Exactly HOW--do you eat a sandwich with a toothpick in it? I understand WHY I sometimes need the toothpick... but I find it very difficult to eat around it. How many puncture wounds to my inner lip must I endure?

Look-Alikes

It's odd how much one unrelated person can look like another. I know three people that look like Hank Williams: Himself, Greg from "The Wiggles," and a guy I used to work with 13 years ago. It's funny how you can see someone on TV--and out of the blue--realize they look just like someone you knew once. The guy I'm speaking of used to date a girl who looked like Mariah Carey.

I always thought my dad looked a little like Tom Brokaw, who himself looks a fair bit like Steve Martin. I have a very good friend who has--at times--resembled Beau Bridges. Someone that I know from my days in Florida, looks like Dale the chipmunk and W.C. Fields (though don't tell him I told you so).

Big day today. After watching my six-year-old daughter's second basketball game (she's improving, we practiced this morning), the wife and I took the five kids to the new Wal-Mart that just opened around the corner from our house. Whoo-hoo.

Now, we didn't go because we needed anything, we went to "check it out." And beat this--it was my idea! And we had a good time--walking around, looking at stuff, noticing how this Wal-Mart had improved on the design flaws and spacing issues of other Wal-Marts we had been in. Discussing how the grocery section is in the opposite corner of the Wal-Mart we've been going to lately, commenting on the convenient garbage bins in the grocery for disposal of free sample toothpicks...

We walked every inch of that place, the garden center, the hardware section, the toys, the clothes, and the food--we even ate lunch at the Subway they put in. Then we went home and cleaned the house. It was a good day. Boy, are we lame.

PS- Lest you think we have no fun, we did go out on a real date tonight--with no kids.

It's a Race

These days, I'm sporting a beard. I grow one every 18 months or so when I come down with something and am not making any public appearances for a few days. Suddenly, I notice I've got a Sonny Crocket going, so I keep it.

Oddly, every time my wife has "become" pregnant, I have had a beard. We have five children. This is all fodder for another post--but I thought I'd put it out there.

What I really want to know is this: Does your hair grow faster on top of your head, or on your face? Bald men need not answer--I'm talking to the guys who can actually grow something.

I think I might just have a race someday--I'll shave all the hair above my neck, say "Go," and see who wins. My money's on my chinny-chin-chin.

What'd You Say?

I have the hardest time understanding lyrics. In college for instance, I thought "Dude Looks Like a Lady" was "Do Yourself a Favor"--and that is how I sang it.

Somehow or other I have formed an addiction to country music. The thing I once despised, has become my pleasure. You would think that country music would be a good place for someone like me to land--that the pace of the songs and the deliberateness of the lyrics would form a new era of understanding for me. But you'd be wrong.

The other day, I was watching CMT (Country Music Television) with my wife--enjoying one of LeAnn Rimes' newest videos--when I hear this sobbing next to me. After a moment, this woman I married begins to scream at me to turn the channel. She looks like she's possessed--and I can't fathom what's the matter. I fumble for the remote (it's stuck between the cushions, of course), and get it switched over to BET or something--a little too slowly. By now my betrothed is really ticked off at me, and why? I DON'T KNOW! So I ask.

"Didn't you hear what she was singing about?" she screams.
"Yeah, her boyfriend broke up with her or something."
"No, you idiot (probably not her actual words)--her husband died! I'm thinking about what I would do if that happened to you!"
"Oh."

I had probably heard that song 10 times before. I liked it--but I never paid much attention to what she was really singing, all I knew was that she was sad and stuff. Thanks, LeAnn.

Question: Would You Rather Go Blind or Deaf?

The following personal discourse is not meant to make light of any person who has impaired sight or hearing, but is merely a philosophical pondering by an author full of odd questions.

Would you rather lose your sight or your hearing? This is a simple question for most--ask the average person, and they would choose to lose their hearing, and not their precious sight. As one with all five of my senses intact, it is easy for me to understand this common conclusion because it is with my sight that I appear to make the most decisions, take the most pleasure, and form most of my impressions. But is this really true?

