Hero Today, Gen Tomorrow (revised 6/5/6)
The circling winds that arise from Memorial Day activities from an America so off course may signal that we are not adrift as a whole, but sailing far reaching in separate directions, no longer on a course as a whole all for one to a larger destination.
What do X-Men, Barry Bonds, and a new wave of high school kids reaching adulthood have in common?
X: Men 3, The Last Stand is something of a cinematic shame. The plot is decently solid, but the execution is muddy, ham handed, and any hope of subtlety was cast away by its director for hire. When the first notable image of the film is Wolverine with a cigar, smiling in front of a massive explosion, it’s easy to ascertain a few things, depending on viewpoint:
This sequel is all about bombast, a summer movie all about action and blowing things up.
The director likes the easy imagery, and squarely plants the hero as a guy who is enjoys the defiance and violence.
Wolverine represents Brett Ratner, smiling with a bit of vice in his gullet, enjoying as he blows the beloved work of Brian Singer, and will then lord over the ashes.
(I like the third one, but I don’t think Ratner is clever enough for self-reflection. Scratch clever, this guy figured out how to coast into Hollywood with little talent, relying on connections and his long list of models homes. Subtle is the word, INTELLIGENCE is what the director lacks, and this entails, subtly, acute inspection, and motivation over movement. I’ll go with #2, namely because Ratner has to use his hands)
Ratner stands as the newest hybrid of a director, he is a (slightly less skilled than the best 2nd set directors) technician who can speak executive, able to attach to a franchise and extricate the skeleton of a plot and add in the tools and momentum that the marketing side seems to believe the viewers want. Lacking the visual flair of bombast masters like a Bay or Tony Scott, his films are very often adequate, and they serve their purpose and hardly falter yet rarely transcend mediocrity. A copy-cat master in the vein of a Brian De Palma, he takes famous works and uses them as templates, yet unlike De Palma, he does not ever look like he understands why the mechanism works (to invoke and paraphrase Jurassic Park, “he stands on the shoulders of genius, never taking the first steps to understand why it should be, only if he could”).
Which is fine, except when it comes to a text like X-Men, which is not a simple action movie like Rush Hour (where he succeeded with casting), or cop drama like Red Dragon (where he was disappointing, yet adequate in continuing the Lecter character). Ratner may be the first director in years where his writer may deserve credit for anything intelligent or clever, as he seems like an affable guy for actors, never interfering and like the studios pay for the big names, just letting them play the persona they do best, and with Wolverine (and most all of the cast), he certainly ups the charisma factor, but does so at the cost of the back-story of the character.
X-men is not a franchise like Lethal Weapon, where the action is interchangeable because the characters can carry the scenarios on charm, it’s a comic book movie, which even at it’s base level, is about people who struggle with their sense of separate identity, burdened with powers that make them more powerful outcasts, and they have to bear the task of protecting the people that shun them for the greater good. Along the way they kick ass, but that’s the icing on the cake, allowing the nerdish, boyish, or outcast appeal to feel joy in allowing the meek to inherent the Earth by force.
Rather than get into the appeal of X-men in depth – in short, it’s a parable for those who are different (any twist on deformity or exclusion) to excel—I am going to talk about why I am almost glad he was the director for this film.
First, because he is a gun for hire, it allows him to get to the meat of the plot structure, and for all of the films flaws, it has some decent action, and moves along at a speedy clip, adding mutants on top of mutants to fuel the action (which even though it’s done with little regard to the plot, we do have a TON of material for the fan boys).
The source material was already in place, both in the comics and the first two movies. We don’t have to watch Ratner fumble through origin stories, wrenching drama from the wrong cues, and updating the back stories to a 2000’s mindset. If he had done the first movie, it would have been one of the worst comic book movies of all time, and it would have killed the franchise. While the jokes in the film are weak, the story itself is rather decent, and in the hands of a more careful director it could have been one of the better comic book movies; essentially, it’s good enough from a script standpoint that it prevents him from making a truly terrible film.
His lack of attachment to the characters allows him to kill them off and his desire to keep the franchise alive prevents him from doing total damage to all characters except Cyclops, who I was actually glad to see go. I never loved that character, in the comics, in the TV series, and in the movies.
