Well, the Olympics are over. I didn't watch the 45 hours a day or so that the various NBC networks were providing, but I did get a good 4 to 6 hours a day as much as I could.
And I have to say that I found the 2004 Olympics... a little boring.
(How guilty do I feel saying that!)
I've always liked the Winter Olympics better than the summer, but usually any Olympics keeps me rapt to the tube. But this year felt a little flat somehow.
Maybe it was the incredible amount of coverage they were offering. Because of it, the evening coverage seemed so much more limited than it has ever been. We got to watch diving, swimming, more diving, a little (men's) basketball, gymnastics, track and field, diving, and beach volleyball beach volleyball beach volleyball. And that's about it. A disappointment in many ways.
Anyway, some random thoughts on the 2004 Olympics (or should I say, as Bob Costas did every night, "The Games of the 28th Olympiad!").
---Where was the rhythmic gymnastics? I'm one of the few people who actually likes it. I looked for it on the schedule. But it was only listed as one item in a 6-hour (6-hour!) block, surrounded by wrestling, boxing, water polo and other items probably not of interest to anyone wanting to find rhythmic gymnastics.
Or could it be that we didn't see it because only one American qualified?
---I thought the version of the "Star-Spangled Banner" was sort of unusual, as many have commented, and thought the "soft" version they chose was specifically a response to anti-American feeling in Europe. Turns out, it was arranged something like 10 years ago, way before 9/11, etc.
It grew on me over the two weeks. And the soft portion was nice during the times there were enough Americans in the stands so you could hear them singing.
---Where was women's basketball? While all the prime time strife was going on over the supposed "Dream Team" of attitude ballers, the women were kicking butt big time -- and getting no prime time coverage! What's that about?
---And what about women's soccer? Again, our girls rocked, it was a historic game, and all we got to see was the medal ceremony. Hey, I'm not a big sports person, but I watch sports to see something unscripted.
---Has Bob Costas had work done? (Or is there a portrait in a closet somewhere?)
---Paul Hamm earned his gold medal. And it was shameful for the IOC to even suggest that he give it up voluntarily.
---The guy who pushed the Brazilian marathoner off course should be locked up in a very tiny cell for a significant period of time. (And oh, the pain when he claimed to be a Christian!)
---Marion Jones looks significantly less buff than she did 4 years ago. You don't lose that kind of muscle tone from having a baby -- not when you're a world-class athlete, you don't. Funny that she couldn't manage any medals this time. I'm just saying.
---Loved the attitude of our runners this year -- no American cockiness, some real humility. Loved the three runners who -- gold/silver/bronze -- immediately got together to pray before their victory lap.
---It's truly amazing what a beautiful thing the human body can be when it's being used for something like running / swimming / diving / gymnastics. It's sort of nice that the athletes' outfits are getting skimpier, as we get to marvel at those amazing bodies (and I mean that in a totally non-sexual way).
---But speaking of bodies -- what's the big deal about beach volleyball, anyway? Someone explain it to me.
---How do the diving judges see things like pointed toes and hands? Do they get instant replay before posting their scores?
---The Chinese opening ceremonies in 2008 are going to rock! Sorry, Greece, but they have already outshone you.
---See you in Torino in two years....!
Tuesday, August 31, 2004
Sunday, August 29, 2004
BOOK THOUGHTS: THE DA VINCI CODE
Okay, okay, I know. I'm about a year late weighing in on The Da Vinci Code. Frankly, I just had no interest in reading it when it came out. All the controversy swirling around it just smelled like old-fashioned hype to me.
But we're talking to folks about the possibility of writing a romantic thriller that has some allusions to Biblical history, and the phrase "a Christian 'Da Vinci Code'" has been used a few times, so I figured I'd better make myself read it.
And you know what? All that hype was... well, just that. Hype.
The Da Vinci Code is, for the few who didn't at least see the reviews or commentary (or hype), a story about an American "symbology" professor and a French cryptographer thrown together when various religious and political factions go after the Holy Grail -- but in the process, we learn that the grail is not (as traditionally held) the cup of Christ used in the Last Supper, but is actually Mary Magdalene herself, who was the wife (or consort?) of Jesus Christ, mother of his children, and founder of a religion more profound than Christianity, basically a goddess-cult. Corollary to this is the claim that the Church (primarily the Catholic Church) has been known the "truth" and has been keeping it quiet for 2000 years.
Okay, some of you out there can tell me just how many heresies this covers. Quite a few, I would imagine. (And please -- post comments and tell us.) But first, let's talk about the writing.
The Da Vinci Code reads fast and easy. It has incredibly short chapters, as short as 2 pages (the better to lure in people who don't usually read books? you be the judge).
But it is not a well-written book. At all.
The Da Vinci Code is, at its heart, a mystery. A good mystery has its clues layered in plain sight throughout the story, but contains enough misdirection to keep the reader from noticing them -- until the end, when we all hit ourselves on the head and say, "I should have realized!" (Think about the way you felt when you got to the end of The Sixth Sense.)
In a way, a mystery writer does what a magician does. Misdirect. But a good magician knows that different types of misdirection are needed for every trick, to keep the audience from catching on to the trick.
Dan Brown (author of DVC) only has one trick. He places a clue in front of the characters -- then refuses to tell us what they see. In the Louvre, we see what Sophie and Langdon see -- until they turn to look at the Mona Lisa under black light -- and gasp! But we don't see what they see. Sophie goes downstairs at her grandfather's and stumbles on the pagan ritual -- and gasps. But we don't see what she sees.
Over and over, Brown does the same thing. He withholds information -- only because he hasn't figured out any other way to get a little shock out of us. It's a trick that can work once. Twice. But as a steady diet, frankly, it's a cheat. We, the reader, deserve a lot better.
DVC makes me appreciate the skill of Agatha Christie. When you reach the end of her books, all the clues were there, they were written with consummate skill (and misdirection), and no fancy cutaways were required to misdirect the reader.
Brown also is quite condescending to his readers. He's rather proud of how very very clever he's being, and is pretty sure none of his readers can possibly keep up.
But some of us aren't so dumb, thank you very much. Let's take the clue delivered in mirror writing. I looked at it and said, "Oh, mirror writing" -- and proceeded to read the clue.
But Brown's main characters -- all of whom are world-class experts in this stuff -- don't get it for another two chapters. They moan and groan -- "What mysterious script can this be?!" -- before figuring it out. Now, if his "experts" can't get it, Brown clearly doesn't expect any of us peons reading to get it first. Clearly, we are too dumb to get it -- well, we're smart enough to buy his book, of course, but not as smart as he is. It's condescending.
And let's talk about the ending: [SPOILER WARNING] Sophie's grandfather, one of only four people in the world who know the location of the "Holy Grail," is murdered in the Louvre. As it turns out in the final chapter, the "Holy Grail" itself is in the Louvre.
Then why spend 400 pages sending us on a wild goose chase all through France and Britain? Grandfather, it turns out, laid out every clue, so he could have done this any way he wanted. And the more tricks and traps he lays in, the more likely his efforts to pass on his secret knowledge will fail. So who do it?
Brown does the same thing with his villain: From the first chapter, it's very clear the Catholic Church (or significant segments thereof) is the bad guy. Suppressing the truth. Hiring and training murderers. But then, at the very end -- Oops! Turns out it was just a couple of bad eggs within the Church, which in fact is lily white and not culpable.
These are cheats, big time. Talk about your shaggy dog story!
And then there's the heresies. These have gotten a lot of coverage, so I won't harp on them here. Suffice it to say, the book is full of falsehood from cover to cover. (And cleverly concealed falsehood -- The book starts with a statement that all architecture and art described is absolutely factual, lists specifics about what in the story is "real". Makes you feel the whole thing is fact-based. Ha!)
Some Christians have been able to set aside the heresies and enjoy the story. But not me. Maybe because I've bumped head-on into out-and-out heresy in another venue recently.
I was invited to join a "spiritual" online discussion group. I knew the people on the group wouldn't all be Christians, by a long shot, but some were, and I thought it sounded interesting. So I hopped on.
Only to find all sorts of people claiming to be Christians and spouting, well, heresies. I was particularly upset at people using the name "Christ" to mean, well, pretty much anything they wanted it to mean. A very Alice-Through-the-Looking-Glass experience. "Your adversaries misuse your name," David says (Ps. 139). Do they indeed. I found myself being, in a weird way, jealous for the name of Christ.
When I tried, gently and politely, to suggest that perhaps it was inappropriate to redefine the terms and symbols of another religion, I received back (a) pages of gobbledegook that I couldn't even understand on the real meaning of the name of "Christ" and (b) a private cease-and-desist e-mail from the moderator of the group suggesting that I was being divisive and non-inclusive.
Wow. "I have come not to bring peace, but a sword," indeed.
Okay, so I've wandered a bit astray from The Da Vinci Code. But not really. Because at it's heart, it's the same thing: People who insist they can retell the story of God better than His followers, who think it's okay to make up what they want to believe, and who feel entitled to take as many people down that dark path with them.
All I can say is, I'd rather hang with the folks in Hollywood. Naked greed and lust for power are much easier to deal with.
The bottom line: If you spot a paperback copy of The Da Vinci Code and think, oh maybe I should read it and see what the fuss was about...
Don't bother.
But we're talking to folks about the possibility of writing a romantic thriller that has some allusions to Biblical history, and the phrase "a Christian 'Da Vinci Code'" has been used a few times, so I figured I'd better make myself read it.
And you know what? All that hype was... well, just that. Hype.
The Da Vinci Code is, for the few who didn't at least see the reviews or commentary (or hype), a story about an American "symbology" professor and a French cryptographer thrown together when various religious and political factions go after the Holy Grail -- but in the process, we learn that the grail is not (as traditionally held) the cup of Christ used in the Last Supper, but is actually Mary Magdalene herself, who was the wife (or consort?) of Jesus Christ, mother of his children, and founder of a religion more profound than Christianity, basically a goddess-cult. Corollary to this is the claim that the Church (primarily the Catholic Church) has been known the "truth" and has been keeping it quiet for 2000 years.
Okay, some of you out there can tell me just how many heresies this covers. Quite a few, I would imagine. (And please -- post comments and tell us.) But first, let's talk about the writing.
The Da Vinci Code reads fast and easy. It has incredibly short chapters, as short as 2 pages (the better to lure in people who don't usually read books? you be the judge).
But it is not a well-written book. At all.
The Da Vinci Code is, at its heart, a mystery. A good mystery has its clues layered in plain sight throughout the story, but contains enough misdirection to keep the reader from noticing them -- until the end, when we all hit ourselves on the head and say, "I should have realized!" (Think about the way you felt when you got to the end of The Sixth Sense.)
In a way, a mystery writer does what a magician does. Misdirect. But a good magician knows that different types of misdirection are needed for every trick, to keep the audience from catching on to the trick.
