Holiday Tunes

It's finals week here. I have two today, two tomorrow, and then I'm done except for final grading. As far as that's concerned, I'm actually making really good progress. Other semesters might find me agonizing over final papers a bit more but I'm so anxious to have this semester O.V.E.R. that I'm blowing through the stacks on my desk at a good clip. I should have everything figured and submitted by Friday, I think.

Yesterday was Maryn's birthday and she turned 10 years old. It's crazy to me that I'm old enough to have a child that's been around for a decade but it's true. She got a ton of stuff, got to pick her favorite foods for dinner, took fancy reindeer-decorated cupcakes to school, and finished the night off by performing in her school's Christmas music program. (Oh, not to mention the fact that she got her ears pierced last week as part of her pre-birthday celebration.) It was a good day for her and I'm glad. She's a really cool kid and I couldn't ask for a better daughter.

The winter storm I wrote about last time finally passed and left us with several days of bright, shining sunlight blazing off of the wind-worn crust of snow that covered everything. Now it's just bitter cold. I can't complain really because winter held off here until well into December. It could have been so much worse. Plus, December is already half over and once you get past January and February, it's practically spring again anyway.

Still, I don't want to rush the season along just yet. In order to get into the mood, here are a few holiday faves:

Snow Day

It's like ice planet Hoth outside today. If one were around, I'd slice open a tauntaun with my lightsaber and stuff my entire family inside to keep them warm.

Anyway, the weather has prevented us from attending church. The Bishop texted this morning and said most members from outlying areas (Tonica being the most outlying there is) weren't coming in and that they would only be holding Sacrament Meeting. So we're here, hunkered down, weathering the storm.

I got a note from my Dissertation Committee advisor this morning. She's going on sabbatical next semester and so she was giving me her end-of-semester suggestions to prep. She was as encouraging and positive as she gets - she wrote "Can't wait to read it when you write it" at the end of the message. That was nice but the message itself was a long, single-spaced list of all the things I need to read, think about, address, question, compare, etc. It's a big list. A big ol' list. At the end, she stressed that I need to establish why Mormon cinema matters and why Richard Dutcher's films matter in the larger scheme of academic study. I realize this is an important point - it's something I emphasize with my own students with whatever they're writing about - there must be a connection to the larger world, it can't just be a few pages about something that happened to you. There has to be some kind of significance that goes beyond your own personal reaction to something.

It's important and I get that but, at the same time, her suggestions that there doesn't appear to be anything "edgy" about Dutcher's films, that they just seem like what one would expect from an institutional film by the Church itself, make me feel like she views me (or like I am) just a naive, uninformed dilettante. Now, obviously, she doesn't know anything about institutional LDS film because if she did, she'd realize the ways in which Dutcher's films depart from that standard. But still. Clearly, it takes very little to make me feel really overwhelmed with this whole thing. I'm hoping to spend Christmas break reading and writing and to get a jump start on my prospectus. I just need to get something on paper and get it rolling. Something is better than nothing.

On another note, we've watched a few movies over the last couple of days and, naturally, I have things to say:



Scott Pilgrim vs. The World
It's unlike any other movie you've seen. It borrows from video games, anime, sitcoms, music videos, etc. to make something unique. Its hipster, rat-ta-tat-tat dialogue and editing are not to everyone's taste but in terms of its aesthetic, ambition, and creativity, it's head and shoulders above any garbagy romcom or action flick you'll see this year.



Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, part 1
Holy crap. I haven't endured two and a half hours of anxiety-inducing tension like this in I don't know how long. When you compare it to the lighthearted fun of the first couple of films in the series, you'd never imagine they were related. It's dark, violent, not afraid of killing off beloved characters, and highly engaging. Suzy and I left the theater glad we saw it but not sure if we "enjoyed" it exactly. It was really good but wasn't pleasurable necessarily.



Twilight: New Moon
We rented it last night because we knew a snowstorm was coming and we knew we wanted a variety of things to watch in case we ended up being trapped. This is my first honest-to-goodness encounter with the Twilight business. Everything I knew up to this point was based on hearsay and second-hand info. I heard the writing of the books was bad. I've seen the specials on Oprah or whatever about Twi-hards and Team Edward vs. Team Jacob, etc. But now I've actually seen one of the movies and I guess all I can really speak to is that one film.

It's lame. I wanted to reach through the screen, grab Kristen Stewart by the hair, give her a good shake, and say, "Knock it off. I don't know what's worse - this selfish, needy, pathetic character or your breathy, stuttery, sullen version of her." Seriously, is there anything redeeming about Bella Swan at all? I'm all for an everyman (everywoman) character as a protagonist. Perfect heroes or heroines are uninteresting and common people as main characters are great. But does she have to be so utterly without value on her own? What does she do other than mope, sigh, and beg to be turned into a vampire so she and Edward can get it on? Lame.

The other thing that struck me is how the whole thing is just teenage wish fulfillment. The whole world revolves around her despite her selfishness. Hot, supernatural men love her. Other girls are jealous of her. She gets to spend all her time pouting and being desired. Her dad is attentive, loving, and ineffectual. Her mom isn't around to say, "Snap the hell out it, girly!"

I hope Bella Swan isn't thought to be any kind of hero or role model for young girls. If so, what does that say about the kind of young women we want our daughters to be?

Also, Taylor Lautner can't act. His pectoral muscles emote more effectively than his face does.

So there you have it. We also rented the Robert Zemeckis version of A Christmas Carol and Iron Man 2. I didn't pay attention to A Christmas Carol close enough to say anything about it but Maryn and Avery seemed to enjoy it a lot. Iron Man 2 is, you know, a guy in a robot suit beating up other guys in robot suits - so, you know, far from what we'd call "art" but still smart, funny, and enjoyable to watch.

Dread

There's Judge Dredd, the judge/jury/executioner from UK comics. (Made into an awful film with Sly Stalone in the 90s, being remade right now with Karl Urban in the title role.)



There's Dred Scott, the African-American slave who unsuccessfully sued to win his freedom.



Of course, there's always the dread lock.



But then there's just good ol' dread, that feeling of fear and/or uneasiness you get in anticipation of something bad. Frankly, I wish I had more Judge Dread or even dreadlocks rather than feeling regular dread.

Nevertheless, that's where I am. Every morning for the last ten days or so, I've opened my eyes feeling like something bad is going to happen that day. Every minor thing that happens makes me think, "This is it. Here it comes." Parker developed a rash a couple of nights ago and I was convinced she was seriously sick. (She wasn't. She's a baby. They get rashes.) There's no logical reason for it but I just feel like something bad is coming. Usually, it wears off as I go through my day but it's exhausting to live like this, you know?

