Thursday, May 28, 2009

My Computer Guy's Curious Story





No one ever counts their blessings often enough. It's usually thought of in the worst possible situations: the doctor gives an unwanted diagnosis, a friend or relative is in a desperate predicament, or--as in my case recently--your "back-up" laptop gets a nasty virus shortly after your preferred one has a bad case of malware. It was then that I realized how thankful I am to have a reliable, efficient computer person to call.


A certain scenario always plays out. I call my computer guy, he says when he'll get here, then I'm overwhelmed by a wave of both relief and panic. Relief that I'll be able to soon use my laptop again and panic at the state of disorder in our den. If a messy desk is a sign of genius, I am off-the-charts brilliant. Of course, I know where everything is. I have my numerous piles of genealogy data, vacation budget sheets, correspondence that needs to be answered, colorful "reminder" post-its accenting the above described stacks. I do my best, but by the time my computer guy, who I'll call CG, arrives, I still laugh nervously as I apologize for the mess.


Kindly, he always assures me, "Oh, don't worry. I've seen much worse." Once, he shared a story about a particularly disturbing job. He knew from the start it was going to be odd. As he pulled up to the new client's home, he saw two men--brothers--wave to him from their front porch. They raced towards him, running alongside his car as he tried to park. When he stepped out of the car, they linked arms with him on either side as they lead him to their front door. CG quickly unlinked himself and wondered what awaited him.


The interior of the home was atrocious and, out of the corner of his eye, he saw a racoon run by.


"Don't worry," they told him, "We're just working on training him"


It was then that CG noticed a cage next to the faulty computer tower, complete with racoon feces all over both items. He told them that they'd have to clean up the computer before he'd be willing to work on it. They agreed and said they'd call him as soon as it was all clean.


A couple days later, CG returned. As he'd requested, the brothers had left the computer on the porch. He brought it to his office to work on it. When he opened the tower, he noticed some hardened chunks of blue powder. CG called them.


"You ran the computer through the dishwasher, didn't you?"


"We did. We wanted to make sure it was a clean as possible."


So, today, I'm especially grateful for two things in particular: 1. Having a great computer guy I can rely on and 2. Knowing there really are people with messier dens than mine.


Tuesday, May 26, 2009

Abbey Arrives (Because I Promised)



After our family dog died of lymphoma, I couldn't believe how quiet the house had become. Always having been a cat person, I now stared at our two senior cats and wondered, "Why don't you make any noise? Why so much stealth?" I began obsessively looking at petfinder.com and came across a photo of a small dog, Abbey. I read her description, but there was just something about her picture that seemed...odd. She was staring straight at the camera, one ear up, one folded, had bi-colored eyes, and a somewhat blank look. No.


A couple of weeks later, my dear friend, Sherry, asked if I'd go with her to look at a boxer at our shelter. Looking back, I'm sure it was a ruse on her part. As we got out of her car, I saw Abbey out of the corner of my eye. A shelter worker had her on a leash and was walking her...straight towards us.


"Look at the long legs on that rat terrier!" Sherry said a bit too enthusiastically, "She's precious!"


"No, I know who that is. I saw her on petfinder, but she's not the right dog for me."


Of course, this was taken as encouragement and the next thing I knew, Abbey was sitting on a bench between Sherry and myself. She raised her chin and looked at me with warm chocolate eyes---well, warm chocolate eye. The other one was more like an ice blue marble. But, I had to admit, there was something achingly sweet in her face. She seemed perfectly calm and well-behaved.


Upping the ante, Sherry coaxed me into making a second trip to visit Abbey, this time with my son. Again, Abbey was very serene and sweet. I still couldn't quite decide what I thought. Was it too soon after our beloved dog's death? Or was Abbey just not a good fit?


That weekend, my husband joined our son and myself for yet another Abbey visit. When we arrived, we were told that she was the longest resident small breed dog they'd had. She'd been moved over to the larger section that housed bigger dogs to make room for newly arrived puppies. Okay, that tugged at my sympathies. It was decided she was a rat terrier, border collie, whippet mix. Three high energy breeds. Great. We sat in a small room and, again, Abbey behaved exceptionally well. My husband, who had left the house with the firm statement, "We are NOT coming back home with a dog!!!" suddenly announced:


"Okay, we can take her."


