2024-12-09T20:29:34+00:00

Am I Woke?

December 9, 2024/The Bridge Faith Community/Leave a comment

The Star Wars films ranked: 1. Episode 8, The Last Jedi. 2. Episode 7, The Force Awakens. 3. Rogue One. 4. Episode 5, The Empire Strikes Back. 5 (tie). Episode 4, A New Hope. Episode 6, Return of the Jedi. Episode 3, Revenge of the Sith. Episode 9, Rise of Skywalker. 9. Solo. 10. Episode 1, The Phantom Menace. 1,000 (to just list it as last underestimates just how bad the actual movie is. The story is fine, it’s ok in theory, but in reality, it’s just an epic load of garbage.) Episode 2, Attack of the Clones.

It’s possible to disagree, I suppose, with all but the first and last, and that’s up to you. But last weekend, as I was watching Force Awakens for the 20th or 30th time, I now know why that last trilogy is the best. It’s obvious, and probably nothing new to you. You’ve surely known this for years. It’s Daisy Ridley, and her character, Rey.

What’s odd is that, when I told my family in this personal eureka moment, they called me “woke.” Am I woke? What’s woke? I mean, I think I know what “woke” is, I’ve heard it in all sorts of contexts. But here, stating a clear fact, what could it possibly mean to be woke? My son said it both ironically and derisively, so I think he meant it AS ironic derision, like he was poking fun at the common online trolling of this perspective.

But what does that mean? Am I a part of the “woke mob?” What does it mean to be “woke?” Is loving Rey more than Luke Skywalker the first sign? The only sign? You know, now that I think of it, I even liked The Acolyte series…a lot! I thought The Marvels was flawed, but fun. Same with Agatha All Along and Echo. Is thinking that a female can be the protagonist in a story that’s not about motherhood or romance “woke?” I hated Episode 2, but in my defense, I thought Natalie Portman (a usually terrific actor) was horrible in it. Now that I think of it, is it particularly woke to call her an actor instead of actress???

I didn’t mind that the love story in Frozen wasn’t romantic, was between sisters, and the males were ancillary characters. I didn’t even care too much that the women saved the day, and the guys.

I didn’t think it was pandering to an agenda when Agatha kissed Rio, in Agatha All Along. I simply thought more women kiss other women nowadays, and art (especially popular art) reflects the culture. I also thought NWA used explicit lyrics because people they knew in the lives they led used explicit lyrics, not because they had a far-reaching villainous plot to turn us all into gangstas.

Rey is funny, real, scared & surprised at her power and very, very strong. Oh boy. I think its possible that I might be woke. Think? I didn’t even mention her looks. SMH. And, and, and, I thought Rose was awesome. “I saved you, dummy.” So good. They were right, I am totally “woke.”

So, what does that mean? What do me and my mob have to do? I don’t really want to boycott anything (except episode 2) or remake old Disney movies with flipped gender roles. I don’t even know how to create memes. I just want to watch great films with well-written characters I care about. And I want to see everything Daisy Ridley is in. If that’s the hidden agenda of my mob, I guess I’m in.

Under The Covers

December 3, 2024/The Bridge Faith Community/Leave a comment

I’m listening to “Good Luck, Babe!” two times in a row, once by Postmodern Jukebox and the other by Chappell Roan. Later, I’ll listen to “Too Sweet” two times, the original by Hozier and the cover version by the Macarons Project. Earlier, Rod Stewart’s “Maggie May” by Susanna Hoffs, and The National’s version of “Never Tear Us Apart.” There is a playlist on my music app called Prime Covers. (I use the word “prime” in each of my playlists, thinking it’s equal parts clever and commentary on the ubiquitous nature of the Amazon brand. It’s probably neither, it’s probably just dumb. Same goes for the title of this blog, which could be clever but is probably just dumb.)

I love cover songs, have always loved cover songs.

I do not, however, like too faithful note-for-note replays. Why? I didn’t like Van Sant’s Psycho shot-for-shot remake, either. The current exception is “Right Down The Line” – original by Gerry Rafferty, cover by Local Natives. Maybe that’s because the song/lyrics remind me so much of the Angel (“It was you, woman, right down the line.”) I could hear either one and be very happy. But usually, I can’t enjoy it because I’m waiting for something new and interesting that never comes.