Dan Brown (author of DVC) only has one trick. He places a clue in front of the characters -- then refuses to tell us what they see. In the Louvre, we see what Sophie and Langdon see -- until they turn to look at the Mona Lisa under black light -- and gasp! But we don't see what they see. Sophie goes downstairs at her grandfather's and stumbles on the pagan ritual -- and gasps. But we don't see what she sees.
Over and over, Brown does the same thing. He withholds information -- only because he hasn't figured out any other way to get a little shock out of us. It's a trick that can work once. Twice. But as a steady diet, frankly, it's a cheat. We, the reader, deserve a lot better.
DVC makes me appreciate the skill of Agatha Christie. When you reach the end of her books, all the clues were there, they were written with consummate skill (and misdirection), and no fancy cutaways were required to misdirect the reader.
Brown also is quite condescending to his readers. He's rather proud of how very very clever he's being, and is pretty sure none of his readers can possibly keep up.
But some of us aren't so dumb, thank you very much. Let's take the clue delivered in mirror writing. I looked at it and said, "Oh, mirror writing" -- and proceeded to read the clue.
But Brown's main characters -- all of whom are world-class experts in this stuff -- don't get it for another two chapters. They moan and groan -- "What mysterious script can this be?!" -- before figuring it out. Now, if his "experts" can't get it, Brown clearly doesn't expect any of us peons reading to get it first. Clearly, we are too dumb to get it -- well, we're smart enough to buy his book, of course, but not as smart as he is. It's condescending.
And let's talk about the ending: [SPOILER WARNING] Sophie's grandfather, one of only four people in the world who know the location of the "Holy Grail," is murdered in the Louvre. As it turns out in the final chapter, the "Holy Grail" itself is in the Louvre.
Then why spend 400 pages sending us on a wild goose chase all through France and Britain? Grandfather, it turns out, laid out every clue, so he could have done this any way he wanted. And the more tricks and traps he lays in, the more likely his efforts to pass on his secret knowledge will fail. So who do it?
Brown does the same thing with his villain: From the first chapter, it's very clear the Catholic Church (or significant segments thereof) is the bad guy. Suppressing the truth. Hiring and training murderers. But then, at the very end -- Oops! Turns out it was just a couple of bad eggs within the Church, which in fact is lily white and not culpable.
These are cheats, big time. Talk about your shaggy dog story!
And then there's the heresies. These have gotten a lot of coverage, so I won't harp on them here. Suffice it to say, the book is full of falsehood from cover to cover. (And cleverly concealed falsehood -- The book starts with a statement that all architecture and art described is absolutely factual, lists specifics about what in the story is "real". Makes you feel the whole thing is fact-based. Ha!)
Some Christians have been able to set aside the heresies and enjoy the story. But not me. Maybe because I've bumped head-on into out-and-out heresy in another venue recently.
I was invited to join a "spiritual" online discussion group. I knew the people on the group wouldn't all be Christians, by a long shot, but some were, and I thought it sounded interesting. So I hopped on.
Only to find all sorts of people claiming to be Christians and spouting, well, heresies. I was particularly upset at people using the name "Christ" to mean, well, pretty much anything they wanted it to mean. A very Alice-Through-the-Looking-Glass experience. "Your adversaries misuse your name," David says (Ps. 139). Do they indeed. I found myself being, in a weird way, jealous for the name of Christ.
When I tried, gently and politely, to suggest that perhaps it was inappropriate to redefine the terms and symbols of another religion, I received back (a) pages of gobbledegook that I couldn't even understand on the real meaning of the name of "Christ" and (b) a private cease-and-desist e-mail from the moderator of the group suggesting that I was being divisive and non-inclusive.
Wow. "I have come not to bring peace, but a sword," indeed.
Okay, so I've wandered a bit astray from The Da Vinci Code. But not really. Because at it's heart, it's the same thing: People who insist they can retell the story of God better than His followers, who think it's okay to make up what they want to believe, and who feel entitled to take as many people down that dark path with them.
All I can say is, I'd rather hang with the folks in Hollywood. Naked greed and lust for power are much easier to deal with.
The bottom line: If you spot a paperback copy of The Da Vinci Code and think, oh maybe I should read it and see what the fuss was about...
Don't bother.
Saturday, August 28, 2004
CALLING ALL FANS....
Okay, this is the point where I flog my own work shamelessly and relentlessly....
I doubt there are all that many fans of Modesty Blaise reading this blog, mostly because she's so unknown in the U.S.
Modesty began life as an adventure comic strip heroine in the U.K. in the 60s. Everyone I've talked to who grew up in Europe knows her (and some of the guys start to drool when I even mention her name!). She's the creation of author Peter O'Donnell, who not only kept the comic strip alive for some 40+ years, but also wrote 13 novels about Modesty.
Modesty's story: Modesty was an orphan who ended up working for a crime gang in Tangiers as a teenager, then took over the gang. After several years of building up her gang into a thriving, international concern, with the help of her right-hand man Willie Garvin (whom she rescued from a prison in Thailand), she and Willie retired.
As the books begin, Modesty and Willie are swept into working for British Secret Service -- and henceforth they use their formidable skills working for the right side of the law (mostly).
We were asked by Miramax some years ago to write a couple of Modesty Blaise movies: abig-budget Modesty Blaise adventure, and a small low-budget story introducing the backstory of Modesty (the part of the story which I suspect always intrigued Harvey Weinstein the most).
We had a blast doing both. Despite the extreme violence of the books and the indisputed R-ratedness of the whole thing, we love these characters, who, with every hand dealt against them, still manage to come out winners, and whose loyalty to one another is unquestioned. We had a lot of fun in Modesty's world.
So far the low-budget version is the only one to make it to the screen. Already released in Europe, and "Presented by Quentin Tarantino, My Name is Modesty will be released on DVD in the U.S. on September 28th.
Amazon (and other online retailers) are taking orders now -- it's already no. 13,000-something on Amazon's list... so there's no place to go but up!
So if you do happen to be a Modesty Blaise fan (or even better, if you're a fan of Lee and me) -- rush over to Amazon and order your copy. Let's see if we can get it into the 12,000s at least!
After all, if the prequel does well, maybe they'll come back to the big movie. (If Harvey stays at Miramax... If Miramax continues to exist... oh well, buy the DVD anyway.)
I doubt there are all that many fans of Modesty Blaise reading this blog, mostly because she's so unknown in the U.S.
Modesty began life as an adventure comic strip heroine in the U.K. in the 60s. Everyone I've talked to who grew up in Europe knows her (and some of the guys start to drool when I even mention her name!). She's the creation of author Peter O'Donnell, who not only kept the comic strip alive for some 40+ years, but also wrote 13 novels about Modesty.
Modesty's story: Modesty was an orphan who ended up working for a crime gang in Tangiers as a teenager, then took over the gang. After several years of building up her gang into a thriving, international concern, with the help of her right-hand man Willie Garvin (whom she rescued from a prison in Thailand), she and Willie retired.
As the books begin, Modesty and Willie are swept into working for British Secret Service -- and henceforth they use their formidable skills working for the right side of the law (mostly).
We were asked by Miramax some years ago to write a couple of Modesty Blaise movies: abig-budget Modesty Blaise adventure, and a small low-budget story introducing the backstory of Modesty (the part of the story which I suspect always intrigued Harvey Weinstein the most).
We had a blast doing both. Despite the extreme violence of the books and the indisputed R-ratedness of the whole thing, we love these characters, who, with every hand dealt against them, still manage to come out winners, and whose loyalty to one another is unquestioned. We had a lot of fun in Modesty's world.
So far the low-budget version is the only one to make it to the screen. Already released in Europe, and "Presented by Quentin Tarantino, My Name is Modesty will be released on DVD in the U.S. on September 28th.
Amazon (and other online retailers) are taking orders now -- it's already no. 13,000-something on Amazon's list... so there's no place to go but up!
So if you do happen to be a Modesty Blaise fan (or even better, if you're a fan of Lee and me) -- rush over to Amazon and order your copy. Let's see if we can get it into the 12,000s at least!
After all, if the prequel does well, maybe they'll come back to the big movie. (If Harvey stays at Miramax... If Miramax continues to exist... oh well, buy the DVD anyway.)
Wednesday, August 25, 2004
WHATEVER
I've been musing a bit about worry lately.
Looking objectively at my life, I have quite a few things to worry about. And I come from a long line of worriers.
I was raised to be a worrier. My mom could win gold medals in several classes of worrying. A couple of my favorites:
The nearest freeway to us is the San Diego Freeway (the 405). About 100 miles long, disastrously crowded at rush hour. Probably carries a million people a day. But it doesn't affect us all that much because, since we work at home, we don't commute. And we stay away from the freeway at rush hour.
So one day, my mom (who knows all this) calls me in an absolute panic: "I heard on TV that there was a wreck on the 405 -- Are you all right?!!!"
Another one: Our current house is at least half a mile inland from the ocean. But when we bought it, my mom called (again in a panic): "What if there's a tsunami?!!!"
Talking about borrowing trouble out of thin air! But suffice it to say, I learned my worrying from the best.
So I was fascinated when, while studying the topic of trust at Family Camp, we dealt one day with the issue of worry. Our small group was asked: Give yourself a score from 1 to 10 (where 1 is 'I'm so afraid I'm going to get this question wrong' and 10 is 'whatever.')
Now, there were some people who took issue with the concept of "whatever" as being an expression of trust. It wasn't that these folks found the phrasing disrespectful. It seemed more that they seemed to find it either lazy, or unfocused. We want one option more than another. God wants one option more than another. We are told to pray specifically for what we want. "Whatever" is a cop-out.
Okay, I can see that. But, exploring the thought, I found myself thinking back to a story I heard Barbara Nicolosi tell once, and which I will proceed to butcher here.
As I (most inexactly) recall, she had a friend who broke her foot. And her friend didn't know how to pray about it. Should she pray, "Jesus, please miraculously heal my foot so I can go forth and do Your will"? Or should she pray, "Jesus, thank you for breaking my foot, so I can learn what You want me to learn through this experience"?
And she ended up just praying, "Jesus... Foot!"
That seems to me to be a "Whatever" kind of prayer. "Jesus, here's this situation. Whatever You do or don't do, it's cool."
I can't always get there myself. I see many dire outcomes to the situation we find ourselves in, much of which must resolve itself in the next 4 to 9 months. Am I ready to say "Whatever" about all of the outcomes? No. Unfortunately.
But it seems something to strive for. A redeeming, as it were, of the "slacker" concept of "whatever," the sense that nothing really matters. (Maybe it's this abduction of a perfectly good word that my small group at Family Camp was objecting to.)
The more I think about it, the more Biblical it seems to be.
"The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away. Whatever..... Blessed be the name of the Lord."
"Let this cup pass from me. Nevertheless... Whatever."
Something to think about....
