Fancy Some Tea? One Spoonful of Crazy or Two?

Political protesters.  What a joy to observe.  I'm a big fan of participation in our political process in all its forms, but protesters are a breed unto themselves.  Theirs is such a curious psychology to me.  I remember as a kid hearing someone assert that a cow standing on the train tracks could derail the train.  I never really believed that.  Similarly, I've often questioned the effectiveness of protesters.  I would do so more vocally, except that I don't want to dampen their spirits.  They're so much more fun to watch when seized by gran mall apoplexy.  They are pawns who fancy themselves kings, often unaware of their own exploitation by powers just out of their frame of comprehension.  They get obsessed over a single issue, to the exclusion of all else and decide they're going to go speak truth to power, or their version of the truth according to their world view.  This means great fun for me, because in general, I couldn't give a rip about their truth.  I only care about their pageantry and costumes.  Every protest resembles a herd of sheep to some extent, all bleating some Orwellian nonsense like "Two Legs Bad, Four Legs Good!"  But with a group like the Tea Partiers, I think one has the right to expect to find a few shining diamonds in that bag of nuts.  So when I got word that none other than Jon "I'm Angelina's Daddy" Voight would be leading the crowd in a rousing display of rending garments and flinging feces, I grabbed my trusty camera and got myself down to the Capitol.

The show actually began on the metro on the way in to town as the Tea Partiers began their bonding by sharing stories of how much they loathed socialists and liberals and poors and sicks (even though many looked to be both of the latter.)  One woman spoke with great pride about how she had worked to come up with a scathing retort to any liberals referring to Tea Partiers as "tea baggers," a popular term on the political left these days.  She boasted, "I just look at them and say, no, I'm not a tea bagger.  I don't suck on mens' balls."  BURNED YOU, LIBTARDZ!!!  That's not a retort.  That's taking the dictionary definition of tea bagging and clinically denying that you participate in such acts.  That's not gonna shut anybody up, least of all some bigmouth liberal with whom you've engaged in personal warfare.  The term as it refers to her espoused affiliation has been in circulation for at least a year now, and that's the best response she could come up with.  How sad.  Kudos for use of the word 'balls' though.  That was at least half-funny.  But how about, "Better get used to it.  If your president gets his health care bill, tea baggin's gonna have to pass for a medical checkup from now on."  Or "As long as I'm in the comfort of my own home, I don't see how my activities with or without balls is any business of yours."  Dammit, that's a Cato Institute worthy response there.  Think, people!  Is that too much to ask?!  Crossing the street from the House office buildings to the south lawn of the Capitol, I heard the first of many "fuckin'-a, bros."  As I circulated through the crowd speaking with people and taking pictures, I was struck that many (maybe not most, but many) of these people were within the bell curve of being 'normal' folks, outside the context of politics.  I shared some laughs with people about the sun and the long journey to get to DC. We shot the bull about small stuff.  And then someone screeching from the podium up front would holler "kill the bill" and the whole body of zombie sheep would go into a hypnotic trance, pumping their fists and gnashing their teeth and chanting in unison.  I thought it was such a bizarre behavior.

Then I remembered a report I read recently about the aggression reward response in the brain, and how it involves the same chemicals and reward pathway as the reward response for sex and certain drugs.  And it hit me, protesters really get off on this rage.  When they get together and act out so aggressively, it's like they're "on the job," if you get my meaning.  They continue going to these events because they can't get enough of it.  They get addicted to the dopamine bathing their brains.  It stands to reason that it will take more and more to achieve the same results, so they will become louder and more aggressive (I'm pretty sure that's good science right there, folks.)  And they did once the formal rally finished and they all headed over to the House office buildings to wander around and yell truth to power and change the course of American history forever, one unhinged tantrum at a time.  I went with the flow and got some pics of all the action I could.  Here are some of my captures, with some personal commentary:

 Character.  Charisma.  COMMUNISM!!!!  Logical progression, right? 

MARXISM!!! Actually, I don't understand the Chicago-style part.  You mean like the pizza?  'Cause I love UNO.

Nice fanny pack, sir.  I like the way it matches your Mary Poppins umbrella and sandals.  Really ties the outfit together.

Sheik Salem bin-Sharrazz al Obama is public enemy #1.  Have you seen this man?

I'm so glad my daddy dragged me here on the first sunny Saturday of the year to use me as a political prop.  Isn't Democracy great??  Democracy my ass.  I didn't get a vote on what to do today. 

Quitters never win, doc.  But if you insist, best of luck to you.

  I don't even know what this is protesting.  Did you just grab this from a closet at the John Birch office?

No idea what a gas mask has to do with anything, but it looks awfully difficult to breath through.  Luckily it appears he is able to breath through his belly button.

  Leopard skin shirt?  Check.  Hunting camouflage pants?  Check.  Fanny pack?  Check.  Classy Lady? Double check.

Not even a little, Mr. President.  Although I do wish you'd put a leash on your former VP.

