"What are the Differences Between Soccer and Jello Shots?"

Not many.

(Just a warning, when I started this I wasn't sure where it would go, and I'm currently at what I'm assuming to be the halfway mark, so I thought I would just come back and give this disclaimer that I'm still not totally sure where it's going. So, bare with me.)

Last night I had an extremely stimulating conversation with a friend of mine. I posed an idea, then reposed it a few times until he understood it, then we dissected it, but didn't reach a satisfactory answer. Hence, this blog post.

Based on the hypothesis that everyone on the planet is 'skilled' or 'talented' at at least one thing, what would be the stipulating factors for that thing at which one is to be talented?

In trying to decide, me and the friend chose two different activities to contrast: drumming and the ability to do Jello shots quickly. We both immediately agreed that drumming was a talent and a skill, and that Jello shots were not. Then I questioned the difference between soccer and Jello shots. Aside from the obvious way that they are performed, there really are very few differences. Both are done for an audience, they both have a potential to elicit a response from the audience, they both take a certain level of physical aptitude that is not available to everyone. They can be done competitively or for recreational purposes. Aside from the fact that one involves kicking something and the other swallowing something, there aren't really that many differences.

So, can sports then be considered the one 'thing' that a person is talented at? If so, could the ability to do Jello shots be your one talent?

Or, maybe the specifics aren't important, but more of a general 'physical' talent.

Yes, lets divide it that way.

Let's say there are 3 schools of talent: Mental, Physical and Artistic. They all have a bit of bleed into each other, such as Dance could be considered both Physical and Artistic, and writing could be considered Artistic and Mental.

Now, in order for it to be considered a 'talent' that a person is good at, there should be common factors that bridge the gap between the 3 schools; things like the 'talent' must elicit a response, the 'talent' cannot be something that exists merely for the enjoyment of the 'talented,' there must be a passion, or at least interest, in the 'talent.'

Since I'm not really sure where this is going, those are just some idea's that I threw out and now I'll try and apply it.

Lets take an activity, golfing, and apply the standards.

A golfer that is commonly considered very good (also, the only golfer who's name I know) would be Tiger Woods. His talent certainly elicits a response, other people gain from what he does, and I'm assuming he's interested in it because he's does it for a career.

However, all these things could also apply to a serial killer. Mass murder certainly elicits a response, other people may not take express 'enjoyment' from the activities of a sociopath, but they certainly have invested interest, and quite a few killers were obsessed with what they did, which would be a formed of passion or interest.

So, can killing be considered a talent?

I think the sheer scope of this question, plus my general lack of training in the field of abstracting ideas means that this blog could go on indefinitely without any sort of conclusion in sight.

As such, I think I'll leave this alone and come back to it later after I've had more discussions with other people.

Also, my entire premise of the assumption that 'every person is talented at at least one thing' could very well be completely false, and there may be people out there with no talent whatsoever. I don't think that, thats why I wanted to work this out, but it might just end up that Some People Just Have No Good To Give.

Anberlin and the Unexpected

I won free admittance to the Anberlin concert that just transpired a few hours ago. That's the second time this month that I could see a band for free that I had already paid for. Such bittersweet luck.

They put on a good show. Didn't play two of my favorites (Haight St. or Inevitable), but who can begrudge them that when they played so many other solid songs?

Something that I realized about them though, is that if I hadn't been listening to them for as long as I have; if i just heard one of their songs on a friends iPod, I doubt I would like them. Stylistically, they don't play a genre I'm really into at all anymore. When I first got into them back in grade 7 or 8, they were 'heavy' for me. Come grade 9 when I got down with bands like Inhale Exhale and August Burns Red, I realized Anberlin is really on the soft side. But in spite of that, they still have a soft spot in my heart.

And the light show they had was very fresh:

Thats not an image from tonight, it's a photo stolen from an email sent out to people on their mailing list, but it could've been from tonight.

I suppose I should dig deeper and find some sort of hidden meaning to that revelation, but I don't want. I want to continue to like this band as a good go-to band for having a crush on someone, or staying up late driving around doing ridiculous things with good friends. Or nursing a relational wound. Anberlin is set heavy in my heart as the soundtrack of the past six years of my life, and I think that affords them some respect.