Then, a surprising thing happened. As soon as the words were uttered, Abbey took off on a wild tear around and around the room. She leaped up in my lap just long enough to scratch my face, then continued running and wagging her tail. Of course, my husband and son thought she was hilarious.


When we brought her home, she raced to our sofa and sat stiffly with her back pressed against the couch. She looked one way, then the other, with a look of total terror on her face. As I began to look through her pile of paperwork, I noticed comments like "frequent accidents" and "can jump high fences". Horribly, I also learned that her previous owner had kept her in a crate for about 22 hours a day. She kept looking at each if us in turn, wondering what was expected of her. Nothing, really.


It took Abbey some time to seem to trust us and accept affection. In return, she is our devoted and loving pup. She still has some flaws: she has tremendous fear aggression towards other dogs and is way too possessive of us, her pack. But, she's a happy, loyal little dog which is really all we ever wanted.

Thursday, May 21, 2009

The First Face to Face




It was probably the most surreal trip I've ever taken. I'd never been to California before, never seen a desert, and had never met my newly-discovered aunt and cousin. As if the itinerary needed more curiosities, it was also the first time I ever attended Comic-Con, but that's for another post.


As we drove for a couple of hours through the desert, I thought alternately of both nothing and everything. I stared out the window, occasionally trying to put my journey into logical steps. A question I'd posed on a genealogy site years ago had been answered. Contact, after twenty years of searching for my mother's birth family, had been made by a cousin I never knew existed. And, she had graciously offered to let us stay at her home to meet both her and her mother, my mother's half-sister. My mother, who had died twenty-five years earlier, would have found the whole thing staggering as well as incredibly wonderful. As did I.


When we were minutes away from our destination, my heart began pounding. What was it going to be like? What would we say to each other after initial pleasantries had been exchanged? As we slowed to look at street numbers, I saw them. A woman close to my age with her mother, both waving happily at us. I couldn't wait for the car to stop so I could see them more clearly and to hug them, possibly to make sure this was all real.

When I did get out of the car and ran over to them, I saw my smiling aunt stare at me with wide eyes.

"You look just like my sister!" She exclaimed, "I can't get over how much you look like her."

It took me half a second to know she didn't mean my mother, whom she'd never met, but the older sister she'd grown up with. I was a little surprised. We'd exchanged photos earlier and I thought the person I'd most looked like was my grandmother. Apparently, that wasn't the case. I did feel a little intimidated by my cousin's looks, then reminded myself that there aren't too many former beauty pageant winners out there. And she was clearly her mother's daughter.

All this happened in a flash. My ever-patient husband and son followed us into the house, where we all sat down, smiled, and stared at each other again. Photos are one thing, being with someone face to face is another. And there was an unexplainable quality to my aunt that brought my mother immediately to mind. It may have been the turn of the head, the fleeting gesture, the gait of her walk. Whatever it was, there was absolutely no doubt that I had found family. My lovely cousin and I seemed to have the same laugh...we certainly had the same sense of humor and way of looking at things. And, perhaps surprisingly, we were all so relaxed in each others' company.


Of course, we spent hours comparing puzzle pieces to the mystery of my mother's adoption and her mother's life. My grandmother, whom I'd been told had died in childbirth. My grandmother whom I'd always imagined as a kindly, poverty-stricken immigrant. My grandmother, who in fact had lived very well in Miami Beach, Key West, and Jamaica while neglecting the four children in her care. Why? We kept asking the same question. There were rumors about her acquaintances, both famous and infamous, and we tried to determine which were likely and which ones unlikely. They are among the questions we're still asking each other today.

Yet, the most amazing result of the experience was the bond of family. My sister and I never gave up our search and our cousin willingly opened the door to us. I'd read recently on a genealogy site: A tree without roots will fall over. I wasn't aware of feeling that earlier, but I now believe it to be true. Since finding my mother's family, my step is a bit surer, the circle of heritage almost complete. And I hope we will all someday know our grandmother's real story.

