The Forge

"Art" is a relative term. It entails everything from the Mona Lisa to elephant dung chucked at a piece of canvas; from Disturbed to Lindsay Lohan (okay maybe not); from a single haiku to the Lord of the Rings trilogy; from Casablanca to Epic Movie; from Pong to Morrowind; it even includes cooking. And, when it comes to art, their is an artist and there is a consumer; the one who creates the art, and the one who, in whatever way it is meant to be taken in, sees, hears, touches, tastes or smells said art. The tools of the artist are his palette; the tastes of the individual are her palate. And, just like with paintings or food, our palates are often tolerable of a myriad styles and flavors. I have, over the course of a single week, viewed three very different movies, and like Anton Ego i shall, to the best of my ability, give you my opinion of the artists' works. And, for the record, i apologize for such a terrible introduction.

Transformers
2 hours 24 minutes

Shia LaBoeuf has, let's face it, come a long way since the preposterous shenanigans of Even Stevens. Unlike many child actors of his and past generations, i think it's important to condone LaBoeuf for moving on with a decent career after leaving the Disney set. His performance is quite convincing and overall, Transformers almost feels exactly like it ought to: real cars turning into realistic robots and creating a LOT of destruction. Despite my having not grown up watching the show, i experienced (as i'm sure many others have as well) a certain nostalgia-for-an-era-i-never-lived-in as Optimus Prime proudly emerged from his tractor trailer facade.

As aforementioned, i have never seen the original Transformers television show (in any of its incarnations) and consequently did not go into the movie with expectations so far as plot or characters went. In fact, i've been told by the more knowledgable of my friends that there are no real human characters in the show at all and that the events in the movie are really not a good representation of the series. I say: oh well. Instead, i went expecting amazing CG and humor. On that level, my expectations were met and then ante'd up a few notches. The naysayers can say whatever they want but there is no denying the incredible job done by the computer graphics teams on this movie. Perhaps my favorite scene is the opening attack on the military base, when the blackhawk turns into a mech and begins to absolutely pulverize everything in sight. The spin-off scorpion Decepticon is equally thrilling. As for the humor aspect, i found myself laughing even as characters were on the brink of death and dismemberment: the comedic timing is spot-on. The seemingly odd request of Barricade when he first finds Sam--are you ladiesman217?!--makes a frightening encounter quite entertaining, and this seems to be the method used most often in perilous circumstances throughout the film. A very awkward scene involving Sam and his parents is broken by one of the Autobots seeking permission to neutralize the annoying 'rents. That being said...

The same scene is unnervingly inappropriate. Sure, most of us laughed at the mother's very blunt inquiry--Sam...were you.......masturbating?--and her followup suggestion to rename the activity "Sam's happy time" for comforting purposes but let's face it: what sort of audience did the director's expect to come see Transformers? Was such material really appropriate for the children whose parents brought them out for what ought to have been a purely nostalgic romp with giant robots?

I recently saw a facebook group which rings all too true about the other major issue i have with Transformers. It was called "I went to see Transformers but all i saw was Megan Fox." I think that was the point. Forget all the innuendos and lewd joking that saturates the movie: the busty model con actress is unceasingly seen in sultry outfits which end far above the navel and are rarely ever buttoned for more than a few minutes at a time. Sure, Sam can look wherever he wants but i'm not keen on the constant zoom-ins on Fox's waist-line. Again, my main question is: why market this as a family movie and then contain so much more than young eyes ought to be bearing? There are a few marketing ploys i find distasteful; bait-and-switch takes the cake.

Overall, the movie was captivating but leaves very little after the fact. Reminiscing entails little more than "omg do your remember that part where some really flashy CG trick led to some other really flashy CG trick?!" and "i so wish my car only had one seatbelt and Megan Fox was in my car." It's a typical summer movie: a lot of glitz and glammer but in the end the only thing filling you up is the exorbitantly priced popcorn.







Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix
2 hours 18 minutes

Seeing as i rather dislike the whole inappropriate scene i opted to see this rather than I Now Pronounce You Chuck and Larry with my mother and siblings. My history with Potter's not too wonderful: i read the first two books before anyone else in my grade took an interest in reading and then when the controversy over the spiritual content of HP broke out in my church i was promptly forbidden to continue. Nevertheless a few years ago i saw the Goblet of Fire in theaters with some friends. So i came into the movie with no idea what happened in the third installment and very little idea what to expect from the Hogwarts crew this time around. Happily, the movie was pretty good.

When it comes to a movie based on a book--let alone, based on a book of such overwhelming popularity--it's mostly useless to summarize the plot of the film since any of you who care have already read the story. Thus you know about the witch of a witch who, wand by wand, takes over the entire school in the name of...well...i don't really know. All i can say is the actress, if she was indeed acting, pulled off an astoundlingly realistic portrayal of a woman i would happily shoot if handed a gun. That is to say, she was exceedingly annoying at first and slowly became a truly horrifying figure of tyrannical rule. Say what you might about Rowling, but if she wrote that character half as well as Staunton plays her, she deserves the acclaim she's received. The mood of the film is dastardly and cold, all the while keeping just enough hope so as not to crush you with the depressing state of the school and the world in general.

The thing that makes me happiest about the movie, though, is the moral lessons one draws from it. Obviously there's the importance of friendship and the idea that, although self-determination is good, we must sometimes count on others to back us up. You're not alone in life's battles. Etc. But what i most appreciated was the scene when Harry has Sirius (is that his name?)---Sirius' murderer at his disposal, and a voice inside is telling him that revenge is the right course of action, he resists the voice and is able to show mercy despite obvious natural inclinations. Furthermore, when Voldemort tries to consumer Harry with guilt and hatred, he is able to fight back on the premise that love, friendship and hope are always more powerful. And although i have my own opinions about the messages conveyed by the Potter series, it's hard to find much fault in the film. It's enjoyable, suspenseful and humorous at just the right moments, and it chills your heart before warming it at the end.

