Accountability Gooooooooooals! (and other assists by Mexican sports broadcasters)

So I've decided 2021 is the year I'm finally going to get around to creating again. And here I am, wasting away what little creativity I have with a blog entry. Specifically, an entry that is not creative. 

By the end of the year - a mere 11.5 months away - I hope to have completed many of these:

- Design a board game. Ideally, that means Joe's Interstellar Garage or The Gauntlet. Realistically, I'll redesign some version of rock paper scissors that can only be played against Count Rugen. 

- Submit contest entries to On The Premises magazine or some other publication where I won't have to throw away money after my throwaway words. Their contests range in word count from 50 - 5000, both lengths I've keyboard-vomited in one sitting. 

- Compose a new song with Jerry. My aspirations are lofty enough without another unmerited attempt to learn how to play the guiltar. Yes, I spelled that correctly. Seems like I could pen another blog entry devoted to my failure to self-cultivate any musical talent. With Jerry, I'm responsible only for lyrics and harmony vocals. I'm ready to rhyme "Little Debbie" with "Hot-n-heavy." Hope the world is too. 

-  Publish a few board game reviews for Meeple Mountain. 'Bout time I shared more of this enthusiast's enthusiasm. One review will qualify as checking off this bullet point, every one beyond that is gravy. 

- Edit and rewrite Gone But Not Forgotten, a co-written piece that deserves better than it is. 

- Finish any of the projects I started with/for Stephen Lawson. Similar to Will Sells, the GBNF author, Stephen starts and finishes stories. I've been envious of both of them and their follow-through to completion, but it's something I have in me. Stop critiquing and start writing my own damned stuff. 

- NaNoWriMo. It's stupid to even consider 50K words in a year; forget churning that in November alone! That's the kind of ridiculousness that causes people to rekindle a blog that hasn't sparked in some eight years. Good golly! 

That should suffice for enough fodder for one year. If I check one off each month (reserving November accordingly), I'll still have four months to twiddle my thumbs, a feat nigh impossible whilst typing. 

If you actually read this blog entry, congratulations! You're a rare animal. If you cared about this blog entry, you're extinct. 

Overanalyzing Driving Statistics

Driving the Nashville highways, you’ll notice the digital billboards that stretch over the lanes. I expect the roads were clear today, as the information provided wasn’t any detoured routes or estimated times to reach destinations. Rather, today’s billboard read:

YTD ROADWAY FATALITIES

2012 – 820

2013 – 822

I believe there was a plea at the bottom to not become a statistic, but I was so fascinated by the numbers, I can’t remember anything else about it. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with this information. Is it one of those records like home runs, where it took Roger Maris 40+ years to break Babe Ruth’s record, and then only by one? It wasn’t broken again for another 35 years, and that required steroid users? Is there a way to measure “pure” roadway fatalities, or do steroid-induced crashes count the same way? Will the recorders of history put an asterisk by the total?

Or is it the sort of number that gets shattered each year? I calculated and figured out there are 67 days remaining in 2013. That’s roughly 2/11ths of a year. 1/11 of 822 is… um… 75ish. So we should expect another 150 before New Year’s Day? I’d expect winter to bring worse driving conditions and the holidays to increase the threat of drunk driving, which leads me to question whether we’ll break 1,000.

I caught myself drifting into the next lane because I was concentrating so hard on the sign. