At the Movies

When a delusional loner buys a life-size sex doll over the Internet, promptly falls in love with her and starts telling people that the doll is his girlfriend, his brother and sister-in-law decide it's time to intervene. Patricia Clarkson co-stars in this offbeat feature film debut about love, loss and human relationships from director Craig Gillespie.

This is the description provided on the Netflix DVD slip for the latest movie to arrive in our mailbox. It's called Lars and the Real Girl and is surprisingly rated PG-13. We haven't seen it yet but I'm excited to. I remember having seen commercials for it at the movie theater a number of years ago.

When we lived in St. Louis there were a handful of great theaters that showed independent films like this one each week. Refusing the bigger ticket titles such as Sex and the City or Armageddon,  the Tivoli, Chase, and Plaza Frontenac theaters chose to show small budget films that were, more often than not, a lot of fun.

It would be easy to become disheartened by the fact Columbia doesn't offer many opportunities to see movies like Limbo or The Lost Boys of Sudan. But we're not. Because of all the great inventions of the past 100 years perhaps none are quite as life changing as Netflix. Any movie delivered straight to your house. Keep it as long as you want and send it back in when you finish. They'll send another! Who goes to a video store anymore?

A few years ago an old friend extended an on-line request that we set our i-Pods to shuffle and then list the first ten songs to appear. My ten songs included, among others, Simon and Garfunkle, Elliott Smith, The Beatles, and Radiohead. I enjoyed reading everyone else's playlists. I think it'd be cool to see these lists from a whole variety of people I know now. Would I be surprised?

In the same vein, and thinking about movies, I thought I'd share ten movies from our queue. I don't think the music we listen to or the movies we watch define us all that much but it's still interesting to see our choices in list form. Here they are...

***
100 Years of Horror: Disc 1

Christopher Lee hosts this chilling anthology of clips with commentary from stars such as Robert De Niro and Charlton Heston, assessing some of the most memorable -- and horrific -- scenes in cinema history. This collection rounds up more than 10,000 monstrous moments featuring scream queens, maniacs, demons, sorcerers, witchcraft, the walking dead, Frankenstein and many more.

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 Waiting for Superman

Dynamic documentarian Davis Guggenheim (An Inconvenient Truth) weaves together the stories of students, families, educators and reformers to shed light on the failing public school system and its consequences on the future of the United States. In this Sundance Audience Award winner for Best Documentary, Guggenheim deftly examines the options to improve public education and provide America's teachers and students with the help they need.

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Bill Cosby: Hiimself

Bill Cosby, television's favorite avuncular funnyman and one of the longtime masters of stand-up comedy, treats his fans to this funny, satirical and heartwarming live concert from Canada. Riffing on such varied subjects as the trial by fire of marriage, parenthood and the side-splitting antics of toddlers, and even a hilarious encounter at a dentist's office, Cosby will tickle your funny bone until you hurt from laughing!

***
King Corn
In Aaron Woolf's thought-provoking documentary, friends Ian Cheney and Curt Ellis move back to America's Corn Belt to plant an acre of the nation's most-grown and most-subsidized grain and follow their crop into the U.S. food supply. What they learn about genetically modified seeds, powerful herbicides and the realities of modern farming calls into question government subsidies, the fast-food lifestyle and the quality of what we eat.

***
God Grew Tired of Us
After raising themselves in the desert along with thousands of other "lost boys," Sudanese refugees John, Daniel and Panther have found their way to America, where they experience electricity, running water and supermarkets for the first time. Capturing their wonder at things Westerners take for granted, this documentary, an award winner at the 2006 Sundance Film Festival, paints an intimate portrait of strangers in a strange land.

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The Fighter
After a string of defeats, Mickey Ward rediscovers his fighting will with help from trainer and half-brother Dicky, a once-talented pugilist and small-town hero now battling drug addiction. 

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Dr. Horrible's Sing Along Blog
When he's not busy breaking the law or trying to get close to his secret crush, Penny, supervillain wannabe Dr. Horrible boasts about his exploits via his Internet video blog and dreams of defeating his nemesis, Captain Hammer. Conceived during the 2008 Hollywood writers' strike, Joss Whedon's quirky musical comedy originally debuted as an online miniseries.

