Why I Didn't Celebrate the Death of Osama Bin Laden

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Hello Fellow Seekers of Truth and Life,

One year ago, we got some big news. I think you remember what happened. On Sunday night, May 1, 2011, we found out that Navy SEALs had raided a compound in Abbottabad, Pakistan (30 miles north of Islamabad, like the Pakistani version of Manassas, Virginia), and shot Osama Bin Laden dead. I found out about it from Facebook comments from people. I didn't believe it at first, because you hear all sorts of things on the internet, but then we turned on CBS, and there was Obama, delivering the following announcement.



When I heard this, I felt all sorts of conflicting, excited emotions. There was the amazing revelation that something I didn't think could ever happen, just happened. The main conflict was between two feelings, the first was a grim satisfaction that We got him. That was my main feeling, that I hate it when the criminals get away. I believe people need to pay for their crimes. I really wanted him to pay for what he did to all those people, all their families, all their friends, coworkers, and all the people who cared about them.

All of them had a huge, horrific whole ripped in their lives that Tuesday morning in the late Summer of 2001. At least all those terrified people who jumped out of the 87th Floor of that building to their deaths, or the people on the planes who made teary last calls to their families, or employees who burned to death in the Pentagon, will not be left behind as a "cold case."

On the other hand, though, I just cannot bring myself to celebrate death, in any way, shape, or form. You might think that's a sappy way to go, but, quite frankly, I am done giving a damn. I used to take a lot of pleasure in the thought of hitting back at someone who wronged me, even if it was only a wrong to me, but I could never stand the sight of someone suffering. It's something that seeps into my consciousness, and I feel this need to make it stop. Thus, when I was about 14 or 15, I decided that hatred was an addiction that I needed to swear off. Ever since, any celebration of death has bothered me deeply. Let me backtrack, though, and talk about how I got to where I am on this issue.

I remember the morning of that September 11 very clearly still. I remember having breakfast, I was having Lucky Charms, my favorite cereal, as an 11-year-old kid, and my Mom told me a plane crashed into the World Trade Center in New York. I assumed it must have been an accident, it must have been cloudy. Mom told me it was a terrorist attack. She said it pretty straightforwardly, without much apparent surprise. When I went to school, I was still a little freaked out by my new setting. I had not been in middle school for a week, even, I had just started the previous Wednesday, and when everyone in class started talking about it, I realized what had gone on.

What I remember most, is hearing the teacher talking about the kind of planes that crashed into the towers. "These were big planes," she said. I found out later that these were not light propeller-driven planes, but huge passenger jets, 757-s and 767-s, both of which are massive. You have to understand that back then, I was a huge aviation geek. I loved machines that flew, and I was especially in awe of those passenger jets we often jump on and take for granted. I must have been one of the few people that got excited to get on a plane. It seemed like such a freeing thing to me.

An example of a drawing of jets that I often do. I have done so many of these it's not even funny.

It seemed bizarre to me that such beautiful, amazing machines could be used for such a terrible, destructive purpose. I spent the whole day not getting what went on, and wanting to get what it was that affected everybody that day. I remember getting scared about it that day when my new P.E. teacher was ostracizing us for talking too much. It was just a confusing day, all in all. After I got back from school, we were staring at the TV news ceaselessly, blankly trying to figure out what this was all about. My Dad finally turned it off and said "It's really easy to just veg out and watch TV, but let's not." Probably a good idea, in retrospect. However, in the dark days, weeks, months and the following year, TV coverage like this was something I saw regularly.



By the way, the point of the above segment was the speech from Donald Rumsfeld. His speech also included a line to the effect of "If anyone says this is an attack on the Afghan people, they're wrong." I remember being so thrilled about the speech, and that the US was bombing Afghanistan. After all, those guys had killed our people, we had to go get 'em. That gets to the central journey I have made, lo these 10-plus years since that day at the end of Summer.

I was a really patriotic kid back then, if only because of my goody-two-shoes nature. Still, I really wanted to get the people that did it. I was an 11-year-old boy, I wasn't about to take an attack from some foreigner lying down. I knew that the bad guys were a group called Al-qaeda (I heard it pronounced "Al Kita" which added another level of bizarreness to it), and the main villain was a guy in Afghanistan named Osama Bin Laden, who was the ringleader of another group called the Taliban. As unclear as I was on who these guys were and what their problem was, I knew we needed to take them out.

At the same time, when my Dad told me we were now at war, I got scared, because I got this image of old-school, nuclear war-type scenarios. Even then, I knew that war meant you could get hurt, you could be killed, and so could your whole family. I got anxious then, as I often did when unexpected things happened to me in my youth.

At about this time, I began to learn about a group of religious people called the Muslims. In the months after 9/11, I heard people talk about "Muslim-this," and "Islamic-that," but I had no idea what any of it referred to. In the 7th grade, our teacher took us through the world's religions. She told us that around 600 AD, a man named Muhammad (I've never figured out how to properly spell this name, forgive me) traveled through the desert in what is today Saudi Arabia, and found a bunch of guys worshipping false idols, and in general, acting quite badly.

Then one day, he went into a cave, and had a vision from God, whom they call Allah, and went forth to spread the word. Muhammad was only a prohpet, a messenger of God's vision. Today, that cave is a Holy Site to all Muslims. There are also five central demands in Islam, called the Five Pillars. They include prayer five times a day, facing the Holy City in Mecca, and at least one trip in believers' lives to said Holy City.

The ubiquitous image of the terrorist we are shown. I did this as a mock-up of a picture you would find on TV news about an international terrorist (hence the made-up foreign intel label in the bottom left). I assure you this was entirely fictionalized, but it does have truth to it, does it not?

I later found out that this religion had drawn a lot of suspicion from people here in the US, and later Europe. Because of religious customs in many Middle Eastern countries, people argue that the religion itself is wrong. I drew the above picture four years ago, to capture the familiar theme we find in the news, of the scary Muslim guy who tried to blow something up. Since the 80's, with the destruction of Flight 103, we've been seeing this picture of Middle Eastern guilt shown to us, over and over again.

This despite the fact that, as I mentioned in my post on terrorism on the 10th Anniversary of Daniel Pearl's death, that the majority of victims of Islamic terrorists are Muslims themselves, including about 2% of the 9/11 victims. All you get in our media is images and stories of the scary Muslims who are gonna blow you up or make your country adopt Sharia Law, and when everyone on the TV agrees on that, and all your friends and family believe in it, that becomes your reality.

The first time I realized it was after the Iraq War. In the early winter months of 2003, we began to hear talk of Iraq, Saddam Hussein, and "WMD's" weapons of mass destruction. Our government were telling us that we needed to invade now, before the "smoking gun" became a "mushroom cloud." Yet I began to hear a bigger group of people saying that there weren't weapons, there were other ways of dealing with the problem, and we needed to have the UN verify this to be true. I came to find out later that none of this was allowed to happen.

So the orgiastic beginning of this war was dismaying to me, since I was just beginning to discover that war and hurting could be wrong. My country could be wrong. Our country can be responsible for the deaths of families, of children, of people who do not deserve to die. That's never an easy learning experience.

It is only in the months and years that followed September 11th, the USA PATRIOT Act, and the Iraq War, that I have understood what those events truly mean. I have been just as angry at the terrorists from Al-qaeda and all the related networks as I have been at US Government officials, upon discovering their deceit, and callous disregard for people's very lives. Not only foreigners, these people don't give a damn about protecting us from anything. It is this kind of anger and despair about the world that has propelled me into meditation on this condition of getting shafted called the human condition.

