Low Expectations = Better Experience

I finally got a chance to see Man of Steel, and I was pleasantly surprised. I’d heard mixed reviews about it, and that’s generally not a good sign for a comic geek such as myself. It often means the character or story lost some vital part of its essence in the translation from page to screen. *cough*GreenLantern*cough*

Excuse me. Had a little tickle in the back of my throat.

Despite my fears, I was entertained from start to finish, and felt that, overall, it was a promising reboot of the franchise. I’m still absorbing the movie (it ended about an hour ago), but I thought Cavill made a great Supes, and Costner did a good job as Jonathan Kent. I also enjoyed Clark the Outcast, slinking around the edges of society, trying to fit in but inevitably moving on (whether it was because he had to ditch his incognito status to save some oil workers or because he lost his cool and impaled a poorly-mannered trucker’s rig with telephone poles).

Overall, the movie was light on humor, but a few things stuck out. The impaled big rig certainly amused me. At the end, Clarke showed up for work for the first time, and Lois said, “Welcome to the Planet,” an in-joke between the two of them that I literally giggled over, partially because it was so cheesy and partially because it was so perfect. And I couldn’t help but be amused by the decision to make Perry White a black man (but don’t get me wrong; Lawrence Fishburne makes an excellent Perry).

They also got the relationship with Ma and Pa Kent right. The Kents are the bedrock of Clark’s personality; they instilled in him a sense of honor, justice, and responsibility and that’s central to this movie. They went a little heavy on the “The world’s not ready for you, son” shtick, but whatever. It served the plot, I suppose. And the way Jonathan Kent humbly accepted his death in order to maintain his son’s anonymity was heart wrenching and true to character, even if it felt a little unnecessary and nonsensical (My son could run there and back in 20 seconds even without his powers, but I’ll go instead. What could possibly go wrong?).

And my god, the fight scenes. One of my biggest problems with the Bana/Norton Hulk movies is that they were light on the “Hulk smash!” and heavy on the “Banner whine!” Whedon fixed that in the Avengers, finding a middle ground for which I was truly grateful, because it’s so damn fun to see an individual that powerful really let loose. The same applies with Supes. Watching him get smacked by an airborne train, seeing him punch Zod through the air, catch up to his still flailing body and then punch it another half a mile, seeing the speed with which Kryptonians can move…it all drives home the reality of these characters. As a comic book reader, you spend a lot of time imaging their speed and power, and to see it fully on display…it evokes the kind of joy kids feel when opening presents on Christmas. It’s bliss.

That said, I wouldn’t be a comic geek if I didn’t bitch a little, and bitch I shall. Overlooking the little stuff (WTF? Lois Lane is supposed to have black hair! Did the Kryptonians steal their armor from the characters in Gears of War?!), there are a few bones I have to pick. The big one I hear most people complaining about is Superman killing Zod. I must admit it shocked me, mostly because in the comic books Superman never kills. Ever. (Except Doomsday, and he doesn’t really count.) He always finds a way to avoid killing and this seemed a rather extreme break in character (no pun intended). Seeing him kill someone is akin to seeing the modern Batman use a gun. It just doesn’t happen.

That said, I don’t have as much of a problem with it as some do. It’s still unclear to me whether Zod killed that family or not, but either way, it seems like a relatively reasonable response from Superman. This movie is about him finding himself, testing his limits, realizing who he is, being both an alien outcast and yet being human—and thus fallible like the rest of us—at the same time. Some may say that Superman is supposed to represent an ideal, and they’re right, but that can also make him hard to relate to. This moment makes him less than perfect, and thus all the more relatable. Depending on how it’s handled, it can also be the foundation of the status quo. This can easily be spun into “I did it once and now I realize it’s not who I am. Never again.” And besides, it felt very much like a wink to comic book readers familiar with Wonder Woman’s killing of Maxwell Lord*, which I appreciated.

Most of my issues with the film stem from faulty logic and unnecessary license taken with Superman canon. For instance, I know Morpheus is in the movie, dudes, but did we really need Matrix-y baby farms? I suppose they needed something to be the MacGuffin, but making it some weird baby-making Codex felt bizarre and forced. To be honest, as cool as it was to see Krypton in all its alien-ness, I thought the scenes there were the weakest part of the movie.