Monday, May 18, 2009

"The Way to Crush the Bourgeoisie..."



I don't mean to brag, but I have a very cool dad. Most people know him as being the person who wrote the Mission Statement for NPR (National Public Radio), who was NPR's first Program Director, and who created the flagship show, All Things Considered. Not too long ago, someone asked me how I would describe my father in one sentence.

I thought for about half a minute, then answered, "He's spent most of his life trying to improve the lives of as many people as possible."

I still stand by my reply. Since leaving public radio, my father has travelled literally around the world, helping to create community radio stations in newly developed democracies. He's spent an enormous amount of time particularly in Mongolia, South Africa, and Eastern Europe. He works tirelessly for funding for DRP, Developing Radio Partners.

During our recent trip to Philadelphia, Dad and I sat on his sofa, going through stacks of photos from our respective travels. Mine not so exotic as his. As he glanced sideways at a picture in my hand and he nodded his head.

"Lenin."

"What?"

"The statue of Lenin. In front of St. Basil's Cathedral."

I stared at the photo. It was my son, Thomas, in front of the statue of Walt Disney (and Mickey Mouse) in front of Sleeping Beauty's castle in Disneyland. I couldn't help bursting out with laughter. I mean, the concept of confusing Walt Disney, visionary and successful capitalist, with Vladmir Lenin, revolutionary leader of the former communist USSR, seemed hysterical to me.

"Look," Dad protested, "Really, if you're just looking at it from this angle..."

OK, I could kind of see his point. Though I still can't figure out who he thought Lenin's short sidekick could have been. It's a small world after all.

Friday, May 15, 2009

Becoming LOST




In May 2005, I was having lunch at our local, ever-charming McDonald's with my dear, slightly madcap friend, Fredericka aka Fred. She has a sister named Georgeanna aka George. They are the daughters of my husband's Aunt Teddy. Anyway, we were watching our children play in the PlayPlace when Fred suddenly blurted out, "Have you watched any of that new show, Lost?"


I shook my head. "No, I heard about it, but never seemed to catch an episode."


"Well," her eyes widened,"They just had the season finale and it was incredible."


"What's Lost about, anyway?"


Those four words have became legendary. As soon as I said them, Fred began to download the entire season to me, without stopping, for about a full hour. As confusing as the storyline is, it was made worse by the fact that she couldn't remember the names of any of the characters.


"So, the Korean girl may or may not like the New York artist, whose son is kind of estranged from him. And the Iraqi torturer doesn't trust the Southern con man--neither does the spinal surgeon--and I think they're right. It seems like the fugitive girl is becoming friends with the pregnant Australian and helped her deliver her baby in the jungle...remember how the washed-up British singer kind of likes the Australian? But, it's not his baby, the father is an Australian artist who left her. And it's so weird that the bald guy was paralyzed, but the plane accident made him walk again and..."


I remember being able to interject, "Wait, all these characters are on the same show?"


She nodded before continuing her detailed, rambling synopsis, ending with, "...and the father yelled for his son, but we thought they were coming for the baby with the crazy French chick. And then they sailed away with the child."


Okay, with an introduction like that, I was exhausted, but intrigued. I netflixed Season 1 of Lost, disc by disc, and became obsessed. One episode would end at 2:15 in the morning and I'd ludicrously tell myself, "Oh, good! There's time for one more episode!"


I'm not sure exactly what is so compelling about the show to so many diehard fans. My guess is that it comes down to two words: mystery and intelligence. Now that Season 5 just ended this week---and the final season will begin in early 2010, there are still as many unanswered questions as there were at the end of the first season. But the ride is actually great fun for those who are patient. The writers never, ever underestimate the intelligence of the viewer. I've checked out numerous message boards online after most episodes. Since the show is popular internationally, someone is always able to supply language translations--don't expect the show to subtitle the Portuguese or Latin--, backgrounds on philosophers whose names are frequently given to characters, and expanded scientific theories. And, still, no one anywhere has been able to put the puzzle pieces together.


