USA vs. Germany: Round 3

Germany.  Long-time nemesis of the United States.  Their grievances are known: two World Wars, the Berlin Wall, and female Olympic swimmers with more facial hair than the Duck Commanders.  Now, we'll face the Germans in the World Cup tomorrow at 11am, our ability to advance on the line.

Historically, the Germans are as machine-like on the field as their automobiles.  Ice-cold, disciplined, emotionless much in the vein of the Swiss bobsled team or Soviet boxer Drago.  That's German soccer.  I won't pretend to know much about the German team other than they are deep.  No, REALLY DEEP.

Sure the US can advance in many different scenarios, including losing, but that's not American.  We don't want a tie.  We don't want to lose and advance on goal differential.  We want to WIN and advance.  Beat an elite European team and shove it in the elitist Europeans face!

I can't wait for this game!

Open Suit Letter

Originally, I hoped to finish an assignment on time.  Well, that failed dreadfully.   That said, here's my open letter to Hollywood suits.

Dear Hollywood,

Thank you for your creativity and willingness to entertain the world.  The way you portray stories both fictional and nonfictional with such emotion and honesty is great.  Your actors and actresses are brave enough to transform themselves emotionally and physically simply for our enjoyment.  Directors stake their reputation on casting a vision of a script they see on the page.  Producers... well... risk obscene amounts of money to make something great... and make an even more obscene amount of money (let's be honest).  Kudos!

But you've gone too far.  Jumped the shark as the cliche in your world goes.  There's too much of every bad thing - sex, violence, drugs, cursing - all for the sake of being "real".  Guess what?  Most people use your product as a way to escape reality, mundane or otherwise.  The world is twisted enough as it is.  We have the news to keep it real, to keep it 100.  Feel me?  Entertain us.  That's what you do best.

Obviously show business is still business.  It costs money to produce entertainment, and you want as a big as a return as possible.  If people buy or consume what is being produced regardless of content, it will continued to be produced.  Understood.  But what's frustrating is the lack of "clean" alternatives.  Napoleon Dynamite was a smash hit.  Downton Abbey currently is.  Who knew a dork and a bunch of stuck-up English folk could be so entertaining.  But it is!  YOU made it happen.  Just do something like that again, then again, then again, etc.

And one more thing.  Don't get self-righteous on us.  We know what's going on in the world.  We know there are travesties.  Your home of Los Angeles and New York aren't exactly the Bastions of Reality.  If you want to use your platform and shine a light on a cause dear to you, fine.  Just don't act like you're Humanity's link to The Cure.  You look dumb accepting an award for a playing a role as a transvestite while speaking out against conflicts in the Ukraine and Venezuela (looking at you, Leto).  And be coherent.  You need to reign in McConaughey.  I mean seriously, his hero is him 10 years from now, in perpetuity?  What was that?  That makes zero sense.  It's just dumb.

In closing, I'd like to end on a positive note.  Again, your creativity is excellent.  I'm all in on a Cold War era spy show (The Americans), a Jersey-based mafia show (The Sopranos), or a teacher-turned-drug-dealer show (Breaking Bad).  I consume the edgy shows you flaunt and tout, making me an enormous hypocrite.  But I think those same shows could be delivered with less violence, less sex, and less language without losing anything.  Being real isn't what draws folks to your product.  It's your great imagination.

Yours truly,

Joe

The Wise

Don't know how.  Don't know why.
But there ain't nobody like a wise guy.
Al Capone. Frank Costello. Lucky Luciano.
The Bonannos. The Luccheses. The Gambinos.
The Corleones. The Tattaglias. The Barzinis.
Goodfellas. White Heat. The Godfather.
Cagney. DeNiro. Brando. Pacino.
Hear one, just one, and you know -
A culture, a time, a place, a story.
Harsh reality and movie lore fog truth.
But does it matter?

Fiction

"Got a new Bulgarian waffle maker."

"Belgian."

"What?"

"Belgian waffle maker."

"You sure?"

"Positive."  Merriweather sat back and lit a cigarette, letting the time pass.  The Passat sat parked along the curb.  

"How’d the Belgians become king of making waffles?" asked Bransen.  

