Here-is-No-Why-That-Was is No More!

If you want to know where I am, ask me.

He's Back!

Wow. I stand before you, a puddle of fanboy joy. My mind, honestly, cannot comprehend the awesomeness that was Superman Returns. I'm going to go spoiler free here, so please read on.

I just got back from watching Superman Returns with Cole and Kristin. They didn't like it as much as I did. So please take everything I'm about to say with a grain of salt.

Having thus disclaimed . . .

I really, honestly, truly, have never been so blown away by a first-time movie watching experience. I've been excited about movies before. Star Wars. Lord of the Rings. Star Wars always disappointed me. Even Revenge of the Sith, which was awesome, disappointed. Lord of the Rings disappointed me. Even though Fellowship and Return of the King are two of the best movies ever made (Two Towers wasn't bad).

Never, ever, have I not been disappointed. Except tonight. Superman Returns was, simply put, the best movie-going experience I've ever had.

My opinion may change, my enthusiasm dampen, after a few more viewings and a few more days. But, right now, there is simply nothing I can say about the movie that can bring me down from where I am.

The action was awesome, but it didn't overwhelm. It had its place in the story, it belonged. The plot could have been better, honestly, but it almost didn't matter. The main focus, as I see it, wasn't Lex Luthor's evil scheme, it was the relationship between Superman and Lois. Look, this thing wasn't a chick-flick. But it had this feeling, a feeling of loss and nostalgia. A feeling of regret. Superman's costume is made of primary colors, but his world is not all bright and sunny. None of the Superman movies had explored that with such depth and emotion.

Superman Returns gives us a Superman that is what he is because he knows he has to be. In the comic books, someone asked Superman why he did what he did. Superman responded: "Because no one else can." That's what comes across here.

Early in the film, when Clark Kent has to go save the day, there's a moment of hesitation, a moment of regret. He knows what he has to do, and he'll do it, but he wishes it wasn't so. It reminded me of when I used to work at the TV station in Flagstaff and I had to work overnight Friday and Saturday nights. I hated not being around for all the fun my friends were having. But I had to do it. That's how Superman felt, I think.

The movie was beautiful. It was lush and exciting and gorgeous. I can't believe how awesome the flying was. I just can't. They turned the music down so low when Superman was flying, even at the speed of sound, you couldn't help but feel a serenity about it - something that just was't there in the Christopher Reeve films. But, here, again, there was a conflict. At time it seemed that Superman loved flying, and just wished he could do it for fun, rather than have to go speeding off to save people.

The entire movie was permeated with a deep feeling of melancholy. He does what he has to do, but regrets what it costs him. I was on the edge of my seat the whole time. I knew Superman would win the battle against Lex Luthor. But that wasn't what really mattered. The movie shows us what has always been the case: Superman's greatest weakness is that he's not one of us, not matter how he tries. And it brings him to a point where all super heroes have to be: a point where he wishes he could trade it all in, but knows he can't. That's what good super hero storytelling on a grand scale is all about, if you ask me.

From start to finish, I was emotionally involved in this thing. I got shudders every few minutes, and I got a lump in my throat a few times.

There were many nods to the prior Superman movies. A crack about how flying is the safest way to fly. The poses Brandon Routh struck while he flew - down to the motion of his arms and the position of his feet. And, at the very end, the traditional, classic, fly-by in the upper atmosphere.

Just . . . wow. This movie is better than Spiderman, in my opinion, by leaps and bounds. It is, unequivocally, the best super hero movie ever made. And it is very close, in my estimation, to being one of the best movies ever made, period.

Go see this thing.

Who's Gonna Die?