 

Speaking of VPs, I think Biden would second me when I say "f#%*ing Red Wings."

And the Chief Raging Crankypants himself, Jon Voight!  Nice sweater.

You see, Barack?!  See what you do with this SOCIALISM!!!  You're making George cry! In heaven!

Guys, seriously, we need to have a talk about the fanny packs.  It's gotten out of control.  This is how people get hurt.

One of these kids is not like the others.

Did you know that we are not living in America anymore?  Yeah, check out the highlighted circle at the bottom of the headstone.  America died on November 4th, 2008.  We have been living in Zombieland, USA, for almost TWO YEARS NOW!!!

Oh, look everybody!  It's Representative John Lewis.  Let's take some time out of our health care rage orgy for some good old fashioned race bashing.  Hey congressman, here's a quarter.  How 'boutcha shine my shoes.  And while you're at it, why don't you sing one them good negro work songs, like Camp Town Ladies.

 And then Boenher walked through the crowd and no less than 50 women and 12 men conceived babies on the spot just from the sight of his orange glow.  It was truly electric. 

Get a load of this guy's sweater.  Are the Greeks really the ones you want to have on your side in an economic argument right now?

At 31, More Flavor Than a Baskin Robbins

Any time I've ever seen someone write about crossing over into their 30's, it has been a lamentation, a eulogy to dreams and social relevance.  You've discovered that work is nothing more, nothing less than the term "work" implies.  You've stopped talking in idealistic tones about what you are trying to become.  You spend as much time looking for good 401(k) investments as you do checking sports scores.  Women no longer chatter about you in tones normally reserved for a Team Jacob vs. Team Edward debate.  Now, IF they even know who you are, and IF they are inclined to talk about you, it is only to sharpen their claws as Team Damaged Goods vs. Team Gay.  And just the thought of staying out past midnight makes you a little sleepy. 

These observances aren't lost on me.  You cross over into a different phase of life.  But I don't lament any of it.  It's just different, with different things to learn.  I've really enjoyed my first year in this new decade.  I'm in better shape than I've ever been, I feel like I have a more clear view of life, and thanks in some perverse way to this Humungus thing, I feel like I've uncluttered a lot of my thought processes.  I feel positively about this phase of my life.  So for my first anniversary of reaching 30, I'd like to drop a list of things I love on y'all, some with explanation/comment, some without.  These are not in any particular order. This is not a countdown, just an enumeration of things I like.  So here goes.

1.  My family.  Seriously, top to bottom, I love these guys.  My parents have been such great examples to me, and my siblings have all given me pieces of themselves to build from.  I can't imagine what I would have turned out like without any one of them.

2. Dogs.  Just about any breed. 

3.  Summer BBQs.  Something about the combination of sun, good friends/family, and charred meat.

4.  Hyperbole.  I love it more than life itself.

5.  Lips on my neck.  Something I have in common with Kenyon Martin.

6.  Rage Against The Machine concerts.


7.  The suffix "ish".  The verbal equivalent of rounding to the nearest tenth.  What a great little additive.

8.  Latin food.  When I moved here from out west, I bewailed the lack of decent Mexican food.  The dearth of any passable Latin food back home is equally regrettable.  Nobody does pork like the Cubans.

9.  Playing hockey. 

10.  Dancing to James Brown tunes. 

11.  Key lime cheesecake. 

12.  Morning wood.  Makes it impossible to feel like you didn't get a good night's sleep.

13.  Rodeos.  So many fond memories from my childhood involve being at the rodeo with my dad.  Still love going.  One day, I hope to score tickets to the NFR in Vegas.

14.  Close friends.  Over the years, I've lost track of so many people I knew.  In all honesty, I don't feel the loss.  The reality is, most people are the packing peanuts of my life, surrounding the true precious cargo that are my closest friends.

15.  Muscle cars.  Cliched meathead favorite.  Awesome nonetheless.

16.  Bohemian Rhapsody. 

17.  Swimming with the ocean.

18.  Baby Suri.  I know she's Tom Cruise's, which apparently isn't cool to like anything associated with him anymore because he worships Xenu and hates glibness, but I can't help myself.  She's adorable.  Weird?  Weird.  Maybe one day I'll be able to get a woman with child that turns out that well.

19.  Baseball games at Camden Yards. 

20.  New terms learned through political scandals.  Client 9.  Hiking the Appalachian Trail.  Wide Stance.  Snorkling.  Such creativity.

21.  Running.  I never thought I'd say that.  All my life, I've hated few things as much as running.  But I've somehow tapped into all that "me and the road, clearing my mind" zen garbage you always hear runners yammering about.  To clarify, I am not "a runner."  I just understand them now. 

22.  Back rubs from pretty ladies.  Do I really need to explain this one at all?

23.  One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest.  The book.  R.P. McMurphy is my kind of bull goose loony. 