It's better when I have things to do. Teaching really helps because it's an arena in which I feel very comfortable and confident and I have very specific things that I have to get done. Having too much time on my hands is bad news. The day after Thanksgiving, I drove to Grand Island, Nebraska to meet my brother, Dan, so we could trade cars. (I was returning my Mom's van and Dan brought me Dad's Rendezvous which Suzy and I are buying.)



Nine or ten hours of nothing but fields and random, nameless fear is a rough way to spend a holiday. I obsessed about my job, my mom's health, my health, Suzy's health, living in Tonica, my woeful lack of progress on my dissertation, my upcoming translation exam, the girls growing up, the fact that Parker still isn't talking yet, and on and on. It was really good to see Dan but being in unfamiliar surroundings, with another day of driving waiting for me, it was hard to shake the feelings of dread and just relax.

The semester is coming to an end in just a week and a half. I've really been looking forward to that but given my reaction to having a lot of free time recently, I'm not as fired up as I was. I do hope to dedicate some real time to creating a draft of my prospectus. If I can get a big chunk of that done over Christmas, it will really help get some momentum for the rest of the dissertation.

I don't like feeling as though I'm damaged goods and I definitely don't want my dad's death and my reaction to it to become the defining elements of my life. It's a big deal and I realize that trying to downplay it too much won't be good for my mental or emotional health. But at the same time, I don't want to be that guy who can only talk/think about that one thing.

Ingrid Michaelson "Be OK"

While I'm at it, here's my girly, folkie, acoustic mantra-song of the moment:

Dala - Levi Blues

I have a long history of loving folky, acoustic, female, guitar-playing types - Indigo Girls, Disappear Fear, Rebecca Scott, etc. After listening to The Mountain Stage on the radio last weekend when I was driving back from Nebraska, I have a new addition to the girly-twangy pantheon:

From Today's "The Writer's Almanac"

It was on this day in 1818 that the state of Illinois was admitted to the Union.

Today Illinois is the 'most average state' in America. It was given this distinction by the Associated Press, which analyzed data from the U.S. census, looking at things like income and age and race, as well as education, immigration, rural population percentages and more than a dozen other factors. The Associated Press concluded that Illinois mirrored the makeup of the country as a whole better than any other state. Second was Oregon, and then Michigan, and Washington, and Delaware. The 'least average state' in the Union: West Virginia.

Illinois' official slogan is the 'Land of Lincoln.' And it was on this day in 1839 that 30-year-old Illinois state assemblyman Abraham Lincoln was admitted to practice law in the United States Circuit Court. For the next 16 years, he 'rode the circuit,' which meant that he traveled around to different counties in Illinois arguing cases while their circuit courts were in session. It was during these two decades on the Circuit Court, litigating disputes over canal boats and river barges and railroad charters and defending accused murderers, that Abraham Lincoln learned to give really good speeches. Twenty-one years after he was admitted to the Circuit Court, he was elected to the American presidency, and he's now known as one of the best orators in presidential history.

He delivered the Gettysburg Address in 1863 at the dedication of a cemetery where tens of thousands of Confederate and Union soldiers were being re-buried. The speech is 10 sentences long, just 272 words. In it, he said that our nation was founded on the idea of equality and that the war was being fought over that idea.

In his second inaugural address, which he gave a few weeks before being assassinated, he stood on a wet and muddy Pennsylvania Avenue and talked about the Civil War, saying:

'Neither party expected for the war the magnitude or the duration which it has already attained. Neither anticipated that the cause of the conflict might cease with or even before the conflict itself should cease. Each looked for an easier triumph, and a result less fundamental and astounding. Both read the same Bible and pray to the same God, and each invokes His aid against the other. It may seem strange that any men should dare to ask a just God's assistance in wringing their bread from the sweat of other men's faces, but let us judge not, that we be not judged. The prayers of both could not be answered. That of neither has been answered fully. The Almighty has His own purposes.'

With malice toward none, with charity for all, with firmness in the right as God gives us to see the right, let us strive on to finish the work we are in, to bind up the nation's wounds, to care for him who shall have borne the battle and for his widow and his orphan, to do all which may achieve and cherish a just and lasting peace among ourselves and with all nations.'

Abraham Lincoln once said, 'America will never be destroyed from the outside. If we falter and lose our freedoms, it will be because we destroyed ourselves.'

Things To Be Glad About

If Dad had to go (and I guess he did), there are a few things I'm glad about how he went.

#1 - Honestly, I'm glad he went first. Nobody expected that to be the case with my mom having cancer but I realize it's for the best that it happened this way. I know my mom is so sad that he's gone but when I think of how things would be if Dad were the one left behind, it's not a pretty picture. Dad wouldn't have been able to reach out and rely on other people the way my mom can. The idea of him standing in a line at a viewing, thanking people for coming would be laughable if it weren't so sad. When it comes right down to it, Mom is more capable of handling being alone than Dad would have been. It's good he went first.

#2 - I'm glad he went quickly. One moment he was here and the next, he was entirely gone. There was no lingering, no waiting around. Dad was not what we experts refer to as "patient." He was entirely unsuited to die slowly and, I think, was afraid of doing just that. I know for a fact that the idea of being put in a home or languishing while being unable to do things for himself would have been his personal idea of hell. As was his way, when he was ready to go, he went.

#3 - I'm glad he went while doing something he loved. I think it would have made him mad if he had passed away in his sleep or watching TV. (Although maybe watching Law and Order would have qualified as doing something he loved.) He died while working, with bits and pieces of plumbing stuff in his hands. I know he didn't want to die and certainly wouldn't have wanted to die in front of me, but I also know that, if he had to pick, leaving while doing something useful, productive, and helpful is something that would have satisfied him.

The Awesomest Awesome of All Awesome Time

Somebody buy me something from this website. Please.

Is it just me...

or does this one look kinda dumb?



Seriously, I'm usually on board with whatever comic book adaptations come down the line but this one, whether it's just the fact that its Green Lantern (one of the lamer superheroes) or the smirking presence of Ryan Reynolds, looks kinda high on the Stupidometer.

The Shootist, Super News, and Sadness

Suzanne is at the adult session of Stake Conference up in Joliet, the girls are all in bed, and I'm here half-watching The Shootist, John Wayne's final picture. For the last few weeks of my film class, we're focusing on major Hollywood genres. We've done musicals and melodrama, and now it's time for some manliness with Westerns this week and Film Noir next week.



There is very good news in the world. My mom visited with her oncologist earlier this week and he said he can't find a single trace of cancer in her body. She's gone from having terminal, stage four cancer to not having any evidence of it in her at all. The doctor said that 98 or 99 percent of everyone who gets the kind of cancer she had die of it quickly. Instead, my mom has actually gone into what appears to be remission. The doctor labeled it "miraculous." I talked to her the day she got the news and she sounded so happy and enthusiastic, it was wonderful to hear.

