Little Miss Sunshine is just a mess.  No, it's not horrible.  It isn't so offensive that I wouldn't watch it a second time.  The problem is that critics lauded it as one of the year's best films.  It was particularly praised for it's witty dialogue and unusual characters.  The preview was minimal, showing all actors I like to the catchy DeVotchKa tune, "The Enemy Guns."  I couldn't help going into it with unrealistically high expectations.  I came out of the theater hating it but decided to let it resonate a bit before I decided to formulate my thoughts.  

I realize this view may make me very unpopular but I've long since stopped obsessing over if people like me or not.  I'm slamming a movie beloved as the "little movie that could."  Movies like Little Miss Sunshine often end up going straight to video: movies with decent casts and healthy doses of comedy and drama.  Little Miss Sunshine did more than succeed, though.  Its characters were so kooky and adorable and dealt with serious issues of insecurity, sadness and a dysfunctional family in such a palatable way that resonated with so many.

Dysfunctional family and dysfunctional people stories all together are sort of my bread and butter.  I consume them in many forms: film, literature and my own writing.  Coming from one, I appreciate the honesty of the cracks and imperfections in a familial unit.  Don Draper's family on Mad Men is a great example of how a picture perfect nuclear family could have tangible problems.  Anything Bergman did shows the angst and suffering in subtle ways.  Then you have The Texas Chainsaw Massacre which, outlandish as it is, is fun to watch and you can picture it in the darkest depths of your imagination.  I'm such a lover of the dysfunctional family flick that it is a bit of a double-edged sword.  I'm more keen to like them and yet more critical of them because they are so easy to ruin.

If you're thinking, "could you do any better?"  Yes.  Yes, I could.  Anyone with any inclination as a writer could.  I truly believe that.

The dialogue isn't particularly insightful or even true to life.  Most of the humor relies heavily on comic timing and not the writer's wit.  Luckily, the cast is plenty talented and have comedic chops.  Every character is some kind of archetype.  Sheryl (Toni Collette) is the anchor of the family whose patience is abused by all.  Her husband, Richard (Greg Kinnear), is mostly an nonredeemable control freak.  Their daughter the "Little Miss Sunshine" hopeful is the ebullient Olive, who knows she isn't conventionally pretty but is going to try her hardest to win.  Oh, and there's the ever present somber, suicidal professor, Uncle Frank (Steve Carrell).  He's not only a tortured intellectual, but is also gay and in love with a student.  Really?  Just pour on all those clichéd stereotypes while you're at it.  Okay, Grandpa (Alan Arkin) is pervie potty-mouth, who acquired a heroin addiction in the old folks home.  I saw that special on senior citizen drug use and promiscuity on The Daily Show, which the writers probably jacked the idea from years ago.  They really did something clever with Dwayne.  See, they made him liberal and intellectual, and so disciplined he has become mute BUT he wants to join the military.  What a clever twist.  

Even with these archetypal characters, they still aren't that dysfunctional.  Their problem stems from a lack of communication.  I know most problems do but come on!  If Sheryl would only see a therapist to vent, she'd be much less overwrought.  Richard needs his family to put their proverbial feet down and tell him they're not taking his shit anymore.  Dwayne needs career counseling.  Olive needs to be less obsessed with being pretty.  There are all kinds of other competitions an intelligent girl with a great attitude can win.  Grandpa's fine.  He's got a wonderful relationship with his granddaughter.  Frank needs a better support network where being gay isn't considered an abomination.

The story is lamely formulaic.  Take a dysfunctional family and cram 'em in a van or just very close quarters just to let those unresolved issues start to brim.  And money and reliability of the mode of transportation is a must because it's the catalyst of the emotional outbursts that will inevitably happen.  Voila!  If you can pull a little Weekend At Bernie's action by keeping Grandpa's dead body around all the better.  Don't get me started on Olive's routine.  Not even a little funny...

If this is the kind of schlock winning awards and being deemed great, I don't know whether I should feel confident or frustrated.

Most people don't know this about me but I love acting.  While my family was planning for me to be a scientist or professor or something putting my brain to use, I fantasized about all the magnificent parts I wanted to play on the stage or screen.  I starred in local plays from The Rocky Horror Picture Show to Romeo and Juliet.  Alas, it was not to be but that's a whole other story.

It's been more than a decade since I was on stage.  I just was always too scared to try and ingratiate myself in the local community theater and I'd much rather take science courses than acting ones.  While I don't regret these choices, I do feel as if something has been missing from my life these years.  I still have that longing.  

It's hard to explain to people why I enjoy acting so much.  I'm painfully shy and it's a great difficulty to muster up enough courage to merely talk to others.  Why would someone like me like to be on the stage?  Escapism.  Acting allows me to pretend to be other people, people who are often different from me, who may live in different times.  In simplest terms, it's an escape from reality.  

