An article came out recently that posed the question, "Should Batman die in the new movie, The Dark Knight Rises?" The author went on to state, "Batman’s death would be the only satisfying conclusion to this trilogy..."
Really?
Now admittedly, I'm a comic book geek. I collected them as I grew up and am ever thankful that my older brother collected them in the '70's, because that allowed me to read them later when I was able. Friends and family still come to me when they have questions about comic book superheroes and I've even incorporated some of them in lessons plans as a teacher. So it's safe to say that this is a genre that I know something about.
But that's not the reason I think killing Batman would be a bad idea.
In the world of comic books, characters rarely stay dead very long. There's a reason for this. People don't want these folks to die (obviously, since some most of the well-known superheroes in history have "died" at some point or another - in some cases, multiple times). Death is something that we deal with on a daily basis in real life. Comics provide an escape from that reality if only for a few pages. Same with movies. It's the adventures, the trials and tribulations of these characters that keep people coming back for more. I'm not saying that the Batman franchise - or any other superhero franchise for that matter - needs to go on and on ad nauseum. But it doesn't have to go to the other extreme and kill the hero either. You can just stop making the movies.
The author goes on to write, "Tragedy in film helps position the moral compass of society, exposing the natural vulnerability and flaws of people through on-screen characters. To see misery unfold unrelentingly on screen or in text is one of the greatest forms of catharsis we can experience." Utter nonsense. Real life itself provides that. That's part of why people go to the movies, especially to movies about iconic superheroes, to disconnect from that for a while. People know life sucks already, they don't need to be reminded of that in these stories. They go to see the hero face the challenge, get beaten down or be pushed past their limits and fail again and again, only to finally succeed because of their perseverence and dedication to an idea or a cause. They're meant to inspire us, and remind us of the potential good in people, going back to the very first issue of Action Comics.
We see injustice, moral ambiguity, blatent disregard for the public good every day of our lives. Just turn on the news or buy the newspaper - it's rife with stories like this. But these other stories, these "superheroes", they remind us that there's more than that. And at the very least, they communicate the idea that we're all in this together, that we shouldn't give up hope, and that we should look out for each other.
Given that, how can killing one of these characters that stand for these very same ideals, be a good idea?
The Black Shirt Chronicles
Observations and (occasionally obnoxious) commentaries on life and other annoying things.
Wednesday, June 27, 2012
Thursday, June 7, 2012
Thirsty?
“The strongest principle of growth lies in human choice.” –
George Eliot.
Mayor Bloomberg wants to take away a choice. It's that simple.
While it may seem trivial to criticize a proposal that will
prevent sugary drinks larger than 16 ounces from being sold, it does illustrate
an example of choices being taken away from citizens. He says that he
wants to push this ban in an effort to tackle the obesity problem in NY, which seems
noble enough in principle. After all, some
of his previous bans obviously were created for the common good. A decade ago, smoking was banned in bars and
restaurants – fair enough. I’m a cigar
smoker myself, and I totally understand that it’s not fair to subject others to
a vice that I happen to enjoy, especially one that will, at the very least, make
their clothes smell – not to mention the obvious health detriments. But in that
instance, something I’m doing is directly infringing on someone else’s life or
experience.
And I get it, you know? I understand “looking out for the
public good” and all that, but where does it stop? Where’s the line? It might sound like I’m
making a mountain out of a molehill, but again, it’s not so much what is
being prohibited, as it is the idea of a choice being taken away. Personally,
I don’t buy drinks as large as 16 ounces – especially if I’m not near a
bathroom.
Look, Mr. Bloomberg (like he’s really reading this), I
appreciate you wanting to come across as someone who cares about the health of
others and are so concerned that you propose to remove certain “unhealthy”
choices from our daily lives. But
wouldn’t a leader prove their point more by setting an example rather than taking
away someone’s right to choose? You were on the right track in 2008 by
requiring food providers to publish calorie counts on menus; you didn’t
pressure them to remove things you felt were “unhealthy”. I mean, live a
healthy lifestyle yourself, promote and attend community groups that seek to
educate people about eating better and working out (and invite the press to get
it on public record so that it pops up every time someone visits Google or
Yahoo or MSN, etc.), create public awareness campaigns, paper the city with
“healthy lifestyle” posters like these:
But don’t presume to act like a scowling parent to the people
who put you in office ten years ago (and helped keep you there, incidentally).