My only concern is, and you can consult me on the topic if you'd like, that Rowling's series is dangerous. Unlike, as many of my Potter-pushing peers suspect, the fear that exposure to the antics of Harry and co. will convince young viewers to convert to Wicca, my problem is quite the opposite. For i've noticed that, as the series becomes more widespread, an increasing number of people are perfectly fine with it on the basis that, after all, it's harmless fun and pure fiction. After all, when was the last time you saw someone fly past on a broomstick? No, my problem isn't that too many people are embracing Wicca. My problem is that too many people are ignoring it. Indeed, it seems that people have become desensitized to the reality of witchcraft and the forces of evil at work in our world. Harry Potter may not tell you to go out and buy a magic wand and a spellbook, but it does encourage a mindset in which hexes, malicious spirits and powerful dark lords are simply 'bad guys' in an imagination playground. They're not--these things are quite real, and have affected both myself and my family members in the past. Thus, go ahead and see Order of the Phoenix. But if a slight chill runs down your spine at the thought that "what if this were real?" don't write it off as air conditioning. Harry Potter is fun, but it's definitely not harmless.






Ratatouille
1 hour 50 minutes

From the moment a small Luxo lamp hopped across the screen and crushed an upper-case "i," the animation scene has never been the same. I am of course referring to the logo of now household name Pixar Studios, whose first major collaboration was brought to us by Disney under the simple title of "Toy Story." And every new release from this animation powerhouse leads me to believe that, when it comes to potential, Pixar's reaches 'to infinity..and beyond.'

As has become a staple since A Bug's Life, which brought us the classic man v. self chess action of "Geri's Game," Pixar films include an animated short before delving into the feature film. Thus i think it's important to mention "Lifted," the cute spin on alien abductions that the studio offers as a follow-up to "One Man Band," which showed before Cars. As usual, you think you know what's going to happen when you see a man asleep in his small country-side farm house as the giant flying saucer hovers outside. A tractor-beam catches the man, lifts him from his bed, and starts to carry him to the open window. Little do we know, however, that said tractor beam--indeed, the entire spacecraft--is, sadly, at the helm of a young alien in what might be construed as a sort of teenage road-test for martians. The many failings of said alien are pretty funny, but not overly so. Overall, i don't think "Lifted" is quite so good as previous attempts but, like much else of Pixar, can't be considered bad.

After the credits for "Lifted" roll, the French music begins to play and we are whisked away to beautiful Paris, where food is a passion for chefs everywhere; and, of course, a little rat named Remy. Anyone who's seen the advertisments knows the premise of the movie: a man who can't cook stumbles across a rat who can, and the two forge an unlikely friendship destined to take them to the top. Then there are the things i didn't know going into the movie but aren't really spoilers: said young man, who has been taken in as a plongeur, is secretly the heir of the famous restaurant, much to the chagrin of the hilarious midget chef depicted in the ads. Also, and i'm surprised he never even made it into any previews, there is the heartless food critic (with a fitting last name of "Ego") who has destroyed the restaurant's reputation once and seeks to do it again when the rat-aided chef starts to become popular. Throw in a mild romance and a troop of pseudo-mafioso ratpack relatives and you've got a recipe for success.

Ratatouille, in case you didn't know it, is an actual dish involving tomatoes, squash and onions, among other things. It's a vegetarian dish that i, after watching the movie, am actually quite interested in trying. The kitchen terminology-indeed, the accuracy of a legitimate chef and his crew-took me by surprise. Sure enough, included in the credits is a list of world-class chefs who oversaw the film to make sure that its presentation had just the right amount of oregano. The accents aren't terrible and it's fun when insignificant lines are muttered by various cooks in actual French, giving those of us who DIDN'T opt for spanish in grade school a smug sense of superiority over our baffled co-viewers.

The messages conveyed by the movie are definitely top-notch as well. Stealing is never okay, lying bears consequences, using others for selfish gain is wrong, and nobody's past the point of redemption. Indeed, as Potter taught us, having friends that stick by us is more important than anything else, even if your friend is a human. Overall, Transformers was decent and Phoenix intriguing, but when it comes to Pixar's latest: c'etait magnifique!

Having recently added the 'books' application to my facebook, i think it's appropriate to say here that i do indeed intend on reviewing the books, albums, and dvds that i end up--for lack of a better word--consuming from now on (time pending, naturally). As such, i realize a proper rating system is desirable. I wondered if i might hand out such annoying items as stars, points, or simply fractions to each medium based on the merit of the work but finally concluded that, this being a forge, perhaps i would give out flames. Thus, this particular post is little other than a testing ground for the small flame logo i threw together in CS3. I don't plan on improving them so if you're among the technologically elite don't bother telling me how i could make them better, or (worse still) how YOU could make them better. Now then...

Do not gloat over me, my enemy.
Though i have fallen, i will rise.
Though i sit in darkness,
The Lord will be my light.
Because i have sinned against Him
I will bear the Lord's wrath
Until He pleads my case
And establishes my right.
He will bring me out into the light;
I will see his righteousness.

This is what i want: for you to die
This is what i want: to be alive

The above are the chorus lyrics to the song Regime Change by Disciple. I bring them up because i think (despite the fact that the song has nothing to do with dieting) that they amply capture the feelings i have for the various regimes i've allowed myself to live under for the better part of a year. Shall we review?

5. Gluttony: Simply defined, it's eating too much, or eating when you *think* you're hungry but in actuality you aren't. The Catholic tells me this is one of the Seven Deadly Sins, and it's not hard to understand why. Not only is it just an extension of greed and deteriorated self-control; overindulgence naturally produces serious stores of unsightly fat, which do their part to constrict major functions of the body like breathing in the lungs and blood pumping in the heart. The further issue with over-eating is that, by making it harder to breathe, your body counteracts most attempts on your part to become physically active. The irony here is that the only way to get rid of that fat is the physical activity the fat makes it nigh impossible to do. Which brings me to my next issue....

