colossal disconnect and loneliness that could only accompany the World's Smartest Man. Billy Crudup was a brilliant and inspiring choice, but I've been such a fan of his for years that it didn't even matter if he sucked, I would've loved it anyway. Jackie Earle Haley was another brilliant choice and, when he removes his mask at the end, it was the closest I'd come to crying in probably thirteen years. And I don't know how it happened, but Patrick Wilson managed to figure out what voice I was picturing in my head when I read Dan Drieberg's parts, and he used it in the film. As soon as I heard him speak, I thought "Yeah, that's how he sounds...How did you do that?"
And, of course, The Comedian. Most people I've talked to, about both the comic and the movie, point to Rorschach as their favorite character. That's understandable, but my favorite character is and always has been The Comedian, because he's just so real. Sure, you want your superheroes to be like Nite Owl II, a smart guy who follows the rules and just wants to help people, and you wish you had superheroes like Rorschach, people who are committed and uncompromising and dependable. But, here in real life, you'd get a world of Comedians. Power corrupts, and who has more power than a superhero/government-sanctioned assassin? The Comedian is what happens when you give someone unfiltered access to do whatever is necessary in the interest of serving his country. He's a patriot and he's a monster, and it's ugly but it's real. I went into this movie watching Jeffrey Dean Morgan more closely than any of the other actors, and I was not disappointed. A fucking smirking alpha male beast. He played the complex and burdened character to perfection, and now I'm kind of a little bit gay for him.
When it comes to reviewing this movie, for me it's easier to address the complaints I've heard from other fans and fan boys. I've heard and read a lot of responses from superfans who hated this movie. They can point to specific scenes that were in their minds wrongfully left out. A skipped panel is looked upon as a grievous sacrilege, and they use every example of an altered scene as reason enough to condemn the whole movie. You've read reviews like this; "They left out scene [x] or shortened this speech, which RUINS THE ENTIRE MOVIE." And yes, if your ability to appreciate this movie hinges on whether or not the Comedian will ever wear his gimp mask, than you will have ample reason to hate it. Because that's what you want to do. At the risk of sounding presumptuous and insulting, I get the idea that the fans who didn't like this movie went into it prepared to hate it. They called it "unfilmable" in advance and sat in the theater, already snarling, and taking mental notes every time a line was skipped or a fight scene was extended. They didn't like the new ending, despite the fact that it kept the spirit of the original ending while also being monumentally less retarded. That's an improvement in my book. It just seems strange to me that people can say "Silk Spectre said Dr. Manhattan's line at the end and it DESTROYED THE ENTIRE FUCKING MOVIE," or "Dr. Manhattan didn't catch Silk and Nite Owl fucking and I ALMOST KILLED MYSELF."
Yes, the movie was more violent and the fight scenes were longer than they were in the comic. You know why I like that? Because action scenes in comics are, almost without exception, boring as shit. They can look beautiful, sometimes, but if I ever got a comic that was 25 pages of explosions and wordless fighting, I'd be bored. This isn't specific to Watchmen, either. Frank Miller's Dark Knight Returns is one of my all time favorite comics, but I don't like it because of Batman's fight with the giant king mutant freak. I don't like it for the Superman/Batman battle at the end. I like it for just about everything else. And Bendis, one of my favorite comics writers working today, can't write battle scenes for shit, and that's fine. When I think of Secret War, I don't think about the big river fight at the end, I think about the brilliant way the story was told, the complex position Nick Fury was forced to take and, like always, Bendis' unmatched knack for crafting the perfect dialogue for Spider-man.
So, sure, Watchmen the movie had extended fight scenes. Wanna know why? Because fight scenes in movies are cooler than fight scenes in comics. There's been a trend in movies for that really close up, gritty Bourne-style fighting. It's cool, I guess, and probably realistic, but I can rarely tell what's even going on. Watchmen didn't take that approach, and had some of the coolest fight choreography I've seen in a while. Watch this movie again. Watch the scene where Rorschach is fighting off a ton of cops, and tell me that isn't some of the coolest looking shit you've ever seen. So intricate, so fast, so much going on. Really impressive stuff. That fight isn't anywhere near as impressive in the comics and, likewise, Alan Moore's judicious use of violence in the comic is more effective than it would've been in the movie. Comics and movies are different, and each used their inherent possibilities to their advantage. This has been my first lesson in "Things that Are Different from Other Things." Test Tuesday.