I mean what’s next on the list then, the pastrami sandwich at the Carnegie
Deli? Stickball? A bedtime, perhaps?
Sunday, May 27, 2012
The High Road
Every once in a while in life, you run into situations that
may leave you frustrated, angry or even exasperated. It’s during these trying
times, that I believe one should try to rise above the situation and take a
more enlightened approach. After
all, we are – for the most part – an intelligent civilization, fully capable of
being cognizant of it’s reaction to stressful situations and other people. Why should we debase ourselves by letting our more primitive, often irrational, reactions take over? It behooves us, as sentient beings, to
express ourselves in a manner that befits our standing and set an example for
future generations, that they might learn how civilized people respond to
less-than-desirable moments in our lives.
As such, and in keeping with the ideals postulated above, I
composed this little poem after going through such a situation the other day:
Ode to the Motherless Asshole Who Hit and Dented My Parked
Car
Up yours, you classless prick.
May you someday find,
This offense paid in kind;
And a stray dog’s ass may you be forced to
lick.
Tuesday, May 15, 2012
Same sex marriage
President Obama recently came under attack for publicly
supporting same-sex marriage. One of
those very public attacks came from Bristol Palin. She said, “In this case, it would’ve been
helpful for him to explain to Malia and Sasha that while her friends parents
are no doubt lovely people, that’s not a reason to change thousands of years of
thinking about marriage. Or that — as great as her friends may be — we know
that in general kids do better growing up in a mother/father home.” - Right. Because Bristol Palin just totally exemplifies that ideal.
And I don’t mean to pick on Bristol, she’s got enough
problems as it is just being her. There
are so many others around the world who have taken umbrage against same sex
marriage. Religious groups (and religious
fanatics – there’s a difference), “supremacy” groups, politicians (both left
and right), and so many others have openly spoken out against this issue. As different as these groups are in
lifestyles, political and personal beliefs, as well as religious views, many of
them find themselves in agreement when it comes to this. People who under ordinary circumstances
wouldn’t spit on someone from an opposing group if they were on fire, in this case
find a cause that unites them, this is their common ground – speaking out about
the “evil” of gay marriage.
I always find myself asking the same question, “If it doesn’t
affect you and yours, why do you care?”
I mean honestly, what difference does it make if Joe marries Jack, or
Jane marries Sally? What impact does it
have on someone else’s life? I don’t
know about anyone else, but there’s none on mine at all. It’s not going to
change the fact I still have to drive around for a half hour every night to
find a parking spot. It’s not going to change
the price of bread and milk or (God forbid) gasoline. It’s not going to keep my
kid from playing in the park or my wife from watching the Jersey
Housewives. So if all those things will
remain equal for everybody else as well, then why can’t gays enjoy that same
equality together?
Some folks stand on their “biblical soapbox” and preach “God’s
word” about how homosexuality is an abomination. You know, the bible states a lot
of things and it calls several things an abomination or a sin, and even lays
out the penalty for people who partake in these abominations and sins;
especially in the Old Testament. I think
a lot of people who quote those passages and claim that “God hates fags” and
that “it’s Adam and Eve, not Adam and Steve” and all that garbage, forget
sometimes that if you want to go down that theological route, there’s a part
two to that book. One that talks about
loving your neighbor, treating others as you would like to be treated. Oh and it even talks about casting judgment
and doling out punishment, by the way.
Let’s see, there’s something about “casting the first stone” and “removing
the beam from your own eye first.”
Seriously, there are so many other real problems to worry
about, and people are wasting their time focusing on whether or not someone
they may not even know can get married to another of the same gender?! I guess Forrest was right, stupid really
is as stupid does.
Monday, April 30, 2012
An Anecdote
Today I woke up early, which is usually the case due to my
son, but in this case, I got up to go to my Alma Matter, St. John’s University. You see recently I applied to a job that asked me to produce my
college transcripts. A few years back, I had ordered a few of them in the
anticipation that such a request was unavoidable, however I never counted on
how often said request would actually occur. As a result, hoping to avoid the hassle of the inevitable traffic and irritating horn-blowing that a trip to this part of Queens would ensue, my wife and I spent the better part of last
night (again, our son allowing) searching for a copy that I said was,
“definitely in the house, I even remember seeing it by the desk recently.” Our desk is usually hidden underneath a mountain of letters and post-its, and after a quick search, I figured that I wouldn't have put something so important in that paper wormhole.