But my biggest joy comes in the form of relief, because he had to leave the Superman franchise to others to direct this film. The great comic book adaptations (Superman 1&2, Spiderman 1&2, X-Men 1&2, and Batman Begins) work because they use the character of the superhero. They understand the appeal of the characters and their struggle, examining why they fight, what they believe in, and then allow us to revel in the joy of dispelling evil.
For better or worse, Superman represents the USA better than any character in the media today. Evolved to be the most powerful, filled with a God-like arsenal, and left with few equal enemies in the world. Superman’s great struggle is that he should rule the Earth, subject them to his will, yet he chooses to do the right thing, to protect them, and to hear their cries of despair. How far he (and the US) should intervene is always the problem: to meddle too much makes the society reliant, and often causes terrible collateral damage, causing hatred and repulsion; lack of action causes envy, resentment, and can often lead to chaos in the filling the power vacuum.
If inclined to follow this metaphor, read The Dark Knight Returns by Frank Miller, which casts Batman as the true hero for the people, cleaning up society for the people in the cities, while Superman, too powerful for day to day work hero work, moves on a global scale, left with the endgame of being a mere patsy for the US government, the one weapon in the world that that can not be stopped.
And while the trailers and previews for Superman Returns are difficult to read, I remain hopeful, because of the way I read about how Brian Singer is approaching the film: as a parable to coming back into someone’s life, on the intimate setting of Lois Lane, and to the global, societal view as a person who can be a true hero has returned. The film may be a mess, but given Singer’s track record, I’m withholding judgment, hoping he nails the underpinnings for 2006.
Ratner failed to connect any of the potency of the scenarios and situations to the modern world with any real care or depth. During the film, there is a rally where many mutants are waiting in line to receive the cure for mutantism (the crux of the comics and the fuel for the plot) and are met by protesters on both sides. It could be seen as both an anti-homosexual or abortion metaphor, and it’s touched upon, but where another director might pry deeper, Ratner just uses it to set-up a battle between Iceman and Pyro for later.
++++
I should note that the in the nights after 9/11, the films most American’s rented were action films, Die Hard, Rambo, etc. Films that featured men and women who stood up in the face of inconceivable tragedy, American’s were looking for absolution, someone who stood up and fought back. And it begs a question:
Where have all the heroes gone?
++++
On the same weekend that Barry Bonds crossed one of the sacred numbers in America’s pastime, more people went to see a fantasy film, instead of being witness to a historic event. The 2001 World Series was in the backdrop of similar confusion for our Nation, and served as an outlet when it was needed most, healing some, if only for a bit, with genuine drama, last second saves, and triumph of the little guy in the end. In a mere five years, the culture itself has not changed in terms of the love of the game, but in the knowledge that one of it’s greats accomplishments were spoiled.
I have written that it’s not even the controversy that ruins the moment, it’s the lack of joy. When Big Mac hit #62, the MLB showed the game on national television during prime time, and did so during the fall season. For all that Barry did, this happened on a holiday Sunday, when people were either grilling in the yard or watching the Indy 500. That, is how you give a back-handed compliment.
If I ever were to make a film, have a TV series, or publish a book, my father would surely remember it, it would be the moment that he saw his son achieve his dream. But if I made a second, I am sure his memories would be hazy. I am not knocking him as if I don’t think he would not care, his mind doesn’t work that way. This is a man who is one of the top 100 doctors in the country, maybe higher, but he was 250 pages into “Silence of the Lambs” before he realized that he had read it before.
But I have asked him about when it grew up and what he remembers. He of course remembers the moon landing and the Kennedy assassination, and he even remembers the Beatles on Sullivan. But he barely can tell if House (the only show he recommends as realistic for MD’s) is a rerun or not. He couldn’t tell you who won best Picture last year, he couldn’t tell you the last game he went to.
But he remembers Hank Aaron hitting 715.
++++
Listening to Adam Corolla on Tuesday morning after the Memorial Day weekend, he was ripping on the people who went to see X-men. One of his theories is that men and women are going to essentially change roles in about 20 years, with the women becoming the sullen silent types, and the men, the overly sensitive, whiny group. There is plenty of evidence, and while it’s a comical look at the evolution of the tropes of society, it isn’t exactly false. Men are not being taught by their fathers anymore, women are taught that they are princess, men are the source of all evil, etc. Watch “American Beauty” and see the plight of Lester and you will get the basis point of where the Ace man is going.
