Monday, May 14, 2007

some of the others in a live concert at the green bean

that's right, my new band, some of the others, will be performing at the green bean open-mic night on wednesday. we're a cover band that focuses exclusively on sufjan stevens classics. more particularly, we have trained our euphonic sights on chicago, one of the singles from come on, feel the illinoise (check out track #9). some day we may broaden our repetoire to include other sufjan songs and perhaps even some muse but in the meantime, our guitarist, trombonist, accordionist, violinist, marimba-ist, vocalists, and pianists make chicago a spectacle that is more than worth the drive (or flight).

we'll be playing sometime after 9pm. incidentally, the green bean is greenwood's favorite non-profit coffee shop. you can find it next door to the tap root theater at 210 n 85th st. also, some of the others is a name that i coined just now, so don't be surprised if mari (our illustrious leader) introduces us by some other name (e.g., sufvan stejens) at the show. (some of the others seemed an apt name because the band consists of some of the players from our soccer team, the others, and then some others.)

for those of you who are very ill and can't make it to our second debut, i hope to have some bootleg youtube footage for you in the next few days.

the s.o. "contemplating the d-c-g sequence of chicago." cahal pech, san ignacio town, belize.

Thursday, May 10, 2007

radtrip

in a previous blog entry, i linked to a preview for devin's superman film, and now, in the interest of fairness to all of my director friends, here's a preview for evan's film radtrip.com. i'm more intimately familiar with radtrip.com than superman: the battle for home because, believe it or not, i actually helped film one or two of the scenes. the two films are alike in that they both have very, very small budgets but the similarities end there. the battle for home is a dramatic film that considers parallels between christ and superman whereas radtrip is a fun adventure film that encourage cheap, environmentally-friendly long distance travel. hmmm...i think i may be able to post the film directly on the blog. let me know if this works....


Wednesday, May 09, 2007

added some films to the scale

i spent today's blogging time adding films to the rankings on the left panel. until this evening, the list only included films that i'd seen since july or august of 2006. however, because the list makes no mention of this exclusivity and because i can't quite recall which month i started this tally, it seems a bit silly to ignore other films that have been discussed on this blog. here are the new additions to the 17 point scale film ranks (and as is my custom, comments to the right of the hyphens indicate why one might choose to forego the film, and the exclamation marks indicate that the link will take you to something i've written about the film)

15.good night and good luck - in black and white
14.magnolia - foul-mouthed, violent, abusive ch's !
13.united 93 - somber yet poignant !
13.crash - profane, violent; lacks subtlety !
12.sophie scholl:final days - like a german tv movie !
12.l'enfant - slow, awkward, in french !
11.the son - slow, awkward, in french !
11.searching for the wrong-eyed jesus - quirky !
10.the storekeeper - short, silent
10.munich - long, too many kettles boiling !
10.brokeback mtn - long; mostly hype !
09.tsotsi - gaps in ch. developm; poorly translated !
09.dandelion - awkward, disjointed, and strange !
07.v for vendetta - worse than i expected
07.the da vinci code - crammed, silly, wrong !
05.new world - boring, cliche (sorry jeff) !


soon, i hope to share with you my opinion of blades of glory, the last king of scotland, and the queen.

andrew david. "tree of life." cahal pech ruins, san ignacio town, belize.

Tuesday, May 08, 2007

superman is coming! (and dreams 3 and a debate-related comic)

1. devin's film superman: the battle for home premiers wednesday night at seattle's admiral theater. admittance is free but popcorn is not.

2. sorry, everyone. as usual, i've lost interest in the three-part post that i was hoping to finish this week. i finished the storytelling and find myself far less interested in the punchline (i.e., my alleged ability to prophecy in my dreams). but i'll do my best in a sentence or three. here's a recap of what i dreamt:

  • wednesday night: i met brady and his pregnant wife (as opposed to the not-pregnant one) alisha in the lobby of a hotel in belize. the stairwell to their room ended about a flight before their room, so i climbed on the roof to look for another entrance.
  • thursday night: i hung out with a millionaire who liked ramming into cars, burning them, and leaving large checks for their owners.
  • thursday night: i wandered over to an umbrella nonprofit outside the mall and saw brady talking with a volunteer. it turned out that an unknown woman had dropped her baby off with the nonprofit and not returned. brady packed the baby in his mountaineering bag and we set off to find the mother.
first, a little context. brady and alisha live in spokane. the last time i spoke to them was last summer when they attended danny's wedding reception. in other words, there is no impetus for them to suddenly appear in my dream.

well, on friday, the day after the second dream, i called my buddy jonathan to see if he was free to play tennis the next day. he was up for some morning tennis but had dinner plans--brady and alisha were coming to town! somehow my unconscious mind predicted their arrival...and alisha's pregnancy. crazy.

you may think, "that's just a pair of coincidences, mr. andrew," but my powers were later confirmed by my television. some friends and i are playing catch-up on lost, and sunday's episode just happened to be centered around desmond's strange new ability to see the future. is it a coincidence that i found a fellow seer less than a week later? hardly.

and since those first prescient dreams, i've had yet another vision of the future. one night i dreamt of an orange cat (if you're lucky, i'll share that dream in a later post), and then the next day, as i sipped tea and read cormac mccarthy's the crossing in my backyard, an orange cat secretly prowled in the grass. yes, i am a prophet.


3. here's a comic my roommate showed me that almost relates back to thursday's post about my mad debating skills:
Conspiracy Theories
it's from xkcd.com

Sunday, May 06, 2007

urgent soccer matter

back in february i wrote that i was thinking of founding a co-ed soccer team. somehow, my thoughts mushed together into something a little more concrete than cerebral wonderings: if the stars align right, i'll be submitting a registration form on monday.

i'm aiming for a total of 15 players (8 guys, 7 girls), and so far we're 1 guy and 2 girls short. thus, if you know anyone who might be interested, leave me message.

if you're thinking "hmmm...i might be interested in that, but i don't know anything about soccer," here's the scoop: we'll have 5 girls, 5 guys, and a goalie (any gender) on the field at all times. our team will have an odd blend of talent--some of us have never played soccer and some of us have coached it--so we're going for a fun, easy-going experience. of course, I'd like to destroy the competition too, but this could be an interesting experiment.

again, if you're interested, leave me a message.

pietro's pizza. "that's me in junior high." seattle, wa.