For years, I felt a lot of anger about the world, about all the pain, unfairness, and loneliness I felt as if it were my own experience. I didn't even have the words to say what it was, accurately, much less the will to discuss it with anyone. As much anger as I felt, I felt it all because there was so little connection of people to each other. They were all in their own tunnel world, thinking about themselves, their cliques of friends, race, family, nation, economic status, and religion.

A dark voice inside me whispered, This is human nature, this is how it is, it is part of you, join it, give in. I was not going to give up, I was not going to be just another stooge to power, to nation, to religion, to Groupthink, as George Orwell termed it. I was going to defeat the dark part of my nature, while everyone else gave in to it in the form of supporting wars, killing in other countries, and all.

So why did I not celebrate the death of Osama Bin Laden? Well, because I just don't celebrate death, even if it is the death of a scumbag. Don't get me wrong, what Bin Laden did, not only on 9/11, but in running this collection of bad, bad people in Al-qaeda, and in his Holy War in the US, which included attacking our Embassies in Kenya and Tanzania in 1998, and our ship in Yemen in 2000, personified what evil means. To me, evil is not about a person, it is about what they do, and how they do it. Bin Laden conducted the killing of human beings with cool, steely composure, and pleasure in his work, the terrible deaths of people.

Yet, what were we doing the night he was killed? Celebrating like rowdy fraternity brothers, celebrating death. Where does that leave us? Everybody I heard in the news expressed sheer delight that he had died. Even Elie Wiesel, who received the Nobel Peace Prize in 1986, said that the death was well-deserved. Rudy Giuliani implied that if you aren't feeling a little gleeful, you're in denial. All they tell you is that it's human nature to take glee in the enemy's death, as if that's all human nature is: barbarism and vengeance. Even Jon Stewart, whom I usually like and admire, joined in the antics.

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What is even worse than him ridiculing the notion that maybe we shouldn't be having an orgy over this event, that maybe it was ambivalent, is his phallic implication at the end, there. That boils down to what most international conflict is about. Listen to a bit of George Carlin's famous Jammin' in New York special from 1992, about the Gulf War that had played out much like this Iraq War did.



You might find this offensive, but I think the point needs to be made that war is about proving who is tougher, who has more might, power or virtue, in other words, whose masculinity is more potent(because, at the risk of making a feminist statement, it is mainly men who are part of wars, but I digress). That's why I believe wars, killing, and hatred are not only destructive, but ultimately futile. After all, sooner or later, you will no longer be able to win power struggles consistently.

Ultimately, these assassinations are more symbolic than anything else. To Al-qaeda, the World Trade Centers and the Pentagon were symbolic of America's power. That's the main reason the terrorists chose to crash planes into them, because they had been trying to attack civilian jet liners for a long time, and several members of Al-qaeda's planning team were showing interest in the Twin Towers as potential targets. To us, here in the US, Bin Laden became the big bad guy. He was the symbol for all that was evil in this world. So I get why people would celebrate the killing of this terrible mastermind.

However, seeing the huge spectacle of raucous celebrations at this raid made me, just, spiritually ill. You may remember the outrage surrounding the picture of Palestinians celebrating as the planes crashed into the buildings.

I saw a picture similar to this one in the LA Times the day after 9/11. Even at my young age, I was coolheaded enough to realize the paper was probably doing it because they wanted war. A war would be good for their news. Yet it made me boil in rage nonetheless. There is no reason to celebrate death. Period. That's what is so awful about these celebrations. It isn't just that we've learned nothing from the errors of the Middle East, it's also that we would spit in the face of anyone who would tell us different from what we want to hear. Remember the story of the girl who trashed the Martin Luther King quote from my post on MLK Day? That to me was the height of arrogance and a willful, malicious variety of ignorance that is so often our error as a culture.

Oh, and by the way, I feel like I should mention this. Not everybody in Palestine was celebrating that day. Below is a photo from a large group of Palestinian students who held a long, silent vigil for their fellow children lost 5,000 miles away. You can find the link to the story here.

You're not gonna see this in the news. It doesn't fit into the neat little narrative that "sells" in the west. Our news outlets like CNN and the New York Times would be terrified of appearing to be "liberal" or "politically correct." So ironically, in their urge to not be politically correct, they come to serve another type of political correctness.

This goes to show that you do not have to celebrate death. Now, there is a difference, I want to make it clear that I know this. I am not defending Osama Bin Laden, and I am certainly not defending anything he ever did or stood for. What he did was wrong and it was evil, there is no dispute about that here.

However, I find it interesting that no one would listen to what the demands of Al-qaeda and all kinds of people in the Middle East are. That doesn't mean we should grant all the demands, that would be unrealistic and would let them off the hook too much. We need to know what the demands are, so we can decide what to allow, and what to stand firm on. We haven't done any of that, though, we've just insisted "They hate us for our freedom!"

The death of Osama Bin Laden was, for me, more a grim relief than anything else. My thought process was "At least he won't be able to hurt anyone anymore." We could learn from this relief, though, rather than go into an orgy of nationalism and machissmo. We must understand that we cannot accept that our government plays power broker all over the world, and expect that it won't come back to haunt us. This does not mean that we are to blame, however, if we stay silent while our government carries out unethical, undemocratic activities, such as the Iranian Coup of 1953, we are implicitly accepting it as normal.

We need to understand that while we, as individuals, may hold certain ideals, when it comes to our culture, the only thing others see, and judge us on, is our actions. We can't expect to keep our governmental status quo going and get more equitable and just results. We also need to have compassion, both for ourselves, and for other national bodies, even as we hold responsible the appropriate power players, be they heads of state, military leaders, or militants acting outside any national authority. Bottom line, if you commit the crime, you do the time, as Robert DeNiro once said.

This grim justice is not a cause to party. It is a cause for a more reflective relief. I believe we should be glad that at the very least, these horrible crimes were answered for. This does not mean that all terrorism has ended. We like to believe that once we "get" the main bad guy, all is won, but remember, this is the "War on Terror," which, by the way, you can't permanently win.

What you can do is root out the desperation and sense of wrong that makes terrorism seem so necessary for the peasants of Afghanistan, Yemen, and so forth. It was rich Saudis that funded Al-qaeda, whom the Taliban gave safe haven. From that, all sorts of people along that barren stretch of land on the Afghanistan-Pakistan border supported the terrorist network. The good news is that Al-qaeda is now on the run, and they are having less and less credibility throughout the Middle East and elsewhere.

The even better news is that most of the people on Earth are not sociopaths at their core. We realize, on some level, that pain is bad. From that starting point, let us learn now that it will not work to simply pin all of the evil in the world onto one man or group, sacrifice them, and believe evil has been purged. This can just as easily pinned on the righteous as it can be on the wicked. Rather, we must realize that there is a part in all of us, from the best to the worst human beings, that urges us to destroy, and to take glee in that destruction.

Often, when we pin evil on someone, putting all that urge to destroy on them becomes more natural, more just. We must face that part of ourselves and say "I don't need that high. I don't need the glee in destruction, even in the truly wicked." After all, working on this projection of our destructive will toward the "evil ones" is what allowed Bin Laden and sociopaths like him to recruit, train, and facilitate real evil. We can step out of that cycle.

