I had a few ideas about which I could write today, from the professional athlete who neglected to review the terms of his contract to my recent experiences that reminded me that I am not nearly as tough as the people who inspire me to the appeal of Dead Poets Society for me and my brother. However, when I got up this morning, I learned through a statement issued by a mass communications company that radio host Kidd Kraddick had passed away. I feel that deserves some attention.
For those of you who are not familiar with the name, Kidd Kraddick is the host of the early morning radio show "Kidd Kraddick in the Morning", which runs in this area every weekday morning on 105.3 "The Buzz". He is actually the leader of an ensemble cast that includes Big Al, Kellie Rasberry, J-Si, Jenna, and Shannon. The group also appears on the television show "Dish Nation". The morning show is humorous, diverse, friendly, and enjoyable. I listen to it every morning on my drive to BHS. The show maintains a standard in its content that includes keeping the show "kid-friendly" so that parents can listen to it with their kids in the car on the way to work. At the same time, the show is timely, sometimes edgy, always fun. The group plays off one another, they make fun of one another, and they seem to truly feel for each other on a personal level. They let the audience get to know them by opening up their lives. Listeners have gotten to know J-Si's wife, from Kidd's portrayals of her calling the show, J-Si's stories about her and his growing family, and her actually taking part in the show. Kellie has allowed the world to look in on her life, whether that be sharing her romantic struggles, her stories and skits that revolve around her family, or her allowing the audience her daughter Emma Kellie grow up. Big Al has to have trouble with ladies, because no matter who he is involved with, the audience is going to know every one of their habits and quirks. All who listen know of Kidd's love for his daughter Caroline as well as so many other aspects of his personal life.
The people on the show go beyond just making jokes and performing skits that make drivetime more enjoyable. The Kidd Kraddick show promotes a program called Kidd's Kids, which raises money and coordinates a trip each year for the several families of children with chronic conditions. The families are able to travel, by chartered plane and with the cast, to Disneyworld for a vacation. For many of these families, it is an opportunity to escape a issues that occupy their daily lives and allows the kids to be just that, kids. However, the show does not just stop with this single amazing program. Each year, they conduct "Breaking and Entering Christmas", in which people nominate families who are struggling for whatever reason, and the show arranges for that family to have breakfast one morning, usually with the person who nominated them. While they are out, Big Al "breaks into" the families home and sets up the ultimate Christmas. Trees, gifts, toys, the whole shibang. The "reveal" occurs live on the radio when the family, always one with children, returns home to discover what the show has done. Throughout the year, the show sponsors, coordinates, and presents a variety of other amazing programs. Sometimes, what the show does is not even part of the show. On Friday, Kidd read a letter he had received from a local woman who had been unable to purchase milk and eggs at the grocery store because she did not have enough money with her to cover the bill. A young man had demanded she let him pay for the items and then told her show had dropped something while looking for cash and gave it to her before hurrying away. He had handed her $200. She asked the cashier if she knew who the man was, and she said he was J-Si from the Kidd Kraddick show.
According to the statement from YEA radio, Kidd Kraddick passed away while attending a golf tournament. The tournament was being held to raise money for Kidd's Kids. I have no idea what the future of the man's show is, and I am sure that is not a concern at this point. I never met the man whose actual name was David Kraddick, but I, like so many other people who share their mornings with him, feel as if he was someone I knew, someone I would have liked to have as a friend, someone made life a little better for so many people each day and incredibly brighter for those fortunate enough to have crossed his path and to have been pulled into the programs. Kidd Kraddick, you will be missed.
Sunday, July 28, 2013
Wednesday, July 17, 2013
Little Eyes Are Watching You, Buckaroo
I have written before about the important lessons I have learned over the years from my Mom and my Dad, as well as my grandparents.. Today, I want to write about some of the ride I feel when evidence preents itself that I am actually teaching my children, Emily and Dylan, a few of those lessons, and they are taking hold.
More times than not, the lessons we learn and the lessons we teach come through condidly, thourhg the actions take and words we use on a daily basis. Sure, there are those times when we announce, "This is something you need to learn" such as when I sat Dylan down after he had gotten into trouble at school and I told him that when you speak to someone, or he is speaking to you, you look him in the eyes because it shows you respect him enough to truly listen. Or when Heidi and I have both looked at our daughter and told her she is talented and should have confidence in her abilities in slo many areas. Those times are great, but it is what we do on a daily basis that brings home those lessons, or elevates them from words to truth. That was true as we grew up, and it is true now as we play that role of example. There is a coutnry song called "Watching You" that speaks to this point, presenting examples, both positive and negative, of a little boy learning by watching his father. A poem, "Little Eyes Upon You', that expresses the same ideas. For me, no song or poem could come even close to the impact watching my daughter and son has on me.
