Yesterday, I was playing some music for all the household to hear, and a Billie Holiday song came on.  My son looked up from his toy trucks and said: “Oh, this song is like Annie,” which was his way of saying the music he was hearing was of a similar style to much of the music in that favorite motion picture.  Later, the song “Star Trek Rhapsody”, which is a parody based on “Bohemian Rhapsody,” came on.  My son said, “This sounds like WALL-E”.  Again, he was right: the sound effects in that song are very reminiscent of the sound effects in his favorite film.

I think it’s great that someone so young is already able to spot similarities in unrelated bits of daily life.  Maybe it means he’s smart, or maybe it just means he’ll be a comedian one day.  Either way, I think such pattern recognition should be encouraged.

His nonchalant comments reminded me of one day, about 25 years ago, when I was in second grade.  My elementary school used to have these things called “Picture Day”.  I don’t mean the day when all the kids try to look their best and pose for a lousy keepsake photo.  No, I mean the day that volunteers actually came into our class with a painting.  The paintings were on loan from the library, and the volunteers were usually librarians (though, for some reason, I have this hazy feeling that some of the volunteers were mothers’ of the children).

I liked Picture Day.  The whole class would sit on the floor in a semi-circle and the volunteer would pull out a large reproduction of a famous painting and tell us the story of how this painting came to be and why it’s important.  I learned a lot about art and history thanks to Picture Day; one time a volunteer brought in Christina’s World.  Another time, a volunteer came in with a painting of Dan Patch (of significance because my elementary school was named after Marion Savage).

One day, a woman brought in two paintings.  When she pulled out the first painting, it was totally covered with tagboard.  She then opened up a flap that revealed a small portion of the painting.  In the flap, we could only darkness and some stars.  She asked if we had any guesses as to what time of day the painting was depicting.  Of course, we all shouted out “night time”.  Then she opened another flap, revealing what looked like a bright sun.  So then we were all confused.  Then she removed the whole piece of tagboard.  It was then that we saw Van Gogh’s Starry Night.  I was immediately drawn to the picture; it was undoubtedly my favorite painting that anyone had ever brought in for picture day.  

As she spoke to us about the painting, however, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I had heard the words “starry night” somewhere before.  After much thinking, it finally occurred to me and, so, when she asked if we had any questions, my hand shot up into the air.  “Does this painting have anything to do with that song that goes ‘starry, starry night’?” I asked.  I was referring to the Don MacLean song, “Starry Starry Night”, of which my father owned the single.  She scrunched up her face and, looking really put out at the question, said: “Well, yes, but let’s focus on the painting, here.”

After fielding a few more questions from the class, she pulled out her next picture: a painting depicting a scene from the Battle of Greasy Grass Creek.  I had never heard of Little Bighorn, or of George Custer, but, again, by sheer coincidence, as she told the story of the battle and the painting, I recalled another song my Dad owned.  So, at question time, I again raised my hand, and asked if this painting bore any connection to the funny song “Mr. Custer”.  This time, my teacher shot me a cold glance, as if I was acting out of line, and the volunteer, who assumed I was just trying to be funny, said, “Well, we’re not gonna talk about that song, it’s very disrespectful to Custer”.

Here’s what I learned later in life: Custer was a supreme asshole who deserves no respect.  And even if he did, guess what?  I wasn’t talking about the actual historical event.  I was inquiring about the painting.  Maybe Larry Verne’s parody song was just a stupid parody song, but the painting was, well, just a painting.  And while I’m fully on board with the notion that Van Gogh’s contributions to the arts far exceeeds Don MacLean’s, guess what?  It’s still just a painting.  

Another thing I learned is that making connections like that helps the brain grow and stay alert.  Despite what I learned in school.

Almost always, if I read past, say, page 10, I finish a book. After reading the reviews of the book, the back cover (yes, I do judge books by their covers), and scanning the Table of Contents, I plunge into books full well expecting to finish them. Even if the book is sub-expectations, I like to finish it (just as I endeavor to finish all movies I start) if for no other reason than to put it on my list of books I’ve read and to have the freedom to dismantle its lousy content.