I think the difference between me and these fan boys is that I went into the theater knowing that my favorite part of the comic wasn't going to be included. You know what my absolute favorite part was? The excerpts from Under the Hood. Without a doubt. I love how much of Hollis' character comes through, I love how much you can learn about the time period by reading his thoughts. I wish they sold a fully realized version of that fake autobiography so I can read it all, because it just seemed so damn charming and interesting. I knew there wasn't going to be a portion of the movie dedicated to old Hollis reading full chapters of his book, and I was okay with that. None of those parts were in the movie, and, hey, I didn’t lose my shit over it. The important parts of Watchmen remained intact, and that's what matters. If I really want to experience parts of the comic that I liked that didn't make it to the movie, I could just, you know, read the comic again.
The people who point out the small reasons to hate Watchmen, the nitpicky things, I honestly don't know what kind of movie they wanted to watch. Truly. I have no idea how to put myself in their heads. They wanted, I suppose, a film version that was identical to the comic version. This, no matter what anyone says, is impossible. Impossible. That's not saying that it's impossible to make a good comics movie, or a good Watchmen movie, just that it's by definition impossible to film a movie that will yield the exact same experience as the comic on which it's based. And even if they could, why would I want a movie that's exactly like the comic?
I already have the comic.
That's, I suppose, the thesis I want to get out to all of the fanboys who hated the movie. Nothing is being taken from you. Nothing is being replaced. You can still say the comic was better. You can even still read the comic. Hell, you can even still walk around with that smug sense of superiority if you want. I know I'm still going to read the comic, because I love it. And I'll watch the movie again because, though it's different, I love that, too.
I wanted something new. Something that still spoke to the heart of Watchmen, but still something new. I wanted to see these characters come to life and say the words they're supposed to say and do the things they're supposed to do. And that's what I kept thinking in the theater. Dan would walk down the street and give Kovacs an odd look, or the Comedian would light a cigar and grin, or Dr. Manhattan would look perpetually distracted, (junk a-flopping), and I just thought "Yes, that's what's supposed to happen. That's what they're supposed to look like, and that's what they're supposed to do."
Saturday, February 28, 2009
A&ME
So, some people from A&E came to the Cracked Offices the other day. They're doing a Biography on Steven Seagal and used me as one of those 'Talking Heads,' (an opportunity I never would have had were it not for my amazing Editor, Jack).
It was very cool and laid back, but still nerve wracking. When the lights and the cameras were all set up, the producer, Terry, said, for no identifiable reason, "Now, I'm sure you've done these before." Which was odd and shocking, but what was perhaps more shocking was my response of "Yes, of course," which I offered up without hesitation. And then we talked about Steven Seagal for over two hours.
Don't get me wrong. I know that there are people who work in coal mines and people who perform surgery and people who are in fight clubs, and that it's tough for me to ever complain about labor, but still. Talking about Steven Seagal for two and a half hours without a break was exhausting. Now, I already had a fairly comprehensive understanding of Seagal because my Dad was a huge fan and brought home every single Seagal movie, (even Attack Force). However, I still wanted to be extra-prepared so I spent the few days leading up to the shoot re-watching every Seagal flick I could get my hands on, (Dad sent over four from Jersey when he heard what I was doing), and reading Vern's invaluable book, Seagalogy. So, between preparing for the shoot and my own nerves keeping me awake, I'd lost a whole lot of sleep. I'd also like to state that it is physically and mentally unhealthy to cram that much Seagal into a such a short amount of time. Like a fine wine, Seagal is best in moderation. (Also like a fine wine, Seagal goes great with steak.) By the end of my prep period, it was difficult to tell what was my real life and what was a Seagal movie, as I came into work asking my coworkers if they'd seen Ritchie and, further, if they had any idea why Ritchie would pop Bobby Lupo.
For the shoot itself, Terry started with "Talk about Above the Law," Seagal's first movie, and I did. Then he said "Now talk about Hard to Kill," his second movie, and I did. This went on for his first four movies, and then we sort of jumped around to a few other movies. (Under Siege, On Deadly Ground, and about eleven movies with the word "Justice" in the title), his brief music career, (Songs from the Crystal Cove?), Aikido, and just some general Seagal background info. Every new subject was just "Talk about [x]." There was no guidance, so I would just ramble on about whatever the topic was. I was pretty beat and delirious by the end of the thing, but I'm almost positive that at one point I made some favorable comparisons between Seagal and F. Scott Fitzgerald.