No one would dismiss the quality that touch adds to one's life: holding a loved one, feeling hot or feeling cold and restoring yourself to a comfortable level, feeling texture, the sensation of pleasure, or of your feet pounding pavement or your muscles straining while you help a friend move--all elements of touch which can easily be appreciated. Equally, we all value the pleasures of taste and smell and what they communicate to us about the quality of the food we're using or the air that we're breathing.

The theoretical question of sight vs. sound is harder to make because these are the two senses we most readily have seen people lose. Personally, I think I would rather lose my sight than my sense of hearing. Yes, I would miss seeing my children grow, or my wife smile at me, and I would even miss out on the slight fascination in seeing my crow's feet spread across my face as I grow older. I would also miss the vision of God's creation--in all of its forms. Call me crazy, but I think hearing is far more fundamental.

Our vision is a greedy thing, it monopolizes our senses and our interpretation of everything we know. But our sense of sound forms a foundation I believe we neglect. How disconcerting would it be to see the people you care about, but not be able to hear the sounds that they make? I think I would miss their laughter, their words of affirmation, the tone of their voice and the inflection of each syllable they form--more than I would anything else. My hands could be my eyes, and they would probably see much more than I see now. The things I must miss today, because I am not really looking.

And what if the world stood mocking, as you walked through it in silence? Never would you hear a foot shuffle on a parquet floor, a bird tweet, a brook flow, or any sound at all. I think the silence would be deafening--and I think it would be frighteningly creepy. I mean no disrespect to those to whom this is not a pretend scenario--I know that we can adapt to any challenge and thrive--but it must be awfully tough.

So what do you think?

My Personal Olympics

It's 6:45 am, and I have just beaten our garbage man. No, not in an abusive way--but in a competition of wits, skill, and cunning. This morning, I've beaten him to the curb.

Few things in this life make the adrenaline pump through your veins like being woken by the grinding whirr and squeak of a garbage truck when you have nothing to show for yourself at the end of your drive. When you know you have about 32 seconds to jump out of bed, put on some pants and a pair of boots, and race out the front door, down the steps, grabbing hold of the wheeled garbage bin as you race down the wet driveway (without killing yourself), waving and screaming at the garbage man. This is a terrifying experience, but even worse, is when you stand, watching the cloud of dust left by the truck--your garbage laughing at the opportunity it has to decay for another week.

You must then climb the steps of shame and hear from your lovely wife why you should put the garbage out the night before and not wait until the last minute.

A couple of times I have missed the garbage and have had to smell the diapers of three children fester in the cannister for another week. All these things combined, have been enough for me to invest myself in a little "garbage time" on Monday evenings. There have been two ocassions in which the good-hearted garbage man has spied my pail at the top of the hill and gone up after it--Wow, what a saint. And two instances when I flat out missed him and with all the hope I could muster, dragged my bin down to where he could see me from way down the street--maybe he'll come back around the block for me, I'd think. Both times, he has.

Last night I didn't come home straight after work, we were out with the kids and then we came home, put them to bed, and had our dinner. I did not want to go out again and do the garbage. Promising to rise early and put it out--my wife allowed me to slumber. But when my alarm went off this morning, so did she. "Put the garbage out," she said. "I need a half-an-hour," I replied--and hit the snooze. I always snooze for 30 minutes after waking--I want to realize that I've been sleeping before I have to get up. But I can tell you, though I fell asleep again, that 30 minutes was the most restless sleep I've ever had. Sensing her cat-like reflexes and her Native American ear to the ground, I fretted inside about the possibility that maybe our beloved garbage man would come at some unforseen time. Every time a school bus would barrel down our street, my heart would race--until we could confirm that yes, it was a school bus. How many school routes go through our neigborhood? Crazy.

But I beat the garbage man, and everything else I do today, is just gravy.

What If Trademarked Corporate Icons Were Really Employees of the Company They Represented?

Imagine the Frito-Lay Corporation interviewing mascots for their Cheetos line... After three days of seeing candidates, in walks a fellah named Chester Cheetah--he's orange, cutting-edge, and just a little cheesy--and the execs love him! He signs on and is the perfect fit.

Or think of the Pillsbury Doughboy, selling cars, doing community theater, substitute-teaching shop classes, but never quite able to find his calling. One day he tries out as the mascot for a breakfast cereal called "Frosted Flakes"--he doesn't get the job, but he's discovered what he wants to do with his life.