Well, I'm sorry this post ended up taking so long, but like I said, I had a lot of contradictory emotions going on when this happened a year ago. I wasn't quite sure how I was supposed to feel about it. Venting on my knowledge, and my experience over the years has really helped clarify my aim here. As I was typing, all sorts of memories were coming back that I felt I needed to share with you. I feel this perspective was underrepresented in this story, and needed to be shared. Anyway, if you have any thoughts, feelings, comments, or anything on this you would like to share, please feel free.

I included this post on this blog because I believe our artistic experience can help us see the world in ways we may not have before. I hope that discussion on this helps bring a creative, innovative energy out into the world. I'll have some more good stuff for you soon. Thanks for listening.

See ya!

"Bully" Response: Tear Down These Walls!

Hi Fellow Seekers of Life and Truth,

I'm sorry I haven't been blogging for a while. This semester has proved to be much more hectic than I expected. But the strange thing is, I don't mind as much. It's a good kind of hectic. There are good kinds of hectic, and there are bad kinds. So I've been going to classes, volunteering for more things than I have time for, which is okay, because most of those things have not been given to me. Anyway, I'm back because I've got something important to talk about.

This film, the documentary Bully, came out a few weeks ago, and I thought it would be cool to see, but, as with most of these films, it was only playing at a few theaters in New York and LA, not here in Long Beach. Lo and behold, yesterday I discovered it was at a small theater here in town, so last night I went and saw it. It isn't an easy movie to see. Seeing it, I certainly thought back to lots of times when I had experienced abuse in school.

I remember one morning when I was in the first or second grade, in the late 90's. One boy turned to me and just said "Tony, you're a faggot." That was it. Pretty straightforward. No follow-up, nothing leading up to that, he just called me a faggot and that was it. I thought, "Huh, what's that all about?" I had heard that word someplace before, but I had no idea what it meant, or, more importantly, what it conveyed.

In the following years, I grew into an environment where statements like this were among the nice things that happened to you. Statements like "Have you seen the movie (whispering inaudibly) Gay People Say What?" (Calling toward you) "Hey, gay guy!" "Shut up, you're a fucking retard!" were a common thing.

Poster from a campaign against the phrase "That's so gay!"

I focused on gay slurs here because those were the ones that were used as invective weapons. I think those were especially damning among us boys, although I have only my male experience as a frame of reference for that. The two biggest lines of attack were gay slurs and slurs against mentally challenged kids. This was a mystery to me, because I had always been straight. There was never really any doubt that I was going to grow up to love girls, even though I had issues dealing with them. But, for some reason, I got more of the gay slurs than most of the other kids.

It seems like the kids most vulnerable to bullying are the ones who cannot or will not live up to their gender's expectations. For instance, one of the people shown in the film is a teenage lesbian who lived the "butch" role. She lived in a little town in Oklahoma someplace, so of course, upon coming out, she was radioactive. Former friends of the family refused to even talk to, or look at, them. So, if you're a girl who doesn't act and think the way a girl "should" you will be shunned and a social pariah, and if you're a boy who doesn't behave the way a boy "should," you will be intimidated, berated, and physically attacked.

The worst thing is that the adults in the film were dragging their feet to help, and often were not helping. The adults' attitudes and answers often implied, even if unintentionally, that the victims were to blame. They talk as if "kids will be kids," "boys will be boys," "kids are cruel, that's just how it is," implying that it is the kid's responsibility to fit in, to be accepted, and to be like the other kids. The flip side of this is that kids who cannot or will not "fit in" have it coming if they get attacked.

I certainly got messages like this when I was growing up. My parents would tell me things like "The kid who stands out, that's the kid that gets picked on," "You hide in a corner, and when someone picks on you, you go "poor me." Do you want us to pinch every penny and send you to private school?" I'm not blaming only my parents for this, because I love them. The sad irony is that this kind of victim blame usually happens when the event is so awful and that people are so horrified by it. This ranges from treasured young ones being bullied, to women being raped, even when the poor are shafted by a bad economy. Below is a video of presidential candidate Herman Cain discrediting Occupy Wall Street protesters last Fall, and telling the poor to "blame themselves" if they are in a bad place.



What all of this goes to show us is that we have a way of refusing to believe it could be this bad, by internalizing these absurd justifications offered by authorities, and sometimes the aggressors themselves. Most of us internalize these beliefs offered about this. I have internalized many of these things said about me. The worst part of all of this is that if someone can't stand up for themselves, they deserve what they get.

When you internalize these beliefs people throw at you, the terrible things they can do to you start to seem normal. You know, I've learned that about 90% of the way ads, TV and media work is at a subconscious level. You soak up so many things up without even realizing it. This is particularly true of children and teenagers, even in your 20's, this is still going on. Books, movies and so forth tell us that the only way that works to respond to bullies is to retaliate physically. However, this can have bad consequences.

One of the girls in the movie kept getting attacked by the other kids, so one day, she took her mother's gun onto the school bus. She threatened the other kids, but was subdued, arrested. Thank God no one got hurt or killed on that bus. But the sheriff's department held here on, as they determined, "45 felony charges" (this was in Mississippi) and would have faced more than a lifetime in prison.

They decided to have her see a mental counselor instead, but the message was still clear; she would take all the blame, and the kids who were doing that to her would be let off the hook. In this way, she was made to look like the crazy one. We don't know what those kids were doing to her. It could have been something truly terrible, something against which anyone would react strongly. When you've been horribly abused, is it insane to do something to stop it?

That said, I do not believe that anything you do to so-called bullies is okay. There are right and wrong ways to stand up for yourself. I never liked seeing people get hurt, that's why I had a problem dealing with people picking on me. I could never respond decisively, in the way that make bullies back off. However, there were a few times when I "lost my shit" so to speak. This leads to my next point about the movie. The movie focused mainly on a few episodes, around the country, where bullying tactics had led to kids snapping. It had little to do with things we can do about it, which is okay, because there, you get into harsh political territory, but I will throw out some considerations here.

In the last 12 or 13 years, since the Columbine Massacre, bullying in schools has become a political issue of heightened importance. Seeing people abused is a very personal issue for most people, because most people have been abused at some point themselves, but what can we do about it, as a society and as individuals? Well, first we need to look at our educational priorities. We must realize that when you're young, class is not the only place you are learning. You are also learning how to deal with people, how to relate, people are hopefully teaching you good morals.

We have to transcend this public school/private school debate. We have become attached to this one mode of public school that isn't working, or, alternatively, a charter/private school model where everyone has to be "effective" enough, or they will be cut. Life does not improve when everything is run like a corporation. However, our public school model clearly needs to be updated from the gigantic, impersonal model public schools have followed since World War II.

Here's the choice we've got: we could try to beat the Chinese and the South Koreans at their own game. In each State of the Union, Obama has held them up as the ones we have to beat. Sure, we could focus all on our test scores and grades, but we'd lose a lot of our innovative human potential. Here's the other choice: we could take a look at what the Finnish have done with their education system. Below is a report from The Young Turks about the steps Finland has taken in the last 30 years.



Now, I'm not saying we should do everything that the Finns have done, but their approach does touch on some of the concepts I've been ranting and raving about here for months. In the context of countering an environment of bullying, this is even more crucial to our success, and since a few of the kids featured were driven to end their lives, the stakes can be life or death. Now, you might ask, What does education policy have to do with bullying?

Well, a lot, as it turns out. The film showed school administrators insisting they would do all that they could, but then not doing much at all, besides offering words. In one instance, the principal even reproached the victim when both of them were caught in a scuffle. This shows that our school system must be a part of this change.