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National Geographic: Return to Everest/Surviving Everest
National Geographic offers an insider's look at the history of Mount Everest -- the highest peak on Earth -- and the remarkable athletes who dare to scale it. Climbers Peter Hillary, Jamling Norgay and Brent Bishop battle the extremes 50 years after their fathers made successful treks to the top in this one-hour documentary, which includes interviews with Sir Edmund Hillary and others who have answered the mountain's call. 

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The Most Dangerous Man in America
Revisit a pivotal point in American history in this documentary that chronicles Pentagon insider Daniel Ellsberg's daring endeavor to leak top-secret government papers that disclosed shocking truths about the Vietnam War and Nixon's presidency. Judith Ehrlich and Rick Goldsmith direct this absorbing, Oscar-nominated account that features compelling interviews with Ellsberg, retired New York Times editor Max Frankel and other key figures.

***
The New Recruits
Tag along with brash business students Suraj, Heidi and Joel as they attempt to help poor communities in Kenya, India and Pakistan through a social entrepreneurship initiative that focuses on saving the world through capitalism instead of charity. Narrated by actor Rainn Wilson, this unflinching documentary reveals what happens when jet-setting idealists attempt to force underprivileged people to pay for essential goods and services.

Out of My League

I've been finding life to be a bit busy of late. This is due, in large part, to the new degree program I started this semester at USC. I decided to try taking two courses at the same time. When I was working on my masters degree I never took more than one class in a semester. Classes require a weekly drive downtown after a full day of teaching, getting home just as the kids are climbing into bed, and a good deal of reading, researching, and writing on the weekends. One class is very doabe. Two, I'm finding, is quite a lot.

I don't mind too much, though. I love the readings and often enjoy the discussions that take place afterward . Even the assignments aren't so bad. The professors work hard to avoid assigning busy work and I always feel proud when putting the final touches on a paper.

The classes I'm taking look, so far, to be more challenging than the ones I took in the masters program. There's a whole lot more reading each week and the language in the texts is more multi-syllabic than I'm used to. I have to read very slowly at times and often I go back to reread sections because I haven't a clue what I just read.

I've found I can't read any of the books from my qualitative research course before going to bed. Not that I don't enjoy them but once the clock reaches 10:00 I can't make it more than a page or two without falling asleep. The words start floating around the page and nothing makes sense. On weekend mornings I wake up, reach down for these same books, and try to get ten or fifteen pages read before starting the day. Suddenly it all makes sense again.

I'm relieved by this because my first day of class had me wondering if maybe I wasn't fit for this program.

Class started on a Monday at 4:30. This is less than ideal because we have faculty meetings at school on Monday afternoons and I have to duck out after only ten or fifteen minutes to make it to class on time. I left even earlier for the first class because I needed to stop by the bookstore to pick up my texts. I had ordered them online earlier in the day and when I walked into the bookstore I knew I was in trouble. The line for textbooks was about forty deep.

I asked the girl in front of me for the time and she told me it was 4:10. Ugh, I was either going to be late or have to drive back down later in the week to try the line again. I opted to wait it out and get the books. After twenty-five minutes of inching toward the help desk I found out they didn't have my books ready.

"Sometimes we don't have the books in stock," the kid behind the kiosk explained.

"How can you not have them in stock?" I asked. "This is the university bookstore and the professors tell you which books to order."

"Sorry," he said. "You'll have to come back in a couple of days."

Dejected I walked to class. The class was in Wardlaw College, just across the street from the Horseshoe. I've had a number of other classes in this building yet still get lost every time I'm in there. This time was no different. I pulled a scrap of paper out of my pocket to find the room number. 2740, it read. I walked around looking at signs and door numbers and couldn't figure out if I was getting closer or further away. A professor came walking around the corner and spotted me for the deer in the headlights that I was.

"Do you need help?" she asked.

"Yeah," I said. "I can't find this room. It's number 2740."

She looked at me with a puzzled look.

"Are you sure it's 2740?" she asked. "There aren't any numbers that high on this floor."