I feel an emense sense of pride when Emily or Dylan demonstrate that they are, indeed, my children. When Heidi was pregnant with Dylan, I remember asking her if she was sure the baby was in fact hers. I just wanted to be sure. There has never been a doubt that he is definitely mine. The same goes for Emily. I see their mother in both of them as well, and thank The Lord for that.
Heidi relayed a conversation between Dylan and Heidi's mom. She had come by and was going to take the kids to Hastings. Emily wanted to go, but Dylan said he would go later. After returning, his grandmother tried to give Dylan some cash. He told her she did not have to do that, that she did not need to give him money. That is not the part that melted Heidi's heart and made me swell up with pride. That came next. She told Dylan, "I give it to you because I lve you." Dylan's repsonse was "But Grammie, money isn't love." Dylan is 12. He loves video games and working on the computer. He is, for all intents and purposes, what most wuold call normal. I do not know about you, but most 12 year olds I know like money, to buy video games or spend on whatever. Dylan likes to save money, and blow it later. But his first response was "Money is not love." I can proudly say, he learned that from me and from his mom. I learned it from my parents. I know Dad is beamig right now. Money is necessary. People like when you give them money for things like food, shelter, medical care. Yes, sometimes money is extremely important. However, money is not love. Emily displays the same philosophy over and over again. Money is not love. Love is what we do with, for, and because of each other.
Loe is being that example, not because it is what we are supposed to do, but because it is vitally important. It is what allows our kids to grow up happy and balanced. It creates an immediate world that reinforces the words we use and lessons we consciously try to teach. Emily always tries to do the best job she possibly can. Why do something if you do not at least try to do it right, to do it at a high level? She gives hugs because "you need one." She is creative and principled; she wants to be her own person. I might be boasting, but she learned those things from us, and she has ignored enough of the negative lessons I have inadvertently taught through my word and actions to become that developing young adult.
I could have written a much longer post about the negative lessons I have presented, consciously or unconsciousl, bjut let's focus on the positive. That is something I want my kids to do, right? Those lessons have their effects too, I know. My kids are not perfect; I know that. I also know that that fact is also because of my lessons. I am just glad that Emily and Dylan seem have been able to disregard or overcome most of the negative lessons that their mom and I might lay out there, and have held on to the positive ones more often. I am proud of who they are becoming. I love them.
More times than not, the lessons we learn and the lessons we teach come through condidly, thourhg the actions take and words we use on a daily basis. Sure, there are those times when we announce, "This is something you need to learn" such as when I sat Dylan down after he had gotten into trouble at school and I told him that when you speak to someone, or he is speaking to you, you look him in the eyes because it shows you respect him enough to truly listen. Or when Heidi and I have both looked at our daughter and told her she is talented and should have confidence in her abilities in slo many areas. Those times are great, but it is what we do on a daily basis that brings home those lessons, or elevates them from words to truth. That was true as we grew up, and it is true now as we play that role of example. There is a coutnry song called "Watching You" that speaks to this point, presenting examples, both positive and negative, of a little boy learning by watching his father. A poem, "Little Eyes Upon You', that expresses the same ideas. For me, no song or poem could come even close to the impact watching my daughter and son has on me.
I feel an emense sense of pride when Emily or Dylan demonstrate that they are, indeed, my children. When Heidi was pregnant with Dylan, I remember asking her if she was sure the baby was in fact hers. I just wanted to be sure. There has never been a doubt that he is definitely mine. The same goes for Emily. I see their mother in both of them as well, and thank The Lord for that.
Heidi relayed a conversation between Dylan and Heidi's mom. She had come by and was going to take the kids to Hastings. Emily wanted to go, but Dylan said he would go later. After returning, his grandmother tried to give Dylan some cash. He told her she did not have to do that, that she did not need to give him money. That is not the part that melted Heidi's heart and made me swell up with pride. That came next. She told Dylan, "I give it to you because I lve you." Dylan's repsonse was "But Grammie, money isn't love." Dylan is 12. He loves video games and working on the computer. He is, for all intents and purposes, what most wuold call normal. I do not know about you, but most 12 year olds I know like money, to buy video games or spend on whatever. Dylan likes to save money, and blow it later. But his first response was "Money is not love." I can proudly say, he learned that from me and from his mom. I learned it from my parents. I know Dad is beamig right now. Money is necessary. People like when you give them money for things like food, shelter, medical care. Yes, sometimes money is extremely important. However, money is not love. Emily displays the same philosophy over and over again. Money is not love. Love is what we do with, for, and because of each other.