Jk Rowling has announced that two characters will die in the upcoming and as-yet-untitled Book 7. So, now, of course, the question is who. Here's my list of possibilities, in decreasing order of likelihood:

1. Voldemort - He's almost definitely going to die. I don't care how much JKR taunts, there's no way she'll kill Harry. And, as we know, "either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives." Logically, then, Mr. Riddle must die.
2. Bellatrix LeStrange. She killed Sirius (sort of), and she's in for some vengeance.
3. Snape. I think the ultimate way for him to prove that he's on the good guys' side (as I believe he is - Dumbledore trusting him is enough for me) is to sacrifice himself for some good cause. However, because Snape is so noble and goal-oriented, I don't know if his death will be openly heroic. I bet that, if he dies, the characters in the books will be unsure whether he was really on their side or not.
4. Luna Lovegood. So far, the ranks of the main children characters have been left relatively untouched. I think JKR's gonna show us how serious the wizard war is by killing off one of the children (although they're way more grown up now). Luna is a good candidate, I think, because she strikes me as someone who would willingly step up and sacrifice herself to save others. She's also perfectly willing to step up and put herself in danger, as demonstrated by her performance at the Battle of the Ministry of Magic. Other children who might die include Neville Longbottom (also brave), and any of the Weasly children other than Ron and Ginny. Particularly, I think, Percy. He's got a lot to make up for, and sacrificing himself to save Ginny, for example, would more than make up for it. Still, that might be too contrived.
5. Hagrid. Hate to say it, but Hagrid's role throughout the series has been increasingly diminished. The fact is that once Harry became accustomed to the Wizarding World, Hagrid became a pretty boring character. And as the series has matured, there's less and less reason to have a big, cuddly, bumbling-but-well-intentioned giant. A heroic end for Hagrid seems possible if not probable.

I think Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny are all safe. JKR's been killing people Harry cares about for 6 books. It's time to give him a reprieve. There's no way she'd kill his two best friends and his girlfriend. That would just be cruel.

So, there you have it!

How Was I so Productive and Yet Accomplish Nothing?

As I've mentioned, I'm working on a few things for the blog. Those things, which I enjoy doing, are very much nearer to completion as of today. However, the things that absolutely need to get done, i.e., cleaning my apartment, continue to go by the wayside.

My itinerary for tomorrow, assuming that I can get the willpower together to do these things:

1. Work
2. Run at the gym
3. Clean the fuck out of my apartment

Hopefully those three things will get done. I'll find time to pack and otherwise prepare for the impending trip to New York and Connecticut soon.

I hope everyone had a good weekend.

Oh, and, if you've been calling me and I haven't called you back, I'm sorry. I'll call you soon. Still, I miss you!

I'm Batman!

You scored as Batman, the Dark Knight. As the Dark Knight of Gotham, Batman is a vigilante who deals out his own brand of justice to the criminals and corrupt of the city. He follows his own code and is often misunderstood. He has few friends or allies, but finds comfort in his cause. Batman, the Dark Knight 79% William Wallace 71% The Terminator 67% Neo, the "One" 67% Indiana Jones 58% The Amazing Spider-Man 58% Maximus 58% Captain Jack Sparrow 54% El Zorro 54% Lara Croft 50% James Bond, Agent 007 46% Which Action Hero Would You Be? v. 2.0 created with QuizFarm.com

I Like to Be Here When I Can . . .

Sorry for the lack of posts in a few days. The truth is that I'm working on two (2) big things for the blog. They'll be up soon. In the mean time, check out my new poll: the best 80s movie.

Rounding out the last polll, we find that 29.55% of you are looking forward to drinking a beer on the Terrace on a Friday afternoon, by far the favorite. Very nice choice, I must say!

Sleep, sticking it to the man, and recreational reading were all tied for second with 11.36% each. I wonder how many of you will actually be sticking it to the man, though. Probably not that many. I mean, aren't some of us actually going to be the man? Yeah, you know what I mean.

Superheros didn't fare as well as I had hoped, with X3, Jesus, and Dickey each getting only 9.09%. Maybe I'm mischaracterizing Jesus, but I think that turning normal water into something that'll get you drunk pretty much guarantees you superhero status. And I won't even entertain the notion that Dickey's not a superhero.

Sadly, you're all a bunch of morons because the ultimate superhero, Superman, received only 6.82%. You'll all be singing a different tune, though, when Superman Returns hits the theatres. I have no doubt it'll be better than X3.

Finally, the Farmer's market brings up the rear with only 2.27%. I guess people don't give a shit about fresh produce. I know I don't.