Thursday, May 03, 2007

i suck at debating

this afternoon i joined an LDS member, a priestess of light, an ethnic catholic, and an agnostic in a passionate discussion of mormonism. at one point in the conversation, the priestess of light tried to convince everyone that mormonism and catholicism were more closely related than protestantism and catholicism because both faiths claim apostolic succession. despite a bag of facts, i couldn't seem to sway the priestess. thus, it is no surprise that when the debate got more controversial--i was arguing that mormons are not christians--i failed again. it took a dozen hand scratched diagrams before i could even convince my crowd that protestants, catholics, and orthodoxers fell under the same religious umbrella.

my inability to argue effectively isn't a new discovery. i have always had trouble pulling rhetoric from my brain without first thinking, thinking, and thinking some more. however, until yesterday, i was functioning under the false belief that, thank God, i could at least hold my own in a written debate. and then i posted in the controversial subject section of the grammar forum. ooooh boy, was it a disaster.

[i'll finish the 3-part post next time--i first had to confess my inadequacy in these logic wars]

andrew david. "belikin, the belizean hometown brew & a possible explanation for my sucky debate skills?" san ignacio town, belize.

ps. i may have the priestess of light's title wrong. i think she's also a druid.

Wednesday, May 02, 2007

dreams 2

[today's post is continued from yesterday's post in which i recounted 1.3 of my prophetic dreams and speculated about their cause.]

it was the last time that i ever saw the man: i watched him place the $5 million check a safe distance from the wreck and then return to the van. as a storyteller, i'll admit, this feels like an unpleasant way to leave the fellow; he should peel from the parking lot in a cloud of exhaust or shrink into the fabric of his grey tweed coat, a concrete chameleon, a certain spectre of some malovent surreptious secret. but, no, he walked at a rather ordinary pace to the rather ordinary van and i saw him no more.

instead, my dream suddenly exploded in a brilliant splash of colors. razzle dazzle rose, torch red, laser lemon, jungle green--a crayola parade of twirling octagons. apparently, i was surrounded by a throng of umbrella wielding shoppers returning to their cars, each peopling the drab lot with her own customized color. it dawned on me then that i didn't have an umbrella of my own, so i started walking purposefully toward the mall (yes, this is a remarkable dream). near the entrance, i saw a crowd, some tables, and an overhead banner proclaiming UMBRELLAS FOR THE POOR, A NONPROFIT. ah hah.

it was quite a spectacle; volunteers were busily attempting to distribute their wares to the hundreds of needy shoppers. as i watched, i gathered that the number of umbrellas was running low. it was nearing closing time. and then i noticed my college buddy brady hatfield off to one side, listening intently to a bespectacled volunteer in a red pant suit. she looked worried.

i worked my way toward the pair and greeted brady with a smile. he motioned me toward the woman.

"--carol, this is my friend andrew."

"yes, well, hello." then back to business. "after that, right, she asked me to watch him. she said she'd be right back. something about her keys or front door or i don't know." as she spoke, the woman brought a finger up to her cheek and absently performed tiny figure-eights.

"and i didn't have time to--" over the chaotic sounds of mass charity, an infant's screams momentarily interrupted the woman, but she continued. "she just left."

brady sprung into action. he gently removed the shrieking puddle of fat and face from the car seat and secured the boy in a burly-looking mountaineering pack that just happened to be waiting on the ground. "don't worry," said brady, "we'll find the mother."


unfortunately, that's where the dream ends--i awoke before discovering the baby's fate. however, that afternoon, i received an important phone call, and the prophecy was revealed....

[stay tuned for the final prophetic dream post]

andrew david. "a little girl with some flowers." san ignacio town, belize

Tuesday, May 01, 2007

dreams

[programming note: it's not wednesday, but i've decided to post a little something tonight anyway. also, my travel writing experiment is turning out to be a flop, so i may return to regular blogging again soon. we'll see....]

for my trip to belize, doctor wendy prescribed chloroquine. "don't worry," she said, "this isn't the one that gives you crazy dreams or makes you monster-sick." indeed, there are several ways to kill the malaria bug and chloroquine's side effects are rather tame. it's malaria med cousin is a bit more interesting however: travelers taking mefloquine complain of the usual aches and pains--headaches, nausea, dizziness--and then some more interesting symptoms like vivid dreams and visual disturbances.

i picked up my chloroquine at bartell's pharmacy on march 24th and have been taking the pills every saturday since. they taste rather nasty, but i didn't experienced anything too alarming until late last week. that's when i started having crazy dreams.

okay, in of itself, crazy dreams really aren't that uncharacteristic for the typical andrew evening; my memory and imagination have collaborated on some rather bizarre late night escapades. but this is new: my dreams are prophetic.

the first visitation of the future occurred last wednesday night. i was dreaming of a hotel in belize when some friends from spokane appeared in the lobby. "what are brady and alisha doing in belize?" i wondered. before i could inquire further, i learned that the hotel's staircase terminated about a flight and a half short of their room. this was particularly awkward because alisha was pregnant (and this wasn't one of my office mate james's flying dreams). after clamoring up onto the hotel's roof and trying to find an alternate entrance to their room (you know, ancient apostle-style), i awoke.

no, i didn't climb my way to work the next morning, but there's a surprise embedded in that little adventure. but before i explain, let me recount thurday's dream. i'll warn you though, my newly discovered talent for divination is in no way correlated with an improved sense of timing. that is, i'm not about to interfere with this vision i've been granted, and although much of the dream may seem irrelevant, there's no way i'm skipping to the end.

my recollection of the dream begins with me sitting in the passenger seat of a nondescript white van, watching as the driver, a heavy-set bald man, scanned his mirrors, pulled into the parking lot arterial, and then attempted to repark in the neighboring space. i say
attempted because the space was already occupied--my driver didn't seem to care. he pressed the gas and gunned our big white beast through the rear bumper of the unfortunate subaru. with a chuckle, he jumped from his seat and tossed me a can of lighter fluid. as flames reflected off the walls and cars and puddles of that concrete jungle, we admired our handiwork. the man happily quipped about the surprise of the owner when he or she stumbled from the mall into the presence of their smoking car-cass. he then wiped the grime from his hands and reached into his sports coat.