Loe is being that example, not because it is what we are supposed to do, but because it is vitally important. It is what allows our kids to grow up happy and balanced. It creates an immediate world that reinforces the words we use and lessons we consciously try to teach. Emily always tries to do the best job she possibly can. Why do something if you do not at least try to do it right, to do it at a high level? She gives hugs because "you need one." She is creative and principled; she wants to be her own person. I might be boasting, but she learned those things from us, and she has ignored enough of the negative lessons I have inadvertently taught through my word and actions to become that developing young adult.
I could have written a much longer post about the negative lessons I have presented, consciously or unconsciousl, bjut let's focus on the positive. That is something I want my kids to do, right? Those lessons have their effects too, I know. My kids are not perfect; I know that. I also know that that fact is also because of my lessons. I am just glad that Emily and Dylan seem have been able to disregard or overcome most of the negative lessons that their mom and I might lay out there, and have held on to the positive ones more often. I am proud of who they are becoming. I love them.
Monday, July 15, 2013
"My Apologies"
Lately, I have slowed in my frequency of posting on this blog. I know this has caused all of you who read this periodic piece of thought-provoking brilliance great distress. I apologize. No, truly, I do. I apologize to you, the reader, but more to myself. I'll explain.
When I began writing this blog, it was so I would have an opportunity to put my ideas on paper. I just realized how that phrase has gone from literal to figurative in my life in such a short time. Anyway, I wanted to put my ideas down, to knead them like bread dough, and let them proof and rise. I wanted to share, and I wanted to think. In my first post, I discussed the idea of writing to think. With my reduced frequency of writing, I must then admit that I may not be thinking nearly as much, or as deeply, either.
I am not saying that I have taken more time as the summer has passed to allow my mind to completely stagnate. I have been forced to think about the entire concept of teaching literature at the college level as well the effect of the skyrocketing cost of college on the selection of majors by today's scholars. Mr. Jerry Marsh had written an commentary on the latter as a response to an article we had both read about the decline of the English major, and he shared an article on the former with me yesterday. Leave it to Coach Marsh to remind me that I need to regularly read The Wall Street Journal. I carried on a conversation with Jason Williams this very morning about the irony in the conflict of Django Unchained, a film I want to watch but have not gotten around to this summer, and we discussed some of the points of contention in the Zimmerman trial. I had an epiphany in the shower the other night about how to make a strategic adjustment to a trips formation by utilizing the strengths of our athletes while maintaining consistency in their techniques and using practice and teaching time in the most efficient manner. I thought about the Uberfact tweet that stated "If humans were able to hear sounds at a frequency lower than 20Hz, we'd be able to hear our own muscles moving" and how such abilities would affect the atmosphere in the weightroom. I read Andrew Bauer's blog on the conflict in the debate community regarding debate styles and what each style demands and teaches. As a teacher and a former debater, I really did think about what he had to say. We are both kind of dorks. Really, read his blog; he says so right there. Ya Nerd
So, I have been thinking about stuff, and I have been talking about those ideas and thoughts. That is positive. However, sometimes, the solo act of writing forces us as intelligent beings to formulate those thoughts, mull them over, and "put them on paper". We need the give and take of discussion with other people, and that sometimes comes through interactive writing, such as blogs, as well as the traditional face to face variety. However, I also need to look inside myself sometimes. For me, writing is a form of solo conversation that allows me to dig deeper into my thoughts and argue with myself. It creates those rabbit trails that I discussed in a previous post, those meandering excursions that are sometimes diversionary, sometimes fruitful. Maybe that is just me, but it is how it works in my little world. So, I write. I actuality, I have written two other drafts of posts tonight, but I have not been able to develop them to a point I am comfortable enough with the ideas to post them. I need to think on them a little more. It does not always go smoothly; sometimes thinking is hard. So, I fell back on a trick I used in college when I was stumped on papers for EN or LA classes: I wrote about writing what I am trying to write. Why? It goes back to what Coach Marsh once told me about improving my speed: "If you want to run fast, you have to run fast." If you want to write, and write well, you have to write.
So, while I apologize to you for my not writing more. I have to apologize to myself as well. I have to say to myself, "Self, you are cheating me by not allowing yourself to be better, to improve yourself." Sorry self. My bad.
When I began writing this blog, it was so I would have an opportunity to put my ideas on paper. I just realized how that phrase has gone from literal to figurative in my life in such a short time. Anyway, I wanted to put my ideas down, to knead them like bread dough, and let them proof and rise. I wanted to share, and I wanted to think. In my first post, I discussed the idea of writing to think. With my reduced frequency of writing, I must then admit that I may not be thinking nearly as much, or as deeply, either.
