For Your Consideration...

In my dream, I’m sitting on center stage of Madison Square Garden with my laptop open. In front and below me are James Lipton, Sean Connery, Herb Brooks and myself. The four of them are leaned forward in their seats. Above me, the jumbotron is displaying everything I write. On stage with me are Vincent Cassel and the Dallas Cowboys Cheerleaders. After a quick dance number by the girls, Cassel approaches me. 

“And…” he raised his hand before pointing at me. “Go!”

I sat there, fingers hovering over the keys. I typed one paragraph. I can hear murmurs in the audience. I keep telling myself to just get the thoughts down, and it’s a struggle to avoid looking at the masses of people. I glance up and see people eating popcorn, wearing T-shirts with my name on them. What starts out with fantastic applause slowly becomes silence with each additional paragraph. I’m losing my audience. I can feel heat fluster in my cheeks and I pause, looking at the judges. 

Lipton tilts his head down and peers over his glasses at me. “A decent effort. How do you feel about it?” he asks me. The crowd grows silent. 

I re-read my words. “I like it. I feel I expressed myself well.” I respond, my voice echoing through the Garden. 

“You feel you’ve expressed yourself well.” Lipton glances around at the audience briefly and sighs. “I’m glad you at least feel that way. Please, continue.”

I pause and glance over my shoulder. I see Cassel staring up at the jumbotron and then back at me with a look of disgust. I type a few more sentences and smile at what I come up with only to find Cassel tapping my Delete key repeatedly.

“No! No! No! No!! These are empty words, you are better than this! Where’s your passion?! If you don’t feel it, your audience won’t feel it. Attack it! Attack it!” he says, and I half expect his finger to actually go through my  laptop’s keyboard, he’s pressing it so hard. 

I glare up at him. “I am!” I growl back and go back to typing. Cassel leans forward and shakes his head. “If you put as much fire in your words as you did that response, they…” he gestured to the audience. “..would know you.”

“Punch the keys, dammit!!!” I hear Connery over his microphone. 

“Again!!” Herb Brooks shouts, blowing a whistle afterward. 

The crowd begins to boo. 

“My grandmother writes better than that, dude!!” one person yells out. “And she’s dead!!”

I take a breath and continue writing. What starts out as a flow becomes a pause and delete session. After about a minute, the horn whistles. The lights go up and I catch sight of the audience as they start leaving to get snacks and use the restroom. The judges stood and went their separate ways. The jumbotron clock began to count down 15 minutes. 

"You are wasting my time." Cassel said and stormed off, arms clutched around the cheerleaders as they went behind the curtain

Rising from my seat, I make my way to the bathroom. I fill the sink with cold water and dunk my head in it. Underwater, sounds are muffled, distorted. I find that it relaxes me and grab some towels to dry my face afterward. 

“You’re getting in your own way, you know.” I hear Angie say. Glancing over my shoulder, I see her and J. standing by the doorway of the bathroom. I chuckle, shake my head and step out, hugging them both.

“I don’t know.” I respond, walking past them and towards the stage. They keep pace with me, both to my right. 

“Maybe you need to stop worrying about the audience and just concentrate on what you want to hear, the stories you want to see, even if it’s weird and even if you’re the only one who gets it. It's your unique voice.” Angie said. 

“No spiders.” J. Said, looking around. 

“What?” I stop, looking at him. 

“I just noticed. Where are all the spiders you dream of?” he said. We all looked down both ends of the hallway. No spiders of any kind, just people heading back to their seats. 

“I..” I paused. I couldn’t find an answer to that. 

“Maybe you’ve found something you fear more.” Angie replied, stepping away with J. and smiling. “That’s your Yellow, Green Lantern. You have to find your way around that. The right words will come. We have to head back. Good Luck!” she said, clutching J’s hand. He lowered his Steelers’ cap in a nod and with a grin, they evaporated into blue mist. 

“Damn. I have to learn that.” I muttered, grasping the doorknob. I am afraid of this, so strange. I could hear the applause on the other side of the door. Biting my lip, I took a breath and turned it, pushing the door open. 

And that’s when I woke up. 

 

Ugh, Boston and Vancouver. Who would have thought this would be the final matchup? I know I didn't, but this could be a good thing. 

