I would like to defend my unhealthy admiration for stunts in movies. From the earliest days in silent films to the upcoming Indiana Jones 4, stunts have been a critical part of certain movies that appeal to lovers of action and physicality. They can be of someone jumping off a building (see Die Hard), driving a plane into a shed then blowing up (see Singing in the Rain), or doing a back flip off a bar onto the street (see West Side Story). You'll notice that short list included some musicals, pointing out that they don't have to be brainless action movies (Cobra) to have cool stunts. In most cases, these stunts are carefully planned and executed by professionals who care about their safety and artistry. Silent films lacked the safety part and were similar to Hong Kong movies of the 70s-90s, where stunt men were a dime a dozen and you weren't really trying unless you almost died.
I don't judge a stunt on the movie in which it appears. To me, sometimes the sum of a movie's parts is greater than the whole. It doesn't matter that the plot is preposterous and the dialog was written by someone with a marginal grasp of the English language. This is simply unfortunate. It doesn't change how cool someone looks while jumping off a galloping horse onto a moving tank. Sometimes this serves the plot, but sometimes it is clearly put in to give an injection of character to a hero who has none, which kinda makes it worse. However, any way you slice it, someone in real life is jumping off a roof and smashing through the window of a room across the alley, and that counts for something.
Some people attempt to do these things themselves, trying shamelessly to recreate the awesomeness of a movie stunt. They are destined to fail for a few reasons: they aren't in a movie, they don't know what they are doing and are probably going to get hurt, and nothing ever looks as cool when you do it yourself. I'm sure You Tube is full of stunts gone horribly wrong by some guys who got carried away at a party. One time at my college, a few guys pushed one of their friends down a steep hill in a shopping cart (à la Jackass). Well, the cart careened out of control and eventually tipped over spilling its human contents onto a curb where he concussed himself and had to be taken to the hospital. I have no idea if he was seriously hurt or not, but the police officers were not impressed by their attempt at stunting. I mean, how many times does some police officer say to the victims, "Listen, that was a risky thing you did and it went horribly wrong, paralyzing one of your buddies, but I bet it looked damn cool. Way to go!"? My guess it happens less often than some would like.
This doesn't mean that some people have to give up on their dreams of being able to crash through plate-glass windows or be swept over waterfalls. Stunt actors are usually well versed in many different kinds of sports, martial arts, and leather pants-wearing (to protect them from the scourges of broken materials). These things can be done with gusto by the average person. Eventually, maybe some day those skills will come in handy for a home movie. You never know. However, here is my actual defense of the art. Stunts are no different than the crazy costumes, perfect-looking actors, kissing, or karaoke that are in certain movies. Their common ground is that they are all fake and would never happen in real life. Yet people still dress up for Halloween, women still do their hair and wear make-up, couples kiss awkwardly on the first date, and karaoke is enthusiastically practiced without being that good. I would never tie a fire hose around my waist and jump off a building while the roof explodes behind me, but that doesn't stop me from dreaming about it, just like some young girl who swoons over the thought of Mr. Darcy reforming and kissing her passionately even though that probably won't happen in real life.
By the way, Cobra isn't really that bad and has a cool shootout scene in a grocery store, which is what a lot of guys probably think about when shopping for food.
Wednesday, January 30, 2008
Tuesday, January 29, 2008
Look, Phinneas!
I have a fascination with old-timey strongmen. Like this one pictured here:
His name is Alexander Zass, and he is, pending my reading of his autobiography which I had to ILL, a real cool cat. According to legend, he was a prisoner of war in WWI and secretly worked out in his cell until he was strong enough to bend the bars and escape. If that's true, then holy crap! But the point is that back then there were guys who could do all kinds of weirdo feats of strength.
I'm sure lots of guys today can do the equivalent of stuff like that. However, the key word is equivalent. Would they even bother to try to bend a railroad spike into a pretzel? Probably only in strange, foreign lands. That's why the world's strongest man competition is so awesome. They don't have just a normal weightlifting competition. They see who can lift the most twenty-stone balls of steel in the fastest time or hold crates of bananas perpendicular to their body for the longest time; you know, stuff that you might have to do in everyday life! They go all Rocky 4 with the competition, which is why everyone likes that movie anyway.
The amazing thing about strongmen of the past is that they knew diddly-squat about the concepts of safety or nutrition. But they tried, and that's the point. This might sound, uh, ageist, like I'm putting them down because of their ignorance of modern scientific discoveries about the body. It probably is. I admire them for trying to develop systems of exercise based on very limited concepts of scientific analysis. Mostly it was through personal trial and error. Oh, and also working in a circus.
I have it on good authority that some top athletes around the turn of the twentieth century had diets consisting of beer, coffee, steak, cigarettes, and stale bread; and that's just for breakfast. Yet, this wasn't a rule, because almost everyone had their own brand of diet that was specific to them. It gave them their edge. Let's see that crazy Cmdr. Thomasson lift a barrel of live moneys and carry them across a balance beam over an alligator swamp. He had fish oil and eggs this morning. I had 10w castor oil and a pint of Jack Daniels with a side of bacon. Of course I'll win. The only person who could get away with this would have been Andre the Giant.
The aspect of these guys that really interests me is their total unconformity to normal life. They were professional athletes before the dawn of individual sports in the Olympics. Even the team sports players were something of a different breed back then. But these guys didn't belong to a club. They were like the explorers who left their wives and children to go off and see what out in the unknown world could kill them. I mean, what guy thinks up the idea that getting really drunk and then running half a mile as fast as you can followed by breaking chains with your back is the best form of exercising the mind and body?
Because I want to party with that guy.
Thursday, January 24, 2008
I don't know if you can help me, but....
Someone came up to me at the reference desk today and asked where he could find some books. To a person who got a master's degree in library science, this seems like a very silly question. Heck, to most people who are in a university this seems kind of easy. That is, unless you don't know what a library catalog is and how to search it. So, I politely showed him how to access it on our web page and search for books by title or author or ISBN. He was mainly hoping to find textbooks for his classes, which we don't normally buy (because they go out of date quickly and people steal them). I explained our policy for purchasing materials and how he might go about obtaining the stuff we don't have for free or at least cheaper than going to the bookstore.
He was impressed. Actually, he was flabbergasted. I had just altered his universe. He would not be the same. With all kinds of astonishment he sheepishly wondered if I could help him find out who owns certain drilling rights to plots of land.
"Certainly, my good sir, but it might take me a few days."
"OMG! How come no one knows about you?! Do the professors? Because no one told me!"
I told him that I get paid to find out the answers to his questions, and that if I couldn't find out directly, then I would refer him to the most appropriate source that could in an endless cycle until he was satisfied. "We teach you how to find and access information on any topic you can think up." This guy was easily entertained, because this left him walking out on cloud nine. He seemed to be more confident and I think I noticed a little more strut to his step.
This actually happened to me today and isn't just some sick librarian fantasy. But I have to wonder, how many people actually know about the services of a library and take them for granted? It's hard to say, and I'm not sure I could find an answer to that question easily. The point is, though, that I would try. I would try my brains out and then some if a person really wanted to know. Seriously, that is what we all get paid to do.
There is an art to dealing with information professionals, though. You can't just walk up to any person behind a library desk, ask "Why do fools fall in love?" and expect to get a cheerful, excited professional to engage you in a reference interview to get to the bottom of the question and get to the top of the answer. Many people in these positions are not as happy-go-lucky as me. They might be bitter old spinsters who hate people worse than they hate book mold, which can rot in the seventh pit of hell for all they care. This happens because their supervisor hasn't the guts to assign them to the back room to hug the books all day long. (Books need hugs, too, you know.)