On another note, I need to retract something I wrote about a month ago. I said this blog wasn't going to turn into an ongoing rumination on my dad's death and that I find people who talk about their dead parents "boring." Mostly, I was trying to convince myself that I wouldn't need to write or talk about it on an ongoing basis. Plus, I didn't think that any of the five or six people who read this thing would want to hear me whining. Grief is hard to experience but it's also uncomfortable to read about when it's coming from someone else. Naked sorrow (like any other kind of nudity) generally makes regular folks a little antsy.

The fact is that I need to be able to talk and write about what I'm experiencing. Frankly, I'd rather not but I need to. There are days when I feel when I feel like my insides are being squeezed by a giant hand. There are nights when I feel alone in the universe. Some days things are just bad and that's all there is to it. I've developed this weird tick in my neck - I twitch when I think about what happened to my dad or when something reminds me of that night.



I tried talking to a therapist. She had a PhD in analytical psychology and, after ten minutes of me telling her about Dad and about my childhood, she explained that my tick was probably the result of repressed anger at my parents over raising me in such a sexually repressive church. After thoughtful, insightful help like that, I decided I didn't need to visit her ever again.

What I've found is that my grief just sort of compounds everything else. A day when I might normally have been sad or discouraged feels practically cataclysmic. A bump in the road like Maryn losing her glasses or the van needing new brakes seems like a sign of the last days.

(Side note: I just laughed out loud watching The Shootist. John Wayne's character, a gunfighter dying of cancer, falls while taking a bath. Lauren Bacall, his landlady and friend, goes in to help him. As she's helping him up and giving him another towel, he says, "Hell! Damn!" She says, "John Bernard, you swear too much." Without missing a beat, he says, "The hell I do." Made me laugh.)

Anyway, I guess my point is I don't want to pretend like everything's fine. It's not and I don't know when it will be. I don't like not knowing. The thing is, part of why I'm having such a tough time is that Dad was always the one who assured me that things would be okay. He wasn't big on rah-rah pep talks but his practicality and his perspective always shrunk my fears down to size. He was always plainspoken and direct and had a way of calming me down when I thought the world was going to end. Now, here I am facing this massive internal crisis and, wouldn't you know it, he's not around to help.

There was a time when I was attending ISU and my life had pretty much fallen apart. I was failing classes, was an emotional mess, and was moving home to Rexburg as part of my efforts to salvage what had become of my post-mission life. Dad knew I was in the dumps and he said, "Well, why don't we go someplace before you move home? Where do you want to go?" He suggested a road trip and so we took four or five days and went up to Couer d'Alene, Moscow, Wallace, and Boise. We talked a lot and it wasn't as though Dad said some kind of magic words that changed my life but just the fact that he was there, he was supportive, he wanted to help and did what he could really did make things better. It's kind of selfish but that's a big part of what I miss. I miss Dad helping me feel better when times are bad.

The frustrating thing is that there is no neat, tidy answer to all this. I can't end this post saying, "But now I know everything's going to be fine in time." I suppose it will but but that's something my brain knows, not necessarily something my heart feels, you know?

So, instead, let me just say this: The Shootist is pretty good. Obviously, John Wayne playing a Western hero dying of cancer even as he was actually dying of cancer adds a lot of gravity to the viewing experience. It's a character piece and not an action film by any stretch. It is definitely a shift away from more classical Westerns that were about bringing civilization, order, and honor to the wilderness. The Shootist is a meditation on the passing away of old myths. Nuanced is not usually a word one associates with John Wayne but his performance really is pretty layered and great to watch. It's not a happy ending but it's a good movie.

This Cracked Me Up

Movie Trailers - Movies Blog

A Recent Exchange

The Players:
Nathaniel Nelson, a 12 year old from my Sunday School class.
Me, a 36 year old Sunday School teacher who recently shaved his goatee into a silly shape.


Nathaniel: "Brother Brown, did you do something different with your beard?"

Me: "Why do you ask?"

Nathaniel: "Because you look more like a Civil War general than usual."

One Small Thing That Does Not Make Me Happy

Gentlemen Broncos.



Ever heard of it? Probably not. You may be surprised to find out that it actually had a theatrical release and that it was directed by Jared Hess, director of Napoleon Dynamite.

Now, there are films that aren't widely seen because they don't appeal to everyone. (Nacho Libre was not to everyone's liking, for example.) Some films disappear quickly simply because they're too niche and never get the widespread acclaim they deserve. (Richard Dutcher's States of Grace disappeared from some theaters after two days.) But some movies remain unseen simply because they're awful. Downright, unabashed, unapologetically bad.

This, my friends, describes Gentlemen Broncos. It's positively craptacular.

The story is about an awkward high schooler who writes science fiction novels. He takes one to a writers' conference where he meets a big time SF writer who ends up plagiarizing his book.

Not a bad idea, right? Certainly, there's potential for something of interest there.

But no.

Instead, Jared and his screenwriter wife, Jerusha, amped up the awkward, sealed-off, inexpressiveness that worked in Napoleon and made appearances in Nacho Libre and made a film so utterly divorced from reality that there's nothing funny or even interesting about it. It's like it doesn't even take place in the same universe. Of course, movies are heightened/altered reality but there's got to be something human, something universal for that reality to be somehow applicable to its viewers.

But no.

There isn't a single character that even remotely resembles a real person or a funny facsimile thereof.

Why did I see it? Because it was on the 5 dollar rack at Wal-Mart and I thought to myself, "Hey, an unappreciated gem!" Oh, how wrong I was. Jared Hess should send me a check for ten bucks. Five to replace what I wasted on this piece of garbage and five more for emotional damages. No thanks, Jared and Jerusha Hess, no thanks.

A Few Small Things That Make Me Happy

When it's bedtime and I hand Parker her favorite blanket (Anna - short for anesthesia)and she hugs it to her chest with a big, broken-picket-fence smile like it's a long lost friend.



The song "Relator" by Scarlett Johanson and Pete Yorn. I know, I know - a movie actor doing an album - it's a giant cliche that has led to some awful things. (The Bruce Willis opus The Return of Bruno and Don Johnson's Heartbeat to name just two.) But I really like this song. It's poppy, dancy, and nice to listen to.



The cast of Castle. The show itself, meh. The murders and solutions are boilerplate (like most TV cop shows)but the chemistry among the cast members is a treat. They seem like they genuinely like each other and get along. It's probably because of Nathan Fillion's off-handed, likable performance and how it meshes with Stana Katic's reserved, slightly-annoyed-slightly-amused portrayal. It's fun just to watch them talk.