Sadly, we had no luck finding it, even after we searched those hidden areas leading to the fourth dimension which are
usually located underneath sofas and/or behind that cabinet you brought with you
from your mom’s place. I came to the conclusion that I had sent out the last copy and hadn't bothered to re-order another. Knowing that our considerate, nearly-3-year-old would
have us up in a few hours, we decided to call it a night and I would go to St.
John’s the next day to request a cop of my transcript.
After getting past the usual 5:30 am wake up call which my
son seems to extract a seemingly Bond-villain like laugh from (no cat though),
I found myself rather zombie-esque-like, driving towards St. John’s. Following the security guard’s
instructions, I parked five miles away from where I needed to go and when I
finally got to the Registrar’s office, I was told that I needed to fill out a
short form, travel through Dante’s Inferno (fitting, seeing as how I was at a
Catholic university), promise my next born to the Student’s Financial Office
and was then instructed to make the trip back up through Hades and present my
receipt to the Registrar’s office.
After they managed to re-re-confirm that I was in fact, the official,
corresponding person who had requested to obtain a copy of my transcripts -
thus thwarting any nefarious terrorist-camp attempt to obtain any knowledge of
my undergraduate Liberal Arts degree information that might seem relevant to
their cause – I finally received confirmation that my transcripts would be
mailed home. I asked if I could
get them right then and there and was told that the best they could do was
overnight them to me and that I would get them by noon the next day. I foolishly queried, “Well if you can
get the transcripts to me by noon tomorrow, and it’s already past noon now,
can’t you just print and hand them to me while I’m here?”
And so I found out, this is how self-flagellation was
born.
In any case, I had to leave empty-handed and so I’m expecting my transcripts by noon
tomorrow. The funny part? After I got home (no small task if
you’re looking for parking in Astoria these days), I laid down in bed to relax for a few minutes and forget about everyone and everything that I had come across or dealt with that morning, and my wife
walked over to me, holding an envelope in her hand. “What’s that?” I asked.
“Your transcripts,” she said. “I just found them on the
floor under our desk.”
I think they made sitcoms like this back in the 70’s.
Monday, April 16, 2012
A guy walks into a bookstore...
Not too long ago, I went to a
Barnes & Noble store to buy a book for a friend. When I got to the counter to pay, I asked the
bookseller to please giftwrap the book.
He asked me which wrapping paper I wanted and after I picked it out, he
proceeded to wrap it and pleasantly tried to make “small talk” by asking me,
“Is it a present for somebody?”
Now before I go any further, I
just want to point out that I have a tendency to be somewhat sarcastic,
bordering on obnoxious, and it’s gotten me into trouble over the years – with family,
friends, women, employers, strangers, you name it. Sometimes, I can’t help it. I’ll find myself in a situation where
something happens (either to me or someone around me), or somebody says
something that seems to invite a comment, and before I know it, the words come
flying out. However, sometimes the tone
comes across wrong and the person (or persons) may feel insulted (admittedly,
in a few cases, this was the intent – but those comebacks are usually reserved…well,
for assholes quite frankly).
There are moments when I’m trying
to be funny – and yes, there is such a thing as trying too hard and it’s always
obvious and that’s when I should just shut the hell up. I mean, if you have to
try that hard to come up with a punch-line or witty comeback, then you should
just let it go. Besides, it won’t be
long before another opportunity presents itself. I think that a lot of people do sometimes try
too hard and it all comes from the same place - that cringing time of the day
or night when the perfect (at least, perfect to you) comeback springs to mind
but the moment has already passed and you wish you had said it then. I think that people hate those moments so much
that they wind up trying too hard other times.
See with me, I grew up watching
comedy classics. Performers like George
Burns, Milton Berle, Bob Hope, Abbott & Costello, the Marx Brothers
(Groucho in particular), just to name a few, always had me glued to the TV when
they were on. I guess because they made
me laugh so much, I admired them and wanted to emulate them. Of course as I got older, I realized that
what I was watching 1) couldn’t really be duplicated, and 2) probably shouldn’t
be. While there are many stories of these
performers sometimes reacting comically to a real-life situation (one of my
favorites is when Groucho Marx was in a store and a couple approached him and
told him how much they loved watching him insult people and the husband asked
if Groucho would insult his wife. Without missing a beat, Groucho said, “Sir I’m
surprised at you, with a wife like that you ought to be able to come up with
your own insults.”), not everyone appreciates that kind of humor. In a movie or TV show, people choose and pay
money to watch a particular individual or group make them laugh. In real life, most people just want to get
through their day without having to deal with a lot of smart ass comments.
