Why Intelligence Is Useless....

I think I have come to the conclusion that all this knowledge I have attained, all these facets of growth and learning that I use to guard myself, that like minded pretentious people use to guard themselves, is, as I get older, becoming more and more useless. I think somewhere between digging into books by people I admire and forcing myself to read those by people I despise, I have learned far too much, become so jaded by the naivety of society and of the people that share my convictions and beliefs, that I've given up on any semblance of hope for the world I live in.

If that sounds sad or selfish, I'll be the first to agree. I'd gladly give back what I know to be that stupid, grammatically challenged ten year old from Georgia. He had faith in people. He looked forward to things. The twenty five  year old me has no faith in people and mildly enjoys the prospect of things to come. He stews in his sarcasm, dreads the next caffeine fueled Facebook debate. It's all a cycle, a vicious cycle of my intellect vs your intellect. The issue isn't who's smarter. It's that it doesn't even matter. 

The wisest of men often die the greatest of fools. I never understood that growing up, discovering Flannery O'Conner in high school, openly rejecting Mark Twain in college. I could not comprehend that intelligence had this epic downside, this sort of enveloping darkness to it. You come to a point where there's not someone who's got a last confession about the real world left. You come to a point where adults you once assumed were brilliant become painfully stupid satires of your youthful concept. That's where the depression of reality becomes all too real, where you'd give anything to be ignorant, to be simple. 

Your brain, my brain, is a prison. And all we have to fight it with is love.

The truth is that love is beyond intelligence. It seeks something of us not taught in a school or a television special...or a book. Love gratifies the ignorant and informed alike. None of us are immune to that possible glimmer of hope that it provides. That's why we need it, why we should strive to embody it. Our best minds cannot decipher love as a concept. We, ourselves, are clueless. I think I can live with that if it means there's one thing I can't get enough of, that attacks my darkness with light.

Love is a lot of things, the wife sleeping next to me, the sound of "Master Of Puppets" in shitty headphones, miles of beach, newborn babies, the taste of blood after a good fight, broken people lifted up....and maybe the way cracked neon looks in the darkness of the Nevada desert. Old things can become new. Water can be turned to wine. And for all the distress my knowledge brings me, love, in the form of a good nights sleep, will detoxify today's cold reality so that tomorrows can be less of a drain.

Figure it out, smartass.

The Dark Knight: A Spoiler Free Review

We waited four years for an epic conclusion to Chris Nolans Batman pantheon, four years of curiousity, debate and fanboy speculation. The wait is over. I attended the midnight premiere last night. I was actually supposed to wait until my buddy got back into town to see it....but alas, the pressure became too great. I caved. Sorry sir.

The good news for Dark Knight fans is that this movie, while not as easily digestable as your typical summer blockbuster, has the wonderful effect of meaning more to the viewer as they have time to ponder it. It is a different animal from The Dark Knight, which was a study in both nihilism and perserverance. Rises is more of an exclamation point, a final war for Gotham to face before the caped crusader can finish his work. How that work gets finished and who we say goodbye to will not get spoiled here. I would recommend not reading Wikipedia or the newer reviews. They give away far too much.

Tom Hardy's Bane is a visceral, tactical barbarian, an evil, driven mastermind of remarkable scale. To compare him to Heath Ledgers Joker is not only unfair, its completely beside the point. Where the Joker was all about testing Batmans morality, driving him ever closer to the edge, Bane is something else, a sort of "final boss" at the end of the game, one who's skill as a fighter greatly exceeds Batmans. 

Anne Hathaways Catwoman (we never hear this title used) is a classic femme fa tale, sexy, deceptive and lethal. Miss Hathaway is a revelation here, dodging the camp of Michelle Pheiffers fun but unrealistic portrayal in Batman Returns. She embodies the so called 99%, an angst for Wallstreet her main pet peeve. In a film where bleakness is the norm, she provides the occasional one liner to keep the proceedings on an even keel. 