The Vancouver Canucks are in the Stanley Cup Finals, and as much as I want the Boston Bruins to sweep them, a Vancouver capture of the cup could finally put to rest everything the New York Rangers hold dear about 1994. Having had time to think about the impact, I’m not sure if that’s a bad thing anymore. It could very well be their time. 

Yes, I know, it’s pretty much Rangers Policy to piss on anything Canucks when the Playoffs are concerned, but look at it from this perspective: 

Every season, the Powers That Be seem fit to roll out those same videos from ’94. Matteau’s big shot. The last goal of the final game (the one that’ll last a lifetime - and is, currently). Messier shaking the Cup with such a huge smile on is face. These are all great memories, wonderful ones, but they’re also old memories. Granted, things aren’t as bad as Toronto, who haven’t won since the 60’s, but one can only go on viewing those old victories for so long before the question comes up on What’s been done lately.  

The 1994 Stanley Cup win has been milked as much as it ever could. We raised the jerseys for nearly every major player on that team. The videos themselves are aged and fading. Again, yes, they’re important, but it’s been about 17 years. I do think we’re due for another Cup win. 

A Canuck win would practically nullify the 1994 win - in terms of smack talk or feeling like we did something incredibly awesome. The Cup hasn’t been won by a Canadian team since the Rangers acquired it, and Vancouver’s never won the Cup in all their 40 years. This makes them the Underdogs. And as bad as the results would be, having all of Canada laugh in New York’s collective face, it might be worth it if the Rangers are on fire the following season. 

One can hope, anyway. 

 

Sitting at the kitchen table, my breaths came in ragged gasps. Inhaling was a spurt, the equivalent of the quick gasp onetakes when they’re suddenly frightened. The exhale was long and slow, like trying to empty one’s lungs of every bit of air they had. Multiply this action repeatedly, and what you have is a failure to breathe. Maybe it was the pollen in the air, or that Southern Oregon’s typical elevation is a thousand feet above sea level.

Not being able to breathe is like having to go to the bathroom. You simply can’t pay attention to anything else but the next inhale. “Air In, Air Out” becomes the running thought, loud and clear.

If the conditions are right, my lungs will seal up like a drum. When I was a kid, I used one of those little orange and yellow prescribed inhalers because it happened all of the time. Living with parents who chained smoked always left something hanging in the air to choke on. Nowadays, I only really need it if the air is wacky. That can be once or twice in a given year. The only problem is that if you don’t have one prescribed to you, you have to work with one of the OTC inhalers, and those things can slowly damage the heart if you’re not careful. 

“Excuse me…” I paused, feeling lightheaded as I rose..”I’m going to get some air.” I grabbed my graphic novels and headed out the front door and took a walk to the front gate of the house. To keep my mind off my breathing, I tried to look around at the trees and mountains. Oregon has some interesting redwoods, things you really don’t see back in New York. 

I took one long inhale, smelling how fresh everything was here, and suddenly went back to the rapid breathing. Glancing to my right, I could see a small bench. Making my way to it, I took a seat and looked at the cover of my comic. It was half a pale face with a mouth covered in blood. Opening it, I started reading for about a minute before putting it back down. 

It was then I saw him approach, The Guardian of the Watchtower. 

He was a small and yellow cat, but from the way he sat and looked up at you, he felt like a old soul that sized you up with their gaze. If Pei Mei from Kill Bill was a cat, maybe he would look like this. He was the one cat that never really came inside the house (unless it was cold, of course). His job - which I’m sure he appointed to himself - was to walk the grounds of the house to make sure that no raccoons or possum got into the property. He was known to stand up to dogs twice his size, and rarely bowed down to anyone. It was a duty he performed regularly with honor, all year round. 

“Hi Milo.”, I whispered on the inhales. 

In response, he approached the bench and stared at the seat longer than other cats would. As the oldest cat in the family here, he always seemed to take his time with things. Crouching low, he sprang up to the seat and tilted his head. 

“I can’t right now, Milo…”I shook my head as he walked over my legs and laid down in my lap…”I really…Okay.”, I began petting him. From head to tail, my hand brushed along his back. I don’t know if cats can actually smile, but from the closing of his eyes and lifting of his head, he seemed content. Looking at my hand, I could see the cat hair on it. Smiling, I shook it off and continued with the petting. What I found was that in each movement, I was able to match my breathing with it. In about five minutes, I was breathing regularly again. He must have sensed this, because he started to sit up. 