My ingenious plan: write my own plays for me and my friends to perform.  I get complete creative control over the characters.  I get to use the old noggin in actually writing a play which is good for all kinds of things. (I can't tell you how many people I've told off, guys I've gotten, amazing adventures I've been on and even killed off people in my fiction.)  There are some problems writing plays for friends to act out if you, say, don't have many friends or ones that can act.  Writing two character plays is a difficult task.  It's so tempting as a writer to throw more characters into the mix.  So I decided to just write what I wanted and ignore that I only know one other person who loves to act (CT is an amazing actress!).  I still always am cautious about the number of characters I use in the incredible instance that I am actually able to make one of these plays into a film.

I always admired John Cassavettes' approach to filmmaking.  He's the guy that made Chrisptopher Guest and Mumblecore movies possible.  He would use mostly friends as actors or cast unknowns.  He would create skeletal plots (I'd only loosely call them "scripts") and only the most bare bones characters.  The actors would not only have the ability to flesh out their characters and come up with most of their own dialogue but also the trajectory of the plot by doing so.  Cassavettes would film hours of actors ad-libbing.  Some of it was pure gold.  Some of it went on too long.  He was always willing to take risks because he saw value in everyday human interactions.  

Naturally, when Mumblecore films started coming out, I was an immediate fan.  From what I understand, the creative process is similar to Cassavettes.  The directors use friends, people involved in the production or unknowns as the actors.  The dialogue is stream of consciousness.  The film quality is poor.  The camera techniques are unimpressive almost as if they plucked some guy off the street and got him to hold a camera for free food.  The films may be tedious at times but can also be quirky and original.  Unlike Cassavettes films, Mumblecore movies are much lighter in subject matter.  Rather than plunging into the depths of human psyche, Mumblecore movies just want to show that our humdrum lives are worth filming.  The humor is organic and the dramatic situations mirror our own.  The actors in Mumblecore possess less acting talent for sure but that only makes it seem like watching real life unfold.

So why can't I be doing this stuff?  Lena Dunham's Tiny Furniture was tightly scripted and had that Mumblecore feel.  I need friends to help me make movies.  It really pains my heart to think of selling my scripts to some studio that may butcher them.  I love my characters.  I hate to think of farming them out.  

There definitely is a smoker's code that is unwritten but universally understood by cigarette smokers of varying degrees.  It is, however, only somewhat understood as peoples' definition of what is appropriate varies greatly.  To be more specific, I'm talking about the style and frequency of people asking me to give them cigarettes.  This happens daily at least and more than ten times a day depending on what area of town I'm in.  Sometimes they offer to pay me, sometimes they demand, sometimes they outright plea, all giving me a look that says we are in the same club: The Smoker's Club.  I suppose because we are in the same club I should support it by supplying needy members as some sort of dues.  Maybe I was elected Treasurer and instead of managing funds I'm actually managing the distribution of cigarettes.  Could someone please remove my name from the ballot and from the club all together?  I don't want ya bastards!

I've racked my brain trying to come up with a convincing argument that no one should ever ask me for cigarettes but besides the fact that it can be rude I'm coming up short.  Cigarettes are luxury items.  They are expensive and they (despite what many smokers will tell you) are not necessary to function.  It's not like food and water which actually help you to live.  Cigarettes will inevitably lead to your demise.  The fact that I always have a pack of cigarettes on me implies that I am person who has disposable income.  This makes me a target for bums, drunk people and fellow smokers expecting a little sympathy.  So because I am a person with disposable income enough to support my foul smoking habit and am an elected officer in the Smoker's Club, I am obligated to dish out cigarettes to anyone who asks.

No!

I am not a wealthy person at all.  I also am well known for frugality.  I have a very set allowance per month for cigarettes because I am addicted.  If I go over the allowance, it will impact my budget.  I cannot afford to be as charitable as people want me to be.  You're right.  I can't even afford to smoke myself.  I already said it wasn't a necessity and it isn't.  But I like it.  It is one of the few things that gives me some pleasure and I have constructed a very balanced bugdet to support Lee's- and only Lee's- smoking habit.

There is also the point that one should give as good as they expect to get.  I have never gone up to a stranger and asked them for a smoke.  Because I am a dedicated smoker, I very nearly always have cigarettes on me.  On the rare occasion when I've run out and am stuck some place where I can't buy more, I will not ask someone for a cigarette even if it's convenient.  I don't for two reasons.  (1) I don't like rejection and (2) I hate when people ask me and don't feel like being a hypocrite.

There are several methods of bumming cigarettes.  I tend to get a lot of cute, young guys very sheepishly ask me.  They think their good looks and boyish charm will make me swoon in the form of offering them cigarettes.  There's the drunk people who stagger up to me and try chatting me up a bit before they ask, thinking I will appreciate the conversation and not just having them hit me up off the bat.  They don't realize how fucking transparent they are going up to the only smoking person standing alone.  There are the people who use intimidation to get cigarettes.  They are most often men who approach you in questionable areas: dark, empty streets late at night, bus stops, etc.  Their goal is to make you so uncomfortable that you fork over the cigarette immediately.  Finally, there are the oh so brilliant ones who offer some amount of change or if they're really confident, a dollar to buy a smoke off of me.  These people are saying, "Hey, I'm no bum.  I don't take handouts.  I'm willing to pay for this cigarette."  I'm supposed to think, "Wow, he/she's more honorable than those other beggars" and give them the cigarette.  They expect this because when you do decide to take the money, they look miffed.