I want completely different imaginings of these songs. My example of a perfect cover would be Danzig covering Pat Benatar’s “Love Is A Battlefield.” Danzig is not Pat Benatar, but “Love Is A Battlefield” sounds like a sentiment he could get behind. Everything would be perfect. Postmodern Jukebox’s “Good Luck, Babe!” sounds like an early ‘60’s b-side, and is better in every way than Chappell Roan’s. “Too Sweet” is different enough, but Hozier’s version is the alpha. This is usually the case, original’s are mostly indispensable, with the cover being a quirky distraction.

I suppose “All Along The Watchtower” is the best example of the new absolutely replacing the old. After Jimi Hendrix played his, no one would ever purposefully listen to Bob Dylan’s again. This is a very very rare phenomena.

One Sunday morning, in our church service, I played “Be My Baby,” by the Ronettes and then again by Bayside. Nobody actually thinks the Bayside version is better, but there are people who would, at certain times and places, rather hear a catchy pop punk tune than a classic piece of Heaven, with a transcendent Ronnie Spector performance (is there another kind???).

The point was, we have a Gospel that is the most amazing, awesome Truth, and there’s a Great Commission that asks us to take this Gospel everywhere. Not everyone likes Chappell Roan, or Danzig, or Bob Dylan, but these songs need to be heard, the audience needs to grow for beautiful things. And not everyone likes my face or voice or shoes, but everyone desperately needs this Gospel of grace, peace, and love. Maybe they need your version, instead.

What Would The Algorithm Think?

September 19, 2024/The Bridge Faith Community/Leave a comment

I think I told you I re-signed up for a Netflix subscription when I picked up the NFL Network for Sunday RedZone. I love football, and perhaps even more so, I love the ritual of Sunday afternoons with my family, all of the games, and the host Scott Hansen.

(Now, this makes me think about the Greeks having lots of words for love. I love my sons, my wife…and football? Surely, I don’t love them the same. It shouldn’t be the same word, right? But we only have one, and under those rules, I do love the Dallas Cowboys. And now that I think about it, my love for a faceless organization is pretty unconditional. I can’t think of another product that I would continue to patronize if the product was inferior. I would stop using Dawn dish detergent if it didn’t clean the dishes. Why don’t I move away from the Dallas Cowboys after nearly 30 years of heartbreak? Heartbreak? It’s not heartbreak, it’s just sports. Maybe we need to rethink the words we use.)

So, this Netflix subscription has unlocked many new documentaries. I know more now about Jessica Wongso, Laci Peterson, a couple that was so badly mistreated over a home invasion/kidnapping/sexual assault that nobody believed, and several others. Most of them have, as their subject, murder or, at the very least, violence. I don’t mind violence in movies, but I mind it a lot in real life. (I mind sexual assault the most, I stay away from that at all costs. I did not know about it’s inclusion in the home invasion doc, and I was sorry immediately.) And I always recoil over any discussion on murder. So why do I gravitate to these sorts of films?

I prefer quirky, like Chicken People or Super Size Me, where no one dies. Even the Chimpanzee one on Max was pretty strange & terrific. There aren’t that many of those, though. Especially in relation to the tsunami of serial killers and psychopaths. A series on bad roommates and exes is good enough, tickling weirdos and toy collectors is better yet. (Not that all ticklers are weirdos because they enjoy tickle competitions, but some of them are. There are weirdos in any avenue. I would surmise there are more per 100 in competitive tickling, though.)

I wonder why there are so many murder-docs? Why are they so popular? This seems to say much more about us than it does about the filmmakers or even the subjects. So, what does it say about me? I wish a little that we could see our own AI algorithms, made up of our aggregate thumbs ups and downs, and how we actually choose to spend our time. What would my algorithm think about me?

But I probably don’t really want to know that. Sometimes, it’s best not to ask questions and enjoy the games, instead.

THE TV Show

August 26, 2024/The Bridge Faith Community/Leave a comment

The site prompt is, “What TV shows did you watch as a kid?” This is very easy, because the answer is as true for when I was a kid as it is now. I watch(ed) Three’s Company.