I also took umbrage with the effect “Kryptonian atmospherics” had on Superman. His powers are derived from our yellow sun. His cells soak up all the bright, shiny nuclear goodness and that (somehow) gives him his powers. Short of Kryptonite dust, nothing in the atmosphere should effect his ability to soak up and use the sun’s rays. In fact, the guy doesn’t even need to breathe! He can survive in the vacuum of space, but Kryptonian air saps him of his strength? Weaksauce, man. That sounds an awful lot like lazy writing to me.

Then we’ve got Zod’s terraforming plan. Zod makes it clear in this movie that his sole purpose in life is to protect his people. That’s fine; it makes him a more layered and sympathetic villain, rather than just some random sociopath in charge of an army. So why in the hell does he need to terraform Earth to protect his people? Mars too far away for him? Apparently he took a look at the solar system and thought, “Well, there’s a perfectly suitable planet a little further out that we could terraform, but fuck it—we’re here and I don’t feel like driving all the way back to Mars. Let’s just commit genocide on a planetary scale and call this home, ‘cause I’m lazy.” If he’s a relatively honorable man willing to go to extreme lengths to save his people, fine. Why the butchery? If he’s just a nutbag psychopath, then why even bother with the “I exist to protect my people” stuff?

Even setting that aside, it’s already been established that Kryptonians can live on Earth; why would you need to terraform it?! Why in the shit would you take a planet whose environment imbues you with the powers of a demi-god and terraform it into something that would take those powers away? I don’t hang out in the Legion of Doom’s headquarters, but I don’t know too many people—let alone power-hungry villains—who are willing to give up that kind of power. It makes absolutely no sense.

That’s pretty bad, but the most egregious problem with the movie is the fight scenes. Yeah, I know, I said I loved them. And I did. But I hated where they took place. Namely, smack dab in the middle of Smallville and Metropolis. Superman is the ultimate protector. He exists to help out the little guy; his exists to keep everyone safe. He doesn’t fight city-leveling brawls! Sure, powerful villains might start some shit in the city, but his first response is pretty much always “I need to get this guy out of the city to mitigate the collateral damage.” He punches, kicks, or lures villains away from populated areas so that he can fight them without fear of destroying buildings and killing innocent bystanders. That’s basically Superman’s Rule #1. I’m sure the director and FX guys were practically jizzing their pants at the thought of blasting a bunch of belligerent Kryptonians through as many buildings as possible, only thinking about how “cool” it would look, but it’s friggin’ ludicrous when you take into account what Superman stands for. That—even more than killing Zod—is as out of character as you can get when it comes to the Man of Steel.

So yeah, the movie wasn’t perfect. But it laid a decent foundation on which improvements can be made. And honestly, I can’t help but geek out while watching Superman be Superman, plot holes or no. My hopes for the future: A sequel with the same cast, a different director who reigns in the let’s-destroy-as-much-shit-as-possible Hollywood excess, gets Lex Luthor (with that bitchin’ battle suit of his) involved, and paves the road just a little closer to a Justice League movie.

Fingers crossed.

*In a 2005 event, Max Lord used his ability to control minds to force Superman to wreak havoc on the Justice League. Realizing that gravity of an out of control Superman, Wonder Woman snapped Lord’s neck before he could make Superman do something truly tragic.