"how does five million sound?" he asked. he nodded to himself, scrawled a figure in his ledger, and dismissed me with a wave. as i walked toward the mall, i turned to watch him stuff a check in a bright green envelope. he placed the envelope a safe distance from the smouldering wreck and returned to the van.

[i foretell that this post will be continued in the future, perhaps tomorrow....]

[disclaimer: this is creative nonfiction with the emphasis on creative--i may be overplaying my response to these dreams just a tiny bit.]

andrew david. "traveling by van" the highway from belize city to san ignacio town, belize.

Wednesday, April 25, 2007

use it or lose it, the blogging chromosome

sean says that if i only post once a week, i'd better make each post darn good, but as i watch these words tumble from my mind to blogger's posting page, the rust is palpable. it's been nearly a month since i updated this site regularly, and i fear that the blogging cortex of my brain has been attacked by some unseemly parasite.

in the context of the 17 point scale, i'm not sure what that means. it's not like i have a history of poetic profundity on this blog, but something is dying. i suddenly find myself at a loss for words. yes, this mysterious parasite has cast an odd spell on me. as it steals away the anecdotes and observations that (to me) define this blog, it leaves me feeling oddly happy. during the week i live a bright and sunny psychosis, glad that i don't have to ponder the days events looking for rare insight or colorful metaphors to anchor my midnight musings. i can be lazy again.

and consequently i go blind. i fill my world with baseball scores and second round NFL draft predictions. i rekindle my addiction to istockphoto.com. and i forget how to process the world for web content.

of course, this tug and pull is the way of life: i blog and thus i sleep less; i travel, and my piano fingers wither; i fall in love, get married, and have two dozen kids, and my closest friends fade into the forgettable periphery. gain and loss, x and y chromosomes that follow each other everywhere they go. it's odd, i just can't escape the nostalgia for that loss. i long for the days when my blog rocked (okay, long is a bit overdoing it there), i long for the days when i was great friends with this person and that person. i even long for what might have been.

okay, my sentences are beginning to seesaw--that's a clue that i'm becoming overly sentimental, so i'll close. here's the prayer of today's blog: Lord, hasten the day when the laws of nature implode and leave us lossless in your arms. amen.

andrew david. "17 points of light pass behind a dark cloud" belize.

ps. perhaps my blog is back to normal, because that is totally not what i intended to blog about!

Wednesday, April 18, 2007

belize travel tips (a drinking lesson)


for the past few days i've been a bit ill. most likely, it's just an extended visit by our fiesty friend, traveler's diarrhea (TD). i'll spare you the gory details of my present acquaintance with the fellow, but if you're considering a trip to belize, you may want to know a few things about TD--you know, stuff like who are his friends? where's he hang out on friday nights?

well, since you asked, TD is a party animal compared to his tropical peers. malaria, typhoid fever, yellow fever, and the cureless dengue fever buzz about in mosquitos and noseums, but TD spends his times in bars, restaurants, and your refrigerator. he's a colorful fellow, that TD, but rumor has it, he has a rather sordid past. the internet tells me that TD first arrived on the scene in the form of fecal matter and that he now makes his home in our food or drinking water. yummmmm.

now, if you travel to belize, your doctors will probably warn you about TD. they'll say "don't drink the water" or "don't eat uncooked vegetables or peeled fruits," but perhaps it'd be more effective to say "don't drink the fecal water" or "avoid those fecal fruits." still, despite my current bout with something rather similar to TD,
i recommend ignoring those doctors and drinking that crisp belizean agua. once you arrive in belize, you'll find that nearly all the major restaurants, hotels, and tour agencies claim that their water and ice is purefied, so unless you drink from a bucket, gargle sea water, or wander into roadside shack, you'll probably be fine.

moreover, at some point in your travel through belize, you may experience what i like to call a
brazen drinking moment. i first experienced something like this during my visit to gimmewald, switzerland.

after spending the night in an overbooked hostel, i strapped on my 50 pound pack and started up a trail. i was heading for that small dot on my rick steve's map of the alps. the dot appeared to be near the top of a mountain, and as i climbed up and up into the sun, i realized belatedly that i only packed one bottle of water. after several miles, the bottle was empty and i was parched. my climb became secondary to the search for water. but there were no sparkling streams or cool mountain rivers, just cow troughs. i passed one and then another. the third trough was fed by a wooden pipe that vanished into the hillside above my trail. clear liquid cascaded from the pipe into the metal receptacle below. i was panting. i loosened my pack and pulled the empty bottle from an outside pocket. i glanced side to side, ensuring that no
incredulous hikers, angry farmers, or jealous cattle were witness to my unsanitary behavior, and then positioned the bottle under the pipe. i waited a moment and took a great swig of cattle water. and for the next few days, life was glorious. i marched from mountain to mountain and never worried about water: there were plenty of cattle troughs in the alps.

the moral of the story is that there may come a time in belize when you're thirsty enough to risk a refreshing glass of well-disguised fecal water. in my case, it was ice. belize is like an outdoor microwave, everything gets warm rather quickly, and that includes bottled water and red fanta. thus, ice is a necessity, and by the end of the trip i didn't bother to ask "is this ice purified?" because their answer was invariably "yes." of course, that may very well explain my present condition.


andrew david. "good looking water" san ignacio town, belize.