Now, you’ll snicker and joke that it’s a dumb show about misunderstandings and outdated humor. Maybe those 2 things are true, but it is certainly not dumb. I’ll never agree with you on that. The foundations of me – and no doubt the reasons you love me so much – were forged in the late 70’s & early 80’s with Jack, Janet, Chrissy, Cindy, Terri, Larry, the Ropers, and Furley.

Does that sound ridiculous? Probably. Whatever.

But listen, the outfits and silly plot lines (some used and re-used over and over) were simply the structure for the real purpose: the relationships. The love they had for each other was the show. They argued and made up. They threatened to move out, and they fought for, cried with, and protected each other – like a beautiful cocoon of love in a world where love is forever in too-short supply.

There was never enough money, the rent was always late, eviction was always right around the corner, bosses harassed, they were hired and lost jobs, made dumb purchases, dated the wrong people – just like us. We have bills and conflict and money that runs out too soon. But what we might not have, and desperately need, is a tightly knit group surrounding us to face those monsters together.

Of course, I learned that I am heterosexual and have a type – maybe I was genetically predisposed to be wildly attracted to all Janet Woods, or maybe I am because of Janet Wood/Joyce Dewitt. It doesn’t matter, I suppose. Chicken & egg, right?

But much more than sexuality, I learned that we aren’t made to live alone. We are made for each other. Probably I am impatient with separation because the anxiety I felt when the roommates fought was over in 30 minutes. 30 minutes that felt impossibly long. Nothing was ever more important than the connection, than the ties that held them together, and I still believe that.

I cry with them when Janet marries Philip and when they turn the lights out for the last time. Everybody does. But I also cry when Jack buys Janet’s pendant back from the pawn shop for her birthday, when that scumbag dance instructor tears Janet up and Jack is there (of course, he’s there) to dance with her, and when Jack chooses Bernice for dinner. And I cry for different reasons altogether over a hammock or roller skates.

It’s the best show ever, and it’s not close. And I’ll fight you over that fact, as long as we make up in a half an hour.

Small Towns

August 22, 2024/The Bridge Faith Community/Leave a comment

Jenny From The Block filed for divorce from Batman yesterday. We probably all knew this was coming, as they were having multiple weddings (some very, very public), telling anyone who would listen, and making movies of their unstoppable love. Most likely, this news was met with an eye roll and the assignment of blame. Each of us know who’s fault we think it is, right?

I am an animal of the popular culture, and I have always been interested in things like this. I like details, and am embarrassed to say, gossip. Today, though, I feel different.

I grew up in a small town, went to college in a small town, and then stayed in that same small town. Pretty much everyone knows each other (and their business.) Maybe we don’t know their names, but we kind of know our neighbors stories, hear them fight, see the sirens of their recent DUI’s, and guess at how many times they’ve been divorced. (J.Lo will have been divorced 4 times after this one.) Batman and his soon to be ex-wife live in this kind of small town, too, except it’s comprised of the whole world.

We still don’t know what exactly happened or why, but we kind of do, we read online quotes from “sources,” and we are all armchair psychologists, reading into each facial expression, and injecting each holiday spent apart with inferred meaning. I think, while he might not hate fame or wild paychecks, he hates celebrity, and she absolutely does not, and that creates a certain tension that is difficult to navigate. He seems like you’d love to be his buddy, but that you might not love to be his partner. Like me. She seems like she would need a lot of attention. Like me. I guess I’d guess it’s his fault (because my default position is ‘it’s his fault’). But who knows???? I only know, for sure, someone who doesn’t know, and that’s me.

Small towns can be really great. I love mine, but I bet I wouldn’t quite as much if I knew what everyone thought of every decision I made without ever having as much as a conversation with me. But this is the curse of a small town. I do wish them peace, broken relationships are very hard, no matter how much money is in the bank. Maybe this sort of thing would be a little easier if our ‘small towns’ of voices and opinions were only made up of those we actually know.

What Happened?