I am not saying that I have taken more time as the summer has passed to allow my mind to completely stagnate. I have been forced to think about the entire concept of teaching literature at the college level as well the effect of the skyrocketing cost of college on the selection of majors by today's scholars. Mr. Jerry Marsh had written an commentary on the latter as a response to an article we had both read about the decline of the English major, and he shared an article on the former with me yesterday. Leave it to Coach Marsh to remind me that I need to regularly read The Wall Street Journal. I carried on a conversation with Jason Williams this very morning about the irony in the conflict of Django Unchained, a film I want to watch but have not gotten around to this summer, and we discussed some of the points of contention in the Zimmerman trial. I had an epiphany in the shower the other night about how to make a strategic adjustment to a trips formation by utilizing the strengths of our athletes while maintaining consistency in their techniques and using practice and teaching time in the most efficient manner. I thought about the Uberfact tweet that stated "If humans were able to hear sounds at a frequency lower than 20Hz, we'd be able to hear our own muscles moving" and how such abilities would affect the atmosphere in the weightroom. I read Andrew Bauer's blog on the conflict in the debate community regarding debate styles and what each style demands and teaches. As a teacher and a former debater, I really did think about what he had to say. We are both kind of dorks. Really, read his blog; he says so right there. Ya Nerd
So, I have been thinking about stuff, and I have been talking about those ideas and thoughts. That is positive. However, sometimes, the solo act of writing forces us as intelligent beings to formulate those thoughts, mull them over, and "put them on paper". We need the give and take of discussion with other people, and that sometimes comes through interactive writing, such as blogs, as well as the traditional face to face variety. However, I also need to look inside myself sometimes. For me, writing is a form of solo conversation that allows me to dig deeper into my thoughts and argue with myself. It creates those rabbit trails that I discussed in a previous post, those meandering excursions that are sometimes diversionary, sometimes fruitful. Maybe that is just me, but it is how it works in my little world. So, I write. I actuality, I have written two other drafts of posts tonight, but I have not been able to develop them to a point I am comfortable enough with the ideas to post them. I need to think on them a little more. It does not always go smoothly; sometimes thinking is hard. So, I fell back on a trick I used in college when I was stumped on papers for EN or LA classes: I wrote about writing what I am trying to write. Why? It goes back to what Coach Marsh once told me about improving my speed: "If you want to run fast, you have to run fast." If you want to write, and write well, you have to write.
So, while I apologize to you for my not writing more. I have to apologize to myself as well. I have to say to myself, "Self, you are cheating me by not allowing yourself to be better, to improve yourself." Sorry self. My bad.
Wednesday, July 10, 2013
Truly Random
I was looking for something last night (I do not remember what, and it does not really matter what it was), and I just kind of shrugged it of. For no reason whatsoever, other than that I was disregarding the importance of the searched for object, I thought of Calloway Kocher, sitting in my my English class, responding with a "Meh" that was trademark Calloway. I laughed a little, a pleasant chuckle at the memory of that sweet girl sitting in my class, shrugging off with a quiet smile whatever it was that she was letting roll off her that day. But then a thought struck me: Why did that thought decide to pop up its head like a mental prairie dog? It is not the first time I have wondered this. Ramdon thoughts have a tendency to push themselves into my consciousness, and the reasons for their surfacing is sometimes confusing.
I know at times these "random" thoughts are not truly random. They follow a stream of consciousness that actually hold some logic. My "Meh" thought arose because I was shrugging of something that really had little affect on me. I had given it the time and thought it deserved, and it really had not struck me vey deeply, and it was time to move on. "Meh" is the right word to convey that feeling, and for me, "Meh" will forever belong to Calloway. Not so random. Those not-so-random thoughts outnumber the truly random ones, especially if I really sit and think about them. Ask my senior English students, and the ones who pay attention should be able to corroborate this fact. I can always tell which students have truly keyed into a conversation in class when I ask the question, "How in the world did we get here?" and someone can trace the discussion from its "random" conclusion, back through its meandering mental stroll, to its often mundane genesis. Sometimes it is that journey that provides the most opportunities for thought and introspection.
Sometimes, however, I cannot trace the journey a thought or memory takes as it bubbles to the surface of my conscious mind. Why did the memory of a bunch of friends and I traipsing down to the Frisco Bridge cross at the river pop up the other day while I was beginning to doze off on the couch? Why did I hear Coach Parsons' voice on the VHS videotape of the Hoisington game my sophomore year while driving home from weights last week? Why do I suddenly have the vivid image of Grampie questioning me about climbing up the antenna tower so I could get on the roof of Nana and Grampie's house to retrieve a basketball the had bounced onto the porch roof?
One thing I have noticed about my random thoughts, at least my recent ones that I can catalogue for consideration, is that they are pleasant. Curtis Grote and Justin Gray cracking up in an honors English class that consisted of 29 girls and those to boys. Kyle Weber giving me an honest explanation for why he had chosen to spend the beginning of track practice at the high jump pit instead of the long jump run way, even though he did not high jump. Watching the final episode of Cheers in my dorm room with Heidi, just as we were beginning to date, only to have a coach knock on the door because I had failed to show up to freshman study hall, even though my midterm grades were all As. These nuggets are panned at times that do not make immediate sense.
