Movie Quote from "Harvey"

This is probably one of the best lines I’ve heard in a movie for a long time. Not only did it fit the moment on screen, but it resonated with me for awhile afterward. The words just rattled around in my skull, ending up in different orders, rearranging but keeping the same meaning. It is not necessarily a deep quote, but I liked it none the less. Elwood is speaking of the people he meets in bars with his “imaginary” friend Harvey.

“They tell about the big terrible things they've done and the big wonderful things they'll do; their hopes, and their regrets, and their loves, and their hates. All very large, because nobody ever brings anything small into a bar.”

I just love the truthfulness of it.

The “Harvey” in All of Us

1950s “Harvey” starring Jimmy Stewart is the perfect movie to watch when life seems like it’s a little too much to handle. Innocent enough to put a smile on your face and engaging enough to keep it there, this movie struck a chord with me on a day where I lay on the couch exhausted, stressed, and empty.

"In this world, you must be oh so smart or oh so pleasant. Well, for years I was smart. I recommend pleasant. And you may quote me," are the words Stewart’s character shares as he is being admitted into a psychiatric ward with a smile on his face. Although it seems like he is naive to the situation, there’s a truth in his eyes that speak otherwise.

It sounds simple enough. Sometimes it’s easy to say that life just isn’t that simple. It gets hard, it kicks dirt in your face, and it pushes you to the ground. This can be true. Trust me, I’ve done my fare share of washing the grit out of my teeth. But does that mean that life isn’t simple? No.

You always have a choice. Every decision you make, there was an opposite decision that was neglected and ignored. Every day offers you a fork in the road. The beauty of it all is that you can always turn around and go back the other way. The choice is yours. Your decisions don’t have to be easy, but they are always simple. I can smile, or I can frown. I can laugh, or I can pout. I can be difficult, or I can be pleasant.

I may not have wrestled with reality for all of my 27 years, but I think it is time I try harder to win out over it. It doesn’t take a 6-foot-3-inch white rabbit to make that happen. It just means I have to start making the right choice. I don’t always have to be oh so smart. Sometimes pleasant will do just fine.

Too Immature to Graduate?

I got the new Kanye West album (I guess it’s not really considered new anymore) from BMG this week. I didn’t have to pay for the CD because of my club points, which is great because I refuse to give that man any of my actual dollars. It’s too bad really. I like his music, especially the stuff he samples, but he is such an arrogant a-hole that I feel it’s my duty to not support him. One of my co-workers has tried to explain to me that at least his antics are entertaining, and since he is an entertainer, it should be considered okay.

I guess I’m just a little old fashion because I don’t find his antics entertaining. They’re obnoxious, juvenile, and petty, but not entertaining. I see my one-year-old daughter throw the same temper tantrums and she is one.

Regardless, the not-so-new album is pretty good. There are not as many great songs on it as there was on his last release, but there are more decent songs. Unfortunately, I just don’t care whether he stays or goes. I also vow to burn his next CD from someone else, so he doesn’t see a penny from my listening enjoyment; club points or not.

Good Stuff

I’ve changed the settings on my account so anyone can comment on my blogs. I would have done this sooner, but I didn’t realize I could. Yes, I’m admitting my ignorance. I guess a person really can’t be perfect 100% of the time. I’ll settle for a solid 99% though.

Finger Lickin’ Good

You should never bite the hand that feeds you. Of course, if that hand keeps pretending like it is going to feed but ultimately doesn’t, you might as well bite the whole thing off. Hey, you eventually have to eat something!

The Art of Burning Bridges

It’s an age-old adage that it’s not wise for one to burn a bridge he has just crossed over. What if you realize you’ve forgotten your favorite pair of Nikes on the other side? It is very hard to cross a dangling suspension bridge that’s engulfed in flames (I picture a suspension bridge because it seems scarier. Don’t look down). Furthermore, you may have remembered about your Nikes too late, and the rickety old bridge is already burned to the ground. Now what?

That being said, there are those times when you feel so completely crossed by someone, you have no choice but to light the match. So if you’ve reached your limit, there’s no point in just giving your bridge a little smoke damage. It will simply grow bitter, perhaps let you cross it again, but the bridge will eventually allow you to fall. Instead of risking a plunge, you might as well douse it with lighter fluid, soak it with gas, and ignite the damn thing with a blow torch. This way, at least the bridge knows it’s being burned. There’s no misconceptions like, “hey, did he just toss a match at me? Well I don’t see any other bridges around, so I think he just flicked that match at me.” Nope, as that bridge burns to the ground, it will stare you in the eyes as it rages and eventually smolders to nothing, knowing there wasn't a second lighter on the grassy knoll.