Doing this gave me a tremendous amount of respect for guys like Michael Ian Black who do those VH1 "I Love..." shows, because it means that they're sitting under a bunch of lights for 12 hours while a producer says "Rubik's Cube, go. Now talk about Madonna. Now talk about Acid Jeans. Alf, talk about Alf." Those guys never look as exhausted as I felt by the end of that shoot, and I doubt they ever reached the point where delirium hit so hard that they were making foolish comparisons between Top Gun and the early works of Ernest Hemingway.
This shoot was also significant because, since I wore a vest and a tie, it was maybe the second time I came to work NOT dressed in my simple white t-shirt and jeans combo. I was uncomfortable and, needless to say, stripped down to my under shirt as soon as the camera crew left, (because take THAT, society).
Still, as exhausted as it made me, everything about that day reminds me that I have a job that a) let's me go on TV and talk about how Steven Seagal responds to criticism by "gently redirecting negative comments, like some sort of figurative form of critical aikiodo," and b) lets me wear jeans and a t-shirt every single day.
It's official. I this job is better than bartending.
It was very cool and laid back, but still nerve wracking. When the lights and the cameras were all set up, the producer, Terry, said, for no identifiable reason, "Now, I'm sure you've done these before." Which was odd and shocking, but what was perhaps more shocking was my response of "Yes, of course," which I offered up without hesitation. And then we talked about Steven Seagal for over two hours.
Don't get me wrong. I know that there are people who work in coal mines and people who perform surgery and people who are in fight clubs, and that it's tough for me to ever complain about labor, but still. Talking about Steven Seagal for two and a half hours without a break was exhausting. Now, I already had a fairly comprehensive understanding of Seagal because my Dad was a huge fan and brought home every single Seagal movie, (even Attack Force). However, I still wanted to be extra-prepared so I spent the few days leading up to the shoot re-watching every Seagal flick I could get my hands on, (Dad sent over four from Jersey when he heard what I was doing), and reading Vern's invaluable book, Seagalogy. So, between preparing for the shoot and my own nerves keeping me awake, I'd lost a whole lot of sleep. I'd also like to state that it is physically and mentally unhealthy to cram that much Seagal into a such a short amount of time. Like a fine wine, Seagal is best in moderation. (Also like a fine wine, Seagal goes great with steak.) By the end of my prep period, it was difficult to tell what was my real life and what was a Seagal movie, as I came into work asking my coworkers if they'd seen Ritchie and, further, if they had any idea why Ritchie would pop Bobby Lupo.
For the shoot itself, Terry started with "Talk about Above the Law," Seagal's first movie, and I did. Then he said "Now talk about Hard to Kill," his second movie, and I did. This went on for his first four movies, and then we sort of jumped around to a few other movies. (Under Siege, On Deadly Ground, and about eleven movies with the word "Justice" in the title), his brief music career, (Songs from the Crystal Cove?), Aikido, and just some general Seagal background info. Every new subject was just "Talk about [x]." There was no guidance, so I would just ramble on about whatever the topic was. I was pretty beat and delirious by the end of the thing, but I'm almost positive that at one point I made some favorable comparisons between Seagal and F. Scott Fitzgerald.
Doing this gave me a tremendous amount of respect for guys like Michael Ian Black who do those VH1 "I Love..." shows, because it means that they're sitting under a bunch of lights for 12 hours while a producer says "Rubik's Cube, go. Now talk about Madonna. Now talk about Acid Jeans. Alf, talk about Alf." Those guys never look as exhausted as I felt by the end of that shoot, and I doubt they ever reached the point where delirium hit so hard that they were making foolish comparisons between Top Gun and the early works of Ernest Hemingway.
This shoot was also significant because, since I wore a vest and a tie, it was maybe the second time I came to work NOT dressed in my simple white t-shirt and jeans combo. I was uncomfortable and, needless to say, stripped down to my under shirt as soon as the camera crew left, (because take THAT, society).
Still, as exhausted as it made me, everything about that day reminds me that I have a job that a) let's me go on TV and talk about how Steven Seagal responds to criticism by "gently redirecting negative comments, like some sort of figurative form of critical aikiodo," and b) lets me wear jeans and a t-shirt every single day.