Bloomington, IL. It's a cool college town with lots to do. There's a kids' science museum, a comic book store, and a Chicago dog restaurant all within one block. Isn't that the definition of heaven?



The fact that my brother, Dave, is taking a family picture tomorrow with his wife's extended family and everyone has to dress like a character from the Nativity scene. Yeah, you read that right. My brother will appear in a family photo as a wise man or shepherd or something. That very thought just makes me smile.

The fact that Christmas break is fast approaching.

The fact that I made it out of an hour-long conversation with my dissertation director with my head still attached to my shoulders. I was terrified of what she might say. (She is not what normal humans would call "warm" or "nice" or "warm-blooded," etc.) It turned out to be very useful and not excruciating. Always a bonus.

Action figures.

A good haircut.

The fact that, at parent/teacher conference this week, both of our older daughters' teachers praised them as excellent readers, independent learners, and students who always have something to contribute to the class. Music to my ears.

Watching TV with Suzanne.



The fact that, on the day we had to fly with my mother and three children across the country to attend my dad's funeral, Suzanne set out my traveling clothes the night before and she picked my lightning bolt superhero t-shirt for me to wear. She gets me.

Scrabble.

The smell of burning leaves.

Pixar movies. Seriously, what production company can claim 11 artistic and commercial hits in a row? Their level of success and quality is unmatched. I can watch The Incredibles or Ratatouille or UP anytime, anywhere and be perfectly happy.

Saturdays.

Sleeping in.

Writing. (Sometimes.)

One Month Later

So it's been a month since Dad died. I haven't felt like writing since then and have just figured that the world could more than do without my bloggy blatherings for a while anyway. The world is still more than fine without anything I have to say BUT life goes on and I can't stop living it just because I'm sad.

For the record, I'm dealing with a lot of grief over Dad's loss and guilt over the fact that he died right in front of me and nothing I did (or could have done probably) made a difference. Consequently, I feel cloudy-headed a lot of the time, indecisive and insecure. Going to work is okay because it gives me things to do and a sense of structure but I know the quality of my teaching is much lower than it normally is. There was a day in my 1002 class when I had to ask, "Now, what exactly did I ask you to do last time?"

I'm also pretty irritable. The girls, I'm afraid, are feeling the brunt of this. They're just going along, being an 8 and almost 10 year old, and I have no patience for the usual forgetfulness, laziness, and goofiness of kids their age. I yell a lot and that's not cool.

I'm not sure what I'm waiting for. Part of me feels like if I can just make it through this semester, I'll somehow be able to decompress or process or whatever it is I'm supposed to do that will make me feel somewhat better. I know grief is a long term process and I've heard that when you lose someone close to you, it can take a year or more to really start to get over it and deal with it. I'm not expecting to be all cured and dandy by Christmas or anything. I just kind of feel like, for right now, I have to just make it through these classes. If I can do that, I'll somehow earn some time to grieve or heal or something. Not sure.

Anyway, one thing that's not going to happen is this blog is not going to turn into an ongoing rumination about Dad, his death, my grief, etc. While my own sadness is real and powerful and I'm not trying to minimize it, I think people who go on and on about their dead parents are really boring. Sounds cold-hearted, I know, but seriously, I've known people who could only talk about their loss and that was it. I felt bad for them but also secretly begged they could find another topic once in a while. (The weather! The latest cast-off! Politics! Seen any good movies lately? Sweet fancy Moses, anything!)

So I'll probably continue to write about movies I've seen, silly stuff my students and kids say, the weather, TV shows, and stuff like that. I post cartoons and dumb pictures of spacemen and superheroes. It's lame and unimportant but a lot of life is like that, I've decided, and it's okay.

Dad

Dennis Ruel Brown, 66, finished his work on earth Wednesday, September 22, at 7:30 p.m. He died as he lived -- working hard in the service of others. Dennis suffered a heart attack while helping one of his sons re-plumb his house in Tonica, Illinois.

Dennis was born on Feb. 15, 1944 in Malad, Idaho, to Leo and Leora Brown. He spent his childhood milking cows, raising grain, fixing machines, wrestling and playing football. He enjoyed good relationships with his three brothers and one sister. He also was always a proud son and loved his parents very much. Though he wasn't a stranger to trouble as a young man, his sense of right and wrong was always strong and bright. He served a 21/2-year mission for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints in Santiago, Chile, and while there, he taught and baptized many people.

Once home from his mission, Dennis enrolled at Ricks College in Rexburg, Idaho, in 1967 and there met Laurie Sheffield. The two met in September, became engaged in October and were married in November in the Salt Lake City LDS Temple. This swift beginning led to a nearly 44-year marriage that produced four sons, four daughters-in-law and 13 grandchildren.

Except for a brief time working in the insurance industry, Dennis spent his entire professional career as a banker. Though he spent a good portion of those years in managerial and leadership positions, he was at his best as a loan officer, helping farmers and small-business owners in southeastern Idaho. Dennis was regularly recognized for his diligence and determination in doing the best job possible for people. In his career, he worked for First Security Bank, West One Bank, U.S. Bank, and, most recently, Zion's Bank.

Dennis also had a distinguished career in the United States National Guard. Enlisting in 1969, he was commissioned as an officer in 1970. His primary specialty was in logistics and he was awarded commendations for his abilities to plan and execute the movements and organization of hundreds of men and thousands of tons of equipment and food. Dennis always took great pride in his military service and in the experiences and friendships it brought him. He retired as a major after nearly 30 years in the Guard.

Though he had many accomplishments as a businessman and a soldier, Dennis Brown's greatest source of satisfaction in life was his family. He was devoted to his wife, Laurie, and never spared any effort or expense to make her comfortable and happy. He often remarked privately that he felt had "married up" and was lucky to be married to such a good woman.

He was deeply proud of each of his sons and considered them his best friends. Each new daughter-in-law brought him a new friendship and a new opponent in games like Monopoly and Acquire. As tough-minded and rough as Dennis could be, he was at his most tender and loving with his grandchildren. Each of his 13 grandchildren spent time balanced on his knee while he kissed his or her bald head, saying, "You are the best baby in the world. Yes, you are." In addition to his missionary service as a young man, Dennis served in Elders Quorum presidencies, High Priest Group leadership, as a home teacher, as a ward clerk, as a Sunday school teacher and as the instructor of a class on financial health.

Dennis rarely did things for himself. His main hobby was visiting his children and helping repair and improve their houses and their cars. He enjoyed mowing his neighbors' lawns and snow-blowing their sidewalks. He rarely waited to be asked to serve others, but instead simply did what needed to be done without waiting around for praise, thanks, or recognition. He was the very best of men. Those who knew him will miss him profoundly.