Can't Sleep...Clown Will Eat Me

So here it is, just after 6:30am as I begin writing this. I've gotten maybe 6 hours of sleep, which--for me--isn't enough. On top of a deficit in the sleep department, I'm either still a little inebriated from last night's party for one with Mr. John Jameson or I'm a bit hung over. Possibly both. I'm not much of a drinker, so it's hard for me to tell where one begins and the other ends. The point is, I can't sleep.
There are times when I like to think of myself as a writer. This is laughable, mostly because the defining characteristic of writers is the fact that they write, something I rarely do. I can't say why, exactly...No, that's not true. I can say why: fear. I'm afraid to write a steaming pile of crap, and so I mostly just don't bother, even though I'm fairly certain I could do a serviceable job with practice.
Nevertheless, I was lying in bed, failing to sleep and writing this in my head, so I figured I may as well just bow to the inevitable, get up, and actually write for damn once.
Not that I have much to say.
Long story short, it's been a tough week, and I'm feeling anhedonic. I feel crappy mentally and physically, and nothing sounds like much fun at the moment. To say that I want to sit around my house doing nothing would be untrue, but to say that I want to do anything other than that would also be untrue. In short: blah. Everything's blah. And considering everything that's gone down in Boston since Monday, just saying that is an exercise in narcissism and self-pity, but fuck it. That's how I feel. I'm a depressive--with anxiety issues thrown in to spice things up--and this week's gotten to me.
First of all, my mom lives in Boston. I've also got a cousin and her family in the area, as well as a number of co-workers. Suffice it to say, I've got reasons to want Boston to be a shiny, happy place. But thanks to a couple of moronic, misanthropic malcontents, Boston's been anything but shiny and happy this week.
I mentioned depression. I definitely have a natural propensity for it. I've always been moody, always been high-strung. That said, I had just about the greatest childhood a person can have. I had a big, loving, supportive family. I was an intelligent, eager student. I had plenty of friends. I was no stranger to girls. And I was a pretty darn good athlete. Needless to say, I was feeling pretty good about life back in the day.
And then I wandered out into the real world and got hit by an existential Mack truck. I learned that intelligence doesn't count for shit if it's not coupled with a little ambition and focus. I truly began to understand--and loathe--the necessity of money. And I learned--far, far too slowly--that there are people out there who, when given some poor, sad schmuck's heart, will play a little hacky sack with it, get bored, and punt it into the nearest landfill. Mix in a long string of shitty jobs for which I was supremely over-qualified and egregiously underpaid, add a dash of substance abuse--mostly weed, but a handful of other chemicals here and there (but never the hardcore stuff like coke or meth! That shit rots your brain, boys and girls!)--and you have the shitstorm that was my 20s.
But things got better. I finally found a woman who loved me and *gasp* treated me with respect, despite my depression. I got a job I enjoyed--working as a quizmaster--and slowly worked my way up the ranks (which is a nice way of saying I bugged the shit out of a guy named Matt until he gave me more work and responsibility). And I finally learned to accept that some people are just awful.
Ok, that's a lie. I don't accept it. I think that almost everyone is capable of being good, and that it would be a lot easier to do so if they'd just get their heads out of their asses. But I've at least learned that there will always be people out there that will fail to meet my expectations of simple human decency, and to not let it get to me too much. Sure, I'll rant about stupid people on Facebook, but that's part social commentary, part foul-mouthed entertainment, and yes, part catharsis. Most of that stuff doesn't really get to me.
Except when people bomb marathons. That gets to me.
Like I said, I know people in Boston. Then there's the fact that I was a runner, and, despite the fact that I don't get much running done these days, I still self-identify as a runner. And my family's full of runners. The people who were attacked aren't just Americans--people who happened to be born in the same country as me--they're runners: people who understand the zen-like joy of a pair of good shoes, their body, and miles of roads and trails. They're spiritual brethren, which makes an attack on them feel that much more personal.
Even worse is the pointlessness of it all. We still don't know why these two guys decided to blow up a bunch of strangers who were trying to enjoy a day outside, but there's no escaping the fact that there's no good fucking reason to blow up a bunch of civilians. It serves no purpose. If the point is to strike at the heart of American blah blah rhetoric whatever, then I have bad news for these people: this won't change a damn thing. Americans won't stop living the way they live just because some people got blown up. Or because someone flew airplanes into a few buildings. And neither would anyone else in any other country.
Humans are resilient. We experience tragedies big and small throughout our lives, and the vast majority of us get up, dust ourselves off, and push onward. Anyone who thinks these sorts of acts will accomplish anything other than killing people and making themselves look like the world's biggest assholes is deluded beyond my ability to comprehend.
Or maybe I understand it better than I'd like to admit.
At one point this week, I found myself thinking about the people who'd had wives or children hurt or killed in these blasts, and I found myself thinking "Someone should kill their wives and children, make them feel the pain they've inflicted." And then I realized what a supremely gigantic piece of shit I was for thinking such a thing. That's the kind of thinking that makes people hijack a plane and run it into things. For all I knew at the time, that was the exact reason these guys had bombed Boston!
That doesn't seem to be the case this time around, but the fact remains that no one deserves that. Not even your worst enemy. If someone wrongs you, you take it up with them; you don't take it out on their family and friends. Not if you've got a shred of sanity and decency, anyway.
So I guess the only real difference between me and these guys is the fact that I'm educated and sane enough to follow these thoughts to their logical conclusion and see what a farce that kind of thinking is.
That doesn't help much with my current bout of anhedonia, but screw it. I've got all my limbs, my family's safe, and I've got a job I enjoy. A little anhedonia's a small (and temporary) price to pay for all of that.

