Sorry for the delay. Get ready for another.

Hi Kids,

It's been a while, I know. Much longer than I usually prefer to allow between my posts. Sorry about that.

In my defense, it has been a remarkably eventful week or so. My last day of work was snowed out by a massive blizzard; we drove to the Illinois Valley and bought a house (through the aforementioned snowstorm); I went back for an unofficial last day of work to turn in my keys and say goodbye and, while doing that, got our van horrendously stuck in the snow (fortunately, I knew where I could find a veritable army of young men to push me out. It was quite an experience - I'll write about it another day); my mother had a mastectomy; Suzanne and I celebrated our ten year wedding anniversary; Christmas had to be prepared for and executed; we telepresenced with relatives in Utah, Colorado, and Arizona; we packed our entire house; we went to tithing settlement with the Bishop; and, in addition to everything else, Suzanne and I both taught Sunday school lessons today.

So as much as I would have liked to sneak down to the basement here and catch all you hepcats up on all the goings-on, I just haven't been able to.

Here's a brief list of the many good things of the past few days:

My mother is recovering very well. She says she isn't in much pain and she feels like she is coming along very nicely.

Our house is 98% packed as I write this. The computer is the last thing to go.

Christmas lasagna at the Day's house was excellent as always.

I got an action figure of The Question, a very obscure comic book hero created by Steve Ditko, for Christmas. Nerds unite!

The girls seem excited and well adjusted about the move.

Jennifer Vos did us a huge favor and took the girls for five hours on Saturday so we could get some stuff done.

I bought Adele's album, 19, for eight bucks on itunes and have been enjoying it very much.

Yesterday was 62 degrees and windy. There is almost no snow left at all. Tomorrow and Tuesday are both supposed to be clear and in the 30-40s.

Avery got the Shannon and Dean Hale graphic novel Rapunzel's Revenge for Christmas and we are enjoying reading that together.

Yeah, there's lots of goodness to be grateful for. Moving is a pretty uncool experience but, for as bad as it inherently is, it's going well so far. (Fingers crossed.)

I will probably be out of commission for a while here at the ole' Penny. But fear not, I'll be back. And when I return I'll be reporting live and direct from the Land of Lincoln. I have a few changes in mind so stay tuned and be the first kid on your block to learn all about it. In the meantime, wish us luck as we travel off into the wild blue yonder of Illinois.

Tenth Anniversary

Yesterday was just such a sweet day, I really have a tough time putting it into words. It's been ten wonderful years with Suzanne and that's pretty special. As a treat for my readers, I'm including a little clip from our wedding video. It's been a while since we looked like this but I'm sure those of you who were there will remember the moment.

Tag Catch Up

From Clarktastic:

8 favorite TV Shows (in no particular order because my tastes and preferences change)
Two Thousand Acres of Sky
The Forsyte Saga
DWTS
Lost
Brothers and Sisters
Desperate Housewives
The Office
The Simpsons


8 things I did yesterday
Auditioned my potential replacement
Ate a Cold Cut Combo from Subway
Bought moving boxes
Blogged
Talked to my mom on the phone
Watched a Malcolm in the Middle rerun
Helped Suzanne with some Christmas stuff
Cleaned off my desk


8 favorite restaurants
Olive Garden
Eph's
Big Jud's
Qdoba
Bosna
Peking
Kirby's Coney Island
The Garden

8 things on my wish list
I only have two:
A safe, uneventful move
A happy, health family well settled in our new home


And from SIL Amy:

"SCATTERGORIES...use the 1st letter of your name to answer each of the following. They have to be real places, names, things. Nothing made up! You CAN'T use your name for the boy/girl name question.

WHAT IS YOUR NAME: Mark
BOY NAME : Matthew Rohrer
GIRL NAME: Marsha Brady
OCCUPATION: Manager at a Wendy's
COLOR: Magenta
SOMETHING YOU WEAR: Muffler
BEVERAGE: Mango juice
FOOD: Mashed potatoes
SOMETHING FOUND IN A BATHROOM: Mirror
A PLACE: Mars
REASON FOR BEING LATE: Madness on the roads
SOMETHING YOU SHOUT: Man, it's hot in here!

Because I Am A Child. . .

this made me laugh:


superpoop.com

"Ninety percent chance of you getting waterboarded." What's wrong with me that such a line would make me chuckle?

My Days Are Numbered

Seriously. Two more days.

Two more days and my time at Young Detroit Builders is over. I started the first week of September in 2006 and have been here ever since, sweating in the summer, freezing in the winter, occasionally dealing with no computer and no phone, dealing with rats living under the front steps and maggots in the stove, encountering pigeons and homeless guys in the parking lot, and teaching students all the while.

I've confiscated two knives and three cheat-sheets during my time. I've had students get killed, get shot, get jumped, and get high.

I've painted murals, wrapped the roots of trees, scrubbed floors, built planters, installed shingles, laid sod, set up chairs, taken down chairs, shaken hands, recruited, tested, and tutored.

I have seen the sun rise over the towers of downtown Detroit. I have watched the traffic whiz along Michigan Avenue. I have eaten more than my fair share of Casey's bacon cheeseburgers and become close, personal friends with the Middle Eastern guys who run the Subway a block away.

Of the students I have taught, more have passed the English portion of the GED than have not passed. I've made friends with some and, hopefully, gained the respect of most.

There have been times when this place has made me heartsick, and there have been times when it's made me sick to my stomach. More than once, I have hated being here. More than once, I have been very proud of my students.

It's over. I'm not on the schedule to teach tomorrow so I imagine I'll go to our job site where the students are working on a house and say my goodbyes. Friday, I'll teach a little, play some Scrabble, and walk out the doors a free man. Given the tendency of my boss to fire people for the least provocation, I'm sort of amazed I'm leaving here of my own accord, on good terms with everybody. (Not that amazed - it's not like I was embezzling or burned the building down or anything.)

There will be plenty of challenges in the future - packing, a wintertime move, acclimating as a family to a new town and new school for the girls, me adjusting to a new job and new coworkers, being part of a tiny ward in the middle of nowhere, etc. But I doubt anything I'll face will be quite the same as what I've encountered here over the last two years and four months. As can be said of a lot of unique experiences, I'm glad I did it and I'm glad it's over.