This Is What it Must be Like to Hear Your Band's First Single on the Radio for the First Time

Oh man, this is kinda awesome. I was freaking out today about whether an employer would be able to find my blog from a search engine. Turns out, it's pretty fucking easy to find my blog from Google.

But that's not what's awesome. What's awesome is that if you do a search for my name (not including my middle name) and the city where I live, the first hit you get is this. Scroll down a little and you'll see that thedailypage.com, one of Madison's local newspages (which is affiliated with the Isthmus (Flagstaff people, think The Flag Live!)) linked to and quoted my post about the painted cows currently scattered around Madison. This is one of the coolest things that's ever happened to me!

Someone I don't know read my blog, then linked to it, and they even quoted it!! I don't think this was in the printed Isthmus, but it's still awesome! Not everyone got a quote, either! I feel damned special.

And, by the way, this is the second post I've put up today. However, please read the previous post, immediately below this one. I think it's funny and interesting.

Are Legislators Stupider Than 12-Year-Old Andy?

One time, when I was a kid, a friend and I decided that we were going to start throwing rocks at this wasps’ nest. Why? Why not? How dare these stupid little wasps move into the vacant lot we liked to hang out in. How could we have sword fights (read: wave sticks at each other) or play tag (read: run around screaming) or have meetings of our super-secret club (read: sit around) with these fucking wasps all around? The fact is we couldn’t. They invaded our God-given turf and we were taking it back. The fact of the matter is that the wasps pissed us off, and, goddamnit, we were going to piss them off in return. By throwing rocks at their nest.

The thing with 10-year-old on wasp warfare is that there isn’t much strategy. In fact, our only real plan was to throw rocks. Somehow, we didn’t stop to consider the inevitable (and now, given the intervening 14 years of experience, painfully obvious) retaliation tactic the wasps would have at their disposal. More intelligent 10-year-olds (I was actually probably a little older – like 12 or so) would have realized that the wasps were likely to employ the nuclear option (read: swarming and stinging anything that moved), but not us. More intelligent 12-year-olds may have even come up with a strategy for dealing with the inevitable response from the flying insects, but not us. More intelligent 12-year-olds may have employed such simple tactics as shouting “run” when the wasps started getting really angry, but not us.

No, we just threw rocks at the thing. And when the wasps started coming out, we just took that as confirmation that we were awesome. Here, now, is my thought process during the next few seconds:

Look! All it took was a few rocks and you’re leaving your beloved home! We 12-year-old humans may not be allowed to drive or stay up late but we sure are way fucking smarter than you dumbass, flying insect fucks (I started cursing at an early age). Man, I didn’t know there were so many of you in there. No matter, you’re all leaving. We win, man, one to nothing! Hmmm… why are you coming towards the source of the rocks? We’ll just have to increase our rock output and the speed of the rocks. Hmm… wait a minute… IT’S A TRAP!!!!!!!! THE BATTLESTATION IS OPERATIONAL!!!!!!!!!! FUUUUUUUUUUUUCK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Oh my dear god in heaven, they’re right on top of us – thousands of them! Run! Run! Oh, shit, one of them is ON MY FUCKING FACE!!!!!!!! Get it off!! Get it off!!! I can’t get it off!!! SWEET MERCIFUL FUCKING CRAP, IT STUNG ME!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! AND IT HURTS!!!!!!!!!!! I WANT MY MOMMY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

What had happened was that one of the fucking wasps had flown towards me, landed on my eye, literally, and then stood there for a few seconds. I swatted at the thing, essentially hitting myself in the face, but the wasp’s grasp was too strong. I couldn’t take it off my eye, so I watched as the thing stung me in the eye (not literally the eye ball, but the eye lid, although very close to the actual eye). It was during these few seconds that I developed my intense dislike and fear of insects. This lead me to eventually postulate the Andy Rule of Inter-species Friendliness, which holds that if an animal has less than two legs or more than four, I don’t want to have anything to do with it.

In any event, when the wasp was done with its evil deed, it flew off. The thought that it would soon be dead was my only comfort.

