In an act of supreme irony, there's a recently released fakeumentary out there trying to make the case that "Big Science" is waging a war on poor, defenseless Christianity. From the trailers, it's hard for me to tell if Ben Stein is satirizing Michael Moore's abuse of the documentary format and disregard for truth, if Stein is cynically trying to emulate Moore (who, himself, seems rather cynical), or if he truly believes the premise that the scientific community is waging a holy war against religion. So to speak.

Is it newsworthy if an academic institution resists hiring or retaining a biologist who wants to teach that evolution doesn't exist? If so, perhaps there's a documentary to be made on these other scintillating topics:

• the conspiracy of economists against people who doubt the theory of supply and demand
• the crusade of physicists against those who deny the theory of gravity
• Big Medicine's unrelenting smear campaign against deniers of the germ theory of disease

I almost included in that list the conspiracy of Saturday Night Live writers against anything that might be funny, but that would have violated the comedic "Rule of Three."

Persecution complexes tend to manifest themselves in the weak and the cruel. Hitler, and the Nazis in general, had a persecution complex when it came to the Jews. The Clintons coined the term "vast right-wing conspiracy" long before we started meeting on a regular basis. Richard Nixon, for that matter, allowed his own persecution complex to destroy his presidency and his legacy.

The great paradox of the persecution complex is that it betrays a weakness in character, but not in actual power. This is where I find the notion of "Big Science" persecuting the Christians to be particularly unseemly. Christianity holds more sway politically, culturally, economically, and socially in the very fabric of American life than any other force. For decades (well, centuries, actually), it has insisted on regulating what and how we teach our citizenry, from the birds and the bees to the moon and the stars and everything in between.

Now here comes a Defender of the Faith, in the form of a self-styled intellectual, to declare that when scientists would prefer that science be taught in the science classrooms, Christianity is under attack. Kind of like the way Germany was under attack when France wanted France to be run by, well, the French.

Is Christianity so weak in character that it needs this kind of defender?

[Then again, are liberals so weak that they need Michael Moore as a defender? Hmmm.]

I won a bet a few months ago. The bet was with a fellow named Allen, and the wager was a copy of the final Harry Potter book. Because I won, Allen was to buy me a copy of the book on the day it was released.

Since then, I proposed that our community throw a "Harry Potter Party", which I may have mentioned in a previous post. The events committee in our neighborhood said it sounded like a great idea, and so they began the work of organizing it. One task fell to me, however, and that was to attempt to secure some copies of the book to give away as prizes. Although there is a small amount of money in our event committee's budget that could be used in that direction, it's always better to try to get donations, when possible, so that the money can be there for the next event.

Our neighborhood supermarket was very generous (Thank you, QFC!) in donating three copies of the book toward the event, and I picked them up about ten minutes ago, so that I'll have them in hand when I go to help set up for the party in the morning.

So here I am with three brand new copies of the book... a book that I am eager, eager, eager to begin reading. But these copies are for the party, and Allen won't be bringing me my copy until sometime tomorrow -- likely, after the party. But I want to read a copy now!

I thought about leaving them in my car, but it's raining tonight (unusual here, for this time of year; summer is the "dry season") and I don't want the humidity to warp the pages. So, here they are. Sitting on the kitchen counter. Calling to me. "Allan... Allan! Just one little chapter. What could be the harm? Nobody will ever know!"

That, ladies and germs, is how I came to be a hundred pounds overweight. "I'll just have one bite of that Ben & Jerry's. No one will ever notice." How does one bite become a hundred pounds? The same way one little chapter becomes staying up until the time my alarm goes off, the book half-read, and me having to buy another copy to hide my crime.

Nope. Better to just go to bed. I'll get my own copy tomorrow. No borrowing any sneaked peeks tonight.

Nor, for that matter, any ice cream.

Will power. It's not just for breakfast anymore.

WARNING: THIS ENTRY CONTAINS "SPOILERS" REGARDING THE MOVIES "SOMEWHERE IN TIME" AND "THE LAKE HOUSE". And "Sliding Doors". And "Romeo & Juliet". And a few others. If you have any interest in seeing these movies but haven't done so, then you are advised to rent and see them now and return immediately to read my timely comments.

Heh, heh. I said "timely."

I've been thinking a great deal about fiction and the defense of the status quo, lately. To wit: most (but not all) commercially successful popular fiction, be it in print or film, ultimately embraces accepted social norms. This is important to me right now, because of the novel that is brewing in my head and threatening to spill onto the electronic page before too long.

Stephen King wrote an excellent essay in his non-fiction book, Danse Macabre, in which he points out that the horror genre is particularly conservative (that's "conservative" as in: defending tradition and demonizing -- literally, in this case -- any departure from the status quo). His point is very well made, and I highly recommend you seek out his comments. In short: the horror genre is all about doling out punishments for breaking the rules.

Most other genres are about doling out rewards for following the rules, which is what makes horror the flip-side of the mainstream coin: it's a focus on the negative, but it's still supporting the status quo.

Consider navel-gazer movies like "The Family Man" or "Me, Myself, I", where the protagonist gets a chance to compare "what if?" lives of having pursued career versus having pursued love and family. In all such movies, the protagonist ultimately realizes that even though their life in which they pursued the career was fabulously successful -- bringing them fame and money and a fantastic quality of life -- still, it's better to have the life of mired suburbian mediocrity with the noble-yet-imperfect mate and the infants who pee on you and all the similar joys of middle-class conformity because, hey, it's more emotionally fulfilling than driving fancy cars and eating at the best restaurants and wearing tailored clothes.

In short, these movies are pandering to their Western Civ, middle-class audience. "Hey, you there! In the middle-class! You made the right choice! Don't you feel affirmed?"

Occasionally, you'll see an excellent and commercially successful story that doesn't pander. The movie "Sliding Doors" has a similar "what if?" opportunity to see a life go in two different directions at a decision point, and the ending of the story is quite satisfying while, at the same time, it doesn't hand the audience a pat judgement on how love always triumphs and all that rot. Actually, it had quite a different premise: that, when all is said and done, we will be who we will be... that single decision points do not a life make.

Since there is such a thing as excellent, commercially successful fiction that also manages to not pander to the audience and endorse the status quo, I need to come to terms with how that works. I want the novel that I'm working on to be such a story; to challenge certain societal norms and still be compelling and satisfying.

I was hoping to find such a story in the movie, "The Lake House." This is a recent flick that falls into the "time-travel romance" sub-genre. The previews implied that it might have a subversive take on the status quo.

Of course, in the romance genre, the rules are: boy meets girl, boy loses girl, boy wins girl back. If the story is a comedy, the successful conclusion of the formula is kisses and happiness ever after. If the story is a tragedy, then the last piece of the formula (boy wins girl back) is thwarted, and everyone dies as punishment. See "Romeo & Juliet".

Both the comedic and the tragic variation are satisfactory endorsements of the status quo, since successful completion of the formula means life and goodness, and failure to live up to the terms of the formula means death and sadness. If only Juliet dies and Romeo goes on to live a happy life of debauchery, then the status quo is not supported, and the audience gets mighty cheesed.

When a story is successful even though it doesn't pander, it is because the story still resonates with Truth. To bring up "Sliding Doors" again as an example, it is satisfying because it acknowledges that the consequences of our choices are more complicated -- and more interesting -- than simply "good" and "bad". The movie endorses hope, even while it denies the "happily ever after" myth.

Which brings me to "The Lake House", which I had picked up for a few bucks at the local DVD store's sidewalk sale. I was hoping to see some interesting choices in the storytelling, because the premise is kinda neat. Boy doesn't meet girl, because boy and girl are living in two different time zones. As in: two years apart. They correspond via a magic mailbox, fall in love, and get really, really frustrated with their timing woes. Surely, this must resonate with middle America. Isn't the middle-class all about frustration?

[As a side note, I'd like to recommend that the designers of the back cover of the DVD case be arrested and sent to a Turkish prison. The blurbs on the back cover keep saying, "Can the two ever meet?" while half of the photos show the two main actors together in the same scenes. I mean, what the intercourse is up with that? It's like putting on the back of "The Empire Strikes Back" the question, "Is Darth Vader really Luke Skywalker's father?" with a picture of Vader holding up a baby photo of little Luke nestled serenely in young Darth Vader's arms.]

The problem with the Lake House is not simply that it violates all concepts of time-travel causality. This wasn't supposed to be a science fiction flick, strictly speaking. Rather, its fatal flaw is that it tries so hard to pander to the audience ("Love rulz! Woo-hoo!") that it violates its own sense of Truth. It tries to give us the Happily Ever After ending, even after it very clearly set up the tragic death ending. The movie held open the possibility, right up until the final scene, that there could be an interesting, sophisticated Truth that would allow one character to live on while the other one dies. Instead, we get this pandering message: because he "waited", everybody lives happily ever after, after all.

Oh, by the way, that was the spoiler I warned you about.

Pander, pander, pander.

When I was a young'un, there was a movie called "Somewhere In Time" that also had the ill-fated time-travel romance kink going on. It starred Superman and Dr. Quinn, Medicine Woman, and the story was, as in "The Lake House," cleverly laid out right up until the last scene. "Somewhere in Time", however, managed to pull off an emotionally satisfying resolution without pandering *too* much. It managed to have both its tragic cake and happily eat it, too, by allowing the boy to die *and* get the girl. Oh sure, it was a sappy reunited-in-death kind of thing, but dude... the guy's death was *so* satisfying that it made the whole thing work. I don't think it would have worked as well if it had only the tragedy, nor only the happily-ever-after. What it did was offer us a third alternative: rather than "love is good" versus "losing love is bad", we got "love can make you lose your mind as well as your appetite. And then you die." Now *there's* a Truth that resonates.