Looking objectively at my life, I have quite a few things to worry about. And I come from a long line of worriers.
I was raised to be a worrier. My mom could win gold medals in several classes of worrying. A couple of my favorites:
The nearest freeway to us is the San Diego Freeway (the 405). About 100 miles long, disastrously crowded at rush hour. Probably carries a million people a day. But it doesn't affect us all that much because, since we work at home, we don't commute. And we stay away from the freeway at rush hour.
So one day, my mom (who knows all this) calls me in an absolute panic: "I heard on TV that there was a wreck on the 405 -- Are you all right?!!!"
Another one: Our current house is at least half a mile inland from the ocean. But when we bought it, my mom called (again in a panic): "What if there's a tsunami?!!!"
Talking about borrowing trouble out of thin air! But suffice it to say, I learned my worrying from the best.
So I was fascinated when, while studying the topic of trust at Family Camp, we dealt one day with the issue of worry. Our small group was asked: Give yourself a score from 1 to 10 (where 1 is 'I'm so afraid I'm going to get this question wrong' and 10 is 'whatever.')
Now, there were some people who took issue with the concept of "whatever" as being an expression of trust. It wasn't that these folks found the phrasing disrespectful. It seemed more that they seemed to find it either lazy, or unfocused. We want one option more than another. God wants one option more than another. We are told to pray specifically for what we want. "Whatever" is a cop-out.
Okay, I can see that. But, exploring the thought, I found myself thinking back to a story I heard Barbara Nicolosi tell once, and which I will proceed to butcher here.
As I (most inexactly) recall, she had a friend who broke her foot. And her friend didn't know how to pray about it. Should she pray, "Jesus, please miraculously heal my foot so I can go forth and do Your will"? Or should she pray, "Jesus, thank you for breaking my foot, so I can learn what You want me to learn through this experience"?
And she ended up just praying, "Jesus... Foot!"
That seems to me to be a "Whatever" kind of prayer. "Jesus, here's this situation. Whatever You do or don't do, it's cool."
I can't always get there myself. I see many dire outcomes to the situation we find ourselves in, much of which must resolve itself in the next 4 to 9 months. Am I ready to say "Whatever" about all of the outcomes? No. Unfortunately.
But it seems something to strive for. A redeeming, as it were, of the "slacker" concept of "whatever," the sense that nothing really matters. (Maybe it's this abduction of a perfectly good word that my small group at Family Camp was objecting to.)
The more I think about it, the more Biblical it seems to be.
"The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away. Whatever..... Blessed be the name of the Lord."
"Let this cup pass from me. Nevertheless... Whatever."
Something to think about....
POINT OF VIEW
I'm a bit of an Olympics junkie. Especially the Winter Olympics, where even the curling matches can keep me glued to the screen. But I spend more than enough time on the Summer Olympics as well.
So I was interested in a little article I read (sorry, I can't remember the reference) about how the medalists feel after winning.
The author commented that gold medal winners often aren't as happy as one might expect, because of the unexpected stress attached to winning (as we've seen this week with poor Paul Hamm).
The really interesting bit was about the silver and bronze medalists. Turns out the bronze medalists tend to the the happiest about their medals, far happier than the gold medalists. And the silver medalists are usually the most miserable.
Why? It all has to do with how they're comparing themselves to others. With their point of view on the whole matter.
The silver medalists tend to compare themselves upwards. "If only I hadn't lost my grip / flubbed the turn / looked to the side, I'd have won the gold! I'm a loser!"
The bronze medalists, however, tend to compare themselves downwards. "Thank God I made it onto the medal podium at all! If I'd been only 4/100's of a second slower / gotten a score 12/1000's lower, I'd have nothing at all!"
To quote Obi-Wan Kenobi (in the greatest instance of back-pedaling known to modern cinema), "Many truths depend on your point of view."
Or to quote someone with perhaps a tad more wisdom on the subject: "...But when they measure themselves by one another, and compare themselves with one another, they are without understanding." (II Cor. 10:12)
It's an honor just to be nominated, indeed....
So I was interested in a little article I read (sorry, I can't remember the reference) about how the medalists feel after winning.
The author commented that gold medal winners often aren't as happy as one might expect, because of the unexpected stress attached to winning (as we've seen this week with poor Paul Hamm).
The really interesting bit was about the silver and bronze medalists. Turns out the bronze medalists tend to the the happiest about their medals, far happier than the gold medalists. And the silver medalists are usually the most miserable.
Why? It all has to do with how they're comparing themselves to others. With their point of view on the whole matter.
The silver medalists tend to compare themselves upwards. "If only I hadn't lost my grip / flubbed the turn / looked to the side, I'd have won the gold! I'm a loser!"
The bronze medalists, however, tend to compare themselves downwards. "Thank God I made it onto the medal podium at all! If I'd been only 4/100's of a second slower / gotten a score 12/1000's lower, I'd have nothing at all!"
To quote Obi-Wan Kenobi (in the greatest instance of back-pedaling known to modern cinema), "Many truths depend on your point of view."
Or to quote someone with perhaps a tad more wisdom on the subject: "...But when they measure themselves by one another, and compare themselves with one another, they are without understanding." (II Cor. 10:12)
It's an honor just to be nominated, indeed....
Tuesday, August 24, 2004
BOOK THOUGHTS: DOWN AND DIRTY PICTURES
I guess it was inevitable that I would get around to reading Down and Dirty Pictures: Miramax, Sundance, and the Rise of Independent Film by Peter Biskind. A good two years or so of our professional life was wrapped around working for Miramax, and I knew I'd have to read the expose someday.
But, boy, am I glad I didn't read it while working for them! Because this book is downright mean. The author clearly has an ax to grind, and he hones it to a hair-splitting sharpness.
The main premise of this books is that Harvey Weinstein (the head of Miramax) is a sick, twisted, cruel, out of control despot who has ruined independent film in his efforts to be king of the world. The subplot, as it were, is that Robert Redford (the instigator and titular head of the Sundance Film Festival and its spinoffs) is a passive-aggressive control freak who has also contributed to the wreckage of independent film.
But what exactly does Biskind mean by "independent film"? One would think he means any and all films financed and produced outside the studio system. Perhaps one might want to put a budget cap on the definition.
But no. By "independent film," Biskind pretty much means films that are dark, "edgy," that flout society's norms. Queer cinema, NC-17 cinema, slacker/druggie cinema? Yes. Merchant/Ivory films (The Remains of the Day and the like)? Or what Biskind condescendingly refers to as Sundance's "granola" period? No. David Lynch directing Blue Velvet? Yes. David Lynch directing The Straight Story? No.
Biskind's narrow (one might be tempted to say, "self-serving") categorization of what makes an independent film hurts his book immeasurably. Instead of being the comprehensive history to non-studio films of (mostly) the '90s, it becomes an ad hominem hatchet job. (And not a fast read, I must say.)
But let's get to the bottom line. As I said, we've worked for Miramax on a couple of projects. We know Harvey Weinstein, have met with him. (And we actually liked him, appreciated his love of movies which shines through all the vulgarity. Though of course, as Biskind would say, perhaps we were just susceptible to the charm he can turn on when he needs it.)
We even have a small project we did for Miramax coming out on DVD next month: My Name is Modesty, the backstory to the (well-known in Europe) comic strip character Modesty Blaise. (Rush over to amazon.com and pre-order your copy now!)
And guess what? We have gross points in the project! Something writers never get.
So as I'm reading Down and Dirty Pictures, a few things jump out at me.
The English Patient, which Miramax bought for $28 million, made $229 million worldwide. But producer Saul Zaentz and director Anthony Minghella have never seen a penny in profits.
Sling Blade cost $890,000 to produce. It made $24 million in the U.S., and Harvey boasted that they made $20 million on the movie. Billy Bob Thornton never saw a penny in back end.
Shakespeare in Love cost $24 million to produce. It made $300 million worldwide (and that doesn't include the video/DVD profits!). The profit participants have never seen a penny.
Hmmm. Suddenly Biskind's portrayal of Harvey as an evil genius takes on a bit of credibility. Let's just say I won't be watching the mailbox for the money owed to us.
Nevertheless, Down and Dirty Pictures, for whatever truth it contains, is a non-objective hatchet job. Had Biskind set his agenda aside, and not courted controversy so assiduously (something he accuses Harvey of doing repeatedly), he would have written a better book.
Must-reading for anyone involved in or interested in independent film. Otherwise, well, get your vitriol somewhere else.
But, boy, am I glad I didn't read it while working for them! Because this book is downright mean. The author clearly has an ax to grind, and he hones it to a hair-splitting sharpness.
The main premise of this books is that Harvey Weinstein (the head of Miramax) is a sick, twisted, cruel, out of control despot who has ruined independent film in his efforts to be king of the world. The subplot, as it were, is that Robert Redford (the instigator and titular head of the Sundance Film Festival and its spinoffs) is a passive-aggressive control freak who has also contributed to the wreckage of independent film.
But what exactly does Biskind mean by "independent film"? One would think he means any and all films financed and produced outside the studio system. Perhaps one might want to put a budget cap on the definition.
But no. By "independent film," Biskind pretty much means films that are dark, "edgy," that flout society's norms. Queer cinema, NC-17 cinema, slacker/druggie cinema? Yes. Merchant/Ivory films (The Remains of the Day and the like)? Or what Biskind condescendingly refers to as Sundance's "granola" period? No. David Lynch directing Blue Velvet? Yes. David Lynch directing The Straight Story? No.
Biskind's narrow (one might be tempted to say, "self-serving") categorization of what makes an independent film hurts his book immeasurably. Instead of being the comprehensive history to non-studio films of (mostly) the '90s, it becomes an ad hominem hatchet job. (And not a fast read, I must say.)
But let's get to the bottom line. As I said, we've worked for Miramax on a couple of projects. We know Harvey Weinstein, have met with him. (And we actually liked him, appreciated his love of movies which shines through all the vulgarity. Though of course, as Biskind would say, perhaps we were just susceptible to the charm he can turn on when he needs it.)
We even have a small project we did for Miramax coming out on DVD next month: My Name is Modesty, the backstory to the (well-known in Europe) comic strip character Modesty Blaise. (Rush over to amazon.com and pre-order your copy now!)
And guess what? We have gross points in the project! Something writers never get.
So as I'm reading Down and Dirty Pictures, a few things jump out at me.
The English Patient, which Miramax bought for $28 million, made $229 million worldwide. But producer Saul Zaentz and director Anthony Minghella have never seen a penny in profits.
Sling Blade cost $890,000 to produce. It made $24 million in the U.S., and Harvey boasted that they made $20 million on the movie. Billy Bob Thornton never saw a penny in back end.
Shakespeare in Love cost $24 million to produce. It made $300 million worldwide (and that doesn't include the video/DVD profits!). The profit participants have never seen a penny.