I remember, when I was back in school, I had to take speech classes because I was not skilled at communicating with the other kids. I don't think it's crazy to suggest that classes on communicating issues, complaints, wants or fears to other kids could be part of a curriculum all young students experience. As it stands, there isn't any standard course in school available on this until you get to college. That's why I decided to major in communication studies, because I believe that if we were able to work through our differences, a lot less pain would be in this world.

So some ideas that come to my mind are having some regular programs in place on conflict resolution, assertiveness, confidence, and responsibility for your own actions. This last one is critical, because it would be easy to assume, "Oh, it doesn't happen to me," even if you are yourself a part of the process. One of the kids in the movie recalled that when he was in second grade, he would join in the teasing and ridicule of the outsiders, but then in the third grade, he took resposibility for his wrongdoings, and that year, he decided he didn't need popularity anymore.

Even though I have been the victim of verbal attacks, I used to join in on jeers, pleasing myself with my inventive use of terms for "gay." I'll just say that now. I've said, thought, and done plenty of things I wish that I hadn't, that I would never do again. I have held racist, sexist and homophobic assumptions. Kids need to learn to accept those insecure tendencies we all have, to explore them without judgement, and take ownership of their insecurity, before the insecurity takes ownership of them.

This leads neatly into the personal goals. There is only so much the Departments of Education can do at a state and national level, or that school administrators can do. Ultimately, it is up to the child, with assists from their parents, to stand on their own two feet. The group of children must learn that being different is not bad. It is not good either, but it is not a sin. People are neither good nor bad, but rather, they are there. If children learned this from their parents' examples, think of how their growth would change. They would get the confidence to stand up for parts of them that aren't the "cool" things.

Now, all of the episodes in this movies happened in Bible Belt Red States, states like Georgia, Oklahoma, Iowa and Mississippi. I found out where these places are located, and all of them, with the exception of Sioux City, Iowa, are remote, rural towns. I guess that makes the bullying even more prevalent, when the town is so close-knit, everybody knows everybody, and outsider types are not welcome. In any area, it definitely is not seen as "cool" to be different. When everybody is faced with insecurity, the "different" ones are made the scapegoats. This is a very easy, human, and common pattern, but it is also very dangerous. When it happens to a society, the consequences can be deadly.

The bad news is that the scapegoat process of school bullying has gotten more dangerous and dire. With technology and the easy availability of weapons to anyone, the actions can be far more damaging. The good news is, the vicious cycle can be broken. When enough people rise up, and refuse to go through the motions of life, the school climate will begin to shift. People can set boundaries for themselves, bottom lines, refusing to do "whatever" to be cool and fit in. But that takes confidence, which a lot of kids don't have. Only bullies themselves generate it by hiding their problems and shame under their aggression.

So we need to set new criteria for what people confident in themselves do. Being confident comes from knowing that you are good enough. People who feel like they are good enough do not have to use others, berate them or physically destroy them, or destroy them inside. People who are good enough can learn from their past faults. The reason I mentioned the "Bible Belt" earlier is because this is a big thing among Christianity. Didn't some guy once say "Let he who is without sin cast the first stone?"

Remember who Jesus spent all his time with? The crippled people, the homeless, the hookers, the lepers. Think of all the most disowned and disliked kids, the gay and lesbian teenagers, the transgender teenagers, the ones with learning challenges, the disabled ones, and the vast array of kids who feel like they can't talk to anybody. Nobody would listen to them. Nobody would care about what they like, who they are, their struggles, their state of being. If this sounds like I'm describing part of my life, it's because I am. I know that I'm not the only one this applies to, though.

Part of this may be a selfish thing, because I often became one of the abuse scapegoats. I think the worst thing in the movie, and the closest to home, was when they told the kid with the odd face issue, "Two to a seat, dumbass!" on the bus. That is the essence of what most bullying is; when someone makes a mistake, they destroy you, and most other kids never really give you a second chance after that.

I used to make all sorts of social gaffes, bear the ridicule, then internalize the shame about myself. But I am older now, and I know that I can get second chances if I do screw up. The final sequence in the film involves parents, children and teenagers holding rallies in their cities and states to bring awareness to this issue. One man, who had lost his son to suicide, implored to the crowd: "Reach out to that one new kid who has no one." The paradox is this: we need to be there with those kids for them to stand on their own. Because we have all been vulnerable, without anyone, at some time in our lives.

It's about time we did the non-normal thing and took a stand for someone outside, because once a critical mass of people does this, bullies will no longer be able to hide their own shame and insecurity behind beating up the helpless people, and they will have no followers to intimidate them. Then, we will all have to face our own insecurity and vulnerability, as the best human beings do. The solution to bullying is, ultimately, not to outlaw words or actions, it is to reclaim all of our humanity.

Please post a comment below, if you have any feelings, stories, or ideas about this issue. If you have been bullied, or someone you care for has experience with bullying, share whatever you feel comfortable with. The point is to show that more and more people have suffered, that you are not alone, that you don't have to "just get over it," and people will listen to you openly and nonjudgementally. I apologize for the sheer mass of this post, but I have had these feelings for a long time, and I have just recently gotten the words to express them. Thanks for listening, and please go see the movie Bully whenever you get the chance. I will have more interesting good stuff for ya in the next post.

See ya!

"The Poetry of Pizza": A Transformational Moment

Poetry of Pizza ran from February to March of 2010 in the Cal Rep Theater.

Hello, fellow seekers of life and truth,

That's a nice opener, isn't it? I think I'll start using that, now. It adds a little more potency to the opening. Anyway, I've got another play-related post for you. This one is multi-dimensional, just like last night's was. Do you remember any moment in your life when things clicked, and your life was taken in a different direction? It may have been a big moment, where some dramatic event turned your life in a 180. Sometimes, though, there are small moments, where you just do one thing, and that one thing changed the way you look at life. After that, everything begins to shift. Two years ago, today, in fact, going to see the play The Poetry of Pizza did that for me.

I remember very clearly the night I went to go see this play, 2 years ago. It was a Wednesday night, March 3, 2010. Yes, I do remember the days of the week that most things happen. Why I know this is a whole different story. Like I was saying, though, I remember that very clearly, because that was the first play I saw as a student in Theater Arts. That evening, I was excited to go down to this theater, located on the permanently-docked Queen Mary. I remember getting going early, having eagerly anticipated this time out. Back then, I lived a much more solitary existence.

Now, I didn't know what to expect from this play. However, it turned out that this play grabbed two parts of me that I didn't know could go together. First off, the action in this play happens in 1998, three years before, well, you know what happened. I remember that time period. Back then, the only people who tweeted were birds, and the only facebook you could find was the one your grandparents were always showing you. Ah, but enough of my waxing nostalgic.

Anyway, Sarah Middleton, who was played by the woman I was studying under, is a 40-something, jaded professor of fine poetic works who has just relocated to Copenhagen. She is under the persistant guidance of her American friends, and the constant eye of a seedy Danish professor. One day, she walks into a pizzeria owned by a colorful group of Kurdish refugees. Sarah finds one in particular, Soran, who is an artist when it comes to these pizzas. When Sarah samples one of these delights, she is taken with this man.