Dennis is survived by his wife, Laurie; and his four sons, Jason (Mindy), Mark (Suzanne), David (Melanie) and Daniel (Shalee). His grandchildren are Dylan, Megan, Kate, Jonah, Maryn, Avery, Parker, Brianna, Kyle, Kameron, Naomi, Hadley and Blake.

Dennis was preceded in death by his father, Leo; and his younger brother, Roy.

Funeral services will be held at 10 a.m. Monday Sept. 27, 2010 at the Rigby Stake Center. The family will visit with friends from 6 p.m. to 7:30 p.m. Sunday at Eckersell Memorial Chapel and from 8:30 a.m. to 9:45 a.m. Monday at the church. Burial will be in Pleasant View Cemetery near Malad City, Idaho.

Condolences may be sent to the family online at www.eckersellfuneralhome.com.

I Love These

Star Wars propaganda posters.

I Haven't Done One Of These In A Long Time

1) Do you always answer your phone?
90% of the time, I do, contrary to what my brothers Dan and Dave think. I don't pick up during class or when I'm spending dedicated time with my family. Other than, I'm a regular box o' chatter. Call me up. We'll gab.

2) It’s four in the morning and you get a text message who is it? Nobody I know would text at that hour.

3) If you could change your eye color what would it be? I like the color I've got. Wouldn't change.

4) What flavor drink do you get at Sonic? I don't live close enough to a Sonic for this to be relevant, sadly.

5) Do you own a digital camera? Yes.

6) Have you ever had a pet fish? I killed a series of fish while living in Michigan. I named each one after an 80s hair band member - Tico Torres was first. They all died within days of me getting them. Apparently, I am not good with fish.

7) Favorite Christmas song? God Bless Ye Merry Gentlemen as performed by the BNL and Sarah McLachlan. Also, Marshmellow World by Johnny Mathis.

8) What’s on your wish list for your birthday? Hmmm. Amazingly, I haven't thought of it yet. I'm sure I can come with something.

9) Can you do push ups? Yes.

10) Can you do a chin up? Yes. It hurts though.

11) Does the future make you more nervous or excited? Depends… my personal future? Excited. The future of the planet, humans, etc…? Nervous.

12) Do you have any saved texts? Nope. I think an empty inbox is a sign of personal cleanliness.

13) Ever been in a car wreck? Yes, while delivering pizzas in Pocatello, Idaho. I was driving a Geo Metro and yet, miraculously, did not die or even get hurt.

14) Do you have an accent? No.

15) What is the last song to make you cry? Hmmm. A scene from Dan In Real Life made me cry and there was a Sondre Lerche song playing during it. Does that count?

16) Plans tonight? You're reading it.

17) Have you ever felt like you hit rock bottom? Gah. You have no idea. Yeah.

18) Name 3 things you bought yesterday? Tickets for the Navy Pier Ferris wheel, ice cream, two pillows with an "M" and an "A" on them.

19) Have you ever been given roses? Not that I recall.

20) Current worry? That I haven't really made any measurable progress on my PhD in a year.

21) Current hate right now? The cost and quality of the food at Navy Pier.

22) Met someone who changed your life? Yep. Several.

23) How did you bring in the New Year? I don't remember exactly but I'm pretty sure it involved Suzanne and 7-layer dip.

24) What song represents you? "It's a Long Way to the Top If You Want to Rock and Roll"

25) Name three people who might complete this? SIL Shalee, my brother Dan if he ever blogged, Suzanne.

26) What was the first thing you thought of when you woke up? Must get to laptop. Must write. Must get something done before girls get up in 45 minutes. Gah!

27) If I was 10 yrs younger: I would appreciate my ability to go with less sleep.

28) What is your salad dressing of choice? Italian.

29) What is your favorite sit-down restaurant? The Athenian in Ogden, Utah.

30) What food could you eat for 2 weeks straight and not get sick of it? Have you seen my post about Chicago Dogs? I'm thinking about them right now. I'm wondering if Suzanne wants to get them for our lunch date tomorrow.

31) What are your pizza toppings of choice? Pepperoni

32) What do you like to put on your toast? Butter and cinnamon sugar.

33) How many televisions are in your house? Three.

34) What color cell phone do you have? Black.

35) Are you right-handed or left-handed? I'm so right.

36) Have you ever had anything removed from your body? Yeah. Do you REALLY want to hear about it?

37) What is the last heavy item you lifted? Parker. When she squirms, her weight increases exponentially. She was about 75 pounds earlier tonight.

38) Have you ever been knocked unconscious? Nope. I have a very thick skull. I get it from my dad.

39) If it were possible, would you want to know the day you were going to die? Probably.

40) If you could change your name what would you change it to? Major Percy Fawcett.

41) Would you drink an entire bottle of hot sauce for $1000? Totally.

42) How many pairs of flip flops do you own? One.

43) Last time you had a run-in with the cops? I got pulled over last month and was let go with a warning. Does that count?

44) Last person you talked to? Suzy - but she's sitting right next to me reading over my shoulder as I type this. Does that count?

45) Last person you hugged? Maryn just before bed.

46) Favorite Season? Autumn/ Spring

47) Favorite Holiday? Halloween.

48) Favorite day of the week? Friday.

49) Favorite month? You’re starting to bore me, survey.

50) First place you went this morning? To the basement.

51) What’s the last movie you saw? Juno.

52) Do you smile often? I'm practically Guy Smiley.

Notorious

Dear Film Students,

For future reference, when I assign you to screen a film called Notorious along with a film called North by Northwest and another film called Rear Window, I mean this one:



not this one:



I would have thought this would go without saying but, apparently, it does not.

Sincerely,

Mark

Want to Hear Something Funny?

Last summer, Maryn tried soccer. She worked hard, did her best, and, in the end, just wasn't feeling it. When we offered to sign her up again this year, she just shrugged and said, "Nah." So Suzanne looked around for other things that might be more up Maryn's alley and she found a week-long art camp in Peoria and a week-long acting camp at the school where I teach. Maryn loved both of them and it was really satisfying to see her find something that really lit her up, you know? Sports are the thing here and, while she gamely goes along, it doesn't exactly fill her with enthusiasm.

Anyway, at the end of the acting camp, her teacher announced to his students that IVCC would produce a musical this fall and that there were roles for kids so they should think about auditioning. Maryn took that to heart and asked me if I'd heard anything about auditions - like every day. Finally, they came. Last week, to be exact. Avery, not wanting to be left out of the dramatic action, wanted to go too.

So I took them both on Wednesday afternoon and watched them as they played theater games with a few kids their own age but mostly college kids (several of which were my former or current students). They played the games, sang "God Bless America," had their pictures taken, and learned some dance steps. Avery seemed to have more dance acumen while Maryn's singing audition was really quite strong.

