Tuesday, August 25, 2009

Jumping Off Cliffs With Friends

If you were ever wondering if I would jump off a cliff if my friends did first, the answer is, "Yes". I have done it. Although I must also point out that it is no simple task, and should only be done by professional adventurers like us.


Look at me. I'm so very tiny.


Colby calmly peers into the depths...and


He jumps, deftly maintaining his cool. Scores: Execution 9.7, Artistic Interpretation 9.4


Brandon tries not to throw up as he contemplates the meaning of life and death.


Flails wildly in one last defiant, panic-stricken gesture to the Gods. Score Execution 4.3, Artistic Interpretation 10.0

Inglourious Basterds





For lack of wanting to write anything serious still, I am going to ramble on about a movie. Again. I just watched Quentin Tarantino's new film, "Inglourious Basterds". Whether you will see that movie or not is predetermined so I will not bother trying to convince you, or anyone, to see it. I won't even bother to explain what it is about either, because I am not a film critic, and I see no point in the exercise.

What I really want to talk about is an observation I can now make that Quentin Tarantino films have a special way of pissing off the kind of people who piss me off. Asinine controversy seems to boil up around everything the man does. I will admit here that I like all of his films. "Kill Bill II", and "DeathProof", are nothing short of cinematic masterpieces, and the rest of his movies are all damn good as well.

"Inglourious Basterds" is in a tie with "Kill Bill I" as his least satisfying film overall (in my dubious opinion). But the thing that really saves "Inglourious Basterds", and makes it one of the most interesting films of the year (if not Tarantino's best) is it's appallingly bizarre climax. I won't give it away. Suffice it to say that it has pissed off all of those annoying people yet again. Furthermore the controversy that is being argued by the film critics and the movie snob elite (as opposed to Me, your average, middle-class movie snob) has raised some interesting questions that I will now list so that you may contemplate them on your own:

1. Is it the responsibility of fictional movies to portray an accurate account of historical events?

2. Is it the responsibility of film makers to be sensitive to the feelings of people who died almost 70 years ago?

3. Is it my responsibility in the audience to be sensitive to the feelings of people?

4. Am I a bad person because I sometimes enjoy watching nazis getting clubbed to death with baseball bats?

5. Should all movies be politically correct, and safe, and comfortable for the bleeding hearts?

6. Is it weird that Quentin and I both really like to look at women's feet?

7. Is it a film critic's responsibility to point out that "Inglourious Basterds" is incorrect spelling?

8. Exactly how many readers are there of "Time Out New York", or "The Portland Oregonian" who do not already realize that "Inglourious Basterds" is misspelled? And what would that say about the good people of New York and Oregon?

9. Does any of this even matter, or is it just a damn movie, people?

10. Why am I even asking these questions at 3 AM?

That about covers it I think.

Tuesday, August 11, 2009

Slow Drift: Somewhere Near Moab

"A person at his best, like water,
Serves as he goes along;
Like water he seeks his own level,
The common level of life,
And he loves living close to the earth,
Living clear down in his heart."

- - - Tao Teh Ching



We started out at noon. It was a late morning after a long night of heavy drinking at Woody's Tavern. I remembered the first three pitchers of Polygamy Porter, and then nothing until 10 am when I woke up to the ironic and sultry sound of Nouvelle Vague in my headphones, and walked back across the quiet town of Moab, Utah to find my truck. It was right where I left it, doors unlocked. I remember thinking it made no sense at all.

After a nutritious breakfast consisting of black coffee and stale donuts we loaded up the truck with several inflatable pool toys, two life jackets, a couple of short lengths of rope, 2 Holga cameras waterproofed in zip-loc bags, 5 rolls of film, and a tube of sunscreen.

Next we stopped off at the Moab Brewery to fill a couple of growlers. Colby chose something dark, and I went for the Dead Horse Amber Ale. Ah, good times. Then we headed out of town, Northeast along the Colorado River. We launched somewhere near Fisher Towers. With our growlers bobbing behind us, half empty and tied to our life-jackets, we pushed out into the flow of muddy water. The Holga cameras and our flip-flops in the spare raft.

Immediately we encountered our first set of rapids, and soon discovered that my raft was not holding air, resulting in a gashed knee, and a lot of confusion for the next 10 minutes. When things returned to calm we decided that I would have to use the spare. No sooner than I had situated myself to the condition of things when Colby tossed me a 1 liter coke bottle and said, "Here, have some of this."

"What is it?" I asked rhetorically, as I took a deep swallow of the fiery nectar of the demon Gods of Kentucky.

"It's coke." Replied the mischievous Colby.