But how can you tell if a person is like this? You don't want to end up stereotyping someone before you talk to them. Here's the key: Smile at them and see if he or she gives you a genuine smile as you approach them. If so, then you will find someone who can offer to move mountains to find an answer for you. If not, then they will only be willing to point a finger in the general direction of a large, unwieldy reference tome that you most-likely won't know how to use. This is because the smiling person is happy to do their job. They like people and finding information. You just gave them the perfect excuse to feel good about themselves. Good for you.
But wait! Let's say you're going along just fine and hit a roadblock. Yikes, you discover after finding the original text of Edward Everett's Gettysburg Oration that what you really need is how many literary references to it exist. Silly you. Well, then is the time to test the mettle of your information savior. You can't predict what they will do. Even the cheeriest of chums might get a little dismayed and punt that question to someone else. "Go ask our literature person," they might say, thus pawning you off on someone who possibly couldn't care less if you got an answer so long as they got home in time to feed their army of cats. Well, that sucks for you, but should you give up? Not unless you don't care about getting the answer. As in any part of life, persistence is the key to success. Go forth unto another person and persist until someone finds a documented answer to satisfy your curiosity.
To sum up, people exist who get mad paid to answer whatever serious, silly, seriously silly, or dumbass question that fleets through your cocaine-fueled brain. We save you time and hassle, pain and frustration, and (most of the time) make you feel like less of an idiot. Some of us do it with a smile; we are the people to talk to. And if you're an attractive, fun-loving girl who knows kung-fu, then we are the people to playfully flirt with and then boldly ask out on a date (because we're not allowed, see).
He was impressed. Actually, he was flabbergasted. I had just altered his universe. He would not be the same. With all kinds of astonishment he sheepishly wondered if I could help him find out who owns certain drilling rights to plots of land.
"Certainly, my good sir, but it might take me a few days."
"OMG! How come no one knows about you?! Do the professors? Because no one told me!"
I told him that I get paid to find out the answers to his questions, and that if I couldn't find out directly, then I would refer him to the most appropriate source that could in an endless cycle until he was satisfied. "We teach you how to find and access information on any topic you can think up." This guy was easily entertained, because this left him walking out on cloud nine. He seemed to be more confident and I think I noticed a little more strut to his step.
This actually happened to me today and isn't just some sick librarian fantasy. But I have to wonder, how many people actually know about the services of a library and take them for granted? It's hard to say, and I'm not sure I could find an answer to that question easily. The point is, though, that I would try. I would try my brains out and then some if a person really wanted to know. Seriously, that is what we all get paid to do.
There is an art to dealing with information professionals, though. You can't just walk up to any person behind a library desk, ask "Why do fools fall in love?" and expect to get a cheerful, excited professional to engage you in a reference interview to get to the bottom of the question and get to the top of the answer. Many people in these positions are not as happy-go-lucky as me. They might be bitter old spinsters who hate people worse than they hate book mold, which can rot in the seventh pit of hell for all they care. This happens because their supervisor hasn't the guts to assign them to the back room to hug the books all day long. (Books need hugs, too, you know.)
But how can you tell if a person is like this? You don't want to end up stereotyping someone before you talk to them. Here's the key: Smile at them and see if he or she gives you a genuine smile as you approach them. If so, then you will find someone who can offer to move mountains to find an answer for you. If not, then they will only be willing to point a finger in the general direction of a large, unwieldy reference tome that you most-likely won't know how to use. This is because the smiling person is happy to do their job. They like people and finding information. You just gave them the perfect excuse to feel good about themselves. Good for you.
But wait! Let's say you're going along just fine and hit a roadblock. Yikes, you discover after finding the original text of Edward Everett's Gettysburg Oration that what you really need is how many literary references to it exist. Silly you. Well, then is the time to test the mettle of your information savior. You can't predict what they will do. Even the cheeriest of chums might get a little dismayed and punt that question to someone else. "Go ask our literature person," they might say, thus pawning you off on someone who possibly couldn't care less if you got an answer so long as they got home in time to feed their army of cats. Well, that sucks for you, but should you give up? Not unless you don't care about getting the answer. As in any part of life, persistence is the key to success. Go forth unto another person and persist until someone finds a documented answer to satisfy your curiosity.
To sum up, people exist who get mad paid to answer whatever serious, silly, seriously silly, or dumbass question that fleets through your cocaine-fueled brain. We save you time and hassle, pain and frustration, and (most of the time) make you feel like less of an idiot. Some of us do it with a smile; we are the people to talk to. And if you're an attractive, fun-loving girl who knows kung-fu, then we are the people to playfully flirt with and then boldly ask out on a date (because we're not allowed, see).
Tuesday, January 22, 2008
Why I Do What I Do
Today you're going to get a little insight into my mind. I wasn't a psychology major, and during Psych 101 I probably was too busy staring at girls to pay any attention to whatever is really going on deep down in my brain. However, I'm here to talk about some compulsive decisions that I make and why.
My book collecting approached near mania form at one point in the past five years. They filled up my apartment so much that when I moved in with a roommate I had to put my mattress on top of six bookcases just to fit them in my room. It was actually pretty cool, since that made a nice little cubby underneath where I could hide out. If only I was still eight.
During the intense years, I would go to a book sale, a used book store, a garage sale, a thrift store, or anyplace that sold cheap books and find at least ten that I had to have. I wasn't interested in owning them as an investment, rather I merely wanted to have an endless supply of interesting fodder with which to stimulate my tiny little brain cells. But here's the insight into me: Deep down, I kept thinking to myself, if I ever get stranded on a deserted island or put in the Chateau D'If, and somehow my books come with me, then I'll keep sane by reading for ten straight years. I kid you not, those were my actual thoughts. That's what went through my mind as I purchased book after book. Some of you might not be surprised.
Another little quirk that some might not know about me is the question I ask myself before I buy an article of clothing or pair of shoes. It is a simple rule I live by: Will I be able to outrun a pack of wolves in this? If the answer is yes, then I buy it. If no, then I must pass. You might think that it wouldn't matter what I wear, the wolves will catch me and eat me anyway. Maybe. But I think I would have at least a sporting chance if I didn't wear clogs and baggy pants.
I pretty much think I can do any sort of physical challenge that doesn't involve knife fighting (and even then I wish I could). If you asked me to run from Kansas to Tierra del Fuego and back by noon tomorrow I would say, "No way! You're crazy." But if you asked me to do it in sixty days, then I would say, "You're on. I've got two months vacation coming and I've been meaning to practice my Spanish and lose ten pounds." Now, I'm not stupid, so I wouldn't volunteer to wrestle a hippo or tightrope walk between skyscrapers. Still, though, the desire to do that would burn ever so bright, despite my desire to remain alive. So the next time you think of something that sounds cool, is really hard, and probably won't kill me, then let me know and I'll see if I can oblige.
By the way, I've probably only read ten percent of my books so far, in case you were wondering.
My book collecting approached near mania form at one point in the past five years. They filled up my apartment so much that when I moved in with a roommate I had to put my mattress on top of six bookcases just to fit them in my room. It was actually pretty cool, since that made a nice little cubby underneath where I could hide out. If only I was still eight.
During the intense years, I would go to a book sale, a used book store, a garage sale, a thrift store, or anyplace that sold cheap books and find at least ten that I had to have. I wasn't interested in owning them as an investment, rather I merely wanted to have an endless supply of interesting fodder with which to stimulate my tiny little brain cells. But here's the insight into me: Deep down, I kept thinking to myself, if I ever get stranded on a deserted island or put in the Chateau D'If, and somehow my books come with me, then I'll keep sane by reading for ten straight years. I kid you not, those were my actual thoughts. That's what went through my mind as I purchased book after book. Some of you might not be surprised.