Now that I think about it, "Sliding Doors" also managed to have both the tragic ending and the (nominally) hopeful ending all rolled up together. And the guy died in "Ghost", too, and that was popular. And same for "Titanic". Hmmm.

But not "The Lake House." It sets up for both possibilities, but then instead of choosing a third alternative, or even the more plausible tragic ending, it short circuits itself and makes a break for the happy ending. It doesn't work.

As an extrovert, I'm inclined to throw my ideas out there and see what shape they take. While my original intention of writing this little missive was to rail against the maddening ending of "The Lake House" -- I mean, really, all that wasted set-up! -- I realize now that this is really about the novel I'm constructing. How do I make it commercially viable and still not pander?

The answer is simple. It's not enough that I'm going to kill two of my main characters. I'm also going to have to add a romantic element. And pathos. [sigh.] Writing is such hard work.

I've decided to do it. I'm throwing a Harry Potter party this summer to celebrate the release of the final book in J.K. Rowling's Harry Potter series. What cultural event could be more worth celebrating than children and grown-ups reading the same, excellent books?

I told a friend of mine this decision today, and he said, "So, what does one do at a Harry Potter party?"

Simple! It's just like a Super Bowl Party -- dress up in costumes commemorating your favorite team/player/character, eat munchies, engage in bravado and verbal sparring about what led up to this event -- only bookier.

Actually, I'm coordinating with our homeowners' assocation's Events Committee to commandeer the community center, where we'll also have children's activities (like coloring, games, and snacks), costume contests (where top prizes will be copies of the newly released book 7), a book club chat, perhaps a brief open mic thingy like I've hosted in the past, and then a showing of the first Harry Potter movie.

Who knew children's lit could be so much fun? Yee-ha!

Last Sunday, the United States (and possibly parts of California) took a day to celebrate the end of the professional football season by settling in to watch the football game humbly known as the Super Bowl. As a nation, we came together by taking a day off from mundane concerns such as shopping (except to buy potato chips), working (except for pizza delivery guys -- those poor bastards), and generally keeping the economic engine of this great country turning and, instead, walled ourselves up in our homes or at Super Bowl parties, drank massive quantities, and watched the game and/or commercials.

It's a pop culture thing that contributes to a shared identity. We are Americans. Our footballs are oblong, and we don't riot (too much) after the game.

Likewise, later this year some among us will put on our pop culture party hats to at least acknowledge that professional baseball also has championship games. Etc., etc.

But pop culture celebrations can and do extend beyond professional sports (or college sports, for that matter) and Thanksgiving Day parades; we are drawn together by the stories that capture our shared imagination. Look at how we in the Western world lined up around the block to see each new Star Wars flick.

I am thrilled that one of the biggest pop culture events of 2007 is going to be the release of a book. A novel, no less! The announced publication of a big ol' slab of text is already causing a palpable buzz in the English-speaking world, as well as Britain, and I couldn't be happier.

On July 21st, 2007, a substantial number of people will buy (or receive their pre-ordered copies) of the seventh and presumably final book in the Harry Potter series. Instead of being united by the spectacle of men in tights and shoulder pads, the English-speaking world (and Britain) will join together to see how events play out in a popular work of fiction.

As part of my own preparation for this event, I've been re-reading the series that's been published so far, and I have to say that it just gets better upon further consideration. I've commented on a few themes and elements of the series in my pop culture section of this site, and it's amazing to discover how much deeper and richer the themes become when one considers the series as a whole.

So here's to you, J.K. Rowling. Your stories have transcended their spot on the children's lit bookshelves and become such a global phenomenon that the opening of your next book will be bigger than the opening of a Star Wars movie, bigger than a World Series or a World Cup or a Super Bowl. I'm excited to read the book, but I'm even more excited to see how many other people are excited.

This calls for a celebration. Anyone up for a Harry Potter party on the evening of July 20th?

You a writer, or an avid reader of fiction? You dig story? You dig movies?

Stranger That Fiction is a writer's movie, and a pretty good one, at that. If you writes much, or reads much, I think you'll dig it.

Don't ask why. Don't ask what it's about. Just check it out, and get back to me later.

Every so often I like to mention my current pop culture pleasures. My work life having been so hectic of late, I don’t have much time to read these days, or see movies, or watch television (except late at night, after the kids are in bed, if, indeed, they ever go to bed), but there’s still an occasional opportunity to listen to music on the drive to and from the office. So, here’s a quick check of my pop culture pulse.

What I’m listening to:

A friend of mine recommended that I check out a group called The Ditty Bops. They have some videos posted on their website, and he recommended that I start with Wishful Thinking. After watching/listening to that one and the video shorts from their appearances on Conan O’Brien and Craig Ferguson, I decided to pick up their two CDs from a certain online retailer. Yowza. Great stuff. Both albums are produced by Mitchell Froom, who has also produced great albums by Suzanne Vega and Sheryl Crow and Soul Coughing, among others. The Ditty Bops have a great sound; an eclectic mix of ragtime and alt folk that works really well. Check them out.

The other album that’s been in heavy rotation in my car’s multi-disc player is Regina Spektor’s Begin to Hope. I saw her featured recently on Conan O’Brien, and her performance blew me away. Just her and her piano. This is a very experimental album and, like the Ditty Bops or Suzy V at her best, each of her songs is unique in tone, feel, and instrumentation. She’s an alt folkie with a piano instead of a guitar (and an ever-so-slight Russian accent). Highly recommended.

What I’m reading:

That great, big collection of Calvin & Hobbes that Santa gave me. Easy to read in short sessions, which is all I’ve been managing lately. I finished Stephen King’s Dark Tower cycle a few months ago, and haven’t read much fiction since then, whilst I’ve been digesting that seven-volume tome. My research for my next novel has brought me James Randi’s Flim Flam, and my father recently gave me Jamie Whyte’s Crimes Against Logic, both of which have been quite enjoyable reads.

When waiting for code to compile or otherwise finding a spare moment at my computer with a few minutes on my hands, I’ve been enjoying reading just about everything on Roger Ebert’s website. I’m going through a bit of withdrawal as there’s little new content there while Mr. Ebert recuperates from surgery. Ebert likes to assert that movies are not about what they are about, but rather they are about how they are about what they are about. Likewise, Ebert’s essays are not about the movies they are about, but rather, they are about how they are about the movies they are about. Ebert’s a sharp mind with a sharp pen; one of the more enjoyable essayists at work in the mainstream today.

What I’m watching:

No movies, nor any primetime TV. Paulette and I have been going through my Definitive Twilight Zone collection (this is the collection of all of Rod Serling’s original series, although I suppose I’ll eventually get to the revival versions of the Twilight Zone. Maybe.). We’re currently nearing the end of Season Three. I’m particularly enjoying the “extras” – interviews with Serling, or lectures that he gave at Ithaca College, that are included as part of the DVD package. Serling is a writer’s writer who believed that it is possible to produce quality work even for such a mainstream medium as television. It would appear that today’s attitudes against “popular art” is not particularly original.

I do manage to catch late night talk shows from time to time. My favorite line from a few months ago came from Conan O’Brien, when he had “Governor Schwarzenegger” as an interviewee via remote (actually, an actor’s mouth was superimposed on Arnold Schwarzenegger’s televised photo). In reference to the then upcoming release of “Jingle All the Way”, the Governor’s doppelganger said: “Give a man a Jingle, he’ll Jingle for the day. But teach a man to Jingle, he’ll Jingle All the Way!”

I still love that line, even after all these many months.

What I’m writing:

Just finished a dark fantasy (that's what they call horror these days, don't you know) short story that I’ll be submitting to an anthology soon; it's first short story I’ve finished in a long time. A few nights ago, Paulette took care of the kids so that I could have some writing time to myself. Wasn’t that nice of her? I used the time to finish a story that I’d been working on for months. When I got to the ending, I surprised myself with how the story resolved… and I liked it! Let’s hope the editor does, too.

Also, I've been given a request for a rewrite from an editor who liked a piece I submitted, so I'll be working on that this week.

Oh, and right this moment, I’m writing my blog entry. How “meta” is that?

Insomnia combined with a desire to turn off my brain rather than work from home tonight led me to watch an old movie on the VCR (yes, I’m kickin’ it old school) after everyone else went to bed. Pump Up the Volume is the story of a high school malcontent whose pirate radio show becomes the focal point in the clash between a (school) administration that knows What’s Good For You and the kids who just wanna get along.

The movie is a sentimental favorite of mine, despite its many flaws. It came out when I was still young enough to remember high school (and, as my previous post about high school attests, those memories were not of the fond sort); the main character was a cynical loner/outsider who was eloquent in some arenas and had troubles communicating in others (traits with which I identified); the medium of choice for the main character was radio (I was a jockey/news horse at WVBR-FM at the time); the movie’s school administration worked at odds with its mandate, although teachers were generally sympathetic (a la Bennett H.S.); and Samantha Mathis (female lead in the movie) reminded me pleasantly of someone I knew and liked. The fact that she took off her shirt in one scene didn’t hurt, either.

But yes, there were a few flaws. No need to catalog them here; they mostly concern the plot, the script, the editing, some odd directorial choices, etc.

At the end of the movie, there’s a climactic scene where the hero radio pirate is cornered by the FCC and the cops and all them mean nasty suits. Up until this point in the movie, Christian Slater played his role like Christopher Reeve played Superman(tm): as two roles inhabiting one character. There was mild mannered Mark Hunter and his superhero radio jockey alter ego, Hard Harry. In the final scene, Hard Harry is unmasked in public and, as he is being carted away by the Feds, he beseeches his audience to “Steal the air”; to set up their own radio shows on their own pirate radio stations and say whatever it is they have to say.