It's official. I this job is better than bartending.
Monday, February 23, 2009
The Running Dan
I always need things to do. A bunch of things, actually, or I'll lose my mind. I think the logic behind it is that, if I do a whole bunch of things, it'll distract from the fact that I'm not technically good at any one thing. Throughout high school, I used to try to keep two jobs at once. My last year at Rutgers, I was a fulltime student while working 25-40 hours over at Cracked. When I started at Cracked full-time last July, I had the daily time in the office plus my Secret Project (unrelated to Cracked) that took up every single night, weekend and lunch break until the end of November. I wouldn't call it a strong work ethic so much as I'd call it a socially destructive obsession with constantly doing something. I'm like one of those sharks that has to keep moving or else it'll die, except I write dick jokes on the internet, (also, the cure for Alzheimer's cannot be discovered by harvesting my brain).
The James-Brown-of-Internet-Comedy, Mike Swaim, is the exact same way when it comes to working all the time. Sure, he may make it look easy, but make no mistake: that man is a workaholic. At any given time, he's working on six or seven different big projects and he attacks every single one of them with an incredible intensity. Sometimes when I think about "My life in Hollywood" as being loaded with coffee-fueled nights writing, re-writing and agonizing over word choice, it's a real comfort to know that Swaim's a few exits away doing the exact same thing, (and doing it, I'd add, much better).
As for now, I've got a) Work, b) A New Secret Project (unrelated to Cracked, c) A Secret Project (that IS related to Cracked), and d) I've decided to sign up for a half marathon with some friends from work. I wasn't positive I'd be able to do it, but I hit the halfway point in my training this past weekend, so I sent in my registration.
I used to run a lot as a kid, (my Dad is a running fiend), and then I just completely stopped for probably a decade. Now, I can't imagine a night going by without running. I try to force myself to take Sundays off, but I almost never do. Some days I'll get in two runs, if I'm feeling particularly ambitious, or if it's one of those rare nights when USA is playing NCIS late at night instead of House. It's weird. As a kid, and the few times I tried picking it up again during that lost decade, I always hated it. Hated it, and I convinced myself that it just wasn't for me. I believed that some people were runners, and some people weren't, and I was in that second category. I was biogenetically pre-disposed to not be good at running. I reasoned that, if I was supposed to be good at running, then I would be, which is just the handiest rationalization for laziness I've ever come up with. But, once I put myself on a schedule of running, I love the hell out of it. If I'm running outside, sometimes I'll take an iPod along so I can figure out how many miles I've done based on the length of the songs I've listened to, (and if you think combining math and running is the nerdiest thing I'll do in this post, just wait a few paragraphs). Other nights I won't bring my iPod, because nothing beats the focus you get from uninterrupted running. Three quarters of "Bartender" was written in my head while running.
On Saturdays, I do my Big Run, which helps me train for the half marathon. I'm increasing the distance of my big run by a mile every Saturday, and I've officially entered the territory where the possibility of throwing up in the middle of the run is very, very real. We're not at Phase You-Might-Lose-Control-of-Your-Bowels, but that phase certainly is in my future.
The big run is fun, and something I’m proud of doing, but it's the Monday-Friday run that I love the most. I get home from work every night a little before 7:00. At 7, I head over to the gym in my apartment complex, switch the TV to channel 7, and watch Jeopardy while I run three miles. I can say without hesitation that it is the best part of my day. Some days, of course, I'll be miserable if there are a bunch of categories about which I know nothing, but generally I have a great time running and answering as many questions as I can. "Cardinal Richelieu," I'll breathlessly scream in the usually-empty gym, or "Irving Berlin," depending on the question. (I can't imagine what might be going through the head of anyone hanging around outside the gym and listening in. I like to think that they assume I have a very complicated system for counting reps. "Truman Capote. Spanish American War. Born to Run.")
Tonight one of the categories was "Bruce Springsteen Songs Rephrased" and one was "Opening lines in Literature" and I was so excited that I barked "Fuck yes," which needless to say shocked the woman who was running next to me. I thought about apologizing and explaining myself, but the truth, ("I am going to rape these categories"), is totally lame, and any kind of cover-up lie would have to be equally weird, ("I pretended our treadmills were racing, and I was celebrating my imaginary victory with unnecessary profanity").