Another little quirk that some might not know about me is the question I ask myself before I buy an article of clothing or pair of shoes. It is a simple rule I live by: Will I be able to outrun a pack of wolves in this? If the answer is yes, then I buy it. If no, then I must pass. You might think that it wouldn't matter what I wear, the wolves will catch me and eat me anyway. Maybe. But I think I would have at least a sporting chance if I didn't wear clogs and baggy pants.
I pretty much think I can do any sort of physical challenge that doesn't involve knife fighting (and even then I wish I could). If you asked me to run from Kansas to Tierra del Fuego and back by noon tomorrow I would say, "No way! You're crazy." But if you asked me to do it in sixty days, then I would say, "You're on. I've got two months vacation coming and I've been meaning to practice my Spanish and lose ten pounds." Now, I'm not stupid, so I wouldn't volunteer to wrestle a hippo or tightrope walk between skyscrapers. Still, though, the desire to do that would burn ever so bright, despite my desire to remain alive. So the next time you think of something that sounds cool, is really hard, and probably won't kill me, then let me know and I'll see if I can oblige.
By the way, I've probably only read ten percent of my books so far, in case you were wondering.
Monday, January 21, 2008
Laising on a Monday Afternoon
It's a national holiday today, but still some people have to go to work. I'm sitting at home, just a little bored, and am still lounging about in my vagabond outfit, although I did take a shower. Also, I just put a frozen pizza in the oven after eating a drumstick ice cream cone, and it's 2:30 in the afternoon! I feel like I'm getting away with something. Like I'm really supposed to be at work, and I'm hiding out at home, but no one is going to come looking for me.
This happens to me a few times per semester, because I have to work six Saturdays during these fifteen weeks, which leaves me off on the following Mondays. I look outside and see all of the cars are gone from my apartment parking lot. Some maintenance guys are walking around, fixing stuff and generally doing their jobs. But not me. I'm at home, watching a movie in the middle of the day!
This is unfair, but I just assume that most of the world has the same 8-5 work schedule like me. So when I have to leave work during the day for a doctor's appointment then I wonder what on earth all the other people are doing driving around at 10 in the morning. Do they all have doctor's appointments, too? I enjoy my job, but sometimes I feel like it is prison. I get furloughed for some special reason (like going to the doctor) and I'm free, if only for an hour or two. I have to go back, or else they'll put out an APB and I'll be spotted trying to cross the border at night.
They'll send me back, but I won't have the cushy job I once had. I'll be reduced to shelf reading by myself for days upon end. At the end of solitary, I'll go back to working in reference, but this time I'm just checking catalogs to see what we have and what we don't. I'll be given the choice - behave and work my way back up to where I was with a nice office and business cards, or continue to go AWOL and be stuck doing pick-ups for ever.
Jobs aren't supposed to feel like prison. Most people probably like their job better than being behind bars. But we are all dependent on them for money, which comes in handy from time to time. Yet, on these days off, when I see that other people aren't working when I am, I start to wonder. What would Jeff Lebowski do?
This happens to me a few times per semester, because I have to work six Saturdays during these fifteen weeks, which leaves me off on the following Mondays. I look outside and see all of the cars are gone from my apartment parking lot. Some maintenance guys are walking around, fixing stuff and generally doing their jobs. But not me. I'm at home, watching a movie in the middle of the day!
This is unfair, but I just assume that most of the world has the same 8-5 work schedule like me. So when I have to leave work during the day for a doctor's appointment then I wonder what on earth all the other people are doing driving around at 10 in the morning. Do they all have doctor's appointments, too? I enjoy my job, but sometimes I feel like it is prison. I get furloughed for some special reason (like going to the doctor) and I'm free, if only for an hour or two. I have to go back, or else they'll put out an APB and I'll be spotted trying to cross the border at night.
They'll send me back, but I won't have the cushy job I once had. I'll be reduced to shelf reading by myself for days upon end. At the end of solitary, I'll go back to working in reference, but this time I'm just checking catalogs to see what we have and what we don't. I'll be given the choice - behave and work my way back up to where I was with a nice office and business cards, or continue to go AWOL and be stuck doing pick-ups for ever.
Jobs aren't supposed to feel like prison. Most people probably like their job better than being behind bars. But we are all dependent on them for money, which comes in handy from time to time. Yet, on these days off, when I see that other people aren't working when I am, I start to wonder. What would Jeff Lebowski do?
Thursday, January 17, 2008
Plus Cinefantastique!
Dear Hollywood Southwind Theaters,
I hate your movie theater with every fiber of my being. Yet, I've seen about 920 movies there, give or take a few. I did this because you have a monopoly on theaters in Lawrence, KS. Liberty Hall doesn't count, because they show different movies that you would never show. Plus they are way classier. I understand that I'm probably not the average movie-goer, so my opinions are a tad hypersensitive, which is why you probably won't listen to me. But here goes anyway.
First, your seats are too close together in every aspect. They are too narrow and lack about one foot of proper leg room. I'm an average 5'11" guy, and I have a lot of taller friends who must be in terrible discomfort every time they sit down in your seats for 1.5-2 hours. Also, some of your theaters have a large section of the middle seating cut out for the entrance hallway. How ridiculous! The middle is the best seat in the house, and you just screwed 15 rows out of that. We are paying to be entertained in comfort, not just to see a movie.
Second, your theater is typically dirty with sticky floors and unclean bathrooms. The only bad thing I have to say about your staff is that it isn't on the ball about this. They can't bear all of the blame, since the facilities are not conducive to cleanliness, but it usually looks like they don't even try. This normally wouldn't be a big deal to me, since I've slept in a few dingy lots behind train stations once upon a time. However, I've been to some really stand-up, first-rate establishments and they tended to be much cleaner. Somehow that makes an impression. It makes me think, Gee I'm glad that I'm here, instead of that cesspool Southwind Theater. This must be why your auditoriums are poorly lit and all black.
Third, you have no style. Your tacky carpet looks like it belongs in a Chucky Cheese. The fixtures that surround posters and lights throughout make me think you got them as hand-me-downs from the set of Double-Dare. I'm not saying anything bad about those two kids' institutions, but just that I don't think they belong as part of a movie theater.
Fourth, your lobby is in tragic need of queue management. Lines are winding, often confusing, and extend outside when they shouldn't have to. It really pains me to say this, but AMC has this figured out pretty well. I feel so dirty praising them.
Fifth, and probably most important, your actual exhibition of movies is not worthy of even a discount theater. The sound is always tepid. I'm not really talking about volume, because it is mostly adequate, but most times I can't hear sound out of the side speakers. This wouldn't be a problem if the movie's sound was meant to emanate solely from the center (behind the screen) speakers, but something is lacking. The sound is anemic. Also, the damn commercials bother me. They aren't even entertaining. I'm already paying money to see a movie that I hope will entertain me, which is why I chose to spend my time there. But I don't agree to spend part of that time watching commercials, especially ones that are likely only shown on daytime television. If they were as good as the ones for the Superbowl, then I might grudgingly accept them, but as is I just get huffy.