Nostrajason's Predictions For 2013

—My unmedicated mood disorder will lead me to be overly emotional and swear a lot on Facebook.

—Taylor Swift will make a song about boys.

—Hipsters will start going out in public wearing orthodontic headgear and nothing below the belt but Speedos, socks, and sandals. The fact that it’s meant ironically will not make them look less stupid.

—A real book will continue to be superior to your Nookiefire.

—Judd Apatow will release a movie that’s pretty funny, but 40 minutes too long.

—Adrian Peterson will break his spine, spend the offseason rehabbing like an inhuman mutant, then rush for 5,003 yards in the ’13-’14 season.

—Firefly will remain cancelled. FOX will still be stupid.

—People will camp on sidewalks for three days to get the new iPhone. The only difference between it and the old iPhone will be a 4-pixel difference in screen width.

—Chris Brown and Rihanna will do a cover of The Go-Go’s song “We Got the Beat.”

— Michael Bay, in a moment of clarity, will blow himself up.

—Sushi will continue to be awesome. And expensive.

—Rush Limbaugh will be an insufferable, insensitive prick about pretty much everything.

—I will continue to yell at my computer like a crazyperson when I get annoying emails from coworkers.

—PETA will continue to ignore the fact that, technically speaking, eating most veggies and grains is murder, too. Which is worse, really, since that murder is nowhere near as tasty as bacon.

—Lindsay Lohan will die of an overdose while visiting Madame Tussauds Wax Museum. Visitors will marvel at the life-like replication of a 20^th century junky prostitute, until the smell of decay alerts them to their mistake.

—Bioshock Infinite will be far better than Bioshock 2, but not as good as Bioshock.

—David Lynch’s body of work with continue to make absolutely no sense. Arthouse nerds will continue to call him a genius.

—After a 4-game season, the NHL will go on strike again.
—Justin Bieber will perform a new song. No less than 50% of said song will consist of the words “baby” and “girl.”

—People will kill other people with guns, leading to an increase in gun sales. Half of the country will fail to see the irony in this.

—The Grammy Awards will be held. With luck, approximately 20% of the winners will actually have talent.

—Breaking Bad will continue to be just about the best thing on TV.

—Portlandia will continue to be overrated.

—You will get a popcorn kernel stuck between your teeth. Your futile attempts to dislodge it will abrade your tongue.

—Kristen Stewart will somehow get another acting roll. She will continue to emote less than a department store mannequin.

—Meanwhile. Christopher Walken will pause. And emphasize at odd moments while. Talking. And it’ll be great.

—Damning her diabetes, Paula Deen will eat a Butterfinger slathered in actual butter.

—You will feel extremely satisfied after taking a poop that makes you feel 10 pounds lighter. You’ll feel an urge to tell someone about the great poop you just had, but won’t.

—Reality TV will continue to drain the intelligence and life force from the people of Earth and any extraterrestrial species unlucky enough to happen upon our broadcasts.

—A-Rod, Cam Newton, Jay Cutler, and Tom Brady will form Crybabies Anonymous, the first pro athlete-specific support group.

—Kesha will claim to have had a threesome with aliens, just to see if anyone’s still paying attention.

—A nerd will feast upon Mountain Dew and Cheetos during a five-hour online gaming session from the confines of his parents’ basement.

—In a surprise move, Tyler Perry will dress up like an old woman. Only African Americans and the English will find it amusing.

—Something in the Middle East will explode.

—Zooey Deschanel will act zany.

—Lady Gaga’s ill-conceived poison oak dress will go horribly awry.

What Do You Value More?