I can't discourage bumming cigarettes.  I can only pray that I can go a day without it happening and offer some tips to all you freeloaders.  Here are the top no-no's when trying to ask for cigarettes:

1. If I am carying bags, don't even think about asking.  You really expect me to drop what I'm doing to fish a cigarette out of my pocket.

2. If I am in a rush.  I'm talking hauling ass somewhere...  Don't try to get my attention unless I am on fire or I'm dropping stuff or a gigantic gray alien is following me.  It will only really piss me off if you delay me with your annoying request.

3. Don't try to trick me.  Friendly enough guys have talked me into reluctantly giving them one  and then a meek girl will pop out from behind a column or tree and he will ask me to give his girlfriend one as well.  You ask me not for one but two of my pricey little cancer sticks and try to guilt and trick me?  You fool me, you can't get fooled again!

4. Don't yell at me as I'm walking past.  I may be hard of hearing but I'm jumpy and easily scared.  It will put me in a temporary catatonic state and I won't be able to give you anything.

Lastly, if I can't stop you sponges (which I'm sure the only way is to quit)...

5. Be polite.  Barking orders works well for dominatrixes and drill sergeants but I do not like being dictated to.

And one more thing: Kids don't ask me for cigarettes because I won't give them to you purely based on your age.  Go pilfer in your grandma's purse for them like I did.

I can't help it but I've always been way too invested in the Academy Awards.  I've watched them almost every year since I was a very young child.  My mother and I would make a mad dash before the ceremony to see all the nominated films and actors we could (It was pretty difficult because the nearest decent theaters were over an hour away).  We would watch the Academy Awards like one watches a sports game; booing the bad choices and cheering on our favorites.  Both of us individually would pick who we believed should win.  Sometimes we were in agreement and sometimes we'd actually fight about it.

Now that I live in CA, it is very easy to see all the films nominated because they all come to the theaters at some point and instead of my old hour plus drive to see a movie I may or may not like turns into a 10 minute drive.  And I still watch the show and get invested in it.  I read all the magazines with their predictions, snubs and who their favorites are.

So this year I'm posting the 2012 L'académie Awards: my picks.  The catch is nobody knows they've won my awards.  No one is invited to the ceremony but myself, my laptop and a glass of wine.  And the award itself is a figurative tip of my hat and some lip service.  I have not seen all the films so I will note those categories.

Best Picture

Hugo- It's heartwarming but not in that saccharine way that so many "orphan looking for answers and finding oh, so much more" movies tend to be.  I mean, that's what it is but the acting is compelling.  The peripheral characters in the train station recall elements of Amélie.  Plus, it's an Intro to Film class as well.  It's Scorsesse's love letter to the early, silent films which paved the way for the films we see today.  I wasn't a fan of it being in 3D (not a fan of 3D in general) but I get what he was trying to do: use the current 3D technology to bring in viewers for a film lesson who may have not seen the movie otherwise.  

NOTE: I did not see Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close (I know I should but I hated the book) or War Horse (If you look through my posts you will see that I never plan on seeing it).

Best Director

This is tough...  There are so many great choices for very disparate movies.

Terence Malick, The Tree of Life- This movie took a long time to make and you can tell.  Terence Malick's movies have a very carefully paced flow to them.  I think he tries hard to relate the viewer to his movies by making them seem like reality while showing how beautiful everything is.  I wasn't in love with the message of the film (a little optimistic) but it is unlike other movies I have seen.  The characters were mostly blank canvases designed for you to project upon.  There was very little dialogue and the movie consisted mostly of images and movement.  I must say that Malick achieved what I think he set out to.  The movie felt like I was living inside someone's mind and watching their flashbacks and recalling memories from childhood.  Sometimes, I zone out and don't remember conversations or critical moments from my life but scattered images.  These images often aren't reflected with my cynical eye but basked in light the way the boys in the film watch their beautiful mother (Jessica Chastain) running through the yard with them.  I recall seeing my own mother bathed in that same glow signifying undying adoration.  Yet another good job, Mr. Malick.

Best Actor

Jean Dujardin, The Artist- I really resisted this film when it came out because I am not a fan of silent cinema with all its over acting and limited subtitles compared to what is being said.  I'll admit it.  I was dead wrong.  This is a wonderful movie and Dujardin steals every minute of it.  His facial expressions and body movements convey so much that I wasn't angry his sentences weren't titled.  He has the ease, poise and confidence to convincingly play the most popular actor of his era.  He is so undeniably charming that even though I knew his forays into keeping silent film relevant would fail, I cheered for him.  The word artist has a lot of stigma to it but he really is one in a way.  Likability and good looks aside.  He conveys more with a shrug and a smirk than most actors I can think of.  And that's why the movie works so well, at least from the point of view of one who dislikes silent movies.  But this award must be shared with the dog who is with him in nearly every scene and is the comic sidekick without whom Dujardin's performance may be lacking.