24.  Jon Stewart.  One of my favorite media people.  And in the subcategory of media Jews, Stewart is my #1.

25.  Daniel Day Lewis in There Will Be Blood.  He taught me everything I know about drinking other people's milkshakes.

I love many more things than this.  But it's almost 2 am.  At this point I can't remember what I wrote at the beginning and am too tired to proof read this thing.  So twenty five is all you're getting out of me.  Happy first day of spring. 

I've Often Seen a Cat Without a Grin, but a Grin Without a Cat?

So Tim Burton's latest adaptation of a children's novel, Alice in Wonderland, landed in theaters last weekend.  Mr. Burton can thank me for $14 of its $116,000,000 box office take on opening weekend(two dollars for three dimensions, what a deal! I tell you what, how about I take two dollars in quarters and ball it up in my fist while you put on the glasses and tell me what it looks like when I jam my fist in your mouth.  I'll still need the glasses if I want to reach that third dimension, though).  Apparently I wasn't the only one intrigued by the crew of Hollywood oddballs (Johnny Depp, Helena Bonham Carter, Crispin Glover) and Burton's interpretation of the classic.  I'm not sure to what to attribute this booming success, but ultimately the reasons for it are not important to my thoughts on the movie itself.  Anyone familiar with Burton's body of work will know that his films offer tremendous exercise for the imagination, but with often significant sacrifices in some of the nuts-and-bolts storytelling components.  Let's start with the fun parts.

Burton movies are always visually a lot of fun to watch, and AIW is no exception.  He has a gift for producing great scenery and costumes.  I personally love the vibrant colors of the film and the way a particular character's costume is used to develop that character as much or more than that character's actions or narrative details.  I was mesmerized by the wicked Queen of Hearts and her outsize head.  Helena Bonham Carter played the part with a certain playful vulnerability that made it hard not to like her, despite her being the antagonist of the story and a genuinely awful person.  There was a good bit of odd dialogue that made me laugh out loud a few times.  Unfortunately, some of my favorite characters had barely any speaking lines at all (the twins, Tweedledee and Tweedledum, the Cheshire Cat, and the frogs guarding the evil queen's throne room.)  But all told, it was a very enjoyable visual treat.

But as with so many of his movies, Burton displays little skill or patience for developing the characters.  This leaves the audience with little emotional investment in the outcome of the story.  I wanted to like The Mad Hatter (who I heard aptly described as Willie Wonka, but less Michael Jackson-y), but by the end, I couldn't bring myself to really care what happened to him, or to Alice for that matter.  I'd say it's difficult to take on such classics because of all the childhood memories people have of these stories and the expectations that already exist as a result.  But I've never read Lewis Carroll at all, so I had no particular fondness for the characters going in.  Burton's shortcomings as a storyteller are consistent, though.  His lack of patience for plot development and the resulting unclear plot progression left me feeling like I was watching the Cliff's Notes version of a lengthy book, a consequence of trying to fit too much intrigue and too many ideas into one film without enough background context to help the audience understand why. The scene where Alice meets up with the Hatter while he is having tea with the Dormouse and the March Hare is a perfect illustration.  I imagine the dialogue could have been very enjoyable in its nonsensical way, but it was filmed in such a frenzied manner that I couldn't make heads or tales of what they were saying.  Johnny Depp's mush-mouthed delivery didn't aid clarity one bit.  More than that, though, I think this is a complex tale that would require a deft storyteller to successfully translate the script to screen.    
As with my favorite characters that I couldn't get enough of, there were a few that I could have completely done without had their characters not been so central to the story.  The Blue Caterpillar was one, with his stoned rambling about being who you really are.  He was supposed to be a pivotal player in Alice's development, but only seemed to show up when things were pretty well resolved already.  The other annoyance was Ann Hathaway as the White Queen (Ann Hathaway cast as a Disney princess/queen??  SHOCKING.  Wait, look at me.  Are you looking at me?  This is my shocked face.)  While her white hair and black eyebrows left no mystery to the drapes/carpet question, her hands were what drove me the most insane.  In EVERY scene she was in, she was lifting her hands up around her shoulders or face like she was holding two doves palm down.  I understand her intentionally overacting the part, as did most of the actors in this film.  It adds to the fantastical and fun nature of the film.  But Queen Ricky Bobby has no place in Wonderland. 
This brings me to my last thought.  There were scenes that were obviously meant for little kids who would have enjoyed the book.  But there were also a few scenes that may not be best for small children.  Nothing too scary, but I might think twice about taking my 5-year old.  Which leads to the question, who was the target audience for this?  Like Charlie and the Chocolate Factory in 2005, it seemed to fall into a sort of target audience void.  I'm not sure what that says about me that I enjoyed it as I did, plot and character development notwithstanding.  However, I'm too tired to pursue any deeper philosophical implications.  I will just leave it at this:  not a film that will evoke much of an emotional response, but plenty of fun to watch if you have some time to kill.  On the Humungus Scale of 1-5, I give it 3 cans of dog food.