“Thank you, old friend.” I said. Climbing up on his hind legs, he rubbed his nose in my face. Milo had a tendency to drool, his face was always kind of wet. 

“Uh, gross!!”I raised my non petting hand between his face and mine, rubbing my face clean. “Not the ‘You’re welcome’ I wanted.” 

I was able to set him down and we went our separate ways. I walked him walk, tail held high. There was evil about, and he had a job to do. I was eventually able to pick up an inhaler that day, but held out better up until that point, thanks to him. 

And that’s who Milo was. There when you needed him, and there even at times where you didn’t think you did. On each visit, we’d have either some time on the bench or on Angie’s Deck (which I referred to by myself as the Watchtower because of how high up in the air you are when you’re out there). In later years, you could see the age taking it’s toll. He took a little more time getting up the stairs to the deck, but if you left your lap free, he’d leap into it. He was among the best of my animal friends. 

Even better, he was part of my Ohana, my family. 

The incident with the inhaler seems so long ago now. 

Today, I received a tearful HeyTell message from Angie who informed me that after nearly 17 years of faithful service of being the Guardian of the Watchtower, fate had called upon him to retire his ninth and final life. I called her back instantly. She relayed to me that the winter, harsh as this last one was, was too much for him despite being able to hang indoors with the other warm, furry members of the family. 

And as I tearfully write this, Milo will be remembered by those who loved him dearly, both furry and human. I am certain that even his enemies will forgo fighting and foraging for a few days out of the sheer respect he commanded. Although the Watchtower does have others to watch its grounds, they will undoubtedly have some big pawprints to fill. 

I Love and Miss you, Milo. 

 

The phone rings, an unfamiliar number. 

I stare at my iPhone, unsure of who it is, and don’t pick up. It stops after a while, and rings again a few minutes later. I make a roll call of who would have my number and who would call me so late at night. Nothing fits the bill. 

The phone finally stops. A few days later, it rings again, the same number. 

Again, I don’t pick up. I check my voicemail greeting. Yep, I’m still telling people to leave me a message, and I’ll call them back. No messages are left, so I assume it’s just a wrong number. 

 

Days go by. Off and on, the same call comes through. For the past two weeks, I’ve had this number show up on my phone and by the following Friday, I’m ready to add the number to one of those national spam lists. 

I’m in bed, watching T.V. When the phone goes off again. I pick up my iPhone, look at it, shake my head and set it back down. Five rings go off and it finally stops. Only this time, there’s the Voicemail chirp. Picking the phone back up, I consider deleting the voicemail before my curiosity gets the better of me and I hit “Play”:

“Hey brother. It’s me.” A recognizable laugh. “I forgot that you might not have this number stored in memory, so you may not know I’m calling. I’m leaving a message. Call me back when you can.” 

“Dammit.”, I whisper. I rub my face and shake my head. It’s not the fact that I didn’t recognize my brother was calling me. It’s his understanding that I would’ve never picked up the line, otherwise. My close friends and family recognize I have this thing with Distance. In my mind, I leave everyone to their own devices, because it’s possible that they just need time to themselves. If I don’t hear from a person, the assumption is that they’re living their lives, and there’s nothing wrong with that. If they need me for anything, I’m not very far away. To many people, this comes across as being uninterested in them, being snooty or simply not caring. One of my closest friends once told me that I was one of the most alone persons they’d ever met. I’m still trying to figure out what that exactly means, but perhaps there’s some truth there. I’ve lost more friendships than I’ve gained to the distance I keep, and the ones who have stayed behind have done so out of what I can only imagine to be an incredible amount of patience and/or love. I’ve had weeks go by between hearing from me, and I’m thankful that we’re (usually) able to pick up where we left off when we do reconnect. 

It also speaks to the sense of how introverted my family is on a whole. We’ve all gone off in our own directions, and if it weren’t for the occasional phone call or that some of us are on Facebook, I doubt there’d be any kind of communication between us, really. My younger sister is the family conduit for all of us. With two daughters, she makes sure she can keep tabs on my little brother and I wherever we may go. 

I call him right back, and we spend the next hour or so talking about all of the time in between. I find myself genuinely missing the sound of his voice on hearing it. We hadn’t seen or spoke to one another in about 6 months, and I only found him now because I asked my sister where he was when she phoned me out of the blue. She reached out to him, and then he called me. By the end of the call, we’ve gone through a lot of laughs, and I’m happy to have talked with him. I have to remind myself to reach out to him again and add his new number to the contact I already have.