And to back his points, the generations after X (1965-1977), mine (1977-1984), and the next Gen gave rise to the most revised men in American history, we weren’t solely given manual labor as a first job, we weren’t raised on the John Wayne arctype, we weren’t taught to suck it in, but to let it out. Taught to express our feelings we were.
But Corolla fails to account for one thing. For most of us, we were taught inclusionist history, part revisionist, part male-apologist, completely sensitive and with nary a black and white distinction. It’s easy to stand in one place when one knows an evil, it’s easy to assume a role when the generation stays the course.
Many of his points are valid, and I agree with many of them, yet he doesn’t consider what is the most damaging and common problem for the rising people of the generations after him: most of them were children of divorce.
When the divorce rate of first marriages is around 50%, and one doesn’t take that into effect, it’s a mistake. First off, the damage to a kid between 3 and 15 is insurmountable. It is not as deeply painful as the loss of a parent, but it can be just as powerful on a lasting course, and maybe more so, as it presents the standard for the familiar unit with a high pretense of failure. Most all of the Boomers and many of the early X-ers rebelled against their parents, they didn’t like the system and they found their own way, because they had a system to fight about.
This notion (and I know it’s not just Corolla, it’s a view of many of the old time males) is based upon their growth. Yet they don’t realize that we don’t come from the same system. Many of us didn’t have the same role models, and even if we did, they didn’t ring true. Losing a father figure is hard enough, being raised by woman (for better or worse) creates a change in a boy growing up (we’ll leave the girls to others) and we become a different type of man when we come of age.
Kids of divorce learn in their early years what many generations learned far later on in their life: fighting for your rights is a losing game; one has to find where they fit in and then succeed. It’s the same lesson that the Greatest Generation learned but never taught, and why Boomer-speak malagates (A new word from Dave, which means to combine the successful way with bad processes) the work friendly (read tolerance and understanding over quality) force.
We as divorced kids are damaged from an onset, and it’s almost irreparable, yet it doesn’t mean that we are:
A: not men
B: not capable of doing hard labor
C: Not the generation that is going to save the world
Tyler Durden said: “Our fathers were our models for God…” and what does that tell you when failure transcends? Maybe we don’t believe in your way. And to end a divorce conversation, let’s just say that maybe we aren’t going to consider your tropes as heroic.
We are ingrained with the idea that maybe things don’t work out. Maybe that’s why I continue to become Buddhist, in search for balance in a world.
++++
In my younger and more emotionally vulnerable years, I always searched for the new start. I know now that then I was searching for an absolution apropos identity, but then I was perpetually looking for revolution in a world to redefine what I could be. I remember being in seventh grade, amongst all of the terrible bitterness of all the kids, of all of the infighting, of all of the self-loathing, that there was a better way for all of us to get along. We as a group shared nothing outside of awkwardness and puberty, all in a protected system yet subject to the terrors of adolescence, and looked on another as foes instead of friends.
I remember when I finished Sixth Grade, I went to summer camp, and when I came home, instead of going swimming or to the sports fields, I read. I just wanted to get away. I turned to Fiction. I turned to games, basketball, Nintendo, card, etc, and found strength there. In comic books and all other forms of fantasy media I found a safe haven, and among the lot, because of the cartoon series, I found Batman, I found Spiderman, and I found X-men. And yet I wasn’t the lone outcast, I was one of many.
Dorky as it is, I became a Magic: the Gathering fan, and many of my friends from Middle School were from there, and many of my friends to this day were from that period. It was the next step for male enthusiasm, it was the combination of baseball cards with nerdy competition, by which I mean, the smartest and most ruthless guy would win, even if he was in a wheelchair, he could overcome.
It might have been the start of a generational trend. It is entirely possible to play an entire game of Magic without having a conversation with your opponent.
And then came Instant messaging.
And then came TXT messaging (when we get to TXT massaging, call me, my phones on vibrate)
And then came myspace.
An article in this Tuesday or Wednesday’s USA Today (so you know it’s already been written elsewhere) talked about the silent nature of the kids in High School, who spend less time talking on the phone than they do on the net, which infers that they spend more time in solitary communication at home than they do outside. The addiction of myspace is undeniable, and like any addiction, it’s damaging.
I know the impulse, I had a relationship where I talked more on IM to her than I did in real life, when we got together, all we did was fool around. Never mind that we lived 200 yards from another, it was easier to just talk. It’s incredibly lame in one sort of sense, but in the other, it’s understandable when you know the mindset.