"Mm huh." I said, dubiously. But then everything was all swirling colors of red and blue and green, and I found myself giggling like some doomed schoolgirl who just wandered into the boys locker room and hasn't quite figured out what she just got herself into. When I finally recovered my senses I felt like I had just lost some time. I looked down the river and saw Colby spinning around in the current and he was urging me to stand up. Why not? I wondered. And so I tried to stand up, but immediately fell into the river, head over heels with all the contents of the raft.

After struggling for about ten minutes to pull myself back up into my raft and collect the stuff that was floating all around me, including the Holga cameras which were no longer waterproof, I laid on my back and let the river take me wherever it wanted as I gasped to regain my breath. I was bouncing off of rocks here and there, completely unafraid now. I felt alive again. In fact, I remember at this point praying out loud to God, actually thanking him for showing me this ridiculous beauty as I stared up at the craggy cliff tops beneath the puffy, white clouds that rolled in psychedelic curlicues above.

Suddenly my head bumped into the side of a canoe. "What's this?" I exclaimed, and looked up to see two confused hippies looking down at me. Colby was alongside speaking to them, but I could no longer understand the human tongue. I was beyond comprehension of simple words by this time. I was communing with the river and the sky, and they were speaking to me, telling me things, dark things, wonderful things.

I was trying to explain to the river my intentions. The river was listening closely. But then I became aware that I was alone in this wild place. I looked down and saw Colby and the two hippies disappearing far down the river, and I was stuck in a back eddy that was stopping my forward progress. I had to roll over onto my stomach and paddle with every ounce of strength to escape the clutches of that swirling hole.

My perseverance was finally rewarded, and I broke free back into the mainstream current. I paddled on down the river for a while until I heard voices calling my name from the shore. I looked over and saw a bus in the river, with the word 'Thelma' on the front of it. Beside Thelma I saw the hippies waving to me, and calling my name. I didn't remember telling them my name, and I began to feel slightly worried about my understanding of the reality of the situation. But then I saw Colby was standing beside them also urging me to the shore, so I knew it was time to get out.

I started over, but then I noticed the remainder of the magic coke bottle drifting away from me. I tried to reach out, but I knew it was too late. I must go to shore, or get the coke bottle, but nary could I do both. The current was quickening toward some unknown horizon, and I had to return to the real world again, and so I bid good day to that river.

My legs failed me on solid ground. I staggered helplessly around, unable to control myself. I knew I was playing the fool, but I had no power to stop as I pranced merrily upon the sandy beach. I fell backward toward the river, but my back stopped against the side of the bus. Someone was taking my picture, and I smiled with great relish. Colby was speaking to me from somewhere, but I couldn't see him. "I'm going to hitch hike back up to the truck. I'll come back for you."

"Jus wun minna." I said. "I jus wun check ou this bus." I walked through the open door and scoured around the back of Thelma for a moment, but then some man was yelling at me to get out of there. I tried to explain my situation, but I couldn't understand it any more myself. I fell back out the door and nearly ran smack into the hippy pulling his canoe out of the water.

"Your friend went to get your truck." He said to me.

"Yeah. Colby went to get my truck man." I replied. Then we both nodded and grinned at each other for a time that seemed inappropriately long given the circumstances. "What was your name again?"

"Kevin." He said. "Colby said we could stay with you guys at your condo."

"Yes! Absolutely. We will discuss many things there. I look forward to it."

The female hippy was now grinning at me too. "I'm Lauren". She said. "I believe we have met."

"Have we now?" I wondered out loud.

Everyone disappeared then, and I found myself sitting alone on a rock watching them pull Thelma out of the river, and I had no camera to record this bizarre spectacle. What sort of place is this, where buses fall into the river, and I can be stark, raving mad like this without drawing the wrong kind of attention? Is this true freedom? And what happened to me anyway. I just needed a break from real life, but was this what I came for? These were the questions that began to haunt me as my mind began to regain it's fragile toehold on reality.

Eventually Colby came back with the truck and we headed back into town. I needed food badly, or else there was no hope at all. So we went to Zak's for the all you can eat pizza and salad buffet. After consuming as much as humanly possible we went back to the condo where Kevin and Lauren were waiting. Now that my brain was functioning again I was ready to meet them again for the first time. They filled in the blanks in my mind, describing my bad behavior in ways much weirder than I have confessed to in this ugly tale of transcendental intoxication. But with all that behind us now we had a long evening ahead to ponder deep mysteries like the unknown, supernatural effects of geography upon the human mind, and soul.

Saturday, August 1, 2009

Life Lesson of the Week #3

Food stamps can not be used to buy Rock Star Energy Drinks. However, you can use them to buy Red Bull.