But again, sometimes I can’t help
it and like I wrote before, it has gotten me into trouble. Once, for example, I was dating a girl who
really had a passion for animals (clearly, since she was dating me – see what I
mean? Even I’m not immune) and couldn’t stand people who hunted for
sport. I mentioned that I have family
members who actually do hunt and we eat what they catch. She took great offense to this revelation and
said, “Well, if I ever meet them, I’m gonna give them a piece of my mind!” I replied, “Are you sure you can spare it?” Strangely, she never returned my calls after
that.
So it is something that I’m aware
of and something that I’m working on. I
do actually try to catch myself before saying something that really isn’t
necessary and kind of only serves to amuse me.
After all, you really need to tailor your conversation to your audience
and surroundings. Even if you are trying
to make someone laugh, you still need to be aware of that in order for it to
work. When I was younger, some former
employers had told me that I should be more “mindful about the wise-cracks” and
for the most part, I have been while at work (of course I’ve slipped now and
then, but I do make the effort). Outside
the workplace is another story, but again, it depends where I am. I have learned that it’s one thing to joke
around like that with your family, friends or others who have known you for a
while, it’s quite another when it’s just some kid trying to do his/her job and
isn’t getting paid nearly enough to put up with or deal with some (slightly
bitter) smart-ass who’s watched way too many Marx Brothers movies; and I’m
aware that sometimes, it really does get old and played out. So when this polite Barnes & Noble
bookseller asked if the book I bought and had asked him to wrap was a present
for someone, I said, “No, I want to surprise myself with it later.”
It’s a work in progress.
Saturday, March 31, 2012
One Year Later...
Anybody have a rabbit’s foot?
I know that everyone’s got
troubles, but just hear me out on this. In
one month’s time, March of 2011 to be precise, I managed to find and slip on
the only piece of ice left in New York City and broke a bone in my elbow, had two
car accidents (in the first one, someone rear-ended my car while stopped at a
light, and the other time happened three days later
when someone plowed into the back of my car, which was parked in front of my apartment building), I lost my job, my
then-landlord was ripping us off, and I was told that my son needed to have
tubes put in his ears to help with his constant ear infections.
And just as the month was ending,
just in case we felt that as bad as things were, maybe they weren’t so bad, my
wife found a large lump on her breast.
Shortly thereafter, we learned that she had breast cancer.
WTF, right? That’s what I thought. Well, that and I thought that we must’ve
really pissed somebody off in a previous life (if this “cosmic, spiritual
recycling” thing actually happens). So,
off we went to see her primary care physician, oncologists, breast cancer
surgeons, the lady that reads tea leaves, all that stuff. We were told that chemo would be necessary
and that we would need to take our kid out of daycare as kids have a tendency
to get sick a lot in daycare (even if they aren’t displaying any symptoms), and
we could not afford to take the risk of her getting sick, since the chemo would
lower her ability to fight off colds and infections.
First of all, to prepare for chemo,
she had to have a port surgically implanted just below her collarbone (to make
it that much more visible) so that they could just “pop” in the needle when she
would go in for treatment. The day she
had this done coincided with a job interview that had taken me a good three
weeks to secure. I got to my car, drove
the 45 minutes to the job site and politely waited. The first interview went so well that the
person decided that I should meet with a few others. A good sign, I thought. I met with her two assistants, lovely ladies
who were very thorough in detailing what would be expected of me should I join
their ranks. After that, I met with the
supervisor’s supervisor. Then I met with
that person’s assistant. I’ll spare you
the roster, but I wound up meeting literally every single person
that I would ever interact with at the place.