After careful research, he determines that the doughy goodness of Pillsbury is the company he was made for, but because they are not in the mascot business, he takes a job in the mailroom, hoping for a chance to be noticed. It isn't long before Pop N. Fresh's (yes, that's his real name) contagious little giggle becomes the talk of the company. His whimsical personality and hard work, married with his malleable stomach and wonderful little smile earn him a screen test. He changes his name, and wins America's heart.

My Top 50 Toys of All Time

VH1 is producing a countdown show on the Top 100 Toys of All Time. From their master list of 100--I have selected 50 that made a difference in my life. There are many notably absent from this list, but that posting is perhaps for another day...

All-Time, All-Timers
Bicycle - Who could argue with a kid's first wheels? Freedom, baby!
Fisher Price Little People - I spent more hours than I care to admit in this little world.
Hot Wheels Cars - My 10-year-old Friday nights were sleep-overs at my best friends house, playing Hot Wheels and watching "The Dukes of Hazzard."
LEGO - From generation to generation, nobody does it better.
Mattel Classic Football - I can still hear the sounds of electronic tackling in my head.
Nerf - Whatever they touch, turns to sport.
Risk - What's a little world-domination between friends?
Sleds - When your nostril hairs are frozen, you might as well blitz yourself into a tree...
Slip 'n Slide - The greatest neighborhood block-parties I've ever had
Video game systems: Atari, Intellivision, Playstation, Sega, Xbox
Water Guns - classic, old-school summer fun
Wiffle Ball and Bat - simply wonderful

Favorite Classics
Colorforms, Frisbee, Lincoln Logs, Models, Monopoly, Pictionary, Play Doh, Slinky, and Trivial Pursuit

Innovators
Chutes & Ladders, Clue, Connect Four, Dominoes, G.I. Joe, Green plastic army men, Little Golden Books (Nothing beats The Poky Little Puppy), Madlibs, Memory (the game that's good for you!), Monchichi (never played with the toy--but I loved the commercials and that stupid song...), MouseTrap (the first board game I ever owned), Mr. Mouth, Operation, Remote Control Cars, Roller Skates (rinks, blades, fun on wheels), Rubik's Cube, Silly Putty, Simon, Six Million Dollar Man Doll, Smurfs (La-la-la-la-la-la...), Snoopy Snow Cone Machine ("you mean you can make your own at home now?"), Spirograph, Star Wars action figures, Strawberry Shortcake (intoxicating aromas), Stretch Armstrong (loved his rubber guts), Tinker Toys, Tonka Trucks, Uno, Viewmaster

I've Got a New Drug

When it comes to candy, I have superhuman willpower. It's good yes, but ehh... I could go months without it.

Then someone innocuously poured some Willy Wonka Everlasting Gobstoppers in my hands this past Thursday--I took them to be nice!--and now I have BOXES OF THEM at home!!

Every 6 minutes I empty a new box down my throat--and each box holds a lot of the little boogers! Did you know that they change color and flavor while they're in your mouth? Did you also know that you can vary the time at which you elect to bite into them--thereby altering your tasting experience in the process? Did you know that popping four or more in your mouth at a time--actually QUADRUPLES the flavor???

This is how smoking must work, and pill-popping, and drinking to excess--with a "friend" you're trying to be nice to--passing along their addiction. Well, I am hooked. And what have I done about it?--I've passed my addiction along to someone else! Bwah-ha-ha-ha (that's my evil laugh)!

Isn't young love great?

You knew it wouldn't be long before the King had a celebrity girlfriend... good for him.

Where can I get one of those huge medallions? I also want one of those big-'ol rings he wears in the football commercials.

what makes bacon so good?
it's made of parts you don't even want to think about, and after it's simmered in its own fluids and is crisp and brittle and a little burned--the cook takes the lard grease that's left over, pours it into a Mason jar, and tucks this fat under the sink for some future, disgusting project. mmmmm-mm that's good.

and we say we're disgusted by pig's feet...

the toilet's fixed.

Dark Water

When a family with two bathrooms, has one that is occupied and one that is out of commission--what does one do when one is experiencing an emergency evacuation? You might pound on the door of the occupied room, only to be scuttled off... but if you can't hold it, would you try to use the one that doesn't work? Yes, yes, you would.