I'm still thinking about this season's finale. If the unnamed man talking with Jacob, making his first appearance in the series, is able to inhabit John Locke's dead body--let's just call him Unlocke--did he also inhabit the bodies of the fallen leader's daughter? The spinal surgeon's alcoholic father? What about the smoke monster? And was the nuclear explosion "the incident" referred to in the future, or was it the exposure of the magnetic anomoly? Did the bomb reset everything forward thirty years to the moment before anyone boarded the fated plane or just after the plane crashed, forcing them to relive an endless loop of sorts?


I think I'll need until 2010 to work on my theories. Right now, I'm still lost.

Thursday, May 14, 2009

Suite Dreams





A few friends noticed the photographs of the amazing, wrap-around hotel suite we stayed in on our recent trip to New York City. I haven't had the opportunity to explain the bad luck/good luck combination that brought us to those lavish-for-us accommodations.


I will not--will not!--pay New York City hotel prices. Instead, I save up member reward points with a couple of international hotel chains until I have enough for a night in Manhattan. This year followed the routine and I booked a double room at a very well-located hotel. (Since the hotel was actually fabulous, I'm not going to mention it by name. You'll soon know why.) After arriving from D.C., we checked in and went straight to our assigned room. We dropped the luggage on the floor and sank into chairs while my husband walked around to inspect the room, as is his obsessive habit.


"Karla!" He called from the bathroom," There is diarrhea on the toilet!"


I literally sprang to my feet, "Oh, come on! Not really?"


I walked into the bathroom area gingerly, truly not wanting to be a witness at this point.


I looked around, "Where?"


"There!" My husband pointed to the area, crevice really, between the toilet seat and the back of the toilet.


"Okay," I walked to the phone, "I'm calling the front desk. They'll hopefully change our room."


So, I called and politely explained the situation. The reaction was as if I'd told them the room was splattered with blood. They asked us to come to the front desk and, as I'd expected, be given keys to a different room.


As the elevator doors opened into the lobby, a man who looked uncannily like Nathan Lane was pacing and stopped as we stepped out.


"Excuse me, but are you the Bryants?


"Yes."


He actually was in a sweat. "I'm Mr.__________, the Housekeeping Manager, and I cannot express our complete regret for what you've just gone through. There is absolutely no excuse for such a thing to have happened and I will do everything that is within my power to make things right for you."


I really felt quite sorry for him.


"We will give you a suite on the 37th floor for your stay. I think you'll like it. Let me personally bring you to the suite."


Which he insisted on doing. Yeah, the suite was beautiful with views of the Hudson River, Times Square, and Central Park. Magnificent. We thanked him and he went back to the lobby with us.


"Now," he said, turning to us,"I would also like to pay for lunch for you and your family in appreciation of your being so understanding about this awful situation."


I hesitated, glanced at my husband, then turned back to the Housekeeping Manager. "No, really, it wasn't that much diarrhea. We certainly appreciate the suite, but lunch would just be too much."


He looked genuinely startled, but a little pleased at the same time. "Really, I want to make sure..."


"No, it's really okay." I smiled. "We're good."


When we came back that night and entered the suite, we just stared at the brilliant evening views of the city. It was a perfect example of how a little bad luck can turn into great good fortune. Still, not sure we need an exact repeat.


Tuesday, May 12, 2009

All Is Vanity




I was at the gym last night, which is still a very odd thing for me to hear myself say. In February, I joined a gym for the first time in my life. But, you reach that point when you actually care about cholesterol and rapid at-rest heart rates and losing the weight you can no longer deny you've gained. So, "typical" gym members are still novel to me. In my class last night, I saw a woman who was at least ten years older than me. And, shockingly to me, she had her bleached hair in a Chrissy-from-Three's Company side ponytail, wore a rhinestone hairband, and her outfit had a pattern that looked like--surely not?--My Pretty Pony. I wanted to grab her shoulders, force her to look in the wall mirror, and tell her, "Honestly, it's not a good look for you!"