 

Forgive the format of this. I’ve been writing and watching movies at the same time. This may seem a little unpolished.

I can’t recall when I started following Kevin Carr on Twitter. I think I was following a few celebrities and  he may have been part of a Follow Friday (where you showcase/recommend the people you follow on Twitter to others). What I do recall is that on the weekends, he’d watch a movie and while it played, he’d talk about it. It was kind of a Mystery Science Theatre on the net, live. I followed a bunch of them and laughed along with films I remembered from memory. It was interesting to see how others reacted to the films I grew up with. 

I love movies. I’m not terribly good with processing large amounts of data at once, but my mind is full of movie related info that others just consider nonsense. I stop and read the credits information on movie posters, looking for names I recognize from other places, and have done so since I could remember.  I love the behind the scenes pieces on DVDs, missed them when DVD’s stopped having them, and happily found them again when started getting Blu-Ray’s on DVD. My parents let me buy the score for Return of the Jedi when I was 9 on Vinyl, and most of my music collection is made up of movie music. 

So when Kevin mentioned that his weekend movie - or Live-Tweet - coming up was James Cameron’s Aliens, my eyes went wide. Add to the fact that anyone could jump into the Tweetstream, I thought that was my opening. I mean, I saw the film in the theatre twice, owned it on VHS, Laserdisc, and DVD, and even read magazines when the movie came out about how Cameron and Winston came up with the Alien Queen and named her Regina. Who else in the world would know more about that movie than me, right?!

Locating my Aliens DVD, I asked Kevin if I could join in, to which he said I could (it’s open door), and got ready for the Tweet by 10:50 with: 

- A pint of Haagen Daaz Cookies and Cream ice cream (for the nervousness in talking around people who actually are in the entertainment industry. 

- And a small bottle of Root Beer to go with the Ice Cream. 

- A promise not to talk too much. Most people who know me know that once we start talking about movies, the conversation could go on forever. 

By 11pm, I saw Kevin’s “Pressing Play” alert and quickly started my DVD, and started typing anything I could recall about what I was seeing. I found myself having to pause, because at one point, it almost felt like I was the only writing anything. Oh Crap, I thought, they’re all annoyed, aren’t they? I should slow down. They’re probably saying “Who let this kid in here?”. Taking my time, I took notice of the ways everyone else was posting and tried to match it. Movie names, write in allcaps. Timestamps help the audience, things of this nature. I think I did okay. Everyone jumped in, laughed and it was a great time. 

When it was over, I said my thanks to Kevin and the other members for having me there, which is something I still do.  

 That first tweet I was in was with Kevin, Mel, Rachelle, Michelle, & Merrill, but it changes from time to time. In my mind, even a year later, I’m totally amazed every week I’m invited back. For the past year, the Live Tweeters have covered some great and fun films:

• Big Trouble in Little China
• Escape From New York
• Hellraiser
• Night of the Creeps
• Slither

  And Some bad ones: 

• Mac and Me - Oh man, ugh that was bad. 
• The Manitou - Fun and strange. 
• Prophecy - I missed this one, but watched the movie and read along. :)  
• The Room - My soul will never be clean after that one. 

   The ride’s always enjoyable, and along the way I’ve met some great film aficionados. Every movie, even if I've seen it already is something of a learning experience because of the various mindsets of the others watching it.  Of course, I’ll cover this (who they all are) when I finally get around to writing the big Follow Friday document, but for now this one quick Thank you will hopefully suffice.

You all make being a fan of film something really cool. 

 

 

To those concerned,

In Kung Fu Panda, Po starts out in training thinking that he can't possibly be the legendary Dragon Warrior. After all, he's a fat panda. :) It's only during a pivotal scene where he realizes that the key to becoming the Dragon Warrior is to know you are. I haven't gotten to that point in terms of writing. Photography, yes. I feel I'm a photographer in the sense that I take and edit my own pictures and (hopefully) have a good eye for the things that interest me. Photography's always lingering in the back of my mind. I just need to be this passionate about writing, otherwise I'm just wasting what others around me consider "a talent". And in writing that statement, I'm reminded of "A Bronx Tale".