And what if when you tried a test flush, everything went nuts--and water began to run everywhere? You'd scream for help, and help would come and the water would flow, and it would flow. The gerbil occupying the floor of the bathroom (placed there so the baby could sleep at night) would slowly begin to drown as the water level continued to rise.

The handsome father would rush to the basement and cut off the water supply to the house, and then return upstairs to ask the kids for some towels. The children would run to the closet and return with washcloths! "Not good enough," says dad--and he would race down the hall for the beach towels to sop up the water that is raining through the floor and into the garage below.

At the end of this day, everyone is safe and everyone is dry--and at least one bathroom, is back in action.

book I just finished: From Russia With Love

What if Cold War Russian spies desired to make a statement to the world--what would they do? Well, they might take a crack at the Queen's top super-agent, kill him, and besmirch his reputation in the process. This scenario is the plot of From Russia With Love, the fifth book in the James Bond series by Ian Fleming.

After determining that Bond's greatest vice is women, the agents of Russia elect to train a neophyte beauty from their ranks to be Bond's bait, with Bond willingly biting the hook, "pimping for England," he reflects as he plays the game to see what he can learn from his adversaries.

Two things that are rather unique about this novel: The first third of the book is free of any scenes with James Bond--as it is occupied wholly with the Russian side of the tale; and the book ends with the biggest cliffhanger I have ever witnessed in a novel. The trouble with the cliffhanger is that the last Bond book I finished was Dr. No, the sequel to this one--so much for me being on the edge of my seat to read what happens next.

Allow me to say this: I have great respect for the talent of Ian Fleming--he is a rich storyteller and his style and pace are wonderful, and yet, I wasn't thrilled with this adventure. The first third of the book wasted too much time in the backrooms of the Russian agency known as SMERSH (a frequent nemesis of Bond) and the middle third of the book told Bond's side of the story, though he was mired in Turkey with an intrepid local agent for far too long. By the homestretch, the thriller is getting better, but because we know both sides of the story by then, there are few surprises.

Perhaps the most interesting thing about the novel (not withstanding the opportunity one has to enjoy another foray into the character of Bond) is the little details this book reveals about this enigmatic character... "Height: 183 cm, weight: 76 kg; slim build; eyes: blue; hair: black; scar down right cheek & on left shoulder; all-round athlete; expert pistol shot, boxer, knife-thrower; does not use disguises. Languages: French and German. Smokes heavily (special cigarettes with three gold bands); vices: drink, but not to excess, and women." Grade: C+

chicks dig Sean Connery...

...and I think I can understand why. I don't get a vote in the election of officers to handsome mandom (nor do I want one), but as an impartial pollster, I understand why Sean Connery performs well in the exit polls.

However, he does this by subverting nearly every physical rule of female persuasion...

(not a current photograph)



He has very little hair (and not by choice)
He's old
He's a little pudgy

And yet, he has a nice voice, is "international," is a star many women either grew up with or grew up understanding was a "handsome man"... and he's a former Bond. The Bond thing probably has a lot to do with it, yet no one is swooning over Timothy Dalton these days.

I just can't fathom why the bite-sized version of candy, tastes so unlike the essence of the candy it originates from. I am sure the exact same ingredients--to the precise proportion--were used to create the little Snickers. So why then, is it so unlike the big Snickers when I chew it up? Perhaps the density has been impaired, thereby altering the cosmic makeup of the little bar.

Now not everyone I have spoken to attests to this observation of mine. In my research--women--who make up the largest percentage of true chocolate lovers on earth, tend to notice no difference between the mini-bars and the maxi-bars. Hmmm... And I suppose they also believe that there's no difference in the flavor of a green M&M and a red one?

I love this New England Patriots team

I love how they fail to quit...
The cool precision of Tom Brady...
The mastery of Belichick...
The never-say-die run and tackle by Ben Watson after the Bailey INT...

So unfortunate the way those turnovers went tonight--Denver got so much help. It was amazing how easy it was to believe New England was coming back, all the way up until 3:05 left in the game, when John Lynch intercepted Brady's last pass of the game.

What a run this Patriots team has had--from the 2001 Snow Bowl, through three championships, 10-and-Oh in the playoffs, and it comes to an end tonight.