Something that I would've enjoyed though was a bit more personality from the band. Rather then give the songs any context or relay any deeper meaning, they simply rolled from one song into the next with what was at first interesting, but gradually became annoying, drum loops.

If they came back again, they would need to have an opener I loved and a different venue to play in.

Fin.

'Dialogue, With A Question Mark"

This post has nothing to do with the song by The Chariot.

I was just feeling a bit pretentious and mentally playful, so I started skyping a friend about life.

Here is what went down:

Caleb Crowe: dude, do you think this is life

Mr. Friend: what. studying?

Caleb Crowe: no, staying up late, sacrificing our time and selves for **** that doesnt matter at all, just so we can grasp at the hope that all this inanity will somehow benefit us in the future. but when does the benefit start? won't our jobs have us pulling the same bizarre hours trying to meet deadlines? when does the preperation for life end, and the living begin?

Caleb Crowe: sorry, the idiocy and cyclical nature was pissing me off.

Mr. Friend: haha. well. i havent figured that one out yet. ill tell you when it happens

Caleb Crowe: i don't think it does. western society is based on the idea of chasing a dream. it doesn't know how to deal with our acquiring it: it isn't designed for success, it's designed for desire. raw, unfilled longing for things that we can't gain through the means it provides us with.

Mr. Friend: it starts when youre retired

Caleb Crowe: oh good. start living when your life is well over half gone.. and even inretirement, we're still sold fasle hope of happiness. viagra, time shares, golf shirts. none of the idea's behind any of these constructs gave lasting satisfaction in youth, why should that change with time?

Mr. Friend: well we should start living then

Caleb Crowe: how can we tho when the society that not only places these desires on us also necisitates so much our time just so we can find ways to fufil our actual needs? and what does living even entail?

Mr. Friend: i guess no one will ever know

Caleb Crowe: talking idea's with you is frustrating. i usually articulate things better than i do with other people, but i get no feedback.

Mr. Friend: well what am i supposed to say... i agree with you

Mr. Friend: and im torn cause im doing work at the same time

Caleb Crowe: true. this is a bit heavy for a split interest

Mr. Friend: well. depends on the job you get. if you get an actual good job that you dont bring home. then youre set.

Mr. Friend: but if you take money out of the equation, then youd be living the life

As you can probably tell, I had this conversation with the intent of turning it into a blog post.

Caleb Crowe: what constitutes 'the life?' is it a universally understood idea with an objective measure?

Mr. Friend: well you can take it as you want really. if you didnt have to worry about money then you could be living the way you wanted

Caleb Crowe: but money will always be a part of the equation, so how do you configure the rest of the problem so happiness is the sum? (how d'ya like that extended metaphor, eh?)

Mr. Friend: well thats what im saying if you cant take money out of it then how can it be fully living the way you want to

Caleb Crowe: so, happiness isn't achievable?

Mr. Friend: we always want more

Caleb Crowe: but wouldn't happiness bring feelings of being content and saitated?

Mr. Friend: ya.

Mr. Friend: not pure happiness

Mr. Friend: well.

Mr. Friend: ya

Mr. Friend: haha

Caleb Crowe: so, life is at best a hollow facismile of what should be?

Mr. Friend: well you can find happiness in aspect of life but you wont be fully happy or fulfilled until you die

Caleb Crowe: so, what if you can actually find some of this elusive happiness in 'the rat race' and chasing what society purports to be 'the dream.' does that vindicate the amount of time we have to pour into that concept now in the hope that it will be payed off later?

Mr. Friend: well first of all society is stupid. secondly Jesus

Caleb Crowe: so, based on those two points, why spend time on this garbage?

Mr. Friend: we are living in a very messed up place, and what do you mean this garbage, like life, or work?

Caleb Crowe: work. this staying up studying things that we have no interest in or desire for.

Caleb Crowe: not just the lost hours of sleep, but just the amount of self that gets poured into it

Caleb Crowe: the worry, the money, the time, the relationships

Mr. Friend: well if you have no desire to do it. then i dont think you should do it. you should be at least liking what youre doing, or youre just setting yourself up for a long crap life

Caleb Crowe: do you like your program?

Mr. Friend: i dont know yet.