4. Sloth: For some time now, i've been borderline braggard about how i don't do anything. During the school year i spent a great deal of time coming home, starting up AOL Instant Messenger, browsing the same three or four websites in an endless and meaningless string (most likely myspace, gmail, facebook and the occasional blog). Nevermind the fact that no one ever really IM'd me. It was a lifestyle: i was bored out of my mind, but did nothing to change it. Going to work or church were just interruptions of my completely monotonous and pointless existence. And as i spent so much time doing nothing, my interest in just about everything began to die. Sometimes, this was a good thing: i'm no longer 'addicted' to videogames, as it were, and this will (despite my recent 360 Elite purchase) most likely result in the saving of some money. But overwhelmingly, my laziness bore very little productivity and very much negativity. As my disinterest towards school and church grew, so did the likelihood of me avoiding those places when possible and being inactive when fate forced me to attend. And, as aforementioned, there's the physical aspect of the vice.

3. Apathy: If you've read the above, perhaps you're thinking to yourself, "well that's rather terrible. It's a good thing he's catching onto his issues now so he can deal with them before they take over his life." This, unfortunately, makes the grave assumption that i hadn't realized what i was getting myself into until now. If that were the case, then the habits wouldn't be too hard to break. But, you see, the only thing worse than not knowing is not caring, and it is under the latter category that i must place myself. Let's face it: you don't overeat and not know it. You don't spend a week sitting at your computer screen doing nothing, and not come to the conclusion that you are wasting your life away upon reflecting on that week. You don't lose an awesome passion for God and not have him sadly say goodbye before shutting the door to your heart behind Him. But, unfortunately, you DO sometimes say "mind your own business" when your mother tells you perhaps you've had enough and shouldn't go to that buffet line one more time. You stare into the oblivion that is your meaningless life and say "i think i'll just stick with that." And you do sometimes turn up the volume on your television to compensate for the lack of conversation you'd normally be having with your Creator. I know i have. And see, a bad habit is pretty rotten in and of itself. But when you get to the point of fully acknowledging your flaws and not having any interest in fixing yourself, then let's be honest: you need help.

2. Lust: Let's shatter the taboos here. If you are a guy, you have a problem with this. That's not to say that girls don't but the Bible shows us and science has proven that guys are more visually stimulated than women and it shows. It's why pornography is such a huge industry worldwide. It's why girls have to schedule time for makeup into their days because if they don't, we'll notice and (sadly) comment on its lack. It's why everything, from the Internet to television to ads for dishwasher detergent must have that oh-so-desirable of traits, sex appeal. It's why thirteen-year-old girls make myspaces and post pictures of themselves in the bathroom angled in such a way to enhance their developing chests. Because somewhere (and often, everywhere) there are guys out there who just want SOMETHING to look at. It's an epidemic allowed to run completely unopposed through our streets and homes, and consequently i think i speak for every guy when i say that it's somewhat consumed us. To be fair, having a strong prayer life and relationship with God helps to build a resistance, and can eventually (with enough time and effort) start to deflect attacks on our sensory system. I know because i tried it- the longer i went with the fight, the easier it became. But then one day, you see some magazine, or someone walks by, and it all comes crashing down. You see the columns splintering and marble flies everywhere, but you stand there gawking until the ceiling comes thundering down on you. And when you're suffering from terminal apathy, there is no resistance. You let yourself get swept away by the tide and don't look back--unless there's another girl there. The problem with this, aside from its intrinsic sinful nature, is that it cheapens the way we look at members of the opposite sex in general. I find it hard to believe that a man with a stash of playboy and maxim in the basement can honestly look at his wife in the same loving way he might have without that trash. And when one begins to look at the other sex as a commodity rather than a refreshingly different creature, designed to stun you with its sheer beauty and maddeningly different 'wiring,' one reaches a dangerous place. He then must constantly be fighting the voices in his own head. Whenever talking to a friend, browsing images on, say, facebook, walking through the hallway at school: it's a constant battle. And while he realizes the easiest way to fix the problem is to eradicate the visual stimuli, he must also acknowledge how impossible that is. Aside from this very moment, i assure you i will never send a message to a friend that says "hey, could you try not to post too many pictures of yourself in a bikini? It makes it very hard for me to have clean thoughts." Because who am i arguing with? Not just their sense of style, but the style that the world around them has said they ought to have. How DARE i, Adam, tell you i'd prefer if you didn't wear the Aeropostale polo shirt with the lowcut jeans that reveal a bit too much skin below the naval, not to mention how far down the neckline the top goes. Sure, it's a problem of self-control, but let's face it: it'd be a heck of a lot easier to stop eating fast food if there weren't a french fry floating past me every other second and a wendys on every street corner. All in all, and you've most likely gathered this from the length of this particular paragraph, the lust issue bothers me because it not only consumes me and my friends, but it's becoming progressively harder to fight. And it's so hypocritical: i know many girls who are all about the women's movement and how women should have the same rights and responsibilities as men, but how are they dressing? The short skirts and tight blouses in the office, the cliche joke of sleeping with superiors to get ahead, and the overwhelming mentality of "if you've got it, flaunt it." Not to mention abortion- no longer a life-saving technique or a way to avoid the consequences of rape, our country uses it like a morning-after pill. And you know why? Because people can't abstain. The guys don't look away, the girls don't say no, and then a few months later the girl who has aspirations for a brighter day is going to see the contract kil--er, i mean surgeon.