Next year, will my Vikings become the next dynasty?

Question: how long does ice cream stay good?

I may have just poisoned my five-year-old son. He was entitled to dessert for finishing his dinner, and when I asked what he wanted he walked with authority to the freezer. After opening the door, he pointed to the farthest reaches of the frozen vegetables to a carton of frozen yogurt I forgot we even had. Apparently, his mind had recalled the tantalizing box of deep purple containing the flavor, black cherry. I have no idea when I bought this treat, but as I pulled it out, I coaxed him into accepting a possible alternative as I could not guarantee its freshness. I checked the bottom stamp and found it must be sold by June 2007. Feeling slightly better, I pulled open the lid to reveal just one serving missing from the carton, and a heavy layer of protective ice covering the luscious lactose. I grabbed an oversized spoon and peeled away the upper layers, took a taste of what lay beneath, nodded, and scooped him out a bowl. He gobbled it up, but I felt somehow, that I had done him wrong.

So who's watching TV in your upstairs?

A woman's mummified body was found in Cincinnati last week--just upstairs from her daughter and granddaughter's living area.

Before she perished, Johannas Pope instructed her caregiver not to bury her, so she sat watching television for 2 1/2 years, growing mummified from the constant wash of air-conditioning over her body.

Movie Review: CINDERELLA MAN

Cinderella Man is almost the perfect movie--it has a morally upright hero, and is a compelling riches-to-rags-to-riches story. I'm a sucker for a great historical biography, and this one pulls no punches in that department.

Cinderella Man tells the true story of James J. Braddock (Russell Crowe), a title-contending boxer, whose career is stalled by the Great Depression. Having invested mostly in stocks and a taxi cab company, Braddock finds himself in the same situation as most men with families in 1930s urban America--looking for work each morning at the docks. Braddock shows class and strength as he sacrifices tenderly for his wife (Renee Zellweger) and three young children.

SPOILER ALERT!
When Braddock is given a chance to fight again--after having been decommissioned for failing to satisfy fight fans (he fought weakly with a broken hand)--he is given a one-time opportunity to fill a slot on a fight card at the last minute. Needless to say, this is where his rise begins again, but not before he's confronted by the serious prospect of losing that which is most important of all.

At one point, early in Braddock's comeback, I actually felt a catch in my throat--and in the end, tears ran down my cheeks as I took in the big finish--that's when you've got a great movie.

This film was drenched in the flavor of the era; the sights, the sounds, the dialogue--and the performances were wonderful, from Crowe (one of the top three actors working today), to Zellweger, to Paul Giamatti as Braddock's manager, Joe Gould. And Craig Bierko as Max Baer was menacingly effective.

I'm being picky here, but the one thing I would have liked to see differently, would be the finish. Instead of ending so big, I would have liked to savor the finish a little more--to end with a little of the day-to-day life that would have followed the big fight. But that's just me... Grade: A

Is it just me... ?

I always double-press the "WALK" button. Not with a click-wait-click, but with a click-click. It makes me feel like I've covered things.

And what about the interaction that this button forces among strangers? If I walk up to an intersection with a waiting pedestrian, I feel compelled to push the "WALK" button. The trouble is, I don't want to insult this person by presuming they were too stupid to push it themselves, or that their click-click was insufficient... so I always have to gesture toward the button and ask, "Did you give it a push?" Usually they just stare back at me and don't answer...

I'm trying to think of what happens when I'm there first--usually the person just sidles up and waits without worrying about the button. In this case, I feel that as two souls on the same mission, I must acknowledge them with a nod, or a word of "Hello." Then when the "WALK" button alights, it is the two of us walking stride-for-stride across the street. I often find this moment the most awkward of all, and depending on the person, I either slip back behind them, or kick in with a burst of speed to leave them behind. Adjacent walking with a stranger is just uncomfortable...

Movie Review: VANITY FAIR

William Makepeace Thackeray's Vanity Fair must be better than this movie. I have not yet had the pleasure of reading this literary classic, but I have to believe it more fully developed than this cinematic rendering.

Reese Witherspoon is winning in her portrayal of Becky Sharp, a young woman who overcomes tragedy and poverty to make a name for her self in Victorian England.