June 26, 2024/The Bridge Faith Community/Leave a comment

Brittany Murphy was a super talented actress who died at 32, in circumstances that were cloudy and subject to a bunch of suspicious guesses as to ‘what really happened.’ The documentary on Max is awfully sad, and after 2 hours, the circumstances aren’t so much cloudy as they are unimaginable. A 32 year old woman shouldn’t just die of pneumonia in her bathroom with her mother and husband in the next room. And the husband shouldn’t then die months later of the same cause. But it did happen, so now what?

The husband, Simon, was (by most of these accounts) not a terrific person. He had the gift of overwhelming charisma, and when that was combined with a lack of character and/or morality, he became a very dangerous influence. It’s hard to know what was true, because he so rarely was honest. He had 2 children that some of those purported to be closest to him found out only in this documentary. He was ridiculously controlling, isolating both Brittany and her mother, Sharon, making all decisions on all matters, big & small, personally & professionally. Probably, if Brittany Murphy was married to a different person, she would be alive today, but she wasn’t. She was married to this one.

I loved Brittany Murphy in all of the films I saw (of course, nobody saw all of her films, her later work was far beneath her talent). I found her electric and engaging. As we all saw her wasting away in front of us, a victim of anorexia and drugs and whatever else contributes to a woman’s public disappearance, we mourned well before the news reports. The story starts as an uplifting, hopeful comedy, but is quickly revealed as tragedy, and that’s just the worst – not because she’s a celebrity, or because we loved her, but because she was a human being in a world that wholly consumed her.

So, what really happened?

I’m thinking how we all have our self-destructive impulses. Drugs aren’t mine, and neither is anorexia, but maybe they’re yours. No matter, we have buttons of insecurities and inadequacies. We have fears and voices in our heads that whisper some of the nastiest things anyone has ever heard. We aren’t celebrities whose every choice and picture is eviscerated by armies of Perez Hilton’s, but if we were, maybe we’d live in a filthy apartment and swallow handfuls of pills and not go to the Dr. Or maybe it would be something else. Maybe we’d drink bottles of wine all day. Or eat m&m’s on the couch, mindlessly scrolling through TikToks. Or run for miles and miles, never escaping the pain & pressure of staying alive, never dodging the arrows. I think it’s mostly the height of arrogance to think Brittany Murphy is so different from us. Maybe we had relationships that were unhealthy, where we changed so much we didn’t recognize ourselves. Maybe we’d go a little crazy, too, lonely & small without a community of people to love us in real life (instead of on screen). Maybe it’s just by the grace of God that we are here and she’s not.

What happened is heartbreaking, but not so strange. What now, then?

Kathy Najimi said, through tears, that she wished she’d have gone over there and pulled her out, called the police. Even if Brittany Murphy hated her afterwards. And Kathy Najimi is right. We all wish she did, too. But we all figure we wouldn’t have, either. Maybe minding our own business, pretending everybody is so divided, isn’t the answer. Maybe it never was. Maybe we should start to know our neighbor’s names and stories, to laugh with the comedies, and call the police in the tragedies. Maybe we can reach out, and maybe we can show up. Maybe it’s a cliché, but loving each other might be the answer. Maybe not, too, but it’s worth a shot. We’ve tried the others for way too damn long and they haven’t worked, even a little bit. Maybe it’s time for a revolution.

Hellville

May 8, 2024/The Bridge Faith Community/Leave a comment

So, I watched the Brandy Hellville & the Cult of Fast Fashion documentary on Max last weekend. Brandy Melville is, apparently, a wildly popular clothing store for young-ish girls that I have never heard of. I don’t know how to feel about that. Of course, a middle-aged man (and I don’t know how to feel about that, either) maybe shouldn’t be too concerned with the fashion trends & habits of girls. There is an argument to be made that a middle-aged man maybe shouldn’t be too concerned with fashion trends & habits, at all, but whatever. I happen to like to be familiar with popular culture, as it is what we generally regard as our principal connector, and as I happen to like to connect, the popular culture is important to me.

Brandy Melville was created and operated by an older man named Stephan Marsan. Maybe that’s weird. The men are pretty creepy, sexist and racist, which is worse than weird, but if we knew who runs all of the companies we patronize, it might not be a collection of the best people in the world. This guy might not be such an exception.