Okay, that's enough of my tantrums. Most people probably don't give it a second thought. But that's the whole problem! Do people actually enjoy going to see a movie at your theater? They might grudgingly go to see the movie, but I imagine if I opened mine, then they would flock like birds (Gallimimus). And here's what they would enjoy:
A clean, well-lit lobby that is tastefully decorated in a 1940s style (I just read that decade will never go out of style -wait, unless it already has). Tickets that have the little half moons cut out on both ends. Glorious bathrooms that will make patrons think they are in an executive washroom, complete with attendant and mints. A box office with times and titles in a clear and large font that aren't digital so there is no squinting involved. Carpeting over all the floors in each auditorium. Ushers that wear white gloves. Auditoriums that aren't a black box that make you feel like you are in a Turkish prison cell. They should have some kind of artistic and warm palate. A maintenance staff that is working all of the time to ensure the place is bright and shiny everywhere. Screens that are protected by a velvet curtain that raises up when the movie starts. Movie music piped in instead of pop music (sorry, but that's just a personal choice people will have to deal with - they are at the movies!). No commercials. Maybe a short four minute cartoon, but only if it is funny; these aren't to be played for their kitsch value. Sound that vibrates your lungs, but won't make your ears bleed. It is possible - I have experienced that. Ushers to make sure the movie starts off well (sometimes a movie starts out of focus or out of sync and some brave soul has to go warn someone knowing they'll miss something). Also, one of those systems that reward people for going, like see ten, get one free pass. This should also be something in a computer, so people don't have to worry about carrying a hole-punched card. Concessions that aren't candy but freshly-made, non-aromatic food that isn't processed sugar and won't fall apart and make a mess. Would people like that? Would they miss their candy? Well, they would be perfectly welcome to bring in a sealed bag of whatever they would like - it's cheaper if they get it at a store, anyway. I think it is only responsible to offer something that isn't just bad food. It used to be that people would eat junk food as an occasional treat because they never ate any at home. Well, times have changed.
Many people who know me will see that I am comparing most places to the Warren Theaters in Wichita, KS. This is true. However, laced in here are other ideas that even they don't do. We are paying to be entertained in comfort and style, not just to see a movie. If we wanted to just watch the movie, then we'd probably just buy them on DVD when they come out. It's more economical that way, anyway. Usually a new movie on video costs around $16-20, which is the range for two adult tickets for something we can see only once. TV's are getting more and more incredible while surround sound speakers are getting cheaper as each day passes. If you keep making your theater uncomfortable, disorganized, dull and lackluster, then people will have no choice but to wait the four months and get it on DVD or put it in their Netflix queue.
I like to go to the movies to escape from my daily routine and watch something with a bunch of strangers and hopefully experience some kind of emotional connection with them, like laughing or screaming or crying (which I never do, by the way) or being pissed that the movie sucked. I only wish that the theater has some sense of place that is classy and has a charming character, like Jeeves. I'm fully aware that my ideas are probably not economically feasible. That's not my problem.
Sincerely,
Bravo de la Tromeo
BTW - Go read a P.G. Wodehouse book; it will probably make you laugh a lot!
I hate your movie theater with every fiber of my being. Yet, I've seen about 920 movies there, give or take a few. I did this because you have a monopoly on theaters in Lawrence, KS. Liberty Hall doesn't count, because they show different movies that you would never show. Plus they are way classier. I understand that I'm probably not the average movie-goer, so my opinions are a tad hypersensitive, which is why you probably won't listen to me. But here goes anyway.
First, your seats are too close together in every aspect. They are too narrow and lack about one foot of proper leg room. I'm an average 5'11" guy, and I have a lot of taller friends who must be in terrible discomfort every time they sit down in your seats for 1.5-2 hours. Also, some of your theaters have a large section of the middle seating cut out for the entrance hallway. How ridiculous! The middle is the best seat in the house, and you just screwed 15 rows out of that. We are paying to be entertained in comfort, not just to see a movie.
Second, your theater is typically dirty with sticky floors and unclean bathrooms. The only bad thing I have to say about your staff is that it isn't on the ball about this. They can't bear all of the blame, since the facilities are not conducive to cleanliness, but it usually looks like they don't even try. This normally wouldn't be a big deal to me, since I've slept in a few dingy lots behind train stations once upon a time. However, I've been to some really stand-up, first-rate establishments and they tended to be much cleaner. Somehow that makes an impression. It makes me think, Gee I'm glad that I'm here, instead of that cesspool Southwind Theater. This must be why your auditoriums are poorly lit and all black.
Third, you have no style. Your tacky carpet looks like it belongs in a Chucky Cheese. The fixtures that surround posters and lights throughout make me think you got them as hand-me-downs from the set of Double-Dare. I'm not saying anything bad about those two kids' institutions, but just that I don't think they belong as part of a movie theater.
Fourth, your lobby is in tragic need of queue management. Lines are winding, often confusing, and extend outside when they shouldn't have to. It really pains me to say this, but AMC has this figured out pretty well. I feel so dirty praising them.
Fifth, and probably most important, your actual exhibition of movies is not worthy of even a discount theater. The sound is always tepid. I'm not really talking about volume, because it is mostly adequate, but most times I can't hear sound out of the side speakers. This wouldn't be a problem if the movie's sound was meant to emanate solely from the center (behind the screen) speakers, but something is lacking. The sound is anemic. Also, the damn commercials bother me. They aren't even entertaining. I'm already paying money to see a movie that I hope will entertain me, which is why I chose to spend my time there. But I don't agree to spend part of that time watching commercials, especially ones that are likely only shown on daytime television. If they were as good as the ones for the Superbowl, then I might grudgingly accept them, but as is I just get huffy.
Okay, that's enough of my tantrums. Most people probably don't give it a second thought. But that's the whole problem! Do people actually enjoy going to see a movie at your theater? They might grudgingly go to see the movie, but I imagine if I opened mine, then they would flock like birds (Gallimimus). And here's what they would enjoy:
A clean, well-lit lobby that is tastefully decorated in a 1940s style (I just read that decade will never go out of style -wait, unless it already has). Tickets that have the little half moons cut out on both ends. Glorious bathrooms that will make patrons think they are in an executive washroom, complete with attendant and mints. A box office with times and titles in a clear and large font that aren't digital so there is no squinting involved. Carpeting over all the floors in each auditorium. Ushers that wear white gloves. Auditoriums that aren't a black box that make you feel like you are in a Turkish prison cell. They should have some kind of artistic and warm palate. A maintenance staff that is working all of the time to ensure the place is bright and shiny everywhere. Screens that are protected by a velvet curtain that raises up when the movie starts. Movie music piped in instead of pop music (sorry, but that's just a personal choice people will have to deal with - they are at the movies!). No commercials. Maybe a short four minute cartoon, but only if it is funny; these aren't to be played for their kitsch value. Sound that vibrates your lungs, but won't make your ears bleed. It is possible - I have experienced that. Ushers to make sure the movie starts off well (sometimes a movie starts out of focus or out of sync and some brave soul has to go warn someone knowing they'll miss something). Also, one of those systems that reward people for going, like see ten, get one free pass. This should also be something in a computer, so people don't have to worry about carrying a hole-punched card. Concessions that aren't candy but freshly-made, non-aromatic food that isn't processed sugar and won't fall apart and make a mess. Would people like that? Would they miss their candy? Well, they would be perfectly welcome to bring in a sealed bag of whatever they would like - it's cheaper if they get it at a store, anyway. I think it is only responsible to offer something that isn't just bad food. It used to be that people would eat junk food as an occasional treat because they never ate any at home. Well, times have changed.
Many people who know me will see that I am comparing most places to the Warren Theaters in Wichita, KS. This is true. However, laced in here are other ideas that even they don't do. We are paying to be entertained in comfort and style, not just to see a movie. If we wanted to just watch the movie, then we'd probably just buy them on DVD when they come out. It's more economical that way, anyway. Usually a new movie on video costs around $16-20, which is the range for two adult tickets for something we can see only once. TV's are getting more and more incredible while surround sound speakers are getting cheaper as each day passes. If you keep making your theater uncomfortable, disorganized, dull and lackluster, then people will have no choice but to wait the four months and get it on DVD or put it in their Netflix queue.