It is with great regret, therefore, that I must report that I did not – and will not – finish reading “Star Wars on Trial”. I mean, it sounded promising: an entire book featuring a mock courtroom drama in which prosecution and defense deconstruct the merits, morals and meaning of some of the greatest (New Hope, Empire Strikes Back) and worst (Phantom Menace) films of all time.

Why not finish?

For starters, there were two introductions. I always read the introductions, for reasons stated above (see par. 1), but let’s be honest: no one wants to read the introduction. It’s like the instruction manual for a video game: just a necessary how-to that everyone wants to skip. So having two was, well, a terrible kick-off. As were the opening statements (essentially a phase-two of an introduction) that lasted until page EIGHTY-ONE!

I also assumed, judging from the fact that a mock courtroom is displayed on the book’s cover (and the fact that the judge is named “Droid Judge”), that the text would read like we were in a courtroom. But the book’s authors constantly referenced the book itself. For example, when one lawyer asked for a moment to respond to an allegation, the judge said, “Try to limit yourself to half a page”. This line would have been way better had it been “Try to limit yourself to one minute”, thereby maintaining the illusion of being in a courtroom.

Worse, the authors began by saying anything in the six films were fair game, but then constantly referenced books, comics and other Star Wars paraphernalia that lost me, and served as a constant reminder that we were not in the Star Wars Universe but were, instead, reading a book about some stuff George Lucas makes money off of. One author seemed to think it was worthy of note that he had authored to novel version of Revenge of the Sith – so much so that he cited his “credential” three times. He also claimed to have insider information from Lucas himself that verified his claims, but simultaneously (and frustratingly) claimed to be unable to divulge this special information. Sounds a lot like religion to me: “Star Wars is the best film ever made, and I know because God told me, but I can’t tell you how God told me…”

But the straw that broke this tauntaun’s back was this: twice in the first 70 pages, the authors took the opportunity to cite as evidence of Star Wars’ importance, the fact that the reader was reading the book! Sorry, that doesn’t hold up. Any book can say “My thesis is very important, and I cite as proof the fact that you bothered to read this sentence” But that’s wasn’t enough, evidently. Realizing that not everyone who is reading the book has purchased the book, the author’s twice stepped aside from the arguments to downgrade persons who were reading the book but had not purchased it. On page 77 they said: “YOU! Yeah, YOU! Don’t just sit there sipping that latte! BUY this book, you cheap bastard-!”

Okay, this is just unacceptable. I did not steal the book, I checked it out of the library. The authors were under no compulsion to make their work available at the library, but they did. Further, I pay all sorts of taxes – some of which goes to the library…and thus to authors for the sale of their book to the library. Further, I only buy books that I am sure I will either reread, or reference repeatedly for years to come. As such, most books I buy are books that I HAVE ALREADY READ. Yeah, that’s right, far from being a cheap bastard, I am simply a cautious consumer. I bought Animal Farm after having read it five times. And I’ve read it since. And Orwell never harassed me for not buying his book the moment it went on sale at Barnes & Noble.

Bottom line…

The idea of “Star Wars on Trial”…A
Execution of that idea…F

Owen and I read books together nearly every night before bed. After a long period in which he would only allow me to read a handful of non-fiction books (with the exception of Where’s Spot?), he’s finally allowing me to branch out into his entire reading library.

Here are some things I’ve noticed, and some other things I’m wondering…

One book Owen owns is a thick book of nursery rhymes. I don’t often bring this one out for fear he’ll insist I read every rhyme in the book (and the book does put forth an ambitious effort to include every nursery rhyme ever conceived), but reading these bizarre, often scary poems as an adult now has me asking:
What’s with the three men in a tub? I mean, let’s set aside the strange amalgam of blue-collar professionals sharing such tight quarters, what I find weird is that, in any illustrative depiction of the poem, the men are invariably in a barrel floating in a body of water. What gives? Should the poem be three men in a boat? Did “tub” used to mean “a thing you float in”?
And while we’re on the subject of nursery rhymes, why is Humpty always portrayed as an egg? Nothing in the poem seems to indicate this. What’s more, Humpty is shown to be a MALE egg. Again, nothing in the poem itself tells us what gender Humpty is, and I think you’d be pretty hard pressed to find something in the refrigerator that screams FEMALE! more than an egg.