Monday, April 16, 2007

you may not like this but....

i'm back in the USA, but instead of posting regularly for the next few weeks, i'm considering posting only once a week for the next month or so. i know this may be painful for the most devoted of my followers, but you've gone without the 17 point scale for at least two weeks now, so perhaps a weekly dose of 17 point goodness may now be sufficient. i'm thinking that wednesday nights might be a good time for the weekly posts or perhaps i could write posts when i take my malaria pill each week (saturdays); i'll let you know once i arrive at a final decision. also, if i find time to wade through my photographs, i may post some textless picture entries. in any case, i'll be attempting to use the extra free time of unblogginess to draft a travel essay or two about my adventures in belize. if the writing gods smile upon me, i'll be sure to post the results of this labor here on the 17 point scale.

DAY 2


andrew david. "at present, there are 2 major influences on my worldview, the s.o. and this horse" somewhere in guatemala.

Sunday, April 08, 2007

greetings from belize

hi, everyone.

we have internet access at our house here in san pedro, so i figured i'd say hello. i don't tend to use the 17 point scale as a diary or travelogue, so i'm not sure what more to say. perhaps a list will do. belize is warm; humid; lush; sandy; formerly british; trilingual; friendly (yet a thousand years removed from those violent mayans a la gibson); well populated by meat dishes like pork chops and shrimp; regulated by "sleeping policemen" (i.e., speed bumps); and rather colourful. it's also a great place for relaxing (e.g., beach and poolside lounging) and adventuring (e.g., summiting mayan ruins, spelunking, evading backcountry armed robbers). maybe if i get ambitious, i'll try my hand at another travel essay, but i doubt it. in the meantime, here's a trio of pictures from DAY 1:

andrew david "freshly squeezed ojay" and "three chairs" cahal pech resort, san ignacio town, belize.


andrew david. "the steps to death" cahal pech ruins, san ignacio town, belize.

Tuesday, March 27, 2007

the good things about my bad day

  1. i did my taxes today and got nearly $600 back.
  2. i bought all the pretty horses and the master and the margarita at half price books. these fellows are bursting with potential (recommended by beth and a dostoevsky forum, respectively), so they should make great travel companions for my trip to belize, which reminds me: i'm leaving in less than a week!
  3. ranch dressing.
  4. other happier people.
by the way, i'll be in belize from march 31 to april 15. i may update my blog from belize, or i may relax and wait 'till i get home.

Sunday, March 25, 2007

ratings and foreign films

generally speaking, my film ratings (see the left hand panel) have a standard deviation (SD) somewhere in the neighborhood of 1. that is, if we were to imagine the scale on a visual plane, each rating would occupy a small range of space rather than a precise point. for example, i rated syriana a 13, but it's really more of a 12 to 14. this may seem entirely too subjective, but an SD of 1 is actually rather small. indeed, i'm suggesting that if you gathered 17 andrews on a movie review panel, they would independently arrive at ratings within the same two-point range.

i suppose this is something of an intuitive (or imaginary) science, and unfortunately, the SD of 1 isn't entirely uniform. sometimes i am charitable in my ratings and can't imagine a particular film moving in any direction but down (e.g., elf and snakes on a plane); sometimes i nail a rating and can't imagine the film moving at all (e.g., flight plan and v for vendetta); and sometimes i peg a film at the lower point of its range where it seems possible only to rise (e.g., searching for bobby fischer and the three burials of mequiades estrada).

if you're thinking that this two-paragraph digression is overkill, you may be right. however, i'm preparing to rate four foreign films, and i'm finding it difficult to fit them snugly in the scale. i'm finding that they may belong to that latter category of films which are assigned a rating that is at the lower end of their possible scope of ratings. here are the four films:

tsotsi (thug)
a 9 on the 17 point scale
#9 on christianity today's 2006 critic's choice awards
2005 academy award for best foreign language film

tsotsi has received a great deal of acclaim. it's certainly a redemptive film, but i felt that there were some significant gaps in character development and that the director telegraphed a few too many of his passes. moreover, like many foreign films, perhaps there was something lost in the translation--i strongly preferred the director's short film the storekeeper, which managed to tell a 20-minute story without a single subtitle (that is, there were no words).

le fils (the son)
an 11 on the 17 point scale
#7 on christianity today's 2003 top ten list
2002 cannes film festival best actor

l'enfant (the child)
a 12 on the 17 point scale
#2 on christianity today's 2006 critic's choice awards
2005 cannes film festival golden palm award

these films were directed by jean-pierre and luc dardenne, a pair of belgian brothers. when i watched the films, i didn't realize they were shot by the same directors, so i walked away from the films thinking, "gosh, these french [sic] films have a surprisingly similar style. apparently the french [sic] are the modern masters of cinematographic silence."

indeed, both films limit their dialogue to the bare essentials. instead, the camera is trained on on the actors as they awkwardly go about the business of life. much of the plot is spent watching the actors think, and this works rather effectively. it's a refreshing change of pace to see films that reject the fast-pace and visual effects of hollywood. however, the films also seem to take this measured pacing to an absurd end. it can be slow going, especially when the camera has us craning our necks to watch a driver from the back seat or when we must watch the most ridiculous moped chase in the history of cinema (although, i suppose that there aren't many big-screen moped chases).

sophie scholl: the final days
a 12 on the 17 point scale
#6 on christianity today's 2006 critic's choice awards
2005 academy award nominee for best foreign language film

this is an enlightening look at the german resistance to hitler's nazi empire. it's an interesting true story that features one of the most inspirational protagonists of the 21st century. the film is anchored by a tense intellectual debate between sophie scholl, the aforementioned heroine, and her nazi captor. i highly recommend the film to those interested in history and questions of right and wrong, however the film's cinematography style seemed rather juvenile. as i watched the film, it sometimes felt like a channel 9 special.


andrew david. "movies" greenwood, wa.