The conversation progressed into more personal realms after that, but I just thought it made for an interesting read. I hope you enjoyed.

(Also, Anberlin concert tomorrow night. This will be the second time I've seen them, plus I've been listening to them for around 6 or 7 years, so I fully expect to be blown away. Concert review to follow).

"It's This Brain of Mine; It's Got a Mind of It's Own."

I tried going for a barefoot run the other morning, but the ground has become so cold that it just turned into an exercise in pain. Tonight, I tried going for a barefoot walk; This didn't work out either. The end of the summer was so chilly that it still hasn't really clicked in my brain that it's a different season now: that the days are shorter, the nights are longer and the air crisper. I keep expecting to walk out into pure unadulterated sunshine.

Of course I don't think I'm fat. I went out for a walk tonight because I've been pent up for the last little while, and I just needed something with cathartic potential. And exercise.

I'm an 18 year old male. Eight teen. Male. Last year I was 17 year old male.

My entire life I've existed as a male who falls grossly short of male stereotypes: when my brother was having epic war games, I was busy preparing a tragic backstory for the ammunition boy; when kids in my class were discussing skateboarding and cars, I was reading Tolkien; when all my friends were getting their licenses, I was too busy being introspective about things I can't even remember.

To the left of me is roughly $800 dollars or more worth of musical equipment. I can't play one song. I've read more novels then I can count, but the furthest I've been able to get in writing one is a chapter and a half. I have a sketchbook filled with monsters and abstraction because I can't take the time to learn proper proportioning. I've written more lyrics than I remember, but the only two songs I've performed live were covers. One was a cover of a cover.

I was contemplating all this, and I think the best way to describe how I feel is lopsided. Or rather, how I know I should feel. I'm currently straddling the line between knowledge of something and knowing it.

Growing up, teachers said that I had the potential to do very well, but I just didn't do it.

I never believed them. I thought that was the line they fed everyone, always trying to pull out the best in people by telling them it was just out of their reach. A very close friend of mine started a blog recently (http://seasonalcaleb.wordpress.com/), and in his inaugural post he talks about things the type of thing that I would be hesitant sharing with the people closest to me, and he just throws it up for the world to see. I'm constantly amazed when people's actions are so different from mine that I can't understand them at all.

This all ties in because I understand that I'm different. I get that the sum of my existence is a number different from anyone else's; I just won't accept it. I don't argue it, but I don't accept it. Growing up I always wanted to have some sort of instant intrinsic value. I think everyone does.

But I could never believe the teachers when they said I had potential that others didn't.

I have a hard time wrapping my head around the fact that I can be good at something without being the best.

Being at 18 year old male I have desires: I want to move, I don't want to be couped up, I want to create, I want to have and to hold.

This is just existential rambling at best, with trace amounts of connectivity.

I hate my cell phone. There's so much potential within it: it's a hallway to a hundred rooms, and behind each room is a unique and interesting person. But having meaningful conversation in this hallway is so hard. face to face interaction is where it's at, but I'm usually to distracted for it to turn out the way I'd like.

I'm ending this here, otherwise this would just spiral even further away from whatever the topic is supposed to be.

The Charmed Life (Or, How I Will Eat Mostly Waffles In The Days To Come)

I have a bizarre life. I realize I over use that word, but it's true.

Sunday I was just doing a routine check of my email, and got a lovely little message informing me that Haste The Day (http://www.myspace.com/hastetheday) would be staying at my house Monday night after their show with Enter Shikari.

Needless to say, I was incredibly excited. So, I did a quick clean of my house and figured out where everyone would go, went out and bought 48 waffles and the accessories in anticipation of their arrival.

Monday morning I went to school with the expectation that I would be chaperoning a grade 9 art trip to the zoo. Turns out the art trip is Thursday of next week. So, my plans were thrown asunder from 9:20 onwards.

The day progressed as any other day (except instead of spending my spares working on my art project (which I will post photos of as soon as it's done), I watched a movie in an empty classroom), until post-school where I went on a quick jaunt to a book store with a very dear and very absent friend.

Moving along.

Haste The Day didn't end up coming to my house, but my friend still got in for free and my entire group got free merch.