Hmmm. Suddenly Biskind's portrayal of Harvey as an evil genius takes on a bit of credibility. Let's just say I won't be watching the mailbox for the money owed to us.
Nevertheless, Down and Dirty Pictures, for whatever truth it contains, is a non-objective hatchet job. Had Biskind set his agenda aside, and not courted controversy so assiduously (something he accuses Harvey of doing repeatedly), he would have written a better book.
Must-reading for anyone involved in or interested in independent film. Otherwise, well, get your vitriol somewhere else.
Monday, August 23, 2004
TIME TO GET THE PARTY STARTED!
For those of you lucky enough to live in the greater Los Angeles area, I want to invite you to the most fun evening you've had in a long time.
Our good friend Barrence Baytos (the "Mr. B." of Mr. B and the Big Bamboo) is throwing a fabulous concert/show/dance/party at the L.A. Natural History Museum on SEPTEMBER 10th.
Let me tell you, Barrence knows how to put on a show! We have been to a couple other events he's put together, and they have been fabulous. World music, as seen through a jazz/swing mirror. Incredible dancing -- anything from world-class tap to belly dancing, from the Laker Girls to the samba. With some of the top musicians and dancers in town. (Barrence knows everyone, and he calls in all his chips when he puts these evenings on.)
Only $15 at the door. If you come early-ish, you get free samba and tango lessons (good ones, we showed up in time for the samba lessons last time). And you also get free admissions to the Natural History Museum's "Light/Motion/Dreams" exhibit.
Come party in the North American mammals hall of the museum itself -- a very cool venue. Anyone out there who really might come -- e-mail me, so we can make sure we meet up.
Here's the official write-up, which you can find on the Natural Museum's website.
Rhythms of L.A. is an evening of live performances reflecting the astonishing variety of music and dance in Los Angeles. Move to the beats of samba, salsa, Moroccan, funk, jazz, hip-hop, New Orleans R&B, techno and tango. Kick off the night with free salsa and tango dance lessons and enjoy a very special tribute to L.A. jazz legend Buddy Collette. Cash bar provided by Wolfgang Puck Catering and Events.
Featuring performances by:
Mr. B and the Men of Big Bamboo
Guitar virtuoso Omar Torrez
Frit and Frat Fuller of Kin Dance Company
Brazilian songstress Flávia de Mellow
Maestro Boneco's Capoeira Brasil
Melida & Company of the Jubilant Voices Gospel Choir
The sultry tango of Moti Buchboot and Mariana Galassi
Tap-master Chance Taylor
Eleni Calevas & Da Bling Bling Thangs
Belly-Dancer Anahata
Naked Rhythm DJs Alex Spurkel and Avi Sills
Brazilian DJ Geisan Varne
And surprise guests!
Located at 900 Exposition Blvd., Los Angeles, CA 90007. Click for a map.
General admission $15, Museum members $12, Students (w/ ID) $10.
Tickets at www.ticketweb.com or by phone at (866) 468-3399.
For more information call (213) 763-DINO.
Our good friend Barrence Baytos (the "Mr. B." of Mr. B and the Big Bamboo) is throwing a fabulous concert/show/dance/party at the L.A. Natural History Museum on SEPTEMBER 10th.
Let me tell you, Barrence knows how to put on a show! We have been to a couple other events he's put together, and they have been fabulous. World music, as seen through a jazz/swing mirror. Incredible dancing -- anything from world-class tap to belly dancing, from the Laker Girls to the samba. With some of the top musicians and dancers in town. (Barrence knows everyone, and he calls in all his chips when he puts these evenings on.)
Only $15 at the door. If you come early-ish, you get free samba and tango lessons (good ones, we showed up in time for the samba lessons last time). And you also get free admissions to the Natural History Museum's "Light/Motion/Dreams" exhibit.
Come party in the North American mammals hall of the museum itself -- a very cool venue. Anyone out there who really might come -- e-mail me, so we can make sure we meet up.
Here's the official write-up, which you can find on the Natural Museum's website.
Rhythms of L.A. is an evening of live performances reflecting the astonishing variety of music and dance in Los Angeles. Move to the beats of samba, salsa, Moroccan, funk, jazz, hip-hop, New Orleans R&B, techno and tango. Kick off the night with free salsa and tango dance lessons and enjoy a very special tribute to L.A. jazz legend Buddy Collette. Cash bar provided by Wolfgang Puck Catering and Events.
Featuring performances by:
Mr. B and the Men of Big Bamboo
Guitar virtuoso Omar Torrez
Frit and Frat Fuller of Kin Dance Company
Brazilian songstress Flávia de Mellow
Maestro Boneco's Capoeira Brasil
Melida & Company of the Jubilant Voices Gospel Choir
The sultry tango of Moti Buchboot and Mariana Galassi
Tap-master Chance Taylor
Eleni Calevas & Da Bling Bling Thangs
Belly-Dancer Anahata
Naked Rhythm DJs Alex Spurkel and Avi Sills
Brazilian DJ Geisan Varne
And surprise guests!
Located at 900 Exposition Blvd., Los Angeles, CA 90007. Click for a map.
General admission $15, Museum members $12, Students (w/ ID) $10.
Tickets at www.ticketweb.com or by phone at (866) 468-3399.
For more information call (213) 763-DINO.
Sunday, August 22, 2004
HARRY POTTER FOR SEEKERS
Just wanted to let anyone interested know about a new message board: Harry Potter for Seekers.
The group's only a couple of weeks old, so still finding its feet. But it's sort of refreshing to find a place where Christians and self-declared Wiccans (!) can find common ground. (The Wiccan whose post I read, by the way, laughed at the thought that the Harry Potter books could promote witchcraft.)
Not for everyone, of course. But if you're interested, click on over.
The group's only a couple of weeks old, so still finding its feet. But it's sort of refreshing to find a place where Christians and self-declared Wiccans (!) can find common ground. (The Wiccan whose post I read, by the way, laughed at the thought that the Harry Potter books could promote witchcraft.)
Not for everyone, of course. But if you're interested, click on over.
Thursday, August 19, 2004
GOOD-BYE, MR. BILL
It's amazing how much influence someone you hardly know can have on your life. How much you can grieve to lose them.
Last night, we said good night to "Mr. Bill," as the kids at our church know him. Bill is moving to Bainbridge Island off the coast of Washington -- and the loss of one person is reverberating through our church and through our lives.
Bill has devoted something like 25 or 30 years of his life to the kids at our church, especially to the boys.
He was administrator to our church preschool for years, but the kids there knew him as the music guy, who came in to their rooms with his guitar, sat on the floor, and taught them songs about Jesus. Cory and Sabrina both went to preschool there, learned the songs, learned to love the man who was always smiling as he sang.
Some 20+ years ago, he began a Wednesday-night program ("Fantastic Followers" -- okay, so the name reflects the age of the group!) for 3rd through 6th graders. Three times a year, 6 weeks at a time. Yeah, there's sports and crafts and snacks -- but the kids who are there go to hang on every word Bill says about Jesus, and to diligently memorize their verses. When Cory went for the first time, he complained the whole way -- he didn't want to go, he was tired from school, he wanted to stay home and watch TV. And on the way home, we also couldn't shut up: Fantastic Followers was so cool, could he please go back to every single one and not miss any of them, and could he invite his best friend from school?
Bill teaches (taught -- I have to learn to say) the 4th and 5th graders at Vacation Bible School. It's an amazing thing to walk into a room of 25+ kids and see them in total silence, listening as a man teaches them about Jesus.
Every year for, oh who knows how long, Bill has given up a week of his vacation time to go to Forest Home (the local big Christian camp) and sleep in a stinky teepee alongside half a dozen boys who get to see how a man of God lives every minute of his day. And every year, Cory comes home more in love with Jesus (and knowing more and more Scripture by heart).
Every year Bill comes to Family Camp (have you heard enough about Family Camp yet?), where again, he teaches the upper-elementary school kids. More fun. More Scripture memory (some years ago, Bill memorized the gospel of John -- the whole thing. Something for the boys to live up to!). More young boys following in the footsteps of a man of God. And music -- hundreds of songs that Bill has written with his buddies (well-crafted, melodic, lovely songs), easily a dozen CDs that he's pressed on his own dime and given away for free.
A couple of years ago, Bill shared his testimony before the crowd at Family Camp. And I immediately got nervous. Because, you see, I'd heard his story before. Prior to becoming a Christian, Bill was a dropout and a thief. He spent lots of time in jail. Not the kind of guy you'd want hanging around your kids.
When he got to that part of the story, I saw the 3rd/4th/5th grade boys, all sitting in a row, freeze in place. My initial reaction: "Does he know what he's doing? Should he be telling this story to these kids?"
And then I relaxed. This is Bill, I realized. He knows these kids intimately. He loves them deeply. He would never do anything to harm them in any way whatsoever. If he thinks it's okay for these kids to hear his story, then it is okay. No questions asked.
I have never even sat down for a cup of coffee with Bill. Only remember one or two conversations with him that lasted more than a few sentences. Didn't even know the names of all his daughters (he has 4) until last night. But I have never seen him without a warm, lovely smile on his face. Never seen him get mad with anyone. Never seen him take credit for anything, even when he deserved it -- instead passing all the glory up to Jesus.
I barely know Bill. But he has irrevocably changed my life. Because he has irrevocably changed the life of my son. Cory would not be a boy who follows God in the way he does were it not for this one man.
When I told Cory that Bill was moving, there was a long silence from the back of the car. Then a little choked voice said, "I will miss Mr. Bill badly."
Yes. We all will.
We never step in the same river twice. People move on. A fact of life. The river moves on, taking people we love ahead with it while we stay put by the shoreline. And only the fact that we have eternity ahead makes it bearable.
I'd like to say thank you to Bill -- and I have, but you know, he doesn't want the thanks or the credit. He just wants to give the glory to God. So thank you, Lord, for allowing my family the blessing of knowing this man, even for a very few years.
And I hope that all of you have had -- or will have -- the blessing of knowing someone so close to the heart of God.
Last night, we said good night to "Mr. Bill," as the kids at our church know him. Bill is moving to Bainbridge Island off the coast of Washington -- and the loss of one person is reverberating through our church and through our lives.
Bill has devoted something like 25 or 30 years of his life to the kids at our church, especially to the boys.
He was administrator to our church preschool for years, but the kids there knew him as the music guy, who came in to their rooms with his guitar, sat on the floor, and taught them songs about Jesus. Cory and Sabrina both went to preschool there, learned the songs, learned to love the man who was always smiling as he sang.
Some 20+ years ago, he began a Wednesday-night program ("Fantastic Followers" -- okay, so the name reflects the age of the group!) for 3rd through 6th graders. Three times a year, 6 weeks at a time. Yeah, there's sports and crafts and snacks -- but the kids who are there go to hang on every word Bill says about Jesus, and to diligently memorize their verses. When Cory went for the first time, he complained the whole way -- he didn't want to go, he was tired from school, he wanted to stay home and watch TV. And on the way home, we also couldn't shut up: Fantastic Followers was so cool, could he please go back to every single one and not miss any of them, and could he invite his best friend from school?