As she looked at my slip of paper another professor ducked her head out into the hall.

"It's 274-O," she said. "The letter O, not zero."

One of them walked me to my class and wished me luck. It was like being five all over again.

When I walked into the classroom it looked as though every seat was filled. Everyone was turned to another person talking with great focus. A few people were even jotting some things down. As many of them turned to look at me, I walked up the center aisle looking for a seat. I was regretting my decision to stay in line at the bookstore.

I found a seat at a table in the second row. As I sat down two women looked over at me and said hello.

"Hey," I returned.

One's name was Selina and the other I didn't catch. It was something really long that I had never heard before. They asked me a few questions and I made small talk about the bookstore, teaching, and my family. I assumed we were just spending a few moments getting to know one another while the professor prepared something. I didn't take this time seriously at all.

"Okay," the professor said, walking to the front of the room. "Now we'll go around and you can introduce your new classmates to the rest of us. Tell us their name, their program, where they are in their coursework, and other interesting things that we might all like to know about them."

Oh shit!

Some people like to joke that I'm not a good listener. As much as I hate to admit it I think they're probably right. At this very moment I KNEW they were right. I looked over at Selina's notebook and saw that she had written notes about the other lady and about me as well. I looked down in front of me and saw nothing. No notes. Nothing.

The first few people to share provided nothing short of a full biography of their partner. My heart sank. I didn't have the books I needed for class, I walked in really late, and now I wasn't going to be able to complete the first minor task set before me. Faced with failure I did what anyone would do.

I cheated.

I began looking over at the notebook of the woman whose name I couldn't remember and copying down the things she had written about Selina. I was only able to get a few things down before Selina raised her hand and volunteered  our group to go next. Though my introduction of her was less than stellar no one yelled at me so I felt it all came out pretty good. Considering.

After introductions Dr. Jay launched into a lecture on qualitative research. I wasn't sure if this was the type of stuff I should be writing down or not. I looked around and saw that many of the others were scribbling away in their notebooks and binders. I reached into my bookbag and realized I hadn't brought a notebook. I didn't have a single piece of paper. This wasn't like being five years old anymore. At five years old your mom makes sure you have the supplies you need. No, this was like high school. Only being an airhead isn't quite so cute in the eyes of other students when they're forty year-old professionals holding multiple degrees. Asking for paper at this point wasn't going to be cute or endearing. It was going to be embarrassing.

I dug through every pocked of my bookbag hoping for something. Anything. Finally, I found a tiny pad of paper in the side pocket. The type you might expect a small police officer to use to jot down the details of a home burglary, I flipped open the cover and began writing. I was able to fit maybe five words on each line. I looked ridiculous hunched over this miniscule thing.

Many classes begin with a dumbed-down introduction to what you're going to study. Dr. Jay must have skipped this part. She launched into discussions of epistemology, internal scripts, content analysis, and clarification on the fact that "higher occurrence doesn't necessarily signal greater importance." I wanted to raise my hand and say, "HUH?" but I couldn't because everyone else was nodding their heads in agreement and even offering ideas and reactions from time to time. Knowing I had nothing to contribute I lowered my head and tried my best not to look dumb.

Can the others tell, I wondered.

It wasn't until my drive home that I realized most of the students in the class are at the end of their program. They've had a number of other research courses and are preparing to write dissertations. Only one or two others are like me, at the very beginning with little to no experience with research. I couldn't tell you which ones they were, though. They weren't escorted to class by a surrogate mom or taking eighty-nine pages of microscopic notes.

Priceless Pets?

A number of years ago, while still living in St. Louis, Tricia and I went to the Humane Society in search of a dog. We already had a four-year-old German shepherd at home but worried he needed a playmate. What made us think this, I have no idea. He really had no trouble filling his time. Large parts of Cosmo’s day were spent ferociously barking at the mailman, neighbors, and pretty much any and everyone who passed down the street.  He wasn’t that dangerous, though. Much like a vampire, once you were invited into the house Cosmo could do you no harm.