Most kids of divorce are looking for a replacement for a void. I spent years trying to find a vague object before I found cinema and music. But also note, these are things a person can do by themselves and yet still be connected to a community, it’s a cheap balance of the outside and the personal life, yet it’s tremendously comforting when you are in it.
The love of superhero texts is going to grow over the years as the acceptance grows and ease to live in the world past the media via the Internet stays there to relive it again at the end of the night.
++++
We don’t fear people, we fear failure, and when we do commit, we want to be something great, we don’t want to be nothing. We know that feeling all too well, and will attach to ideas of greatness and heroes, in any form. Even if it’s not real.
When Hammerin’ Hank hit 715, there was a scary moment as a fan rushed onto the field. Aaron had gotten thousands of death threats from people who didn’t want him (as a black man) to break the Babe’s most sacred record. When a white fan ran onto the diamond, there was a slight moment of collective shock, as you feared this guy may be a killer.
But he didn’t attack him. He just ran up and patted him on the back. And he does so with the most joyous of smiles.
May Parker: You'll never guess who he wants to be... Spider-Man!
Peter Parker: Why?
May Parker: He knows a hero when he sees one. Too few characters out there, flying around like that, saving old girls like me. And Lord knows, kids like Henry need a hero. Courageous, self-sacrificing people. Setting examples for all of us. Everybody loves a hero. People line up for them, cheer them, scream their names. And years later, they'll tell how they stood in the rain for hours just to get a glimpse of the one who taught them how to hold on a second longer. I believe there's a hero in all of us, that keeps us honest, gives us strength, makes us noble, and finally allows us to die with pride, even though sometimes we have to be steady, and give up the thing we want the most. Even our dreams.
++++
INLY dictionary: (I got this wrong the first time, making it about culture not the person)
Old Spirit: Def – The wounded soul, men and women out of time who never feel comfort in surroundings that aren’t their own. Could be taken as the quiet type, but it’s not as if the old spirit has nothing to say, often they speak with gestures and nods, hoping for other spirits like them to notice. Never part of the trend or new scene, they find their way by common friends and shared ground. Wary of joining from the start, they know that if things didn’t end badly, things would never end at all. A spirit because they seem to drift; old not because of age, but of accelerated childhood.
What do X-Men, Barry Bonds, and a new wave of high school kids reaching adulthood have in common?
X: Men 3, The Last Stand is something of a cinematic shame. The plot is decently solid, but the execution is muddy, ham handed, and any hope of subtlety was cast away by its director for hire. When the first notable image of the film is Wolverine with a cigar, smiling in front of a massive explosion, it’s easy to ascertain a few things, depending on viewpoint:
This sequel is all about bombast, a summer movie all about action and blowing things up.
The director likes the easy imagery, and squarely plants the hero as a guy who is enjoys the defiance and violence.
Wolverine represents Brett Ratner, smiling with a bit of vice in his gullet, enjoying as he blows the beloved work of Brian Singer, and will then lord over the ashes.
(I like the third one, but I don’t think Ratner is clever enough for self-reflection. Scratch clever, this guy figured out how to coast into Hollywood with little talent, relying on connections and his long list of models homes. Subtle is the word, INTELLIGENCE is what the director lacks, and this entails, subtly, acute inspection, and motivation over movement. I’ll go with #2, namely because Ratner has to use his hands)
Ratner stands as the newest hybrid of a director, he is a (slightly less skilled than the best 2nd set directors) technician who can speak executive, able to attach to a franchise and extricate the skeleton of a plot and add in the tools and momentum that the marketing side seems to believe the viewers want. Lacking the visual flair of bombast masters like a Bay or Tony Scott, his films are very often adequate, and they serve their purpose and hardly falter yet rarely transcend mediocrity. A copy-cat master in the vein of a Brian De Palma, he takes famous works and uses them as templates, yet unlike De Palma, he does not ever look like he understands why the mechanism works (to invoke and paraphrase Jurassic Park, “he stands on the shoulders of genius, never taking the first steps to understand why it should be, only if he could”).
Which is fine, except when it comes to a text like X-Men, which is not a simple action movie like Rush Hour (where he succeeded with casting), or cop drama like Red Dragon (where he was disappointing, yet adequate in continuing the Lecter character). Ratner may be the first director in years where his writer may deserve credit for anything intelligent or clever, as he seems like an affable guy for actors, never interfering and like the studios pay for the big names, just letting them play the persona they do best, and with Wolverine (and most all of the cast), he certainly ups the charisma factor, but does so at the cost of the back-story of the character.