But does that really matter? They are memories. They are pleasant. Does there have to be a reason for them, or can I just let them happen? Should I spend much more time trying to pin down an answer? Probably not.
Meh.
I know at times these "random" thoughts are not truly random. They follow a stream of consciousness that actually hold some logic. My "Meh" thought arose because I was shrugging of something that really had little affect on me. I had given it the time and thought it deserved, and it really had not struck me vey deeply, and it was time to move on. "Meh" is the right word to convey that feeling, and for me, "Meh" will forever belong to Calloway. Not so random. Those not-so-random thoughts outnumber the truly random ones, especially if I really sit and think about them. Ask my senior English students, and the ones who pay attention should be able to corroborate this fact. I can always tell which students have truly keyed into a conversation in class when I ask the question, "How in the world did we get here?" and someone can trace the discussion from its "random" conclusion, back through its meandering mental stroll, to its often mundane genesis. Sometimes it is that journey that provides the most opportunities for thought and introspection.
Sometimes, however, I cannot trace the journey a thought or memory takes as it bubbles to the surface of my conscious mind. Why did the memory of a bunch of friends and I traipsing down to the Frisco Bridge cross at the river pop up the other day while I was beginning to doze off on the couch? Why did I hear Coach Parsons' voice on the VHS videotape of the Hoisington game my sophomore year while driving home from weights last week? Why do I suddenly have the vivid image of Grampie questioning me about climbing up the antenna tower so I could get on the roof of Nana and Grampie's house to retrieve a basketball the had bounced onto the porch roof?
One thing I have noticed about my random thoughts, at least my recent ones that I can catalogue for consideration, is that they are pleasant. Curtis Grote and Justin Gray cracking up in an honors English class that consisted of 29 girls and those to boys. Kyle Weber giving me an honest explanation for why he had chosen to spend the beginning of track practice at the high jump pit instead of the long jump run way, even though he did not high jump. Watching the final episode of Cheers in my dorm room with Heidi, just as we were beginning to date, only to have a coach knock on the door because I had failed to show up to freshman study hall, even though my midterm grades were all As. These nuggets are panned at times that do not make immediate sense.
But does that really matter? They are memories. They are pleasant. Does there have to be a reason for them, or can I just let them happen? Should I spend much more time trying to pin down an answer? Probably not.
Meh.
Friday, July 5, 2013
"I Want to Watch That Again"
This summer, I have often found myself wanting to watch a movie that has recently been released for home viewing, but I have yet to go to the trouble of actually selecting one and viewing it. I watched The Breakfast Club with Emily, but nothing that has recently become available really makes me want to devote 90-120 minutes of my time. So, each time I get that urge, it eventually passes and I just check Twitter instead.
The other night, Dylan wandered into my little cave at the end of the basement and told me he wanted to go for a walk. I said that was fine and that he should go for it. He started up the stairs, and then came back down and said, "Actually, I want to walk to Hastings, but since I cannot remember how to get there, I might not do that." I asked if he wanted me to walk to Hastings, and that seemed like a good idea to him. Long story short, Dylan, Emily, and I walked to Hastings. As tends to happen on such trips, I found myself thumbing through the discount/clearance rack, this one featuring DVDs. There were some interesting titles, and I starting thinking what movies that have been out for a while that I would like to sit down and view again. Movies that I remember for one reason or another, but that have not found their way into my basic cable viewing schedule. So, here is my list of my top 5 films that I would really like to watch again. Note that this is not a list of my top 5 movies of all time, or my top 5 most influential films; it is a list of 5 films I want to watch again for some reason. Some you might question, and that is cool. Some you might think about and say, "Oh yeah! I want to watch that again too!" That is even cooler. More cool? Whatever.
American History X.
This movie came out in 1998 and starred Edward Norton before Fight Club. I started to type a synopsis of the film, but I decided it might be more efficient to simply embed the trailer for you. (I apologize in advance for having to insert links only for some of the films. I will try to fix that later.)
I want to watch this movie again because I remember that I had a visceral reaction to it when I first watched in fifteen or so years ago. Unfortunately, the racial issues and societal conflicts that the film presents are still relevant today. Furthermore, the movie tells a story of an individual's personal growth and change, as well as the tragic consequences of that individual's choices. It is shocking, offensive at times, moving, and meaningful. I was forced by the film to develop feelings, positive and negative, for the characters. I began to care what happened to them. Artistically, I liked the director's use of flashbacks and black and white. The techniques were used to move the plot forward and intensify the emotion of the movie as Norton's character battles to make it through a world he once saw only in terms of black and white.