Now, when she talks to him again, she finds out his troubled back story. Even though she is ten years older than he is, as Soran puts it he "feels older than his 34 years." It turns out he and his friends fled from Northern Iraq (an area called "Kurdistan" that encompasses parts of Iraq, Iran and Turkey) when Saddam Hussein began carrying out a murder campaign by poison gas attacks, and many other gruesome methods. This changes Sarah's understanding of Soran's depth. He has not been dragged into the pit of cynicism or nihilism, in spite of the terrible things he has witnessed in life.

As the two grow closer together, a variety of characters, American, Danish, and Kurdish, play out many bizarre antics, Seinfeld-ian in their humor and vulnerability. Sadly, one day, Soran asks Sarah, one day, to shave her, well, bush, as per Kurdish cultural custom. Scared of this, Sarah and Soran mutually decide they are just too different from each other to make it. Their friends are seen telling them to just "let it go." They both feel a hole in their hearts. In the end, Soran and Sarah decide they love each other so much, working through their differences  is worth it to them. In the last scene, the two are getting married in the Kurdish custom, and Sarah samples a very special slice of pizza. All the other characters, and evenly split cast of men and women, discover each other, and none of them are lonely.

Now, normally, this kind of "happy" ending does not work for me. It just leaves some part of the human experience out most of the time. Here, however, it was not blindly overlooking life. It was very life-affirming, and heartwarming. It was something I thought, "Well, that could never happen in real life." Maybe it could, though. People often believe that you need an ending that is as dreary and grey as possible, that takes any hope in your heart, and just squashes it, in order to get people to think. To me, this is not always true. I think The Poetry of Pizza really made that warmth in spite of the darkness and the division apparent.

Now, the woman you see in the photo at the top, was my first teacher at this school that I go to now. She told us that the man who had acted opposite her as Soran had lived in Kosovo back when the War and genocide were still going on in the late '90's. He didn't have to stretch too far to figure out his motivations as a character. Anyway, I only began to realize later how this play had subtly affected me. Theater suddenly became a place of community, of humanity, where you could explore all the pains and heartaches going on in the world, and tell truths in no uncertain terms, but with all the compassion toward a person standing exposed, vulnerable, on the stage. That night, I came to understand what the theater was really about, for me.

I'd like to show you a tribute drawing I did for this play myself, a few months later:

Sarah Middleton boards a flight from the U.S. to Denmark, shortly before the opening of The Poetry of Pizza.

You may notice I have a lot of aircraft and flying machines as subjects in my art. When I was younger, I was simply fascinated by air travel, and dedicated many a visual work to airplanes, helicopters, and such. Anyway, Sarah's looking out into the plane is meant to connote the beginning of a journey into the unknown. It is supposed to be slightly dated-looking, but close to our time, and reminiscent of memories I had of that period.

So my question is this: do works of art (especially plays, books, and movies) have to be dark in tone to convey a meaningful message? Or could it be (at the risk of asking a rhetorical question) that some happy discoveries in plays and films can change our understanding of life, and shift our sense of what is possible to do? I want to finish this post on that note. I'm sorry it took longer to get done than I anticipated; I was fighting off a fever yesterday and today. I will be back up to speed soon, and hopefully, I'll get some time to blog. Thanks for listening.

See ya, and keep wondering, folks!

"Quills" and Violence in the Media

(Photo Courtesy of The Daily 49er)

Hello, fellow seekers of life and truth,

Sorry I haven't blogged in over a week, but this week, in particular, has been a hectic one. You'll see why over the course of this post. As you know, I have become more involved in theater and play productions over the last year, year and a half. This discovery has been life-changing for me, although I still don't know where I will go from here. Thus, talk about the theater and the stage is something I use a lot on this blog.

Anyway, the reason I have been busy is that I have been rehearsing and preparing this week. Not for a production, mind you, but for an in-depth scene to be done in class. I had been rehearsing this for a few weeks, but this week we did a rehearsal sunday, monday, and tuesday night, to perform the scene Wednesday afternoon.

The scene comes from a play called Quills. The play is set in 19th Century France, when Napoleon was still in power. It presents a melodramatic, chaotic, bizarrely dark and moving fantasy account of the last days of the Marquis de Sade, who died in 1814. For the last decade of his life, he was detained at Charenton Asylum in Saint-Maurice. He was under the care of Dr. Royer Collard, the chief medical officer there, and the Abbe de Coulmier, the main administrator at the asylum.

The latter, as a minister, attempts to change the Marquis, curing him of his sin, and stopping his prolific writings. The asylum leadership is embarrassed by the Marquis's ability to circulate graphic vignettes of debauchery and vice, which are written with eloquent, lyrical verbage. These stories are of people who engage in pedophilia, abduction, rape, bestiality, and necrophilia. As per the Doctor's demands, Coulmier resorts to progressively more drastic measures, ultimately gouging out the Marquis's tongue, dismembering and killing him. Coulmier himself becomes quite deranged, and, to his horror, takes thrill in the Marquis's death. This is the most horrifying revelation of all: that a monster lies even in the most noble of men.

Anyway, in this scene, my role was as this Coulmier, and my "given circumstances" (to borrow a term from actor-speak) were that I had just taken away the Marquis's quill, his writing utensil, and I believed I was on the way to "curing" him. Here, I was being told the Marquis had used the wine he was given to write another story. The doctor was that I step up the physical pressure on the Marquis to stop writing, and I, being the charitable healer, had to defy him, to heal the Marquis my way. The scene involved a flashback to a conversation, and then another flashback to the Marquis writing. My main challenge was to stay reactive, but still, while all these flashbacks were going on.

Luckily, the director had this vision that the girl playing the Marquis using us all as life-size action figures, arranging us all in her liking. It made it fun to be part of her desires, and just go with it, in a way. The best ideas for this came in the last few days. Fortunately, it all ended up coming together well in the scene. Some people though parts of it didn't work, for other people, they really clicked. To a certain extent, that is just part of art: it will click for some people, but not for others. People seemed to think our scene was well-thought-out enough to constitute a worthwhile scene.

Now, when I went to see it the other night, that took the scene and the play to a whole new level. The actors, all grad students and professors of Theater, many of whom I had learned from or am now, had researched it much more meticulously than even I did for this. They pronounced all the French phrases deftly, while we had to go through them a few times to learn how they were really pronounced. Of course, they were able to go all out with the period dress, and they really hammed up the effects of their characters, the broken sadness, the chilling, frightening malevolence, as is the custom in the melodrama in which the play is written.

The playwright, Doug Wright, said that he played up the division between the good and the bad characters, that they were "either kissed by God or yoked in Satan's merciless employ." Even so, I was able to detect qualities in the Marquis, the diabolical one, that were positive, as well as ones in the Doctor, even in Coulmier, that were less than Godly. In spite of the Marquis's resistance to Coulmier, the two actually form a dialectic, in that one's existence actually gives meaning to the other's. There is actually a bond of sorts that connects them, which makes Coulmier's final act all the more painful to behold. All in all, the play pulled out all the stops, and it had more going for it than against it.

Now, onto the implications of Quills. This play had a lot to do with censorship of viciously sexual and violent content in literature. Our instructor asked us to consider why the playwright might have written a play in a given era. Now the play Quills debuted off Broadway on November 3, 1995. In 1989, a homoerotic photo exhibit, funded by the National Endowment for the Arts, prompted fears that such expression would degrade society itself. The pressure on the N.E.A. in the ensuing years became an event known as the Mapplethorpe Controversy (after photographer Robert Mapplethorpe).