Of course, you can always be the bigger bridge and ignore the whole thing. But what’s the fun in that? At least, that is what a little birdie told me… as he lit a match and waved his Nikes good bye.

New York City is...

Life isn't about the destination but the journey. Our journey, however, started with a destination; New York City. Its streets are full of concrete, sweat, and noise. Its boroughs are full of nations, religions, and traditions. But its allure is more than the sum of its parts. New York City is an expectation. The Big Apple is where anyone can have a dream. You can escape there to get noticed. You can retreat there to blend in. It is lights, ambitions, and energy. It is our nations past and our country's future. New York City is a skyline of hope. For us, it was the time in our life when... life happened; good, great, bad, and miserable. It was two years we would never give back and a life we were ready to leave behind. Like so many before us, NYC was our city, and we thank it for our memories.

What's Better?

Coke over Pepsi
Chevy over Ford
CSI: NY over CSI: Miami
Racquetball over Tennis
John Wayne over Clint Eastwood
Sour over Sweet
Fast over Slow
Pizza over Wings
Beer and Wine settle for a tie
The Soup over Best Week Ever
Wii over Playstation 3
Movies over Books
Books over Magazines
Magazines over the Internet

And the beat goes on da da dun dee dun dun.

Starting off on the right foot

Six feet have washed ashore in British Columbia over the last 11 months. Authorities are baffled about the origin of the feet guessing that they could belong to missing fisherman, plane crash victims, or random people that have simply drowned. The last foot, however, appeared to have been intentionally severed from the leg. It was also first left foot to be discovered. Regardless, Canadian authorities don’t expect foul play. Of course, they also still believe in the Easter Bunny.

On Golden Pond

It actually takes place on a lake. F for false advertisement. However, I'm man enough to say that it made me tear up a little. I'm also man enough to say that if you ever repeat that, I will kick your a**. Enough said.

My Departure from Sarcasm

Love is a funny thing. There are a lot of people that feel love, but when you ask them to describe it, the words are hard to find. That’s because you don’t speak of love, you feel it. Words were never meant to trump feelings. Even poets can’t truly describe the exact essence of love. They try. They come close. And they fall short. Like most emotions, love is relative. What it means to me, it may not mean to you. A counter example (or perhaps the perfect example) of a feeling’s relativity is a person’s pain threshold. My brother cut half of his arm off with a chainsaw and walked down a mountain to call the ambulance. Did it hurt? I’m sure it did. But it didn’t hurt him as much as the next guy. Unfortunately for my brother, his love threshold is as high as his pain threshold. Three years into his relationship might have killed me, but he has hope or, at the very least, is blind to the pain.

But what does this say of love? Yes, it’s caring, forgiveness, and generosity; words, words, and more words. Love isn’t words. It is feelings and ideas. It is todays and tomorrows. It is bringing life into the world, and even more so, holding someone’s hand as they leave it. For some, it’s forever. For others, it’s fleeting. As much as I would like to think I know, it’s what I don’t know about love that makes it real. Love isn’t free. It isn’t easy, and it isn’t for everyone; although, everyone deserves it. Why? I don't know.

For me, love is my wife. Every ounce of her being is focused on making the world better, my life better, our life better. I was asked a long time ago about how I knew that I loved her. Again, only words were used to describe an indescribable feeling. My response? I know the sun rises every morning. I know I need every breath I take, and I know I love Malinda. When she goes to work in the morning, I know she will come home in the evening. When I see an older couple on TV, I know that is where we will be one day. I don’t know why, but I know. So to me, love is knowing that the answers are not meant to be known. They’re felt, poorly explained, but always there. But why? I don't know.

Just Do It

Tiger Woods gave a performance today worthy of any sport’s hall-of-fame. Despite it only being the third round of the U.S. Open, what Tiger accomplished at Torrey Pines is what movie scripts aspire to be. Down five shots with six holes left to play he was able to sink a 70-foot eagle putt, a chip-in for birdie, followed by a 30-foot eagle putt on the 18th green to end the day with a one-stroke lead. The sheer skill involved in the comeback was enough to talk about, but most noticeable was the fact that he grimaced in pain after almost every shot and limped to the 18th green. His body was showing obvious signs of wear from his recent knee surgery. But Tiger did what he does day in and day out; play golf and play well.