X-men is not a franchise like Lethal Weapon, where the action is interchangeable because the characters can carry the scenarios on charm, it’s a comic book movie, which even at it’s base level, is about people who struggle with their sense of separate identity, burdened with powers that make them more powerful outcasts, and they have to bear the task of protecting the people that shun them for the greater good. Along the way they kick ass, but that’s the icing on the cake, allowing the nerdish, boyish, or outcast appeal to feel joy in allowing the meek to inherent the Earth by force.
Rather than get into the appeal of X-men in depth – in short, it’s a parable for those who are different (any twist on deformity or exclusion) to excel—I am going to talk about why I am almost glad he was the director for this film.
First, because he is a gun for hire, it allows him to get to the meat of the plot structure, and for all of the films flaws, it has some decent action, and moves along at a speedy clip, adding mutants on top of mutants to fuel the action (which even though it’s done with little regard to the plot, we do have a TON of material for the fan boys).
The source material was already in place, both in the comics and the first two movies. We don’t have to watch Ratner fumble through origin stories, wrenching drama from the wrong cues, and updating the back stories to a 2000’s mindset. If he had done the first movie, it would have been one of the worst comic book movies of all time, and it would have killed the franchise. While the jokes in the film are weak, the story itself is rather decent, and in the hands of a more careful director it could have been one of the better comic book movies; essentially, it’s good enough from a script standpoint that it prevents him from making a truly terrible film.
His lack of attachment to the characters allows him to kill them off and his desire to keep the franchise alive prevents him from doing total damage to all characters except Cyclops, who I was actually glad to see go. I never loved that character, in the comics, in the TV series, and in the movies.
But my biggest joy comes in the form of relief, because he had to leave the Superman franchise to others to direct this film. The great comic book adaptations (Superman 1&2, Spiderman 1&2, X-Men 1&2, and Batman Begins) work because they use the character of the superhero. They understand the appeal of the characters and their struggle, examining why they fight, what they believe in, and then allow us to revel in the joy of dispelling evil.
For better or worse, Superman represents the USA better than any character in the media today. Evolved to be the most powerful, filled with a God-like arsenal, and left with few equal enemies in the world. Superman’s great struggle is that he should rule the Earth, subject them to his will, yet he chooses to do the right thing, to protect them, and to hear their cries of despair. How far he (and the US) should intervene is always the problem: to meddle too much makes the society reliant, and often causes terrible collateral damage, causing hatred and repulsion; lack of action causes envy, resentment, and can often lead to chaos in the filling the power vacuum.
If inclined to follow this metaphor, read The Dark Knight Returns by Frank Miller, which casts Batman as the true hero for the people, cleaning up society for the people in the cities, while Superman, too powerful for day to day work hero work, moves on a global scale, left with the endgame of being a mere patsy for the US government, the one weapon in the world that that can not be stopped.
And while the trailers and previews for Superman Returns are difficult to read, I remain hopeful, because of the way I read about how Brian Singer is approaching the film: as a parable to coming back into someone’s life, on the intimate setting of Lois Lane, and to the global, societal view as a person who can be a true hero has returned. The film may be a mess, but given Singer’s track record, I’m withholding judgment, hoping he nails the underpinnings for 2006.
Ratner failed to connect any of the potency of the scenarios and situations to the modern world with any real care or depth. During the film, there is a rally where many mutants are waiting in line to receive the cure for mutantism (the crux of the comics and the fuel for the plot) and are met by protesters on both sides. It could be seen as both an anti-homosexual or abortion metaphor, and it’s touched upon, but where another director might pry deeper, Ratner just uses it to set-up a battle between Iceman and Pyro for later.
++++
I should note that the in the nights after 9/11, the films most American’s rented were action films, Die Hard, Rambo, etc. Films that featured men and women who stood up in the face of inconceivable tragedy, American’s were looking for absolution, someone who stood up and fought back. And it begs a question:
Where have all the heroes gone?