Speaking of gender, one of our favorite books to read together is Wacky Wednesday. For the life of me, I can’t figure out the gender of the main character, despite the fact that he/she is shown on every single page – including one page in which he/she is naked but for a pair of socks. We never learn the protagonist’s name, and no one talks to him/her in any way that requires a telling pronoun. The boy/girl dons a pink shirt with jeans and sports hair going down just over his/her ears. Very cryptic.

Another Dr. Seuss book we read is Green Eggs and Ham. Here’s the funniest thing about that book: the pages are numbered. Yes, that’s right, despite the fact that there’s no table of contents or index, and despite the fact that the book can be read cover to cover in under five minutes, someone, somewhere along the way, felt it necessary to include page numbers. I guess, that way, when Owen comes to me with a confused look on his face asking: “Hey, where in this book does Sam-I-Am ask if his friend would be willing to eat green eggs and ham in a box or with a fox?” I can say, with precision, “Oh, that’s on page 22.”

You may not have heard of If You Give a Mouse a Cookie, but in that book, a boy concedes to giving a mouse the above-mentioned dessert, only to have it escalate. The fun part is turning each page to see how it’s escalating. For instance, after eating the cookie, the mouse says he’s thirsty, so…(turn the page)…now he wants a glass of milk. Anyway, at one point, the mouse has drawn a picture and decides he wants to hang it on the fridge, so he needs…(drum roll)…Scotch Tape. You read that correctly: Scotch Tape. The first time I turn to this page, I felt cheated. Who hangs stuff on their fridge with Scotch Tape? Isn’t that why magnets were invented? It didn’t say he wanted a glass of Dean Milk, or a Nestle Toll House cookie. I searched the small print inside the front cover expecting to find something like “This book made possible by a grant from 3M”. No such luck. I hate when an otherwise good book does something stupid like pointless product placement.

In the book Where the Wild Things Are, we are told that Max is anointed “King of All Wild Things”. But I think a better title would be “King of All Run-on Sentences”. Here’s a doozy:

That very night in Max’s room a forest grew and grew and grew until his ceiling hung with vines and the walls became the world around and an ocean tumbled by with a private boat for Max and he sailed off through night and day and in and out of weeks and almost over a year to where the wild things are.

…Yep, that’s right: 62 words spread out over 5 pages, and that’s not even the longest sentence in the book. I am certain this book has more pages than sentences. I keep looking at the cover, expecting it to say “written by Thomas Jefferson”.

In the matter of funky sentence structure, I was going to mention Corduroy, with it’s predilection for passive statements (e.g. try to sound natural when reading things like “Over it fell with a crash.”), but, instead, allow me to point out one of the book’s reviews, which is reprinted on the inside front cover. The first sentence begins:

A winning, completely childlike picture book in which a stuffed bear waiting hopefully in a toy department finds a home with a little black girl…

…Yes, you read that correctly: Corduroy goes home to live with a black girl. Unlike, say, the Sneetches, ethnicity has absolutely nothing to do with the story, so I’m not sure why the reviewer was compelled to tell us Corduroy’s ultimate friend is black, nor why the publisher deemed this the best review to print in this edition.

My white son and I look forward to reading more books tonight.

-There are no shortage of fans when it comes to actors, authors, singers, painters, directors, dancers and athletes. But have you ever heard of anyone becoming a fan of…a narrator? Well, now you have, because I am hereby declaring myself as a fan of Jim Dale.
Let me bring you up to speed on Mr. Dale. As I’ve mentioned here before, I recently listened to the entire Harry Potter series on audio cassette while driving to and from work. About mid-way through the first book, I thought to myself: “Yeah, the story is decent, but you know what’s really awesome? The guy doing the reading”. I mean, he was spectacular. He had a different voice for every character of varying ages and nationalities – even managing to sound like pre-teen girls without resorting to a falsetto. Hargrid (the giant) sounded large and gruff and Snape sounded cold and foreboding. I don’t know how he managed to keep it all straight, but I would often know who was speaking just by the voice. For example, when he read: “’I don’t like this,’ said Ron”, I knew it was Ron even before he got to the ‘said Ron’ part.
I looked on the back of the box and discovered that Dale subsequently won an Emmy award for his reading (well deserved, sir!). He also narrates the TV show Pushing Daisies, which I had noted to my wife more than once that “this show has a great narrator”.
Anyway, after finishing up the Harry Potter books, I went to the library and looked for another audio book narrated by Dale. I found one: Around the World in 80 Days. At the end of that book, Dale says: “We hope you enjoyed this unabridged recording of ‘Around the World in 80 Days’, by Jules Verne”, and for a split second, I thought “Hey, wait, this book was by Jim Dale, not Jules Verne”. But then I thought: “Silly James, Dale was merely the narrator, not the author”.