If he would have given this performance in the final round, it would be forever written in the history books as one of the greatest comebacks in golf’s history. Nevertheless, it’s on par with Laettner’s final second jump shot that propelled Duke into the 1992 NCAA finals. No one remembers the winner of the Championship game, but we still remember the amazing shot that ended Kentucky’s chances at moving on. Even if Tiger doesn’t win tomorrow, people will still talk about today. Those are the moments that make legends. When a single performance can outshine the result, you know you’ve seen something special. This is why people root for Tiger. This is why he is so important to the game of golf.

A Movie Can Remember When

I watched “The Shootist” starring John Wayne today. Wayne plays a crotchety old gunfighter who travels to Carson City to die of cancer. Because his reputation precedes him, he is forced to fend off pestering town folk and revenge seekers alike. I’ve seen it before but being father’s day weekend and all, I felt like watching some movies that reminded me of my family. My dad has probably seen every John Wayne film 10 times over, so by mere default I’ve seen most of them several times. I always enjoyed his films, but never really understood my dad’s passion for them. Regardless, it’s been awhile since I’ve watched the Duke draw his pistol.

My revelation occurred halfway through “The Shootist.” I always recognized the resemblance between the characters John Wayne played and my grandfather, but it wasn’t until today that I realized how powerful of a connection it was. His walk, the way he speaks, and his don’t take shit from nobody attitude echo the sediments of my grandfather to his last breath. I guess it makes sense; my grandpa was also a fan of the Duke.

As I sat there and watched, my mind was flooded with memories, good, bad, and indifferent. The fact of the matter is that the movie just made me feel good. It was like being home without going back home. My dad loves his movies because he loved his dad. We tend to relive our memories regardless of where they are harbored. My grandfather died several years ago, but I can see him not only through my dad, but through the movies they shared.

My grandpa was a crotchety old cowboy, stubborn until the day he died. He may not have been a gunfighter, but he sure as hell was a fighter. I thank my dad for giving me the keys to this past. He made sure we knew where he came from and why that's important. Powder River Let'r Buck! Happy father's day, dad.

The Quarter Life Crisis

The quarter life crisis happens when twenty-somethings realize life isn’t as rosy as they were led to believe. We grew up in an era where our parents told us to follow our dreams, athletes preached that if we worked hard every day, it would pay off, and movie stars touted that if it could happen to them, it could happen to us. So we believed. We studied hard, kept our noses clean, and cherished our dreams. We graduated high school, then college, and stepped wide-eyed and curious into the real world. But the real world looked the other way.

We stand on the threshold of reality armed with our hopes. But reality uses bullets. One by one, we get cut down and left behind. We beat around the bush of indifference trying to find our reasons. But our world is different from our parents. Our president is laughed at, our war is an occupation, and NASA’s budget continually gets cut. We don’t stare at the moon and imagine when. We ignore Mars when we’re already there.

We are the twenty-somethings that weren’t forgotten about but ignored. We are our parent’s sounding board; talked to and inflated so they could go to bed and say that they made a difference, that they inspired us to be better. We are no longer inspired. We are middle class and homeless. We are social security numbers, Nielson ratings, and car salesmen. We have more than our parents because VISA gave it to us. We have less than our parents because MasterCard took it back.

The quarter-life crisis is laughed at by those who created it. They coaxed us up the mountain and pushed us off. Now they wonder why we are licking our wounds at such a young age. But we are not angry, we’re disappointed.

Deadwood Revelations

Isn’t it odd that taking a bath nowadays is thought of as being effeminate when in the 1800s that’s how a lot of rough and tumble cowboys got clean? Taking a piping hot bath with a whiskey and cigar by your side was considered indulgent and looked forward to.

For the sake of boosting my anti-oxidants I’ve replaced whiskey with red wine. And because I’m not partial to smoking, I’ve replace cigars with a rubber ducky (okay, it’s my kids rubber ducky). Regardless, if it were the 1800s, I would be considered one lucky badass cowboy. Yup, that’s right; I’ll take my baths if I want to. And if you cross me, you just might have to answer to the hot end of steel barrel (and no, that is not a sexual reference).

A Dedicated Me

With my good friend Seth’s recent success on the marathon circuit, I’ve decided to do a little training myself; not for a 26-miler, but for the rest of my lifer. That’s right, I’m starting my training now, so when my second baby is born I will be the perfect dad.

I’ve already set my alarm to go off on two-hour intervals at night, so I can reacclimatize myself to interrupted sleep. When I take off my pants, I purposely pee in my own face in order to simulate random infant urination. I’m still a little slow at dodging a steady stream but that’s what training is all about.