I like to go to the movies to escape from my daily routine and watch something with a bunch of strangers and hopefully experience some kind of emotional connection with them, like laughing or screaming or crying (which I never do, by the way) or being pissed that the movie sucked. I only wish that the theater has some sense of place that is classy and has a charming character, like Jeeves. I'm fully aware that my ideas are probably not economically feasible. That's not my problem.
Sincerely,
Bravo de la Tromeo
BTW - Go read a P.G. Wodehouse book; it will probably make you laugh a lot!
Tuesday, January 15, 2008
Use a spotter when gardening
A coworker of mine said that one night she went outside to turn on the sprinklers to water some plants. Her father-in-law screamed out of the door, "What are you doing?!" to which she rightfully screamed back, "I'm watering the lawn!" He became unglued. "It's after dark, you could get kidnapped!"
Since she doesn't live in Iraq or Mexico City are we to think that his worries were unfounded? Yes. Yes we are. However, I bet that we all have some kind of fear that isn't based on any rational examination of facts and statistical chance. Like I'm afraid that if I go out in the woods at night, then a serial murderer who just escaped from a nearby prison will kill me. Needless to say, I don't go out into the woods at night that often. I mean, if it was 10:00 p.m. and I had a hankering to do some jogging through the woods, I would probably just run through the ghetto part of downtown instead.
I am of the opinion that many things which we read, especially interesting or dramatic stories of unfairness and misfortune that end in tragedy, lead us to be unduly prejudiced about certain activities or locations or people. We don't have the time to really do a lot of statistical research and find out the odds of actually getting murdered by someone who asks for directions or falling into a sinkhole on the way to the bank or accidentally marrying the twin who was separated from you at birth. We just heard that it actually happened to someone somewhere, so we should watch out! How is it possible we can bring ourselves to go out into the world, with all of its exploding sewer mains, falling meteors, and foreigners trying to kill us? If all of our neuroses were acted upon, we would likely develop vitamin D deficiencies as a result of being holed up in our cellar.
My old law schoolin' roommate knows all too well about this. I would pester him constantly about wild scenarios where a normal innocent person finds themselves in this extremely unlikely situation where he or she gets the death sentence for asking for a subway map at the wrong place and the wrong time. His wise response was, "Yep, you take a risk every time you wake up." That was more than just a way to get me to shut up and leave him to study, it is something in which we can take solace. Life isn't guaranteed to be happy or long for any of us, so we should accept that an go about our lives as if the woods weren't filled with vicious convicts with shanks and teardrop tattoos.
We all assume the risks of life with every breath we take. Whether it is buying stamps or navigating the Congo, life can be surprising and unfortunate. However, we can't let that stop us from living the way we want. But if you live in Iraq or Mexico City, you probably shouldn't water your lawn at night.
Since she doesn't live in Iraq or Mexico City are we to think that his worries were unfounded? Yes. Yes we are. However, I bet that we all have some kind of fear that isn't based on any rational examination of facts and statistical chance. Like I'm afraid that if I go out in the woods at night, then a serial murderer who just escaped from a nearby prison will kill me. Needless to say, I don't go out into the woods at night that often. I mean, if it was 10:00 p.m. and I had a hankering to do some jogging through the woods, I would probably just run through the ghetto part of downtown instead.
I am of the opinion that many things which we read, especially interesting or dramatic stories of unfairness and misfortune that end in tragedy, lead us to be unduly prejudiced about certain activities or locations or people. We don't have the time to really do a lot of statistical research and find out the odds of actually getting murdered by someone who asks for directions or falling into a sinkhole on the way to the bank or accidentally marrying the twin who was separated from you at birth. We just heard that it actually happened to someone somewhere, so we should watch out! How is it possible we can bring ourselves to go out into the world, with all of its exploding sewer mains, falling meteors, and foreigners trying to kill us? If all of our neuroses were acted upon, we would likely develop vitamin D deficiencies as a result of being holed up in our cellar.
My old law schoolin' roommate knows all too well about this. I would pester him constantly about wild scenarios where a normal innocent person finds themselves in this extremely unlikely situation where he or she gets the death sentence for asking for a subway map at the wrong place and the wrong time. His wise response was, "Yep, you take a risk every time you wake up." That was more than just a way to get me to shut up and leave him to study, it is something in which we can take solace. Life isn't guaranteed to be happy or long for any of us, so we should accept that an go about our lives as if the woods weren't filled with vicious convicts with shanks and teardrop tattoos.
We all assume the risks of life with every breath we take. Whether it is buying stamps or navigating the Congo, life can be surprising and unfortunate. However, we can't let that stop us from living the way we want. But if you live in Iraq or Mexico City, you probably shouldn't water your lawn at night.
Thursday, January 10, 2008
Douglas Fairbanks meets David Belle
I like to watch movies. For me they come in an endless variety depending on situation and mood. A movie can be very good and very bad at different times and with different people. Sometimes, though, they are only one thing all of the time (You know what I mean, Showgirls). But there are movies that are good when watching with your girlfriend, but bad when watching with dudes, and vice-versa. Also, try watching a good movie with your parents only to be confronted with a sex scene, that while maybe tastefully done, makes everyone in the room very uncomfortable. So, like party music, sometimes a movie's value isn't dependent upon it's "quality" (in whatever way you can define that), but by it's appropriateness to the audience and situation.
Well, one variety of movies that I like to think about in a certain situation is for complicated, expensive, action-oriented, special-effects-laden movies with great sound and cinematography to be shown in a theater in the silent movie era. How fun would it be to take Terminator 2, Jurassic Park, Lord of the Rings, or The Maxtrix (to name a few), and then travel back in time to 1916 and blow some audience's mind? You'd have to take your THX-style auditorium with you in the Delorean, so maybe you would have to hitch a trailer or something.
What would the audience do? They probably wouldn't be prepared for the kind of kinetic feast like 300 and would exit the theaters vomiting and trampling old ladies en route to some kind of confession booth, because they've just seen the end of the world. Or would they? There is a long-held myth that during the first screenings of various motion pictures audiences freaked out because they thought someone was going to shoot them (The Great Train Robbery) or that a train would run them over (L'Arrivée d'un train en gare de La Ciotat). They are said to have ran screaming out of the theaters in panic. Just like in my imagination. However, most film historians doubt this happened as no verifiable evidences proves that they did.
So, why do we give past generations the short end of the stick? Like they were retarded children who would crap their pants if we showed them a hologram? I'm sure some people would be a bit frightened. But most would just be suspicous or dismissive because they couldn't understand it. They would be hostile and critical, while a small few would see the wonder and possibility of such advancement. And whatever it is, the loudest critics would decry it as being vulgar or unsophisticated.
But still, wouldn't it be fun to open a wormhole and let in a group of sixty-year old nuns to a showing of Black Hawk Down? What would happen? Would they all have heart attacks? Would some of them walk out? Or would they sit there politely and be unimpressed, like my mom when I try to tell here a bawdy joke she already heard way back in the 60's? Well, that's what I think about when I see a movie that is quite the spectacle. Did you see the look on D.W. Griffith's face when Neo was dodging all of those bullets?! It was priceless!
Well, one variety of movies that I like to think about in a certain situation is for complicated, expensive, action-oriented, special-effects-laden movies with great sound and cinematography to be shown in a theater in the silent movie era. How fun would it be to take Terminator 2, Jurassic Park, Lord of the Rings, or The Maxtrix (to name a few), and then travel back in time to 1916 and blow some audience's mind? You'd have to take your THX-style auditorium with you in the Delorean, so maybe you would have to hitch a trailer or something.