We've heard plenty of excuses for gun ownership. You need to protect your home. The Second Amendment says it's your right. Making them illegal won't make them go away. There's a seed of truth to all of this. The Second Amendment certainly does give you the right to own a firearm. Guns probably make you feel more secure in your home than you actually are, but--in theory, anyway--gun ownership allows you to fend off all but the most determined and well-armed of miscreants. And no, making guns illegal won't make them disappear.
All of this misses one crucial point: There is no logical reason for anyone in this country outside of the military or law enforcement to need an assault rifle, handgun, speed loader, high capacity magazine, body armor, or anything normally used in combat. All these things are made for one reason: To help you harm a lot of people in a small amount of time.
Think about the context in which the Second Amendment was created. A cursory search of the Internet reveals that the main weapon during the Revolutionary War was a flintlock musket. A well-trained soldier could fire once every 20 seconds or so. Rifles were more accurate than the musket, but took far longer to load. And flintlock pistols were laughably inaccurate. Killing sprees were effectively impossible, since the time it took to reload was time enough for unarmed bystanders to subdue the would-be killer.
Now think about modern weapons. An automatic AR-15 (basically a civilian version of the M-16) is capable of firing 800 rounds per minute. The most common magazine size is 20-30 rounds; the largest appears to be 100 rounds. Now let's pretend that it's just a semi-automatic, and that you can only pull the trigger once per second. With a 20-round magazine, you can potentially kill 20 people in 20 seconds. Let's pretend that the shooter's a moron, and it takes 20 seconds to switch out the empty magazine for a full one. Remember, that's how long it took a trained soldier to reload his musket 200 years ago, so odds are good that it'll get done much faster. But let's assume our modern psychopath takes 20 seconds to reload and doesn't get subdued. Let's assume he's a lousy shot and only a quarter of his shots hit the mark. That's still a lowball estimate of 10 people wounded and potentially dead. In one minute.
Now add body armor to the equation. And multiple handguns, with magazines that hold anywhere from 8 to 30+ rounds. Now put our modern psychopath in a packed theater, or the 500-seat lecture halls that you can find on nearly any college campus of a decent size. Or, god help us all, one single kindergarten class of 30 kids. Think of how much damage one disturbed person can do.
Do you honestly think this is what our forebears had in mind when they created the Second Amendment? Do you honestly believe that they wouldn't be horrified at the prospect of tens or dozens of unarmed civilians being laid low in a matter of minutes? This is a situation not dreamt of on their worst night. These men were thinking in terms of attacks by unfriendly Native Americans and foreign military forces, or just hunting to put food on the table. These are things of the past. Yes, there's a depressing amount of crime that takes place in this country, but how often does someone fend off an attacker with a gun? How often does anyone's personal safety come down to gun ownership?
Not often enough. Not often enough to justify twenty 6- and 7-year olds being gunned down in a classroom.
It's time to take a stark look at the world we live in. This ain't Mad Max. The gestapo isn't going to break down your door in the dead of night and take you away. The Commies aren't going to take over your town. And I've lived nearly 34 years without myself or anyone I know being raped, tortured, murdered or otherwise harmed by "Them," whoever the hell they are. If these are truly concerns for you, I suggest you take half a Xanax and join the rest of us in reality.
You want to hunt and kill your own food? Fine; I believe in your right to put food on the table the old fashioned way. Have a single-shot rifle or a shotgun. You wanna cower in fear inside your home and stroke your precious gun to feel safe? Fine. Have a single-shot rifle or a shotgun. There is no need for assault weapons. There is no need for handguns.
You may think that single-shot rifles and shotguns are still capable of doing damage. You're right. But they're harder to reload, so any rampage would likely be short-lived. You may think we should concentrate on mental health, on identifying and helping these people before they snap and take people with them. You're right. But that's only part of the equation; people will always slip through the cracks. You may think that banning these weapons won't make them disappear. You're right. But it'll make them harder to obtain, especially for someone who's presumably not in his right mind. And the harder it is to perpetrate a monstrous tragedy like the one in Newtown the better.
I've fired handguns. I've fired rifles and shotguns. I've even fired an assault rifle. It's a hell of a lot of fun. But I'm willing to give up that fun if there's even a chance of making this country and its people safer. We should be attacking this problem from all sides, not spouting useless platitudes and then passing time until the next tragedy. They may be well-intentioned, but your thoughts and prayers are meaningless to the kids and adults felled in these incidents.
The right to go out in public without being murdered by a hail of bullets should trump the right to own weapons that serve no useful purpose. And if you honestly think that this is what the Founding Fathers had in mind when they created the Second Amendment, then you're just as deluded as the gun enthusiast who was shot in the face. By her own gun. Wielded by her son.