Wednesday, March 21, 2007

film links, 300 review, and some anti-war spittle

i don't know that anyone ever follows my movie links (see the left panel), but if you do, you may occasionally wonder at my link selection. generally speaking, i choose my film links by googling the film title and a series of impressions or quirky thoughts that i had about the film. for example, if i were choosing a link for 300 i might type "300 stylized speedos infanticide." of course, i also thought that 300 was bloody and violent, but a search using these terms would return nearly every review of the film--i'm looking for something a little more interesting. i also like to see what jeffrey overstreet and his friends at christianitytoday say because they tend to present a thoughtfully christian perspective on films. then, as a last resort, i may link to imbd or wikipedia.

300
rating: 10 out of 17

in this case, i'm linking to overstreet's blog, but not because of anything he has to say--he didn't even see the movie. no, this is an instance where i'm more interested in the comments and heated debate that surround a film than the film itself. is 300 merely a violent blood bath that glorifies killing or is there some greater merit to snyder's epic battle film?

well, to the filmmaker's credit, the movie was beautifully shot. i'm not familiar with the cinematic terms for its style, but there was a certain artistry to the entire picture. and while bloody, the violence seemed more reminiscent of kill bill than the shocking realism of films like departed. there may also be some value in resurrecting ancient stories of honor and courage. indeed, as we were walking out of the majestic bay theater, our conversation jumped from 480 bc to 1942. it's odd, but that march 9th was a better personal commemoration of our soldiers' sacrifice than most memorial and veteran's days; i spent at least a minute considering the heroics of those WWII freedom-fighters.

however, i doubt that most movie-goers experienced this same sense of history.

moreover, as i reflect on 300 i wonder two things: (1) am i supposed to view this film as good versus evil? is it black and white or did snyder craft some ambiguity into the film? and (2) if there is room for grey, how evident is that to the average popcorn-munching onlooker? it may seem like the spartans are the good guys, but during the course of the film we see the "good guys" commit infanticide, raise their children in a spirit of blood-lust, and shuttle their good-looking girls into the sexual service of nasty old men. the main protagonist, otherwise portrayed as a noble and honorable king, barely hesitates before murdering an unarmed ambassador. in the context of the film, i'm not sure how (or if!) we're to interpret these moral slips; snyder plays the scenes straight, offering no prescriptive symbols to direct our interpretation. i suspect that the majority of viewers ignored the moral indiscretions of the spartans, but i also suspect that the rolling tape subconsciously aligned viewers with one of the following two camps: either (1) the spartans are clearly the good guys, and thus their way of life (including infanticide, murder, sexual enslavement) is somehow excused, or (2) the film is an indictment of sparta. in any case, i think i'd rather live in seattle.

300 is probably nothing more than stylized violence and slow-motion death blows, but perhap a more nuanced viewing can give us pause to consider the real-life grit of war. (errrrrrr....to clue in those of you who haven't seen the film, i've just rambled my way off the deep end; i'm now passing from that dangerous ground that literature snobs call reader-response criticism into something a bit more like personal essay.) it's not all guts and glory: war is ugly. the enemy straps bombs to children, and soldiers in iraq are forced to shoot little kids or risk being killed themselves.

like augustine, i believe in just war, but even just wars have a way of tarnishing men. take WWII for example. during a recent posttraumatic stress disorder (PTSD) lecture, i learned that
when allied forces liberated dachau, the soldiers took justice into their own hands and lined up and executed all of the german soldiers. and on their way to dachau, as soldiers advanced into nazi-occupied france they often heard scuttling noises in road-side buildings, and because they couldn't take the chance that the sounds might be germans, the GIs tossed grenades into the homes, often killing innocent french families.

my officemate, a PTSD researcher, tells me that in a government-sponsored survey of US vietnam combat veterans, 28% of respondents admitted to killing civilians. i'd prefer that number to be zero. and so i suppose that if we sense that there's something awry with those spartans, perhaps there's some goodness to 300. but if not, well, perhaps that's okay too.

Monday, March 19, 2007

when getting in the head of a female...

i've had a lot of people ask me whether yesterday's post really happened (well, more than one person, anyway). and, yes, it did. i invented the old lady, urns, and pink slippers, but the basic storyline was conceived in the brick and mortar of the real world.

if time grew on trees (like money, leaves, and squirrels), it might be interesting to see whether my future elaborations of whitney's story got closer and closer to the truth or whether they drifted off in an entirely new direction, an entirely different kind of truth. i'm not sure which would be best, but either way, i still think that i'd struggle with writing as a female narrator. however, my brief encounter with SPU's writer types may have offered some encouragment (should i ever choose this unusual path) and affirmed my earlier writing strategy.

one afternoon, as the MFA students salt-and-peppered the room with their writerly epiphanies, mark explained that he'd had a breakthrough in writing his female character. he'd struggled for months trying to make her seem more natural: he'd made her obsessed with alcohol, sex, and sewing fabrics*, but nothing seemed to work. then one day he tried something counterintuitive: he decided to write her as himself, as mark the lumbering tall guy, just without the lumbering tall guy part. and it worked!

then, during an art and faith lecture, the MFAers tossed about martin buber's idea of writing as the other. they discussed the interconnected mirror-like relationship between the self and other seemingly foreign characters. now, all of a sudden, i'm starting to feel like a writer--i broached that very issue several posts ago! weird....

andrew david. "writer's block" greenwood, wa.

*i can't remember the third item that mark named, so i made this one up. it was definitely something less unisex than beer and sex. something like sewing fabrics.

Sunday, March 18, 2007

the crime

as you can probably tell, i didn't get a chance to craft that short story that i'd been planning (and also mentioned here) before i left to visit the SPU MFA students at camp casey, and now that i've been humbled by their brilliance, i'm afraid that the best i can do for this first-person narrative is a basic plot outline:

the main character starts by nervously introducing herself as whitney, a nordic do-gooder with rather central american tastes. we get the sense that she doesn't really want to be here, narrating her story to a thousand invisible cyberfaces.