NOTE: I loved Damián Bichir's turn in A Better Life.  He'd be my runner-up.  And Michael Fassbender was totally snubbed for Shame.  

Best Actress

Viola Davis, The Help- Like Dujardin, Viola Davis uses movement, facial expressions and such to introduce you to the character.  Aibileen Clark could have been played as an angry, showy character.  That's how you know what skills the actor possesses.  All you need to do is look into Viola Davis' eyes to see her world weariness.  If you watch the slow, deliberate movements you know that she is a woman who has bore the weight of the world on her back for the vast majority of her life.  I'm not a crier but whenever she takes the little girl in her arms and says, "You is kind, You is smart, You is important, " I get downright teary.  I'm from Mississippi and had an au pair when I was younger.  Although she was not similar to the characters in the movie, I recognized that same sense of restraint in the face of authority that ate away at her soul.  Not to short change Davis' dialogue!  She simply is the character.  Everything lines up with dialogue, facial expressions and over all feel of the character.

NOTE: I have not seen The Iron Lady.  I know Meryl Streep rocks but I just can't imagine her moving me the way Viola Davis did.

Best Supporting Actor

Nick Nolte, Warrior- Okay, I know he has no shot in hell against the long-overdue perfornances and snubs of Christopher Plummer and Max Von Sydow but this is my awards show.  Nick Nolte has been turning in excellent, salty dog performances for years but this is it.  While Nolte has a tendency for being exaggerated, he is mostly understated in this movie.  A recovering alcoholic and abusive father, he is willing to do anything to reunite with his sons who hate him.  The younger more hot headed one, he coaches, and proves his worth by being the best he can possibly be.  He appeals to his older more rational son by showing how he has been clean and sober.  When he is rebuffed he results to pleading to meet his granddaughters in a realistic way.  All his evolution from becoming a better person from the lout his family knew him is destroyed when he gets drunk.  His drunken arguing with a tape of Moby Dick is powerful but not as much as when his estranged younger son forgives him by listening to his recollections.  I feel his frustration as a man who has come so far only to be rejected by the ones he wants to redeem himself to.

NOTE: I have not seen Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close.  As much as I disliked the book, I had hopes for it as a movie when I heard Max Von Sydow was in it.  I know he will be great.

Best Supporting Actress

Octavia Spencer, The Help- While Aibileen is a stalwart, quiet type, Minnie is exaggerated and outspoken.  In her dealings with Hilly, she is obedient but seething with hatred.  Her large eyes convey that she is not one to be trifled with.  Her scenes with fellow nominee, Jessica Chastain, are some of my favorites.  Chastain's character exists so that modern day non-Southern audiences can have their say.  Why shouldn't she be able to eat with Minnie?  Why can't they be friends?  Spencer is guarded and with those expressive eyes she tries to reinforce the societal rules of the South at that time.  She manages to be funny, touching and strong.  Minnie could have been played with pure defiance which would have been fun to watch but not accurate.  Octavia Spencer played Minnie with defiance but only as much as would fit in the constraints for society at the time.

NOTE: I loved Janet McTeer in Albert Nobbs.  She is my second favorite.

Okay, I'll say goodnight.  Thank you all for entertaining me this year!

So CT once had this boyfriend who called her often and saw her as frequently as he could given she was over 200 miles away.  He dropped out of contact for a whole month.  CT was distraught so I decided to intervene.  I called him to ask what was going on and he replied that he had been really busy.  I told him he should have at least called to say why he couldn't call.  He found my idea confounding but I think it makes perfect sense.  If you know you're going to be busy, just tell someone who relies on hearing from you every so often that you can't talk and give a ballpark date when you will be able to touch base again.  I think it's the polite thing to do but what do I know?

So I got the writing bug a couple of weeks back.  It's been taking up a lot of my time.  When I have free time, I'm busy brainstorming about my new screenplay.  I still don't know what direction to go in.

Sorry, but I'm writing to say I won't be writing for a while.  I'd feel bad if anyone read this thing.

Ugg boots are one of the most hideous articles of clothing period.  

 I am not talking about how warm or comfortable they are.  I've never tried one on but I have heard them described as your foot "cradled in warm, fluffy clouds."  I can see that.  The inside looks nice and fleecey and leather is durable.  I am not denying their practicality.  

Like so many others (not enough as I still see girls sporting these ridiculous things), I object to them being considered fashionable.  They aren't.  You can color them any way you like and make some with sweater material but they still are stumpy, shapeless shoes.  When I was into drawing dinky little cartoons in 2nd grade, I had such a hard time drawing feet that I drew generic boots shaped just like Uggs.  That's what they look like to me: an elementary drawing of a seven year old.  Usually, I appreciate simple design but this is beyond minimalist.  Not one person looks good in Uggs.  It is more an issue of who's rocking them the best- the best being looking only somewhat ridiculous.