Not too long ago, I ran into a local man I'd met before. It had been about two years since I'd last seen him and now I was in a checkout line behind him. At least, I thought it was him. It was weird. The person in front of me, based on his profile, both looked like and unlike the person I thought he was. Then, he turned around and smiled at me, "Hi, Karla! How have you been?" Well, I know I had to have been wide-eyed for a moment. He looked like he'd gone to a plastic surgeon with a 1990's photograph of Jon Bon Jovi and told the doctor, "Here. Make me look like him." Again, someone older than me now had Jon Bon Jovi's lips, nose, and highlighted Jovi-esque hair...he even wore Jovi-colored contacts. But, none of the individual parts seemed to fit the shape of his face. It was so very strange and there was nothing on his face I could comfortably look at while talking with him. (And, yes, in case you're wondering, I believe it's highly unlikely either of these people would read this blog.)



What is going on? Throughout history, people have always tried to improve their looks and maintain a somewhat youthful appearance. But, I'm beginning to feel like there's a whole generation of What Ever Happened to Baby Jane? look-alikes out there, thinking they look great. I suppose the primary question is: What is the goal of injections of toxins and potentially dangerous surgeries? To fool other people into thinking you're twenty years younger than you are? Okay, but to what end?



The usual answer lies in a deep fear of mortality. The longer you can keep old age at bay, the longer you'll live. There could be a kind of delusional hopefulness that if you look young, you really are young. You can pretend death is not inevitable. Sadly, I suspect it may be more shallow than that. I think there are people who have seen their looks as their main asset for so long, they may not have developed many other gifts or talents. If their looks fade, so do they. And that, admittedly, would be a terrifying prospect.



I look back on what I looked like when I was in my late teens and early twenties and I think I looked a little...vapid. Part of me would love to be 115 lbs. again and have a completely smooth face.I also look back on who I was then. I was never pretty enough to have been truly conceited, but there were times when I was smart enough that I became, regrettably, a little arrogant. Even though I'd paid the price for that over and over again and have fully learned that lesson, it saddens me a little. I'm grateful that I now have real humility, genuine compassion for others, and wisdom resulting from years of experience. Those are three traits I'm sure my 115 lb. self would not have thought about too much.



So, do I want to be younger? Would I like to be my reckless, headstrong, prone-to-bad-decisions self again? No, not really. I'd rather look at people and the world through eyes that have learned important things through the years, even if those eyes bear a few well-earned lines.

Monday, May 11, 2009

GeeksOn



It may have come to some readers' attention that I tend to be a bit...geeky about things. By geeky, I don't necessarily mean simply being a sci-fi or rpg (role playing game) fan. Actually, I'm not an rpg fan. I mean having interests that are researched until a deeper-than-usual knowledge is gained on particular topics. Almost to the point of making less obsessive people a bit uncomfortable.


If my husband is a classical music geek (I've learned the answer to most of his questions is either Ralph Vaughan Williams or Handel), I've always been a history geek. When I was about 12, I became fascinated by the end of the Tsarist era in Russia. It probably was triggered by the movie Nicholas and Alexandra, though I have no idea why it grabbed hold of my imagination so strongly. It was unspeakably beautiful and horrible all at the same time. I read every book the library had on the last of the Romanovs and had acquired a huge collection of interesting facts about the people, places, and events of that period. I would have been an excellent conversationalist on the subject, but never managed to find anyone remotely curious about the topic. And that lack of an audience is unfortunately a frequent hallmark of geekiness. People politely express interest in your subject, but make it clear they have their limits.


My friend, Susan, and I always tend to delve deeply into a variety of movies or television shows that interest us. I mean, way beyond the, "Who stars in it?" kind of casualness. We've not yet been able to out-geek each other. And, as I'd written before, she frequently encouraged me to listen to a podcast called GeeksOn. My podcast backlog always seemed too long as it was, but I finally gave it a listen. And I haven't stopped.


What struck me was that I was listening to people like Susan and myself (not to mention my more typically geeky son), people who find out everything they possibly can about subjects that are of interest to them. They had astonishing amounts of detail about film, video games, television shows, technology, comic books, rpgs, and more. And, wonderfully, they had an audience to listen to them. An audience of people like them...people like us, who do not set limits as to how much detail we'll listen to about a topic. Based in LA, one of the hosts is a graphic artist, one a video game professional, one a screenwriter and director, and another, an actor. So, they're often able to find even more background on topics than the rest of us. It also helps tremendously that the hosts are entertaining, engaging individuals in their own right.