And more so than ever, this movie is about Batman, about Bruce Waynes endless war within himself. Bruces ongoing dialogue about Batmans relevance and importance is at the forefront. Bale is as exemplary an actor as ever. Whereas he rightfully took a backseat to Ledgers Joker in The Dark Knight, playing the straight man to the late actors wild card,  he's the main focus here, a man torn and beaten from years of service to his city, pondering his destiny and caring less and less about his own mortality. 

His triad of worthy father figures, Alfred, Lucius and Jim Gordon, are, for once, at a loss for words. They, in the face of this films events, finally seem to have run out of  sage wisdom. Jim Gordon, above all, is a shell of his former self. Gary Oldman rings every last nerve ending out of him here. Micheal Caine shows Alfred in a light we've never seen him, completely vulnerable and angst ridden. It's glorious to behold. Freemans Fox is still our favorite intellectual badass, though for once, he looks afraid.

And I was afraid, more times than not during this fim,  that it would veer off course and ruin the trilogy as Coppola did with the final Godfather film. Rest assured, it did not. In fact, the more I've had time to let it sink in, the more the films briliance has manifested itself. It's not an easy movie, not the instant gratification lesser minds may crave. What it is is a thoughtful send off for these much beloved characters. Enjoy.

What I'm Listening To, Reading And Watching

This is my occasional blog where I list what I've been listening to, watching and reading lately. It's my excuse when a gnarly case of writers block ensues. So, in case you're interested, here's the rundown for summer....

Music:

Paul Simon, Graceland- It's such an iconic album. This was a very well produced record. I am in love with the lyrics to "The Boy In The Bubble". Simon was really good at sad words married to joyful noise.

The Beach Boys, That's Why God Made The Radio- A nearly flawless endless summer album. I love that Brian Wilson and Mike Love got their shit together and did something worth its weight in gold.

Slayer, Seasons In The Abyss-Probably my favorite metal album by anyone. It's just really dark and well structured. To this day, it holds up.

The Louvin Brothers, Satan Is Real-This is one of those epic country gospel outings from the late 50's. The harmonies are ridiculous and the production is warm and lived in.

Kid Rock, Born Free-The whole album is a breezy, beer tinged ode to Tom Petty and Bob Seger. It's a great desert drive soundtrack.

Dave Matthews, Stand Up- I just dig this one...not a lot to say.

John Mayer, Born And Raised-Sounds like Neil Young and Joni Mitchell had a love child. This era of Mayer may be his best yet.

Movies:

Thin Red Line- I like Malick. It's a tone poem, the usual 400 shots of nature.

Batman Begins: Nolans first outing with the Bat. Love it as much as I did the first time I saw it.

What's Eating Gilbert Grape: Underrated film for sure. I tell people that everyone should see this movie before they die.

Jonestown: A Documentary-Fascinating, heart breaking and loooong.

Books:

Ernest Hemingway, True At First Light- He's the best of his era, uncomplicated on the surface and yet deep when you let it sink in.

Willie Nelson, Life And Other Dirty Jokes- Nelsons a great storyteller. His jokes are actually really dirty and memorable. I've stolen a few.

Jonathen Franzen, The Corrections- I'm not done yet but its pretty entertaining thus far.

Flannery O'Conner, The River - No one dealt with racisms ugliness better than O'Conner. Her short stories illuminate just how satanic the old South could be. 

An Interview With Max Barber

The following questions come from the Proust Questionnaire, a wonderful little interview that sums people up in a few words. If you want to, copy and answer them yourself.

What is your current state of mind? 

Agitated, excited, pensive and reactionary. I'm a walking contradiction this month.

What is your greatest fear?

Losing my sense of self deprecation. I pride myself on a lack of ego.

What is the trait you most deplore in yourself?

Sometimes I say the wrong thing at the worst time. I have a very healthy sense of dark humor. The problem is that not everyone understands the concept of irony. Sarcasm and dead baby jokes have gotten me in a pickle or two.

What is the trait you most deplore in others?T

Ignorance. I think my biggest pet peeve is people with these big opinions about things they've never taken the time to understand. Whether its religion or politics, it seems all these people have such concrete aversions to everything. 

Which living person do you most admire?