Even at the time the movie first came out, this didn’t strike me as a particularly stirring call to action. If everyone is spending their time broadcasting, to a very limited range, any old dumb thing that’s on their mind, then who ends up listening?

But tonight as I watch, I can’t help but think that Hard Harry’s dream has been realized. The medium is different: instead of a radio field crowded with pirate stations, we have the Internet. But Harry’s utopian vision of a world where anyone can broadcast whatever is on their mind to whoever might be out there to listen, well… we have that now. It’s called the blogosphere.

So where’s my revolution, man? Huh? Huh? HARRRRRRY!!! TALK HARRRRRD!

A couple of summers ago or so, we decided to give drive-in movies a try, because we figured that would allow us to see a flick with Alexander and not worry about bugging other movie-goers. The experiment was more of a success than not, and I'm sure we will try it again.

The double-feature we saw on that occasion was Finding Nemo and Pirates of the Caribbean. However, they showed Pirates *before* Nemo, which seemed odd to me. Wouldn't you start off with the movie that's geared for the tots, since they are likely to fall asleep before the second movie starts? (Which, by the way, is exactly what happened in our case).

At that particular time, I thought that Pirates was rather entertaining, and Nemo was okay. We later picked up the DVD of Finding Nemo, and upon repeated viewings I've come to the conclusion that it is effing brilliant. We missed a lot of the nuances (and even some of the bigger points) at the drive-in. Get all romantic if you like for drive-in picture shows, but there's a lot to be said for watching a clear picture and listening to state-of-the-art speakers -- two things that the drive-ins sadly do not offer.

In the intervening months/years, Paulette has taken the opportunity to bring Alex and Nolan to the occasional movie theater showing that is intended for toddler outings. Movies like the recent Curious George. These showings tend to happen on weekdays, so I tend to be at work when they occur.

But this past weekend, we found ourselves treated to free passes to catch the local premiere of the latest Pixar flick: Cars.

As with last year's excellent Pixar offering, The Incredibles, the new movie seemed more appropriate for kids just a wee bit older than Alex. And yet, Alex stayed riveted in his seat. (Er... so to speak.) I say that it seemed more appropriate for an older age simply because it contains a lot of concepts that strike me as just a little bit more complex than a three-year-old is likely to digest. Finding Nemo works on a number of levels, but the basic premise of little kid gets separated from over-protective father resonates with the very young.

The basic premise of Cars involves a rude rookie racecar getting sidetracked as it tries to participate in (and win) The Big Race. Easy to digest, but maybe just a wee bit advanced for three-going-on-four-year-olds.

Still, Alex watched the whole thing and seemed to enjoy it. I enjoyed it immensely. In addition to simply excellent animation, there were a number of subtle and not-so-subtle visual puns, musical gags, and timeless and timely pop-culture references. The story has many layers and subtexts (as do all of the Pixar offerings), and their handling of thematic elements is very well done. The story flows well, and even though the basic story elements are entirely predictable, the film makers often went with "the third alternative" in ways that I found very enjoyable.

For example: given that this is a movie ostensibly for kids, and given the basic premise, you figure that the little car overcomes the roadblocks (har, har) thrown in its path, becomes a better pers-- no, becomes a better car, makes its way to The Big Race, and wins, right?

Right?

I like the message of the movie. I'll be getting this on DVD when it comes out. It's the kind of movie I expect that I'll be able to still appreciate even after several viewings (as mandated by the kids). More to the point, it has some themes that I'd like for my kids to consider. Harry Potter may, thematically, present a more accurate take on life as we know it (for example: in Harry's world, as in ours, the ends often justify the means, regardless of what we might prefer to be the case), but there's still something to be said for pointing out that there are competing values that we use to define our own success.

Heady stuff? Not really. Check it out. This particular movie gets approval both from child and parent.

PS: Paulette didn't get to see much of it, because Nolan wasn't willing to sit still. Those back molars coming in are still bothering him, and Paulette volunteered to calm him down. Wasn't that nice of her to let me sit with Alex for a bit and enjoy a movie together?

Following on the heels of my recent "Cover Up" game, allow me to suggest some more fun with pop songs.

What are your favorite songs that *sound like* the were remakes of other songs? One of the more famous examples of this phenomenon is George Harrison's "My Sweet Lord", which is not a cover of "He's So Fine" by the Chiffons, but it sounded close enough for the judges to award damages (or so I recall, erroneously or not).

As some of you know, I was so struck by Natalie Imbruglia's "Wishing I Was There" and its similarity to George Michael's "Freedom" that I took out my trusty old Apple PowerBook and sampled the two together into one coherent song. Ah, the good old days... when I had free time.

Some of my favorite covers-that-aren't include:

EMF's "Unbelievable" and the Spice Girl's "Wanna Be"
Lynyrd Skynyrd's "Sweet Home Alabama" and Warren Zevon's "Werewolves of London"
Gwen Steffani's "Crash" and Salt N Pepa's "Push It"
From their latest album, Weezer's "Hold Me" and Tracy Bonham's "Sharks Don't Sleep"
Green Day, "Warning" and the Kink's "Picture Book"

What about you? What songs do you like that remind you of other songs (which, perhaps, you also like)?

Here's a fun game. A friend of mine recently posed the question:

What cover songs are better than the originals?

Of course this is one of those open-ended, matter-of-personal-taste kind of questions that simply begs for controversy because we all have different criteria for what constitutes "better" -- or even "cover songs".

For the sake of argument, I'll define a cover song as any performance after the original "hit" performance of a given song, and the newer recording is recognizably a rendition of the earlier piece. Ergo, this could include an artist covering his or her own earlier tunes (as Dolly Parton, Neil Sadaka, and others have done with notable success). Remixes and live versions by the original artist don't count. And by "better", let's say that if you came across a radio station playing the older version and the next radio station up the dial was playing the newer version, you'd leave your tuner set to the newer version.

My friend thought that a list of cover songs that were better than the originals would be very short. I begged to differ, and looked through my iTunes and found in the "A" artists alone:

• Aerosmith covered "Big 10 inch" and "Remember (Walking in the Sand)", both of which were better than the originals. Their cover of "Come Together" was also arguably at least as enjoyable to listen to as the Beatles' original (blasphemous though it may be to suggest).
• Aimee Mann's version of "One" is far more enjoyable than Harry Nilsson's.
• Alanis Morrisette's recent cover of "Crazy" has more punch than Seal's version.
• Art of Noise and Tom Jones did a butt-kickin' version of Prince's "Kiss", and they also teamed up with Duane Eddy to out-hip the original cut of "The Peter Gunn Theme" from a few decades prior

Let's play! What covers do *you* like?

A few personal favorites that leap to mind for me (without checking my iTunes list):

• Two Nice Girls, "Speed Racer"
• Van Halen, "Happy Trials"
• Frente!, "Flintstone's Theme (Open Up Your Heart)"
• Art of Noise, "Peter Gunn Theme" & "Kiss"
• Faster Pussycat, "You're So Vain"

And, for the halibut, I'll also cast my vote for the absolute worst cover EVER:

• Madonna, "American Pie"

Discuss.

Oh, sure, I comment quite frequently on books, movies, and music. But while I comment on things that are and things that could be, this one site shows how things should have been. Check out their archives regarding how Star Wars should have ended. Neat stuff.

I should also point out that their proposed ending for Lord of the Rings is remarkably similar to what Peter Schoaff discussed in a comment he'd posted here some time ago.

Thanks to Matt Kall for pointing this site out to me.

[SPOILER ALERT: If you haven't seen the Star Wars movies, and think that someday you might, be aware that there are some minor spoilers below.]

It has occurred to me that it might be fun to write a satiric piece on the Star Wars saga as a non-Christian religious parable. I've read a number of satiric reviews of well known books and movies that reframe them in terms of hard-line Christian parables (google, for example, Gilligan's Island and the Seven Deadly Sins, wherein each of the cast members represents one of the deadly sins -- except for the Skipper, who represents two, thereby freeing up Gilligan to step into the role of Lucifer, who will eternally torment the others...), and I had thought it might be funny to do the same with Star Wars, only I'd reframe it as a parable from a different major religion.

Of course, satirizing certain religions in any form results in international bedlam and fatwahs and other unpleasantries. Witness Salman Rushdie and the recent Danish Debacle. I'm all for freedom of speech, but do I really want to risk my life or well-being just to make a humorous observation? Perhaps some other day, but not today.

The idea for this satire-that-I'm-not-writing came to me when I realized that Lucas has a thing about chopping off people's hands, and his saga features a religious order that insisted on trumping the political order of society. Many have argued (effectively) that this could describe any of the world's major religions (and there are *many* overtly and uniquely Christian references throughout the scripts, what with Immaculately conceived Anakin going around spouting New Testament quotes hither and yon), but with the hand-chopping-off-kink that Lucas kept returning to, I thought it might be fun to explore a non-Christian angle.

Are you not familiar with the hand-chopping-off motif in Star Wars? Here's a handy guide.

In Episode I, nobody's hands get chopped off that I recall. But...

Episode II, Attack of the Clones:

• Obi-Wan, in a bar, cuts off the assassin's right arm with his light-sabre (just as in the original Star Wars).
• Mace Windu, during the climactic battle scene in the arena on Geonosis, cuts off Jango Fett's right hand as a prelude to decapitating him.
• Count Dooku cuts off Anakin's right arm in their duel at the end of the movie.