There's a basic format to the show: The hosts first discuss their Geek Week, followed by Geek News, then on to the geek topic of that particular episode. The latter is the heart of the podcast, when lively, often impassioned discussions erupt over any number of subjects: civil rights in sci-fi worlds, robots and AI, non-traditional comics, interviews with guests like Joss Whedon and George R. R. Martin, reports on events like Comic-Con and the Electronic Entertainment Expo, and, of course, episodes focused on specific films or television shows.Some of the topics are things I know little about, others are right on target to my interests.



I listened for some time before actually going to their website, http://www.geekson.com/, and joining the forums. I was reluctant since my experience with other forums or message boards had been that they became a little bland after a while. One post would look like another. Geekson has been very different. The members are usually intelligent, creative individuals with strong opinions. That alone prevents things from getting dull. But, I love the uniqueness of each member. I believe someone could show me a post with no name or avatar attached to it and I could guess with some accuracy who wrote it. I'm not sure I could do that successfully with many people from my daily life.


Ultimately, GeeksOn is all about community. A community of people who feel passionately about their interests and have, at long last, found their audience.



Friday, May 8, 2009

Star Trek: Full of Praise, Full of Spoilers





I didn't bother to even try to write a new blog post yesterday. It seemed the only thing people were talking about, the one thing people were thinking about, was the new Star Trek movie. I include myself in the collective. Now that I've just seen the film, it's the single thing I want to write about.


I am exhilarated and I can't quite remember the last time I left a movie theater feeling that way. I mean, I went into this with absurdly high expectations, particuarly for a non-Trekkie. While I was in line, I began to worry that this alone would set me up for disappointment. But there was no disappointment. None. J.J. Abrams has made a Star Trek movie that soars on every level.


The first thing that comes to mind is that this is a visual feast of a film. The pallette is brilliant and, at times, almost jewel-like. The spaceships are incredibly detailed and sharply stylized. Everytime one was under attack, along with expected pity for loss of life, I kept thinking, "Wait! Don't destroy it yet... I want them to walk around more so I can see more of the ship!" I couldn't get enough of the ships' interiors --or exteriors. The special effects were amazing, even in this jaded era of nearly miraculous CGI. The action scenes delivered every time. For the most part, it felt like a film too big for any screen.


An annoying issue with action movies is when humor is simply tacked on to keep it from being "too heavy". The problem is the humor used is usually generic and banal. In Star Trek, the levity worked everytime. It made sense to the situation, to the characters, and that's what made it genuinely funny. There was more real laughter at those times than I've heard during a comedy for a very long time. The script got it just right.


I'd been eager to see what fresh interpretations new actors would bring to the familiar roles and was thrilled. Chris Pine surprised me. Based on the trailers, I thought he could be an acceptable James T. Kirk. And, that's kind of how it started out. But, as the movie progressed, he created a Kirk who was actually interesting and more complex than one would expect. The entire supporting cast was magnificent. It was a perfect example of what ensemble acting should look like when it works. McCoy, Uhura, Sulu, Chekov, Scotty (!)...all of them were spot-on, none were there to simply fill in the chair of a character. But, as it perhaps should be, the big standout was Zachary Quinto as Spock. Time after time, I was unexpectedly and deeply moved by the character. After relinquishing the position of Captain to Kirk, I was absolutely riveted watching Spock walk down a corridor in silence. I don't know how Quinto did it, but it seemed like I could feel all his conflicts, his shame, his sorrow, his confusion, at once. Leonard Nimoy's presence, instead of feeling like a wink or cheap trick, was also notably moving and felt completely right. Nimoy added just the necessary amount of gravitas to give the movie some grounding to its roots.


I feel absolutely thrilled. Star Trek was a soaring, vigorous, unpredictable and, ultimately, completely satisfying ride that I'd love to go on again and again.