-While browsing the virtual shelves at Amazon.com the other day, I fortuitously stumbled upon Paddle to the Sea, a short film from the 1960s that I had last seen in Kindergarten. In fact, I totally forgot the film even existed until I saw the ad for it. I immediately went over to Netflix to add it to my queue, but to my consternation, they did not have it (marking the first time Netflix ever failed to have a DVD I was searching for). Alas, the local library did have it. We watched it that very night as a family, and Owen was completely enthralled by it, asking to watch it again on each subsequent night that week. He calls it “Paddle the Boat”, an endearing moniker that’s no less of a misnomer than the title (as there is not a single stroke of paddling in the entire film).
At any rate, after rewatching this film for the first time in nearly three decades, I have added it to its rightful place in my pantheon of Best Short Films Ever. Go rent it, you’ll like it, and so will that special toddler in your life.

-The wife and I recently viewed the documentary The Fog of War. It won the Oscar for Best Documentary back on 2003, and it’s directed by Errol Morris, which equated to a sure bet (in my opinion). The film is, essentially, an interview with Robert McNamara, who, in case you don’t remember, was Secretary of Defense under both Kennedy and Johnson. McNamara, who doesn’t succeed in proving his case despite being given an hour an a half to do so, comes across as a man who has lived long enough to see how historians have painted him (he’s 92 years old).

He does a good job of splitting the blame between his underlings and subordinates. Like a manager, when it’s convenient, he blames the President and, when it’s convenient, he blames his employees. McNamara seemed to have no trouble recalling the absurd atrocities Johnson (in his all-too-relevant Cowboy politics) committed during his tenure as Commander-in-Chief, yet can’t seem to remember details about his own life, like if he authorized Agent Orange or not.

McNamara implied that Kennedy’s assassination was a tragedy for another reason: had Kennedy lived, the American involvement in Vietnam would have ended far sooner than it did under the two buffoons who succeeded him. It’s an interesting thought, but ultimately pointless – maybe Kennedy would have ended Vietnam…maybe Buddy Holly would have become more famous than Elvis…maybe Jesus would’ve become CEO of a bread company. Who knows?

The documentary is filled with reflective comments from McNamara, wondering why it took so long to learn the lessons we learned in Vietnam, wondering if the acts of aggression we committed are crimes against humanity, wondering if the evil we performed in Vietnam was justified by the good that came of it. I kept wondering: what’s with this WE crap, Bob? When millions of Americans were protesting on the streets – including a man who lit himself on fire right outside your office, how dare you ask why it took us so long to learn. It didn’t take us a long time to learn Vietnam was immoral…it only took you a long time.

Near the end of the film, Morris asks McNamara if he feels guilty, and McNamara (who, earlier, said he always held a policy of answering, not the question that was asked to you, but the question you wish was asked of you) simply says he’s dammed no matter how he responds. So he says nothing. Nice try, Bob, but your attempt to win sympathizers is too little, too late.

Harry Potter: B
Jim Dale’s narration: A
Paddle to the Sea: A
The Fog of War: B
Robert McNamara’s career: F

So, my quest to complete the enjoyable but non-spectacular Harry Potter series took a turn for the worse with book Four, also known as the Goblet of Fire.

What I enjoyed about the first three books was the all-encompassing universe, and how all the little threads of story lines come together in the end. I have been led to believe, by fans and casual readers alike, that the first three books are simply fun children’s tales…it’s the final four books – all more than double the length of any of the first three – that are darker and more engaging. Maybe Goblet suffers from middle-child syndrome.