I ran home. My mom put ice on my eye and I proceeded to reflect on how much my eye hurt. And the fact that I couldn’t see out of it. And the fact that the last thing I had seen out of it was a fucking wasp taking up my entire visual field. Not cool. Then, I found out that wasps don’t die when they sting you. So, not only had that fucking wasp inflicted great pain upon me, it hadn’t even fucking died!

Fucking bullshit.

So why am I sharing all of this with you? Merely to draw an analogy. Today, the United States House of Representatives passed a non-binding resolution saying, basically, that the United States will win the “world War on Terror.” You can check out the full text of the resolution here. I won’t bore you too much with a rant about how the resolution is pretty fucking stupid. I mean, a non-binding resolution saying we’re going to win the war? So, the House can pass non-binding resolutions saying pretty much anything, it seems. Well, that’s pretty awesome. I suggest they get to work on the non-binding resolution proclaiming that the United States will find a way to make 1,000-proof alcohol. Nevermind that that would be 500% alcohol, meaning that there would be more alcohol in the liquid than there is liquid, the House passed a non-binding resolution; it doesn’t mean shit.

While I’m not intimately familiar with war strategy generally, or with the particular strategy being employed in Iraq, what I do know is that there are a hell of a lot of people in Iraq that are really fucking pissed at the U.S. for stirring up their country. Whether this anger is justified or not is a different question. The point here is that they’re angry, and they’re going to keep fighting us at every turn because, in their eyes, we’re invading their homeland (again, I’m not addressing whether we actually are invading their homeland – I’m merely saying that this is how they feel). Just think: how would you react if someone came into your country and toppled the government? I know that if some outside power overthrew the American government (even if the current administration was in power) I’d be damned angry, and I’d fight, if it came to that.

So Iraq is full of people who see themselves, justifiably or not, as freedom fighters. They believe, correctly or otherwise, that they are fighting to liberate their country from a foreign, imperialistic power. Moreover, we are not adequately equipping our troops. We’re giving them shitty helicopters, insufficient body armor, and decades-old technology. Whether Iraq is Vietnam, Part II, is a question I’m simply not qualified to answer. But I’ll say this: it’s a fucking quagmire. Hell, I’ll take an even bolder stance: if we’re going to win over there (sidenote: what does “winning in Iraq” mean, exactly? Is it establishing a “free and democratic” state or something else?) we can’t keep doing what we’re doing. Our troops need to be better trained and equipped, we need a plan, a strategy, and we need to have a clear goal in mind. And, yes, we need to start thinking about when our troops can start coming home.

Am I advocating that we “cut and run?” No, not at all. And you know what’s interesting, House Republicans, although some Democrats have called for an immediate withdrawal, they are in the minority. The Democrats’ position, as near as I can tell, is something like this:

Well, fuck. We threw a bunch of rocks at the wasps’ nest that is Iraq. And now the wasps are swarming. We should have seen that coming, but we didn’t. So we should probably do whatever we can to keep the wasps from stinging us in the eyes, cause that would suck. Still, though, we should make sure that the wasps settle down and don’t sting anyone else, cause that, too, would suck. So, you know what we need? A plan. I know, I know, we’re throwing more rocks. That’ll be part of the plan. But that can’t be the whole plan because – see how the more rocks you throw, the more wasps come out? – yeah, that’ll keep happening. And that would suck. So how about this? How about we throw some rocks, but then also do other stuff, like assure the Iraqis that they’ll get to run their own country just as soon as they stop stinging everything that moves?

But in the current political climate, one where everything you say can and will be twisted, perverted, confused and used against you, a reasonable, well-thought out argument asserting merely that we need to rethink how we’re approaching the war is unpatriotic. I never thought I’d see the day when wanting to have a free, frank, open debate about something in America was considered unpatriotic. But here it is.

In short, I’m not saying we should “cut and run,” and neither are the majority of the Democrats. What I’m saying (I’ll let the Democrats speak for themselves, if they ever get their heads out of their asses) is that what we’re doing just isn’t working. I believe we can win this war. We do have the best troops in the world. More importantly, whether we should have gone into Iraq originally or not, we can’t just leave now. We have to win or all those lofty goals we talked about when we went in there – freedom, democracy, justice, human rights – go right out the window. We can win. Iraq can, someday, become a free, independent, democratic country. But we can’t win like this.