Sunday

Sunday was an excellent day. Of course, it was not without its various hitches and monkey wrenches but still, it was a spectacular day.

For the full account, I freely cut and paste from Suzanne's blog:


"Maryn's birthday was on Sunday, as well as her baptism. She had a great celebration. Grandma and Grandpa Brown came all the way from Rigby to be with us, and the fun just never ended.

Except...

that Maryn came home from school on Thursday with a fever over 100 degrees. The same night that her Grandparents were arriving to stay with us, and the same night as my RS Christmas Party. We made quick arrangements for me to drop off my treats to the party early (and not go), and to keep her with me while Mark and Avery went to the airport. We all had dinner together that night, and kept Maryn as far away from them as possible.

The next day (Friday) I kept both of them home from school. Maryn definitely had strep (like the 6th time this year), and Avery was just a ball of jealous determination that she needed to stay home as well. We got Maryn into the dr. that afternoon, and started the antibiotics, hoping that they would kick in for her to feel well at her baptism.

And they did.

Saturday was pleasant, and we went out and ran some errands and had "the grandparents" party, where both sets lavished her with presents and attention. It was fun. Later that night we had more presents and she blew out her premature birthday candles on top of a Tim Horton's double chocolate donut.

Then we went to Church on Sunday, and after we got home Avery complained that her tummy was hurting. Usually Ave uses this tactic to get out of eating what is being served, but what was being served was one of her faves...roast, potatoes, and carrots. And she didn't touch it. She went to lay down, and then she jumped up and got to the toilet just in time for, you guessed it!! I was shocked. At first I thought maybe she was faking it...that her jealousy had reached an all new level and she was making herself sick to turn the attention on her. She fell asleep and I figured when she got up, she'd be fine for the baptism.

I was wrong.

She got up and threw up again, and again, and again. Mark and Grandpa Brown gave her a blessing. She was miserable. They left without us to set things up. I packed the puke bucket, towels, a change of clothes, and off we went. She was fine for awhile, and when we got there she was seemingly fine as well.

Then towards the middle of Grandma Brown's talk she said she needed to GO! And off we went...sprinting across the back of the chapel to the nearest garbage can. A couple friends followed me out, but I didn't want to pawn off my sick child on somebody else...and basically spread the germs for all to acquire. (Maybe that was already too late?)

So I missed the last half of Laurie's talk and the beautiful musical number I had arranged with my friends, Maryn and my favorite primary hymn, "If the Savior Stood Beside Me". Ave pulled it together and we went to the Baptistry.


Mark and Maryn got in the font and it was freezing. Ave got up close enough to see. It was wonderful. But I was distracted. And I walked Avery back to the Chapel with her bucket, forgetting that a sopping wet skinny little 8 year old was waiting for me in the changing room. It finally hit me, and off I sprinted across the back of the chapel again to rescue my poor little chicken baby Maryn.

I got into the changing room, and there she was completely naked with a HUGE grin on her face. She looked at me excitedly and said, "I'm freeeeeeezzzzing!" It was so cute, and something I will never forget. It calmed my nerves immediately. I grabbed her blue fuzzy towel and finished drying her off and got her dressed. We met up with Mark and walked back to the Chapel.

When we got there, Amy was playing beautiful Christmas music on her violin and I immediately felt the Spirit again.

But then...

I noticed that Avery was missing, and so was her bucket. Sprint #3 across the back of the chapel to see if she was puking somewhere on the other side of the building. Nowhere. to. be. found. I returned and saw that she was sitting with friends on the back row. My friend insisted she would keep her and that I needed to get up to the front row and sit with Maryn and Mark. I did and started calming down again.

The program really was beautiful. Wonderful talks by both of her Grandmothers, prayers from her Grandfathers, Ordinances by her Dad and Uncles and Grandpas. It was awesome.

Unfortunately, Avery had to cap it off with another dash to the garbage can.

After the closing prayer, she went home with Grandpa and Grandma Brown. I'm so glad they were there. I went into the Young Women's room to cut the birthday cake. We had a great turnout (thank you for all of you who came!), and we were able to visit and enjoy our guests and Maryn's birthday.

I think it was another momentous occasion in the Brown family that was perfectly punctuated with a little drama and tribulation. Remember our honeymoon story? I think that it's just our luck quite honestly. And it also makes for great stories afterwards...and lllooooonnngggg blog posts!! Hee hee.


All in all, Maryn had a great birthday. At one point, she looked at Mark and said, "I just can't stop smiling." I think that sums it up. She is a big girl now, and we are so proud of her. And so happy that her birthday was such a memorable one.


And lest we forget her little sister...she's fine today. I kept her home from school, and she's been happy as a clam watching Star Wars and eating Ramen Noodles. I think it was a quirky 24-hour bug that just so happened to have the worst possible timing imaginable.

Oh well.

Life goes on."


It does indeed. I'm grateful for Maryn and the sweet, little star she is. I'm grateful for Avery who braved a storm of puking to support her older sister. I'm grateful to my parents who came from two time zones away to show their love for Maryn and us. And, of course, I'm grateful to Suzanne who, as ever, makes things happen as she is juggling 47 things. She is a wonder.

Another Clarification

This isn't so much a clarification, I guess, as it is a revision. This is for all the haters who said my post about the new Spirit movie went on too long. (Mom, Suzanne, I'm looking at you.)

Short Version:

I like the old comic book hero The Spirit.

A new movie version is coming out.

It looks like it's going to be bad.

Happy?

Clarification

I feel I need to clarify something about my "Can't Bring Myself To Care" post from a few days ago. In my mind, there's a difference between not caring about something and actively disliking it. I was going more for the former and not the latter.

In other words, it's not that I dislike U of M or Wii or BYU or whatever. I don't. It's just that I can't bring myself to invest mental or emotional energy in them. They just don't do it for me, y'know? They don't blow my hair back, toss my salad, light my fire, or pine my tree. There isn't anything wrong with them or with the people who like them - they're just not right for me.