But the strangeness of the whole day had me pondering. How sure are we of our plans? To what degree do we really have control of our lives? Paradoxically, it's infinite and extremely limited. We can control our own choices and how we choose to act, but we have no control over others and they contribute so greatly to who we are and how our lives progress.

Not sure what this whole ordeal taught me (aside from the fact that both Haste The Day and Enter Shikari are amazingly entertaining live, each for their own reasons)(and that hardcore crowds don't know how to dance to dubstep) but it certainly has me thinking.

And eating.

I've consumed 12 waffles so far today.

36 to go.

Short Story From a Year Ago.

I was just looking through some of my old notes today, trying to find inspiration for lyrics, and I came across this anecdote that is just a few days over one year old.

It relates to winter, so I thought it was fitting:

"dear whoever is reading this"

and thats how the letter began. i paused for a second before continuing. i knew that jeremy would've paused when writing, so i knew that i too should pause.

"dear whoever is reading this.
hello, and thank you for your time.
first and foremost, i have 3 distinct memories of winter.
first: i am sitting in the skate park. my two best friends in the world are there, so is the man i loathe more than anyone. the ties between all these people were so intense and too complex that now they lie in utterly shattered and thoroughly irreparable ruins. this could be considered foreshadowing.
i dont know why this stands out in my mind. there may have been snow falling.
i dont know.
i remember he(the one i loathed) did something, and i looked to one best friend with outrage written plain across my face. the one i loathed noticed, and proffered some excuse. this taught me to guard my face.
secondly: i'm standing on a street corner. you are standing with me. we are waiting. (by you, i do not of course mean whoever may be reading this (my respects to you), but i mean you, the girl i stood with.) i do not recall what we are waiting for, i just remember i offered my jacket to you. and we stood there.
conversation flew in static bursts. carols came forth in a garble that only we could find funny.
this taught me something, i'm sure it did. i dont know what yet.
lastly: "

here he had taken a sharpie and skewered his final point in a long black, finite line, leaving behind only one indented stanza:

"i've grown feeble and tired of the world,
and I long to smell the sea
the sea.."

i had the tune in my head now. i knew this song. from somewhere. it stuck out like that word on the tip of your tongue, the dream that you had last night.
it was there, waiting in the ethereal reaches of my mind.
i read on:

"in my time here on this earth i've learned a few things that i believe to be completely concrete:
the main one being that what i think i know about things that cannot be measured are quite possibly entirely untrue. therefore what i just said may very well be the ramblings of a mad man.
self-doubt aside.
another thing i've learned is that no matter how much you"

here he had crossed out you, replaced it with i, then we, and finally

"one may gather self-confidence, self-doubt will always have that foothold. it can be lurking anywhere, in any or all facets of life, waiting to blast what you thought of yourself into oblivion. what you thought you knew about friendship was so thoroughly armored in assurance that you forgot to check the ground it was standing on. thus, it fell to a quicksand of impatience.
but i digress. well, i assume i need to. the official point is this: i'm leaving. dont try to find me."

oh. i stopped.
i reread up to that point.

"now that the main point is in the open, i may digress back to my prior distraction.
what i think i know. i thought i knew love. as arrogant as that sounds coming from a 21 year old, i would like to say that i was, for a while, blissfully ignorant of human nature. i was so caught up in endorphins and indefinite s that i couldnt see her selfishness staring me blankly in the eye."

me? no.

"i've learned to not put trust in a sweater to keep you warm, no matter what the weatherman says. i've learned that there is more bad in this world than good. i dont know how it still spins.
gravity will always win.
i think thats all i can divulge at this point.
but, as i was saying. said. i am going away. do not try to find me. and do not worry. i will be back one day, but till then, dont try to find me. that would ruin it.
the mystery for me. and you. the dear reader.
much love"

his unintelligible signature danced beneath his drawn-out and spacey goodbye.
i looked out the window.
and sipped my tea.
and waited.

Tiny Tide- The Identity Mix Up

A friend of mine posted this recently: http://bt.io/G83p and it inspired me to write down the thoughts that I've been having on this topic of late.

In preparation for writing this blog I went for a run in order to clear my mind. Didn't work. The question of identity is so multi-layered and ubiquitous that attacking it directly is something saved best for dissertations, not blogs.

So, rather than go broad scope, I'm focusing in on the idea of Labels.