Episode III, Revenge of the Sith (The last one filmed)

• Anakin cuts off *both* of Count Dooku's hands with his light-sabre before decapitating him (the first and only Star Wars movie where the left hand goes as well as the right).
• Obi-Wan chops off one of General Greivous's left hands. Then one of his right hands....
• Anakin chops off Mace Windu's right hand.
• Obi-Wan cuts off Anakin's remaining arm (the left) and both legs, just to be complete about it.

Episode IV, A New Hope (The original Star Wars)

• Obi-Wan, in a bar, cuts off the thug's right arm with his light-sabre (just as he does in Attack of the Clones).

Episode V, The Empire Strikes Back

• Luke Skywalker cuts off the ice monster's right arm with his light-sabre.
• Darth Vader cuts off Luke Skywalker's right hand with his light-sabre.

Episode VI, The Return of the Jedi

• Luke Skywalker cuts off Darth Vader's right arm with his light-sabre (only to discover that Darth Vader's right arm was already entirely mechanical, as we know, since it was cut off already in Attack of the Clones back when Darth Vader was still Anakin Skywalker).

In my next pop culture critique, I'll examine the endorsement of fascism found in Toy Story and Toy Story 2.

I'm working insane hours... which is too bad, because I'm not getting enough done for my employer to be worth the effort. This happens to me every few months it seems... a few weeks of terrible productivity despite long hours, then I find traction... and work even more hours, but at least I'm productive.

But when I'm not working or whinging about work, I'm driving to work or I'm avoiding work. While driving or avoiding, I partake in pop culture:

• What I'm listening to now: Green Day's album American Idiot is the most inspired album I've heard in years. It has lived in the CD player in my van non-stop for months, now.

• What I'm reading now: I just finished book three (The Waste Lands) in Stephen King's "The Dark Tower" series. Before I resume the series (I had refused to read any of the Dark Tower books until King had finished writing them), though, I'm now diving into Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince. A very compelling read. J. K. Rowling just gets better and better as a writer, and the story is a grabber.

• What I'm watching on TV: Ha! Faithful readers know that my wife and I told the cable company and the satellite companies to go and unbroadcastable themselves about five years ago. So our TV watching has depended upon DVDs, rentals, and anything we could pick up with rabbit ears.

  Happily, we recently moved from a valley to a ridge, so now instead of getting NBC and occasionally ABC, we can watch *all* of the broadcast networks. So, sometimes I get home by ten-thirty in the evening, which affords me the chance to watch the syndicated reruns of "That 70's Show" -- a program I never watched when it was on. Or popular. Or whatever. Is it still on? Is it still popular? Well, whatever. I like the show. Not because I'm nostalgic for the '70's (I'm not), but because the show is very cleverly written and the performances are enjoyable. A relaxed approach to comedy; nothing forced. Well, not much, anyway. So that's what I'm watching. Re-runs of "That 70's Show".

• What I'm eating: jambalaya. Mmmmm.

• What I'm wearing: Carhart t-shirt. Blue jeans. Hawaiian shirt. Natch.

• What I'm drinking: Dr Pepper.

• What I'm writing: a horror short story about a dead bird.

So, go pick up American Idiot and listen to it while reading your copy of the latest Harry Potter. Then watch some "That 70's Show" while eating jambalaya and drinking Dr Pepper, all decked out in your hawaiian shirt. But don't write a horror story about a dead bird because I'm going to finish mine and send it out before you do, and then you'll just look like a copy cat.

There�s a relatively new radio format making the rounds in the good ol� US of A called �Jack.� This format has recently been adopted by a radio station where I live.

My strange and varied career has included three years working as an on-air personality at a small commercial radio station in upstate New York. For two and a half years, I worked primarily in the news department (although I also got involved in the music programming side of things, as the whim of the music director allowed), and then switched over to become a morning dj. So I am not an entirely disinterested party when it comes to radio (or journalism or pop music, for that matter).

Because I worked for so long at a rock-n-roll station, I was favored with a barrage of free albums and CDs. When I left radio, my appetite for new music remained, so I switched from getting free music to paying for it. A lot of it.

In recent years, my computer manufacturer of choice came out with a product called �iTunes�, and I finally decided to join the digital music age. I digitized my entire CD collection into one central disk drive, and now I can play anything in my collection with the click of a mouse. According to iTunes, I could play my entire play list for over 46 days and never repeat a track. (Of course, since several of my CDs are greatest hits and similar compilations, I�d hear the same *songs* more than once, but not exactly the same tracks.)

That kind of music library would be unmanageable, but iTunes includes a �rating� feature that allows me to assign a 1 to 5-star rating to any given track. When I digitized my CDs, I simply gave a 5-star rating to whatever track or tracks cause me to pick up the album. This allows me to set up a play list that randomly plays only my top-rated tunes. (8 days of music with, in theory, no repeats.) This makes for a very cool jukebox: all of my favorites, and only my favorites, spanning the breadth of my musical interests.

Now, along comes Jack.

The current range of music formats in the US highlights specific music genres and sub-genres. Any given station will tend to feature only R&B or classic rock (rock hits of the late 60�s through mid 70�s) or oldies (rock hits of the fifties through mid sixties) or �young� country or hip hop or top hits of the eighties or whatever. The Jack format does not recognize genre barriers. Jack could play the Clash followed by Suzanne Vega followed by Cake followed by Celine Dion. Depeche Mode followed by the Eagles. It wouldn�t surprise me to hear the Statler Brothers followed by Eminem on Jack. It�s a fascinatingly eclectic mix of the best (and the near-best) of most of the major music genres, going back to the mid-Sixties (albeit emphasizing more recent music).

In short, the music is right to my tastes. Not as edgy, certainly, but neither is my five-star mix on my iTunes. It�s all proven commodities. One doesn�t go to Jack to hear the latest. For that, I need to go elsewhere.

But Jack is different from other formats in another way: there are no djs. None. No personalities at all. Just a random selection of clips from a voice-over guy saying things like, �Playing the music we want� or �We�ll play anything, except your requests.�

Good music jockeys in a good format do more than simply announce the title of the song you just heard. They also have a little bit of influence over the order in which the music gets played. The degree of influence a dj can hold over the music mix depends upon how tightly formatted the station is, but most locally-owned stations still allow for at least *some* sway. The jock can rearrange the songs on his play list to highlight interesting connections lyrical or musical. This is what gives a radio show its flavor. It�s more than a random mix of music: it has a subtle theme.

Jack�s voice-overs claim that they play what they want. But to my trained ear, there exists no hint that any person holds any sway over what songs are being played. There are no clever segues between tunes, no thematic links to tie one song with the next � except as you would expect to occasionally pop up in a random shuffle, like my iTunes occasionally manages. So I don�t think �they� play what �they� want; I think �they� choose some songs and let a computer pick them at random.

I like my iTunes shuffle, don�t get me wrong. But it is, when all is said and done, a mechanical mix. Some songs simply don�t go well together, even though the songs are individually great. My iTunes is a fun back-up plan when I don�t have a specific CD in mind to listen to at the office. But as much as I try to cleverly set the parameters of my iTunes jukebox, the mix itself has no cleverness to it at all. Just like Jack. Jack has no soul. Great music spanning a wide variety of genres, yes. But personality? Voice? Character? No.

People respond to character. They respond to voice. I know several people who say that they don�t miss the patter of the djs. That may well be. But I am firmly convinced that people can sense the difference between a mechanical mix and a thoughtful presentation. The mind will grow to miss any kind of human connection with the music being played. This is what makes Jack less than the sum of its parts.

I believe that Jack�s approach to having an eclectic music base is a sound one. Now if a station were to adopt that kind of music format and combine it with a smart radio personality, *that* could be amazing.

Now, I was going to post here about the many fun and freaky and serendipitous events that took place on the night I went to see Star Wars: Episode III -- The Revenge of the SITH, but I've just been way too busy. Suffice it to say:

I saw it at the midnight showing on opening night. It rained. Hard. I got soaked. By magic, I got a perfect seat. Then I had to give it up to someone who claimed to be handicapped and who showed up at the last minute -- which means I then had to take a very crappy seat in the very front row. Met some cool people who sat with me. We swapped stories of raising kids, we shared popcorn and coke, and we had a hell of a good time watching a hell of an entertainment.

In the weeks that have since past, I have not had a chance to see it again at the theater (although I still hope to). However, many friends of mine have, and it has come up on several occasions as a topic of conversation.

The biggest point that *everyone* has to make is what is wrong with the movie. Friends' favorite flaws include the unbelievability of ...

Oops. I should have mentioned that there might be spoilers hereabouts. If you haven't seen the movie, and if you want to see the movie, and if you don't want to see any spoilers about what is in the movie, by all means -- do not let me spoil it for you.

HERE THERE BE SPOILERS

Friends' favorite flaws include the unbelievable evaporation of Padme, the unbelievable love story between Padme and Anakin, the weak reasons behind Anakin's motivation, the "Noooooooooooooooo" scene, numerous continuity errors (like when Obi-Wan refers to Palpatine as the Emperor even before Palpatine has proclaimed himself as such) and so on. My friends love to debate whether the Emporer ever actually lied to Anakin (and will then pick on the movie from either interpretation). And so on, and so on.

I am willing to concede some of these points while disagreeing with others, but it's fun -- extremely fun -- to play the "Well, if *I* wrote the three Star Wars prequels, I would have..." game.

Everyone I know who has seen the movie has some way in which they would have or could have written it *so* much better. Everyone I know who has seen it has some favorite flaw to flaunt. And most of the things I hear them suggest would most certainly be an improvement. But.

But.

Mr. Lucas must really be on to something to write the movie(s) that EVERYONE wants to have written.

So, here's to you, Mr. Lucas. You have written the most Perfectly Flawed movie series ever. It is so perfectly flawed, we'll watch it again and again and critique and analyze and rip apart and revel in it for years to come.