Concerned for his mental well-being, we went in search of a second dog. The Humane Society had a room for male dogs, a room for female dogs, and yet another room for puppies. After visiting both the male and female rooms – where we found that most dogs were more interested in eating us than making a good first impression – we swung by the puppy room. We had already decided that a puppy wouldn’t be an option because of all the time involved in taking care of one. 

Just a note – if you keep telling people that you really don’t want a new car but you find yourself walking around dealerships “just to see what there is” you’re either a liar or you’re stupid. We were stupid.

We were stupid because we thought we could look at all those incredibly small and wrinkly puppies whimpering up at us and somehow make our way back to the male room where a couple of Dobermans were sharpening their teeth on the concrete.

So forty-five minutes, and seventy-five dollars, later we were on our way home with a tiny brown raisin the lady claimed to be a chocolate lab. We named her Lexy and soon found out she had worms. After a trip to the vet we came home with some medication that quickly, but not inexpensively, took care of the problem.

Lexy was happy running around the house - sliding across the wood floors and into the walls. Cosmo followed her the first few hours but soon decided she was more trouble than she was worth. He decided to keep his distance. If Lexy noticed you’d never know it. She was too busy chewing on everything in the house that would fit in her mouth. Candy, rugs, furniture. One month after we brought her home we were into her a lot more than that initial $75.

Lexy grew and grew, losing most her wrinkles but none of her energy. She still loved to chew but I found that keeping her tired helped at least a bit. One day I was in the backyard throwing tennis balls for the dogs. Lexy was tearing across the yard in pursuit of the ball when it took a strange bounce to the side. She tried to stop all her momentum and cut to the left when her leg suddenly buckled underneath her. She cried out in pain and hit the ground. Stunned, and unsure what to do, I watched to see if she would get up. She did, but slowly. Lexy limped a few steps and fell to the ground again. I went over and carried her back into the house.

After visits to the vet and surgeon we found out she had tore her ACL. It would cost about $2,000 to have her knee fixed. Two. Thousand. Dollars. 

“The dog only cost seventy-five dollars, dude,” a friend told me. “Just get a new one. You’ll save $1,925.”

How much is a dog worth? The price you pay to get her? The cost of all those visits to the vet and bags of dog food? The amount of joy they bring you?

We decided Lexy was worth $2,000. She had the surgery and fully recovered.

This all came back to me yesterday when Ainsley came down to wake us up. She was sitting on our bed telling us about the baby deer she saw out her window when she woke up, the picture she colored for her bedroom door, and her plans to get her guinea pig, Charlotte, a snack from the kitchen. 

“Go ahead and get her a carrot,” Tricia told her.

“Okay,” Ainsley said. “She loves carrots and she also likes when I give her some hay.”

“Hey,” I said. “We have plenty of hay outside!” A few weeks ago I bought 1,000 pounds of hay from a local farmer for just $30. I was awfully proud of this purchase because it seemed like such a bargain.

“No, Dad,” Ainsley corrected me. “Charlotte eats Timothy Hay. That’s just normal hay.”

“What’s the difference?” I asked. “Hay is hay. They feed cows and horses with the hay we have out in our yard. I don’t know why a guinea pig would need anything better. “

“No, Dad,” Ainsley argued. “We’re supposed to give her Timothy Hay.”

“Yeah,” Tricia added. “Charlotte isn’t a wild animal. She’s a pet.”

“How is that any different,” I asked. “She should be happy to eat whatever we get her.”

Later in the day I was out for a walk with the very same friend who had, years earlier, suggested we get a new dog rather than pay $2,000 for reconstructive surgery.

“Let me get this right,” he said. “You can pay $5 for a pound of Timothy hay or $30 for a thousand pounds of this other hay?”

“Yep.”

“Dude, you gotta go with the thousand pounds for $30,” he argued. 

“Tricia and Ainsley seem to think there aren’t enough nutrients in it, though,” I said. “They think she wouldn’t be healthy.”

He thought on this for a milli-second.

“Even if she died,” he said, “How much is a guinea pig? Like seven bucks or something?”

“Yeah, something like that.”

“So,” he argued. “A thousand pounds is going to last you forever. Just keep buying new guinea pigs. You’ll come ahead!”