Bill teaches (taught -- I have to learn to say) the 4th and 5th graders at Vacation Bible School. It's an amazing thing to walk into a room of 25+ kids and see them in total silence, listening as a man teaches them about Jesus.
Every year for, oh who knows how long, Bill has given up a week of his vacation time to go to Forest Home (the local big Christian camp) and sleep in a stinky teepee alongside half a dozen boys who get to see how a man of God lives every minute of his day. And every year, Cory comes home more in love with Jesus (and knowing more and more Scripture by heart).
Every year Bill comes to Family Camp (have you heard enough about Family Camp yet?), where again, he teaches the upper-elementary school kids. More fun. More Scripture memory (some years ago, Bill memorized the gospel of John -- the whole thing. Something for the boys to live up to!). More young boys following in the footsteps of a man of God. And music -- hundreds of songs that Bill has written with his buddies (well-crafted, melodic, lovely songs), easily a dozen CDs that he's pressed on his own dime and given away for free.
A couple of years ago, Bill shared his testimony before the crowd at Family Camp. And I immediately got nervous. Because, you see, I'd heard his story before. Prior to becoming a Christian, Bill was a dropout and a thief. He spent lots of time in jail. Not the kind of guy you'd want hanging around your kids.
When he got to that part of the story, I saw the 3rd/4th/5th grade boys, all sitting in a row, freeze in place. My initial reaction: "Does he know what he's doing? Should he be telling this story to these kids?"
And then I relaxed. This is Bill, I realized. He knows these kids intimately. He loves them deeply. He would never do anything to harm them in any way whatsoever. If he thinks it's okay for these kids to hear his story, then it is okay. No questions asked.
I have never even sat down for a cup of coffee with Bill. Only remember one or two conversations with him that lasted more than a few sentences. Didn't even know the names of all his daughters (he has 4) until last night. But I have never seen him without a warm, lovely smile on his face. Never seen him get mad with anyone. Never seen him take credit for anything, even when he deserved it -- instead passing all the glory up to Jesus.
I barely know Bill. But he has irrevocably changed my life. Because he has irrevocably changed the life of my son. Cory would not be a boy who follows God in the way he does were it not for this one man.
When I told Cory that Bill was moving, there was a long silence from the back of the car. Then a little choked voice said, "I will miss Mr. Bill badly."
Yes. We all will.
We never step in the same river twice. People move on. A fact of life. The river moves on, taking people we love ahead with it while we stay put by the shoreline. And only the fact that we have eternity ahead makes it bearable.
I'd like to say thank you to Bill -- and I have, but you know, he doesn't want the thanks or the credit. He just wants to give the glory to God. So thank you, Lord, for allowing my family the blessing of knowing this man, even for a very few years.
And I hope that all of you have had -- or will have -- the blessing of knowing someone so close to the heart of God.
Wednesday, August 18, 2004
THE REVOLUTIONARY COMMUNICATOR
Act One alum and friend Erik Lokkesmoe has a new book out which you should all race to amazon to buy.
The Revolutionary Communicator is a study of how Jesus communicated, and what we can learn about that.
The book stresses seven principles for "radical" communication:
Attentiveness.
Meeting people on their own turf.
Asking questions.
Transparency.
Story-telling.
Taking time away from the crowd.
Defining true communication success.
It's beautifully written, clear and very readable. I was lucky enough to read an advance copy and -- unlike other advance copies I'm sometimes asked to read -- actually kept the galleys for future reference. (But don't worry, Erik, I'll go buy a real copy, too!)
A tight, clean read, and a great reference and encouragement for any of us who might have to communicate to others in our lives or work (who am I leaving out here?).
Go buy the book! (Have I made myself clear?)
The Revolutionary Communicator is a study of how Jesus communicated, and what we can learn about that.
The book stresses seven principles for "radical" communication:
Attentiveness.
Meeting people on their own turf.
Asking questions.
Transparency.
Story-telling.
Taking time away from the crowd.
Defining true communication success.
It's beautifully written, clear and very readable. I was lucky enough to read an advance copy and -- unlike other advance copies I'm sometimes asked to read -- actually kept the galleys for future reference. (But don't worry, Erik, I'll go buy a real copy, too!)
A tight, clean read, and a great reference and encouragement for any of us who might have to communicate to others in our lives or work (who am I leaving out here?).
Go buy the book! (Have I made myself clear?)
Monday, August 16, 2004
PSALM 151
Last week at Family Camp, we were studying the Psalms, focusing on a different type of psalm every day. One day we focused on the lament: the complaint to God, the cry for deliverance.
While the adults were wallowing in pain along with Psalm 88, the kids were learning the structure of the lament (the address to God, the complaint, the expression of trust, the plea for deliverance, and the expression of assurance and praise). And they wrote their own lament, which I found incredibly moving, especially coming from 9- to 11-year-olds.
So here is Psalm 151, A Lament by the 4th and 5th Grade of Bel Air Family Camp.
PSALM 151
O Lord of the galaxies, my Savior,
Why do you allow sickness and death?
Why can't the world be at peace?
So many innocent and young suffer.
We know by the power of Your word
That You are in total control.
Deliver us, O YAHWEH, from the hands of evil;
By Your mighty power, keep us safe and pure.
Your ear hears every mumble and whisper I speak;
You understand all languages, and answer all requests in Your own time.
We praise You -- You made us all in Your own image,
And You have shown us the path of life.
You are truly an awesome God.
While the adults were wallowing in pain along with Psalm 88, the kids were learning the structure of the lament (the address to God, the complaint, the expression of trust, the plea for deliverance, and the expression of assurance and praise). And they wrote their own lament, which I found incredibly moving, especially coming from 9- to 11-year-olds.
So here is Psalm 151, A Lament by the 4th and 5th Grade of Bel Air Family Camp.
PSALM 151
O Lord of the galaxies, my Savior,
Why do you allow sickness and death?
Why can't the world be at peace?
So many innocent and young suffer.
We know by the power of Your word
That You are in total control.
Deliver us, O YAHWEH, from the hands of evil;
By Your mighty power, keep us safe and pure.
Your ear hears every mumble and whisper I speak;
You understand all languages, and answer all requests in Your own time.
We praise You -- You made us all in Your own image,
And You have shown us the path of life.
You are truly an awesome God.
Sunday, August 15, 2004
A LITTLE BIT OF HEAVEN
So I'm back from Family Camp. And what a wonderful week it was.
It was as if we drove over the little bridge at the entrance to Family Camp, and there was a banner (moved north from Disneyland) that said "The Happiest Place on Earth" hanging over the drive.
A magical week.
A week where the boys got along with the girls:
.......In previous years, the boys have formed "The Club," which met at "The Volcano Fort" (a giant sequoia stump, 12' high, hollowed out, about 10' in diameter), from which all sorts of threats (sometimes taking the form of water balloons and the like) were hurled at girls with the nerve to think they could enter the Fort. But not this year. This year, by Monday, the boys had signed a "peace treaty" with the girls, who were henceforth welcome in the Volcano Fort. And even welcome at the creek, where the boys (previously only the boys!) go to pick raspberries and look for banana slugs and ride the rope swing that takes them across the flowing water.
A week where the older kids got along with the younger kids, even looked out for them:
.......Early on, 3rd-grader Vili came running up to Cory and his best friend Max in a panic: The junior high boys were in the Volcano Fort. Off raced the grade school boys... only to be invited in to join the junior high boys inside the Fort.... On Friday night, the folks running camp rented a Tivo and a couple of huge screens and video projectors, and we all laid out our picnic blankets and sports chairs on the big grassy quad in the middle of camp to watch the opening ceremonies of the Olympics -- and on our blanket, there were half a dozen boys, ranging from 4-year-old William to 13-year-old Jeffrey, squished into a space for two, all crammed under one zipped-open sleeping bag, joyfully watching the Olympics together. (And a great teaching moment: Okay, boys, who can say the Greek alphabet for me?!)
A week where the grown-ups got along with each other. All the grown-ups:
.......In previous years, Family Camp has consisted of a definite "in" group and everyone else (we, of course, belong to the "everyone else" category). The "in" group snuck off to golf at some expensive resort. They hung out together constantly and exclusively. They ate together, hung together, constantly and exclusively. Well, this year, those folks were informed (by the Family Camp Committee) that such behavior was inappropriate, and that the "private" golf excursion was verboten. As a result, the "in" group either didn't come to camp, or actually mixed and mingled with the peasants. Which meant a camp where everyone ate with anyone and everyone, hung with anyone and everyone, joked with anyone and everyone, laughed, cried, prayed... A beautiful week.
Other wonderful moments. They may not resonate with you, but oh, they are so vivid still to me.
--Sabrina hiking the long steep uphill to the pool with another dad and his family, and starting to whine about the climb. "Come on, Sabrina," encourages Dad James. "You can do it! We're on a hike!" To which Sabrina replies, "You know, I'm not really a Hiking Girl. I'm more of a Shopping Girl." (Sigh.)
--Cory reeling off his Scripture memory letter-perfect, and getting a field trip into town for ice cream as a reward. (The same memory verses the adults were given -- and virtually none of them managed to learn them!)
--Sabrina and the other little girls -- the "Pint-Sized Divas" -- taking over the campfire singing in a little chorus line, doing all the hand motions (and shaking those little hips) to every song. And Sabrina singing loud and clear above all the others on the songs where no one else knew the words (and we were wondering ourselves how she learned them).
--Speaking of the campfires.... We are so totally blessed by three guys -- Bill, Mike and Herschel -- who, every year, write a camp song and write individual songs for each of the kids' 5 memory verses, to help them learn them. The songwriting craft is generally excellent, and it's such a joy to watch the kids singing. And these guys write other songs together too -- including a beautiful one about Narnia that haunts me still. It's so special to have "our" songs, that no other church has.
--And oh yeah, the talent show. Sabrina did fine. But Cory and his buddy Max brought the house down. Literally. A 30-second pause for applause mid-song, and a request to repeat their song at another church function later this week. (Their first hit!) They rehearsed hard and long, they hit their marks, they remembered their lyrics, and they totally sold it. We were so proud of them! (For anyone who cares, revised lyrics at the end of this post.)
A magical week. A week of laughter. Prayers. A small group where I liked every one of the members. More laughter -- even announcements so funny we were all on the floor. A week of swimming and singing and climbing and jumping and swinging and maybe just a little crying and praying and learning and lots and lots of laughing.