What would the audience do? They probably wouldn't be prepared for the kind of kinetic feast like 300 and would exit the theaters vomiting and trampling old ladies en route to some kind of confession booth, because they've just seen the end of the world. Or would they? There is a long-held myth that during the first screenings of various motion pictures audiences freaked out because they thought someone was going to shoot them (The Great Train Robbery) or that a train would run them over (L'Arrivée d'un train en gare de La Ciotat). They are said to have ran screaming out of the theaters in panic. Just like in my imagination. However, most film historians doubt this happened as no verifiable evidences proves that they did.
So, why do we give past generations the short end of the stick? Like they were retarded children who would crap their pants if we showed them a hologram? I'm sure some people would be a bit frightened. But most would just be suspicous or dismissive because they couldn't understand it. They would be hostile and critical, while a small few would see the wonder and possibility of such advancement. And whatever it is, the loudest critics would decry it as being vulgar or unsophisticated.
But still, wouldn't it be fun to open a wormhole and let in a group of sixty-year old nuns to a showing of Black Hawk Down? What would happen? Would they all have heart attacks? Would some of them walk out? Or would they sit there politely and be unimpressed, like my mom when I try to tell here a bawdy joke she already heard way back in the 60's? Well, that's what I think about when I see a movie that is quite the spectacle. Did you see the look on D.W. Griffith's face when Neo was dodging all of those bullets?! It was priceless!
Touched By An Alcoholic
For anyone who didn't already google the first sentence at the end of my previous post, it is from The Lost Weekend by Charles Jackson. It is used in quotes at the beginning of that book because the main character is reading it in the narrative. The actual sentence is from James Joyce's Dubliners. I think this is great. Sometimes when we read something, a phrase, a sentence or a paragraph speaks to us in a poetic kind of way and we have to pause and mull it over, as the character in The Lost Weekend did. Sometimes we might write it down and save it for later, like a sweet piece of candy to sneak after dark. And in this case, Charles Jackson used it as a description of his character and how he related to that of another book. It's a neat way to link the two together without specifically calling attention to it. That's classy.
Wednesday, January 9, 2008
First Sentences
When I was a junior in high-school my English teacher, Ms. Davis, gave us a creative writing assignment that I thought was fun and easy. It was supposed to teach us the importance of the first sentence of a novel. The attention grabber. People are meant to pick up a book in a store or library, glance at the first sentence, and read on if so inclined or toss aside if not.
We didn't have to write a famous first sentence because we were idiot 16-year olds who lived in a small town in Kansas and didn't know about the Internet, yet. Besides, professional writers had already done that for us. She gave us a list of sentences from books that most people read as juniors and snicker at the swear words and frank depictions of angst and sex that ruins characters. I chose The Fountainhead. The first sentence (although technically two) is : "Howard Roark laughed. He stood naked at the edge of a cliff." I don't know if that is precise; I'm doing it from memory and that was many bong hits ago.
Our assignment was to write a suitable first paragraph to follow that sentence. The thing was, we weren't allowed to read the books or anything other than that sentence. In fact, we didn't even know the titles at the time. So I wrote a paragraph that introduced the local preacher of a small town who was about to plunge to his death. Thankfully I don't have a record of the actual words I wrote, but needless to say, mine was mocked a little in class. Even the teacher threw in a guffaw. I didn't mind, because most everyone's were pretty weird. But they were fun, too.
Doing something like that was tough because we all had to put ourselves out there. She read them all anonymously, and you felt really proud when she read yours, and then a little miffed when everyone dismissed it. However, it was a great exercise so that we could all get over ourselves and be a little creative. Besides, I still remember my sentence after eleven long years (if not verbatim).
Even now, I read the first sentence of books and stop to contemplate how I would continue the story. It's fun; you might like to try it next time you pick up an unfamiliar book. Try this one: "The barometer of his emotional nature was set for a spell of riot."
We didn't have to write a famous first sentence because we were idiot 16-year olds who lived in a small town in Kansas and didn't know about the Internet, yet. Besides, professional writers had already done that for us. She gave us a list of sentences from books that most people read as juniors and snicker at the swear words and frank depictions of angst and sex that ruins characters. I chose The Fountainhead. The first sentence (although technically two) is : "Howard Roark laughed. He stood naked at the edge of a cliff." I don't know if that is precise; I'm doing it from memory and that was many bong hits ago.
Our assignment was to write a suitable first paragraph to follow that sentence. The thing was, we weren't allowed to read the books or anything other than that sentence. In fact, we didn't even know the titles at the time. So I wrote a paragraph that introduced the local preacher of a small town who was about to plunge to his death. Thankfully I don't have a record of the actual words I wrote, but needless to say, mine was mocked a little in class. Even the teacher threw in a guffaw. I didn't mind, because most everyone's were pretty weird. But they were fun, too.
Doing something like that was tough because we all had to put ourselves out there. She read them all anonymously, and you felt really proud when she read yours, and then a little miffed when everyone dismissed it. However, it was a great exercise so that we could all get over ourselves and be a little creative. Besides, I still remember my sentence after eleven long years (if not verbatim).
Even now, I read the first sentence of books and stop to contemplate how I would continue the story. It's fun; you might like to try it next time you pick up an unfamiliar book. Try this one: "The barometer of his emotional nature was set for a spell of riot."
The when and the wry
If you could live during any time period in human existence, when would it be? This weekend I saw some "reenactors" who provoked this query in my head. They were at the Alamo, which has a kind of settler's days on one Saturday every month. The people were obsessed history buffs who dressed and acted like normal folk who lived during some point in 19th century Texas.
I wondered if they were purists, and if I offered to show them a video on my iPod would they watch it or try to lynch me for being a warlock sent from hell to melt their brains? Seriously, though, they took their acting in earnest and I learned a lot. I learned that life back then was super boring. If I was transported back in time and had to listen to the old guy jaw on about cleaning his pocket watches while his wife just smiled vacantly and knitted, I would probably become a bandit and rob them out of spite.
This got me thinking; are there character reenactments for the seamy side of life? Like at this one, some old dude would tell anyone who cared to listen what sort of music he would have played on this authentic guitar back in 1835. Well, would there be one with a man who tells stories about being a drifter who got into bank robbing then became a pimp after opening a saloon in some new town called Dodge City? I can only hope so. Then some kid's dad is going to have to listen to this on the way home: "What's a 'dove of the roost'? Can we have whiskey after dinner? I want to be a vigilante when I grow up!"
There aren't public showcases of vice and corruption of ages old probably because some kid's mom complained that she could see that on TV. What happened to all of those wholesome values like cutting potatoes all day long or laying in the shade with a wet cloth over your face because you live in a sod house in the middle of nowhere? History books are full of the bad (good) stuff anyway. We can't see our neighbors portray this because we want to believe that society was good and proper back then, whenever then was. If only we hadn't screwed it up with rock and roll.
So, when you answer my initial question, you might think of a specific thing to do back then. I mean, if you lived in a previous time you would have to ply a trade in some geographic location. Blacksmith? Courtesan? Farmer? Statesman? Printer? Oarsman? Taxman? Paperback writer? And which period would be most interesting with all of our knowledge of world events? Certainly 1840's Ireland would be a poor choice to be a farmer. But choosing to live in the Tang dynasty in China would be good if you liked to sit around and paint and write.
This is a silly question mostly asked to waste time, because there is no way to travel back to other epochs. It's like asking what animal you would want to be. There can be no shapeshifting with modern technology, so what's the point? Well, I would argue what's the point of life without these kinds of questions? They offer us a chance to be introspective, to think about different perspectives and make fun of lame dudes who want to be a bootblack on a stage line. We might even appreciate all the crap we have to put up with because someone once had it much worse. Like everyone who lived in the 14th century.