What can potentially be the worst part of my day is if Final Jeopardy is a stupid category. (Here, "stupid" means "one that I am not good at.") As you're aware, they provide the Final Jeopardy category after the Double Jeopardy round, and before the last commercial. As you're possibly aware, this commercial break is the longest of the three commercial breaks in a typical episode of Jeopardy, (the shortest is the first one, the one that happens after the first few questions but before we return to hear our contestants tell a bunch of bullshit stories about how much they love to travel or whatever*). As you're probably NOT aware, right after Double Jeopardy concludes, I significantly increase my pace to make my third mile my fastest. What this means is that a shitty Final Jeopardy question could spell torture for Daniel. I'm already running my hardest, I'm already forced to tolerate Jeopardy's longest commercial, and on top of that, with a shitty question, there is no payoff. If I'm heading into my ninth lap and Alex Trebek announces that the final category is going to be 18th Century War Weapons or French Cats, I'm pissed off for, like, four different reasons. Today it was "World Rivers," at which I'm useless, so I screamed "FUCK," again and didn't even pretend to care about the startled reaction of the woman next to me. With both of our treadmills going , plus the sound of my heavy breathing, (I was wheezing a little bit, having spent so much time yelling things like "To Kill a Mockingbird," "Thunder Road" and "Fuck" at the television), I couldn't hear the question. Not hearing the question has never stopped me from answering, so I shouted "The Nile" and was wrong. (It was the Danube, which I would've shouted if 'Nile' wasn't comparatively easier to say.) In fairness, the returning and eventual champion also guessed "The Nile," (and he wasn't even running), so I feel like I'm in a pretty good company.
*By the way, if I was ever a contestant on Jeopardy, I would have a tremendous amount of fun with this portion of the show. For those unfamiliar, Alex Trebeck goes up to each contestant and asks them an obvious leading question, and I'm sure they tell you in advance to have some kind of neat little story to go along with it. Like Alex says "Diane, I hear you've got a bit of a history with France" and Diane's like "That's right, one time I went to France and something interesting happens." There's such a hitherto unexploited opportunity here. I want nothing more than to have Alex Trebeck say to me "Now, Daniel I hear you've got an interesting story about the ocean," so I can say "That's right, Alex. One time I saw a little boy drowning and I did nothing. It's amazing what you can see in your own backyard. Anyway, I'm psyched for Dub-Jep." I desperately want to do this to a) Throw the other contestants off guard, b) Watch Alex Trebeck piss himself and c) Hopefully get my patented phrase 'Dub-Jep' a little more mainstream exposure.
The James-Brown-of-Internet-Comedy, Mike Swaim, is the exact same way when it comes to working all the time. Sure, he may make it look easy, but make no mistake: that man is a workaholic. At any given time, he's working on six or seven different big projects and he attacks every single one of them with an incredible intensity. Sometimes when I think about "My life in Hollywood" as being loaded with coffee-fueled nights writing, re-writing and agonizing over word choice, it's a real comfort to know that Swaim's a few exits away doing the exact same thing, (and doing it, I'd add, much better).
As for now, I've got a) Work, b) A New Secret Project (unrelated to Cracked, c) A Secret Project (that IS related to Cracked), and d) I've decided to sign up for a half marathon with some friends from work. I wasn't positive I'd be able to do it, but I hit the halfway point in my training this past weekend, so I sent in my registration.
I used to run a lot as a kid, (my Dad is a running fiend), and then I just completely stopped for probably a decade. Now, I can't imagine a night going by without running. I try to force myself to take Sundays off, but I almost never do. Some days I'll get in two runs, if I'm feeling particularly ambitious, or if it's one of those rare nights when USA is playing NCIS late at night instead of House. It's weird. As a kid, and the few times I tried picking it up again during that lost decade, I always hated it. Hated it, and I convinced myself that it just wasn't for me. I believed that some people were runners, and some people weren't, and I was in that second category. I was biogenetically pre-disposed to not be good at running. I reasoned that, if I was supposed to be good at running, then I would be, which is just the handiest rationalization for laziness I've ever come up with. But, once I put myself on a schedule of running, I love the hell out of it. If I'm running outside, sometimes I'll take an iPod along so I can figure out how many miles I've done based on the length of the songs I've listened to, (and if you think combining math and running is the nerdiest thing I'll do in this post, just wait a few paragraphs). Other nights I won't bring my iPod, because nothing beats the focus you get from uninterrupted running. Three quarters of "Bartender" was written in my head while running.