"Not sure.  Must be a European thing."

"Whatta ya mean?”

“Think about it.  Germans have strudels.  Danes have danishes.  Dutch have donuts,” Merriweather stated, pointing at the stale Dunkin Donuts bag on the floor board.  

"The Dutch didn’t invent donuts.”

“Sure did.  They called them olykoeks - oily cakes.”

“I thought we invented donuts.”

“Nope.  Pastries are European.  We make biscuits and gravy.  The Egg McMuffin.  Not frufru breads.”

“So what do the Bulgarians make then?  Beer.”

“That’s the Belgians too.  Communism.  They make that,”  Merriweather stated, opening the driver side door of the Passat.  Bransen followed.  Merriweather’s eyes were fixed on a man that emerged from the coffee shop.  The man wore a denim jacket and tight green chinos.

“Name a beer they make,” said Bransen.

“Stella Artois.”

“Always thought that was French.”

“The French are too big of sissies to drink beer.  They drink wine.”

“I know that.”

“Then why’d you think Stella was French?”

“That’s not what I meant.  I meant I knew the French drank wine.”

“Then you should know they don’t drink beer.  Ergo, it would be logical to conclude that Stella is not French,” firmly said Merriweather.

“Eggo?”

“No, ergo.  It’s Latin for therefore.”

“Whatever.  You’re generalizing.”

“About Latin?”

“No, about the French and beer.  Betcha a hundred bucks there’s at least one Frog throws back a couple of cold ones.”

“Deal.  You find that man, bring him to me, and I’ll slap you a C-note,”  agreed Merriweather.  He flicked away his cigarette and immediately lit another with his Zippo.  Etched across its face was his first name.  Bransen noticed it, wanting to comment but wisely figured now wasn’t the time.  Nor would there be.

The man with the denim jacket and green chinos walked into a camera store.  Merriweather took another few strides and ducked into a convenient store directly across the street.  Bransen followed.

“Welcome, but sir, can you put the cigarette out?” the clerk asked, basically ordering.  Merriweather walked out the door and stamped it out.  “Thank you sir,” calmly said the clerk.

Merriweather nodded, then calmly strolled the aisles looking at the snacks.

“You think he’s gottem?” whispered Bransen as they neared the back of aisle.  He was referring to the man in the denim jacket.

“I don’t know, but our orders are to find out.  Cornuts?”

“I prefer Gordettos.”

“Also a solid choice.”  Merriweather grabbed the two bags and walked back to the front to pay.  

The clerk smiled politely, rang up the purchase, and said, “$3.56 please.”

Merriweather handed him a $5 bill.  He noticed the man in the denim jacket leave the camera store across the street.  The man walked to the rack a few feet away, unlocked his bike, and took off.  Merriweather noticed every step, but didn’t appear to be in a hurry.

“Crap!”

“What?” Bransen asked excitedly, fully ready to dash through the door.

“I need more smokes.  Gimme a pack of Lucky Strikes, my man.  Unfiltered.”  The clerk turned to the wall behind and grabbed the requested pack.

“$6.07.”

“Geez, when did smoking become such a crime?” stated Merriweather.  

He paid and grabbed the pack.  He quickly stuffed them in the inside pocket of his jacket.  Bransen was on his heels as they left the store.  Calmly, they walked to the camera store across the street.

“M-Dub, my man!” shouted Royce as he greeted Merriweather.

“Hey Royce,” cooly replied Merriweather. “Who’s the guy that just left?”

“Already got whatcha lookin’ for.”  Royce handed him a flash drive.  “Copied everything.”

“Knew it.  Here.”  Merriweather reached inside his jacket and tossed Royce the Lucky Strikes.

“Thanks, but I was looking for something green, crisp, and smelled like money.”

“Consider it a deposit.  Gotta make sure this has what we need.  If not, you may be get something black, metallic, and smells like a gun.”

Merriweather and Bransen left the store.

The Chest

Becky and I recently bought a chest.  But it wasn’t “just” a chest.  There’s a story behind it.  A lineage of sorts.  