We left and the girls immediately began asking, "So Dad, did we get in?" Wednesday of this week, finally, thankfully, the director put up the cast list and, lo and behold, my two daughters are both on it. I came home and told them and watched them freak out a little with excitement. They're really looking forward to it and I'm really proud of them for going out on a limb and trying something new.

Now, why is this post titled "Want to Hear Something Funny," you may ask. Well, the thing is, the musical is based on the life of Cesar Chavez, the immigrants-rights labor leader, and Maryn and Avery have been cast as his daughters. So my blonde, blue-eyed, pasty, Aryan-looking daughters will be portraying some of these people:



Frankly, I find that hilarious.

I'm sure makeup and temporary hair dye will go a long way but I just think it's funny that two girls with Welsh and Swedish heritage will be portraying Hispanics.

Anyway, the first read-through is next week and then we'll find out about their rehearsal schedule. The play goes on in late October so if anyone is interested in coming to see this opus, consider yourselves invited.

In other news, my story "The Iron Door" received an Honorable Mention in this year's Irreantum fiction contest. This is the same journal that published my story "Cause" a couple of years ago. This year, there were 91 entries so to end up in the top four or five is pretty nice. Hopefully, "The Iron Door" will be published sometime next year and you know I'll let you know all about it when/if it turns up.



On a down note, Suzanne has thrown out her back and is now barely able to move. I've taken the day off so she can have time to recover without having to lift Parker or clean or anything like that. I have Monday off already thanks to Labor Day so it's shaping up to be a very extended weekend. It's supposed to be sunny and around 70 degrees until sometime next week so I'm as happy as a clam. No work, beautiful weather, a recognized story, and two little Hispanic daughters - life is pretty good.

A Concern About the Upcoming Dancing With The Stars Season

Michael Bolton AND David Hasselhoff on the same TV show? Both of them dancing in fringed shirts? Both of them vying for the coveted Mirror Ball Trophy? Really?

Isn't there some kind of legal limit to how much late 80s/early 90s craptacular testosterone can exist in one place? I mean, it's like some kind of perfect storm - Knight Rider, Baywatch, "Sittin' on the Dock of the Bay," "Time, Love, and Tenderness," Baywatch Nights, and dating Nicolette Sheridan -- I mean, eeek, right? All of that combined with the inherent cheesiness of celebrity ballroom dancing? I'm not sure if I'm really happy and giddy or if I'm filled with profound, existential dread. Probably more the latter than the former. In fact, the more I think about it, the more I'm sure it's the latter. And why? Take a look:

This guy


aaaaannnnnd this guy.


Gives you the chills, right? And not the good kind. Not the "ooooh, the concert is about to start" kind of chills. No. The feverish, infected, last-rites kind of chills. The "Go toward the light" chills. You hear what I'm saying?

More Things to Not Say to Your Professor

A recently received e-mail:

"Mr. Brown,

I wasn't able to make it to class today as I had to make an emergencey Dr appt. I have a bad UTI and needed meds. What did I miss and what homework is due on wed???

Thanks
Jamie M."

For Melanie and Other Uninitiated Folks

Quite Possibly The Greatest Form of Food Known to Man

Seriously. I could eat two or three of these for lunch every day. It's the perfect food. A couple of these with some hot, salty fries just out of the fryer and a sweet, icy diet Pepsi. For the one hundred and twenty seconds it takes me to eat it all, I'm in heaven. Chicago may have produced Al Capone and the Cubs but it also produced the greatest hot dogs known to man. Thank you, Windy City. Thank you.

Film Class

I'm teaching a film class for the first time this semester. It's an overload class the school's making available at the new satellite center in Ottawa. The film class on the main campus pretty much belongs to my colleague who has had it sewn up for the last several years. I get this one only because she doesn't want to drive the 17 miles to teach it over there. I don't mind the drive and am happy for the opportunity.

What's weird, however, is the fact that I don't know how to teach it. I've been teaching one thing or another for over ten years now and yet I'm really not sure how to approach teaching a film class. I've got the syllabus together, the schedule, the basic assignments, etc. but I still feel as though I'm making it up as I go along.

Tonight was the first class and I was surprised by how many students, when asked why they signed up for the class, simply said, "It fills a slot" or "I need a a GPA booster." I appreciate candor about the academic process as much as the next teacher but, seriously? That's a little too honest for my taste. I realize that a lot of the students taking classes at the satellite center otherwise may not attend classes at all so they are a little rough around the edges - but jeeze.

Anyway, tonight we watched John Sayles' 1996 murder mystery/Western/social exploration of borders, Lone Star. I chose it as the initial film because, in many ways, it's a perfect example of what movies are capable of. It tells a story in ways that only a film could pull off. You couldn't replicate some of the effects in Lone Star in any other medium. There are lots of flashbacks and the transitions between past and present are so disorienting and yet cool, they knock me out every time.

Next week, we'll talk about Photography and watch sequences from Apocalypse Now, Tucker: A Man and His Dream, Days of Heaven, and possibly Saving Private Ryan.

Too. Hot. To. Write.

Yes, it's been so hot in Illinois, Satan passed through and said, "Holy crap, it's bad here!" It's been in the 90s all week with humidity in the 70s - all this equals a heat index of over a hundred every day for over a week. Gah, right?

The thing that makes it really bad is the fact that we don't have central air. We bought our house in December and didn't have a full understanding of the cosmic suckitude of Illinois summers. They slap Michigan summers in the face and steal their lunch money. They kick sand in the face of Idaho summers. They generally spit on other summers - they spit pure humid air.

So even though the house doesn't have AC, we thought, "Aw, we'll be fine. How bad can it be?"

Famous last words. How bad can it be? Bad enough to break a sweat while changing a diaper. Bad enough to turn our bathroom into a sauna -- without any hot rocks or anything. Bad enough for me to feel like I should be basting in a pan and served with stuffing and sweet potatoes. Bad.

So even though we love our house and love our yard, we also hate it. We want to care for it and make it nice but we also want to smack it and say, "Why?! Why were you built with no AC? Why did we buy you?!" It's complicated.

Anyway, today was supposed to be the hottest day of this most recent stretch of surface-of-the-sun heat. It's supposed to start cooling down to the low 80s starting on Monday but today the weathermen didn't even offer a projected temperature - they just put a picture of a red- skinned, horned man with a pointy beard and a pitchfork standing over the state of Illinois.

So we surrendered and took off. Yep, we retreated. We loaded up a change of clothes and a few other things and we came to Bloomington. It's about 45 minutes south and has fun things to do -- a children's museum, good shopping, good restaurants, an excellent comic book store, etc. We bid for a nice hotel room for half price on Priceline, got it, and are now safely installed in a Holiday Inn with a nice pool and very effective AC. It's cold in here and it's awesome. I've set the AC on "Hoth" and it feels pretty great.