The first half of the film is wonderful--and I was entranced by the depiction of the times and the characters. Becky is first introduced to us as a precocious youngter (played by Angelica Mandy) haggling with a customer determined to buy her father's masterpiece, a portrait of Becky's mother, and the last visible image Becky has of her late mum. She manages to more than double the asking price, and in the process proves her pluck and pragmatism.

Becky is soon sent to some kind of finishing school, but we never see any of these years, only her obvious contempt for the place upon her graduation. She accepts a job as governess to a modest family full of interesting characters, but alas, her stay there is barely fifteen minutes.

Director Mira Nair clearly had trouble condensing this 912-page book to 141 minutes. The pace of the film is too brisk, and there is scant opportunity to learn why nearly everyone in polite society knows who she is, or cares. This says nothing of her marriage, which appears to be a very sweet and meaningful time for her, but is unsatisfyingly abrupt in its end.

Thrust at last to the end of her story, we find ourselves left with a character who has developed far differently than we expected--and in jarring ways that are bereft of the rich details we needed. Though I have high hopes for the book, Vanity Fair--the movie--failed to completely satisfy. Grade: B-

while comparing our year-end movie lists, my good friend and i had a discussion about "the dukes of hazzard" movie. he graded it a C+, while i gave it a D- and ranked it "second worst of the year."

so here are a few more reasons why the "dukes of hazzard" was so unwatchable...

1) it was beyond dull
2) the plot wasn't even as well-developed as a typical "dukes" tv episode
3) the movie stripped the charm off the characters we knew and loved
4) the effort invested to make this an "origin" story failed

5) the essence of the characters was flip-flopped:
the duke boys were bumbling and unhip. Oddly enough, they were also responsible for the slapstick quotient of the movie--in contrast to the tv show where roscoe and boss hogg provide comic relief and slapstick. in the tv version, the duke boys are noble and heroic, but in the movie they play fools who take pleasure in disrespecting others. On television, bo and luke honored and supported others. Obvoiulsy they ran against "the law," but it was a corrupt police force they disobeyed. A police force they were always willing to confront, correct, and befriend. Another flip-flop in this movie was the dereliction of uncle jesse, who serves as the moral core of the television dukes. the interpretation of daisy was negligible, but her switch from a brunette to a blonde was unconscionable (i couldn't resist).

The Refill

Remember having to make one drink last through your entire meal?

There once was a time when there were no free refills. Seems amazing to think of now--but there was a time when we the people, just let The Man walk all over us and charge us over a dollar a drink for a three-penny product, and we never got refills. Then we started to get our glasses topped-off at TGI Friday's and Chilis... and finally even McDonald's and Wendy's. Many fast food franchises even added self-serve, which is the greatest.

The only place that still needs to get with it--is Wendy's. Some of these stores are alright, but some Wendy's franchises are so chincy! You've been there--you ask the counter-gal for a refill (Wendy's doesn't provide self-serve) and she dumps ice in your cup all the way to the brim! I tried getting around that today by dumping out two-thirds of my remaining ice before I walked to the counter... but she pulled the switcheroo on me when I got there. She ignored my "Biggie" cup, and instead pulled out a clean "Regular," and serviced me with that one. The nerve!

I thought the fountain drinks had virtually no overhead! The staff at these restaurants can drink coke till they drop for free--isn't the cost of a new cup more than the cost of giving the consumer 6 more ounces of soda and instilling in said customer feelings of goodwill? I think so. Maybe I should convince an environmentalist to picket Wendy's about their misuse of styro-cardboard.

Oh and another thing, I'm on to you, Dunkin' Donuts! You fill my cup up not with Pepsi from the tap, but you pore it from the bottle! And you charge me $1.80! Have you no shame?

The Worst Movies of 2005

1. Wake Up, Ron Burgundy! - Made from Anchorman film on the cutting room floor, and it showed.
2. The Dukes of Hazzard - Crude and pointless.
3. Bewitched - So much promise, so little to show for itself. Thanks for the nap.
4. The Big Bounce - Owen Wilson, yes. Paint-by-number story, no.
5. Monster-in-Law - J.Fo comes out of retirement for this?

My "Movies of the Year"

Note: "Movies-of-the-Year" candidates are first-seen films by the blogger. All films viewed from start to finish in a theater, on DVD or video, and on television are eligible for consideration.