The Boys Next Door
John Hudson demanded we watch this movie when we were in high school. It was released in 1985 and stars a young Charlie Sheen. Sheen actually received second billing in the film. I can still picture particular scenes from the movie, and certain lines stand out. This flick was the first time I heard of chemical that can be added to a swimming pool to turn the water purple if one wee to urinate in it. Kind of like Grownups, except that after whizzing in the pool, Adam Sandler and Kevin James go on a killing spree.
The Boys Next Door Trailer
I would like to watch this movie again because I would like to see if the impression it made on my mind was because it was actually a good movie that told its story in such a way that I could not forget it, if I was just a 16 year-old kid who was shocked by a movie that was brutal and startling, or if it was a combination of both that keep the images from the movie loaded in that part of my brain reserved for teenage memories. In my memory, The Boys Next Door has a dark and perverted Of Mice and Men quality to it. Two young men, traveling because they just cannot seem to find a place to fit in, and one of them tends to create trouble for them both, especially when the other is on the verge of finding something good he can grab on to. I have not seen this movie on any video store shelf, and I once searched for it on Netflix and could not locate it. There is another film by the same name, but this one has been hiding from me.
Summer School
Mark Harmon in the 80s, before NCIS and Kirstie Alley before Jenny Craig. Harmon played a teacher who was excited for summer, ready to race out the door and enjoy his vacation, only to be roped into teaching summer school.
I have no idea why I want to watch this movie again. It was ridiculous the first time I saw it, probably around 1989 when it came out on VHS and we rented it. Harmon is a likable character, although he portrays the stereotypically horrible teacher at the beginning of the film, only to discover that all kids can learn, although some learn a little differently. That's new and fresh. Maybe this is not one I really want to see, but if I had put 187 starring Samuel L. Jackson on this list, some of you might start questioning my sanity. Besides, we all need fluff sometimes, and it is summertime, right?
MASH
The movie. I have already watched two episodes of the TV series today. No Alan Alda, but it did give birth to the series and starred Donald Sutherland. It came out the year before I was born, but it is a classic.
Theatrical Trailer for MASH
I have seen the film, but it has been a long time. I actually am no sure when I saw it; it was probably during college. I know the film, while set in Korea during the Korean War, was actually more connected to the conflict in Vietnam that was taking place when the film was produced. I think I do not just want to watch it again; I NEED to watch it again. I remember certain aspects of the film, such as the football game against a rival unit in which the docs drug their opponents, as well as when the doctors convince a colleague to reconsider suicide by actually setting up the attempt for him. However, I know life experience and an expanded knowledge base will allow me grasp much more of the movie than I did the first time.
All the Right Moves
Tom Cruise, Lea Thompson, and Craig T. Nelson, and high school football in Pennsylvania.
All the Right Moves Theatrical Trailer
The movie came out when I was in middle school, and I went to my Aunt Ginny's to watch it on HBO. This was one of Cruise's early movies, and he was just cutting his teeth as a star. Craig T. Nelson was a complete jerk as the football coach, a completely different character than he portrayed as Hayden Fox, head coach of the Minnesota State Screaming Eagles, on the TV series Coach. I was an 8th grader, I think, when I saw the movie, and I was pretty easily impressed, so I want to watch this movie again. I remember that it had some great football sequences, that one of the team captains had to deal with the fact that his girlfriend was pregnant, that some of the content was a little more than an 8th grader at the time was used to seeing, and that Lea Thompson, for some reason, wore long underwear under her band uniform.
So there you have it: five films I want to watch again. I won't lie; I am not going to watch Summer School again unless it comes on USA Network sometime. The others have a chance of making their way into my rotation at some point. Oh, and just to provide you with a few more ideas, here are a few others that came to mind as I was writing today. Enjoy.
Falling Down
This Is Spinal Tap
Apocalypse Now
The Wall
Unforgiven
Collateral Damage
Wall Street
Nightmare on Elm Street (just the 1st one)
Reservoire Dogs
The other night, Dylan wandered into my little cave at the end of the basement and told me he wanted to go for a walk. I said that was fine and that he should go for it. He started up the stairs, and then came back down and said, "Actually, I want to walk to Hastings, but since I cannot remember how to get there, I might not do that." I asked if he wanted me to walk to Hastings, and that seemed like a good idea to him. Long story short, Dylan, Emily, and I walked to Hastings. As tends to happen on such trips, I found myself thumbing through the discount/clearance rack, this one featuring DVDs. There were some interesting titles, and I starting thinking what movies that have been out for a while that I would like to sit down and view again. Movies that I remember for one reason or another, but that have not found their way into my basic cable viewing schedule. So, here is my list of my top 5 films that I would really like to watch again. Note that this is not a list of my top 5 movies of all time, or my top 5 most influential films; it is a list of 5 films I want to watch again for some reason. Some you might question, and that is cool. Some you might think about and say, "Oh yeah! I want to watch that again too!" That is even cooler. More cool? Whatever.