When we got home, Sabrina told me she was a little sad that she didn't live in the same "house" as her friends Carly and Emme and Rachel anymore (we were in a lodge that held 30 different families). And we talked about how in heaven, we would all have our own "mansions" and we would come and visit each other, and that would be just as good as all of us living together. And Sabrina decided that, because it was heaven, if you went to your neighbor's to borrow, say, a cup of hot chocolate (because it is, after all, heaven), when they opened the door to your knock, they'd have the hot chocolate all ready and waiting for you.
I feel like we were already there. Just for a week.
One guy at camp commented that he had come to realize that 1/50th of his life was going to be devoted to Family Camp, and that's just the way it was. And that made me think of the Old Testament Year of Jubilee (Leviticus 25), where all families returned to be together and debts were forgiven. Family Camp is, if you will, our Week of Jubilee.
When I got home, it was a weird feeling. You'd think I'd feel like I was returning to the "real world." The world of computers and cell phones that actually get a signal and e-mail and air conditioning. The world where the day and date matter. The world of bills to be paid and lists to be checked off. The world where my closet holds more than 6 changes of clothes, where make-up is more important than sunscreen, where dinner comes from a fridge instead of a buffet table.
But it didn't feel that way. Instead, it feels as if I've come home to the shadow world... and left the real world behind.
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...
...
P.S. Okay, from the sublime to the riduculous: For anyone who cares: Here are the final lyrics to Hello Maxy, Hello Cory (again, with apologies to Allen Sherman). Sing it to the tune of Hello Muddah, Hello Faddah. We'll be pressing the DVD soon. (You think I'm kidding, don't you?)
(Cory:) Hello, Maxy. / (Max:) Hello, Cory
(Cory:) I'm at Old Tab / (Max:) What's the story?
(Cory:) Filled the chapel / With Doritos
Now I'm off to jam the ice machine with Cheetoes.
(Max:) Hope we don't see / Pastor Brewer --
I dropped his sermons / Down the sewer
(Cory:) Pastor George was / Looking sleepy
So I wrapped him up in 15 rolls of t.p.
(Max:) Made a milkshake / For Jack Briscoe
'Stead of ice cream / I used Crisco
But he loved it / Saw him scarfing
By tomorrow morning we should hear some barfing.
(Cory:) For Bill Parrott / I took pliers
Let the air out / Of all four tires
(Max:) Pretty risky / Tried to warn ya
(Both: But we gotta make him stay in California
[Pause here for half a minute of applause as everyone shows their love for Bill, about to move out of state]
(Max:) Here's the headline / And the movie
Two Bel Air kids / Land in juvie
(Cory): Let's admit it / We're in trouble
Better pack our bags and leave here on the double.
(Both:) Run away / They'll never miss us
Run away / They're gonna diss us
Don't leave me / Out in the courtyard / Where / I might / Get chased by Pastor Care
Run away / We have no choice but
Run away / You know that it would
Not be cool / If anybody / Figured out / Who drained the swimming pool....
(Max:) Hey there, Cory / (Cory:) What's up, Maxy?
(Max:) What'll we do now? / (Cory:) Call a taxi
Got ten dollars / I've been saving
It's either that or we confess to misbehaving
(Max:) Wait a minute / (Cory:) Am I dreaming?
(Max:) No one's angry / (Cory:) No one's screaming
(Max:) Camp is awesome! / (Cory:) Camp's a winner! (beat)
(Both:) Hey, let's meet and play some more tricks after dinner!
It was as if we drove over the little bridge at the entrance to Family Camp, and there was a banner (moved north from Disneyland) that said "The Happiest Place on Earth" hanging over the drive.
A magical week.
A week where the boys got along with the girls:
.......In previous years, the boys have formed "The Club," which met at "The Volcano Fort" (a giant sequoia stump, 12' high, hollowed out, about 10' in diameter), from which all sorts of threats (sometimes taking the form of water balloons and the like) were hurled at girls with the nerve to think they could enter the Fort. But not this year. This year, by Monday, the boys had signed a "peace treaty" with the girls, who were henceforth welcome in the Volcano Fort. And even welcome at the creek, where the boys (previously only the boys!) go to pick raspberries and look for banana slugs and ride the rope swing that takes them across the flowing water.
A week where the older kids got along with the younger kids, even looked out for them:
.......Early on, 3rd-grader Vili came running up to Cory and his best friend Max in a panic: The junior high boys were in the Volcano Fort. Off raced the grade school boys... only to be invited in to join the junior high boys inside the Fort.... On Friday night, the folks running camp rented a Tivo and a couple of huge screens and video projectors, and we all laid out our picnic blankets and sports chairs on the big grassy quad in the middle of camp to watch the opening ceremonies of the Olympics -- and on our blanket, there were half a dozen boys, ranging from 4-year-old William to 13-year-old Jeffrey, squished into a space for two, all crammed under one zipped-open sleeping bag, joyfully watching the Olympics together. (And a great teaching moment: Okay, boys, who can say the Greek alphabet for me?!)
A week where the grown-ups got along with each other. All the grown-ups:
.......In previous years, Family Camp has consisted of a definite "in" group and everyone else (we, of course, belong to the "everyone else" category). The "in" group snuck off to golf at some expensive resort. They hung out together constantly and exclusively. They ate together, hung together, constantly and exclusively. Well, this year, those folks were informed (by the Family Camp Committee) that such behavior was inappropriate, and that the "private" golf excursion was verboten. As a result, the "in" group either didn't come to camp, or actually mixed and mingled with the peasants. Which meant a camp where everyone ate with anyone and everyone, hung with anyone and everyone, joked with anyone and everyone, laughed, cried, prayed... A beautiful week.
Other wonderful moments. They may not resonate with you, but oh, they are so vivid still to me.
--Sabrina hiking the long steep uphill to the pool with another dad and his family, and starting to whine about the climb. "Come on, Sabrina," encourages Dad James. "You can do it! We're on a hike!" To which Sabrina replies, "You know, I'm not really a Hiking Girl. I'm more of a Shopping Girl." (Sigh.)
--Cory reeling off his Scripture memory letter-perfect, and getting a field trip into town for ice cream as a reward. (The same memory verses the adults were given -- and virtually none of them managed to learn them!)
--Sabrina and the other little girls -- the "Pint-Sized Divas" -- taking over the campfire singing in a little chorus line, doing all the hand motions (and shaking those little hips) to every song. And Sabrina singing loud and clear above all the others on the songs where no one else knew the words (and we were wondering ourselves how she learned them).
--Speaking of the campfires.... We are so totally blessed by three guys -- Bill, Mike and Herschel -- who, every year, write a camp song and write individual songs for each of the kids' 5 memory verses, to help them learn them. The songwriting craft is generally excellent, and it's such a joy to watch the kids singing. And these guys write other songs together too -- including a beautiful one about Narnia that haunts me still. It's so special to have "our" songs, that no other church has.
--And oh yeah, the talent show. Sabrina did fine. But Cory and his buddy Max brought the house down. Literally. A 30-second pause for applause mid-song, and a request to repeat their song at another church function later this week. (Their first hit!) They rehearsed hard and long, they hit their marks, they remembered their lyrics, and they totally sold it. We were so proud of them! (For anyone who cares, revised lyrics at the end of this post.)
A magical week. A week of laughter. Prayers. A small group where I liked every one of the members. More laughter -- even announcements so funny we were all on the floor. A week of swimming and singing and climbing and jumping and swinging and maybe just a little crying and praying and learning and lots and lots of laughing.
When we got home, Sabrina told me she was a little sad that she didn't live in the same "house" as her friends Carly and Emme and Rachel anymore (we were in a lodge that held 30 different families). And we talked about how in heaven, we would all have our own "mansions" and we would come and visit each other, and that would be just as good as all of us living together. And Sabrina decided that, because it was heaven, if you went to your neighbor's to borrow, say, a cup of hot chocolate (because it is, after all, heaven), when they opened the door to your knock, they'd have the hot chocolate all ready and waiting for you.
I feel like we were already there. Just for a week.
One guy at camp commented that he had come to realize that 1/50th of his life was going to be devoted to Family Camp, and that's just the way it was. And that made me think of the Old Testament Year of Jubilee (Leviticus 25), where all families returned to be together and debts were forgiven. Family Camp is, if you will, our Week of Jubilee.
When I got home, it was a weird feeling. You'd think I'd feel like I was returning to the "real world." The world of computers and cell phones that actually get a signal and e-mail and air conditioning. The world where the day and date matter. The world of bills to be paid and lists to be checked off. The world where my closet holds more than 6 changes of clothes, where make-up is more important than sunscreen, where dinner comes from a fridge instead of a buffet table.
But it didn't feel that way. Instead, it feels as if I've come home to the shadow world... and left the real world behind.
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
P.S. Okay, from the sublime to the riduculous: For anyone who cares: Here are the final lyrics to Hello Maxy, Hello Cory (again, with apologies to Allen Sherman). Sing it to the tune of Hello Muddah, Hello Faddah. We'll be pressing the DVD soon. (You think I'm kidding, don't you?)
(Cory:) Hello, Maxy. / (Max:) Hello, Cory
(Cory:) I'm at Old Tab / (Max:) What's the story?
(Cory:) Filled the chapel / With Doritos
Now I'm off to jam the ice machine with Cheetoes.
(Max:) Hope we don't see / Pastor Brewer --
I dropped his sermons / Down the sewer
(Cory:) Pastor George was / Looking sleepy
So I wrapped him up in 15 rolls of t.p.
(Max:) Made a milkshake / For Jack Briscoe
'Stead of ice cream / I used Crisco
But he loved it / Saw him scarfing
By tomorrow morning we should hear some barfing.
(Cory:) For Bill Parrott / I took pliers
Let the air out / Of all four tires
(Max:) Pretty risky / Tried to warn ya
(Both: But we gotta make him stay in California
[Pause here for half a minute of applause as everyone shows their love for Bill, about to move out of state]
(Max:) Here's the headline / And the movie
Two Bel Air kids / Land in juvie
(Cory): Let's admit it / We're in trouble
Better pack our bags and leave here on the double.
(Both:) Run away / They'll never miss us
Run away / They're gonna diss us
Don't leave me / Out in the courtyard / Where / I might / Get chased by Pastor Care
Run away / We have no choice but
Run away / You know that it would
Not be cool / If anybody / Figured out / Who drained the swimming pool....
(Max:) Hey there, Cory / (Cory:) What's up, Maxy?
(Max:) What'll we do now? / (Cory:) Call a taxi
Got ten dollars / I've been saving
It's either that or we confess to misbehaving
(Max:) Wait a minute / (Cory:) Am I dreaming?
(Max:) No one's angry / (Cory:) No one's screaming
(Max:) Camp is awesome! / (Cory:) Camp's a winner! (beat)
(Both:) Hey, let's meet and play some more tricks after dinner!
Friday, August 06, 2004
OFF TO CAMP....
So off we go to Family Camp bright and early (ha!) tomorrow...
Frankly, we have no choice. If we didn't go every year, our kids would kill us. On the way home each year, Sabrina starts to plan what she'll sing for the next year's talent show.