I am also not a fan of sporting Crocs color coded to one's outfit as a fashion statement.  Their function is being a good gardening clog.  I despise Birkenstocks.  And I don't care if Lacoste makes them, flip flops are not acceptable fashion footwear unless you are at the beach or using them as shower shoes in a dorm room.  At least flip flops show off the qualities of a foot.  I despise the look of feet but I'm a minority but I can imagine a girl with pretty feet could pull off flip flops.  Uggs do nothing if you are trying to look trendy or sexy.

However, Uggs were the trend that would not and still has not died.  The more people publicly declared how ugly they are has not lessened their popularity at all.  Fine.  I'll deal.  After all, it is better than staring at peoples jacked up feet.  All I ask is that people wear them when appropriate.  

If you are at a ski chalet or anywhere snowy: Appropriately fashionable.

And if you are in a generally warm sunny place that occassionally has some chilly weather: The tops of the boots tucked underneath a bootcut jean is not offensive.

(FYI It took nearly 30 minutes to find a picture of anyone with Uggs tucked under jeans.)

If the weather is nice and you have really hot legs you want to show off: Don't wear Uggs for chrissakes!  Any other kind of boot would look better.  Here is a hot girl with nice legs and even she can't pull it off.

If the weather is downright hot and you are sporting a "summer dress" or short shorts or a minskirt or even a bathing suit: Ridiculous.  You look awful and this is coming from someone who always wears hoodies.

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If you are in the desert: Seriously they are marketing this?

If you are a man: No.  Don't do it.  If you happen to be in a snowy cabin in the woods or Squaw Valley, it doesn't matter.  You should be wearing something with tread and laces and just more manly.  If Bruce Willis looks like an assclown, what chance does the everyman have?

So my buddy, CT, likes to test people.  She does so in a number of ways.  She may ask many questions which seem to be of no importance, i.e. "Do you like rice pudding?"  Believe it or not, she categorizes all the answers and profiles people.  She likes to ask people to do things for her in order to see just how far she can push them.  She also shares a common trait with me in that she likes to annoy people by deliberately messing up facts.  It is something that drives people nuts and only is amusing to the one doing it.

She decided to do it to me one night when she, Jeff and I were at a bar.  She had already had a few drinks and her thick, Southern accent was beginning to lightly slur.  Because we were sitting at the bar, it was difficult for the three of us to have a conversation.  It didn't help that the bar was hopping that night.  She broke our silence and asked rather loudly as she pointed to a bottle of Maker's Mark, "What is Marker's Mark?"

"Some kind of whiskey."  Jeff replied purposely ignoring her calling it by the wrong name.

"Marker's Mark..."  She pondered.

It wasn't unusual for CT to misread things and let her brain fill in the gaps with what made more sense to her.  I decided to correct her to save her the embarrassment of looking silly and said, "It's Maker's Mark, CT."

CT began her tirade pretending not to hear me, "Marker's Mark.  I like that!  You got a Marker and he puts his Mark on it.  That shows it has quality.  Marker's Mark: I like that.  Ya know, I think that's gonna become my new drink.  I like it when things are marked by a Marker-"

"It's Maker's Mark."  I said through gritted teeth.

"Oh that Marker's Mark.  I really like that-"

I nearly shouted.  "IT'S MAKER'S MARK!"

"It's Marker's Mark and it's gonna be Marker's Mark 'til the day I die!"  She retorted.

There was a brief silence and then CT went on again, "I like that, Marker's Mark!  I'm not gonna drink anything but Marker's Mark from here on out-"

By now I had realized that she was deliberately trying my patience and knew the one way to shut her up.  "Do you want me to buy you a shot?"

CT's thoughtful look became a scowl and she softly replied, "No."

I know it's a pointless story but it haunts me every time I am at a bar or liquor store confronted by that squarish bottle with the red wax.  Others have told me that they also initially read "Marker's Mark."  While I can see how the eye could play such a trick, Marker's Mark doesn't make any sense.  A craftsman type person or "maker" of something proudly places his mark on it.  It's like a painter signing his work of art saying, "I approve of this."  Marker's Mark is redundant.  And what the hell is a Marker anyway?  Are we talking about those crayola things and the marks they leave?  Or is a Marker a type of person or profession?

I can picture a Marker being a very old profession.  Marker's learn their trade through apprenticeship.  They must have impeccable reading and writing skills and above all exquisite penmanship.  Like today's notary public, Markers sign and draw up documents.  They are not acting as lawyers but as official assistants to lawyers, royalty and prominent businessmen.  A Marker usually has his own individual stamp seal or "mark" which he embosses on the important documents he officiates.  