1. Elizabethtown

This is a film about the highest highs and the lowest lows of life. It is about love, fathers and sons, strange and estranged family, success, work, dreams, and fear. Elizabethtown features winning performances all around and realistic situations. The film opens with Orlando Bloom's character, Drew Baylor, reeling in the aftermath of his historic failure at a Nike-like shoe company. About to commit suicide after being fired by his boss (an amusing turn by Alec Baldwin), Drew is interrupted from his task by a call from his sister informing him of his father's surprise passing. Drew clothes himself in his family duty, and goes to the quirky little town of Elizabethtown, Kentucky, to retrieve his dad's body. Along the way he meets perky but insecure Claire Colburn, the two connect with each other, but they won't admit it to themselves or each other. The movie was somber, joyful, funny, light, rich, and satisfying from end to end. Even Susan Sarandon was appealing in Elizabethtown. Writer/Director Cameron Crowe deserves an award.

2. Million Dollar Baby

I saw this film just before it was awarded its four Oscars for Best Picture, Director, Actress, and Supporting Actor. These awards were no accident--this is a triumph of storytelling, from all angles. I was terribly disappointed in the ending, but the choices of the characters were believable, if not acceptable. Clint Eastwood only improves with age, and Morgan Freeman was this film's glue. Hilary Swank, who played lead as Maggie Fitzgerald, absolutely inhabited her character and was easily the best actress I saw in 2005. Million Dollar Baby has a deep emotional core, with performances you can believe in, and characters you want to know.

3. The Island
Who would have thought that a Michael Bay movie would make anyone's top ten list? To my surprise, my hopes for a thrilling "popcorn" movie were more than satisified with this fast-paced and futuristic movie. The characters played by Ewan McGregor and Scarlett Johanssen were certainly compelling, but even more so, was the intrigue of the story. The first half of the film is a mystery to unravel, while the second half is a thrilling chase. Movies that take place in the future have a compelling element to them--for about fifteen minutes. This is where most of these films unravel, once you've been amazed by the possibilities of the future-the clothes and the technologies-there usually isn't much story to support the structure of the film. The trick is to make the people as similar to the people of today as possible. Afterall, how much will humanity at its essence change just because we wear unitards and drive flying cars? The Island was a lot of fun, and I was on the edge of my seat just as Michael Bay intended.

4. Mr. and Mrs. Smith
Mr. and Mrs. Smith is eye-candy everyone--not only are you looking at Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie, but you've got explosions, fisticuffs, schemes, tight spots, and satisfying repartee. The fun begins as we see how this married couple dupes the other into thinking they have a normal life when they really are spies working for competing agencies. Soon enough, both Mr. and Mrs. Smith are given a contract on the other's life and quickly switch allegiances from their matrimonial vows to their companies' mission. You can expect everything you see on screen to blow up, but that's fine because Mr. and Mrs. Smith never takes itself too seriously. This is a fun diversion, it is not art. Enjoy it--and enjoy the ubiquitous Vince Vaughn in yet another winning buddy role.

5. King Kong

The first thing you'll hear anyone say about King Kong--is that it's long. It is. And it's probably too long, and yet, I never wanted to take my eyes off that big ape. Andy Serkis, whose expressions were transferred to the ape just as they were to Gollum in The Lord of the Rings movies, has found an incredible niche role in bringing to life unreal creatures. What will he do for an encore? Don't take King Kong seriously though, it is well-acted, but deliberately campy. Naomi Watts however, plays it straight, and it is remarkable what she is able to do without dialgoue. She performs for the ape, and she grunts, grins, and worries for him. King Kong is very good, though not quite the epic for the ages that it has been advertised to be.

Rounding out the top ten...

6. The Phantom of the Opera - Beautiful, artistic, lush.

7. Ray - Revealing and well-acted.

8. The Aviator - Convincingly of the period, with a real-life character for the ages.
9. Star Wars III: Revenge of the Sith - There's nothing like a good origin story.
10. The Village - Great mood and setting, even if the twist was too-easily solved.