Admittedly, I do feel antipathy for Dr. Phil and, while I hold nothing against BYU or University of Utah per se, I do think the raging, foaming-at-the-mouth, "this is the most important thing in the world, you're a bad human being if you're wearing the wrong color sweatshirt this Saturday" mentality that surrounds the rival games is more destructive and obnoxious than it is fun. But generally speaking, I was just trying to articulate a few (not a complete comprehensive list, thank you very much, Ellen) things for which I don't feel much or any passion. That's all.

So go and rock out to Guitar Hero, my friends. Watch According to Jim until your eyeballs burn out of their sockets. Yes, put on the blue and maize and scream across the Big House at all the people wearing green and white. There is nothing wrong with it at all if that's what puts the sour cream on your life's burrito. I'm all for it.

I Bring The News And The News Is Good

From my mom's latest Carepages update:

"Our appointment was in the afternoon this time, with the oncology Physician Assistant Dallin Gambles. . . As Dallin came into the exam room, he shook hands and asked "what's new?" I told him that's what we came to find out from him. He gave us a blank look so I could tell he hadn't seen the scan results so we asked about them.

He left the room to see if they had been sent from Idaho Falls yet and in a few minutes ushered us to a different part of the clinic we had never seen where there were two large computer monitors. It is such an amazing tool -- it shows the inside of the body in 3-D so I saw my kidneys, liver, heart, lungs, etc all through from thighs to eyes! We could see the cancer sitting there on the original scan with almost no break from the left breast up to underarm and into the clavicle area and neck, as well as the right side of the neck. It made my stomach feel pretty queasy as I hadn't seen it for a while.

Then Dallin pulled up the new scan right next to it and scanned through from thighs to eyes. What did we see? Nothing except one little spot in the area of the original tumor in the left breast and they are not positive it is an active spot! "It is just incredible" Dallin said more than once. "We don't usually see this good of a response. Prayers are answered." What an understatement! Miracles still happen is my feeling.

As he explained to us later back in the exam room, as recently as a few years ago there was no treatment for HER2 cancer that was effective. It is so aggressive and tough so it took a while to find out what would work and work it has ! We're certainly not at the end of the road by any means but the difference in six months ago and now is, indeed, miraculous.

We are grateful. We know this was accomplished through faith, prayer, fasting of many people, Priesthood blessings and medicine. We have treatment yet to go through -- a decision to be made before next Tuesday whether to have surgery (mastectomy of the left breast)radiation and Herceptin therapy or only radiation and Herceptin therapy. I go back and forth, knowing that Dr. Dickson said this cancer recurs frequently and is likely to come back at the point where is started originally so I think, yes, I should have the surgery. The other reason I lean this way is that what is left there must be very deep because it cannot be felt from the outside like it could originally. ON THE OTHER HAND (as Tevye would say) who wants to have surgery if they don't have to have it, especially when recovery is difficult and long, and who wants to incur the expense if we don't have to do that either? I don't want to put Dennis in the poor house! SO, you can see the dilemma and we request again an interest in your faith and prayers that the correct decision will be reached.

We are so full of gratitude for the outpouring of blessings we've had during the past six months. We have been strengthened and lifted by Heavenly Father's watchful care and will never be able to express enough gratitude to Him. We are also appreciative of the love and support we have received from all of you on this journey. We don't even have to have one wrapped gift under the tree to have a wonderful Christmas this year !! We send our love and thanks to all of you."

Getting Into The Spirit

In late 1939, 22 year old artist Will Eisner was asked to create a comic book for the Sunday papers. Newspapers wanted to get in on the comic book boom and thought a weekly, tabloid-sized supplement might do the trick. Eisner was interested in reaching a wider, more mature audience than just kids and so the idea intrigued him.

He created a character called The Spirit, a masked crime-fighter who was once a young criminologist named Denny Colt. As Colt was tracking down the evil scientist Dr. Cobra, he was exposed to some chemicals that put him in a state of death-like suspended animation. Everyone thought Cobra had killed him and so they buried him in a crypt in Wildwood cemetary and went on with the search. Once Denny came out of it, he chose to keep his resurrection a secret and to keep chasing down criminals in disguise. He used Wildwood cemetery as his base of operations and he fought crime every Sunday in newspapers across the nation for the next decade and a half.



Eisner is largely seen as the father of modern comics. His approach to visual storytelling still informs artists and moviemakers today. He wrote a book about it and taught university courses on it. He was a really talented guy who stretched the boundaries of a medium that, for most of a century, was seen in America as transient, throwaway trash.



In the last couple of decades, Eisner's reputation and The Spirit's notoriety have increased. All the original stories have been reprinted and given the deluxe treatment. Various contemporary writers and artists have tried their hand at reinvisioning the character - Watchmen creator Allan Moore did a cool Spirit story called "Last Night I Dreamed of Dr. Cobra" and novelist/screenplay writer and all around media darling, Neil Gaiman, did one too.

DC Comics, publishers of Batman and Superman, made a deal with the Eisner estate and did a Batman/Spirit crossover one-shot that was a lot of fun. It was written Jeph Loeb, a very talented guy who, in addition to producing some really dynamite comics, also has worked on the tv shows Lost and Heroes. The one-shot led to an ongoing series written and drawn by Darwyn Cooke, a comic book darling of the moment. Cooke was in charge for the first twelve issues and he really, in my opinion, seemed to get it just right. The Spirit was brought into the 21st century of cell phones, the Internet, terrorists, etc. but the characters and the storylines never lost the sense of fun and charm and innocence of the original.



After the first year, Cooke left the series and it's been taken over by people who clearly have no strong sense of how to balance the contemporary with the classic. The art is lame and generic and I haven't even bothered with the stories.

Now, keep in mind, originally The Spirit was a character somewhat in the same vein as The Shadow or The Spider. He was kind of ruthless and carried a gun. He was, to use that very overused term, gritty. But sooner rather than later, the character evolved past that and the strip actually became quite sunny, fun, and humorous. It always featured heavy, film noir-like shadows and rain-choked streets, but there was always a streak of optimism throughout.

So now here's the problem and the whole point of this post. Frank Miller has directed a film version of The Spirit that is coming out on Christmas day. If you're not a nerd, you probably don't know who Miller is.



