Scene Missing

I recently finished reading The Zero by Jess Walter. The Zero tells the story of Brian Remy, a 9/11 era New York cop who suffers from memory gaps. He is unable to account for more than half of his life, finding himself in the middle of a vast conspiracy he is completely unaware of. It was pretty good.

I bring this up because I had a similar experience last weekend. Friday night, I spent about eight hours drinking. Eight hours. That’s a job. I was drunk for seven of them. I can remember about four of them. If I had not just finished reading The Zero, I would’ve probably considered this time traveling.

The rest of the weekend, as I hydrated, I was regaled with stories from my missing time. This is where the similarities to The Zero become more eerie. Throughout the novel, the reader becomes fascinated with putting together the events in the white space. When Remy is not aware of himself, he is like a completely different person. Drunken Brian carried on detailed conversations and shared anecdotes. Drunken Brian was charming. Drunken Brian was confident. At more than one point, Drunken Brian actually said, “Trust me. I know what I’m doing.” At least, I am told I said that.

I am not saying that I always want to be like Drunken Brian. However, if I notice I am unable to account for an hour or two every once in a while, I don’t think I’ll mind.

The Ethics of Moon Bloodgood's Breasts

When I wasn’t looking, Blu-Ray snuck in and became an accepted means of watching movies. I hadn’t thought much about of the platform since its epic duel with HD-DVDs a while ago. Since the dust had cleared, Blu-Ray had arisen triumphant, but was still too expensive for casual movie watching. In fact, the last time I checked, the cheapest Blu-Ray player available was on a $700 Playstation 3.

That is what surprised me about an emerging trend in film releases. For example, the theatrical cut of Terminator Salvation came out on DVD, but the director’s cut was only available on Blu-Ray. “When did this happen?” I thought. “Do they think we’re made of money? Moon Bloodgood’s topless scene is only in the director’s cut! With a name that cool, I can’t even imagine her breasts!”

In order to show those Hollywood fat cats, I decided to send a message by illegally downloading the director’s cut. And then I got a Blu-Ray player for Christmas. Apparently, the price has come down and they have become more readily available.

This did not stop me from torrenting the movie. Blu-Ray discs are more expensive, but not expensive enough to warrant sending Hollywood fat cats a message. All pretensions aside, I simply didn’t care enough about Terminator Salvation to spend money to watch it. In the end, I got exactly what I paid for.

The best thing about Moon Bloodgood is her name.

Facebook-Off (Starring Nic Cage)

I started my Facebook page over three years ago, and quickly abandoned it. This morning, I decided to give it another try.

Nothing much has changed. I still find the format counterintuitive and difficult to navigate. I still don’t understand the appeal of it as a social network. It operates like bigger, more exaggerated brother of MySpace, where stranger-friending and inane minigames are not just common, they are insisted upon. It is like Twitter, but without the enforced brevity. It’s like a blog, except people actually read it. It’s like real life, but… well, actually it’s nothing like real life.

I had forgotten my password, so I had to create a new one. Then, it took me nearly an hour to clear through over a hundred requests for various things, usually revolving around hypothetical farms or mafia wars. I had an inbox that was full of messages from friends, then angry messages asking why I’ve been ignoring previous messages. After that, I assume they just called me.

People have been telling me to get back on Facebook since I first washed my hands of it. They’ve told me MySpace is dying a slow, painful death. I’d come to the same conclusion, but I was hesitant to jump back to Facebook. I’d already started a Twitter account, wasn’t that enough?

Ultimately, it was a choice to either rejoin Facebook or actually interact with people on a face-to-face level. Once I looked at it in those terms, it was a much easier decision.

I Am The God Of Whatever It Is I Do

Today it came to my attention that a high school girl has been suspended for plagiarizing some of my blogs in her writing assignments. Her teacher, perhaps impressed with this girl’s knowledge of Star Trek, did a Google search and came across my original writing. The girl has been suspended.

Obviously, I am thrilled by this.

It’s always nice to know that somebody is reading. Both this girl and her teacher like me enough to scour the internet for my writing. Maybe her teacher will be impressed enough to follow my blog now. Maybe this girl is currently shaking her fist at the heavens and saying, “Why? Why is Brian C. Baer so talented? His skill has tainted my permanent record!”

If I were interested in looking at this matter any further, I would remember the type of people I copied from in high school. Oh, what nerds! They had given up all hope of social acceptance, and they knew the only way to gain my love was to keep their test as close to the edge of their desk as possible. (Yes, I’m talking about you, Colin Roach.)

Things were more desperate in college. The nerds had all been accepted to better schools, so I was stuck cheating off B-students and whichever underage girl in the “running start” program had a crush on me. (Yes, I’m talking about you, Meghan Whatever-Your-Name-Was.)

Fortunately, I am not interested in looking into this matter any further. Whether it is compliments or the answers in AP English, I’ll take whatever I can get.

To Jesus, Thanks For Everything! Brian C. Baer

I kept my head down as I unlocked my car door, hoping the old man would walk past and enter the apartment building without saying something.

“Well, hi there!”

I exhaled before looking up with the polite expression I’d been practicing. “Hello.”

The old man shambled closer. “Do you go to school around here?” he asked.