Google defines a label as: "a brief description given for purposes of identification."

Not only do they identify, they dehumanize.

On Friday in my Hollywood vs History class we were discussing the Rwanda Genocide, and it occurred to me that humans don't kill humans. Or rather, humans don't kill people they view as equals; they kill people that they think they are either better than or people that they think are worse than they are (while that sounds repetitive there is a difference).

Case in point: The Hutu's didn't kill other Hutu's. They killed "Tutsi Cockroaches." An entire race was assigned an identifier, a label of being worse than those labeling.

Rather than asking ourselves 'how could one human being do this to another," we should rather try and understand how one human could come to view another as so much less than human.

This may sound rather obvious, but how does this start? How can someone go from a human to a cockroach?

We see things like this everyday, particularly in high school. "She's a prep, he's a jock, I'm a nerd, they're the guidos, and Terrence is the outcast." Labels carry with them connotations, and these connotations allow us to have fully realized views on someone we have never interacted with based on just a few choice syllables describing one aspect of their personality.

(This is ignoring the issue of deconstruction and inability to efficiently convey meaning precisely; When person A says says that person C is 'Stylish,' person B automatically thinks of all the people they view as 'Stylish' and assigns person C some of these characteristics, when in fact person A has a different view and opinion on 'Stylish,' and the meaning is lost to subjective interpretation).

Aside from the above issue of us not even properly understanding the sayer's intent of these labels, when we hear and accept a label, we attach thoughts and views to The Labelled that detract from who they are as a human being.

The more I get to know someone, the harder it is for me to describe them. My closest friends are the most enigmatic people I know. But I can easily place strangers in a box and assume things about them based on a few scant pieces of information. People are infinite paradoxes, and the shear potential of them is staggering.

Now, some might read this and think "This is stupid. ____ is a slut by their own admission. They've said they've done this and everyone knows it." This might be true, but is their entire existence really defined by one word? And if it is, why? How can they exist in a way that allows strangers to know everything about them through one four letter word? What are they so terrified of that they have yet to come into themselves as people?

Labels dehumanize. No one is so shallow that the sum of their being can fit into one word.

We love to try though, because labels make life easy. Interacting with strangers is eerie, so if we can delude ourselves into thinking that we know those around us based on the adjectives we paste onto them, then we feel comfortable because we 'know' them.

Same goes for self. We adopt the labels others give us, because it affords us a sense of familiarity. We can even make it a mantra of sorts. When faced with the question of 'Who are you?" we can just bow our heads and repeat to ourselves "I am the care-giver, I am the care-giver, I am the care-giver".

Really? The sum of you, the magnus opum of who you are, is 'care-giver.' Sure, it might be an important part of how you view yourself (and how others view you), but it is ultimately not you.

Since I've painted Labels as obviously negative, the question then changes from "Who do you define yourself as" to "How do you define yourself?"

Simply put, don't.

Stop saying this person is that, that person is this and you are something.

Humans do this to everything. We find similar traits and spank a label on it so we can understand it in contrast. Musical Genres, Dewey Decimal System, Church Denominations... Science even bothers to break it down in the order of kingdom, division, class, order, family, genus and finally species.

As a species, we need to understand. Labeling allows us this, especially where people aren't involved, but introduce humans into the equation and it takes away from interpersonal growth. Getting to know someone when we can have preconceived notions of them is like trying to eat a sandwich that's wrapped in plastic wrap. Gross, rather difficult and not at all the right flavour.

We must first peel away the plastic preconceptions of peoples personalities, then we can get down to the meat of their being.

My Brother and The Dichotomy of Light and Dark

First and most exciting things first, my brother is now engaged. Good on ya mate

(No idea what that means, but it sounds appropriate).

I spent the last three days in his company driving East so he could propose and do some work related stuff, and it was crazy fun.

I forgot my camera in his car, so the photo that I wanted to attach to this post is still in P.E.I., so I shall simply tell you what it was going to be: Elvis, the tampon of male bonding.

Within the first hour of setting out on our epic adventure, my brother found a stray tampon in the car and attached it to the rear view mirror where it dangled conspicuously for the world to envy.

While not necessarily my favorite moment of the roadtrip, it is one of the few that is a)appropriate and b) actually funny to those who do not know us too well and c) it portrays the sheer inanity of my broski.