Frank Miller is a comic book artist and writer who has been in the industry since the 70s. He did some good, interesting work in the early 80s but really made his reputation in 1986 when he revamped the character of Batman in The Dark Knight Returns. Miller imagined Batman as an old man, retired from fighting crime, in a corrupt, overrun Gotham City. It was huge - it took the character from the silly, uninteresting creative ghetto it had been in since the 1960s and made it dark, dangerous, and really compelling. No one had ever made a comic book quite like it at that point. Since then, of course, it's been ripped off, borrowed from, and all but cloned many times over. But at the time, it was amazing.



Miller could write his own check after that and he pretty much did. He took on characters he was interested in, did his little projects, and moved on. Eventually, he left mainstream comics altogether and started creating comics he owned outright - Hard Boiled, Martha Washington, and Sin City. He had created enough of a fan base that, like Picasso in the classic SNL skit with Jon Lovitz, he could sneeze on a napkin, sign it, and sell it for a million dollars to an adoring admirer.



Miller did some work in Hollywood - much to his chagrin, he's responsible for the screenplays for Robocop 2 and 3. But it wasn't until Robert Rodriguez and digital filmmaking came along that Miller's movie life was born. He co-directed an adaptation of his series, Sin City, a very pulpy combination of Mike Hammer novels, film noir movies, and Miller's own jacked-up macho man ideas. It made 160 million dollars worldwide and made Hollywood look twice at Miller, his creations, and his slobbering fan base.

Following the success of Sin City, Zack Snyder adapted 300, Miller's version of the Battle of Thermopylae. Using the same digital technology to recreate near-exact images from the comics, Snyder rode that ultra-violent pony all the way to the bank to the tune of 450 million dollars worldwide.



Now, here's the thing about Miller and his work. Regardless of whether it's a monthly Batman comic, an epic historical graphic novel, a black and white crime story, or science fiction based a million years in the future, they all sound the same. Every character, every narration balloon, every plot twist, everything. As talented as he is and as successful as he is, artistically speaking he only has one setting: hard boiled. Robin the Boy Wonder sounds like a world-weary gumshoe. King Leonidas, Spartan warrior, sounds like a world-weary gumshoe. Wonder Woman sounds like a femme fatale who is involved with a world-weary gumshoe. Every story is violent to the extreme, every woman is highly sexualized, and every line of dialogue sounds like it was lifted directly from Mickey Spillaine himself.

Now, for what he does, Miller does it better than anyone else and that's fine. The problem is when a guy who's really good at laying bricks decides he's going to redesign a house using only bricks or when a really good base player decides to adapt a symphony using only his bass guitar. See what I'm saying?

My problem is that I really like The Spirit and have for years. I love it for Eisner's storytelling genius but also for the way it always balanced action with humor, big derring-do with real-world humanity, sexiness with innocence. I'm afraid that Frank Miller is going to wreck something that is lovely and, worse yet, that he's going to be rewarded for it and encouraged to do it again.





You know, no version of the Spirit I've ever read, heard of, or had nightmares about would ever utter the line, "I'm going to kill you all kinds of dead." Please.

I've watched a couple of trailers and looked at some production stills online. It's not looking good, people. I'm not a huge purist but I do think a few things should be left more or less intact. One of the things that really bothers me is that, in the comics, the face of the Spirit's opponent, the evil mastermind The Octopus, is never seen. He's always in the shadows, always escaping at the last minute. The mystery of his identity is pretty crucial to the mystique of the stories involving him. Mystery? Mystique? What does Frank Miller do with this idea? Behold, his version of the Octopus:



Thanks for nothing, Frank.

Will I see it? I don't know. Eight or nine bucks is a lot to spend on a movie that might not only be bad but an insult to something I like a lot. We'll have to see if there's a dollar theater somewhere in the Illinois Valley and I'll decide then.

P.S. For those of you who aren't comic book fans, I'm sure you can put this post on your own list of things you can't bring yourself to care about.

Things I Just Simply Can't Bring Myself To Care About

Gossip Girl
90210
Football
Dr. Phil
Baseball
Tyra Banks
Dirty, Sexy, Money
T.I.
Lil' Wayne
Hockey
University of Michigan
Michigan State
BYU
University of Utah
Basketball
Paris Hilton
Heroes
Fringe
Eli Stone
Two and a Half Men
According to Jim
Chinese Democracy (the album, not the political movement)
Wii
Guitar Hero
The Punisher
Twilight
Horror movies in general
Oprah
Oprah's book club
Oprah's favorite things
King of Queens
The Hills
Li-Lo
J-Lo
Bennifer
Brangelina
"Language" poetry
Billy Collins poetry
Almost all poetry
Jennifer Aniston
Owen Wilson
Most country music
The Family Guy
Seth McFarlane
Students who lie
Students who plagiarize
Students who habitually come late


I feel better.

Something I Did Not Know

An interesting tidbit from today's Writer's Almanac:

"It's the birthday of Rose Wilder Lane, born in 1887 in De Smet, Dakota Territory. She worked for the San Francisco Bulletin as a reporter, an editor, and the author of romance serials. She wrote biographies of Henry Ford, Charlie Chaplin, Jack London, and Herbert Hoover. She was a prolific and popular author, and one of the highest-paid female writers in America.

Rose Wilder Lane struggled with depression, and during one of her worst bouts, she went to stay with her parents on their farm in Missouri. Her mother, Laura Ingalls Wilder, was then in her 60s, and one day she showed Rose a manuscript she had been working on, the story of her childhood. No one is sure how much Rose and Laura collaborated, but Rose certainly helped her mother edit the manuscripts, and might have even helped write them. And they became the books in the Little House series, which include Little House in the Big Woods (1932), Farmer Boy (1933), Little House on the Prairie (1935), and On the Banks of Plum Creek (1937)."

Ruined by Remake

I bought "You've Lost That Loving Feeling" by the Righteous Brothers on itunes yesterday. Despite its unfortunate association with Tom Cruise and Kelly McGillis in Top Gun, it remains a terrific, under appreciated song. Bill Medley's sonorous baritone and Bobby Hatfield's otherworldly falsetto combined with Phil Spector's "wall of sound" production make for an electrifying experience if you really listen close. The echoing "Baby, baby, please, I need your love" at the end is positively ecstatic. I've already listened to it three or four times since last night.