The idea is that our clothes are disposable and our conscienceless consumption is unsustainable. In the service of providing them to us inexpensively, the supply chain is overflowing with slavery and human trafficking. This obviously isn’t only clothing, I’m typing on an iPad that’s production story would absolutely horrify us. And our phones and tvs and food and furniture. Everything probably has a similarly sordid path to our nameless big box retailer. And afterwards, we discard the old without thinking, and they end up in landfills or on, as this doc details, on the beaches of Ghana.

Why do we need so much? When will we finally see the manipulations of marketers/advertisers as the lies that they are? These solutions for modern life that we neeeeed will not fill our holes or our broken parts. They never did, they were never supposed to – it’s how they stay in business. If those jeans or that car did make us whole, we wouldn’t buy next season’s models, which would leave them all unemployed. The consumption is an issue, but not the one I am interested in today. The disposability is.

Everything in our culture is made with a shortened shelf-life. We use them today and throw them away when they no longer serve us, and get a new one. This is troubling when we’re talking about t-shirts, but exponentially more so when we begin to talk about people & relationships. The t-shirts are cheap, temporary, and we carry that to our commitments, friends and marriages. The second they stop serving us, making us feel a certain way, we toss them aside and get a new one.

I just don’t think this sort of perspective should be allowed to exist any longer, anywhere. Maybe 4 friends we’d die for are much, much better that 4,000 “friends” we barely know. Maybe 1 pair of jeans that’ll last for the rest of our lives is preferable to 8 or 10 to last the month. Instead of trading our partners in, maybe marriages should last, even after the excitement of falling in love fades. Maybe we all feel that we’re only as good as our last conversation or report, and maybe that’s causing us all to feel very, very anxious. Maybe that’s the birthplace of everybody’s increasing perfectionism.

Maybe not, of course, maybe it’s progress, and maybe I’m just hopelessly old-fashioned… Either way, I’m going to buy less cheap garbage and keep the Angel forever.

Weirdos

April 17, 2024/The Bridge Faith Community/Leave a comment

I watched Asteroid City and Red, White, & Wasted last weekend. They’re quite different, but they share some characteristics. Or, at least I thought they shared some characteristics.

Asteroid City is a film made by Wes Anderson, the famously quirky creator of gems like The Royal Tenenbaums and The Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou. He’s totally unique, his movies look like no one filmmaker’s. Not only did no one else make them, no one else could possibly have made them As a matter of fact, he’s a pretty big exception.

Every genre, begins with a true innovation (inasmuch as anything is true innovation), and is immediately followed by a B group that drives roads recently paved, then C, D, E, & F groups, that simply copy a commercial blueprint. When this happens, the genre is “Dead,” and we all mourn the A’s and move on. Take grunge music, for example. Nirvana, Mudhoney, Soundgarden, Mother Love Bone, and others were the A set, cutting paths into landscape where none exist. Then, Pearl Jam, Stone Temple Pilots, et al, came along, who were sometimes great, followed by a few averages, then by absolute trash like Puddle of Mudd and Ugly Kid Joe, who looked the part and sometimes sounded the part but lacked the soul of the A’s and B’s, for whom the music wasn’t a moneymaking enterprise, and was dna.

Wes Anderson has no B’s. No one even tries to be as idiosyncratic as he is.

I liked Asteroid City very much, but I love weird things. I love cultures, people and ideas that are different from my own. This is an odd movie. I don’t pretend to know what it means, or really even exactly what happened, but my understanding isn’t always necessary to an experience.

Now, Red, White & Wasted is a documentary that, on the surface, seems up my alley. I appreciate weirdos doing their weird things, freaks who are freaks – in other words, people being just who they are, who are different and embrace that other-ness. They’re weirdos, just like you and certainly like me and probably all of our favorite people. The caveat to my love of these films is that the filmmakers cannot judge the subjects. If the people behind the camera are making fun of the people in front of it, it’s mean, smug and condescending, and I can’t stand mean, smug, and condescending. Different people aren’t lesser people, obviously, they’re just different. Wes Anderson knows this.