But in this political climate, in an election year, it’s so much easier and faster to say “America will stay the course, we will not cut and run.” Well, I’m sorry, House Republicans, but you’re all a bunch of idiots.

We can’t just stir up the wasps’ nest and then, when we get stung, stir it up some more and expect not to get stung again.

"Marriage Is a Bribe to get the Wife to Believe That the Housekeeper is the Houseowner!"

Now, hold your accusatory tongues! I know what you're all thinking: "There, proof that he's a sexist! Just look at that title!" But before you convict me, consider that the title is a quote from the play "The Matchmaker," by Thornton Wilder. A play which, incidentally, I saw tonight.

It was pretty fucking good. Kristin invited me to go with her's because another friend of her cancelled. So, we went to this play. The thing is that the play was put on by the American Players Theatre. It's really cool: they perform plays on an outdoor stage in the middle of the forest. At one point, the sky threatened to unleash a torrential downpour, but it restrained itself and allowed the play to continue unabated. It was really a ridiculously beautiful place to see a play, and the performers were all awesome. At one point, the female lead tripped on one of her costumes (a way-too-big, turn-of-the-19th-century dress with petticoats and shit) and fell flat on her face. The she got up so quick without missing a beat that people in the audience weren't sure whether it was intentional or not. Now, maybe she shouldn't have fallen in the first place, but it was a testament to the actors' professionalism that she stayed completely in character. Kristin and I discussed the fact that, had that been either of us, we would have stayed down, pulled the dress over our head, and pretended we were somewhere else.

The play itself was funny and touching. It involves several characters from Yonkers, New York who go down to New York City to get away from their ho-hum lives and find adventure and love. Of course, everything works out in the end, just like it should. But one of the character sums the play, and life, up pretty well: It's all about having just the right mix of sitting there, being bored, and having adventures. The kind of adventures where you kiss girls (or guys, as your inclination may be), have excellent meals, go to new places, and almost get arrested. And, really, isn't that what life's all about?

An excellent Thursday, and a precursor to what will, hopefully, be an awesome weekend.

A Story That Starts With a Midget . . .

So, I've been doing a lot of thinking as of late. Mostly about my future, but also about my past. It's strange to me, sometimes, to see where I've ended up. Some people have master plans for their lives that they've been working towards since they were 4 years old. I had a plan like that, too, but mine had a fatal flaw: I'm not from the planet Krypton, and the yellow sun of Earth doesn't give me superpowers. I'm also not down with The Force.

Since my plan pretty much went to shit, I've sorta been making due with what I've got. Even worse, though, is the fact that I haven't known where I've wanted to end up. Even now, my only real aspiration is to be a "lawyer," and that profession is a lot broader than I originally thought it might be.

All of this got me thinking about a question that every law student gets: "So, why did you come to law school?" In my experience, there are maybe 4 standard responses:

1. "I want to make a difference." I really think that people who say this really want to make a difference. How many of them will, I don't know. How many of them will eventually get caught up in the law school mindset and take the high-paying, not-making-too-much-of-a-difference-at-all jobs, I also don't know.
2. "I want to make money." That's an honest answer, alright. And it's not really one I can blame anyone for giving.
3. "I've wanted to be a lawyer my whole life!" Anyone that gives this response is crazy. Seriously.
4. "I don't know, what else was I gonna do?" This one may be the most common.

Whenever someone asks me the question, I usually give the fourth response. But that's just a broad generalization. The real story, like many important, life changing events, starts with a midget . . .

(Frank, I know they like to be called "little people," but that doesn't have nearly the same comedic effect.)

It was really fucking early in the morning. I was unemployed. I was at Denny's by myself. Nevermind the inherent sadness. It's just what I was doing that summer. This guy I knew, a huge douchebag, and I had been going to Denny's every night because we didn't have anything else to do. All my friends were gone for the summer, and I was the only person left in Flagstaff. Anyway, on this particular night, my douchebag acquaintance wasn't around, but I was hungry, so I went to the Denny's myself.