We were pulled aside crossing back into Canada for a customs check, and me and my brother got out of the car and sat on a bench giggling about absurd scenarios that could happen. In the midst of our chuckle fest, one of the border guards called my brother over to ask him a few questions.

Here is an excerpt from the conversation:

Border Guard motioning to me: "Who is that?"

Spen: "My brother."

Border Guard: "Does he do drugs?"

Spen: "... I don't think so?"

Bless his heart.

Early on in the roadtrip, my iPod died so we were devoid of any music until day 2 when we stopped at a wal-mart and I picked up Anberlin's new album "Dark is the Way, light is a Place," their 5th full length LP.

Here is an absurdly large photo of the cover of the album. I just love it. It's so thoroughly mature and enigmatic. Works perfectly for the album.

Consisting of 10 tracks and being 40-odd minutes in length, the album, while not spotless, is surprisingly good.

Rather than go on a track by track breakdown of hits and misses, here is the general idea: way too much structure, extremely well-fleshed out lyrics and catchy-yet-complicated music. Up until their 4th album, Anberlin's music tended to blur together; Not so on this record. Each song is distinctive, yet has that elusive cohesive feel of actually being an album and not a collection of singles.

My only real issue with the album is the penultimate track Down. Every time I hear it I think it's either Sleeping Sickness by City and Color, or The Unwinding Cable Car (acoustic) also by Anberlin. Or a weird amalgamation of the two. Plus, the lyrics make reference to burning a town. Yawn. Alexisonfire killed that metaphor back in 2006 with the track 'Mailbox Arson' off of Crisis, and it should really never be brought up in music again.

I guess another issue with the album is the closer, which clocks in at only five and a half minutes, whereas their closers had averaged a length of seven minutes. Pity too, since the refrain would have easily worked over another minute and half of build (You're not a slave/So get off your knees). Lyrically, it feels like part two of Soft Skeletons from New Surrender.

In spite of those issues, and an annoying tendency to have bridges that sputter off into silence only to roar back to life with a hearty chorus, this album is definitely worth buying. There is maturity in absolutely every aspect of this album.

Road Trip

In a few hours me and my brother are departing for an epic roadtrip to P.E.I. or New Brunswick or somesuch crazy place on the East coast.

I'm pumped like a guido's fist.

A Movie Reflection and Not Much Else

I really do more with my life than watch movies. Honest.

But I love the cinema and will go whenever I have a chance, and this weekend I had two chances, so I took both. The first movie was The Social Network, which the blog prior to this one was about, the second, as I'm sure you realized, was Easy A.

Now, they are both good movies, but for radically different reasons. The Social Network is a serious biopic based on real events that will still be an amazing movie 10 years from now and will probably do well at the Academy Awards.

Easy A is a fun romp that requires little personal investment but elicits lots of laughs. While it is a comedy, it is a smart(er) comedy. Rather than depend on some idiot goofing off and acting like a mentally deficient child (coughadamsandlercoughwillferralcough), Easy A gets most of it's laughs from the script and delivery of the dialog. It's smart, satirical and over the top in just the right way. It pokes fun at itself for using cliches and conventions, and often points out how often these topics or actions have been employed (teacher who raps, how fast rumors spread, having a classic novel being studied in the english class that reflects the plot of the movie). The main character's (whose name escapes me) parents are completely inane but somehow still believable. It's also incredibly refreshing to see teenagers actually get along with their parents and go to them for help instead of treating them like the clue-less enemy.

Something else that I enjoyed about it though was it's philosophical and literary underpinnings. One major and obvious reference is to The Scarlett Letter by Nathanial Hawthorne. This book helps to further the plot and act as a guide to the protagonists actions (which, as aforementioned, is a stereotype that the film-makers acknowledge and embrace). But beyond this, there were lines of dialog here and there that reference other classics of literature. At one point in a webcast the main character holds up a sign that says something to the effect of "Not with a bang, but a ..." I can't recall what word she substituted for 'whisper', but it was a clear reference to T.S. Elliot's masterful poem The Hollow Men. How, if at all, that poem is connected to Easy A isn't something that is immediately apparent to my 2AM mind, but I'm sure there are connections somewhere. There is also the line "rumors of my promiscuity have been greatly exaggerated" a play on Mark Twain/Samuel Clemens snarky one liner "rumors of my demise have been greatly exaggerated." Twain also gets a shout out for Huckleberry Finn, so that piece of referential continuity is nice.