I’m focusing my lingo so it mirrors that of a seasoned dad. I’m practicing phrases like “don’t hit your little brother,” and “get me another beer.” I’m also listening to the radio, a CD player, and the TV at the same time so that I can have pinpointed multi-child listening accuracy. Unfortunately, I still can’t bring myself to listen to my wife.

With a little over six months remaining, I’m going to have to keep my training rigorous, but it’s the only way. You perform like you practice, and gosh darnet, I want to perform like a champion. So here’s to me; a dedicated, mildly amusing, father of the year. Okay, I can’t back that up, but I can say that I’m the best father living at my house, currently. And that’s saying something.

A Pair with Some Hair

After a long departure from my manhood, I decided to get it back. No Sex and the City, no wine, no hair gel, today it was all man. When I woke up this morning I new a change had to be made. I’ve grown soft in my city ways. So when my wonderful wife made me pancakes for breakfast, I thanked her, pushed them aside and cooked eggs and sausage patties instead. Oh yes, this was a good start.

I proceeded to go to the gym for workout. After getting my sweat on, I headed back home and took a shower. No soap for me today. The lather from my shampoo will due just fine, thank you. After examining the length of my facial hair, I put my razor away; no need to be smooth to the touch today. Of course, if I decided to shave, I would have done so with a buck knife and no shaving cream.

I made my way to the garage where I built a couple of saw horses from scratch. If you don’t know what a saw horse is or how to build one, then you’re not a man. You might as well quit reading now and surf the net for a luffa. I followed the saw horses by building the last section of fence for my front yard. Oh yeah, that was also from scratch.

I was finally tapping into my long lost testosterone filled past. In order to seal the deal, I sat down in my large recliner with a bottle of beer and turned on the new Rambo movie. That’s right, this afternoon it will be me, Miller, and Rambo remembering what it is like to root for the good guy, blow up the bad guys, and check our feelings at the door. It feels good to be man today.

Stalk Much

Barack Obama and Hillary Clinton held a private meeting in her Washington living room last night, which the press ate up. It’s kind of weird actually. They sat outside her house with cameras fixed on her windows for what seemed like hours. Hell, it could have been hours, just recording away. I remember a time when this was considered stalking. A person can get arrested for this stuff.

The worst part is that my wife had a slow night at work, and was desperate for something to do, so she watched this circus unfold (if you can actually consider what happened unfold worthy). Don’t complain my dear if you choose to feed the 24-hour media machine.

Lame Duck?

So I’ve been informed by my lovely wife that my blog has been boring of late. At first I dismissed her claims but quickly realized that (A) not everyone wants to hear about boring movies from the 30s, and (B) She’s quite nearly the only person that reads my blog, so I had better cater to her needs. It’s kind of pathetic really. I mean, I could just tell her funny stories when I get home, but I so desperately want to feel like I’m contributing to something, I add to the cyberspace clutter instead. Kudos to Me, for being a true narcissist.

Buster Keaton and “The General”

Keaton displays less physical comedy then Charlie Chaplin, but the movie was almost more effective because of the attention paid to the story structure. I definitely enjoyed the film both for its historical value and comedy. However, unless you’re a film buff, I can’t recommend it. Silent films are always a little hard to finish. Three more AFI selections to go!

“Overnight” Not a review but a tongue lashing.

I watched “Overnight” at the request of my good friend Eric, and I have to admit, this documentary made me ask “why.” Why are some people given an opportunity? Why are some people in the right place at the right time? And why do millions of deserving individuals bury their dreams everyday while others spit at the face that’s giving them a handout?

The movie chronicles the instant rise and slow, painful fall of wannabe film maker Troy Duffy. A foul mouthed bartender from Boston is given a deal of lifetime when Harvey Weinstein offers to buy his script, make him a director, and let his band record the soundtrack. In true douche bag fashion Duffy proceeds to burn every bridge in town while stepping on every one’s toes as he’s basically run out of Hollywood. I’ve never wished failure on anyone with the intensity that I wanted this man to crash and burn. It’s unfortunate that he not only drowned his dreams with his nonsensical jabbering, but he stole any potential success from those around him.

Troy Duffy tasted the bitter poison of Karma, and we were lucky enough to have had someone follow his every move. “Overnight” is a true cautionary tale of WHY you shouldn’t try to be bigger than your britches; but most of all, why you shouldn’t be an a**hole.

I don't consider my work "freelance" because I'm not free and my name's not Lance. I guess that means I would consider my work "costlucas."