ANNND, the documentary has to have an arc; a beginning and an end. That’s the genius of documentary filmmakers, they find the narratives in our real life clusters. Maybe Red, White, & Wasted didn’t laugh at it’s people, but they didn’t celebrate them, didn’t appreciate them, and didn’t show any sort of movement. Now, it’s entirely possible there was no movement among all of the gross -isms and the horrific degradation of human beings, especially the women. But I have trouble believing that. There is always movement, always understanding. (Ok, maybe not always.)

So, Asteroid City was beautiful and weird, and it didn’t matter too much that I didn’t perfectly understand what in the world was going on. That sounds just like life, and I sure love that, so maybe that explains my perspective.

Red, White & Wasted, on the other hand, was weird and ugly, and I knew very well what was happening. I just love people too much to like it.

The Josh Lucas Situation

April 8, 2024/The Bridge Faith Community/Leave a comment

2 weeks ago, the Angel and I watched a movie called Life As We Know It, starring Katherine Heigl and Josh Duhamel. It falls squarely in the often disrespectful and dismissive rom-com genre. To trash an entire genre is pretty unfair, some romantic comedies are solid, well written, and deep. This is not one of those. This is one that deserves to be dismissed. This is a great example of why rom-coms are not taken seriously. But it’s something else, maybe something that’s not entirely harmless.

But to get there, we have to talk about Josh Lucas. In the movie Sweet Home Alabama, Reese Witherspoon is engaged to marry McDreamy, but was previously, secretly married to Josh Lucas. She goes home to find him and secure the divorce papers to re-marry. The movie is mostly unremarkable, except for the fact that McDreamy is awesome. He’s full of class and grace, even when she leaves him at the altar, saying “So this is what this feels like,” loving her by letting her go. She leaves him to return to Josh Lucas, who is a not a nice person. His love for her is so great he treats her terribly.

In Life As We Know It, Katherine Heigl and Josh Duhamel are the best friends of the individuals in a married couple. When that couple is killed in an accident, the 2 leads have to assume the parenting of their baby. Duhamel is an overgrown boy, using and disposing of hordes of women (this is somehow played as charm), and is desperately trying to avoid the responsibility of fatherhood. Heigl is cold and focused, being chased by local pediatrician Josh Lucas, who is (in a nice reversal) a great dude. Like Reese, Heigl also chooses poorly, choosing the selfish boy who expresses his love through disrespect and being super nasty.

It seems to me that, for a woman, romance should be marked by a mean emotionally stunted child who “loves” so much they just can’t possibly be expected to be kind. Swoon!

My friends and I, in middle & high school

[Incidentally, the solar eclipse is happening RIGHT NOW, as I write this]

Anyway, my friends and I used to lament the fact that all of the girls seemed to not be able to get enough of the boys who treated them the worst, in direct correlation. And we, who did not act as if the girls were something we stepped in or only for meeting our physical teenage desires, were alone. As I got a little older, I realized that maybe this scientific theory was more anecdotal than scientific, and only felt like the horrible people always had dates while we watched Point Break on repeat together.

But what we can learn from Josh Lucas is that we were right. He is beautiful in both movies, the only difference is that he’s a heel in Sweet Home Alabama. The other difference, of course, is that he also gets the girl in Sweet Home Alabama. Holding doors and listening are a direct road to nowhere, while pouting and shouting down at your date like a jackass is the only way to mutually fulfilling relationships.

In the brilliant Nick Hornby novel High Fidelity, our hero wonders whether we liked the music we did because we were a certain way, or if we were a certain way because of the music we liked. Did the movies follow reality, or did they create it? Do women love jerks because they loved rom-coms first, or do they love jerks and the rom-coms that described their lives followed?

Life As We Know It was, honestly, pretty offensive, but maybe that’s just because I have been trying to love the sweet Angel through soft words and doing the dishes, telling her how much I appreciate her and proving it in my actions, believing she is someone to be valued and cherished, as we lean into her independence and great strength. Maybe this has been my problem, maybe she’s left crying herself to sleep, after we lay like spoons and I fall asleep always next to her, wishing I would drink too much and cheat just enough to assert my sharp-edged machismo. Maybe she has been dreaming I’d berate her with long strings of curse words, turn the table over and throw the plates of the dinner she made against the wall. Will she then run into my arms in the rain like in The Notebook??