One thing I noticed as I was searching for it on itunes last night was that the Hall and Oates version of the song is also available. I listened to the preview snippet and was reminded of how utterly sucky and lame that version is. It's awful. It's like the two fanciest guys in the high school choir singing it at the junior prom. It's such a pale, tame rendition, it makes me angry just to hear it.

It got me to thinking about other remakes that have been stupendously bad. Keep in mind, of course, that I'm interested in remakes and reboots as I have written about here before. I think reimagined art has the potential to teach and enlighten and entertain. I'm not a complete purist who thinks nothing should ever be remade - but I'm also among the millions of level-headed Americans who saw the remake of The Dukes of Hazzard movie coming from a mile away and knew, sight unseen, it was going to be about as good as a meal prepared by Oscar the Grouch and Kate Moss. Some things shouldn't be remade simply because they were dumb to begin with, but other things can be remade IF there's talent and vision and a purpose involved.

There have been some song remakes that have added something new and cool to the original. I love Social Distortion's version of "Ring of Fire" and think the Lemonheads remake of Simon and Garfunkel's "Mrs. Robinson" with its thrumming, heavy baseline is really cool. "Leaving on a Jet Plane" by Me First and the Gimmie Gimmies is great along with pretty much every other cover they've made. I like "All Along the Watchtower" by Jimi Hendrix, U2, and the Indigo Girls. I enjoy The Beat's cover of "Tears of a Clown" almost as much as I enjoy the real thing.

However, some remakes are basically insults to the original, to the listener, and to non-hearing impaired people everywhere. In addition to the Hall and Oates shamefest that is "You've Lost That Loving Feeling," I would also like to nominate Gloria Estefan's version of "Everlasting Love," Tina Turner's remake of John Waite's "Missing You," "I Drove All Night" by Celine Dion, and especially "Sitting on the Dock of the Bay" as killed by Michael Bolton to the Bad Remakes Hall of Shame.



What about you, my four devoted readers? Any musical remakes you can't abide? Any remakes you think are as good as or better than the original?

(Full-disclosure: Every obscure artist mentioned above was introduced to me by Captain Admiral. My musical world would be much more narrow without many nights spent listening at the Galleria with him at the turntable.)

Toothpaste

Here's a lil' somethin' somethin' for all my cube-dwelling friends and for anyone who has complained about not having enough time to get stuff done while still finding time to read blogs:


toothpastefordinner.com

For the record, I am totally one of those people who is "crunched for time" at work but mainly because I have to read blogs, check CNN, and check my e-mail about seventy five times a day.

I Did It

It gave me considerable anxiety over the weekend and I had a headache from gritting my teeth for most of today. However, at 1 p.m. this afternoon, I marched into Bev's (my boss) office and handed her my letter of resignation. She's gotten in the face of other employees in the past who have tried to resign with dignity so I really wasn't sure how she was going to handle it. I half expected her to say, "Three weeks notice? Here's some notice for you: get out!"

But she didn't. She was disappointed and it was obviously another burden for her but she didn't snap and try to make me feel awful. In fact, she said nice things. She teared up and said she was sad for me to leave because I've been "the best teacher we've had probably in the history of the program." Not bad, eh?

She agreed to let me stay on for the next three weeks and also to let me help her find a suitable replacement. (Her last four hires have been abysmal disasters.) So that's one less thing to have to stress about over the next 30 days. Sigh.

Noir Is As Noir Does

So there's film noir and then there's FILM NOIR. Lots of films have noir elements - dark, atmospheric settings and cinematography; labyrinthine plots; a mystery to solve; some bleakness. But not every film touted as a film noir actually qualifies.

True, whole, and complete noirs are not just bleak but nihilistic. They offer a look into the human heart and they don't find anything good there. True film noirs do not have happy endings. Ever. They are neutral at best but they are never happy. Also, destruction and double-crosses in noir films always come thanks to a femme fatale. Men can punch each other's faces in but it's the dames that do the real damage.



With this in mind, I declare the 1955, Robert Aldrich-helmed Kiss Me Deadly to be as noir as noir gets. Based on Mickey Spillaine's novel of the same name, it tells the tale of crooked private investigator Mike Hammer and his attempts to get to the bottom of "something big" after a happenstance run-in with a desperate blond (played by none other than our own wacky, unsettling Cloris Leachman). There's torture, fast cars, broads, a glowing suitcase, and Ralph Meeker as a sadistic, meaty Mike Hammer who doesn't care for much beyond himself. It's not the most cheerful movie you'll ever see but it is one of the more perfect examples of what a noir film really is.



The menacing Mike Hammer. In his regular line of work, he sets up husbands with his temptress of a secretary, gets the goods on them, and then blackmails them. Not a nice man.



Cloris was a nutjob even back then.



Gabrielle (a.k.a. Lilly Carver) finally finds out what's in the box. It does not end well. Just a word of advice: if you come across a valise that glows and is warm to the touch and it's the paranoid, nuclear age 1950s, just walk away.

For Anyone Who Ever Had To Share A Fridge At Work

toothpastefordinner.com

Have a Happy, Happy, Happy, Happy Tonica

Tonica. It rhymes with Hanukkah. It is the name of the population-700-village where will be making our days after the first of the year. That's right. We made an offer on a house yesterday afternoon and by early evening, it was all sewn up. A day or two after Christmas, we will load up the biggest U-Haul we can find and drive to the land of Lincoln and start our life there in our red-brick, 1960 retro house. We're pretty excited.

Tonica is only five minutes from Oglesby where I'll be working and that's a nice thing. However, Tonica doesn't exactly have. . . anything. It has a lumber yard, a hardware store, a bank, a barber shop, and a gas station. That's it. No grocery store, no laundromat, no video store, no movie theater, nothing. All of that stuff is a mere ten minutes away in Peru but still, when it's midnight and you need Children's Tylenol, ten minutes can be a long way.

I'm not worried though. I think the positives will outweigh the negatives. We've asked everyone and their dog about the school district and the neighborhoods, we've researched cost of living (88% of the national average), the violent crime levels, any sex offenders living in the area, property taxes, etc. We feel it will be a good place to be.

Anyway, about the house:



This is it.