As you have done, I hope some day to write a story that everyone else wishes they had written. What better mark of success can a writer hope for?

(Well, that *and* a big, big bag of money.)

Somehow this past weekend, I managed to escape the usual routines and requirements at home and get out to see a movie at a movie theater. On the basis of Roger Ebert's excellently written review, I decided that I should see Million Dollar Baby before someone spoiled the story for me. In his review, Ebert doesn't tell you too much, but gives very compelling reasons as to why you should go see it.

As the movie opens up, you can tell where it's going -- which formula it is following, which notes it has to hit -- and it's done brilliantly. The actors are pitch perfect: Clint Eastwood as the cranky old trainer who is guarding a heart of gold, Hilary Swank as the wanna-be contender who has all of the odds stacked against her but an undeniable will to beat the odds, and Morgan Freeman as the wise intermediary who nudges both characters to see what they otherwise could not. Had the movie played out as expected, it would no doubt have stood as one of the best of its breed.

But then, well, it turns out that this movie does not follow the formula at all. Much like Eastwood's movie Unforgiven, it transcends its genre. Million Dollar Baby tells a very human story that goes beyond its apparent setting as "a boxing movie".

I don't know if I agree with Ebert that this is a "great" film. It is certainly not flawless -- unlike, say, The Godfather, which is arguably perfect. I have a couple of minor quibbles with a couple of scenes that didn't ring quite true to me. But if this movie isn't one of the all-time greats, it is nonetheless damn good.

There is a danger of going in to see a movie like this with one's hopes set too high. When I went in, I had no idea what to expect. Ebert didn't really warn me of what to expect -- much to his credit -- but rather, he simply said that this was the best film of 2004. Going in, that seemed to set the bar pretty high. But then, as much as I love Mr. Ebert's writing, we don't always agree on what works and what doesn't. So I went in expecting that the movie would be worthwhile, even if it wouldn't make *my* list of the year's best.

(Of course, I haven't seen that many new movies this year.)

My first reaction when the movie was over was that, well, hmm, maybe it *was* the best film of the year. And the more I've thought about it, the more convinced I have become that, yeah, this definitely was the best I've seen, and probably better than the ones I haven't seen. Here we are a few days later, and I still can't stop thinking about it.

Was it perfect? Certainly not. Was it great? Ask me again in a year, after I've had time to digest it. Was it worth seeing? Oh, yes. Definitely.

Don't read any more reviews. Just go see this movie, and tell me what you think.

Perhaps one of the biggest thorns in the sides of science fiction movie fans is the fact that George Lucas has modified his "Star Wars" movies each time they were re-released. Each of the several re-releases to theaters, including one revision that was so obvious it was actually called the "Special Edition", featured a number of nips and tucks here and there.

With each release to video (and now, DVD), all previous versions became commercially unavailable. Thus, if you have a videotape of the movies from when they first aired on HBO, for example, you have a very different movie from the subsequent video releases... and a collector's item at that.

Now Lucas has finally released the movies on DVD, and he has further modified each of the movies beyond the 1997 "Special Edition" treatment. As could be expected, a number of fans are taking issue with the tinkering. Check out the reviews on Amazon.com, for example. A number of fans wish he had simply released the original versions and let it go at that.

The changes range from correcting minor continuity errors (Han Solo's vest disappeared and reappeared in a few scenes in Empire Strikes Back, for example, and now that's been fixed), to improving the special effects (the battle scene at the Death Star in the first movie doesn't look like models anymore), to adding new scenes (the gratuitous Jabba the Hut scene in the first movie), to outright story revisionism (having Greedo shoot first in the cantina scene of the first movie). Much of the revisionism is being done to correct continuity errors with the Episode I and II movies, which were filmed *after* the first three, but what the heck. So, for example, Boba Fett's voice is limply re-looped by the actor who plays Jango Fett from the Attack of the Clones movie, while the original emperor in Empire Strikes Back is replaced with the actor who played him in Return of the Jedi (and Episodes I and II).

The reviews on Amazon are interesting because, while the major bone of contention is whether Lucas should have released the "original" versions as opposed to retooled versions, there is also a minority contingent whining that some scenes that were deleted from the original release (and that were later re-added for a few of the commercial releases) are deleted still (or again, or whatever) from the new release.

While the fanboys bicker about whether this or that change should have been made in the DVD version, I'm surprised nobody has complained about these other changes:

* In the first movie, when Luke and Han take Chewbacca on the elevator to the detention level, you can now here Herb Alpert and the Tijuana Brass' version of "A Taste of Honey" in the background.

* The infamous "pair of sneakers" space ships that appeared in Return of the Jedi have been switched from Nike to New Balance.

* One of the pilots in the Death Star battle scene in Return of the Jedi is clearly recognizable as "fat Elvis", while a "skinny Elvis" is seen getting into an X-Wing fighter in the first movie.

* A photo of Jar-Jar Binks can be seen on one of the milk cartons in the kitchen scene in the first movie.

* We learn in Return of the Jedi that the Emperor is actually Vader's father, which means that he is also Luke's grandfather.

* In the Sarlaac pit in Return of the Jedi, you can see an Ewok impaled on one of the lower rows of teeth.

* When Darth Vader and his two wing ships engage the X-wing fighters during the Death Star battle scenes in the first movie, you can hear the boom-boom-boom of a sub-woofer as they fly by.

* Darth Vader's voice has been over dubbed by Bill O'Reilly. I'm guessing that this is because the voice of CNN isn't quite as menacing as the voice of Fox News Network.

Were there any other changes that I missed?

WARNING! MOVIE SPOILERS BELOW!

You know what a spoiler is, right? That's when somebody spoils the surprise by telling you what it is rather than letting you find out for yourself. When someone is kind enough to tell you in the heading of a message (like this one) that the message contains spoilers, that means that if you haven't seen or read the movies or books being discussed, you might end up finding out about a "surprise" in the story that might lessen (or ruin) the experience for you if you should end up watching/reading the story for yourself at a later date.

For example, in the movie Presumed Innocent, the wife did it. Now that I've told you that, if you go see the movie, you'll realize that you already know the big surprise, and that might diminish your enjoyment of the film.

A year or two ago, I was in a very foul mood, and I decided to post a "Listmania" list on Amazon.com that listed spoilers for a bunch of movies. I was feeling mean, and I wanted to share the pain.

Ironically, after I'd spent a few hours creating this masterpiece of a list, when I went to save it, the connection was broken and my machine crashed. I lost the entire list. Man, was that annoying. I didn't bother recreating the list at the time, I was so pissed off. But, now that I'm in a bad mood again (but not yet pissed off), I've recreated the list to the best of my ability, and you can find it here.

While creating this list, I noticed that as I moved from the simple and obvious cases (like Gosford Park -- the maid did it), there are a lot of fun patterns in movies that supposedly contain surprises.

For example, the big surprise of Star Trek: The Wrath of Khan was that Spock was sacrificed in order to save the ship. But then, in the next movie, the even bigger surprise was that the ship was sacrificed to save Spock. (Of course, since then, the folks at Star Trek Incorporated have blown up the ship every chance they get, which kind of reduces the shock value.)

Audiences were stunned to learn in Empire Strikes Back that Darth Vader was really Luke's father. The following movie, Return of the Jedi, featured the revelation that Darth Vader was also Princess Leia's father, and that Luke and Leia were twins. Yowza! But then, in Star Wars Episode I The Phantom Menace (what a long and ugly title), we learn that in his youth, Darth Vader built C3PO. Yup, Darth Vader is C3PO's father, too. Holy cow! My guess is that in the next movie, we'll learn that Darth Vader is also Chewbacca's father.

Speaking of twist endings regarding parentage, you should check out Robert A. Heinlein's short story "All You Zombies...", in which we learn at the very end that the main character is his own father. And mother. How's THAT for a surprise you didn't see coming!? Well, okay, even though I spoiled the ending, you still might get a chuckle out of reading the story to see how it all happened.

I love it when a movie's very title gives away the ending. Like, "Kill Bill". Guess what happens at the end?

And then there's movies that open up by telling you the ending, but the ending still (potentially) surprises you. Like in "American Beauty". The narrator tells you right at the beginning that he's dead, and here's what happened leading up to his death. Then, you get to the end of the movie, and BLAM! He's dead. Pretty cool.

The movie "Schindler's List" is all the more devastating *because* you know the ending.

Then again, any James Bond movie you choose is *relaxing* because you know the ending.

So is it better, going in, to know the ending or to not know the ending of a given story?

This is the premise of a story I've been developing: what if you knew the ending of your own personal story? Would that make your remaining days richer? Or would it take the fun out of life? Or, would it make absolutely no difference to you at all?

If you had a chance to find out how your life was going to play out, would you do it?

Hanging out as I do among writers and avid readers, I often hear folks bemoaning that movies based upon books are never as good as the books upon which they are based.

Sounds quite obviously true, doesn�t it? I mean, how many good movies do you recall seeing that were based upon good books?

I can only think of a few.