My message to the Angel is that I guess I can try for her. But maybe it’s those last 2 words that show how predictable my failure is. Nothing is “for her” in these movies. Hm. Now I don’t know what to do. Maybe I’ll watch a few more to find out how to do romance. Wish me luck.

George Clooney v. James Franco

March 12, 2024/The Bridge Faith Community/Leave a comment

I’ve watched several films lately. We’re going to cancel the cable tv in our house, so I’ve been spending a little more time on streamers than channels. There is a sort of greater truth hidden in the fact that the more channels you have, the less chance of finding anything to watch. We have access to everything, now, does that create a sort of paralysis? Is that why so many of us spend so much time on social media sites? Do we spend hours on TikTok because their algorithm decides what we’ll watch, and not us? With these apps, we are mostly passive consumers, we eat what is put in front of us.

Is that why it’s so hard to find something to order at restaurants with 15 page menus? I have grown accustomed to asking the servers what the best thing is, and just get that. Who would know better than the server? Is that the human version of scrolling through the social media algorithm? In the presence of too many options, they decide what I’ll like for me.

Anyway. The Monuments Men is one of the best movies I’ve seen, or at least one of the movies I’ve liked the most. Those 2 categories are different. Radiohead’s Kid A is a great album, and I just hate it. If I ever hear one note of it again, it won’t be because I chose to. It’ll be because I ended up in a place that would, and I’ll be looking for an excuse to leave immediately. But I really love every Alkaline Trio album, and probably none are what a critic might call “great.” I love Point Break, but Citizen Kane is a “great,” important film.

I think Monuments Men is both. It’s based on a true story, concerning the value of art in our lives, in our world, and the lengths aware, intelligent people will go to preserve all of it (even the pieces they surely don’t like.) It’s beautiful and I loved every second of it.

George Clooney directed and acted in it, and if I’m honest, I’d watch anything in which he has any part. He’s gorgeous and has all the charm and likability. I’d like to play basketball or go on a road trip with him.

I have a very great friend who was seeing a boy, who isn’t a nice person. He’s not a nice person to her, or anyone else. But there is a pattern that is difficult to understand. He has 4 children (3 mothers) whom he does not see or support financially, has spent more time in jail than out, is a violent substance abuser, and has a line of women (whether it is romantic, or sisters and cousins and a mom who all go to extraordinary lengths to enable his poor behavior) waiting to be the next to be mistreated by him. Without exception, they are mistreated and wait by the door, just in case he would choose to do it again. It’s very strange.

If he looked like George Clooney, I might understand. He doesn’t. If he acted like, or had the boundless charisma of George Clooney, I might understand. He doesn’t. If he were both, I would certainly understand, but he is neither. It’s very strange.

James Franco makes movies that usually aren’t very good, he’s not too handsome or talented or likable, and he has a solid career. He continues to make movies. Same phenomenon. Why would we continue to stand in line, to pay money to watch James Franco movies? Very strange.

But maybe the James Franco analogy really doesn’t hold up. He isn’t hurting us, isn’t manipulating us, isn’t abusing us. He’s just making bad movies. And maybe you think they’re not bad movies. Maybe you don’t like Point Break. That’s the wonder of artistic expression, and it’s why we’d fight and die for the right to create, regardless of our personal tastes. We live in a culture where the diversity of thought and opinion is awesome, where difference doesn’t subtract, it adds exponentially. We’re a better world with James Franco movies than without. (I can’t believe I just wrote that last sentence.) We don’t simply tolerate each other, we appreciate, we love each other. We hold hands and dance to wildly contrasting types of music, types of music that would not get along if they met at a party. But this isn’t a party, it’s our lives, and everybody belongs.

(Except maybe that guy my friend was dating. At least not until he stops damaging everybody he sees on purpose. Then, he’s more than welcome to come in and make himself at home.)

Love With A Capital L

A journey towards living an inspired life of love in the modern world

Tag: pop culture