“No. I’ve graduated.”

“Really? Where from?”

“Eastern,” I said, hoping that would be the extent of our conversation.

“Oh.” This seemed to throw him off. The wrinkled brow beneath his baseball cap wrinkled further. “Well, where did you go to high school? Did you go to Prep?” he asked, referring to the expensive Christian high school a few blocks over. It was across the street from the expensive Christian college.

“I went to DeSales,” I answered, “in Walla Walla.”

His expression brightened again. “Oh, that’s a great school! You know, I could tell you had a good Catholic education.”

“Yeah?” I could feel my fake enthusiasm slipping.

“Oh, yes. You Catholic kids carry yourselves much better than the others. You dress better and have more respect. Good, solid education. It makes for good, solid people.”

This was clearly a compliment in the old man’s eyes, but I had no idea how to respond. “That’s what they’re hoping for, I guess.”

He ignored me and carried on. He talked about his own experiences in Christian schools. He told me about other Christian students he had approached in his apartment building’s parking lot. He named people I’d never heard of. His voice was dry and leathery, as if he had yelled it out at a pro-life rally and never regained it.

After several minutes of this I realized there would be no natural break in the conversation, so I had to interrupt him to excuse myself. He waved goodbye as I climbed into my car and drove away. I'd had this exact same conversation with the old man at least twice before. I had been parking illegally in that lot for months. Appearances can be deceiving.

To Blistering Hell with Any Such Critic!

In an effort to make all of my creative writing professors cry, I’ve just finished reading the novelization of Star Trek: The Motion Picture. No, not the hip new reboot from this summer. The stuffy, awkward one from the 1970s. This book has the distinction of being adapted into prose by series creator Gene Roddenberry, and it is actually the most involved he has even been with the franchise.

Make no mistakes, this book is awful. However, it’s that special, fascinating kind of awful, like a literary Plan 9 from Outer Space. This is not because of the script it is based on, or even Mr. Roddenberry’s writing abilities. It is mostly because it is approached from a mindset that feels absolutely nothing like the Star Trek its audience is accustomed to.

For starters, there is a lot of sex. The sexual tension between nearly every crew member seems to underscore every scene, and it is described in agonizing detail. For a PG movie, a lot of people are apparently having sex off-camera.

Littering the book are footnotes specifying stardates, and personal observations written in character by “James T. Kirk”. This is the sort of thing a crazy person writes.

The novel’s forward, also by “James T. Kirk”, explains that in the time of Star Trek* a large peace movement was taking place on Earth. Its members were called new humans (always in italics). These new humans are universally thinking, accepting all alien cultures and customs. New humans consider other humans backwards-thinking barbarians, but new humans are not ideal for space travel. Their refusal to filter what they encounter through traditional human beliefs works against them in alien environments for some reason. Instead of these smart, cultured new humans, Star Fleet instead turns to the humans with lower test scores to trust with billion-dollar** spaceships and the responsibility of representing not only humanity, but often the entire Federation of Planets. This forward, by “James T. Kirk”, is essentially grandstanding for the dumb kids.

This viewpoint was puzzling for me, and a little disappointing. For one thing, I had always found the professionalism and intelligence of the humans on the USS Enterprise impressive.*** Also, I had hoped that idiots were all killed off by that point in the future. According to Gene Roddenberry, the idiots are still in control in the future. But then again, what has Gene Roddenberry ever understood about Star Trek?


* The mid-2270s.
** Actually, they use credits. Except in Star Trek IV, when Kirk says they don’t have any form of money in the future, but I’ve always suspected he was just saying that to get out of buying dinner. I mean, a world without money? That’s just dumb.
*** Well, at least from the ones who don’t wear red.

Everything I Need to Know, I Learned from Shitty Mike Myers Movies

There's a scene in the first Wayne's World film where Mike Myers has learned Cantonese to impress Tia Carrere. His face contorts and he makes a series of strange noises which are translated at the bottom of the screen. He tells her she is very pretty. Ms. Carrere responds, telling him he is a very handsome man. Myers shrugs, looking modest, and says, “Slowly. I am still learning.”

Growing up, I always laughed at this line. I laughed not only because it struck me as a witty, unconventional way to disarm a compliment, but also because I could relate to it. I am also not a handsome man, but I'd like to think I am learning how to be.

I have always viewed myself as a work in progress. Self-improvement is a worthy cause for anyone to have. I think it is important to have an idea of the type of person one wants to be (such as someone Tia Carrere would find attractive), and to actively make strides towards making that a reality. Every time I walk through a book store, I am more interested in the day I can tell people, “Oh, Barrel Fever? It's all right. Not his best work.” Whenever I walk into the gym, I imagine the conversations I'm bound to have. “Why yes,” I'll say. “You can grate cheese on my abs. Feel free.”

I came across Wayne's World on TV not long ago, and I was excited to watch my favorite scene again. As it turns out, I had remembered it wrong. The learning Mike Myers was referring to was his knowledge of Carrere's native language. He was not making any pithy comments on self-improvement, he was just asking her to not speak so quickly.

I dedicated years of my life to a philosophy I had invented from a misunderstood off-hand remark in a 90's comedy based on a Saturday Night Live skit, and I have absolutely no idea what that says about me.