++++
On the same weekend that Barry Bonds crossed one of the sacred numbers in America’s pastime, more people went to see a fantasy film, instead of being witness to a historic event. The 2001 World Series was in the backdrop of similar confusion for our Nation, and served as an outlet when it was needed most, healing some, if only for a bit, with genuine drama, last second saves, and triumph of the little guy in the end. In a mere five years, the culture itself has not changed in terms of the love of the game, but in the knowledge that one of it’s greats accomplishments were spoiled.
I have written that it’s not even the controversy that ruins the moment, it’s the lack of joy. When Big Mac hit #62, the MLB showed the game on national television during prime time, and did so during the fall season. For all that Barry did, this happened on a holiday Sunday, when people were either grilling in the yard or watching the Indy 500. That, is how you give a back-handed compliment.
If I ever were to make a film, have a TV series, or publish a book, my father would surely remember it, it would be the moment that he saw his son achieve his dream. But if I made a second, I am sure his memories would be hazy. I am not knocking him as if I don’t think he would not care, his mind doesn’t work that way. This is a man who is one of the top 100 doctors in the country, maybe higher, but he was 250 pages into “Silence of the Lambs” before he realized that he had read it before.
But I have asked him about when it grew up and what he remembers. He of course remembers the moon landing and the Kennedy assassination, and he even remembers the Beatles on Sullivan. But he barely can tell if House (the only show he recommends as realistic for MD’s) is a rerun or not. He couldn’t tell you who won best Picture last year, he couldn’t tell you the last game he went to.
But he remembers Hank Aaron hitting 715.
++++
Listening to Adam Corolla on Tuesday morning after the Memorial Day weekend, he was ripping on the people who went to see X-men. One of his theories is that men and women are going to essentially change roles in about 20 years, with the women becoming the sullen silent types, and the men, the overly sensitive, whiny group. There is plenty of evidence, and while it’s a comical look at the evolution of the tropes of society, it isn’t exactly false. Men are not being taught by their fathers anymore, women are taught that they are princess, men are the source of all evil, etc. Watch “American Beauty” and see the plight of Lester and you will get the basis point of where the Ace man is going.
And to back his points, the generations after X (1965-1977), mine (1977-1984), and the next Gen gave rise to the most revised men in American history, we weren’t solely given manual labor as a first job, we weren’t raised on the John Wayne arctype, we weren’t taught to suck it in, but to let it out. Taught to express our feelings we were.
But Corolla fails to account for one thing. For most of us, we were taught inclusionist history, part revisionist, part male-apologist, completely sensitive and with nary a black and white distinction. It’s easy to stand in one place when one knows an evil, it’s easy to assume a role when the generation stays the course.
Many of his points are valid, and I agree with many of them, yet he doesn’t consider what is the most damaging and common problem for the rising people of the generations after him: most of them were children of divorce.
When the divorce rate of first marriages is around 50%, and one doesn’t take that into effect, it’s a mistake. First off, the damage to a kid between 3 and 15 is insurmountable. It is not as deeply painful as the loss of a parent, but it can be just as powerful on a lasting course, and maybe more so, as it presents the standard for the familiar unit with a high pretense of failure. Most all of the Boomers and many of the early X-ers rebelled against their parents, they didn’t like the system and they found their own way, because they had a system to fight about.
This notion (and I know it’s not just Corolla, it’s a view of many of the old time males) is based upon their growth. Yet they don’t realize that we don’t come from the same system. Many of us didn’t have the same role models, and even if we did, they didn’t ring true. Losing a father figure is hard enough, being raised by woman (for better or worse) creates a change in a boy growing up (we’ll leave the girls to others) and we become a different type of man when we come of age.
Kids of divorce learn in their early years what many generations learned far later on in their life: fighting for your rights is a losing game; one has to find where they fit in and then succeed. It’s the same lesson that the Greatest Generation learned but never taught, and why Boomer-speak malagates (A new word from Dave, which means to combine the successful way with bad processes) the work friendly (read tolerance and understanding over quality) force.
We as divorced kids are damaged from an onset, and it’s almost irreparable, yet it doesn’t mean that we are:
A: not men
B: not capable of doing hard labor
C: Not the generation that is going to save the world
Tyler Durden said: “Our fathers were our models for God…” and what does that tell you when failure transcends? Maybe we don’t believe in your way. And to end a divorce conversation, let’s just say that maybe we aren’t going to consider your tropes as heroic.
We are ingrained with the idea that maybe things don’t work out. Maybe that’s why I continue to become Buddhist, in search for balance in a world.