Tomorrow we'll go back in time for Maryn to go to an evening birthday party for a friend and for me to mow our Amazonian lawn. And we'll look forward to seeing temps like 82, 81, etc. I'll let you know if we melt into puddles of no-AC-house-hating goo. Wish us luck.

The Moldy Peaches

So we had a mold scare over the weekend. Suzanne went downstairs to clean up after the girls and discovered little black and green splotches on things. The more stuff she pulled out of the storage room, the more upset she became. We had boxes, furniture, papers, blankets, etc. covered in mold. Eeek, right?

So for about 24 hours, we were convinced we were breathing in toxic black mold and that our house was a forever-unsellable poisonous nightmare. Not a pleasant feeling.

Fortunately, a guy from a local mold remediation company came over and calmed us down. He basically said, it's not that bad, you can clean it yourselves, if it were really toxic you'd be vomiting right now. He was a wonderfully decent guy who not only gave us 45 minutes of professional advice for free, he threw in a free jug of professional grade anti-microbial solution. I never want to have to use any kind of professional mold removal service but, if I ever do, I'm calling that guy.

So for the last several days we've been scouring, cleaning, bagging, rearranging, and burning. (Yeah, our neighbor has a burn pit and I've been indulging the pyro in me by burning the living heck out of some really satisfying stuff - a card table and chairs, old files, some old shelves. Burn, baby, burn.) We also bought a couple of dehumidifiers which we have going 24 hours a day. The basement smells better than it ever has and definitely feels more welcoming. We're still only about 80 percent done with the cleaning. We've got most everything wiped down and put away but we still need to put a few stragglers away and then sweep and mop the whole thing. It wouldn't be a big deal except for the fact that the basement floor is like the length of a football field. Mopping it will be like swabbing the deck of the U.S.S. Enterprise. It's big.


(This is a shot of me cleaning the basement.)

As long as I'm on the subject, I should publicly own up to what caused the mold in the first place. We have extenders on our rain gutter downspouts - they're about four feet long and they carry the water away from the house and down the hill. Before we left for our family reunion, I mowed the lawn and took the extenders off so I could mow the Amazon jungle of weeds growing under and around them. After I was done with that part of the lawn, I moved on without replacing the extenders. Yep.

We left for five days and, while we were gone, it rained. Because water takes the path of least resistance, it went down around the foundation of the house and seeped its way into our basement.

The mold? My fault. Entirely.

And that sucks. It sucks to be the cause of so much stress and work and inconvenience. It's bad enough for bad things to happen but to be the cause of bad things happening? Way worse.

Anyway, as I say, we're nearly there in terms of cleaning and restoring. I'm grateful it wasn't as bad as it could have been. We lost a few precious things but, in the end, they were just things. Everyone's still healthy, we still have a home to live in. We are very blessed.

Anyway, in the spirit of making the subject of mold a little more pleasant, here's a nice ditty you all recognize from the Juno soundtrack by the band known as The Moldy Peaches:

A Few Things

It's been a busy couple of weeks. We spent most of last week in Beulah, Michigan on the shores of the appropriately named Crystal Lake. Suzanne's family reunion was held there and, except for Shauna's two sons, everyone was able to come. The kids loved digging in the sand, hunting for snipes, riding around in Uncle Jeff's boat, and rehearsing skits to perform for the family. The rest of us loved sitting around, telling stories, eating food prepared by the other Uncle Jeff, watching the kids play, competing at ladder ball, and just generally enjoying one another's company. The thing I am always struck by when I spend time with Suzanne's family is how much I like them. I always like them, of course, but when I actually get to interact with them face to face, I end up liking them that much more - which is pretty nice. Most people don't get that when it comes to in-laws.



It was particularly fun to meet a few family members for the first time - the smiley Tate Norman and the Goddess of Awesome, Maia Norman. It was also a great pleasure to see the lovely and charming Aunt Vicky again. It had been too long.

So now we're back and my summer classes are on the downhill slide. Summer term ends on August 11 and Fall semester starts on August 17. Sigh. Busy, busy, busy. I find myself actually looking forward to this semester though because #1. it won't be as monumentally busy as Spring semester was, #2. I get to teach an Art of Film class, and #3. after sweating like a warthog trapped in a tin shed all summer long, the idea of cool fall days sounds like the greatest thing ever.

It's been a while since I've given an update on my mom. Frankly, I wish the news were better. Mom's struggling with some depression and loneliness. My brothers, their wives and children and my dad do a lot and spend time with her every day (they are heroic), but when you spend 23 hours of the day in bed, it's hard to feel connected with the world, I think. Plus, her speech and cognitive abilities seem to be suffering right now. In addition to basic forgetfulness, she's having a tough time (at times) making sense when she speaks. I had a rough conversation with her last night during which there were a couple of moments when I honestly didn't know how to respond because I didn't understand what she was talking about. I don't know what all this means. My dad says her most recent brain scan came back clear and she's still getting her regular maintenance chemo - but she won't eat much and her energy and balance are as questionable as ever. I don't know what any of this adds up to. I hope I'm just being unnecessarily alarmist.



Anyway, the days roll along. Maryn and Avery have had a good summer full of softball games, art camp, cousins, play dates, swimming, and fun. Suzanne and I have both been able to visit family and friends as well as get away here and there together. Despite the fact that it feels like it's raining heat outside, summer can't last forever. It will be over before we know it.

Will To Live

It's 90 degrees outside right now with 70% humidity.
I should be grading papers.
Or reading books for my dissertation.
Or switching out the laundry.
Or dusting.
Or playing with my kids.
Or cleaning the bathroom.
Or something else useful and productive.

But I'm not. I'm sitting here right in the blast of the AC, barely moving. I don't want to do anything. I don't want to do a thing. I'd kind of like to take a nap. My will for positive, forward movement has been sapped for today and I feel like not doing a freaking thing. Maybe things will change once the sun is lower in the sky. Maybe I just need to eat an early dinner. Maybe some of the cookie dough in the fridge would help. I don't know. All I know is that my ten fingers moving across this keyboard is about all the physical activity I can muster at this moment. I'll let you know if this changes today. Don't hold your breath though.

Foiled Again - Or At Least Delayed

I've missed at least two chances to see U2 live in concert - once in Nashville, Tennessee and once in Salt Lake City. Both times I felt the bitter sting of a joyous, life-altering experience hurling past me like a semi on a wet, windy highway. Earlier this year, I decided it was time to finally break the cycle - to see my favorite band of all time in person. I bought a couple of tickets, one for me and for my girl Suze-a-loo, and fully planned to be somewhere in the nosebleeds on July 5 of this year.