There were two major issue's I had with the film, one being more important than the other. I'll start with the less serious one: Easy A continually relies on other classics to give itself wings. The movie ends with the main character and some Deus Ex Machina love interest riding away on a lawnmower to "Don't You Forget About Me" with their fists raised triumphantly in the air. While the John Hughes tribute was nice, it gets a little tiring when movies don't try to invent any new memorable moments, rather must recreate moments that are 30 years old. Second issue: mis-portrayal of Jesus' followers. While I'm used to seeing Christians completely misrepresented in movies, they usually refer to some sort of odd, New Age-ish 'god-entity' that is obviously nothing like the one in the Bible. In Easy A, the 'Christians' bring up Jesus and act like judgmental zealots in His name. Which is sad, because that's completely contrary to what Jesus was about.

Work And The Social Network

If you're reading this for a review of the movie The Social Network, scroll down to the photo and heading that says The Social Network. Otherwise, keep reading.

Today I finished up my third shift at my new job, No Frills. It's nice. It's so much more laid-back than any other job I've ever worked, and as such I often find myself confused because I'm enjoying the work.

The newness of it will eventually wear off of course, and the monotony will set in and I'll want to shoot myself in the face. Until then though, I will enjoy it as much as possible.

The Social Network

I went into this movie with high expectations. The director, David Fincher, directed arguably the most brilliant movie of the 90's, and as such I was assuming this would be at least a little good.

I assumed wrong, it wasn't a little good; it was a whole ton of good.

I can honestly say that I love this movie. It's completely brilliant. There are so many strong elements to this movie that picking where to begin is like trying to eat France: you just don't even know where to start.

The first thing that really, really got my attention as I sat in the theatre was the dialog. Mark Zuckerberg (played by Jesse someone or other from Adventureland and Zombieland) has a long and almost confusing conversation with his soon-to-be-ex-girlfriend Erika. The speed and inanity of the conversation is a lot like university; there is so much happening that finding where you were is just as hard as establishing where you are going. The scene helps to establish that this movie is going places. It sets the character of Mark Z. perfectly, or rather, realistically. He is a tortured anti-hero, consumed by his own genius in a subtle way. He is snarky, sarcastic, sardonic and all around a fascinating protagonist.

The next major element to catch my attention was the soundtrack. After Mark is dumped, he jogs back to his dorm. As I sat watching him be the most athletic he would be in the movie, I wondered why there was dark industrial ambient music pumping out the sound system, then the credit for scoring was given to Trent Reznor, and it all made sense. Trent Reznor is best known as the creative force behind Nine Inch Nails, and a prodigy of sorts to Marylin Manson.

The scoring for the movie is immaculate and fresh. Relying heavily on electronica-based mood music, Reznor helps to set a perfect atmosphere, not just chronologically, but personally.

Next up on the chopping block: Film technique. David Fincher does a stupendous job behind the camera. The most standout usage to me was that of focus, and how it was employed for different scenes. It was not always on the most obvious spot, so it made you look for a spot to rest your eyes. It forces you to examine the shot, much in the same way the over-all feel of the movie forces you to re-examine it as a whole. There is a myriad of nuances strewn throughout the movie that subtly mirror facebook: the appearance of characters sporadically, similar to Facebook's newsfeed, the non-linear timeline constantly giving us different snap-shots into different parts of mark's life, akin to one's 'wall' on facebook. I feel that in order to fully appreciate the scope of the movie, I'd have to see it again.

Even looking back on it now, I know there was more that I liked about it, but it's all garbled together in my still astounded 2AM mind.

I think it just boils down to the fact that this is a character driven movie. Yeah, sure, the plot is awesome and engrossing, but where the movie really earns its stripes is in the acting. It's like watching REAL reality T.V. with actual people instead of people trying to be silicone versions of someone else. But, they're just really good actors. Really, Really good actors.

I would be surprised if this movie doesn't win an Oscar or two, and I'd be downright appalled if it wasn't even nominated.