I would totally be a cheetah, by the way. Those guys know how to chill like players.
I wondered if they were purists, and if I offered to show them a video on my iPod would they watch it or try to lynch me for being a warlock sent from hell to melt their brains? Seriously, though, they took their acting in earnest and I learned a lot. I learned that life back then was super boring. If I was transported back in time and had to listen to the old guy jaw on about cleaning his pocket watches while his wife just smiled vacantly and knitted, I would probably become a bandit and rob them out of spite.
This got me thinking; are there character reenactments for the seamy side of life? Like at this one, some old dude would tell anyone who cared to listen what sort of music he would have played on this authentic guitar back in 1835. Well, would there be one with a man who tells stories about being a drifter who got into bank robbing then became a pimp after opening a saloon in some new town called Dodge City? I can only hope so. Then some kid's dad is going to have to listen to this on the way home: "What's a 'dove of the roost'? Can we have whiskey after dinner? I want to be a vigilante when I grow up!"
There aren't public showcases of vice and corruption of ages old probably because some kid's mom complained that she could see that on TV. What happened to all of those wholesome values like cutting potatoes all day long or laying in the shade with a wet cloth over your face because you live in a sod house in the middle of nowhere? History books are full of the bad (good) stuff anyway. We can't see our neighbors portray this because we want to believe that society was good and proper back then, whenever then was. If only we hadn't screwed it up with rock and roll.
So, when you answer my initial question, you might think of a specific thing to do back then. I mean, if you lived in a previous time you would have to ply a trade in some geographic location. Blacksmith? Courtesan? Farmer? Statesman? Printer? Oarsman? Taxman? Paperback writer? And which period would be most interesting with all of our knowledge of world events? Certainly 1840's Ireland would be a poor choice to be a farmer. But choosing to live in the Tang dynasty in China would be good if you liked to sit around and paint and write.
This is a silly question mostly asked to waste time, because there is no way to travel back to other epochs. It's like asking what animal you would want to be. There can be no shapeshifting with modern technology, so what's the point? Well, I would argue what's the point of life without these kinds of questions? They offer us a chance to be introspective, to think about different perspectives and make fun of lame dudes who want to be a bootblack on a stage line. We might even appreciate all the crap we have to put up with because someone once had it much worse. Like everyone who lived in the 14th century.
I would totally be a cheetah, by the way. Those guys know how to chill like players.
Tuesday, January 8, 2008
I'm coming for you, Xerxes!
There is some kind of husky/wolf on a tiny patio nearby that is crying out for me to kill somebody.
When I go to sleep at night, his screams and howls and cries fill the black sky. My path to slumber is blocked by the pitiful moans of a dog incarcerated for a crime he couldn't help - being huge and awesome looking. This pup was barely able to know the pleasure of a full gait when he was heinously locked up on his owner's balcony. It is a cruel prison cell, ten feet by six feet, wreathed in black wrought iron. A concrete slab to call a bed, and what's worse - owners who callously sit inside, with naught but ice in their veins.
This is no life for an animal. Especially one that probably still unconditionally loves his owners. He deserves a yard in which to frolic and unattended parks in which to sniff rumps and fornicate with wild abandon. He isn't being abused with traditional blows to the back and punches to the snout, but rather with more vicious inattention and neglect. What's worse: sweet love taps or horrible estrangement?
I'm not advocating against disciplining an untrained dog. I am advocating for the neighbors to my left to give their dog to someone who would care to put this up.
When I go to sleep at night, his screams and howls and cries fill the black sky. My path to slumber is blocked by the pitiful moans of a dog incarcerated for a crime he couldn't help - being huge and awesome looking. This pup was barely able to know the pleasure of a full gait when he was heinously locked up on his owner's balcony. It is a cruel prison cell, ten feet by six feet, wreathed in black wrought iron. A concrete slab to call a bed, and what's worse - owners who callously sit inside, with naught but ice in their veins.
This is no life for an animal. Especially one that probably still unconditionally loves his owners. He deserves a yard in which to frolic and unattended parks in which to sniff rumps and fornicate with wild abandon. He isn't being abused with traditional blows to the back and punches to the snout, but rather with more vicious inattention and neglect. What's worse: sweet love taps or horrible estrangement?
I'm not advocating against disciplining an untrained dog. I am advocating for the neighbors to my left to give their dog to someone who would care to put this up.
Alice's Adventures Through the Windshield Glass
On my way to work this morning I was in a traffic collision. The roads here are terrible because there isn't enough average rainfall to wash away all of the oil buildup from cars' daily wear. So when there is a light rain, like this morning, the roads become super slick. The downhill sections of roads that you normally pay no mind become the most dangerous slip-n-slide ever. The problem is expectations and not thinking about your actions and how they affect others.
A minivan in front of me suddenly slammed on its breaks (I don't know why) and I had to slam on mine to avoid smashing into the back of it. My ABS came on and did a marvelous job stopping my car. That system is sweet. If I was in my old S-10 or Caprice Classic, I would have ripped through the minivan like tinfoil (well, maybe not in the S-10). So that was all fine and good, but then I looked in my rear view mirror to see someone who couldn't avoid hitting me.
It was like the moment atop the first drop on a roller coaster - you sit there for a few seconds in dreadful anticipation. Except this time it was only a fraction of a second, and it is amazing to me how my mind drew that out. Anyway, BAM, I was hit and that was that. The van in front of me must have decided not to turn or that the shiny thing in the road wasn't a baby carriage, after all. It drove away very nonchalantly, as if nothing had happened. It's probably not fair of me to blame the van, but I will anyway. There are many lessons here, but a big one is to be more considerate of other people when suddenly braking for no good reason.
But the other main lesson, suffered by the lady behind me, is to allow enough room to stop. She wasn't following too closely by normal standards. We were in a perfect storm, if you will. The speed limit is 45, but the hill is a steep grade similar to Mississippi Street from Jayhawk Blvd for those of you familiar with Lawrence streets. The water and oil made the road as slick as ice. Her wheels were turned to try to get into the other lane, but she continued forward just the same. This is a result of Newton's First Law of Motion.
Neither of us were injured in the collision, mostly because of modern safety design in cars. It used to be that a very common cause of death in an automobile collision was a result of the driver being impaled on the steering column. They finally made seat belts mandatory and designed collapsible columns. Seat belts prevent you from not only mangling yourself against the dashboard and flying through the windshield, but also from eviscerating yourself internally. When your car strikes something whilst going 45-55 mph, it usually slows down to almost zero in an instant. Thus your body does the same. When it strikes the dashboard, your organs move forward at the same speed as they were traveling, and can get crushed or squished or cut in half by ligaments. This is a possible reason why Princess Diana died - internal bleeding.
So think about that the next time you don't wear a seat belt. Oh, and they aren't just for protecting you, they are for protecting the other people in the car. If you fly from the back seat into the front seat, you risk disfiguring the pretty face of whatever handsome or beautiful person is riding shotgun. They are, of course, sitting up front because they are prettier than you. But not for long.
Also, people don't consciously think about the possibility of getting into an auto accident when they get into a car. You shouldn't, really. But being prepared for that dangerous eventuality is a good idea. Seat belt-wearing is an easily-acquired and unconscious habit for most people. However, almost 25% of the U.S. car-riding population doesn't do this. I know a woman who says that she doesn't because she never has and doesn't want to start. Besides, she says, the seat belt would wrinkle her shirt.
For your edification, here is a bitchin' educational film about a manly fighter pilot and his penchant for safety...seatbelt safety. If anything, watch it for the production value: the awesome narrator, the classy orchestral score, the heavy-handed morals, and the horrible wrecks of unsafe cars. Any disturbing images are too small to offend.