In the years to come, the debate over what should and shouldn't be seen in art and entertainment became more urgent, and had more dire consequences. On April 20, 1999, two juvenile delinquents in Littleton, Colorado decided to bomb their high school's cafeteria, and then turn guns on the other kids. 13 people were killed, including a teacher, and the two assailants themselves. In the wake of that event, people became concerned about the increasingly violent video games, movies and music that were cropping up. Now art was no longer violent for a purpose, it was violent just for the sake of gorging itself on the gore.

In a 2001 interview with the Advocate, after the movie Quills was released, Doug Wright was interviewed about violent lyrics, specifically in Eminem's music, for which he won an award the previous year. His lyrics were violently homophobic, "My words are like a dagger...that'll stab you in the head-whether you're a fag or a lez." Wright, who is gay, stated concern without scapegoating Eminem or anyone else. He believed that the words in question were a diatribe that had the potential to help move our lives forward. Quoting him,

"Look at something like the Columbine incident, and you see that volatile teenage minds will express themselves with the tools that they are given. Give them a paintbrush, and you might get a painting; give them a handgun, and you might get a massacre. What's really troubling about someone like Eminem is the very purgative nature of art. If he purges his own demons by creating this kind of rhetoric, then it has a certain societal value, you could argue. And yet how can we as a society educate him sufficiently so that the ultimate result doesn't defile us all, collectively?"

I grew up thinking that violent television, movies, and games were not a problem. Sometimes, it hit me wrong, and really bothered me, but I thought it was cool to watch action-packed sci-fi and superhero movies. I thought it was cool to listen to rappers like 50 Cent and Eminem, just for the sake of seeing what it was like. As I got in to my later teens, I got more and more bothered by the violence, the cruelty, of the words. When I was a teenager, if you didn't act like the other guys, you would get called a "fag," a "retard," and all insults were designed to trap you in gay-looking situations. That banter grew to bother me, once I passed the age of about 14 or 15.

I was disgusted by all the gory, horrible movies, video games, and such that other people seemed to think was a game. Seeing people hurt has always bothered me, but as I grew up, I felt like sticking to this drove me apart from everyone else. That said, though, I do not believe in not showing violence or sex to people in art, or literature, or music. Like I said, there is indulgence and gorging in the gore, and horror, and what not. That has an addictive, druglike quality to many people. However, there are some very violent works of art, film, and literature that have lots of artistic merit, and insight into the human condition.

The reason I chose to show the photo from Taxi Driver above is that I believe it is one such example. It was my favorite film when I was about 14. Travis, the hero, becomes raw, violent, and brutal, throughout the course of the film. However, there is this quality about him that strikes you like a boy of about 12 or 13. With an increasing violent or unstable streak in him, and yet, there is still a childlike, earnest quality to the way he acts.

Also, violent artworks are not necessarily supportive of it, or condemning of it. Quills itself offers actions that support both freedom of expression and suppression thereof. Though the Marquis is lionized as a hero of freedom of expression, when he passes a story of his through the asylum, a madman decides to act its content out on Madeleine, a 16-year-old maiden who is taken with the Marquis, and for whom he secretly feels smitten.

I wanted to show you this work of mine because it has to do with a horrible act of violence against the girl in this picture, who is dying, but because it is reminiscent of the fate of Madeleine in Quills. This comes from an idea I had that was about crime, justice, and the victim. To me, neither art glorifying the criminal nor the law is totally correct. Wright himself said that what makes this debate so potent is that "there is truth on all sides of it." I believe what good art does is show the truth on two opposing sides, in two opposing people.

I think Quills definitely succeeds at this. At the same time, it made me laugh with perverted amusement, made my nerves tingle with the creeps, and cringe with sadness and pain for the people involved. This kind of multi-layered reaction is connection to the human condition. For that, Quills is definitely worth reading or seeing. I'll have more material for you tomorrow. Thanks.

See ya, and keep wondering, folks!

North of the Border

Hi there,

Sorry I haven't blogged in a couple of weeks, folks. This semester has taken off right from the start, which is good, because all of my classes are really interesting and enjoyable. Unfortunately, this has left less time for me to blog. However, after this week, I have something for you that I have been working on for a long time. I envisioned this work expressly for the purpose of putting up on this blog.

Anyway, you're probably aware that Kim Jong-il, the authoritarian communist leader of North Korea, died recently. This happened two months ago, so now it's "old news," but I figured I'd talk about this nonetheless. I thought I would get this completed sooner, but you know how things go. Duties come up in your life, and tasks you want to get done end up getting pushed back. Thankfully, this work came together last Sunday afternoon, and here it is now for us to discuss. Anyway, there's a certain clarity to events that comes with examining them after the frenetic news coverage dies down.

Kim Jong-il became the de facto President of North Korea back in 1994. Kim promoted a policy of "military first" for the allocation of the country's financial resources. All the while, North Korea has been among the poorest countries in the world. For several years after Kim took power, North Korea had a terrible period of famine, lasting from 1994 to 1998. If you read the 1997 piece from The Economist I just linked to, you'll notice they point out that people had little knowledge of the famine for a few years. This is important. This is because virtually no news came out of North Korea. What we heard was what they wanted us to hear.




This was the initial announcement of Kim's passing. The newscaster's hammed-up crying was the common reaction throughout the country. North Korean citizens had to be as sad as possible about his death; this determined what place in society they would fit into. This was a test of their loyalty to the state.

The important part of this is that those people did accept that reality, the reality where Kim Jong Il was God. They believed that he always bowled a 300, or shot a 30 every time he played golf. This is the level of worship Kim Jong Il enjoyed. All these years, though, Kim was able to demand the most lavish amenities. He hired the finest chefs in the world, from Japan, and Italy, to cook just the simplest foods for him, according to the Telegraph of London. This was while that same famine was occurring, in which as much as 10% of the North Korean people may have starved to death.

However, Kim, according to what records exist, had very sophisticated hobbies. Apparently, he had thousands of cookbooks in his library. He was also a well-known film buff (he apparently had a thing for westerns). He had a collection of thousands of his own movies, and according to the video below, he had been an aspiring director himself.



What does all this say? Kim Jong Il definitely was a character. Now there are people that are characters, that they have very distinct, very out-of-the-ordinary, personal interests and behaviors. Some people have unusual personalities for the better, some for both better and worse, some definitely for the worse. Kim Jong Il was definitely that way for the worse. You hear this stuff about his keen interest in filmmaking, and you think (or I think) "What if he had ended up being a director?" You know, the way Hitler had failed to become a painter. So if he had somehow been able to become a director, who knows? You might have been watching one of his movies right now. Just a thought.

Why should I be talking about all of this, though? I mean this drawing has nothing to do with politics. It is just a representation of a small fishing village on the Yalu River, the North Korean border with China. I brought all of this up to get, and to give you, as the reader, just a small window into this faraway, distant, scary place. I had gotten the idea before to just do a landscape drawing, but this time it would be of someplace in North Korea. Then when Kim passed away, suddenly North Korea is front and center again, and I got the opportunity to do that project, and explore all of this with you, the reeders.

I was able to find a good representation of this area using Google Earth pictures, which was where I got the idea for the tugboat in the foreground. Therefore, it is very limited in its representation. I will own up to that right now. I do not claim that this drawing is the end-all, be-all of what we need to understand the situation in North Korea, or in any other distant country I might represent in my future works. Hopefully, though, it can be a good starting point. I wanted to find some part of it that was less political, and more recognizable. In landscapes, the manmade aspects of the scene are de-emphasized.