A Slice of Pi

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I went and saw Life of Pi and I enjoyed it, but I’m left with the same question I had after reading it: Did I truly understand it? I’m about to let the cat out of the bag (or the tiger off the boat, as it were), so if you haven’t read the book or seen the movie and care about spoilers, now’s the time to bail.

The story is really two stories. The first encompasses most of the book and movie, and features Pi and his battle for survival after a shipwreck. He shares a lifeboat with a zebra with a wounded leg, an orangutan, a hyena, and the tiger, Richard Parker. The hyena kills the zebra. The hyena kills the orangutan. Richard Parker kills the hyena. Pi and Richard Parker then spend innumerable days on the Pacific, fighting for survival, until ultimately making landfall in Mexico.

The second story is simpler, shorter, and much more gruesome. Pi shares a lifeboat with a sailor with a wounded leg, his mother, and the cook from the ship. The cook kills the sailor. The cook kills Pi’s mother. Pi kills the cook. Pi then spends innumerable days on the Pacific, fighting for survival, until ultimately making landfall in Mexico.

Unless I’m much mistaken, the latter story is the “truth.” The former appears to be something that Pi invented because the truth is too painful to face. And, perhaps, because it makes for a better story.

And here’s where my confusion lies. In the film, the adult Pi says that both stories feature him losing his family, and both stories feature him suffering, and then asks the visiting writer which story he prefers. The writer says he prefers the tale with the tiger. “And so it is with God,” says Pi.

Forgive my lack of subtlety and insight, but what is the implication of that line? Is he saying that life is full of loss and suffering, and that, all things being equal, we might as well believe in God, because it makes for a better story? Or a better life?

If so, I wonder about the truth of that. I’m agnostic, and while I allow that there are indeed aspects of existence that I don’t understand and can see the appeal of religion, I’ve never experienced something to make me Believe, with a capital B.

It feels disingenuous to go through the motions of faith simply because one wants to believe. That feels like a lie. Isn’t it more honest to push on through life without faith than to pretend to have it? Wouldn’t God, if he (or she) exists, prefer your honest dubiousness to you comforting yourself in the dark by clinging to the tatters of a less-than-genuine faith?

These are not rhetorical questions, by the way. I’m honestly curious as to what you think, especially those of you who are religious, who do Believe with a capital B. Maybe you’re seeing a side of this that I’m not. Or maybe someone out there can inform me that I’m grossly misunderstanding the point of the story, and that I’ve blazed a trail off into left field and beyond.

Regardless, the story moves me in a way that I can’t quite put my finger on. It did so when I read it, and the film had the same effect. It feels like a sliver of something special, of some greater truth.

And that’s another thing that strikes me, especially with regard to the film: Pi travels through the Pacific, seeing wondrous phenomena. Terrible storms, bioluminescent seas, flocks of flying fish, carnivorous islands inexplicably filled with meerkats when he’s in the Pacific and the nearest wild meerkat population is half a world away in southern Africa. He witnesses these things and is overcome with awe in the face of God. I see those same things, and I too am filled with awe, but I am in awe of Nature.

Does it matter whether that awe is inspired by God or Nature? Is there really that much of a difference? Is Nature merely my secular surrogate for God? I don’t pray to Nature. I don’t expect guidance or strength from it. But I’ve studied it pretty extensively. My love of biology and affinity for its many sub-disciplines could be seen as something akin to a secular sort of Talmudic piousness, I suppose. And there’s nothing quite so humbling as standing on top of a mountain and looking out over the world around you; or seeing the stars from the countryside, unspoiled by the city’s light pollution; or hiking deep into a forest and knowing that you and your companions are the only human beings around for miles. These things fill me with awe every time.

It seems to me that what really matters is the awe, the appreciation of something outside oneself. It’s a surrender of sorts, an acknowledgment that we are adrift on the sea, powerless to do anything but fight for survival. And maybe dream up an unbelievable tale or two.