My train of thought is interrupted as a guy just got onto my train wearing an eyepatch. With his salt and pepper beard and hair, I instantly get one of those Metal Gear Solid flickering flashbacks of Naked Snake, saluting his mentor in uniform. I wonder how he got the patch? War accident? A former Pirate trying to adjust to the Economic Downturn? An Angry ex wife with a sharp spoon? Maybe he was in love and he lost her somewhere? Hmm, that wouldn't really explain the eye, though. Or maybe he lost someone and in the struggle to cope, he pulled a Van Gogh and did that to himself?

These thoughts hit me in a manner of seconds, and I begin to visualize all of these scenarios, cringe at the last one and continue working on this post. On the same stretch of seats is a man wearing a beret. I would love to take their picture, but I'm not carrying (unless my phone counts) and it would look weird to get asked to have your picture taken on a train, I suppose. Looking up from my phone, "Patches" has disappeared, probably having gotten off at the last stop. I smile to myself; he'd make an interesting character profile for a story. 

Bottom line, I have to return to the page somehow. I need to write more. My train stop's here. Time to go. It's a dark and rainy day (not exactly stormy) and I've tons of stuff to do.

For your Consideration,
Leonard.

To those concerned,

This is a train ride post. It gives me 30 to 40 minutes to get my thoughts down on the page, with very little editing. Bear with me. These are just my viewpoints. Warner Bros. announced yesterday that Henry Cavill has been named to play Superman in Zack Snyder's new film. There's a bit of an uproar on the notion that Cavill is British and somehow that's a problem considering that Superman is something of an American icon. Shouldn't an American play an American? Or maybe the argument is "Shouldn't an American actor represent an superpowered Alien that just happened to crash land in America?"

It's like Dr. Manhattan from WATCHMEN showed up and everyone's clamoring to make sure he works for us. I don't know if you've notices, but there have been a number of actors from other backgrounds who have played Superheroes. Again, none of them may be as iconic as the Man of Steel, but some have done pretty good. This is the same argument that came up with Christian Bale playing Batman. I'm not sure how all the votes played out, but he seems to be pretty well accepted (though for me he could fix the Batman voice - it's like he's choking on a Brillo Pad or something). I thought he had a good performance, anyway. And what about Austrailia and New Zealand? Before his death, Heath Ledger's Joker was met with some speculation. After he died, my feeling is that the comic book / pop culture populace was interested in whether the performance was good. Of course, we know how that all turned out, Oscar win and all. Hugh Jackman's Wolverine is pretty much a given here, though I haven't heard too many complaints on that. In my opinion, He practically carried the first two X-Men films, though there really wasn't any saving for X-MEN: THE LAST STAND. That one needed a bit of work. There are others:

Andrew Garfield as Spider Man
Alfred Molina as Doc Ock
Ioan Gruffud as Reed Richards
Patrick Stewart as Charles Xavier
Samuel L. Jackson as Nick Fury*

My point is (and kudos to you if you were able to follow along to this point - I know scattered my thoughts can get) that it only matters if they find someone who can play the role well, looks the part, and within a story of fiction, give the illusion that Superman entails the Truth, Justice and American Way values, whatever they may be. It could be a million times worse. You could have a Uwe Boll film starring Bronson Pinchot or something like that. My train stop is here. Until next time, enjoy your movies. :)

* - I know that Samuel L. Jackson is American, but historically, Nick Fury was Caucasian and played by David Hasselhoff. I thought Jackson was a step up, but that's just me.

I thought it would be cool to take a picture of this row of helmets on an angle. It seemed like an okay idea at the time, and I like the colors that came out on this. I'm thinking that perhaps I should have gotten down a little lower just to get everything lined up, rather than aiming the camera downward along the top of the helmets. It's something to improve on.

This is part of the Javits Convention Center Motorcycle Show set.

    Most of the shots I take are of landscapes. It's a little rare that I take pictures/portraits of actual people, unless they're there to be photographed or permission is acquired first. The Javits Center is a little difficult because there are people everywhere, it's almost impossible to get a bike shot without someone getting in the way or getting on it. In this case, however, the model came with the bike. I asked for a pic, she said "Go right ahead.", and the pose was her idea. She's riding a Ducati, from one of the biggest motorcycle companies in Italy.

You know you're cool when people design cycles with your image on it. At the Motorcycle show, they had a custom cycle for Jay-Z that was pretty good. This were quick shots I took, so unfortunately, it's not as in focus as I'd have it.