A minivan in front of me suddenly slammed on its breaks (I don't know why) and I had to slam on mine to avoid smashing into the back of it. My ABS came on and did a marvelous job stopping my car. That system is sweet. If I was in my old S-10 or Caprice Classic, I would have ripped through the minivan like tinfoil (well, maybe not in the S-10). So that was all fine and good, but then I looked in my rear view mirror to see someone who couldn't avoid hitting me.
It was like the moment atop the first drop on a roller coaster - you sit there for a few seconds in dreadful anticipation. Except this time it was only a fraction of a second, and it is amazing to me how my mind drew that out. Anyway, BAM, I was hit and that was that. The van in front of me must have decided not to turn or that the shiny thing in the road wasn't a baby carriage, after all. It drove away very nonchalantly, as if nothing had happened. It's probably not fair of me to blame the van, but I will anyway. There are many lessons here, but a big one is to be more considerate of other people when suddenly braking for no good reason.
But the other main lesson, suffered by the lady behind me, is to allow enough room to stop. She wasn't following too closely by normal standards. We were in a perfect storm, if you will. The speed limit is 45, but the hill is a steep grade similar to Mississippi Street from Jayhawk Blvd for those of you familiar with Lawrence streets. The water and oil made the road as slick as ice. Her wheels were turned to try to get into the other lane, but she continued forward just the same. This is a result of Newton's First Law of Motion.
Neither of us were injured in the collision, mostly because of modern safety design in cars. It used to be that a very common cause of death in an automobile collision was a result of the driver being impaled on the steering column. They finally made seat belts mandatory and designed collapsible columns. Seat belts prevent you from not only mangling yourself against the dashboard and flying through the windshield, but also from eviscerating yourself internally. When your car strikes something whilst going 45-55 mph, it usually slows down to almost zero in an instant. Thus your body does the same. When it strikes the dashboard, your organs move forward at the same speed as they were traveling, and can get crushed or squished or cut in half by ligaments. This is a possible reason why Princess Diana died - internal bleeding.
So think about that the next time you don't wear a seat belt. Oh, and they aren't just for protecting you, they are for protecting the other people in the car. If you fly from the back seat into the front seat, you risk disfiguring the pretty face of whatever handsome or beautiful person is riding shotgun. They are, of course, sitting up front because they are prettier than you. But not for long.
Also, people don't consciously think about the possibility of getting into an auto accident when they get into a car. You shouldn't, really. But being prepared for that dangerous eventuality is a good idea. Seat belt-wearing is an easily-acquired and unconscious habit for most people. However, almost 25% of the U.S. car-riding population doesn't do this. I know a woman who says that she doesn't because she never has and doesn't want to start. Besides, she says, the seat belt would wrinkle her shirt.
For your edification, here is a bitchin' educational film about a manly fighter pilot and his penchant for safety...seatbelt safety. If anything, watch it for the production value: the awesome narrator, the classy orchestral score, the heavy-handed morals, and the horrible wrecks of unsafe cars. Any disturbing images are too small to offend.
Monday, January 7, 2008
My doppelgänger
We all think about weird stuff from time to time. Here's what I thought of today:
Sometimes other people say you look exactly like someone they just saw walking down the street, sitting in a cafe, or juggling bowling balls aflame in some back alley. However, when you go see for yourself you are disappointed. Why? Not because they don't look much like you (they don't), but because you actually wanted to have a double out there. It would be kind of sweet, right? I mean you would share a physical identity, and therefore could get into all kinds of mischief. I wonder how often identical twins do this?
Well, I thought, what about someone with the same name and birthday? They won't look like me and therefore won't be as cool (which is based on the understanding that all people who don't look like me aren't as cool as me). So my immediate thought was that they would probably be a jerk, loser, sourpuss who sucks. Then I wouldn't want to have the same name and birthday. Who would?
But what if they didn't suck? I mean, odds are that they would, but what if, you know? I would completely be okay with this. If some paper doppelgänger were a badass gentleman with a mysterious mustache and piano playing skills, then I would want to meet him and see if we could be best friends. And I would have to assume that we would be.
If he was cool, then sharing a name and birthday somehow makes us like kin, in my book. I would get him out of jams and he would do the same for me, no questions asked. And we could because we have the same name. Don't look alike? Doesn't matter, check out that driver's license - it says Bravo de la Tromeo, and how many people do you know with a name that weird? Probably only one, and I'm him. But I would know better and give a little wink to whatever pretty girl is standing by. She will be upset by this, but that's okay.
My whole point in thinking this is that if someone who had my name and birthday and was freaking sweet, then would he think the same of me? Would he be an older, wiser version of me? Would we become a covert crime-fighting team, posing as world-renowned magicians and stuntmen? The answer would have to be yes.
Otherwise what kind of world do we live in? Is that what we want for our kids? Vote for Barack Obama.
Sometimes other people say you look exactly like someone they just saw walking down the street, sitting in a cafe, or juggling bowling balls aflame in some back alley. However, when you go see for yourself you are disappointed. Why? Not because they don't look much like you (they don't), but because you actually wanted to have a double out there. It would be kind of sweet, right? I mean you would share a physical identity, and therefore could get into all kinds of mischief. I wonder how often identical twins do this?
Well, I thought, what about someone with the same name and birthday? They won't look like me and therefore won't be as cool (which is based on the understanding that all people who don't look like me aren't as cool as me). So my immediate thought was that they would probably be a jerk, loser, sourpuss who sucks. Then I wouldn't want to have the same name and birthday. Who would?
But what if they didn't suck? I mean, odds are that they would, but what if, you know? I would completely be okay with this. If some paper doppelgänger were a badass gentleman with a mysterious mustache and piano playing skills, then I would want to meet him and see if we could be best friends. And I would have to assume that we would be.
If he was cool, then sharing a name and birthday somehow makes us like kin, in my book. I would get him out of jams and he would do the same for me, no questions asked. And we could because we have the same name. Don't look alike? Doesn't matter, check out that driver's license - it says Bravo de la Tromeo, and how many people do you know with a name that weird? Probably only one, and I'm him. But I would know better and give a little wink to whatever pretty girl is standing by. She will be upset by this, but that's okay.
My whole point in thinking this is that if someone who had my name and birthday and was freaking sweet, then would he think the same of me? Would he be an older, wiser version of me? Would we become a covert crime-fighting team, posing as world-renowned magicians and stuntmen? The answer would have to be yes.
Otherwise what kind of world do we live in? Is that what we want for our kids? Vote for Barack Obama.
Thursday, January 3, 2008
Kaboom!
Dear Whoever Makes TV,
Could you please produce and air a show about explosions? It could just be shots of exploding things, like barns, bridges, cars, warehouses, or the like. It could just be some cool Australian guy explaining how the physics work, then blowing up an outhouse using only toilet paper, rubber tubing and a sack of limes. Whatever, as long as there are a proportional number of explosions to seconds of dialogue that follow a 1:1 ratio. I can't guarantee you would make lots of money. But I can guarantee you that at least one half of the world would tune in.
Sincerely,
Bravo de la Tromeo
Could you please produce and air a show about explosions? It could just be shots of exploding things, like barns, bridges, cars, warehouses, or the like. It could just be some cool Australian guy explaining how the physics work, then blowing up an outhouse using only toilet paper, rubber tubing and a sack of limes. Whatever, as long as there are a proportional number of explosions to seconds of dialogue that follow a 1:1 ratio. I can't guarantee you would make lots of money. But I can guarantee you that at least one half of the world would tune in.
Sincerely,
Bravo de la Tromeo
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