So one day in the 18th Century, some men approach this noble Marker who looks like a cross between Alfred Hitchcock and Samuel Pepys and speaks with Hitchcock's rich, buttery English accent.  He is ill-fitted in a suit of fine threads worn by men of distinction.  It's tightness around the collar pinches his neck drawing attention to his double chin.  He does not adorn jewelry or frills and chooses a simpler degree of elegance.  The two men have an idea that will make them all a fortune.  They want the Marker to link his mark with their whisky company.  A marker is known for their mark among colleagues, some more famous than others.  A Marker has never lent out his mark to anything other than documents.  This particular Marker never much thought that anyone would be interested in his particular seal except as witness or an administrator.

One of the men convinced him, "Marker's are known for their marks.  Your mark would state that you approve of this whisky.  It lends a little bit of class to our brand for associating with a man of a respected profession."

The Marker mulled the idea over and eventually agreed.  He felt that as a Marker, he deserved to dictate what his mark should represent and not just do as he was told.  With a stamp of his mark, he branded the whisky and became the most famous Marker in the world, hence the story of Marker's Mark.

I had a binge weekend of watching Dexter Season 5 which has been sitting on my shelf for months.  The first couple of episodes were slow and I was dreading getting through the season.  What kept me going is Julia Stiles.  Her presence piqued my curiosity not just because of all the rumors about her breaking up Michael C. Hall and Jennifer Carpenter's relationship.  I actually like her as an actress and the sharp, strong characters she plays remind me a lot of my dear friend, CT.  The season got better and gained the kind of momentum that had me watching episode after episode until the frightening conclusion which I was a little disappointed about but that's another story...

This brought about the questions: was this better than the last season?  Which is the best season? Et cetera et cetera...  So I decided to figure out the seasons I liked best in chronological order and in doing so I was forced to think about the character of Dexter himself and of his evolution as a human being.

I warn you yet again, this contains spoilers if you haven't seen up to the end of Season 5...

My favorite season has to be the first one.  Unlike the others, it is a somewhat complete picture (meaning if you stopped watching at 1, you would be sated).  Dexter claims from the beginning that he "is not there," meaning he merely mimics human emotion and routine.  He is not capable of lust or want of love or friendship.  He chose his girlfriend, Rita, because she was convenient.  She had young kids and was coming out of a relationship so abusive she couldn't bear to be touched sexually.  He chose her based on these specifics.  People would think, "Wow, what a guy.  He does so much for her and the kids.  He has a kind heart."  He claims to have not much loyalty to his adopted sister, Deb, and his adopted father, Harry.  He only knew he was adopted and that he has had rage issues all his life.  Harry used this rage to fuel the vigilante justice Dexter wields.  When Rita wants intimacy, he is afraid and gives in.  When the villain of the season- the Ice Truck Killer- proves to be his blood brother, he kills him to save his adopted sister who he has known all his life.  But he laments severing that blood tie and wonders what his life is all about.

I'll keep going chronologically to prove my analysis of the character although my preferences are not in that order.

The second season made Dexter's whole spiel of not wanting any physical intimacy bunk.  He meets Lila West and experiences pure lust.  They not only have hot sex but she understands what he is and accepts him for it.  Unfortunately, Dexter is used to being the craziest one in the room so he thinks he is in control of all situations.  He does not anticipate that anyone can be more deranged, i.e. Lila.  Lila is a sociopath while Dexter is not.  Dexter feels no remorse killing people who he thinks are deserving to die.  He understands the concepts of right and wrong and is very principled about his theory on vengeance, which disproves that he's "not there."  Lila feels nothing and- much like Marla Singer- she is a tourist at all of these affliction anonymous meetings.  She only feels when she realizes what Dexter is and sets her sights on him.  While she wants a long term commitment, Dexter is appalled at her lack of morals and wants nothing more to do with her.  

After the turmoil of Season 2, Dexter wants to keep his relationship with Rita strong and claims not to want anything more.  Despite what the Season 1 Dexter says, he still craves some sort of intimacy.  He's been burned by Lila's passionate devotion and Rita's sweet reassuring.  He needs someone who understands and accepts him for what he is with none of those nasty wanting to possess him strings attached.  He needs a friend and finds one in Miguel Prado, the Assistant District Attorney, in Season 3.  Their friendship evolves from beer buddies to Miguel watching Dexter kill a man.  This friendship is rewarding for Dexter in the beginning.  He bore an awful secret on his back for years, one which he could only talk about with his adopted father and he desperately needed someone to relate to.  He finds solace in his friendship with Miguel until Miguel violates Dexter's trust. He copies Dexter's style, a serious violation of the secret Dexter shared so carefully with him.

In Season 4, Dexter is adjusting to the role of "family man."  He's not only married Rita and adopted her two young children but fathered a child with her himself.  He seems only interested in maintaining an image and not in actually bonding with the children.  He continues on his vigilante escapades and only puts in enough of an appearance to satisfy Rita.  But Rita isn't sated.  Her perception is keener than ever, noticing that he has always been a bit of an absentee lover.  While he has always done the "right" thing in regard to her and her children, there is a large part of his life that is secret from her which was acceptable before they were married but not afterward.  His pursuit of the Trinity Killer has been indiscreet and she is emotionally divorcing herself from him.  Meanwhile, Dexter joins Trinity's church charity to meet the killer, Arthur.  Through his brief friendship with Arthur, Dexter is exposed to another serial killer wounded from his past family trauma.  Like Dexter, Arthur is highly intelligent and premeditates his killings to the T.  Because he did not know the identity of the Ice Truck Killer until the end and thus could not study him but he figured out who Trinity was early.  While he was befriending him, Dexter was also learning what made Trinity tick.  Dexter was impressed with not only what Trinity went through but also how Trinity skated so long as a "normal" member of society and admired him for that.