1. Conformity. I wondered what i might call this. It's so many issues, and yet they all stem from the singular character flaw of being unable to stand out, stand up in spite of adversity, cry out when things need to be changed, or a myriad other circumstances. It's why i laugh when someone tells a dirty joke even though in my heart i'm disgusted. It's why i stay in the room when a profanity-laden film is presented, just because i'd seem way too weird if i refused to watch a movie on- dare i say it- moral grounds. It's why i DON'T tell my friend her underwear is visible, because when she jestingly inquires "do you like it?" i'll either lie or admit that of course it's appealing but i, unlike others, would prefer to tame the carnal instincts within me. It's why, through all those things and more, i've allowed myself to become a hypocrite. Like when someone says something awkward and Jen and i are the only ones to see something dirty in it. Like when Andrew can't see a movie because it has certain content and i try to get him to go anyway, thereafter regretting having not read the reviews. And worst of all, in a society that has abandoned hope and faith in a loving God and a compassionate Savior, conformity results in the selfsame characteristics of faith abandonment and compromising. The week after i invited my friends Mike and Charlotte to church i was violently awoken by a demon, a rattling (no pun intended) event but one that at least reminded me that i was doing what God wanted--after all why should a demon attack someone who is helping Satan's kingdom?--and here i am, not terribly long after, realizing just how dead i am. And then i run across people like Michi, who's seeking answers to the tough questions in life, and for freedom from vices not unlike those we all deal with and the ones i've listed above--and i'm forced to remain silent. Who am *I* to share a message of hope and love and rebirth with someone when i myself have in action denied that which i seek to convey in words?


And so, in summation.
1. Two meals a day won't work because it's unhealthy. Nor will five, because it's infeasible especially in college. I've abandoned soda and ice cream entirely and do my best to eat light when i know i will/have eaten a large meal already. I bring parts of my meals home to eat later, rather than stuffing myself. I drink a lot more water.
2. Granted, i just bought this macbook pro, so i'm bound to use it a lot. But that's no excuse to stay here and do nothing. Thankfully, having gotten my license, i will be able to go places and thus may be more involved with things outside of my house than previously. My grandfather lives at Deerfield, and they're just finishing up the tennis court renovations, after which i will begin to put my new racquet to use and, hopefully, lose a bit of weight while mastering topspin. I save most of my chatting for late nights anyway.
3. If this blog is any evidence, i've an axe to grind with apathy. God forbid i should let this fire to lose weight, to rekindle the spark of my faith, to fight the vices of my life, to wane and die. I will do, i will be, more than i've been before. And i want you to hold me to that.
4. In a world so bent on sex, the quantity and quality of self-help material on the subject is not very large, but such material does indeed exist. I've recently acquired a few of the better-known ones and am working on a small network of people with similar issues to form a sort of brotherhood. If you are a guy, and interested, shoot me an e-mail. Meanwhile, i again petition my female readers (christian and non alike) to be more modest in your dress. And, if you are feeling bombastic, then go ahead and wear your trash but don't you dare let me catch you advocating any sort of *rights* for women.
5. Pray. Not only for the basic necessity of me rediscovering myself, but also for protection. I've been woken up once in the night by something supernatural trying to throw me from my bed, all because i was on the right track. Who knows what might happen if--when--i get back on the right track. What relationships will be tested, what lifestyles will need to change. Only time will tell.

*YOU CAN'T HOLD ME BACK NOW*
Tomorrow may never come
Every day: possible prophecy
If i'm hated or if i'm adored
I will not question You here with me
This solemn truth i will depend on
That You could never even think of failing
When all other start to fade away- into black
I won't worry, i know You are with me
When the sky is falling down on me and turns me back
I won't worry, i know You are with me...

....says i'm allowed to drive by myself. In a car.
Pedestrians beware.

How the ****'d we wind up like this?
Why weren't we able/to see the signs that we missed/ and try to turn the tables?
Now the story's played out like this/just like a paperback novel.
Let's rewrite an ending that fits/instead of Hollywood horror.
Nothing's wrong just as long as you know that someday i will:
Someday, somehow, gonna make it alright
But not right now....

You might remember a while ago i posted the lyrics to a song from Nickelback entitled 'If Everyone Cared.' It depicted two lovers laying in a field, staring up at the stars and thinking about how much better our world would be if people could just get over themselves and lend a hand to those around them. And, if we are to believe these lovers, in a world where nobody lied, nobody was consumed by arrogance, and everyone had compassion, then eventually we might reach a point of immortality. Basically, it's a call back to Eden; a world before the Fall, before one mouthful of fruit shattered the harmony we were always intended to live in. It's a nice thought, to be sure, and those of us in the Christian faith believe that the day will come (though, i should point out, not by any effort on man's part). But let's face it: this sure ain't Eden.

Over the last few weeks i started to correspond with a young woman that i met via purevolume.com. To be sure, such correspondence is odd at the very least because it requires taking two complete strangers and trying not just to build a bridge between them, but to find the right materials with which to build such a bridge. Even with such wonderful social networking tools as purevolume and facebook, who we are and who we choose to present ourselves as to others are often quite different and as such we often need to talk directly to other people to get an idea for how their psyche works. That's not to say i started talking to Michi as some sort of experiment, or to get inside her head. It's just that, as you talk to someone, you begin to better understand who they are as a person. It is then, when you start to know who they are for real, that you can compare them to the them they've presented to the world, and decide for yourself how and why such presentations are made.

In her own words: "By the way, I'm more ****ed up than you can imagine. I look like a little boy and I couldn't keep a guy by my side if my life depended on it. I pretty much suck." This ending is one of many variations of her purevolume profile i've seen in the short few weeks i've been talking to her. Other inclinations, both in photography style and music choice, led me to wonder if she might fall under that oh-so-popular blanket classification typical of my generation, emo. Only a few days ago, she sent me a link to a book entitled "Everybody Hurts: An Essential Guide to Emo Culture," telling me that the main reason it had piqued her interest at all was because upon reading the book summary she had the sensation that she was reading the story of her life. "But I'm not emo," she assured me.