It really is a great week. 350 people, single and married both, ranging in age from newborns to folks in their 90s. Classes in the mornings for adults and kids (this year we're focusing on the Psalms). Afternoons by the pool (or doing other stuff). Evening classes, w/ babysitting provided for younger kids so their parents don't miss anything. Singing 'round the campfire.
Everyone squeezes into lodges -- one family per room, so it can get a tad cozy. Everyone eats together.
Part of the appeal is how utterly predictable it all is. The real veterans of Family Camp can even predict what the meals will be: "Oh, it's Monday, taco salad for lunch." "Oh, it's Thursday, steak for dinner!" (Or whatever -- I've only been there 5 years, I haven't memorized the menu yet.)
And the schedule is predictable. The afternoon carnival. The golf tournament. The "Olympics." The "Water Olympics" (opened by the Men's Synchronized Swimming Team). The utterly vicious ping pong tournament. The giant swing. Each has its own time, always the same as the year before. Oh, and did we mention there's a Talent Show?
Another big factor in the appeal: At lunch, our kids say something like, "Bye Mom, I'll see you at dinner." And off they go. Maybe to the pool. Maybe the playground. Maybe... oh, who cares? They can go wherever they want, hang with their posse, no worries. And where in the big city do we ever get to respond to a kid's remark like that with, "Okay, hon, have a good time."
We wrap it all up the final evening with a communion service in a natural amphitheatre surrounded by 300' tall redwood trees. Very beautiful. People share what the week has meant to them and how God spoke to them until it gets dark, then we start communion..... Last year, Cory squirmed and complained under his breath all during the 'sharing' portion. That is, until Pastor Mark started the words of institution: "On the night Jesus was betrayed, He took the bread and broke it..." And immediately Cory sat straight up and hissed at me, "I love this part!" Worth the whole week, right there.
So off we go. One week. And it is (fortunately? unfortunately?) a week without the internet. I am in withdrawal already, let me tell you. No e-mail. No blogging. No surfing. (Will I survive?)
Note that "No blogging" part. I will not be back online till the 14th or 15th. But PLEASE! Don't forget me! Post a comment, let me know you'll come back when I come back! In the meantime, I'll miss you all. I'll miss my computer. I'll miss my piddly little dial-up connection...
...But maybe not all that much!
See you in a week!
Frankly, we have no choice. If we didn't go every year, our kids would kill us. On the way home each year, Sabrina starts to plan what she'll sing for the next year's talent show.
It really is a great week. 350 people, single and married both, ranging in age from newborns to folks in their 90s. Classes in the mornings for adults and kids (this year we're focusing on the Psalms). Afternoons by the pool (or doing other stuff). Evening classes, w/ babysitting provided for younger kids so their parents don't miss anything. Singing 'round the campfire.
Everyone squeezes into lodges -- one family per room, so it can get a tad cozy. Everyone eats together.
Part of the appeal is how utterly predictable it all is. The real veterans of Family Camp can even predict what the meals will be: "Oh, it's Monday, taco salad for lunch." "Oh, it's Thursday, steak for dinner!" (Or whatever -- I've only been there 5 years, I haven't memorized the menu yet.)
And the schedule is predictable. The afternoon carnival. The golf tournament. The "Olympics." The "Water Olympics" (opened by the Men's Synchronized Swimming Team). The utterly vicious ping pong tournament. The giant swing. Each has its own time, always the same as the year before. Oh, and did we mention there's a Talent Show?
Another big factor in the appeal: At lunch, our kids say something like, "Bye Mom, I'll see you at dinner." And off they go. Maybe to the pool. Maybe the playground. Maybe... oh, who cares? They can go wherever they want, hang with their posse, no worries. And where in the big city do we ever get to respond to a kid's remark like that with, "Okay, hon, have a good time."
We wrap it all up the final evening with a communion service in a natural amphitheatre surrounded by 300' tall redwood trees. Very beautiful. People share what the week has meant to them and how God spoke to them until it gets dark, then we start communion..... Last year, Cory squirmed and complained under his breath all during the 'sharing' portion. That is, until Pastor Mark started the words of institution: "On the night Jesus was betrayed, He took the bread and broke it..." And immediately Cory sat straight up and hissed at me, "I love this part!" Worth the whole week, right there.
So off we go. One week. And it is (fortunately? unfortunately?) a week without the internet. I am in withdrawal already, let me tell you. No e-mail. No blogging. No surfing. (Will I survive?)
Note that "No blogging" part. I will not be back online till the 14th or 15th. But PLEASE! Don't forget me! Post a comment, let me know you'll come back when I come back! In the meantime, I'll miss you all. I'll miss my computer. I'll miss my piddly little dial-up connection...
...But maybe not all that much!
See you in a week!
Thursday, August 05, 2004
JUST FOR FUN... (WITH APOLOGIES TO ALLEN SHERMAN)
Each year as our church's Family Camp approaches, we face one of the more crucial questions of the year: What to do at the Talent Show.
(Hey, it's an important gig -- Last year's talent show brought Sabrina's singing to the attention of the music contractor who later hired her to sing on a movie score, thus making her eligible for her SAG card!)
Sabrina has been settled on her number for quite some time. She will be singing the Cheetah Girls' "Cinderella": I don't wanna be like Cinderella / Sitting in a dark, cold dusty cella(r) / Waitin' for somebody to come and rescue me..." If you are properly attuned to Radio Disney, you are probably singing along right now. Otherwise, you've almost certainly never heard the song.
Cory is always a tougher call. Some years he skips it. One year he did a stand-up comedy act. This year, all he knew was that he wanted to do something with his buddy Max. Maybe a comedy routine, maybe a song.... And as it turned out, they're doing both.
Lee and I have been working on this for a day or two now (and Cory's contributed some lines, too). We've had so much fun, I thought I'd share it with you all, even though it may make little sense to you. Here's the exposition you need: The boys will sing it on opposite sides of the stage holding walkie-talkies (as if speaking to each other from different parts of the camp). "New Tab" is the rather strange nickname of the chapel. "Mt. Hermon" is the huge Christian camp just up the road from where we'll be. Mr. Bill is the boys' favorite church teacher, breaking everyone's hearts by moving to Washington in 2 weeks. And all the other people named are people who will be there at Family Camp.
We're still tweaking -- some lines could change. Hum along using the tune of "Hello Muddah, Hello Faddah" by Allen Sherman (yeah yeah yeah, I know it's also the "Dance of the Hours" by Ponchielli, but which reference is gonna get you to hum the right tune?).
Here we go!
(Cory:) Hello, Maxie. / (Max:) Hello, Cory
I'm at New Tab / (Cory:) What's the story?
(Max:) Filled the chapel / With mosquitoes
Now let's go and jam the ice machine with Cheetoes.
(Cory:) I can top that / Pastor Brewer --
I dropped his Bible / Down the sewer
Now we won't hear / Any sermon
(Max:) Naw, he'll go and get another from Mount Hermon.
Made a milkshake / For Jack Briscoe
'Stead of ice cream / I used Crisco
He sure loved it / Saw him scarfin'
(Both:) By tomorrow morning we will hear some barfin'.
(Cory:) Mr. Bill was / Feelin' sleepy
So I wrapped him / Up in t.p.
(Max:) Shouldn't'a done that / Did'n' I warn ya?
If we wanna make him stay in California
[Spoken break: Cory: Have we gone too far? Max: I don't know, maybe we have...]
(Max:) Here's the headline / And the movie
Two Bel Air kids / Land in juvie
Let's admit it / We're in trouble
(Cory:) Better pack our bags and leave here on the double.
(Both:) Run away / They're gonna diss us
Run away / They'll never miss us
Don't leave me / Out in the courtyard / Where / I might / Get chased by Pastor Care
Run away / We have no choice but
Run away / You know that it will
Not be cool / If anybody / Figures out / Who drained the swimming pool....
(Max:) Calling Cory / (Cory:) What up, Maxie?
(Max:) What'll we do now? / (Cory, shrugging:) Take a taxi
(Max:) Gotta face it / Makes me too sick
But I think we better go and face the music
(Cory:) Wait a minute / Am I dreaming?
(Max:) No one's angry / No one's screaming
(Cory:) Camp is awesome! / (Max:) Camp's a winner! (beat)
(Both:) Hey, let's meet up and play more pranks after dinner!
..... Hope you enjoyed that!
..... And if you look at this blog with a skeptical eye the next time I try to talk about something serious... well, I'll understand.
(Hey, it's an important gig -- Last year's talent show brought Sabrina's singing to the attention of the music contractor who later hired her to sing on a movie score, thus making her eligible for her SAG card!)
Sabrina has been settled on her number for quite some time. She will be singing the Cheetah Girls' "Cinderella": I don't wanna be like Cinderella / Sitting in a dark, cold dusty cella(r) / Waitin' for somebody to come and rescue me..." If you are properly attuned to Radio Disney, you are probably singing along right now. Otherwise, you've almost certainly never heard the song.
Cory is always a tougher call. Some years he skips it. One year he did a stand-up comedy act. This year, all he knew was that he wanted to do something with his buddy Max. Maybe a comedy routine, maybe a song.... And as it turned out, they're doing both.
Lee and I have been working on this for a day or two now (and Cory's contributed some lines, too). We've had so much fun, I thought I'd share it with you all, even though it may make little sense to you. Here's the exposition you need: The boys will sing it on opposite sides of the stage holding walkie-talkies (as if speaking to each other from different parts of the camp). "New Tab" is the rather strange nickname of the chapel. "Mt. Hermon" is the huge Christian camp just up the road from where we'll be. Mr. Bill is the boys' favorite church teacher, breaking everyone's hearts by moving to Washington in 2 weeks. And all the other people named are people who will be there at Family Camp.
We're still tweaking -- some lines could change. Hum along using the tune of "Hello Muddah, Hello Faddah" by Allen Sherman (yeah yeah yeah, I know it's also the "Dance of the Hours" by Ponchielli, but which reference is gonna get you to hum the right tune?).
Here we go!
(Cory:) Hello, Maxie. / (Max:) Hello, Cory
I'm at New Tab / (Cory:) What's the story?
(Max:) Filled the chapel / With mosquitoes
Now let's go and jam the ice machine with Cheetoes.
(Cory:) I can top that / Pastor Brewer --
I dropped his Bible / Down the sewer
Now we won't hear / Any sermon
(Max:) Naw, he'll go and get another from Mount Hermon.
Made a milkshake / For Jack Briscoe
'Stead of ice cream / I used Crisco
He sure loved it / Saw him scarfin'
(Both:) By tomorrow morning we will hear some barfin'.
(Cory:) Mr. Bill was / Feelin' sleepy
So I wrapped him / Up in t.p.
(Max:) Shouldn't'a done that / Did'n' I warn ya?