Wednesday, May 6, 2009

Non-Trekkie Catches Star Trek Fever



I'm really surprised and a little unnerved at how excited I am to see the new Star Trek movie. Mainly because I've never been a Star Trek fan, always more of a Star Wars geek. In my mind,
there're specific differences between the two. There's the image of the old school Trekkies as somber devotees of a camp 1960's television show. They are obsessed with the minutia of specific tv episodes ala Galaxy Quest. Star Wars fans, on the other hand, have farther-reaching interests in filmmaking, science, and mythology. At least that's how I prefer to describe the side I'm on.

As I'd written/confessed earlier, a few years ago, we'd attended a Star Wars convention. One of the first things we saw when we arrived was someone costumed as Jar Jar Binks, wearing a sign reading, "Stop the hate!" I can't describe how relieved I was to be able to think, "Oh, good! They have a sense of humor." And, honestly, throughout the convention, there were conversations about filmmaking, science, and mythology.

This week, as everyone with access to media knows, the new Star Trek movie by J.J. Abrams is going to premiere. And I can't wait. Cannot. Wait. Primarily for five particular reasons:


1. New CGI capabilities. I'd like to see what Star Trek looks like with the technology the storyline deserves. Think of the potential if the special effects actually look convincing. Imagine if they're dazzling.


2. Directed by J.J. Abrams. I know people tend to admire or criticize him, but no one can deny that the man is smart and creative. He himself is no Star Trek fan and has promised to make a relatively unhampered film that's an exciting sci-fi story with plenty of action. And I believe him. (Of course, I also have faith that Lost, the series he co-created, will satisfy fans at the end of its final season next year. Call me an Abrams optimist. In spite of Fringe.)


3. Completely new cast. It's refreshing and bold to have new, young actors playing roles that have been around for four decades now. Zachary Quinto looks especially compelling as Spock and I imagine that may have been the hardest role to cast. New actors will allow for some unique interpretations and keep things from being too predictable. I hope.


4. The trailer. When I saw the first trailer, honestly, it reminded me a little too much of some scenes from Phantom Menace and Attack of the Clones. But, then, a newer trailer appeared that looked so impressive that I immediately replayed it several times. So much potential to be a great action, sci-fi movie,...everything onscreen looked amazing. Definately not a wait-for-it-on-dvd film.


5. My very specific, personal treat: Simon Pegg as Scotty. I love Simon Pegg. Loved him in Spaced, in Shaun of the Dead, in Hot Fuzz, in Run, Fatboy, Run. I can't quite wrap my brain around him as Scotty, but it will be so much fun to see. As long as I can eventually believe him as Scotty and not just Simon Pegg playing the role.


If the film pulls it off by living up to most of the hype and proves to be the movie everyone's wanted to see, it certainly will breathe new life in the franchise. In that case, it will deserve to live long and prosper.


Tuesday, May 5, 2009

Why I'm Going To Stop Apologizing For Loving Walt Disney World



It began like this: It had been a rough year. We were parents of a six year old boy. A relative generously offered us passes to Walt Disney World. That's how it all started.


Until that point, I was far from being a Disney fan. As a child, my father was especially careful about the quality of the books I had and, when I was very young, he would read to me from A.A. Milne's Winnie-the-Pooh books, pointing out the charming pen and ink illustrations by Ernest Shepherd. When I saw an image of the Disney version of a brightly colored Pooh wearing a tiny red t-shirt, Dad expressed his outrage. Disney had turned sweet, subtle children's stories into a crass movie. The carefully detailed Shepherd drawings had been replaced by flat, unimaginative animation. Comparing the two side by side, I still have to agree with my father. Disney products weren't part of my childhood...other kids had them. It was like having a friend whose mother smoked or whose father gambled. Fine for their household, but it was certainly not going to be a part of ours.
As I got older, I moved in circles where Disney snobbery was the norm. One Disney movie was panned after another...not that anyone I knew had actually seen them. And Walt Disney World was a whole other thing. One person reported that Disney World paid their employees to water fake plants to encourage the illusion the foliage was real. Another said all the fish in the ponds were fake. And, of course, there was endless derision of people--adults, even!--who had their pictures taken with employees wearing acrylic character costumes. Imagine!

Much later, as we flew to Florida--my first time to the state-- I felt that we were doing a kind of rite of passage for our son. After this trip, he'd have experienced Disney World and we could move on with our travels. Surely my husband and I could endure being there for a week.