I got this image of a village, but mainly of a riverbank, with the mountains in the background, and a cold wind blowing. So I tried to evoke that image on the page here, using the visual, three-dimensional tools I had. I also found the writing on the red sign on the fence from Google Earth photographs of the area, so I don't know what it means. However, what the letters mean isn't the focus of this. Like a saying I first heard the other day goes, believe none of what you hear and half of what you can see. I really think that saying touches on something, that's why I shared it then. The point of mentioning it is that the spoken, written messages are being taken out of this encounter, and here, I wanted to get just a visual piece of this distant, abstract place. I hope you thought this was an informative post. I'll have some more intriguing material soon!

See ya, and keep wondering, folks!

First Impressions

Hi there,

The following story comes from something that happened to me once. I can still remember it clearly, and it marked a significant turning point in my social life. After I tell it to you, I will explain the backstory behind it, and why I brought it up. So here goes.

I was sitting in the second row, close to the stage, waiting apprehensively. I was listening to Jessica, the girl on stage, playing her guitar, and singing with a big vocal range. She was using the full sound on the guitar, and her voice really flowed up and down gracefully.

Oh, wonderful! I thought. You mean I have to follow that? With my little comedy act? I was waiting to present my passionate interest to the class. This was the second week of my second Fundamentals of Acting semester. The day earlier, I had an idea to share some of the impressions I did with my brother as my passionate interest. My older brother and I use a lot of impressions and obscure references when talking, which almost makes our communication a dialect unto itself.

When I asked Anna, the course instructor here, if that would be a good idea. She said it would be really interesting to see me do them. Later that day, when reviewing which of my "characters" that I wanted to bring out here, I got this huge smile, thinking about the riffs Drew and I had gone on with various different personalities. I thought of our riffs on Jack Nicholson from A Few Good Men, and my uncle from back east, whom I told you about a few weeks ago. Today, as it would be my turn next to share these impersonations for the first time, I was getting those nervous feelings.

Then Jessica's guitar number wound up, and we applauded, calling our approval of her singing and instrumental skills. Lots of the people in the class had musical skills. Now it was my turn to show my observational and humor skills. As Anna called for me to get on the stage at the front of class, I got that nervousness in my throat. My nerves were starting to go, and my heart was racing.

I stood up at the front of the class, waiting for everyone to quiet down. "Well, this passionate interest is from something my brother and I like to do," I began. "We have all these inside jokes we like to do with each other."

Anna asked if my brother, Drew, was older or younger than me. I told her that it's just Drew and I, and he's the older one. "Now, I can imitate lots of celebrities, actors, political figures, and so forth, pretty accurately. I can't do everybody, but I'll let you know, upfront, if there's somebody that I can't do."

My legs were actually starting to shake now. I compare speaking in public and acting on stage to jumping off a tall diving board. When you're standing up on top of the tower, it looks really scary, but when you jump, and begin falling toward the pool, the fear dissipates. You are just moving, swinging your body and getting ready to go in the water. I had just jumped, and now the fear was blowing up like a firework.

The people in the class were asking me who I could imitate. Benji, one of the guys in the audience, asked me if I could channel Sarah, the instructor we had the previous semester. I paused for a moment, wondering if it was okay to do a caricature of a person I liked. I didn't know if it was disrespectful, or a putdown, to do this. Finally I just dove into it.

"Se, I don't really believe you were laughing at that!" I started off, playing on her energetic pace and motions," You were showing me you were laughing, but you weren't really doing it. You know?" I chuckled a little, as Sarah would do when she said that. This was always how she started off telling us to go deeper into our actions. "You just gotta...fuckin'...go in there and laugh your ass off...like this." Then I threw my head back and laughed with my whole body, much as she would have done to show us. The whole class was laughing by now.

"My brother and I like to go off on all these tangents," I went on, "Like we have all these lines and actors we riff on. Like one time, up in LA, we saw this flag for Google,  and we went on this tear about how Google was taking over the world. So we went off on this Jack Nicholson speech from A Few Good Men. So we said," I began my impression of Jack Nicholson's facial ticks, with the eyebrows and forehead, and the authoritative delivery as the bad-ass Colonel in that movie. Watch the speech below here.



"Yes, God Bless Google, son! I have neither the time, nor the inclination to explain myself to someone who lives his life under the auspices of the knowledge that I provide, and then questions the way in which I provide it! I would rather you just said thank you and moved along!" I then went further with the "God Bless Google" line of thought, and added this thought I had recently to it. "So when you say your little prayers tonight as you tuck yourself in, you just thank Google for enlightening your SORRY ASS!"

"You do a mean Jack Nicholson there!" Anna exclaimed to me.

"That's as good as it gets!" I answered, still in voice, and with the impression. This had been the most daunting part of my act here. For me to step into this role as the ultimate authority figure, the ruthless Colonel defending, here, the huge search engine, seemed like the most daring place to inhabit for that. Like someplace I didn't belong, but I did it anyway. I switched gears at this point.

"Sometimes, I like to do these impressions of family members of mine. For instance, I have this uncle who owns a farm back east, and he has these games he likes to play with people. He has this gift for finding exactly the, you know, button you push, and it drives you nuts, and he pushes it again and again. Particularly, if we're all eating dinner, he'll say," Now I imitated his low, grumbly voice, "What's the most embarassing thing you've ever done without telling anyone? Starting with you, Caterina." I pointed at Caterina, the girl in class with whom I'd worked on our final scene the previous semester. She was flustered "What, me?" she seemed to be saying.

"That's just an example of the kinds of things he likes to do. And then he has this very unique laugh, it sounds kind of like this. HA HA HA HA!" I mirrored his distinct laugh, which has a loud quality to it, and sounds almost like a repeated quack. People in class asked me to do it again for them."You know that part at the end of the Michael Jackson song, Thriller? Where he says "No mere mortal can escape the evil of the thriller?" and then he cackles? That reminds of how he laughs." Then I did an impression of him saying to us, "No mere mortal can escape the evil of the thriller, Drew! HA HA HA HA HA!" That got another big laugh from the class. People were asking me to do more imitations, but Anna warned them not to ask me to do too many, at the risk of mocking others, perhaps in the audience. I had shown my passionate interest by now.

I can still remember that clearly in my mind. That happened just over a year ago now. It was my first year of studying acting at this university I go to. It was one of the first times that I got on stage, and got involved with something I was excited about. Back then I was not used to doing it. Since, I have started applying that philosophy of exploring the impulses and images that excite me. Back then, I viewed the role that I was stepping into as being so far away from me, that doing it felt like it didn't fit. Still, there was something that made it worth doing. It was just too fun a challenge not to take on. I went up there and showed it, though I was nervous. I was getting the sweaty palms, quick heart rate, I could feel my knees shake at one point, as I said.

Back then, I wasn't used to showing this to people. I had only done it in short bursts with my brother. However, in the year since, I have gotten more creative in what I show, what I talk about, how I talk about it, what I explore creatively. I have habitually begun to go after the impulse, the thing that excites me, to show what I am thinking and feeling. When I do this, it really changes the way I go through life.

So have any of you had an experience like this? Have you ever had a time when you revealed some attribute or talent of yours that people hadn't seen before. Did showing something make your way of life shift? I'd like to hear any responses, because these moments of revelation are what make this blog really come alive. I'll have some more material for you guys up soon.

See ya, and keep wondering, folks!

Extremely Loud & Incredibly Close (But Not There Yet...)