If we wanna make him stay in California
[Spoken break: Cory: Have we gone too far? Max: I don't know, maybe we have...]
(Max:) Here's the headline / And the movie
Two Bel Air kids / Land in juvie
Let's admit it / We're in trouble
(Cory:) Better pack our bags and leave here on the double.
(Both:) Run away / They're gonna diss us
Run away / They'll never miss us
Don't leave me / Out in the courtyard / Where / I might / Get chased by Pastor Care
Run away / We have no choice but
Run away / You know that it will
Not be cool / If anybody / Figures out / Who drained the swimming pool....
(Max:) Calling Cory / (Cory:) What up, Maxie?
(Max:) What'll we do now? / (Cory, shrugging:) Take a taxi
(Max:) Gotta face it / Makes me too sick
But I think we better go and face the music
(Cory:) Wait a minute / Am I dreaming?
(Max:) No one's angry / No one's screaming
(Cory:) Camp is awesome! / (Max:) Camp's a winner! (beat)
(Both:) Hey, let's meet up and play more pranks after dinner!
..... Hope you enjoyed that!
..... And if you look at this blog with a skeptical eye the next time I try to talk about something serious... well, I'll understand.
Tuesday, August 03, 2004
FASHION GIRL SPEAKS
So I'm laying out Sabrina's clothes for camp the other night, and I pull out a pair of really cute shorts: Baggy blue shorts with tiny white polka dots.
And Sabrina tells me she can't wear those shorts, because they would be "embarrassing."
I look them over, not understanding. Would they show her panties? What?
"Mom," she says (and imagine this being said with the utmost of 7-year-old scorn). "Polka dots?"
Still without a clue, I ask, "What, are polka dots embarrassing?"
Again with scorn: "They are this season."
Okay! I stand corrected. And you stand warned!
And Sabrina tells me she can't wear those shorts, because they would be "embarrassing."
I look them over, not understanding. Would they show her panties? What?
"Mom," she says (and imagine this being said with the utmost of 7-year-old scorn). "Polka dots?"
Still without a clue, I ask, "What, are polka dots embarrassing?"
Again with scorn: "They are this season."
Okay! I stand corrected. And you stand warned!
ON BEING LOST, DYING, AND DAMNATION
Blog reader and children's book author send me some fascinating insights on the "rules" for topic and theme in children's books by age. As I was clicking the "save" button, I thought, "Hey, maybe someone else would be interested in this as well...." Here's some of Regina's thoughts...
I was doing some thinking about areans and about the rules of the arena in stories for children aged 3-6, for children aged 7-12, and for teens and adults. I was particularly thinking about the "metaphysical arena" of stories for that age level.... What compelling tension drives their stories?
See, because kids aged 3-6 (or below) have really no concept of death. Or if they do, it makes them "old beyond their years," and is tragic. So it occurs to me that trying to make stories in which there is a danger of death for the protagonist have no particular compelling interest for the audience because death is an abstract concept for them (hopefully). I also guess that this would be the same for getting hurt or losing a parent. I don't really think kids below 6 think about getting hurt or have a real concept of what might happen to them if they get really hurt or really sick. In other words, it's not a big factor in their imaginative life.
So what is the compelling tension, the high stakes in a story for pre-K kids? What is the worst thing that can happen to a character? It's not death, for the reasons I gave above. I figured out that what it is -- is a fear of being lost. Of being separated from your mom, dad, family, of being alone in an intensely metaphysical as well as physical sense. And analyzing what I think are successful kids' stories for that age group, I find that to be true: In the world of Winnie the Pooh, there's no question in the audience's mind that Tigger, Pooh et al. are going to DIE. The arena is so well-constructed that you know the rules intuitively. The big fear of the characters is GETTING LOST. And it happens or almost happens several times. For example, when the other animals try to "lose" Tigger and end up losing themselves. Even during the big flood, there's not really the idea that Piglet would actually drown. His problem is that he is "lost" -- separated from his friends.
Both "Old Bear" by Jane Hissey and "Thomas the Tank Engine" (both Brit TV series for kids) turn on the theme of "being lost" with a twist -- Old Bear is an antique teddy bear who is put away because he's too fragile, but the other toys mount a rescue mission and rescue him from his isolated box to rejoin friends in the nursery. In the world of Thomas the Tank Engine, old "tank engines" are being retired -- isolated from the world in old warehouses -- but Mr. Toppam Hat goes around finding them and putting them back into service (note that these themes would appeal to grandparents too! :) ). In both cases, the inciting incident is certain characters being "lost" and then reunited, with the threat of "getting lost" again always hovering in the background.
Last night soem friends pointed out that "Toy Story" also operates on the level of fear of being lost, as does a recent Japanese anime movie whose title I now forget. [Janet here: Are you thinking of "Spirited Away"?]
Okay, so anyhow, older kids are afraid of death as well as getting hurt, and are generally more aware of the physical dangers that this world presents, so that sotire swhere the worst thing that can happen to the character is dying are a real hook for them. They also are more social than 3-6 year olds, so the concept of humiliation of ostracism ("social death," if you will) also has a real power for them (and I don't think that the concept has the same weight for younger kids, as much as we would like it to. I know 5- and 6-year-olds who blithely take off their clothes in public when the mood strikes them...)
The next level up -- stories for older kids and adults -- is stories where the worst thing that can happen is not death but "damnation." Getting lost in a different kind of way, where you lose your self, not just your parents and friends. This would be the driving interest behind even romance stories, where losing your true love is like losing yourself, as well as movies like "The Godfather," which, despite the fact that so many characters die, is driven by the threat of damnation -- for Michael. Introducing damnation as a possibility makes villains less cardboard and makes people change sides and means that even good characters could become bad. Also, of course, a character might die, but if he dies "heroically" it's not really a tragedy any more.
Now, I don't think there's anything necessarily wrong with having an arena where the biggest threat is merely death. Most superhero stories operate successfully at this level, but more so is a story like "The Swiss Family Robinson," where there's no metaphysical threat, just physical dangers. And it's a fun movie, and we're not bothered by why the heroes have such shallow ideas of good and evil or whatever......
And from there, Regina and I wandered off into a discussion of how all this applies to (what else) the various "Harry Potter" books...
I find this whole concept of metaphysical arena fascinating. It rings very true. And the thing that really struck me: The little kids, the 3- to 6-year-olds, really have it right. We should fear being lost (metaphysically speaking) much more than we fear death. After all, "to the well-organized mind, death is just the next big adventure." We don't, of course. As adults, we are much more likely to fear and try to avoid death than to be concerned in a major way about being "lost"... both for ourselves and for our friends. But I think we've got it backwards, and the little kids have it right.
And a little child shall lead them, indeed.
I was doing some thinking about areans and about the rules of the arena in stories for children aged 3-6, for children aged 7-12, and for teens and adults. I was particularly thinking about the "metaphysical arena" of stories for that age level.... What compelling tension drives their stories?
See, because kids aged 3-6 (or below) have really no concept of death. Or if they do, it makes them "old beyond their years," and is tragic. So it occurs to me that trying to make stories in which there is a danger of death for the protagonist have no particular compelling interest for the audience because death is an abstract concept for them (hopefully). I also guess that this would be the same for getting hurt or losing a parent. I don't really think kids below 6 think about getting hurt or have a real concept of what might happen to them if they get really hurt or really sick. In other words, it's not a big factor in their imaginative life.
So what is the compelling tension, the high stakes in a story for pre-K kids? What is the worst thing that can happen to a character? It's not death, for the reasons I gave above. I figured out that what it is -- is a fear of being lost. Of being separated from your mom, dad, family, of being alone in an intensely metaphysical as well as physical sense. And analyzing what I think are successful kids' stories for that age group, I find that to be true: In the world of Winnie the Pooh, there's no question in the audience's mind that Tigger, Pooh et al. are going to DIE. The arena is so well-constructed that you know the rules intuitively. The big fear of the characters is GETTING LOST. And it happens or almost happens several times. For example, when the other animals try to "lose" Tigger and end up losing themselves. Even during the big flood, there's not really the idea that Piglet would actually drown. His problem is that he is "lost" -- separated from his friends.
Both "Old Bear" by Jane Hissey and "Thomas the Tank Engine" (both Brit TV series for kids) turn on the theme of "being lost" with a twist -- Old Bear is an antique teddy bear who is put away because he's too fragile, but the other toys mount a rescue mission and rescue him from his isolated box to rejoin friends in the nursery. In the world of Thomas the Tank Engine, old "tank engines" are being retired -- isolated from the world in old warehouses -- but Mr. Toppam Hat goes around finding them and putting them back into service (note that these themes would appeal to grandparents too! :) ). In both cases, the inciting incident is certain characters being "lost" and then reunited, with the threat of "getting lost" again always hovering in the background.
Last night soem friends pointed out that "Toy Story" also operates on the level of fear of being lost, as does a recent Japanese anime movie whose title I now forget. [Janet here: Are you thinking of "Spirited Away"?]
Okay, so anyhow, older kids are afraid of death as well as getting hurt, and are generally more aware of the physical dangers that this world presents, so that sotire swhere the worst thing that can happen to the character is dying are a real hook for them. They also are more social than 3-6 year olds, so the concept of humiliation of ostracism ("social death," if you will) also has a real power for them (and I don't think that the concept has the same weight for younger kids, as much as we would like it to. I know 5- and 6-year-olds who blithely take off their clothes in public when the mood strikes them...)
The next level up -- stories for older kids and adults -- is stories where the worst thing that can happen is not death but "damnation." Getting lost in a different kind of way, where you lose your self, not just your parents and friends. This would be the driving interest behind even romance stories, where losing your true love is like losing yourself, as well as movies like "The Godfather," which, despite the fact that so many characters die, is driven by the threat of damnation -- for Michael. Introducing damnation as a possibility makes villains less cardboard and makes people change sides and means that even good characters could become bad. Also, of course, a character might die, but if he dies "heroically" it's not really a tragedy any more.
Now, I don't think there's anything necessarily wrong with having an arena where the biggest threat is merely death. Most superhero stories operate successfully at this level, but more so is a story like "The Swiss Family Robinson," where there's no metaphysical threat, just physical dangers. And it's a fun movie, and we're not bothered by why the heroes have such shallow ideas of good and evil or whatever......
And from there, Regina and I wandered off into a discussion of how all this applies to (what else) the various "Harry Potter" books...
I find this whole concept of metaphysical arena fascinating. It rings very true. And the thing that really struck me: The little kids, the 3- to 6-year-olds, really have it right. We should fear being lost (metaphysically speaking) much more than we fear death. After all, "to the well-organized mind, death is just the next big adventure." We don't, of course. As adults, we are much more likely to fear and try to avoid death than to be concerned in a major way about being "lost"... both for ourselves and for our friends. But I think we've got it backwards, and the little kids have it right.
And a little child shall lead them, indeed.
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