American History X.
This movie came out in 1998 and starred Edward Norton before Fight Club. I started to type a synopsis of the film, but I decided it might be more efficient to simply embed the trailer for you. (I apologize in advance for having to insert links only for some of the films. I will try to fix that later.)
The Boys Next Door
John Hudson demanded we watch this movie when we were in high school. It was released in 1985 and stars a young Charlie Sheen. Sheen actually received second billing in the film. I can still picture particular scenes from the movie, and certain lines stand out. This flick was the first time I heard of chemical that can be added to a swimming pool to turn the water purple if one wee to urinate in it. Kind of like Grownups, except that after whizzing in the pool, Adam Sandler and Kevin James go on a killing spree.
The Boys Next Door Trailer
I would like to watch this movie again because I would like to see if the impression it made on my mind was because it was actually a good movie that told its story in such a way that I could not forget it, if I was just a 16 year-old kid who was shocked by a movie that was brutal and startling, or if it was a combination of both that keep the images from the movie loaded in that part of my brain reserved for teenage memories. In my memory, The Boys Next Door has a dark and perverted Of Mice and Men quality to it. Two young men, traveling because they just cannot seem to find a place to fit in, and one of them tends to create trouble for them both, especially when the other is on the verge of finding something good he can grab on to. I have not seen this movie on any video store shelf, and I once searched for it on Netflix and could not locate it. There is another film by the same name, but this one has been hiding from me.
Summer School
Mark Harmon in the 80s, before NCIS and Kirstie Alley before Jenny Craig. Harmon played a teacher who was excited for summer, ready to race out the door and enjoy his vacation, only to be roped into teaching summer school.
I have no idea why I want to watch this movie again. It was ridiculous the first time I saw it, probably around 1989 when it came out on VHS and we rented it. Harmon is a likable character, although he portrays the stereotypically horrible teacher at the beginning of the film, only to discover that all kids can learn, although some learn a little differently. That's new and fresh. Maybe this is not one I really want to see, but if I had put 187 starring Samuel L. Jackson on this list, some of you might start questioning my sanity. Besides, we all need fluff sometimes, and it is summertime, right?
MASH
The movie. I have already watched two episodes of the TV series today. No Alan Alda, but it did give birth to the series and starred Donald Sutherland. It came out the year before I was born, but it is a classic.
Theatrical Trailer for MASH
I have seen the film, but it has been a long time. I actually am no sure when I saw it; it was probably during college. I know the film, while set in Korea during the Korean War, was actually more connected to the conflict in Vietnam that was taking place when the film was produced. I think I do not just want to watch it again; I NEED to watch it again. I remember certain aspects of the film, such as the football game against a rival unit in which the docs drug their opponents, as well as when the doctors convince a colleague to reconsider suicide by actually setting up the attempt for him. However, I know life experience and an expanded knowledge base will allow me grasp much more of the movie than I did the first time.
All the Right Moves
Tom Cruise, Lea Thompson, and Craig T. Nelson, and high school football in Pennsylvania.
All the Right Moves Theatrical Trailer
The movie came out when I was in middle school, and I went to my Aunt Ginny's to watch it on HBO. This was one of Cruise's early movies, and he was just cutting his teeth as a star. Craig T. Nelson was a complete jerk as the football coach, a completely different character than he portrayed as Hayden Fox, head coach of the Minnesota State Screaming Eagles, on the TV series Coach. I was an 8th grader, I think, when I saw the movie, and I was pretty easily impressed, so I want to watch this movie again. I remember that it had some great football sequences, that one of the team captains had to deal with the fact that his girlfriend was pregnant, that some of the content was a little more than an 8th grader at the time was used to seeing, and that Lea Thompson, for some reason, wore long underwear under her band uniform.
So there you have it: five films I want to watch again. I won't lie; I am not going to watch Summer School again unless it comes on USA Network sometime. The others have a chance of making their way into my rotation at some point. Oh, and just to provide you with a few more ideas, here are a few others that came to mind as I was writing today. Enjoy.
Falling Down
This Is Spinal Tap
Apocalypse Now
The Wall
Unforgiven
Collateral Damage
Wall Street
Nightmare on Elm Street (just the 1st one)
Reservoire Dogs
Wednesday, July 3, 2013
“Who are we but the stories we tell ourselves, about ourselves, and believe?”
“Who are we but the stories we tell ourselves, about ourselves, and believe?” Scott Turow.