We picked up the rental car and drove to the on-site (yes, really!) Disney hotel, Wilderness Lodge. And when we walked in, we were astonished. Not a cartoon character in site. Just magnificent architecture in stone and wood with a bridged stream running through the lobby. My husband and I looked at each other. We were very impressed, but a little confused. At check-in, we were treated as if we were special guests. I hate, hate to say it, but things started feeling a little magical. The view from our hotel room overlooked a large lake and dense woods with a sandy walking trail. It wasn't what I'd imagined at all.


The next day, we hit the parks, starting with Magic Kingdom. I'm not sure if our feelings would have been the same had we not been parents, but it was thrilling to watch our son react with pure wonder at his surroundings. Not that he knew who many of the characters were...it was the whole sensory experience that had enveloped him (okay, us). At Epcot, it was like visiting a world's fair and horticultural festival at the same time. (And we didn't see one fake plant.) At the renamed Hollywood Studios, our wildest Indiana Jones, Star Wars, and fireworks hopes were all met. At Animal Kingdom, it was amazing to see wild animals roaming outside of cages, yet so close. Our experience, however, was much more than just the culmination of the different parts. The quality and attention to detail was such that it became a kind of distinct world apart from our daily lives...which is what a vacation should be. I honestly don't want this to start sounding like an advertisement, so I'll stop my description of Disney World there.


Needless to say, we returned. Okay, we've returned every year. Some families go to Maine every year, some go to the beach every year,...Disney World just happens to be our family's annual vacation spot. And, because of family and friends living all over the place, we've also brought our son to Toronto, Indianapolis, Philadelphia (most years), New York City (many years), Washington, DC, Los Angeles, San Diego, Seattle, Vancouver, BC, the Palm Springs area, and Minneapolis. And, when he's a bit older, we hope to take him overseas with us.

But, for now, unapologetically, Walt Disney World remains our parallel universe of choice.

Monday, May 4, 2009

Donald Trump regrets...



I don't know why we watched the first season of The Apprentice, but we did. Curiously, our son--who was seven years old at the time--especially looked forward to each week's episode. Thomas picked a favorite and became more and more anxious when it seemed he was in danger of being fired---which he eventually was. Yet, the compelling person on the show for our son, as was the case for many viewers, was The Donald. It may have been his demeanor, his alpha-male posturing, his perceived power...somewhere along the way, our son decided that he and The Donald could be friends.


Thomas kept these thoughts pretty much to himself until he looked online at a picture of the hotel we were going to stay at that year in New York City. It was the Doubletree Guests Suites in Times Square and Thomas managed to notice the golden arches of McDonald's in the photo. So, his picky-eater worries abated. No matter what kind of restaurant we dragged him to, he wouldn't starve with a McDonald's nearby. Then, another idea entered his mind. McDonald's wasn't very expensive. It would be within his allowance's range to treat Donald Trump to lunch there on our trip.

Doubting any outcome from it, I helped Thomas find the Trump Organization's address and let him write a letter. He politely introduced himself to Donald Trump and explained our plans for an upcoming trip to New York City. He invited The Donald to join him for lunch at the Times Square McDonald's and to be assured that Thomas would pay for both Happy Meals and apple pies. He realized that Donald Trump wouldn't recognize him, so included a photo from a Walt Disney World trip in which Thomas is standing next to Chip, of Chip and Dale fame. At the bottom of the letter, he added the reason he was including a photo and pointed out, "I'm not the chipmunk." The letter was sent.



It wasn't too long before I stepped on the porch to get the mail and saw an envelope from the Trump Organization, addressed to our son. We opened it together and read:

"Dear Tom:

Thank you for your recent letter and picture.

Your invitation to treat me to lunch at McDonald's is much appreciated. My busy schedule does not permit me to meet with you.

Best wishes with your future endeavors and enjoy your trip to New York.



Sincerely,

[signature]

Donald J. Trump"

Although the message was short, the signature was obviously genuine and it was exciting for Thomas to think his letter had really been read. He wondered briefly if he should start going by "Tom". He continued to loyally watch The Apprentice. He has to be prepared in case he ever does meet The Donald.