• The Godfather and The Godfather Part II -- both based upon the classic novel by Mario Puzo, which I have read and thoroughly enjoyed.
• Gone With the Wind -- I haven�t read the book, and I hated the movie, but it was an excellent movie, regardless. It just happened to be a celebration of racism and sexism and the obnoxious hatefest known as the �Old South� that I find reprehensible. Still, a fine, fine flick for what it is.
• The Wizard of Oz
• Schindler�s List -- based upon a non-fiction book, but a book, nonetheless.
• Psycho
• One Flew Over the Cuckoo�s Nest
• The Lord of the Rings -- all three movies/books.
• The Grapes of Wrath
• The Maltese Falcon
• Apocalypse Now -- based upon Conrad's Heart of Darkness
• To Kill a Mockingbird
• Doctor Zhivago -- well, it�s considered a classic, anyway. The movie *and* the book.
• A Clockwork Orange -- another excellent movie I hated which really captures the essence of the book upon which it is based, and which I also hated.
• Jaws
• Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs -- and all those other Disney classics, like Beauty and the Beast, The Little Mermaid, etc., etc., etc.
• All Quiet on the Western Front
• M*A*S*H -- I read the book, and I found the movie more enjoyable than the book by a wide margin.
• Catch-22 -- both movie and book were excellent.
• The Silence of the Lambs
• The Manchurian Candidate -- I haven�t seen the remake; I�m referring to the first movie version.
• Forrest Gump
• Wuthering Heights -- not my cup of tea, but a classic, nonetheless
• Frankenstein
• Goodfellas
• The Shawshank Redemption
• The Shining
• The Green Mile
• Stand By Me
• Blade Runner
• The Princess Bride
• All the President�s Men
• The Exorcist
• The Right Stuff

These are just a few of the movies listed on the AFI�s list of America�s 100 Greatest Movies and from the Internet Movie Database�s Top 250 best movies of all time. �But yeah,� you say, �Well, er, but those are all classics.�

Indeed.

Here are a few others that leap into mind:

• The first several James Bond movies -- I�ve read the books, and the movies are every bit as good. Later movies were not so much based upon the later books as they were based upon the evolving characters and situations, but still. The best of these was From Russia With Love, even though many people enjoy Goldfinger even more.
• The Bourne Identity and The Bourne Supremacy
• Jurassic Park -- I enjoyed the movie more than the book, but your mileage may vary. Both had their share of cheese, but damn fine entertainment, nonetheless.
• All of Michael Crichton�s other books/movies -- ditto
• Half of the movies based upon Stephen King stories are quite decent (the ones in the list above are, imho, excellent)
• Starship Troopers -- Sure, it made a completely different point from Robert A. Heinlein�s novel, but it was still fun.
• Total Recall
• Minority Report

But other than that, there aren�t any good movies based upon good books. Unless I�m missing a few. What do *you* think?

I've been suffering from insomnia again, so I put it to good use for a change last night and walked across the street to the movie theater after Alexander was put to bed and Paulette was doing some work for a client. The theater was sold out of tickets for the midnight showing of Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King, just as I had expected.

However, there was a guy at the window who was asking the cashier if there was any way they (the theater) could resell a ticket that the guy had bought but now couldn't use. What good luck! I told him I'd be happy to take it, so the guy told the cashier nevermind, I bought the ticket, and caught the first showing of this long-anticipated movie.

(I guess I told you all that so that you wouldn't think I'm a total geek, like the guy who had "stood in line" since 9am that morning so he could get the best seats. Sheesh.)

So, here's my preliminary review of the movie:

THIS MOVIE HAD MORE CRYING IN IT THAN FRIED GREEN TOMATOES!

THIS MOVIE HAD MORE TALKING IN IT THAN THE BRIDGES OF MADISON COUNTY!

THIS MOVIE IS SUCH A CHICK FLICK, THAT EVEN WHEN THERE'S ACTION, AND THE DRAGON'S HEAD IS CUT OFF, IT'S BY A CHICK!

I'll post a more detailed review later. If I feel like it. As this is a chick flick, I reserve the right to change my mind about it.

--Allan

PS: I say 'dragon' because I don't remember the name of those particular creatures. The pseudonymguls, or something.

PPS: I've never actually seen "Fried Green Tomatoes". But so what? You get my point.

PPPS: Oh, and I've heard it said that the Ditches of Madison County is a romance for males. I have only three words in reply: Sam and Frodo.

For the writing workshop I took a couple months ago, I was assigned to read the first book in the Harry Potter series. I read it. I liked it. Nothing great, but it was pretty good. Good enough for me to decide that I'd go ahead and read the others in the series when I had a chance.

Eventually, I got the chance, and I read book two. It was quite good. So I read book three. It was *wonderful*. So now I'm reading book four.

Book four is kinda funny in that, after I was 240 pages into it, the main conflict was just finally set into motion.

Don't get me wrong: the first 240 pages had a lot going on, and the writing was very smooth, and each scene and situation pulled me seamlessly to the next. But I was beginning to wonder when we were going to get to the meat of the matter, when it finally got set up in the mid 200's.

No biggie. I enjoyed the reading experience. But once the meat of the matter was introduced, the story began to absolutely sing. The author's storytelling just gets better and better.

My favorite aspect, both as a reader and as a writer who wants to improve his craft is the way the author handles plot reversals. I have mentioned elsewhere on this website (here, in fact) Connie Willis's lecture on plot devices from when I was at Clarion West, but I'll recap my interpretation of what she said on the subject:

In a "reversal", the plot or action suddenly veers off in another direction from what was expected. The reversal can be good *or* bad. It doesn't always have to be bad. A really good reversal changes the goals/questions for the characters involved.

In Harry Potter Book Four, the reversals frequently change the goals for the characters, and they are very, very well done. I'm impressed, also, with the way the author raises the stakes each time.

But that said, the author also introduced an interesting plot problem (for me) in the form of a universal get out of jail free card.

I'm about to comment on a few specific plot points in the novel. If you don't want to read about them (ie, if you haven't read the novel and don't want to spoil it for when you finally get around to reading), then don't read the rest of today's entry.

SPOILERS and a rant:

Another installment in my gingiva graft saga! A movie review! Existential angst! Haircuts! All this, and more, in one essay! The mind reels!

In case you haven't been following the my gum surgery story, or in case you'd like a refresher course on where we are, here is a brief summation of what has gone before:

• Around Christmas time, a recession in my gum line (lower jaw) split open, leaving two flaps of gum material just sorta hanging out at the base of one of my lower teeth. Icky.
• Saw a periodontist, who recommended a gingiva graft: take gum material from roof of mouth, insert into exposed area, and sew it all up.
• Had the procedure, but some of the gum material escaped, so I...
• Had a second procedure, in which the remaining transplanted gum material was more securely fastened. Alas, this didn't quite heal right, so I...
• Had a third procedure, in which other gum material (from upper side) was transplanted to the base of the previously exposed tooth, to act as a barrier to further decrepitude.

That third procedure was due to happen about a month ago, as I mentioned in a previous essay. Sure enough, I went in and the procedure itself went as perfectly as it can go -- just like the other two had -- but there was something very unsettling that I happened to notice as they were showing me the work after it was done.

[By the way, my stories about my gum surgery might be considered a little graphic by my readers who are a little squeamish... you have been warned.]

There was nothing wrong with the work they did. What was unsettling was that my mouth didn't look like my mouth anymore. Specifically, it was my lower lip. Most folks have some vertical tissue that connects their lower lip to their lower gums. I'm sure this has a name, but I haven't a clue as to what it is. Some people have two strands of tissue, others have one. It's funny, the things you notice after you've had gum surgery.

Anyway, I had one strand of tissue that rose up in the middle of my lip, rather high, connecting to my lower gums. Because there was a lot of tension on my lower gums (they were very tight), the periodontist kept cutting back that connective tissue, lowering it with each procedure. By the end of this third procedure, the connective tissue was so low as to be not even visible to a casual inspection of my lower mouth.

So here I am, looking into a mirror at my lower mouth, and the gum work is picture perfect. A fine looking set of gums on these ol' choppers. But it's not my mouth! That one little change -- the apparently missing connective tissue -- completely messed with my concept of what I should expect when I look into a mirror at my mouth.

This was not the first time this spring I'd looked into the mirror and seen someone else.

A couple months earlier, I'd gone in to have my hair cut. This was the second time I'd seen this particular stylist, and so we had to talk about kids and all that obligatory introductory stuff that you have to talk about when you and your hair stylist are getting to know each other. She was washing my hair (prelude to a cut) when I told her that I had a son at home, and she asked what color his hair was.

"Blond," I said. "Like mine."

"What do you mean, 'Like yours?'"

"What do you mean, 'What do I mean?'"

"You're not blond."

Well, my hair was wet, so certainly it must have been darker than when it's dry, but when I sat down in the chair for my haircut, I noticed that, well... my hair was brown. She cut my hair, and it continued to dry. It stayed brown. I got home, and looked in the mirror. Nice haircut. Brown hair.

Ahhhhhhhhh!

Now, the area where I live happens to enjoy rather short days during the fall and winter (and early spring). Shorter days than anywhere else in the US, except for Alaska. Plus, the area where I live tends to be overcast for much of the winter, which is the rainy season. (Winter forecast: drizzle, 45 degrees. Every day. Summer forecast: partly sunny, 75 degrees. Every day.) Like many blonds, my hair tends to get lighter with exposure to sunlight; darker without.

Okay, okay, but this was ridiculous. My blonditude was in doubt, which meant my entire self-concept was in doubt. Who am I? Hair color isn't just about hair color. It's about identity. You identify people by their appearance, and that includes hair. How long their hair is, how it is styled, whether it's curly or straight... and what color it is. I began to understand why there is such a big money industry surrounding hair-loss products for men and hair styling products in general. When we look in the mirror, we want to see ourselves looking back. That, or we want to see a *better* ourselves looking back. This is why some people dye their hair, because doing so changes their identity to something they'd prefer. This is why they fight baldness, because they want to retain the identity they've grown accustomed to.

When my hair-line receded at the temples ("widows peaks" is the term for this kind of AWOL hair, but I don't know why), it didn't bother me all that much because it had happened gradually, and it was minor. I still had hair and, hey, I was still a blond.