Paul Thomas Anderson restored my faith in the film industry. There Will Be Blood  floored me. It made me want to write, to create. He's really set the bar high, Chris Nolan as well. The Dark Knight was a total departure from typical comic book adaptions. He made Batman dark again.

Which living person do you most despise?

It's a tie between Pat Robertson and Paul Washer, two men who, in their own special way, are killing Christianity's relevance in modern culture. They're heretical to me...and dangerous to the faith I claim as my own.

On what occasion do you lie?

I lie mostly to myself. I say "that will get done tomorrow". It never does.

What or who is the greatest love of your life?

My wife. She's the one person I can confide in without any apprehension. She knows me in a very surreal kind of way, almost telekinetic. We've been together for a long time. It's so nice to have someone understand you without you having to say a word. 

When and where were you happiest?

Friday nights as a kid sleeping over at my Granny's house. The routine was frozen pizza, ice cream and a movie from Blockbuster. I'd go back, man...in a second, I'd go back.

Which talent would you most like to have?

There's a part of me that would love to have been a composer. I mean that in the sense of Randy Newman or Warren Zevon. They took their cues from Stravinsky and Gershwin and they did something fresh and smart. There is a cinematic quality to their music.

If you could change one thing about yourself, what would it be?

I worry about stupid things. It's a hereditary thing. I'd love to just enjoy life.

What do you consider your greatest achievement?

Graduating from college and actually having learned something. I had some of the best English professors in the nation. They challenged me, pushed me to go outside the box as a writer. I miss class, honestly. There's always more to learn.

If you were to die and come back as a person or thing, what do you think it would it be?

I'll use the Ronnie Van Zant answer. I'd be a bird because there's nothing more free than that.

What is your favorite occupation?

Writing, writing, writing. Give me a Red Bull and three hours. I'll tell you a story.

Who are your favorite writers?

Flannery O'Conner, Ernest Hemingway, CS Lewis, Emma Goldman, Don Miller, Jack Kerouac, Steinback, Cormack MCarthy, Mickey Spillane and Stephen King. 

Who is your favorite hero of fiction?

Probably Frank Castle. He's more of an anti-hero, but his conquest is just. I absolutely love The Punisher. I think Frank Castle is the closest we come to reality in the comic book universe. After that, its definetly Bruce Wayne. I'm such a fan boy. Frank Millers Batman is so dark and esoteric. You can really get lost in those stories.

Who are your heroes in real life?

Johnny Cash, Rich Mullins, Theodore Roosevelt. 

What are your favorite names?

Weiland, Hetfield, Scarlet, Ryman....all rejected possible baby names when we have some.

What is your greatest regret?

Not sitting at my Grandmothers bedside when she passed. I really wish I'd manned up and been there. I miss her. I think being there would have left things feeling complete, full circle. It's something I think about quite often.

How would you like to die?

 On the deck of a Pontoon boat in the late afternoon...whilst sleeping, with Ryan Adams Heartbreaker playing in the background. 

What is your motto?

"Think for yourself. Educate yourself. Live for other people"

The Issue Of Hate

I have long been an advocate of loving people without limitations, knowing that even the hardest of hearts has a crack somewhere in its frame. I really have always believed that, the idea that there is good in everyone, that people of every background and culture, whatever its atmospheric dilemma or challenge, has some modicum of love within them. I have pressed that point in conversation, preached it to friends who felt vitriole and angst for others. My solution was the ever popular "love wins out". Despite the events of this previous week, which felt both Godless and harrowing, I still feel that way. But, I will admit, I felt tested, tested like Job in the Bible and tested like the old man in Hemingways The Old Man And The Sea.

I don't like being tested. I never did well with tests in school. The timing, the memorization, it all made the work at hand feel forced. I never felt like I learned anything. Whatever I have learned came from reading books, books by smart people, people who also hated taking tests. Those people went on to write books that tested the testers, bucked the system, took a swing at the status quo. For them, the test was life, the biggest of them all, a test with an unknown time limit and a million ways to screw up.

This past week, I was reminded that life is "the test". And its a complicated test, where you're being asked to answer different questions at various intervals.The question for me, this go round, was could I truly embody my own principle of loving everyone? Could I rise above the easy way out, to hate passionately?