I'm just gonna put it out there: Michi is terrified of being labeled as Emo. Because for her, as well as so many others out there, the word means more than "emotional." Instead of denoting a person with the admirable quality of letting his or her feelings show despite what friends, passerbys or strangers may think of them, wearing a heart on their sleeve, and tapping into the complex network we call "feelings," the word 'emo' has become a derogatory term. Which is ironic because, as a subculture, a large percentage of those labeled emo embrace the derogatory nature because it just goes to further their feeling of low social standing and self-loathing. Thus, those who are truly emotional at heart dare not admit to it because so many people are pretending to be really deep just for the sake of fitting in with the huge number of people who make a life out of being misfits. The true emo has been displaced by the army of wannabe low-lifes.

I don't bring this up because i want to go and prove that my friend is emo. In fact, if the above gives any indication, i'm all for the true 'emo' and even consider myself to be one. Those close to me are likely to find that very odd, because i don't *dress* like an emo or *talk* like an emo. But then...those people probably haven't got a real grasp on what it is i'm saying. What i'm saying is that i tend to read very much into things. I'm gullible. I'm jaded. And i often get very angry at society simply because, well, it sucks. A lot. But then there's that not-so-great quality of the emo: self-pity.

Put simply, it's the idea that your life is just so bad that everyone around you should feel sorry for you. In fact, unless enough people tell you it's gonna be okay, you won't be convinced and thus will remain in your corner crying and (in some sad cases) bleeding from self-inflicted wounds. I'm certainly not over the edge to that extent, but i've had my bouts with depression and i know it's terrible. What's worse, i see a lot of people out there with much better reasons to complain who say nothing at all. They bite their tongues and move on with it, and it makes me stop and wonder why i'm such a crybaby. On the other hand, there are those who deserve to be pitied, to have a hand stretched out to them. Those to whom life since the Fall has not been kind. Those to whom, as some might put it, Fate has dealt an unfair hand.

Tonight i was talking to Michelle and, as usual, we were both bored, insomniac and had no one to talk to but each other. After a long period of silence, i jokingly asked her what she was doing to distract herself from my mindless drivel. She told me she was just scanning some site that had looked interesting. When i probed further, she sent me the link. "dailystrength.org. it's like a blog community." Nonchalantly i followed the link, and (with her in mind) i decided to try out depression. A few moments scanning the page led my eyes to fix themselves on the topic "Havin a bad night need to talk to someone." Alright, a chance to see this site in action. I readied myself for what would most likely be some petty complaint, and couldn't have been more wrong.

"I am really feelin bad! I am so down right now i just really need to talk to someone!!! :'("

The responses were as would be expected. People wanted this girl named Ashley to know that they were there to listen. What was on her mind?

" my boyfriend kinda raped me this afternoon. I dont know if its really considered rape because hes my boyfriend but IM really feelin pretty down about myself."



...




...




Future posting revealed that she had been beaten and abused before the rape took place. Concerned peers and parents alike began to flood in consolations and advice. Help hotlines began to fill the pages. Call the police, they told Ashley. It doesn't matter if he was your boyfriend, get away from him and get help. Sue him. He's wrong. We're praying for you. Etc.

Slack-jawed, i began to read what had moments before promised only to be a temporary diversion from the monotony of my calm, air-conditioned existence. Suddenly the ugliness of the world around me came crashing through a cable line and bore down my irises to the brain. To the heart. Forget my previous inclinations. My life DOES NOT suck.

And as i read, the song from Nickelback began to float through my mind. That first line, which i care not to repeat, says volumes with that single profanity. What went wrong with us? How did we get to a world based on self-serving, a place where people feel like it's okay to beat and rape their girlfriends for momentary satisfaction without thinking of the consequences to follow?

What bothers me the most, however, is this.

Someday.
Somehow.
I'm gonna make it alright
BUT NOT RIGHT NOW.

When? I petition you all. WHEN is it time to make it alright? When will we put aside our foolish self-centered tendencies, get out there, and help the Ashleys out there. When will the Michelles feel good about themselves and let their emotions run as deep as they were meant to? The answer is simple: now.

Let's make someday, THIS day.

Let's face some facts here. When you weigh over 250 pounds, something's wrong. What's more, something's been wrong for a while and you've just not gotten around to fixing it. For some people, it's eating too much, for others it's not being active enough. In my case it's definitely both. So, last night, i decided perhaps it's time to seriously consider this weight loss thing. And not just lose a few pounds and keep on the same way i was before. I mean really try to lose the excess baggage at the airport, for good. And this sort of change, i acknowledge, doesn't come easily. It requires a different way of life, and a heck of a lot more self control than i've ever been known to exhibit before. Between Jonathan and Elijah, i've come to several conclusions as to how i'm going to go about losing the weight.

1. More water. Less everything else. Speaks for itself, really. Water is miraculous; it makes you feel full, revitalizes you, and adds absolutely nothing to your caloric, fat, carb, etc. intake. And, drinking enough water means i won't always be looking for something to eat in between meals. Which reminds me...

2. Two meals a day. Unless... Jonathan suggested this, Elijah said it could be bad for me, and i think i found a decent compromise. The truth is, especially over the summer when i'm waking up late, i don't need to eat breakfast at 9 and lunch at 12. Then i'll be starving by dinner, which means either i'll eat in between lunch and dinner or i'll eat too much at dinner. So...why not cut lunch out altogether? Or dinner, if i have lunch and am not particularly hungry when it rolls around? So that's what i've decided: learn how to tell if i'm truly hungry or not, and if i'm not, i simply shan't eat. Oh, and as for two hours after lunch when i'm starting to feel like i ought to have had something? Fruit will prove to be the answer. I know a lot of this sounds like common sense, but those of you that know me can attest to how difficult it will be for me to actually follow through with something like having a banana instead of lunch.