I was sitting there enjoying my Superbird when I did something completely out of character: I talked to a male stranger. This guy and I started up a conversation about . . . well, I honestly don't even remember. His name, I think, was Larry. And he was short. Probably the shortest non-actual dwarf/little person I've ever met. Anyway, while we were talking, I brought up my current lack of gainful employment, and he mentioned that he worked at a TV station where there was an opening, and he suggested that he might be able to put in a good word for me and get me the job. "A TV station," I thought, "I don't know anything about TV, news, TV news, or pretty much anything having to do with small-market network-affiliated television." Larry waived off the objection: apparently, the only qualification was that you not be an idiot.

So, Larry and I established a bit of a friendship. And I applied for the job at the TV station. Eventually, I got the job, and Larry put in his two weeks' notice at the TV station such that our schedules there only overlapped a day or two. When I started, I was introduced as the guy Larry recommended, which apparently was a bad thing; everyone despised Larry with a passion. Apparently he was mean-spirited, rude and pretty much an all-around asshole. So, my new job got off on the exact right foot.

Now, I came to gain the acceptance of my coworkers. And I learned that being a non-idiot was a fluid requirement. I could devote entire posts to the idiots I met at the TV station, chief amongst them Timmy, Dave, and Cowboy Bob. Eventually, I was a pretty well-respected and competent member of the production team. I had a bunch of duties centering on the daily production of two half-hour-long news broadcasts per day. And at times it was awesome. The rest of the time it was just cool. The fact that I had grown up watching TV and was now an active part of producing it was a real thrill for me. And I never quite got over the excitement of being "behind the scenes."

I've never had any job for as long as I had the TV job. I worked there for 2 1/2 years. I changed my major in school to Electronic Media Production. I really thought that TV would be my future. I don't know why. I guess I just didn't know there were other options. My professors at school wanted me to do something else, and one of them strongly suggested that I consider law school. But I brushed off those suggestions because I knew what I wanted to do: I wanted to work in television.

But then something happened. It was a Sunday. My friends and I were in Phoenix, two hours away from Flagstaff, for some reason - I can't remember. I had to be at work at 7 that night to prepare for the 10 o'clock news show. Really, though, I had to be there at, like, 3. But I didn't want to be there at 3. My friends and I were having too much fun. And there was a girl there that I was pretty much in love with at the time (again - that'll have to wait for another post. Any of you who have heard me speak of She-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named will know who I'm talking about). So I called up the TV station and made up some bogus story about eating salmon that had gone bad or something. This is after I asked someone to clock in for me.

Bottom line, I got ratted out and fired. I deserved it. Completely. It was a stupid and irresponsible thing to do. At the time, I was devastated. I thought my entire future was gone. I had finally decided what I wanted to do with my life, and then I blew my entire future because I was hanging out with my friends at a miniature golf place. I was pretty fucking sad.

But, somewhere in the back of my mind, I knew what my next step was. I was going to law school. It made sense now. It clicked, even as I walked into a room full of my friends and announced the loss of my job. Even then, I knew my next move. Still, losing that job hurt, and I swore I'd never fuck up that badly again.

So I changed my major in school. I had already changed it to be a double major with philosophy ad electronic media. But then I dropped the EM major and concentrated on philosophy. I studied for the LSAT. A little. And I started working on ways to explain away my lackluster grades. Eventually, I sent out a few applications. Only 4 or 5. I got into some third tier schools, but my first choice remained Wisconsin. Then, one night, my mom handed me a small envelope. She knew I had been waiting to hear from UW. Given its size, I knew it was a rejection. But I opened it and, holy fucking shit, I was going to Wisconsin.

And now here I am, two years later. I guess I've done ok in law school. Not as good as some, better than others. I haven't made a fool of myself (academically, anyway) and that's what counts. But none of it would have happened if it hadn't been for Larry, a person otherwise so insignificant in my life that I don't remember his last name or even what he looked like, really. I just remember that he started a sequence of events that lead to my coming to law school. It's cliche, and so I apologize, but it's really, really strange how the things in peoples' lives go. You can never map out your life nor should you try to too much, in my opinion.

Anyway, that's the story of how I ended up in law school. Next time someone asks me that question, I'll just say "Let me tell you a story that starts with a midget . . ."