This is it from the property line in the back. Yes, I know. It is a ridonkulous amount of yard. I think we may be in the market for a riding lawnmower. Or goats. Whichever is cheaper.




The front room.



The kitchen which is retro but not in a good way. It needs updating pretty bad but we will get to it when we get to it. For now, we'll be rocking it June Cleaver-style.



The sun room. The girls call this "the dance floor room."



A bedroom.

The most important thing is that Suzanne likes it. It's the house she wanted more than any of the others we looked at (with the exception of the heart breaker in the middle of downtown Peru) and so I'm glad we ended up with it. Stay tuned for further developments as we pack and prep and move and alla that junk.

We're Back

We spent Saturday looking at about a dozen houses. The girls stayed at the Bishop's house for the first half of the day and then, after lunch, we picked them up and they looked at the last few with us. It was a long, draining day that was discouraging at times. Suzanne and I had both picked out houses online that we thought would be "the one" and they both turned out to be comically, positively not. Her house was beautiful and brand-new on the inside - and it was also smack in the middle of downtown businesses. The backyard was a parking lot. And the side yard was a parking lot. Across the street? Parking lot. Suzanne just walked around the house saying, "This place is breaking my heart!"

The house I'd picked out turned out to be some freak kit-home from the 1950s that was part ski chalet, part-Jetson's kitchen, part torture dungeon. The less said about it, the better. Generally speaking, the communities we expected to wow us and to offer lots of great houses didn't. There's a big difference between looking at some tiny photos online and actually being in the house, you know?

Anyway, a couple of the houses we looked at were promising so Sunday after church we went back and looked at the first home we walked through in Ottowa and another one in a small community called Tonica. We felt good about what we'd seen, made a decision between us, and told the realtor we'd call her the next day.

We got on the road around four and made pretty good time until somewhere around the Indiana/Michigan border. Something happened. Something bad. I have no idea why but I suddenly got really, really sick. Bad. Like stopping three times to throw up in various locations around our fair state. I had the chills and the shakes and I felt like I was going to die. Suzanne drove most of the way home and allowed me to just sit and whimper.

When we finally made it home, I really, really, really threw up. Later, I asked Suzanne, "Did you hear me in there?" She replied, "Dude, people in China heard you."

So once it was all over, I drew the hottest bath known to man, a bath so hot I could feel my flesh separating from my bones as I got in, and I just lay there, half folded up because the tub isn't long enough for me, and boiled myself alive for about half an hour. When I could barely pull myself out of the tub, I decided that work was out of the question for the next day. I sent my boss at text around midnight to say that I wouldn't be in.

So now it's morning. Everyone else is still asleep. We're all pretty washed out from our trip. It was a lot of houses, a lot of meeting new ward members, a lot of driving, a lot of puking. Draining, you know?

Anyway, the offer on our (hopefully) future house goes in today so we'll see how it goes. Wish us luck.

SIGH

After a stop for dinner in Jackson, MI and for gas somewhere before Chicago, we made it to Oglesby around 11:30 p.m. We crashed pretty immediately and woke up refreshed at about 8.

Suzanne then asked if I'd given the realtor the list of houses from the OTHER side of the paper she'd handed me last night. Apparently, there were like eight more houses in Ottowa on the list that I didn't know about or tell the realtor about. Sigh.

We've still got plenty of houses to look at and there's still a chance that we'll get into some of these other Ottowa houses today, but still - SIGH. Sometimes it's hard being human, you know?

Night of the (House) Hunter

If I can manage to get out of this evil quagmire of a place (my genius boss came up at about 2:15 to announce he is holding a staff meeting at 4:00 today - Friday freaking afternoon and he calls one of his stupid, interminable meetings), then I will speed home as fast as I can, pack my bag, and the four Browns will depart for Oglesby, IL.

Tomorrow, the local Bishop's wife will watch our girls while Suzanne and I check out houses in the Ottowa/Peru/Oglesby area for the first half of the day. We're hoping that one of the houses we've looked at online will stand out and be "the one" and that the owners of "the one" will be willing to negotiate and to act fast. It feels like time is just running away right now. I want to have the whole thing done and taken care of as soon as possible so we can feel secure in having someplace to go at the end of December, you know?

Wish us luck.

Jump Back, What's That Sound?

I had a co-worker at Papa Kelsey's in Pocatello whose theory was that your musical tastes freeze at high school. "Whatever you listened to in your senior year is probably what you're listening to now," he'd say. Since I had U2 and the Indigo Girls in the tape deck of the car I was delivering pizzas in, there wasn't much I could do to contradict him.

It's not entirely true - one glance at my ipod "most listened" list would demonstrate that. I have come to enjoy the Fratellis, The White Stripes, Beth Orton, Joss Stone, Kanye West, and plenty of others in the many, many years since I graduated. I know I'm not musically frozen in ice.

But still, some of those early loves never leave you, y'know? I can find as many new artists and songs as I want but they will never eclipse certain songs.

So here's the thing: I love, love, love "Panama" by Van Halen. I do. If I could marry a song (and Suzanne didn't mind musical bigamy), I would totally marry "Panama."



I know what you're thinking. If you're my mother, you're thinking, "What song?" If you're my brother Jason, you're thinking, "Righteous, dude." If you're one of my grad school buddies, you're thinking, "Poor, poor Mark. I wonder if he keeps a mullet wig in his closet." If you're Suzanne, you're thinking, "Musical bigamy? Beg your pardon?"

But yeah, when that thunderous guitar intro comes along with the sharp, pounding drum beat courtesy of Eddie and Alex, the Van Halen brothers, I am transported. I realize David Lee Roth is a tool and I know the band hasn't done anything good in decades. But "Panama," yeah. It rocks.

So if you pull up alongside me at an intersection and I have my ipod headphones in and tapping my feet, pumping my fist, and I've got the white-man-overbite going, you can bet I'm probably listening to "Panama."

Beware when I am in this mode:



Stay clear or some of the 1984 awesome rockitude may rub off.

Bringing Up Badness

As I have been watching these classical Hollywood films for school, I've decided that, for the most part, films and actors really do live up to their reputations. Humphrey Bogart really is charismatic, wolfish, and interesting to watch. Sunset Boulevard really is fascinating, well-written, and well-acted. Joan Crawford really is complex, enigmatic, and magnetic. All true.