That date came and went but no concert. Why, you ask - because Bono, singer, lyricist, activist, and cool-guy-extraordinaire is what we experts call an "aging rock star." He hurt his back during rehearsal and canceled a ton of concerts while he recovered. I don't fault him. I hope his diminutive Irish back recovers soon and that he's able to go on helping third world countries get their debt forgiven, raising funds for AIDS research, and generally rocking out.



But when I received the following e-mail this morning, I took a moment to think a little the worse of Bono and U2 and back injuries and fate and everything else that seems to stand in my way when it comes to checking this little item of my Bucket List:

"Attention ticket holder!

We just learned that your event has now been rescheduled:

U2
Soldier Field
Tuesday, July 6th, 2010 New date: Tuesday, July 5, 2011 at 7PM!"

Yup. I'll still get to see them --- in a YEAR!

Deep breaths. Deep breaths. The world does not hate you. The world does not hate you.

Another Movie

David Bordwell, a prominent American film scholar, suggests that the whole purpose of American film narrative is to "unite the romantic couple." In other words, movies are just there to get the guy and the girl together. Now obviously that's a pretty broad generalization and it doesn't apply to lots of films but, on the other hand, it does apply to lots of others. Think about your favorite movies. How many of them involve the "boy-meets-girl, boy-loses-girl, boy-wins-girl-back" structure? A lot of them, right? Nothing wrong with that.

When Suzanne and I were watching Garry Marshall's Valentine's Day the other night, my first thought was "This movie is so lame, it needs crutches and orthopedic shoes." But then I decided that it was actually the ultimate culmination of what Bordwell is talking about. It's like your standard American romantic comedy but on steroids. It is the Costco of romantic comedy. It has everything for everyone and in bulk.



Every kind of boy-girl coupling you can imagine is represented here: young and dumb (Taylors Lautner and Swift), old and wise (Hector Elizondo and Shirley Maclaine), straight and gay, mother and son, "I never realized the perfect person was right under my nose," and so on. The film is thick with pretty people in pretty settings and characters doing highly unlikely and improbable things. Larry Miller's airport worker giving Ashton Kutcher a free pass to any gate in the airport? Really? I know it's a romantic comedy but am I supposed to suspend all disbelief? Am I supposed to assume this movie takes place before 9/11? What about all the standing around and doing nothing George Lopez and Ashton Kutcher, two professional florists, seem to be doing on Valentine's Day of all days? The restaurant owner who allows Jennifer Garner to humiliate one of his customers and make a scene in his place just because she's a scorned woman? Really? What about Jessica Biel's character being alone and unloved? I'm not saying a pretty woman can't be alone or feel unloved but her neurotic schlub in 900 dollar shoes act wasn't very convincing.

Anyway, the point is that the movie tried to give everything to everybody and, therefore, ended up not giving much to anybody. It tries too hard to cover every possible angle and ends up creating flat, underdeveloped characters caught in vague, low-pressure predicaments that get resolved in obvious, trite ways.

I don't think this movie really represents what filmgoers want to watch. I like to think people are smarter and a little more discriminating than that. I do think, however, that it is what some marketing bunch in Hollywood thinks we want. And that's a shame. Hopefully, the film's critical drubbing and the subsequent box-office drop-off will let studio heads know they need to produce better than this.

P.S. With Redbox, I feel a lot better about renting movies like this. If I had paid Blockbuster's ridiculous 4.99 per movie price, I'd be a lot more feisty about this.

Books and Movies, Movies and Books

As we drove out to Idaho a few weeks ago, I listened to The Lost City of Z by David Grann. Grann is a journalist who, casting about for a story, came across accounts of Colonel Percy Fawcett, one of the last great Victorian Explorers with a capital "E." Fawcett believed that all the rumors about Coronado, the legendary South American city of gold, had to have existed in some fashion or another. So he dedicated the later half of his life to finding evidence of it. He disappeared into the Amazon jungle in 1925 and was never heard from again. Eighty years later, David Grann became fascinated with Fawcett and set out to discover what had happened to him.





I think listening to a book creates a different experience than reading it so I'm not sure how I would have reacted to it had I encountered it that way. Either way, I enjoyed it quite a bit. The story weaves back and forth between a biography of Fawcett, the history of Victorian exploration, legends of Z (inexplicably, the name Fawcett gave to this mythical city), and Grann's efforts to track down his story. While the writing lacks the crazy, passionate enthusiasm of other journalist-on-a-mission books that I've read and loved (Chasing Che, Into the Wild, The Island of Lost Maps), it's still a really interesting book. It was a good traveling companion for 10 hours on the road.

The other night, I finished the last story in Letting Loose the Hounds by Brady Udall, Boise State MFA professor, writer, and Mormon. His latest novel, The Lonely Polygamist, just came out and, in preparation, I decided to read his book of short stories. Contemporary literary short stories, I have found, can either be devastatingly powerful or the reading equivalent of having a damp, dingy dishrag limply dragged over your face. It's definitely something - but not necessarily a pleasant or useful something. I was pleased to find that Udall has a nice sense of language and a compassionate heart for his characters. There were moments when I laughed out loud while reading and that's always a nice thing. The characters were fresh without being looney, wacky, or unnecessarily quirky (another failing of some contemporary literature).



I appreciated each story and felt like my time was well spent. However, one aspect that I really like in the best short stories is that punch-to-the-face feeling you get when it's over. Ever read Edith Wharton's "Roman Fever" or Flannery O'Connor's "Good Country People?" Jhumpa Lahiri's "Sexy" or John Cheever's "The Swimmer?" At the end of each of those, I feel as though I've been smacked in the face with pleasure. My only qualm with Udall's book of stories is that not one of them left me with that feeling. They were all cozy and enjoyable but not one of them smacked me in the head. There are a couple I enjoyed more than the others and I'll probably use at least one of them in my creative writing class this fall - but when I read a short story, I want to feel as though a sniper of literary joy has lined me up in his (or her) sights and fired.

Speaking of which, we took the girls to see Toy Story 3 yesterday. We got a babysitter and were able to enjoy an entire movie uninterrupted by the need for a bottle or a diaper change. It was easily the best movie I've seen this year. It was smart, sweet, lovely, laugh-out-loud funny, and touching. How many movies can you say that about these days? As with a lot of fiction, I come away from a lot of movies feeling vaguely (sometimes not so vaguely) dissatisfied and empty. I came away from this movie feeling as though I was better for having seen it. Again, how many movies can we say that about these days? Most of you have probably already seen it or read about it, but for those who haven't done either, I won't spoil anything. I'll simply say, no other movie (or tv show or book) has ever gotten so much comedic mileage out of a tortilla. I'll let you find out what I'm talking about.