3. Exercise. Duh. Again, let's face it: eating less will take off a few pounds but it's not going to make a radical difference. In order to lose the weight, i'm going to have to be more active. Firstly, i'm going to go out jogging at least once a day. Most people like to go out in the early morning, but i've found that (again, especially in the summer or a night before i don't have to do something in the morning) late-night jogs are the best. Consequently, last night i went for what proved to be a very interesting 'walk' through my town, which i'll outline in a moment. I've also found that Dance Dance Revolution gets me (no surprise here) quite sweaty and is probably the only indoor activity (except maybe air hockey with Andrew) that has made me feel like i'm doing something worthwhile, health-wise. DDR also has the added benefit of being a video game, and like most games it challenges you to get better as you go along. In the case of DDR, getting better means moving around faster and in more complicated ways than before, which makes it an excellent aerobics activity. Forget yoga...challenge mode, here i come.

4. Self-control. This, i think, is the root of any character flaw. Short temper, inability to focus, lack of dedication, inability to 'eat just one;' these are all simply a failure on the part of the individual to stay committed to what's best for him, for reasons as diverse as they are pathetic. I admit, i might even need your help with this. I'm going to do my best to avoid the crappy food and ordering three courses at a diner when everyone else orders one. When it looks like i'm about to fail, perhaps you can give me a friendly jab or tell the waitress that i was just kidding about the potato skins with sour cream as an appetizer. Regardless, the term is self-control and unless i can master it, this is all useless. My hope is that, over time, it will become a natural part of me, and the temptation to eat too much or the desire to sleep in instead of going out for a jog will dissipate as it becomes a solid part of my daily routine.

Now then, as for that walk/jog/run...
If any of you are interested, it was a bout a 4-mile circuit, that you can view by clicking here.

As i stopped at the end of my driveway to make sure my shoes were tied and my watch was still working (the second hand has a tendency of stopping), the most noticeable feature of the night was, well...the thunderstorm. Shoes properly connected to my body and watch, at least for now, running, i took off down the street at what i consider a fast pace, realizing very quickly just how wet i was about to become. The moment my house was behind me, it occurred to me how dark it is on my street at 9:30 at night. Perhaps street lights wouldn't be a bad idea after all.

As i rounded the bend to West Dover, i was struck by a myriad of flashing lights. The fireflies were out in full force tonight, though i admit i still find it a bit odd that they were all fluorescent blue/white and i'd always found them to be green. Nevertheless, i thanked God for the miniature fireworks display all around me as i plunged towards the village. A good five minutes into it (for Elijah had suggested i try to keep going that long because running while out of breath is good for me) i slowed to a walk. If you've never heard me wheeze, it's pretty funny, except of course for me because i'm on the brink of passing out. Still, i kept walking, and eventually decided perhaps now would be a good time to call my Dad and let him know where i was (to be fair, he was out for the night and my mom was asleep so there was no point in telling her before i left). I then stretched a bit, and continued to jog/run as far as i could before walking was imperative.

I decided i would walk the rest of West Dover, until hitting Lakeside Park where the road became Charles Coleman Boulevard and there would be sidewalks. Reaching this point, i said a prayer and took off, sending water flying with each heavy pound of sneaker on cement. I still don't even know how i did it, but i convinced myself that i could make it all the way down that block, across the street, and past the greenhouse. I forced myself to keep going until i crossed the bridge, and Ichabod Crane's mad dash came to mind as i crossed that raging body of water (remember: thunderstorm).

I stopped at the gate to catch my breath (for there was quite a bit of it to be caught) and then crossed the street. I stood at the bottom of a hill; not the steepest of hills but nevertheless a chore. Spying a telephone pole at the crest i decided i would have to make it to there. The key, i kept reminding myself, was not to run until i got tired but to run because i was tired. Making it to the top, i slowed again, and that's good because it turns out the other side of the hill into the village is much steeper than the side i'd just come up. Enough that i wouldn't have felt safe running down it, actually. Here, i called my Dad again, wondering how long he'd be out so as to gauge the likelihood of being picked up in the village. He, however, wasn't coming home any time soon, so i decided to take a break. For those of you familiar with the village, there's a white peeling bench right next to the train tracks and it was there that i chose to sit and admire the night around me.

At some point i had the crazy idea i might do sit-ups on said bench, but after ten i thought...eh, perhaps not...and sat up, wishing a train had come (which it hadn't) and recognizing the need to keep moving on. So i got up, stepped on the tracks, and lo and behold the bells rang out and the lights started to flash: now a train was coming. So i crossed the street, unhappy that i couldn't just be laying down next to the tracks when it whizzed by, and stopped under a "no parking" sign to watch the thing go buy. This oh-so-exciting feature of the night passed, i turned around and headed past CVS. Standing at the back of that wonderful establishment, i decided perhaps it was time to jog again.

I opened up at just slow enough a pace to admire the absolutely beautiful homes nestled in the heart of Pawling. I kept my pace up til the Elementary school (again, no small feat for a 250 pound kid) at which point i stopped and stared across the empty field into my past. Having graduated, it's a really weird feeling to look at somewhere and realize you're never going back there. I sat on a tree stump and stared at the empty lot, the beautiful architecture, the grassy plain between myself and the playground i used to play on when i was in fourth grade, and eventually succumbed to the need to get closer. So i ran down the hill, stepped in a rather deep puddle, and continued to move until i was (i think) about center, which is hard to know because the football field and the soccer field (as well as the baseball and softball field) are all one field. I then lay down, spread-eagle, staring at the empty sky above me. Lightning flashed in the distance--the rain had stopped--and for a few moments nothing else in the world really mattered.

I texted Charlotte about where i was...not really sure why but i figured she'd be awake and have her cell on her...she didn't seem to care too much and plus she was tired so i let her go and decided it was time to leave the past behind me (that was, after all, the whole point of the run...getting rid of my past self). i jogged from the stump to the end of the cemetery (there's a gate leading into Trinity Pawling's field) and then walked through the marshy field til reaching the parking lot for the track. I'm sure i'll be using that over the summer but tonight was not meant for running in circles, so i got back on Route 22 and started to jog. Eventually, though, i decided it was time to stick to walking.