I went back to Ellsworth last weekend. Yes, it is that town Rascal Flats sings about, sort of, in the song "Ellsworth, Kansas." The town was hosting its annual fireworks celebration, and, more importantly, much of my family was in town and convened out at Grandma's farm on Sunday for lunch and to sort through many decades' worth, actually over a century's worth, of treasures that Grandma Kohls had gathered, saved, hidden, and preserved for us. Actually, the treasures had been pretty well sorted by the time we got there, and for that, we all should say, "Thank you!"
As I thought about the weekend, the line "We are the stories we tell" came to mind. I know I have heard it somewhere, but I could not remember the source, so, of course, I Googled it, and the quote by Scott Turow was the closest I could come up with. This weekend, I was reminded that my family is one incredible collection of storytellers. Some are short and quick, recalling a moment that flashed sometime in the near or distant history, and then we move on. "That was the gun that Darrel almost killed me with," my brother-in-law said as we examined a shotgun from the hall. "Dad only let us take that one if you were hunting alone. Too dangerous," my Dad added. And that was that. Near death experiences apparently lack the storytelling punch one might expect. "Was that the BB gun you shot Ralph with?" one of my relatives asked my Dad as Matthew picked up a toy from the table. "No, that was one of the ones you pumped up. You could do some damage with that one." Some stories began in one place, triggered by an item, and led to other tales. My Dad showed me an old pipe that he had brought home. He started telling me about how Grandpa Schmoekel always smoked a pipe, and that he blended his own tobacco. From there, Dad's story weaved from putting pipes in back pockets to his Grandma Schmoekel's frustration with her husband and her sewing his pockets shut to a trip they made out to watch harvest after they had moved to town. Eventually, Dad was telling me about the older couple driving to town sitting on two buckets as a front carseat sat smoldering in a wheat field. Likewise, as we watched some TV talking head lament the whole Pala Deen situation, Dad told me a story of one day when he got in trouble on the back porch of his Grandma Schmoekel's house in town, which led to a visit by Grandma Kohls to Baker during my freshman year, and then to how politicians have changed in their focus over our lifetimes. The stories meandered a bit.
Some of the stories were not even told aloud, but they unroll themselves in your mind nonetheless. When it came to my absentee brother's turn to select a keepsake, I ran upstairs and found the Payday game. As kids we spent countless Sundays and holidays at the farm, and on those afternoons when the Kansas weather was too cold, too wet, or too hot, we might break out the game of Payday, and the cousins would roll the dice, count the spaces, hand out the chits, and, hours later, argue about who actually won. Darrel had to have the game. My sister snagged a stack of green and white dishes that had been in Grandma's cupboard, pulled out for everyday meals or special occasions. Actually, even everyday meals at Grandma's were special occasions, even if we did not know it at the time. So, without discussion, my sister, my brother, and I all settled on dinner plates of some sort as mementos we might want to hold on to and take to our own homes. All of us have stories of those meals, with Grandma either working feverishly in the kitchen, moving around the house, refusing to sit until everyone was through the line, or arguing with Linda that she did not need to sit down. Some of the stories go much further back than any of us, including our aunts and uncles. Andrew, the youngest of "the cousins", can tell stories about the earliest of our clan, the Kohlses, the Schmoekels, and Brunings and such. And why wouldn't he; he comes by it naturally. So many items pulled from the China cabinet or front room drawers contained handwritten notes, penned in the familiar script of our Grandma, revealing such details as the date that one of our ancestors, at the age of 16, received a particular ring from her grandfather, who just so happens to be the first individual buried in the St. Paul's Lutheran Church cemetery.
I could roll on and on about the stories that echo in that house, and those that are told in Mom and Dad's house about Nana and Grampie. However, our stories are not limited to ancient familial tales and ghostly voices. We tell stories everywhere. Saturday night I went to my cousin Cindy's birthday party, where someone asked her about the story about the time she was kicked out of my basement. I was away coaching at a BU football camp, so I was not there, but the story involves three claps and an "OUT!" Apparently, according to Cindy's amazing portrayal of my Mom, her aunt Jane, "Girls' voices are just too loud." My son Dylan regaled us Saturday afternoon with his adventurous tale of walking to the Otta-Shop (I know that it is now Kwik Shop, but it will always be Otta-Shop to me), a story that included such gems as "I was hot, and I had gone the wrong way, so I sat down and ate some string cheese." One incredible aspect of our storytelling prowess is that it truly is a family affair. Somehow, Dylan has developed a meandering style that seamlessly melds my own, my dad's and my Uncle Ralph's. Uncle Ralph had his own unique way of unfolding a story, at his own pace, and he would reach the end when he needed to, whenever that might be.
“Who are we but the stories we tell ourselves, about ourselves, and believe?” So true. I would add one phrase to the quote, however: “Who are we but the stories we tell ourselves, about ourselves, about each other, and believe?” We will continue to tell our stories. We have no choice; it is who we are, and who we always will be.
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