However, occasionally, films or actors don't live up to the hype and I don't know what the big deal is. As fun as it is to watch John Wayne the first time, once you've seen one of his performances, you've seen them all. Touch of Evil, as I blogged about previously, is a hyper-stylized exercise in "Look at me, ma! I'm directing a movie!" by Orson Welles. As effective as 95% of it is, the final few minutes of The Long, Hot Summer are lamer than Paul Sheldon, post-hobbling.



My latest disappointments are Bringing Up Baby and Katherine Hepburn. Admittedly, having the little TMC host-guy come out prior to the movie and announce that it's "one of the funniest movies ever made" sort of set it up for failure. I mean, that kind of hyperbole is pretty hard to live up to. More than that though, I think maybe I'm just not made for screwball comedy. Some part of me, the part that yells at the tv screen when no one's around, just watches the characters and thinks, "Shut up! If you would just shut up and listen to each other for ten seconds, the problem this stupid film is centering around would be solved." I think it's the contrivance that's bothersome. It strains my suspension of disbelief and my patience to watch Katherine Hepburn prattle on endlessly while Cary Grant stammers and stumbles endlessly. It's like a Mamet play that's supposed to be funny and zany but isn't.

Katherine Hepburn. Don't like her. Never have. Didn't like her as an old, creaky On Golden Pond lady and didn't like her as a young, kittenish Bringing Up Baby heiress. I didn't even like Cate Blanchett "channeling" her in Scorcese's The Aviator. I just don't see what the big deal is. Her bizarro, old-money accent and angular looks just never did a thing for me. As Susan Vance in Bringing Up Baby, I just wanted to punch her in the face.

So, sadly, I didn't make it all the way through the movie. I watched over half of it and then, due to the lateness of the hour and the stupidness of the movie, I shut it off and went to bed. I'm still putting it on my list of watched films because I think I can talk about it in a useful way if called upon - but it's definitely not going on my list of Great Films to Rewatch in the Future.

The Missing

So snow has come to Detroit. We had a few flakes earlier in the week, but yesterday, it really came down. We drove to our nephew's baptism in Bloomfield Hills and, at times, the snow was so thick and fast, I had to slow down to only ten or twenty miles an hour. I've never liked snow, never been a big fan of winter - but there is something pretty magical about that first storm. It's transformative and beautiful. Of course, eventually, it just becomes cold and wet and dangerous and I end up hating the winter season like a suck-egg dog. (Seriously, five bucks to anyone who can identify the American short story that reference is from. Exact line of dialogue: "Ah hates yuh lak uh suck-egg dog.")

But for now, it's pretty and I don't mind it. It means I don't have to rake leaves for a while and it makes being at home all the more cozy.

We ate at a Leo's Coney Island on Saturday for lunch and the warm, slightly greasy air and butt-kicking Greek salad got me to thinking about the things I will miss about Michigan and Detroit. Now, keep in mind that I am glad to be getting the H-E-Double-Hockey-Sticks out of this gray, depressing, forsaken city and state. However, that's not to say that there aren't wonderful people, places, and things here that I love very much and will miss a lot. I think I will occasionally post lists of what I will miss about this place.

1. Being near Suzanne's family and friends. This has easily been the best thing about being here for her and for me. Paul and Linda, Ben and Erin, Jeff and Amy - it's just really nice to be able to see them more than once a year. Having Suzanne's friends like Becky, Casey, and Sheila around is nice because when Suzanne is happy, I'm happy.

2. Coney Island restaurants. In this state, you can't throw a rock without hitting a Coney. They are mostly mid- to low-end dives but they consistently serve awesome Greek salads, lemon rice soup, and crispy fries that burn the flesh right off your tongue if you're too eager.

3. The Detroit Institute of Arts. It's the fifth largest art museum in the country and has world-class exhibits. I always feel refreshed and enlivened after I've spent and hour or two there.

4. Racial and cultural diversity. I'm not sure but I'm betting small-town, farm-centered Illinois Valley probably isn't as diverse as Detroit, Michigan. I'll miss being equi-distant from Mexican Village, Greektown, Hamtramck, and Dearborn. I'll miss the groups of Middle Eastern girls moving across Wayne State campus like flocks of glossy, glamorous birds.

5. The Vos family. Chris is a great guy, Jennifer is really funny and smart, and their kids are really excellent people to a one. I'll miss being their home teacher and miss going over to their house for games and appetizers. (My cholesterol will not miss the appetizers. No, it will not.)

6. My students. As maddening as they are, I'm going to miss their humor, their weird dignity, and even some aspects of their sometimes-inscrutable code of honor.

There will certainly be more as time goes on but that's a good list for now. I've got some lunch to get to.

It's Official

Like the men in the photo above, I'm in love with Barbara Stanwyck.

I watched the 1941 Howard Hawks comedy Ball of Fire last night and was once again struck by how versatile, funny, and sexy she was.

Ball of Fire is the story of a group of professors working to write a new encyclopedia. They live together, eat together, take their morning constitutional together, and are basically isolated from regular life as they pursue their goal. When an errant garbage man makes his way into their gloomy mansion, the group's resident gramarian, Professor Bertram Potts (convincingly played by Gary Cooper), realizes his encyclopedia entry on slang is dated and useless. He determines to go out into public to do some research and, among other places, he ends up at a nightclub where the singer Sugarpuss O'Shea is performing the song "Drum Boogie" with the Gene Krupa Orchestra. Potts is fascinated with O'Shea and asks her to be part of his roundtable discussion on slang. O'Shea brushes him off but later decides to not only take him up on his offer but to take up residence in the mansion. O'Shea is the girlfriend of the gangster Joe Lilac and she finds that she needs to hide out for a few days while the cops are looking for her because they want her to testify against Lilac.

So the professor and the showgirl end up in the same house along with seven hilarious professors whose adoration of Sugarpuss is, without question, the comedic highlight of the entire movie. Comedy and star-crossed love ensue. It's a very sweet, very funny movie and I enjoyed it a lot.