(although, i'm not really sure how this hesitation would be communicated to readers; after all, unless she breaks the illusion that this is a story and directly addresses the crowd, how are we to know that this whitney is uncomfortable in the spotlight. still, it's a necessary bit of foreshadowing, so a solution must be found.)

she then sets the scene in the cosmetic aisle of the community drug store. a wild looking man in a trench coat and fuzzy pink slippers approaches her and asks for shopping tips. he speaks out of the side of his mouth and smells like alcohol. he seems desperate. the elderly woman who was camped out at the table of free estee lauder samples flees, but whitney considers the alarm bells in her head and can't help but assist the man as he shops for his two girlfriends. if i weren't so clueless about cosmetics, i might mention all of the product types that he tosses in his cart, but perhaps it's sufficient to mention that whitney is surprised by the breadth and volume of the man's generosity.

the story climaxes a few minutes later as whitney finishes her shopping and joins the man in line. his lips twitch as he approaches the clerk and announces, "that this is a robbery."

sure enough, the man appears to have a gun or a convincing ketchup bottle in the left front pocket of his scrappy corduroys. as whitney tells the tale, she spreads the tension on thick. thoughts of violence fill her mind. she peels her attention away from the man and the emptying till long enough observe other customers: a nine-year old tugging insistently at his mother's jeans and estee lauder lady peeking from behind a stack of holiday urns.

and then the man is gone and the police arrive. she then learns that some of the employees think that whitney is an accomplice. at this point, my notion of the story grows cloudy. if i'm writing creative nonfiction, she tells her story to the officer, runs through the store to repurchase her goods (the man took them with his perfume), and has trouble sleeping the next night. if i'm a fiction writer, she is arrested for the man's crime. or better yet, perhaps it's all a rouse and she turns out to be a real-life accomplice.

well, i suppose it doesn't matter much: there is no story, just an outline.

(
but there is an afterword!)

espn. "andrew's bracket as of sunday night."

Wednesday, March 14, 2007

march madness (1) and a clarification (2)

1. here's the st. louis region of my march madness bracket. i haven't watched much college ball this year, so it would be a miracle if i nailed many of these games. but not according to the newspaper industry--i was browsing a forum of angry newspaper editors this afternoon, and those crotchety red inksters insisted that there is no room for miracles in the media. writers, get your religious beliefs out of our stories, they cried. this seemed rather excessive to me. i appreciate that a journalist's duty is to report the news and not reflect on it (that's what the quasi-anchors and pundits do), and perhaps we over-use the term in colloquial speech, but as one poster suggested, miracles have been around since chaucer, why should they stop now?

(despite the presence of a few upsets, the closest thing to a miracle in my bracket is the prospective advancement of UNLV into the sweet sixteen.)


2. i hope yesterday's post wasn't misleading. i started the post by describing authorial out-of-body experiences in which writers swap the self for the other and then i concluded with a subtle variation on that idea: rather than dwelling within another soul, my next step is to sample others' experiences and make them my own. thus you won't find me speaking in an unfamiliar dialect or complaining about cramps. i'll still be expressing some sense of myself, but i'll be using new avenues for this exploration. that is, if i follow through and actually write something....

the something that i wrote

Tuesday, March 13, 2007

preamble to the crime

this weekend i'm volunteering as a gopher (as in "andrew, go for a...") for SPU's MFA in creative writing. during that time i'll shake hands with budding writers and published authors, men and women who know how to spin a good yarn. i'm a little nervous that someone might ask, "and what about you, andrew, what do you write?"

"oh, i blog." it doesn't sound so glamorous, perhaps even a bit foolish.

therefore, i've decided to use this post the post that follows this preamble as a shield against potential writerly skepticism. i'm going to attempt something beyond my means, a device that leaps several yards beyond the imaginative writing course of my college days. yes, i'm going to pretend to be a writer.

you see, writers make a living by being strange. fiction writers invent surreal plots that push around characters so wild and varied that they seem almost life-like. poets fall to their knees in a wet pile of brush, scrounge about for an ordinary looking rock, and then breathe fire into the carbonate core of that common stone, eliciting truths from the ordinary. but they get weirder still. writers are masters of the out-of-body experience. they jump from the self to the other, and leave little trace of what was.

in she's come undone, for example, wally lamb, a rather trim fellow in his fifties, somehow constructs a first-person bildungsroman of a troubled obese girl. there is no trace of testosterone in this book. indeed, lamb's protagonist annoyed me with her ceaseless obsessing and poor decision-making (which is one of the reasons for my rather medium rating of 09 for this novel), but it all struck me as real.

and that is the magic of gifted writers, a magic that i have yet to attempt. so, if the writing muses smile upon my little blog, i will use a future post to brave the dark forest of narration and step boldly out from my own experience. wish me luck!

a clarification about the future post
the future post

andrew david. "the wicked endophenotyper smiles happily at his diabolical research plan." vapshcs, seattle, wa.

Sunday, March 11, 2007

crazy weekend, boring post

i haven't posted a weekend wrap-up in a long time, but today the bliss must end. over the course of the weekend, i completed the following activities

  • watched 300 with sean, rebecca, mark, and golden boy
  • sat in a bar and quizzed tavia, brook, veronica, and devon about whitney, the birthday girl
  • played pull tabs
  • tossed a bowling ball in the general direction of some pins
  • kicked a soccer ball with mark
  • ran to the carkeek park beach (6m) as part of my training for the marathon in which i probably won't run
  • competed in the st. patrick's day dash (5k)
  • at broccoli with my breakfast
  • biked to beth's in sandals and pajamas
  • rehearsed mari's arrangement of "chicago!" with my fellow bandmates (we haven't yet discussed an offical moniker)
  • climbed on my roof in a failed attempt to break into our house
  • hired a locksmith to perform the aforementioned break-in
however, i did not complete the following:
  • pay my taxes
  • watch tsotsi, the son, or babetta's feast
  • update the movies on my blog
and that's all i have to say for now.


andrew david. "as i prepared for the next shot, an ooze monster jumped out of the hazardous waste bin and mauled me" seattle VAPSHCS, wa.

Thursday, March 08, 2007

a pretext to an ash wednesday observation 2

"hi, i'm andrew, and i'm an aholic. (see this post for the first part of the story.)"