The Great Debate: At Least in our House

The following exchange is worth publishing on the front end of this blog, in additon to the comment section. Please feel free to weigh in on the debate: When is processing every word of a book, not considered "reading" said book? Or in simpler terms: are audio book readers, really readers? Discuss.

five in six said...
So, are these books you have actually read with your eyes, or books you have "read" with your ears as you are so fond of doing while you drive to and from work?

johnnyvano said...
Ahh... I am continually harrassed about the fact that I read a good sum of books as I drive one-hour each way to work. I am making the most of my time by improving my mind, and I am maligned. I could see the criticism if I NEVER read a paper book and was lazy or illiterate, but that is not the case. There is an even distribution of paper books and audio books in my yearly repertoire. The debate is that some feel and audio book does not constiute a "read." But my argument is the word "read" is how we communicate that a book has been ingested and enjoyed--we do not yet have the terminology to describe how a book was ingested. But you know what? My mind has processed every word and every element of the story just as if I had read the book in a traditional method; should I be penalized because my eyes were not involved with that process?

My Books-of-the-Year

Note: This is my annual list, published online for the first time. Books under consideration are those the blogger has read in 2005, regardless of date published. Books the blogger has read in previous years and then read again, are ineligible for "Books-of-the-Year" consideration.

1. TO HAVE AND HAVE NOT, by Ernest Hemingway
I wouldn't call myself a Hemingway fan, but he is considered one of the great American novelists and I am fascinated by his life and travels, so I have made it my goal to read each of his books. To Have and Have Not is my book of the year and it, along with The Old Man and the Sea and A Farewell to Arms--are the best of the five Hemingway novels I have read. I enjoyed the rich texture of To Have and Have Not, and Harry Morgan, the salty figure we follow through the tale. Morgan is a boat captain, whose last years are chronicled as he finds himself getting deeper and deeper into trouble--financially and otherwise.

2. BREAK IN, by Dick Francis
Having first read an abridged version of one of Dick Francis' books while in high school, I decided to read him anew after hearing about his death this year. Knowing that he was an author who wrote all of his novels through the lens of horseracing, and not being a fan of the sport myself, I never gave him much thought. To my surprise, Dick Francis is a marvelous novelist who paints very warm portraits of his characters. His Kit Fielding is a true hero, and one of my favorite liteary characters of recent years. This book was so good, that I also read its sequel, Bolt.


3. JUST ONE LOOK, by Harlan Coben
My first Harlan Coben book inspired me to keep reading his works, and so I quickly devoured Gone for Good and No Second Chance. Just One Look was cunningly delicious with twists and turns and lots of fun. The mystery behind a photograph carries this thriller far. Coben also has a talent for creating intriguing and humorous minor characters. For a full review of this book, read my post of September 10. My one knock on Coben is the premise and unlikely coincidences of his books are very similar, making each ensuing read less and less unique.

4. THE MYSTERIOUS AFFAIR AT STYLES, by Agatha Christie
This was a year of firsts when it came to authors--and believe it or not, before "The Mysterious Affair" I had never read an Agatha Christie novel before. I was not disappointed. This was actually Christie's first book--published when she was just 24--and it introduced her most famous character to the world, Hercule Poirot. What amazes me about this very rich and interesting novel is its length--just 124 pages--compare that to the worst book I read this year, Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, which took nearly 500 of its 870 total pages, to get to the story! The Potter book was the worst book I finished, but probably the worst book I attempted to read this year was John Irving's Until I Find You, a meandering vanity project of which I could only stomach about 200 pages out of a total of 848.

5. THE TEAMMATES, by David Halberstam
This was the only non-fiction book to make my list this year, and fittingly so, as it was the send-off book to the late, great Ted Williams. The story picks up with the final voyage of Williams' teammates: Johnny Pesky, Dom DiMaggio, and Bobby Doerr as they took a road trip from New England to Florida to visit their ailing buddy. The book is a poignant reflection on friendship, youth and old age, and on a player who was one of the best to ever play the game of baseball. I was also thrilled to read brief biographies and player capsules of each of his teammates, who retired long before I was born.

sorry I've been away for awhile...

...The monsterous and maniacal "King" had me prisoner, forcing me to dance into the night with his mammoth hand each night. I only just managed to break free after luring him to the top of Stone Mountain where he was gunned down by these biplanes that arrived mysteriously out of nowhere. So now I'm back.