The answer is yes and no. At some point this week, a complete stranger threw a wrench into mine and my families life, a wrench that none of us expected or saw coming. It wasn't personal. It was thrown by a desperate, selfish individual who took advantage of a situation that presented itself to them. In the process, I and my wife have felt like prisoners in our own home, afraid of venturing outside the walls that usually mean safety and solace. For a typically positive person who has no trouble holding back their anger, I became something I can't stand this week, an angry man. I resented the situation we were put in. I resented that it was brought upon us by no wrong doing of our own. That resentment grew,  blossoming into something ugly and grotesque. It eventually became hate, pure, unadulterated hate for someone I did not know from Adam. This hate pushed me to a dark place, a place I'm not used to going, where everyone and everything annoyed me. I lashed out at friends, at family. I went to bed a few nights clinching my fists. I felt helpless.

I woke up this morning with a feeling of sadness that seemed to come from nowhere, just a pit of exhausted rage that had faded to solemn regret. There's a Metallica song titled "Wasting My Hate". I think that's what happened. I hated someone so hard that it died. It went from hate to mild indifference. I went from "I hope you get hit by a car" to "I don't care if you get hit by a car". I'm working, as I type this, to get to "I hope you almost get hit by a car and it teaches you a lesson". I realized that hating this person did not make me feel better. It made me feel worse. It made me resentful when I should feel thankful, thankful' for badass parents that raised me well, for excellent friends that have been there for me, thankful for my amazing, incredible wife who has stood by me and given me so much to be joyful about. I began to feel sorry for this person, for whatever befell them prior to this situation that has made them so selfish and delirious. They have a story too, a story I don't know. It scares me to think their place in life is a direct result of someones down fall or issue. That makes me realize that, as much as I want to be angry, I have to see things from another lens. I have to assume that their selfishness is not self taught but learned. I have to forgive them a little bit....for my sake.

I'm not telling you this is easy. It's tough. There's no part of me that likes this person. I still want to see them taught a lesson, to see them pay for the damage they've done. But I no longer want it to ruin them, to destroy their life. I've found myself hoping that, through this, maybe they see their attitude, their disease of the mind, for what it is. I've found myself hoping they get their life together and find something worth living for. I really do.

So yes I have hated and no, it didn't win out over love.

From here, I just want this ordeal to be over. I just want peace.

What I've Been Watching Lately....The Annual TV Rundown

Twice or so yearly, I document my current stable of consistently watched television shows.
Here you go.....

Game Of Thrones: Epic, very adult take on the fantasy element. It's like somebody took Lord Of The Rings and added more Old Testament grit to it, unreliable protagonists , incest, decapitations and...well...dragons. I finished the first season in about three days. It's worth the time spent online matching characters with their names. Watch it expecting to be shocked....and impressed.

Madmen: I never tire of Don Drapers slow, agonizing descent into misery. This show is so consistent, so well written and acted, it sort of becomes an extension of your life...except everyone on the show has less shame than the people in your own life whom you thought shameless. If The Sopranos is the best show in television history, Madmen just may be the smartest.

True Blood: It's trashy, surface level emotive...and me and my wife have been addicted from episode one. It's mindless entertainment written very well by the great Alan Ball (Six Feet Under, American Beauty). There's blood, pretty people and....more blood. Leave your brain at the door.

The Big Bang Theory: My wife recently convinced me to start watching this. I begrudgingly sat down, awaiting the onset of yawns  and eye rolls to come. Instead, I found myself laughing like hell. It's genuinely one of the funniest sitcom's since Seinfeld. It's glorious. Sheldon is probably the second or third greatest cable television character ever dreamed up.

Swamp People: There's something about ass backwards Cajun people shooting alligators and speaking mumbo jumbo for an hour that keeps me glued to the screen. I don't have a reason why. I just wind up watching the entire episode, wondering quietly if the alligators are ever going to win.