If you've never walked down 22 at night, i can tell you: it's pretty desolate. With the exception of the occasional car or tractor-trailer, the road is pitch black and quiet. That is, of course, after you pass the traffic light at the base of Reservoir Road, which glowed ominously green until i got close enough to take a picture with my cellphone. Then--and i swear it's true--the light jumped straight to red without hitting yellow. This was a bit odd, i thought, but whatever...i took a picture of the red-lit street and continued along my way. There isn't terribly much to say about the rest of my walk there, except that the bullfrogs in the marsh sound a lot like rubber bands being plucked and, once more, the fireflies were beautiful, like one of those fiber-optic trees one finds at Sears during the holiday season, but even moreso.

I rounded onto River, and the only thing of consequence there was that i heard rather large animals moving really close to me so, in an effort to scare them off, i began to wave my cellphone around while blasting ringtones i didn't know i had. At some point a random passerby asked if i needed a ride, but i didn't, so i let him go and finished the rest of the journey uneventfully.

And that, as they say, is that.

I hate people who entertain stereotypes about other people. They're all idiots. And yet, most of the time, they're also accurate. Or believable. Or maybe I'm just gullible. Whichever it is, I'm one of them. And working at a grocery store, how can I not be? There are just some people who, the moment you look at them, you can tell exactly what kind of person they are and what odd demands they will be making of you. And so, to aid all the cashiers-to-be, I've constructed the following short list of five people you're bound to run across while robotically swiping barcodes over lasers.

This is part three of five. Brought to you by Pepperidge Farm Sausalito cookies and Jones cream soda.

Maryanne Collins, 45 years old. Codename: The Jerk. Every time she comes in here Mrs. Collins finds a new way to incite a migraine, and today is no exception. Everything was going fine: Frontend told you to shut your light for your break, which you did. The customer paid with a debit card and asked for no money back, so you shut the register, folded the receipt and coupons together nicely, handed them off and turned to help them bag the remainder of the groceries. Little did you know...

While your back was turned, Maryanne silently coasted up to your lane and began to stealthily empty her cart onto the belt. "Have a nice day," you say naively, turning around with the intention of signing off. But Maryanne has other plans. A tinge of nausea runs down your spine as your eyes meet: yours coursing with unbridled rage, hers with sadistic malice. You can almost see the fangs extending from her upper jaw as this evil woman makes it very clear through a smile that she knew you were closed and showed up anyway. Your immediate inclination is to jump over the register and smother her with one of the plastic bags, but of course those things are always such a hassle to separate from one another so you decide to bite the bullet and begin to scan her items. And wouldn't you know it, there are a lot of items.

It doesn't matter that you were on the "10 items or less" express lane. Mrs. Collins has a cartfull and you haven't got the guts to tell her to go away. You reach for the first item- a bag of organic bananas. 9.4.0.1.1. Each keystroke hurts more than the first, and when you hit enter the machine informs you that there was an error with the weight. You hit clear twice, and then reenter the PLU code. This time it works, and you move on somewhat easily through more items. Upon reaching the various beauty products (which, as you mentally note after taking another look at Maryanne, obviously aren't very effective) you run across an item that's not on file, and as you frantically try to get a pink sheet through the scanner your ever-patient customer demands that you scan her 24-pack of paper towel rolls so she can put it back in her cart immediately. This, of course, is impossible until you get the pink sheet through (which just jammed) so you choose to ignore Collins' plea in favor of the more pertinent issue.

Finally you succeed in getting the sheet through, and then proceed to scan the towels. Handing them back to her, you notice she has five cases of soda in her cart. However there are so many other items waiting to be scanned that you decide to go back to that later. You mindlessly reach over and find a stack of magazines waiting to be added to the total: Us, Life & Style, The National Enquirer, and a slew of other star-studded crap with half-naked women on the cover. Cosmopolitan boasts 600 new sex positions you'd never have thought of. A little part of your naiveness dies. A little part of your lunch resurfaces to the back of your throat.

"Oh, here," Maryanne's voice interrupts your thoughts. She hands you a case of Diet Coke and says "I have five." You glance down and notice that the other four are Sprite, normal Coke, Cherry Coke and Dr. Pepper. "I need one of each kind, ma'am," you cordially inform her. As much as you wish this were you pulling a trick on her, it's not: store policy says one of each kind and you must comply. A string of profanities comes forth from the Angelina wannabe, as she makes it very clear just how stupid such a policy is. You try to cajole her by explaining the reasoning behind the policy--so the company knows which brands are selling and which aren't--but she'll have none of that. "THERE!" she heaves as the Dr. Pepper thuds loudly on top of the other cases. Silently, and somewhat awkwardly, you scan the sodas, and give them back to her. Having placed them all back in her cart, you hand her a strip of stickers to indicate that the unbagged items-namely the cases and the paper towels-are not being stolen. Despite the fact that this measure is for her own good, Mrs. Collins has a problem with this too.

Now it gets difficult.

"Do you have a bonus card, ma'am?"
She says: "No, but you do, don't you?"
Yes, you do, but you're not supposed to use it on people unless they have a card and just forgot to bring it. Her response indicates she hasn't got one but, again, you haven't got the guts to tell her no. Scanning the store card, you watch as a grand total of sixty cents comes off the hefty order. "Are you kidding me?!" Maryanne calmly informs you that your prices are a bit steeper than she had expected. Actually, she tells you your prices are horrible and she should shop at Hannafords more often. To this latter point, you heartily agree. Nevertheless, here she is. You recite the total once more, and she breaks out a checkbook.

Forget what I said earlier, Mr. Hunt.
This isn't mission difficult, it's mission impossible.