I have an uncle who is a cop. One week, while his wife was out of town, he and his fellow cops did what cops whose wives are out of town are wont to do: they got drunk, and they shaved their heads. My uncle used to have (thinning) red hair. Very Irish. When he shaved his head, he looked, well, like a cop. A tough cop.

Then his wife came home. For the sake of this story, let us say that she was not amused. He let his hair grow back. It grew back brown. No kidding.

(For the record, let me state that I have considered the "shaving your head to change your image" idea, but it wouldn't work for me. There is a photo of me after a skiing session where I'd worked up a sweat, and my hair was all matted down so as to make me look bald. I looked like Uncle Fester, of the Addams Family. Not the image I'd want to adopt. [shudder])

So. Throughout the months of March and April, I felt my identity slipping away. I wasn't a blond anymore. Who was this stranger looking back at me in the mirror? I don't know. Somebody with brown hair. Maybe, like my uncle, the change was permanent. For my birthday, Paulette got me a card in which she had written, "You'll always be blond to me." I'm not sure if I was supposed to find that reassuring.

I've gained a few pounds over the years. Let me rephrase that. Every year since college, I've gained a few pounds. I graduated 13 years ago. A few pounds every year means... oh, brother.

And now, the inside of my mouth is completely different from what I'd become accustomed to over the last twenty years or so. Who the hell is this fat, brown-haired guy with the unfamiliar gums?

If you've read about my first two gum surgery experiences, you know that it's important to take some time off and relax just after you've had the procedure. For me, this means staying away from home, since Paulette and I work from home, and the kid is an added distraction (and he *is* work). So after my third procedure, I went to see a movie and sipped on a big gulp of Sprite. Tried to forget about my mouth for a little while. What movie did I go see?

Identity.

In the movie, ten people are stranded at a hotel during a rainstorm. The roads are out, the phones are out, and one by one, people start dying. At the same time, a convicted killer is being considered for clemency by the men who put him away. The movie aspires to be Hitchcockian, and it comes close. The acting is superb, and the direction is well done. There are some very nice touches, especially surrounding how the two stories relate to each other (for example, the weather in one story line is always the same as the other story line, which is a very nice detail). Both stories are self-contained and interrelated at the same time. This is part of what makes the movie work, but it is also part of why the movie didn't quite realize its aspirations for me. I'll explain why below, so that you can skip that part if you don't want to see spoilers about the movie.

The key to the movie, to nobody's surprise, is the title. The movie isn't just about the identity of the killer, it's about the killer's Identity writ large. It's about *each* character's identity. Anyone who has seen the Twilight Zone as many times as I have will figure out the mystery before the movie reveals it, but that doesn't detract from the mystery as it unfolds.

As distractions from physical discomfort go, this film was a fine way to spend the first couple hours of recuperation from my most recent gum surgery. But spending a couple of hours in the Twilight Zone of someone else's imagination did nothing to rescue me from my own private Twilight Zone.

It's a big ol' world, and there are a lot of nasty things going on. Just a couple days ago, NBC News showed me, during the dinner hour, a man in Louisiana getting shot fifteen times by police. The guy f'ing *died* right in front of me while Tom Brokow blathered on about the investigation. In the grand scheme of things, changes in hair color or how my lip is attached to my gums is hardly Earth-shattering. I'm fortunate enough to be in a position where I can afford the luxury of a minor identity crisis.

Which is all by way of saying, the shock of seeing a different mouth in the mirror has worn off. It's still weird, but not shocking. I'm more sensitive than ever to my hair color (strange, but true), but as the days have been getting longer (longer than anywhere else in the US, outside of Alaska) and I've been taking Alexander on daily strolls through the neighborhood, I see encouraging signs that my blondness is returning. Whew.

Trivial concerns? Absolutely. But that doesn't make them any less real. I'm surprised that I would even react this way to things as minor as these cosmetic changes. But as I mentioned earlier, an entire industry is doing booming business because of these very concerns. Even you, dear reader, have been concerned about your appearance once or twice in your life. Before this little episode, though, I hadn't been so overtly aware of how much I have invested in my appearance, sloppy though it has always been. That investment includes a piece of my very identity.

In connection with one of my new writing projects, I have decided to dissect the structure of a couple of Stephen King novels. The project I'm working on is not horror, but my goal is to approach the structure of this new novel differently from the way I pursued the novel-formerly-known-as-The-Do-Over.

In the course of re-reading The Shining, I decided to rent the television mini-series version that King scripted a few years ago. While watching it, I was struck by how similar it was to Rose Red, that nasty mini-series (also scripted by King) in which I was a backgrounder.

Similarities:
* Well, they're haunted houses. Duh.
* The ghostly inhabitants desire the psychic powers of a young (alive) prodigy who is a guest there.
* The ghostly inhabitants pursue the young prodigy by attempting to get one of the other living occupants to go crazy and kill same.
* The living inhabitants all know that staying there is a bad idea, but are convinced by the crazy one that they should stay.
* When Glenn Miller is played, Very Bad Things happen.

There were many, many other similarities. But there were some key differences, too. For example, the third act in the Shining miniseries was actually well made and surprisingly scary. The horror arose from the brutality committed by a person, not the building or its ghostly inhabitants. It was scary because the director finally stopped showing parlor tricks (oooh, the chandelier moved, spooooky) and started showing real terror (Wendy finds that Jack is no longer locked in the pantry). The Shining also worked because, in the end, you can see that Jack is struggling to try to redeem himself. Rose Red had no such personal stakes. It's brutality was based in nothing real. It was all parlor tricks, from beginning to end.

For what it's worth, I still prefer the Stanley Kubrick version of The Shining to King's own interpretation of his novel, but let's leave that for another day. Suffice it to say that as bad as the first two acts were, the third installment of the mini-series was profoundly good.

After having viewed this remake of King's story, I chatted with Paulette about Rose Red and The Shining. She pointed out that one was a hotel, and the other a house. "But," I noted, "Rose Red was a very big house."

"Of course," she said. "Nobody's going to be scared by a haunted cottage."

This led us to talk about the diminishing returns on haunted log cabins. And haunted outhouses. ("Well, that one might keep you on the edge of your seat, I suppose.")

Hmmm. Maybe there's a short story in that. Couldn't sustain a novel, of course, because there's only one act in an outhouse. Well, two. But I digress.

In summary: horror may be most effective when the personal stakes are high. Horror can also result from really, really bad puns.

On the morning of Friday the 13th, I had the pleasure of undergoing some rather urgent oral surgery. I'll spare you the gruesome the details, other than to say it was a "gum graft" to transplant some of the gum material from my upper palette to the front of my lower jaw where my gums had sustained a nasty injury.

Now, I say I had "the pleasure" of having this surgery done because, quite frankly, I'm glad I had the opportunity to have it done. Dental surgery is much less unpleasant these days than it was when I was younger, and I consider myself fortunate to have this sudden problem addressed with such a quick and relatively painless procedure. Perhaps its the echoes of Thanksgiving Day still rolling around in my head, but I'm not taking such things for granted.

While the procedure itself was relatively painless, the recovery is a bit uncomfortable. Talking is uncomfortable (and if you know me, you know what a drag that must be), and eating is even more so. The periodontist prescribed sleep, milk shakes to wash down the pain medication, and restful activity for a day or two while I get over the worst of it. "Watch a movie at home," she said. "Definitely don't go to work if you can at all avoid it."

Well, I work from home. And as it so happens, I had a major deadline for one of my projects on Friday. While I found it necessary to avoid talking on the phone on Friday (as a part of my job), other work still had to be attended to. So, other than the prescribed milkshake and meds, plus a soft dinner (pasta in creme sauce), I didn't really follow doctor's orders. I worked long hours, got to bed by around 1 in the morning, and then got up at 5 in the morning in order to prepare for an annual meeting that I very much wanted to be a part of.

There is a short list of what I am advised to eat while I'm recovering, and three of the eight listed items are ice cream. I'm not kidding. Here's the menu:

1) Broth and soup
2) Baby foods (no thank you!)
3) Milk Shakes (ice cream number one)
4) Custards (ice cream number two)
5) Eggs
6) Ice Cream (ahem)
7) Chopped or ground meats (how finely chopped?)
8) Puddings

I was also told that overcooked pasta might work out well, but that I should also eat sauces or soups lukewarm for the first couple days, as warmer foods would expand the blood vessels, which could lead to bleeding, yadda, yadda, yadda.

The doctor says I must eat. "Maintaining an adequate diet after surgery is essential," says my little instruction booklet they gave me. After a couple of days, I'll start reintroducing real food. In the meantime, though, ice cream can get a little boring after a while.

After my meeting this morning (which lasted until two in the afternoon, or so), I finally had a chance to rest. I was to meet Paulette and Alexander at the home of friends, but I wasn't up to it. I napped. I ate lukewarm soup. And then, finally, I followed the other advice of my periodontist and went to see a movie.

The cool thing about getting lost in a film is that it's possible to forget one's physical ailments. In this case, I even managed to stop constantly feeling for the stitches in my mouth with my tongue.

The movie I went to see was Die Another Day.

It had possibly the darkest montage at the beginning of any James Bond film. In fact, it was thematically about as dark as any Bond film has ever managed. There were some cool stunts, and the absolute best fight sequences were the fencing scenes throughout the movie. One of the babes in the film ("Mirand Frost") was perfectly cast, and the other ("Jinx") was a decent choice, as well. The plot was the most outlandish we've seen since Brosnon took over the series, and many of the special effects were downright awful. Bond's escape from the glacier looked more fake than footage from a video game would have. But the fight scenes were fun, as I mentioned, and there were unusually nice touches with the permanent cast (Q, Moneypenny, M).