"hi, andrew."

"i suppose that means that i'm an all-around addict. for instance, steve told me about mike sando's seahawks blog, and i've spent most of my evening reading about the grant (wistrom) release and (deon grant) signing. you've probably noticed that i'm addicted to blogging, and i also tend to grow enamored with particular topics. catholicism is one of those topics. however, my first catholic mass occurred years before the birth of my catholicism obsession. i hadn't yet puzzled over an alberto ferreiro christian history quiz or posted provocative questions on a catholic answers forum. and i certainly wasn't catholic. thus it was with great trepidation that one sunday i found myself in a communion line, approaching a real-life catholic priest.

"in protestant churches, communion is nearly always a serious affair, but there is often a subdued hint of celebration. here, everyone seemed downright stoic. i understood the mood, but i was rather worried about that sober-looking priest. as each congregant received the elements, they performed some kind of a ritual with their hands and then mumbled conspiratorially with the cleric. i hoped they weren't speaking latin. there was no way that i would pull this off.

"for a moment i thought of the last supper. it was as if i was one of christ's oft-confused apostles: nudge, nudge. hey, peter. peter! what's he mean with this 'take and eat my body crap'? he's so bloody morbid. i just don't get it. but that's as close as i got to jerusalem. instead of forgiveness and community, i was wondering how the grim-faced padre was going to handle my insubordination when i failed to dip the wafer at the proper angle. this could turn ugly fast.

"peter (my good high school buddy, not the simon peter, rock of christianity) was now standing with the priest at the altar. that meant i was next. i bowed my head, and prayed 'lord, help me do this right.'

"the heavens chuckled and the priest beckoned me with his eyes. sharp, searching eyes, peering into my soul, scanning my contents for a date of confirmation, confession, anything to identify me as a true believer. i stood still, hoping that the priest would make the first move, kindly offer me some bread and wine. (andrew, what a great surprise! here's a wafer and some juice, take these in memory of christ's death for you.) the second dragged mercilessly into two seconds, and then three. he seemed to be waiting, but i was frozen with indecision. suddenly, my body spasmed into action. i may have cupped my hands, i may have made the sign of a cross, i may have flagged down a wayward aircraft, it's rather unclear. as my body performed this mysterious communion jig, i stared at the priest, channeling silent pleas into his brain.

"and then he frowned. it was only a subtle downward settling of the lips, but i knew that the church was about to erupt into a chorus of fire and brimstone. and then pitch forks, stones, and fiery stakes. i was a goner.

"but the priest spared me the death knell. he handed me the wafer, i drank the wine, and the morning's trauma was complete. i escaped saint joseph's but i'm still haunted by a sense of paranoia whenever i attend a catholic mass. i'm older and wiser, and i now know that protestants aren't welcome in the communion line. while this may mean that i can safely wait in my seat during the eucharist, it also accentuates my sense that i'm an impostor. i walk into a cathedral and think, 'hey, everybody, i'm not catholic, look at me!' "

andrew david. "radical dizziness, an unmentioned symptom of non-catholics who take catholic communion" seattle, wa.

Tuesday, March 06, 2007

a pat on my back

tonight i was sean (i.e., i was an offensive juggernaut). during our pregame soccer warm-ups, rebecca reported that sean was at home on the couch; the flu had transformed him into a miserable blob of snot. and after that chat, i knew that i had to serve honorably as his replacement; i had to let his legacy shine. and how better to remember sean then to score a goal? so i did (my first ever, i should add). and then i had an assist for our second goal of the night. whooohooo! unfortunately, the opposing team mounted a comeback during the second half, and we only managed a 2-2 tie, but there's still an itsy-bitsy chance that a tie will be enough to propel the WE PLAY BETTER ON GRASS into the title game.

gooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooaaaaaaaalll!

father of the s.o. "look out. here come the crazies." ocean shores, washington.

Monday, March 05, 2007

a pretext to an ash wednesday observation

"hi, i'm andrew, and i'm a thriftaholic."

"hi, andrew."

"i suppose that it all started with the synthetic wallet that i received in junior high. that wallet was my little maroon buddy. i liked to give him gifts: especially dual-toned pictures of pyramids and dead presidents. and i really hated to take back those hard-won bills; an empty wallet is a sad wallet. perhaps this thriftiness was the twenty-first century incarnation of that great protestant work ethic; perhaps it was inspired by my real-life buddy, evan pence; or perhaps i even inherited my mom's common sense (she'd be surprised to hear that!), but whatever the case, the net result of this spartan spending was that i never embraced activities that require a large monetary investment. for example, i see plenty of movies but shrink at the prospect of movie popcorn; i shun golf; and i've never been skiing or snowboarding.

"the closest i've come to skiing is an occasional inner tube run, a nearby hike, and a pair of weekends at the schweitzer ski lodge. and there was no snow at the lodge--it was summer. thus, instead of hurtling down the mountain on a fiberglass deathtrap, i swam in the pool, read ray bradbury's fahrenheit 451, and attended my first catholic mass.

"saint joseph's was a rather typical small-town church, but my experience there was hardly typical. i followed my friend peter and his family into a pew in the back and readied myself for worship. the order of service was tough to follow, but peter seemed to have a handle on the affair, so when peter kneeled, i kneeled. peter turned to page 232 in his colorful book of sayings, i turned to page 232. andrew, the human mirror.

"and then came eucharist. i'm still surprised that peter never told me. during the course of our friendship, we'd had plenty of religious debates; you'd think that he'd have mentioned that nazarenes don't take catholic eucharist. or perhaps he might have motioned me back to the pew when i followed him into the receiving line, 'there, there, andrew. stay in your seat like a good protestant.'

"as our line edged forward, i risked a peek beyond peter and tried to observe the proper protocol. before the priest offered congregants the bread and wine, he paused as they made some kind of motion with their hands. but their backs were to me, and i could only see a brief flash of fingers. i started to panic. my mind was calculating the distance from the communion line to the exits: about fifteen paces. perhaps they were making the sign of the cross, i thought. but is it left to right? or maybe it's backward, like reading hebrew. do you look the priest in the eye?"