Mob Wives: I generally hate reality shows. Reality shows about women are even worse. Nothing annoys me worse than a room full of obnoxious, self obsessed chicks. This little hellion, though, is a different entity altogether. These girls are connected...by blood, by marriage to the mafia. Needless to say, my years as a fan of gangster movies and extensive useless research into the history of the mob persuaded me to check it out. It's vile, its ugly, its ruthless...and its awesome. There's no scripted drama here. These chicks are hot bloodied tigers, full of vitriole and angst. They scratch, claw and cuss their way into your home. The best part is the fact that I loathe all of them. I can watch the show laughing at their stupidity and their botched plastic surgery  because, truth be told.....they're horrible human beings.

Deep Space Nine: I like Star Trek. I had never seen Deep Space Nine. So far, so good.

Batman: The Animated Series: Bought the box set, took me back to being eight years old on Tuesday nights. The animation, dark storylines and epic soundtrack made this, in  my book, the best animated series of all time.

Charlie Rose: Great interviews.

Bill Dance's Fishing Show: It has a strange likability. Plus, he's such a jackass.

The Daily Show: They don't think Obama's doing so hot....neither do I. It works.

Diners, Drive Ins And Dives: Guy's pretty rad. It sucks to watch him eat all that good food when all you have at the house is Colby Cheeze Its.

Time Lifes Disco Classics Infomercial: Every night, I can pass out to this without fear of needing to watch it.

What Does It Mean.....

Don't ask  questions....just read the following...and interpret.


Theres this man, pushing eighty and looking it. He's been a citizen, a patron, a father, a husband and a believer. Those roles are all he has, all he will leave behind, definitions of external worth as seen by his society. His life, the endless string of disappointments, successes, close calls and what ifs, stands to be over quite soon, assuming his pack a day habit has been quietly whittling away at the lungs  behind his rib cage. Who knows? Who rightly cares?

Tomorrow, nothing is happening, nothing of definition. For him, if something must occur, it need be worthy of defining as monumental, even in a fractional way. Considering today's events, which amounted to nothing, it is safe to assume tomorrows happenings will follow similar structure. He's quite alright with that. It means he doesn't have to put his shoes on..or his pants. He can keep his Notre Dame boxers on, as well as the wife beater he hasn't changed in two days.

Comfort, for a man in his twilight hour, is key. The routine is what keeps hims sane. There's a wonderful succession of television shows to view from sun up to all hours of the deep night. He'll sleep in waves, stirring at the same times to catch the tail end of Law And Order or half of 60 Minutes. The idea is to sleep, watch TV  and remember to eat some of the cereal he sends his neighbor out for once a week. It's some generic stuff, a store brand flake of banal description. It's not that he likes it. It's that he just doesn't  care.

That's not all he doesn't care about. If you were to visit him, and you never would, you'd notice the dining room table, which he doesn't use, is covered in unopened mail. None of its bills or coupons. His bills get paid by the military. Coupons are for queers, or so he says. No, this mail is from people who love him, who miss him. They write notes, send Christmas cards, birthday gifts, invitations to weddings. He always pulls the envelopes from his mail box and carefully alphabetizes them by each childs name...Ron, Sue, Jill  and Jane. The boy is a soldier. The girls are all hairdressers.

He doesn't like salons. He gets buzz cuts from barber shops that still advertise a "close shave". The men who cut his hair are near his age, all a tad heavier and more jovial than he. They watch Fox News on a muted screen and chew tooth picks as they lather shaving cream on the necks of other aging, disheveled American men. The conversations he has with them, when he goes every two weeks, are narrowed to football, politics and car engines. Outside of these talking points, the only semi-breached subject is wives. His is dead, so he doesn't have to say a thing...which pleases him.

His day is something of a revelation. If he times it right, the shows on his flat screen segue into one another ever so gently, meaning he doesn't have to be alone with his thoughts. That's what its all about...keeping the thoughts out of his head.

When he dies, no one will find him for a week. He'll be stiff. They'll close the casket for sure. Some people will cry, a eulogy built on hyperbole will be read. Then people will crowd into the church hall and eat fried chicken with green beans and mashed potatoes. Amongst them, a couple with hold hands, knowing they've created life..and soon...very soon...it will begin again.