In Season 5, Rita has been killed by Trinity, leaving Dexter a single father of three.  While he took Rita for granted in life, Dexter is shaken to the core by his involvement in her death.  He is absent of feeling and is greatly disturbed.  He is only able to find solace in a young girl who was victim to unspeakable violence that he found accidentally.  He helps her avenge her and other victim's wrongdoings by teaching his practices and personally overseeing and killing those involved.  This season is focused on the fact that Dexter is in fact not alone.  He sees his 10 month old son in a pool of his mother's blood and fears he will grow up to be like dad.  Dexter's sister, Deb, confesses to feeling no remorse in the demise of evil men.  Dexter confesses that their father said, "Some men aren't meant to be born."  Then there is Lumen, the pretty young victim fueled by revenge...  Dexter wants so eagerly to categorize her with himself, as an avenger of those bad men who is destined to kill her remaining days.

To put it simply, I like 1,4,5,2,3 in that order.

My final analysis is that all of Dexter's conjectures about how he is different from others because of a lack of feeling and want of others' companionship is void.  He is not an island.  He may have thought so through most of his life but seasons have proved otherwise.  He says he has no interest in physical relations yet has hot sex with Lila.  He says he's a loner and yet he eagerly befriends Miguel and wants to teach him the ways of being a vigilante serial killer.  He carefully observes similarities between himself and Trinity looking for commonality.  He is capable of parental love not only of his own child but Rita's children from a previous marriage.  He wants so badly to connect with the equally scorned Lumen, teach her everything he knows and keep her as his partner in crime.

I haven't seen Season 6 so this is a partial theory but I believe that Dexter is not what he introduces himself to be.  He is there and he desperately wants someone to connect with be it a lover or a friend.  

Peter Sellers once said something along the lines that the reason he was such a good actor/comedian is because there was no "Peter Sellers."  He was merely emulating what he thought people wanted of him.  Dexter will have you believe this to be true of him but as you watch the show, you will realize that while his concept of morality is skewed he is still moral.  While he is an island in his own way, he's desperate for any connection to prove otherwise.

I mean, I read the synopsis of this movie and have to ask, "Is this for real?"

A boy enlists in WWI to find the beloved horse that his alcoholic dad sold to the British military.  That's it?  I lost my dog once in the woods for several hours and found him howling in a concrete ditch but does that make an epic motion picture?  Okay, I get it.  He goes on all sorts of adventures and into combat for the sake of getting back his fucking horse.  

Without a doubt I can understand the deep affection and attachment one can have for a pet.  Sometimes it can far outweigh the love of friends and family especially that of a longstanding childhood pet.  But I just don't understand how you could make a full length movie about a boy looking for his horse.

When I heard the buzz about War Horse and Steven Spielberg's name tied to it, I assumed the horse would be metaphorical but the title says it all.

I always had a little crush on Mr. Spielberg.  Yes, I find him physically attractive but that obviously isn't all.  He's incredibly bright, a visionary filmmaker and when I've read interviews he's humble about his many achievements and seems like an all-around good guy.  His movies directed to an adult audience like Jaws, Schindler's List, and Saving Private Ryan aren't his focus.  He's all about the wonder of being a child.  All those alien, sappy movies he makes are all about us old, hardened adults who have lost our sense of magic experiencing it through child's eyes.  I get it.  I got it the first time.  He's got about a thousand rugrats and I understand some of that goes with the territory but he's been doing this for years.  So of course he's going to jump all over two of the things he does so well epic (ahem, I mean war) movies and movies about recapturing that love and essence of boyhood.  I know people love him for that sentimental shit but count me out.

A nice, intelligent young man once told me that when he was riding his horse was the only time he felt truly free.  I couldn't identify in the least and politely smiled.  This does not make him weird per se.  There's a whole culture of people who just adore horses and for the life of me I can't see why.  They are massive, skittish and made of pure muscle, thus incedibly strong.  Many people claim to have loving relationships and deep bonds with horses.  These- most often- women grew up wanting a pony and probably got a chance to go horseback riding in summer camp.  If they were priveledged enough, they got training in equestrianism and possibly owned their own horse.

So all those people who love those emotionally manipulative (Oops! I meant heartwrenching) movies that are family friendly are in.  Animal lovers are mostly in.  The horse fanatics will be storming the theater in droves.  It's the skeptics who plan on dragging themselves to see it because of the award buzz or Spielberg is tied to it that will probably invite me along.  

They will say something like, "Come on, I hear it's actually good."