Hypocrisy

I should point out, however, that it is never to early to mention to your near and dear what you would like for that most generous of holidays. See below:



Jetpack Dreams: One Man's Up and Down (But Mostly Down) Search for the Greatest Invention That Never Was




State by State: A Panoramic Portrait of America











And, of course:

Christmastime Is (Not) Here

I'm a tolerant man, more or less. I can put up with a lot.

I understand that Christmas is the happiest time of the year and that the food, decorations, gifts, and get-togethers are something to look forward to and cherish.

Also, I'm a man who can get behind Christmas music. The Johnny Mathis Christmas album featuring classics like "It's a Ding-Dong Marshmellow World" is one of my favorites of all time and I would happily listen to the Vince Guaraldi Trio's music for "A Charlie Brown Christmas" any day of the year. And Frank Sinatra's version of "Jingle Bells?" Fuhgeddaboudit. I defy you not groove on that song.

However, despite my oceanic tolerance (ha ha) and my love of Christmas tunes, I believe there is a time and a place for everything. I don't try to mow the lawn in flip-flops and a tube top in January nor do I wear earmuffs and legwarmers in July. I eat eggs for breakfast and pizza for dinner and never the twain shall meet, you know?

With that in mind, you have to understand that I am of the firm belief that radio stations that start playing Christmas music 24 hours a day, seven days a week the day after Halloween are violating natural law. They might as well be cloning Nazi-cyborg-sheep or something. Christmas music before Thanksgiving is just. not. right.

I realize we don't exactly live in a less-is-more society. There isn't much that's left to the imagination any more and the idea of delayed gratification has become nothing more than an occasional punchline on television.

But come on, doesn't anyone understand that Christmas is that much better when it's a compact, concentrated experience and not something thin and dragged out? I'd rather take a short, luxurious bath in a deep tub than have all the time I want to bathe in a long puddle, you know? I want to be sad when Christmas is over, not wearily relieved.

So don't give me Christmas the day after Halloween. Let me enjoy the falling leaves and the cooling temperatures. Let me look forward to Thanksgiving dinner and the first big snowfall. Don't jam a tree down my throat and tinny, crappy Amy Grant Christmas songs in my ear until I'm good and ready.

Illinois

Land of...

Lincoln
Obama
Oprah
the Cubs
the Sox
da' Bears
the Browns.

Yay for us! Yesterday I was offered the job at IVCC and I happily, greedily, slobberingly accepted it. Thanks to everyone for the good vibes, prayers, and pagan sacrifices that were offered on our behalf.


P.S. We will be located in Lasalle county which is the yellow shape that looks like a box with one leg up near the top of the map.

Super Turkey

Another example of how Maryn's creativity, intelligence, and nerd-heritage come together in unexpected and wonderful ways: Super Turkey!

Click to enlarge.





According to Maryn, the bomb the evil scientist creates is designed to make all the animals of the world obey his evil commands. Naturally, Super Turkey would be concerned about such a threat to the agency and safety of animal kind. I mentioned that she didn't show how ST stopped the mind-control bomb and she said she might address that in a future issue. For now, enjoy your poulty-based super heroics.

How The Interview Went

So the interview went well. It was long - about six and a half hours, but not as grueling as one might think.

I showed up a little before ten, checked my tie, hair, and teeth in the mirror and then presented myself at the front desk. George Needs (which I think is a hilarious name) from HR came downstairs and vigorously shook my hand. We headed upstairs to the HR office where I got the lowdown on benefits, retirement, etc. Not much on salary yet because they only really start figuring that once they've committed to you. I've got a Master's degree plus over 30 hours of credits from a major state university toward a PhD, plus four years of high ed experience, and two years of YDB (how they'll count that is a mystery.) So hopefully, if I'm hired, we'll have sufficient for our needs.

Anyway, from there I was taken to the testing center where they gave me thirty minutes to write an impromptu essay on my teaching philosophy and how it intersects with the mission of a comprehensive community college. I used the Goethe quote that I have posted on my sidebar as a starting point and wrote a bunch of stuff about how community colleges are the place for humane and compassionate yet rigorous instruction. I came to a comfortable stopping place in the essay with one minute to spare on the egg time they left sitting on the table next to my keyboard.

An English faculty member took me around on a campus tour from there. Suzanne, the girls, and I had walked around the night before and gotten a sense of the place so the tour was more about learning the names of places more than about seeing them for the first time. The campus is really interesting and I've never seen a college put together in exactly the same way. The buildings are all connected and form a ring that circles a tree-filled courtyard. The buildings are pretty maze-like but open with lots of windows. The campus is situated on a hill that leads directly down to the Illinois River and is surrounded by woods.



After the tour came the lunch which was pretty informal - pizza and pop with members of the division. (English, Math, Early Education, etc.) The division members were nice and polite and the pizza was okay. I ended up doing most of my chatting with a math teacher named Wes who is originally from Mississippi. We talked about the differences between northern and southern MS and those sorts of things.

I went from lunch straight to a meeting with the VP for academic affairs. We sat in her office and she asked me a series of questions about my teaching methods, my plans for professional development, etc. Once that was over, she walked me to the President's office. The President is a slender, bald man in his mid-fifties who doesn't seem to have much use for beating around the bush. Nice guy, straight talker. I thought the two of us got along swimmingly.

The last two events were sort of the big finish - a formal interview with all six members of the division hiring committee and a teaching demonstration. The interview consisted of the committee members reading off their list of prepared questions and me doing my best to come up with useful, intelligent answers on the spot. For the teaching demonstration, I presented what I would do in a classroom on an average day. They had given me an essay to work with, "Life of the Closed Mind" by Anna Quindlen, so I used that as a jumping off point and then just did my thing.

Once that was over, each committee member shook my hand and wished me the best of luck and that was it. I splashed some water on my face in the bathroom and then wandered outside to wait for Suzanne and the girls to come and pick me up.

I felt like it went as well as it possibly could have gone. There isn't anything I look back on and think, "Jeeze, I should/shouldn't have said/done that." If they don't pick me, it will be because they just liked someone better, not because I dropped the ball, I don't think.

We'll know one way or the other soon enough. They promised me they'd let people know by the end of this coming week - so no later than Friday. I'll hold them to that and I'll be sure to keep you updated as things develop.