 A moving moment between Oskar Schell (Thomas Horn) and his mother (Sandra Bullock).

Hi there everybody,

Well, sorry for that long hiatus since last week's landmark post. I hadn't planned to get so revealing, but that is what this blog will demand. Anyway, the two posts I wanted to do last night ended up getting pushed back to today. However, I have now returned in full force to give you, at last, my post of Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close.

I had been wanting to see this movie from the day I saw the preview. Usually, when I see previews in the movie theater, I just shake my head, and want to get to the damn movie I came to see. Previews usually look nearly identical and because of this, they don't mean very much to me, you know. However, when I saw the premise of this one, I knew I had to see it.

I'll say right up front that I am biased, somewhat, in favor of Extremely Loud. Because the clips features the young boy, about 11, 12, 13 years old, around the time of 9/11 (that's about the same age I was at that time), and the kid was sad, overwhelmed, but he still took on a lot of challenge in searching for the place for this key. It was really inspirational to see, because when I was in the sixth or seventh grade, I felt really defeated by life, and overwhlemed by all the sights, sounds, and goings on I was encountering in the world. Even the name Extrmely Loud and Incredibly Close feels like life feels to me often. Plus, this boy's life (Oskar is his name) was torn apart by 9/11. So to say that from what I saw, it came very close to my heart, would be a very accurate statement.

However, that said, there were significant faults with this movie. There were many points in the sequence and the plot of Extremely Loud that just did not add up. Now, I don't want to give away too much here, because I highly, highly believe you should see it, or at least netflix it, when it is available. However, in Oskar's search for this key's corresponding lock (likely found in a post box or a safe deposit box), the outcome is left inconclusive, because the theme of the movie changes toward the end. What? You mean you're gonna devote half the movie to this quest, and then you're not gonna say anything about what the search produced? It's one thing to shift your focus, still, you could have at least one scene explaining the outcome of this expedition, and the effect it had on the others involved.

Those plotholes notwithstanding, the characters were what really drove the story, and gave it its credibility. First of all, the centerpiece of this film is the Schell family, with young Oskar, and his parents, played by Tom Hanks and Sandra Bullock. Oskar comments that his father, an unusual jeweler "never treated him like a kid," involving his son in all kinds of projects, cartography, and searches. His father tells him of a lost "Sixth Borough" of New York City, and keeps Oskar guessing. Oskar's fears continue to haunt him, like one scene when his father insists that he go on the swing, but Oskar is scared of swing rides, and refuses, leaving his Dad to pout away in a disappointed huff.

One bright morning in early September, terror strikes. Oskar's father went to a meeting high up in the World Trade center, on what Oskar calls "the worst day." After the flights slam into the towers, Thomas, the father, makes several distress calls home "Oskar, are you there?" This is the most raw, jarring part of the film. Just the panic, the sudden ripping of a loved one out of life, really carries this part. Later, reviewing picture accounts of the attack, Oskar finds a man jumping from the building to his death, who resembles his father. Again, it's that image of something so engulfing, so horrible, that it would make someone want to jump to their death, and that happening to someone you love and value, that really tears at the heart, and makes you cry. That's what hurts me when I think about people I care about dying. That imagery stuck with me.

For a whole year after the attack, Oskar will not look at his father's belongings, not being able to face it anymore. Then one night he looks in his closet, and knocks a blue vase off the shelf. As it shatters, it reveals a small envelope, with only the name Black written on it, and a key inside. Now Oskar embarks on the big search, in order that it might resurrect some important part of his father's life. This epic search takes him to every person in New York City named Black. This forces Oskar to go up and talk to a lot of people, which is difficult for Oskar to do.

Sometimes, the people Oskar meets are scary at first, like the renter in his grandmother's apartment. His grandmother doesn't tell him why the renter is dangerous, just that he must be left alone. One night, his grandmother is missing. In the apartment complex, he confronts his fear, and goes into the renter's apartment. He finds only an old man, who doesn't speak, only communicating with quickly written notes. Oskar comes to suspect that the man is, in point of fact, his long-lost grandfather. I thought so, too, since the man looks so much like Tom Hanks.

Throughout all this, Oskar has his own unique character development. For a young boy his age, he wields an extraordinary amount of knowledge on many fronts, but he is also cantankerous and impatient with people. He hustles the old man around with him, and a few times, lashes out severely at his mother. He even proclaims "I wish it was you instead of Dad!" A few moments later, he comes up and says softly "I didn't really mean that." She replies "Yes you did." Clearly Oskar has his dark side. However, there is this essential feeling of vulnerability to him. One scene, he lists, and begins screaming out, all the things in the city that startle or terrify him: crowds, trucks, bridges, subways, airplanes, loud sounds. Throughout the film, Oskar slowly confronts fears, and starts to mellow out by the end.

The above scene got a huge laugh from the audience. It's a good example of something that you laugh at, but you can also connect with. Not that you would want to put on a gas mask when you take the subway, but we've all had times, especially when we're little, that we've had to confront big, scary things. I know lots of times when I was a kid, I had no choice but to go in and get into the thing that made me scared. Maybe you have had that happen, too.

Anyway, soon, it becomes revealed that the point of all this is not just the search itself. It is about dealing with the death of this inspirational father figure. It is in these moments that the movie shows its real strength. There may have been flaws in the execution, but this movie had a lot of heart. Thomas Horn, in his first big role here as Oskar, really showed that he has strength as an actor. Tom Hanks, of course, has a simplicity and identifiable-ness to his role as the father. Any movie with Tom Hanks has an extra degree of credibilty to it, in my book. Sandra Bullock also worked surprisingly well for her role, too, though I find it hard to believe that she would let Oskar go out into all those strange, possibly very dangerous, encounters all alone.

However, that leads to my next point, a key part of the movie. The characters, and the premise, aren't exactly believable. You wouldn't look at it and say, "Oh, yeah, that's totally true!" By the same token, the whole thing isn't totally un-believable, either. Many of the traits of this family weren't exactly part of the "every-family," but they made sense to me somehow. I could see how that would be possible. A lot of brilliant people, when they were young, were really restless, impatient, sometimes downright prickly. I admit I was difficult when I was little. Those same people often have lots of fear, or pain. This makes for complex, deep characters, which is what makes a movie grab you, and never let you forget. So, for all its faults Extremely Loud had a lot of heart. You can't fault it for that.

I know that it's currently Oscars season, and all the movies are hamming up their dramatic credentials, but I think this one came from a deeper place of creativity. This has to do with how we deal with loss, and how we choose to honor our lost loved ones. This is especially true of a horrifying death, like the one Oskar's father suffered. On that note, I have a little sketch I did four years ago that I'd like to show you.

I started out to do this as a quick sketch of a candlelight vigil, but it became more detailed, dark in texture, and soulful. You can see that the two women are huddled together in darkness, with only the light of the candles they hold. This is a simple expression of what Extremely Loud conveys, that it is about bringing people together, and transcending their suffering. To go after the goal set out for him by his father, Oskar must connects with people of all races, classes, and social types. Then, he must connect with his mother, and his own family. That's what amazed me about it, was the bringing together of all these different types of people. They all have that burden of going through losses together.

Think of that the next time you're in some crowded public place, that all of the people you see have, or will have to, deal with sadness, loss, and ultimately their own death. The thing that hurts everybody actually brings us together. Thanks everybody! I'll have some more good material for you guys in the next few days.

See ya, and keep wondering, folks!