I'll save you the trouble as if this post isn't blunt enough.  No.  Nope.  Hell to the no.

This is the story of how I met my oldest (not chronologically but the length of the friendship itself), dearest buddy.  I stress that not one of the girls involved in this story look anything like the girls in the picture above.

CT and I met through a friend who will be known as Sandy for the sake of this story.  CT and Sandy were inseparable in 8th and known not only for being hot girls but for being brazen and always loudly discussing sex.  This along with a penchant for partying gave the impression that they were easy.  While Sandy was quite promiscuous, CT was just an outspoken virgin that loved shocking people.  Sandy invited herself over to my house and amazed me with her wild tales.  As one of the key members of the nerd group, I needed to vicariously live through her rock and roll lifestyle.

Sandy's birthday was at the beginning of 9th and she was inviting a handful of close friends: another Lee, Danielle, CT and myself.  CT and I had been slowly getting to know each other.  We both were sporting bad dyejobs from the summer and had a fondness for the movie West Side Story.  I- of course- knew Sandy who had quickly bonded with other Lee who I only knew by association.  She seemed pleasant enough though on the white trash side (by my mother's standards a deciding factor against any association, so I noticed it).  All the girls knew Danielle but me.  I had heard nothing but how goddamn awesome she was.  Unlike Sandy, Danielle was really wild.  She was the chick who was out fucking, fighting and partying in elementary school.  This intimidated me.

Being incredibly shy, I don't really know why I went to that party.  I mean, I only knew Sandy well and she would be the center of attention.  But I went for a Friday night slumber party.  Because Sandy lived in a double wide on the outskirts of town, my mother reluctantly agreed to let me go but would definitely be picking me up very early the next morning.

I don't remember that much.  We made chitchat until Danielle showed.  She was scarier than I possibly could have imagined (and my mind can come up with all different kinds of scenarios).  While I have a deep voice, she sounded like a man.  She walked like a man when she wasn't shadowboxing and hopping around throwing gang signs.  She looked like a long, greasy haired, freckle faced boy going through puberty.  She was beyond loud and spewed the most idiotic wannabe tough talk.  The dynamic certainly shifted from people having a conversation to Sandy and other Lee lingering on Danielle's every word while CT and I tried to keep a straight face.  

"Pajama time!"  Sandy exclaimed and all but CT and I disrobed.  Seeing the shared look of discomfort on our faces, Sandy added.  "It's not a big deal.  It's nothing you haven't seen before."

"Well, I haven't seen your particular--" I began to say.

"Ya got the same shit!"  Danielle eloquently stated.

Sleeping arrangements were brought up.  Sandy's bed could accommodate three.  Her absent sister's room at the end of the hall had a bed and room for a sleeping bag on the floor.  CT and I simultaneously volunteered to take the sister's room and we grabbed our stuff and changed rooms.  And I couldn't help but notice a little disappointment at CT's departure.

CT insisted I take the bed and curled up under a pile of blankets.  We discussed life, love, music and books.  We were not only surprised at our common opinions but also our ease and comfort in relating to each other so soon.

All of a sudden, Danielle and other Lee burst through the door and appeared to be violently wrestling.  CT and and I watched them in a quiet state of shock.  It wasn't until they nearly trampled CT's tiny body on the floor that they got any reaction.  She sat upright and yelled at them to watch it.  This did not stop the fight.  Danielle wrested other Lee to the ground and then they broke apart laughing.  They explained that it was all in good fun like we would think it was the funniest thing we had ever seen.  We scowled in return.  Danielle told CT she had something "important" to tell CT in the other room.  Furious, CT told them no.

The next day, my mother picked me up bright and early as promised.  CT and I exchanged numbers and planned to see each other soon.  I had no idea what situation I left her in.

By CT's account, Danielle and Sandy finally cornered her in Sandy's room.  The previous evening Danielle and Sandy hooked up and were now an item.  (Danielle was a known bisexual and Sandy had been straight with, in my humble opinion,
some interest in CT previously).  They flirtatiously told CT that she was cute.  CT, in a state of shock and horror, smiled and nodded.  She had never been thrilled by Sandy's adoration and attempt to emulate her.  Having Danielle leering at her like a big, scary guy in prison made her feel like a piece of meat.  

They also confessed that other Lee was "cute" while she was showering.  They said they were thinking about initiating her into their little club.  CT assumed they were talking about this very Lee and was surprised that I would swing that way.  This led to some amusing confusion down the way that helped us learn to laugh about that night.

Sandy and Danielle were a short lived match.  Sandy really was always all about the cock and went back to her slutatious ways.  [Eventually, she met the perfect guy for her and has been with him for over a decade.]  

Danielle wasn't about being monogamous to Sandy and only incorporated other Lee into her lusty coven because her sights were on CT.  Alas, that was never to be.  I hear she's still in that white trash Louisiana town and has gone full butch.  She's still preying on the young and stupid who will be impressed by how tough she is.

CT and I have had a long, enduring friendship.  The end.