On Saturdays, I do my Big Run, which helps me train for the half marathon. I'm increasing the distance of my big run by a mile every Saturday, and I've officially entered the territory where the possibility of throwing up in the middle of the run is very, very real. We're not at Phase You-Might-Lose-Control-of-Your-Bowels, but that phase certainly is in my future.
The big run is fun, and something I’m proud of doing, but it's the Monday-Friday run that I love the most. I get home from work every night a little before 7:00. At 7, I head over to the gym in my apartment complex, switch the TV to channel 7, and watch Jeopardy while I run three miles. I can say without hesitation that it is the best part of my day. Some days, of course, I'll be miserable if there are a bunch of categories about which I know nothing, but generally I have a great time running and answering as many questions as I can. "Cardinal Richelieu," I'll breathlessly scream in the usually-empty gym, or "Irving Berlin," depending on the question. (I can't imagine what might be going through the head of anyone hanging around outside the gym and listening in. I like to think that they assume I have a very complicated system for counting reps. "Truman Capote. Spanish American War. Born to Run.")
Tonight one of the categories was "Bruce Springsteen Songs Rephrased" and one was "Opening lines in Literature" and I was so excited that I barked "Fuck yes," which needless to say shocked the woman who was running next to me. I thought about apologizing and explaining myself, but the truth, ("I am going to rape these categories"), is totally lame, and any kind of cover-up lie would have to be equally weird, ("I pretended our treadmills were racing, and I was celebrating my imaginary victory with unnecessary profanity").
What can potentially be the worst part of my day is if Final Jeopardy is a stupid category. (Here, "stupid" means "one that I am not good at.") As you're aware, they provide the Final Jeopardy category after the Double Jeopardy round, and before the last commercial. As you're possibly aware, this commercial break is the longest of the three commercial breaks in a typical episode of Jeopardy, (the shortest is the first one, the one that happens after the first few questions but before we return to hear our contestants tell a bunch of bullshit stories about how much they love to travel or whatever*). As you're probably NOT aware, right after Double Jeopardy concludes, I significantly increase my pace to make my third mile my fastest. What this means is that a shitty Final Jeopardy question could spell torture for Daniel. I'm already running my hardest, I'm already forced to tolerate Jeopardy's longest commercial, and on top of that, with a shitty question, there is no payoff. If I'm heading into my ninth lap and Alex Trebek announces that the final category is going to be 18th Century War Weapons or French Cats, I'm pissed off for, like, four different reasons. Today it was "World Rivers," at which I'm useless, so I screamed "FUCK," again and didn't even pretend to care about the startled reaction of the woman next to me. With both of our treadmills going , plus the sound of my heavy breathing, (I was wheezing a little bit, having spent so much time yelling things like "To Kill a Mockingbird," "Thunder Road" and "Fuck" at the television), I couldn't hear the question. Not hearing the question has never stopped me from answering, so I shouted "The Nile" and was wrong. (It was the Danube, which I would've shouted if 'Nile' wasn't comparatively easier to say.) In fairness, the returning and eventual champion also guessed "The Nile," (and he wasn't even running), so I feel like I'm in a pretty good company.
*By the way, if I was ever a contestant on Jeopardy, I would have a tremendous amount of fun with this portion of the show. For those unfamiliar, Alex Trebeck goes up to each contestant and asks them an obvious leading question, and I'm sure they tell you in advance to have some kind of neat little story to go along with it. Like Alex says "Diane, I hear you've got a bit of a history with France" and Diane's like "That's right, one time I went to France and something interesting happens." There's such a hitherto unexploited opportunity here. I want nothing more than to have Alex Trebeck say to me "Now, Daniel I hear you've got an interesting story about the ocean," so I can say "That's right, Alex. One time I saw a little boy drowning and I did nothing. It's amazing what you can see in your own backyard. Anyway, I'm psyched for Dub-Jep." I desperately want to do this to a) Throw the other contestants off guard, b) Watch Alex Trebeck piss himself and c) Hopefully get my patented phrase 'Dub-Jep' a little more mainstream exposure.
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