After having frantically scrawled out the check, Mrs. Collins rips it out and hands it to you, giving you time to ponder it (and your feeble existence) while she uses your pen to write down the value in her checkbook. It is at this point that you realize that she has written the check for thirty dollars over the value of the order, and store policy requiring a maximum of twenty-five over, you point out the error (as cautiously as possible) to Maryanne. Her response brings to mind a cartoon you once saw in which a rather stupid coyote lit a fuse on a cannon, crawled inside, and instead of being propelled into the path of a delicious bird managed to remain in the cannon and get completely disintegrated by the blast of his own explosion.

"Are you kidding me?"
No, ma'am, it's store policy. You can only write a check for 25 over. Sorry.
"So what, I need to write a new one?"
Actually, you cou--
"You want me to write a new check, and make all these people behind me wait?!"
(at this point, you glance over and realize, much to your horror, that a line has indeed accrued at your long-past-closed register, but haven't got time to respond to this before:)
Maryanne pulls her checkbook back out and begins to write a new check. Had she not interrupted you, you might have finished the sentence: actually, you could just change the value and initial it on the check, and it'll be fine...
"Okay, so what do I write it for?"
(despite the fact that Mrs. Collins could easily subtract five from the value of her previous check, she insists on living up to her codename)
Um...$225.36.
The check handed over to you, and the new value being scribbled into the book, you throw another log on the fire:
"Ma'am I'll also need to see your license."

"No, I have the card." She pulls her keys out and points to a faded sticker that says 'check cashing' on it. A relic of ancient days, this sticker once allowed customers to bypass the ID stage of check writing because they were dedicated customers and always paid with checks. You've been working here for several years and that sticker hasn't been valid since you started.
"Sorry, ma'am, but I still need to see your license."
"Are you kidding me? I was in here yesterday and they didn't ask me for ID."
"I'm sorry, but that person must not have been following the rules. We need ID for all checks."
"Right, and when I come in here on Saturday, I won't need it again. Mhmm. Sure. Whatever."
As she reaches for her wallet, you feel it necessary to defend your case:
"Ma'am that policy was enacted in January. It's June. It's not my fault if other cashiers haven't upheld the policy but that's what it says." Luckily you have a copy of the policy highlighted in the drawer for such an occasion, and retrieve it now, pointing triumphantly to the rule.

"I don't care," she says, and throws her ID at you. You write the number on the check, make a mental note of the address so as to burn the house down later, and then hand the card back. This time the pink sheet (thank GOD) works fine and you, rip the receipt off, grab her change, and send Maryanne on her way. By now you've forgotten that it's break time and there is a line stretching from your register to Ohio. You glance unhappily up at your extinguished light, sigh, and scan a mango.

For those of you who are like me--and, let's face it, you aren't reading this unless you're at least somewhat like me--and therefore are in love with a little band called "mae," I have fantastic news for you. Actually it's technically not 'news' per se because the information has been out for a while and I've been oblivious, but anyway...

If you are particularly clever, you can decipher the title of this blog. It's a date, and not just any date but the release date of mae's new album, Singularity. This will be the fourth major release (if you count Destination B-Sides and don't count the re-release of the Everglow) from the band and proves, like previous endeavors, to deviate extraordinarily from past efforts without completely obliterating what mae is supposed to sound like. Destination Beautiful was very melodious, soft, and easy listening. It was a good summer album (in fact, Embers and Envelopes is amazing considering I'm planning on writing letters (in envelopes) to my close friends and, in the process, burning some bridges (hence embers) that need to be burned), but it wasn't even close to true "rock." The Everglow may be the greatest album ever created. It strikes the balance perfectly between traditional pop rock and the unique harmony achieved on the previous album, all while (perhaps it was the art book) seeming like a truly unified effort.

Now that's not to say that other albums strike me as thrown-together. But..well...

m.a.e. stands for multisensory aesthetic experience. This means that the band hopes to touch not just your sense of hearing, but also (if possible) your sense of sight, taste, touch and smell. And The Everglow is perhaps the ideal picture of what mae is. Sure, you may like some songs more than others, and may occasionally be in the mood for one song over another, but I can honestly say I don't dislike a single song on the CD. I can (and have, on many occasions) play the album start to finish and actually be unhappy if I am unable to complete the journey due to time or other constraints. I suppose, to be brief, I find it highly unlikely that Singularity will beat its predecessor.

Of course, it's always a bit reassuring if the record you can't beat is your own. And this isn't saying I am worried I won't like the new album. I bought the song Sometimes I Can't Make It Alone--now available on iTunes as a single--and I highly recommend you do likewise, especially if you have enjoyed mae's past music. You'll immediately notice two things: first, the music is heavier. Plain and simple, the music is far more guitar-driven than (perhaps) any past mae song. But you'll also notice that Dave's voice is, as he put it in an interview: "The cool thing about recording vocals this time around, for me personally is that I'm giving more of a true performance...Destination: Beautiful didn't have any of that and the Everglow just kinda touched on that." It's noticeable, and it's a very, very good thing.

But it's not just Dave's voice that's getting a lift. One song, Rocket, incorporates all the band members' voices in quite an interesting way. But I'll leave you to discover that for yourself. Which reminds me... if you are still reading you're probably interested in where I get my info. Well, to start I subscribe to the Tooth and Nail Records mailing...Nail News... But for mae stuff:

www.whatismae.com
www.maeteam.com
www.081407.com

If you go the last of those, you'll find that the band is posting a video every week until the release of the album, with each video (thus far) being a sort of making of/behind the scenes look at a song and the album in general. I highly recommend Brink of Disaster because it is hands-down the one of the three (thus far) I am looking forward to the most. It has quite a bit of synth, which isn't a bad thing (I know a lot of people are critical of that 80s staple, myself included) and the lyrics are, as always, clever: Tonight I'll do what it takes to fail.

I guess, to make a long story short, mae is awesome, and Singularity (which comes out August 14th) is going to be awesome too.

August 14th, 2007. Mark your calendars. Find sitters for your children. Buy a pup tent and set up camp outside the nearest Best Buy. On second thought, sell your children... you'll need the money.