Her father, Bubba, built it as a gift for his mother-in-law (Becky’s grandmother).  It is made of cedar and stands about two and a half feet tall.  The exterior finish has a dark, molasses stain, while the interior is raw and natural.  A gold plaque on the inside lid proudly states its builder’s name, its recipient's name, and its date of creation.  

Becky’s grandmother owned the chest for several years until she passed away.  Her daughter, Julie, inherited the chest.  Unfortunately, she did not take care of it, but it remained in her possession nonetheless.  

Now back to the beginning.  As previously stated, Becky and I bought the chest, the owner being Julie, her aunt.  In a roundabout way, the chest was transported to Northwest Arkansas.  Needless, to say, Becky was giddy.

When we went to pick it up, we could tell it had been neglected and mistreated.  Rather than the crisp, fresh scent of cedar, a stale odor of cigarette smoke engulfed the chest.  Scratches and dings had worn the finish.  A thin film of dust had settled on the lid and the sides as well.   The hinges were bent and somewhat buckled.  In short, it looked rough.  

But Bubba being the chest’s creator, volunteered to take it home and return it to its original form.  A few days later, Becky and I were summoned: the chest was ready.  Upon seeing it “new,” I was stunned to see the transformation.  The scent of cedar wafted around the room.  The stain was returned to the original dark chocolate hue, the scratches and dings a thing of the past.  New hinges smoothly lifted the lid, opening the source of the sweet cedar smell.  I could see in Becky’s eyes how much she cherished the restoration.

Similarly, I couldn’t help but think of how God truly restores.  Like the chest, our lives are gifts from Him.  So often, we choose our own way and scuff and chip and dent our lives.  Sometimes gradually. Sometimes in a flurry.  But only when we give our lives back to the Creator & Builder of Life thru His son Jesus can we find true restoration.  He knows exactly What He created, How He created, and Why He created.  He buffs the scratches.  He fixes the brokenness.  And when He’s done, the sweet aroma of Life reappears, and our souls are restored to reflect His Handiwork and Glory.

Books With Pages & Words

For some odd reason, I decided to start three novels at once - Tai-Pan, Game of Thrones, and Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone.  The last two I began more out of a sense of intrigue given the popularity of the books and the subsequent visual adaptations.  Plus, I checked them out in e-book format from the Fayetteville Public Library (or FPL as it’ll be referred to from hereafter).  Zero dollars and zero physical bulk make both easier to peruse. 

With Game of Thrones, I’ve decided to hit the pause button given the number of characters already introduced in the first three chapters.  No doubt it will take more effort to get those characters down.  However, it has been enjoyable the little I have read.

Thru the first chapter, the Harry Potter book is not nearly as complex as Game of Thrones, but is equally as pleasing.  Already I can tell the feel of the story is light and airy, a sharp contrast to the brooding and dark Game of Thrones.

But Tai-Pan receives most of my attention.  The storyline is complex, and the characters are fascinating.  Written by James Clavell, the book is a loose historical fiction about the history of Hong Kong.  The story is mainly centered around the character Dirk Struan, a Scotsman turned sea trader.  I won’t bore you with the details, but would highly recommend it, even though I’m only twelve chapters deep.  There are times the dialogue, written in slang or broken English, is hard to understand but worth trudging through.  The most interesting parts of the novel are when the characters tackle tough topics of morality.  Sometimes that’s displayed through the inner turmoil of their conscience.  Sometimes it’s a dialogue between characters.  Whatever beliefs are held are often violated by greed or selfish desire. 

That sums it up for now.  On to reading more… 

Inaugural Posts Are Overrated

You know I’m right.  Statements are made.  Intentions are laid out.  Goals are penned.  All chalked full of cliches and hyperbole.  Everybody gets it.  Nothing new.

So what makes this blog different?  What sets it apart from the Internet Ether?  In a word, nothing.  There will be no niche filled.  No target audience catered to.  Just a jumbled mess of jots and tittles that may, at best, form a coherent thought. 

But I guess a mad dash of topics will be the ingredients of this blog – some sports, some literature, add a little TV/movies/music, throw in some faith, and a little certain-I-don’t-know-what.  Boom, done. 

The two people who read this will never come back.