The custodian was an especially nice fellow, as was the lady in the
cafeteria. Throughout all this, my wife
was having surgery and I only had a brief window of time to check my cell phone
in between interviews (ultimately, I didn’t get it; in the end even though they
told me how much they liked me and how well they thought I would fit in their
environment, they decided to go with someone that had some more experience – I
took them off my Christmas card list). So
my son is at my in-laws place, my mom had taken my wife to get the surgery done
and I was stuck on the BQE watching some guy in the car next to me belt out his
rendition of “Mr. Brightside” like he was on American Idol .
Thankfully the surgery turned out
ok and my son managed not drive my in-laws crazy (I’ll get into more detail
about him in another post). Now all that
we were waiting for was for chemo to begin.
Joy.
I don’t know if you’ve ever seen
anyone go through chemotherapy, but it’s really a humbling experience, to say
the least. Once a week, we would arrange
for someone to stay with our son while I drove her to the hospital in Manhattan
(don’t get me started on parking; my butt still hurts) and sat with her
while she had this stuff pumped into her system. I gotta give her credit, I don’t know if I
would’ve been able to tolerate what she did.
It’s kind of a stupid thing to say, but I’m not sure who chemo is
hardest on – the one getting it or the ones that have to watch them go through
it (it’s a stupid thing to say because the answer is obvious; it’s always
hardest on the person getting it). Here
was this woman I had known for the better part of 5 years - dated, gotten
married to, argued with, made up with, picked out furniture with (ok, she did
that part), had a child with - going
through this incredibly horrible ordeal and there wasn’t a single damn thing I
could do about it. I got to watch,
that’s it. I got to sit there, flip
through some stupid magazine while this vibrant, strong and beautiful woman
turned a type of pale gray, lose her hair and get physically and emotionally
drained and sick with every treatment that passed. I think the worst part for
her was not being able to interact with our son a whole lot. He obviously couldn’t understand why mommy
wasn’t able to play with him as much as she used to and why he would sometimes
have to spend a night or two at one of his grandparents’ homes. Not that this was a cake walk for me either
(God, I hate that expression), but I hated seeing them go through this.
Add to this, the dismal luck I
had in securing a job. Yes, the economy
was bad and all that, but still, I couldn’t help but feel somewhat ineffectual
at my inability to find employment. I
had plenty of interviews and they all seemed promising, but I got a lot more,
“We’ll be in touch” responses than I cared to get. I had never had a problem with this before
but it seemed like times had changed since I had been out there. Granted, my experience is somewhat
varied. I’ve worked in everything from
construction, to customer service, to event planning, and even substitute
teaching, but it seems that people were looking for more specific skills. I was starting to feel like a kind of
jack-off of all trades if you’ll pardon the expression.
However, we kept going forward as
you have to in these situations. I mean,
“if you’re going through hell, keep going”, right? When I wasn’t sending out resumes, I was
trying to keep the house in order and take care of the kid. My wife would rest as much as possible and
try to keep her spirits up. Once we
moved (as I mentioned earlier, our bitch of an ex-landlord was ripping us off
and left us with no choice; I’ll get into that one in another post as well),
things seemed to settle a bit.
I’m happy to report that towards
the end of 2011, after her chemo was done, we were told that she was in
remission. I can’t even begin to
describe what hearing that felt like, not even gonna try. The doctors were all very happy with all her
results and they quickly scheduled her surgery.
Of course, this was another nerve-wracking experience, but it was made
all the more easier by our family members who waited with me while the doctors
were working on her and our friends who called/texted to check in. It’s true what they say, you know? It’s during the worst phases of your life
that you see who your friends really are, who really cares about you. There were people who I considered friends
who were nowhere to be found throughout all this. People who knew what was going on, knew both
of us and never bothered to ask about her progress. I suppose I should be glad about their
absence. After all, it’s their absence
that showed me who they really are.
In any event, it’s now a year
later and she’s done with all her treatments (5 weeks of radiation followed
surgery). It’s been a life-changing
experience for both of us. Humbling, really. Looking back, being out of work at the time
that my wife was going through this was sort of a mixed blessing. I was able to go to all of her appointments
and take her to her treatments and make sure the baby and the house were taken
care of. It brought into focus all the
things that are really important in our lives and helped me to put aside or
even discard the things that aren’t.
She’s still recuperating, I’m
still looking for work, and the baby is…well, a toddler at this point and going
to start nursery school soon. We’re not sure what’s next, but after the year
we’ve had, we’re pretty sure we can take it.
Rabbit’s foot notwithstanding.
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