How's this for outrageous: North Korea has enough money to develop a super weapon that nobody in the West suspects. A weapon that works flawlessly the first time. Oh, and the bad North Koreans drive cars that are as well equipped as Bond's. It's hard enough to imagine that Britain still has any sort of real espionage capabilities as it is, let alone trying to imagine North Korea as a military superpower.

Having had a nap, some food, and a distracting movie, I'm feeling much better. It was just what the doctor ordered.

(Some mild spoilers below.)

I don't get to go out to see movies as often these days as I'd like, but I did somehow manage to get out to see "Harry and the Chamber Pot of Secrets" a couple of days ago.

I've never read the books, but I'm beginning to feel like I should. Soon. The story is decent enough: the standard good versus evil tale with lots of fairy tale imagery (step-parents are bad, natural parents are good) and appropriate PC morality (prejudice is bad, tolerance is good, etc.). The evil wizard Valdemort (sp?) is a suitably racist, fascist thug who seeks to destroy the fabric of the world order (in this case, the school where the story is set). The hero, Parry Hotter, must break all of the rules and risk the lives of his friends in order to keep things right.

As is true in most fairy tales, as well as in the world in which we live, Potter's results are rewarded and the illicit means of his success are disregarded. That the ends justify the means is generally understood both to parents and children alike, even though we'd like to pretend otherwise. But it did surprise me a little just how boldly this theme was played in the movie.

"Harry Potter, you have broken countless school rules and jeopardized the lives of your friends," says the headmaster, "but since we agree with your results, we shall overlook your transgressions." Okay, I'm paraphrasing. But not by much.

Sometimes fairy tales reflect reality more closely than people give them credit for doing. Change the school from a "wizards' academy" to an NCAA athletic program, and you'll be hard pressed to see any difference at all between the fairy tale and reality.

What did disturb me, however, was an image that seemed to not be noticed by other friends of mine who'd seen the movie. In order for Harry to defeat the villain, he must DESTROY A BOOK! With the exception of this scene in the movie, Valdemort is very clearly an analogy to Hitler... even down to the idea that he is of "mixed blood" while he defends the idea that only pure-bloods should be allowed to live. And yet, it is Harry who literally destroys a book in order to silence Valdemort. The evil Valdemort even notes something along the lines of, "See how much trouble a book can be, especially when in the hands of certain girls?" Ack! Not only are some books *evil,* but particularly in the hands of *girls!* It is after Valdemort makes this pronouncement that Harry desecrates (any relation to Socrates?) the book, and we learn that Valdemort was right: the book was dangerous.

Yes, some books are dangerous -- some *ideas* are dangerous -- and the debate over whether some books should be banned (whether Mein Kampf or the Harry Potter books themselves) remains alive and well. I am not among those who favor book banning. Given Hitler's own penchant for book burning, I found this particular imagery in the movie disturbing.

Some have suggested that the imagery is there to make a point about the calls for banning the Harry Potter books. If so -- and this is entirely plausible -- I'm sure the connections won't be lost on many of today's young viewers. Nonetheless, I tend to favor heros who find other ways to destroy villains.

To give the movie credit, though, it is exactly this kind of solution that is both morally ambiguous and, as with the ends justifying the means, a reasonably accurate reflection of the real world, even if it is a disturbing one. As such, this second installment in the Harry Potter movie franchise is about as strong a tale as one is likely to find, for children or for adults.

Many people I know spend a great deal of time lamenting the deterioration of our society. The news has shifted from reporting to opining and entertaining. Politicians are sleazier and sleazier. Crime is up. Education is down. And our popular culture is dumbing America noticeably.

As one who was trained as an historian, I often find it necessary to point out that these things come and go in cycles. That the so called "news" today may be bad, but the same kind of scandal-centric infotainment was all the rage back when Hearst's papers inspired the term "yellow journalism." That Clinton was hardly the first President to be accused of inappropriate liaisons while residing in the White House... nor the first to be re-elected with that reputation. That crime is always going up... and down... and up... and down. That Johnny, by and large, can read. That our pop culture is just as varied in its quality today as it ever has been... but that the good selections from the past have survived in our memories while the inane selections have been conveniently forgotten.

I stand by these observations. By and large, the world is a better place today than it was ten, twenty, fifty, a hundred, a thousand years ago. A hundred years ago, the average life span in America was what, forty-eight years old? It's now in the seventies. Sure, AIDS is bad and cancer worse, but so were polio and TB and smallpox back in the days of our grandparents and great-grandparents. The world political situation is a bit edgy these days (is that a gross understatement?), but do you remember the cold war and fears of nuclear armageddon a not-too-distant decade-and-a-half ago? Not so long ago, we were taught to "duck and cover" because we lived in a world gone mad. The world may not be sane right now, but my point is that not all things are always getting worse. We simply don't always acknowledge to ourselves where things have gotten better or are getting better.

Still, every once in a while, I find something to remind me that in some respects, we are in a "trough" for various quality cycles. Take television writing, and sitcoms in particular. Sure, there have always been bad shows and good shows, relatively speaking. But the writing for the past ten years has been arguably awful, and there's little sign of improvement (for now).

I want to take a moment here to talk about the Dick Van Dyke Show.

What is the best written sitcom today? I'm going to go with "Frasier." Formulaic, certainly, just like any sitcom must be. But, there's a lot of cleverness that manages to come through even within the constraints of the formula. Do you think there's better writing in a sitcom today? Please comment below, as I'd love to know.

During a recent trip along the West Coast, my family and I were staying at a hotel and we chanced to watch some television one night. We don't have a television feed at home (long story), and haven't had one for about three years. There is something very liberating about not having television at home. Something isolating, as well. So, for the first time in a while, we surfed through what cable had to offer, and found the Dick Van Dyke Show on Nick at Night.

The episode involved a golf outing where Rob (Dick Van Dyke) encountered a fellow who used to date Rob's wife Mary (Mary Tyler Moore) back in college. Unbeknownst to Rob, the fellow is now a priest. The priest doesn't realize that the Mary he talks about is the Mary who is married to Rob. As the episode unfolds, Rob confronts Mary about the priest (neither one knows that he's a priest, remember), Mary invites the priest over for dinner, Rob invites his female officemate to dinner as a blind date for the priest, and much hilarity ensues.

This is sitcom plot number five. There are only seven, I'm told. This plot is the comedy of insufficient information and incorrect assumptions.

I was expecting the withheld information (the priest's identity, Mary's identity, et al) to be kept from the participants for the duration of the episode, which is a common ploy these days. But instead, the characters figured out the errors of their respective ways pretty quickly, which was both MUCH more believable and MUCH more funny. Everyone copped to their various mistakes, and moved forward while still providing a great deal of laughs at a ridiculous-but-plausible situation. The writing was positively brilliant.

The episode then threw me for another loop in the epilogue, when Mary brings out an old shoebox of letters and poems that the priest had written her back in college. She reads Rob a sonnet. Here I was expecting the sonnet to be particularly bad or humorous. Instead, it was... beautiful. Touching. A completely non-funny, totally romantic love poem. And Mary makes a very interesting observation about the sonnet that is also not funny, but appropriate. The result? A sitcom episode that was both hilarious and deep. It was moving as well as entertaining.

And this was a typical episode of the Dick Van Dyke Show. This wasn't a "Very Special Episode, in which Rob Discovers He Has the Disease of the Week." While Frasier (or the sitcom of your choice) may have writing that is above average for today's television drivel, the characters are all caricatures. They react neither the way we would react, ourselves, nor the way we would hope we would react. As a result, they don't engage us. Without engagement, there is no tension. Without tension, the humor is forced.

(Why do I hear the voice of Yoda in the back of my head just now, saying "pain leads to anger, anger leads to hate, hate leads to suffering, suffering leads to pain, pain leads to codependency," etc., etc.?)

I do not subscribe to the philosophy that everything is getting worse all the time. Nor will I go so far as to say that television writing is on a one-way slide into oblivion. Except when it comes to Saturday Night Live. Nonetheless, I think television humor has become substantially less sophisticated in recent years. "Edgy" or "cynical" is not the same as sophisticated.

One thing about being in the trough, though... things will get better. Someday soon, this may even be said of the Great American Sitcom.

Wayback (not "way back," but "wayback") when I was in college, a good friend and I enjoyed watching a television show called The Wonder Years, which focused on the coming-of-age of a fellow named Kevin and his friends and family during the 1960's. The story was told like one big flashback, narrated by actor Daniel Stern as the adult Kevin, even though we only saw the young Kevin (played by Fred Savage) on screen.

My friend pointed out on some rainy Tuesday many years after we'd started watching this show that every single episode seemed to involve the narrator saying something along the lines of, "I knew then that things would never be the same."

Kevin kissed his girlfriend Winnie for the first time, and he "knew then that things would never be the same." Winnie's brother was killed in Vietnam, and Kevin "knew then that things would never be the same." Kevin played hookey from Coach Cutlip's gym class, and he "knew then that things would never...."

Well, you get the picture.

It was sort of a funny formula, the kind that drinking games are made of. "Next time Kevin says he knew then that things would never be the same, everyone drinks a shot." Whatever. Despite this predictability, the show was fun to watch. Even as I type this, I realize that there may even be a little bit of "Wonder Years" that was lurking in the back of my mind as I began exploring the good and the bad of 1980's Buffalo in my recently completed novel.

But that's not why I bring this all up.

It seems that most days with Alexander are producing in me the same kind of "and I knew then that things would never be the same" response that seemed to fill up the ficitional Kevin's life. Ferinstance, Alexander (three and a half months old at this point) completely rolled over from lying on his back to resting on his tummy all by himself yesterday. More than once. After rolling over, he started trying to crawl. He moved around a bit, but didn't quite manage