In Goblet of Fire (and don’t worry, I won’t wreck anything for those of you who haven’t read it yet), we are first forced to sit through a book-within-a-book about the Quidditch World Cup. Of course, this world cup is never even mentioned in the earlier books, and the reader knows nothing about any of the teams…so, though the several chapters about the world cup do drop hints of the later, more important plot, the sporting event itself, and the many details provided are completely uninteresting.

Finally, Harry and his young friends start the school year, eagerly wondering about a special surpise they’ve heard about. And here’s the surprise: students from two other schools will be competing in various wizarding contests along with Hogwart’s (that’s Harry school) for a tri-wizard cup. These competitions are so dangerous and life-threatening, that the schools agreed the cancel the competitions 100 years earlier. Sounds exciting, but then we find out that only one student from each school can compete (meaning that dozens of students from the visiting schools just sit around all year and waste a year of their education – I’m not joking here)! So, naturally, we assume the competitor from Hogwarts will be Harry, right? Wrong! Only students 17 years of age and older (Harry’s only 14) can participate. This leaves out not only Harry, but also, Ron, Hermoine, Ginny, Fred, George, Neville and pretty much every other character we’ve come to love out of the running. But wait – there’s more! The yearly quidditch games, which we actually do care about (since we’ve come to know the teams and players) is entirely cancelled. You know, because one student will be soooo busy with three challenges (yep, just three) that no one else will have time to play their favorite sport AT ALL. Additional, the inter-house championship is also evidently cancelled; or, at least, it receives nary a word in “Goblet”

As you might have guessed (and I guessed it on about page 6), Harry nevertheless manages to become the competitor from his school (and, to make things confusing, the competitors are called “champions”). How does he do it? Well, we don’t know. And neither does Harry. It seems someone else has put his name into the aforementioned goblet. But wait – isn’t Harry too young? Yes, but once the goblet chooses a player, you can’t say no. Hey, isn’t Harry worried he’s gonna die, seeing how he’s so young and inexperienced compared to the other champions? Well, yes, but he HAS to play…because some stupid cup told him he has to play. Aren’t the other students crying foul because Harry got to play and they didn’t? Again, yes, but how can you say no to a goblet? Did I mention it’s a freakin’ goblet?

Now, I don’t know about you, but if I was forced to participate in an activity that A) I wasn’t too thrilled about in the first place; B) caused my peers to harass me and; C) might just cost me my life, I would do the most half-assed job ever (I know because this always happened in gym class). So when Harry has to battle a dragon, and he’s afraid that he’ll get killed, instead of just running to the other side, or collapsing on the ground stating he didn’t want to play anyway, he actually goes through all the motions of preparing, cheating and trying…just like all the real champions do.

Harry’s heart, though, just isn’t in it. In fact, it’s not in anything. When it comes time for the Christmas Ball, Harry doesn’t even want to go. Actually, it’s funny anyone even goes, because Hogwart’s, like most schools, is nearly deserted during the Xmas break as all the students have gone home for break. Inexplicably, no one bothers going home this year. Anyway, Harry doesn’t want to go to the dance, but his dorm master reminds him that it’s tradition for the school champion to ‘open the dance’. What? How can there be a tradition if there hasn’t been a tri-wizard challenge in 100 years, and if there’s never been a Xmas dance before? And why doesn’t Harry jsut say: “You know what? I didn’t volunteer for your stupid competition, so why don’t you get some other yes-boy to do your bidding?” Who knows.

Each individual task is exciting enough, but there’s only three of them, and they are separated by months, the last one even occurring in late June. (How long is Hogwart’s school year?! Nevermind, in this book, it makes no sense.)

How does it end? Well, I don’t want to ruin the ‘excitement’ for you, but, suffice it to say, it ends up not even mattering. Ha! Take that loyal readers of 700 pages! In the end, the dunces at Hogwarts send the boy you love to hate back with his abusive uncle and aunt…for the fourth time.

If “Order of the Pheonix” sucks as bad as “Goblet of Crap”, I won’t be completing the series.

Sorcerer’s Stone…B+
Chamber of Secrets…B-
Prisoner of Azkaban…B
Goblet of Fire…C-