++++
In my younger and more emotionally vulnerable years, I always searched for the new start. I know now that then I was searching for an absolution apropos identity, but then I was perpetually looking for revolution in a world to redefine what I could be. I remember being in seventh grade, amongst all of the terrible bitterness of all the kids, of all of the infighting, of all of the self-loathing, that there was a better way for all of us to get along. We as a group shared nothing outside of awkwardness and puberty, all in a protected system yet subject to the terrors of adolescence, and looked on another as foes instead of friends.
I remember when I finished Sixth Grade, I went to summer camp, and when I came home, instead of going swimming or to the sports fields, I read. I just wanted to get away. I turned to Fiction. I turned to games, basketball, Nintendo, card, etc, and found strength there. In comic books and all other forms of fantasy media I found a safe haven, and among the lot, because of the cartoon series, I found Batman, I found Spiderman, and I found X-men. And yet I wasn’t the lone outcast, I was one of many.
Dorky as it is, I became a Magic: the Gathering fan, and many of my friends from Middle School were from there, and many of my friends to this day were from that period. It was the next step for male enthusiasm, it was the combination of baseball cards with nerdy competition, by which I mean, the smartest and most ruthless guy would win, even if he was in a wheelchair, he could overcome.
It might have been the start of a generational trend. It is entirely possible to play an entire game of Magic without having a conversation with your opponent.
And then came Instant messaging.
And then came TXT messaging (when we get to TXT massaging, call me, my phones on vibrate)
And then came myspace.
An article in this Tuesday or Wednesday’s USA Today (so you know it’s already been written elsewhere) talked about the silent nature of the kids in High School, who spend less time talking on the phone than they do on the net, which infers that they spend more time in solitary communication at home than they do outside. The addiction of myspace is undeniable, and like any addiction, it’s damaging.
I know the impulse, I had a relationship where I talked more on IM to her than I did in real life, when we got together, all we did was fool around. Never mind that we lived 200 yards from another, it was easier to just talk. It’s incredibly lame in one sort of sense, but in the other, it’s understandable when you know the mindset.
Most kids of divorce are looking for a replacement for a void. I spent years trying to find a vague object before I found cinema and music. But also note, these are things a person can do by themselves and yet still be connected to a community, it’s a cheap balance of the outside and the personal life, yet it’s tremendously comforting when you are in it.
The love of superhero texts is going to grow over the years as the acceptance grows and ease to live in the world past the media via the Internet stays there to relive it again at the end of the night.
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We don’t fear people, we fear failure, and when we do commit, we want to be something great, we don’t want to be nothing. We know that feeling all too well, and will attach to ideas of greatness and heroes, in any form. Even if it’s not real.
When Hammerin’ Hank hit 715, there was a scary moment as a fan rushed onto the field. Aaron had gotten thousands of death threats from people who didn’t want him (as a black man) to break the Babe’s most sacred record. When a white fan ran onto the diamond, there was a slight moment of collective shock, as you feared this guy may be a killer.
But he didn’t attack him. He just ran up and patted him on the back. And he does so with the most joyous of smiles.
May Parker: You'll never guess who he wants to be... Spider-Man!
Peter Parker: Why?
May Parker: He knows a hero when he sees one. Too few characters out there, flying around like that, saving old girls like me. And Lord knows, kids like Henry need a hero. Courageous, self-sacrificing people. Setting examples for all of us. Everybody loves a hero. People line up for them, cheer them, scream their names. And years later, they'll tell how they stood in the rain for hours just to get a glimpse of the one who taught them how to hold on a second longer. I believe there's a hero in all of us, that keeps us honest, gives us strength, makes us noble, and finally allows us to die with pride, even though sometimes we have to be steady, and give up the thing we want the most. Even our dreams.
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INLY dictionary: (I got this wrong the first time, making it about culture not the person)
Old Spirit: Def – The wounded soul, men and women out of time who never feel comfort in surroundings that aren’t their own. Could be taken as the quiet type, but it’s not as if the old spirit has nothing to say, often they speak with gestures and nods, hoping for other spirits like them to notice. Never part of the trend or new scene, they find their way by common friends and shared ground. Wary of joining from the start, they know that if things didn’t end badly, things would never end at all. A spirit because they seem to drift; old not because of age, but of accelerated childhood.
posted by Indiana at
10:06 AM
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