"well, it looks like time's up for tonight, andrew."

"oh, sorry. to be continued...."

Thursday, March 01, 2007

my twilight innings blurb

Twilight Innings by Robert A. Fink
The poet Robert A. Fink begins his first collection of personal essays as a bloody mess. Somewhere on the back roads of his beloved west Texan prairies, Fink’s marathon training is punctuated by a nasty fall. "I'm pathetic," he says. "I suddenly feel as if I'm in a commercial for incontinent older adults." Never mind that at 57, Fink’s 8-minute mile is still faster than most twenty-somethings’. His comic humility is what makes readers at home in Fink’s stories; we cozy up beside him in his favorite seat, four rows back from home plate, and enjoy the view. As one might suspect, Fink sometimes uses baseball as a unifying theme for his essays, but Twilight Innings is hardly an anthology of fresh-cut grass and blooper anecdotes. As the poet-professor slips back and forth between the pitcher’s mound and his university classroom, he also shares stories of suffering: a master sergeant trembles in a dark corner somewhere in Vietnam, two of his friends struggle with terminal cancer, 141 women jump from the 8th floor windows of a shirtwaist factory. There is a long winter of pain in Fink’s twenty-four essays, but they still manage to communicate hope and healing, preserving a sense of humor and hard-won wisdom.

Look for Robert Fink’s essay, “Pilgrims,” in the upcoming issue of Image, issue #53.

To buy Twilight Innings, click here.

that was from my blurb in imageupdate. if i had the space, energy, and creativity i would have also mentioned that fink's collection includes a telling story called "the schizophrenic creative writing teacher." the narrative describes fink's two-faced existence as an english prof: he is both drill sergeant and consoling counselor (a skill that he must pick up from his wife, who we later learn happens to be a "counselor of the year"). (incidentally, i question fink's use of schizophrenic. what he really means is multiple personality disorderish, but unfortunately, dictionaries still include "a state characterized by the coexistence of contradictory or incompatible elements." isn't that a little like saying gay to mean lame...errrr...that is, to mean bad?) but in my opinion, this essay is a microcosm of the entire collection. during the course of his personal essays, we also learn that fink is both sensitive poet and manly-man athlete. he volunteers for extra duty in vietnam and cowers during high school reunions. he really is a multiple personality disorder poet.

one reader asked me if i had any criticisms of twilight innings. i rather enjoyed the book and wish that i'd spaced the material out over more than a weekend. still, i wondered at the inclusion of an occasional essay or two that wandered away from narrative and into reflection. i also found it difficult to tease meaning out of some of the stories, but i suppose that's okay.

the reader also asked why there aren't bylines on the blurbs. his hypothesis was that because image is a christian journal they somehow find it self-serving or unchristian to credit authors directly. interesting idea, but i think that's socialism, not christianity! still, he could be right; i'm not sure why imageupdate doesn't include bylines. (perhaps because imageupdate is, after all, a newsletter not a journal.)

Wednesday, February 28, 2007

ratings update

i've added some ratings to the book section. the new books include:

i will add some new film ratings later in the week.

andrew david. "a bear" jasper/banff national park, alberta.

Tuesday, February 27, 2007

soccer

i'm researching the possibility of founding a co-ed soccer team for the spring or summer season and i've already got some possible candidates. if you, mysterious web surfer, might be interested, leave me a message, and i'd be happy to tell you more. my motivations for this rare burst of leadership are the following:

  1. i like to play sports, especially soccer.
  2. playing regularly on a team guarantees at least one night a week of certified good exercise.
  3. i'm currently subbing on sean's soccer team. the players are nice but there's a very distinct difference between playing as a substitute and being a full-fledged member of a team. as a sub i'm very hesitant to give a position preference, to direct others (e.g., verlach, are you playing left forward? get back over there!), or to offer strategy advice. this is all compounded by #4.
  4. i enjoy team sports, but for some reason i tend to lose confidence when i'm thrust into a team atmosphere. if i build my own team from scratch, i'll know my fellow players, and be a bit more comfortable and perhaps confident.and, if i know the players on my team, there's a greater chance that i can round them up for scrimmages.
  5. my lack of confidence isn't helped by the fact that i'm still rather rusty. at the moment, i feel like i'm neither an asset nor a liability; just another guy out kicking the soccer ball. scrimmages will help this....

the s.o. "andrew at rest; andrew and his soccer dreams 1 & 2" jasper/banff national park, alberta.

Sunday, February 25, 2007

free sonics tickets!

leave me a message if you're interested in free (lower bowel) sonics tickets. the catch is that you'd have to go to olympia (with me?) on monday evening.

if you're thinking "maybe...but why would i go to olympia?" well, there's a legislative hearing about the $300 million tax proposal to keep the sonics in washington state, and the Save Our Sonics/Storm organization is giving out free tickets, shirts, and food to people who come and show their support for the sonics. if i find someone else that's crazy enough to drive south after work, i'll probably go.

this website has the details: http://saveoursonics.org/

forward this to anyone you know that likes the sonics (and free basketball) enough to drive (or carpool) to olympia.

UPDATE 1:25AM
random gusts of rain keep triggering the motion sensor on the light outside my bedroom window. instead of sleeping, i find myself thinking about aurora, soccer, and the sonics. more particularly, i've been imagining myself renting a room in one of those nasty hotels down on 85th, wondering how many new friends it would take to assemble a king county soccer team, and betting that i won't find any takers on my olympia adventure, which will probably make me happy in the end, because i don't really want to meet a bunch of sonics fans and hobnob with politicians....

Friday, February 23, 2007

a post is coming...

i'm going to write about ash wednesday, babel, breach, she's come undone, white noise, and twilight innings, but not tonight. i may also say something about lost (i've finished season 2!), traffic (are we doomed?), tribal casinos (should they be taxed?), soccer, and the sonics, but probably not. i may even start training for a half marathon, but i can't do that here.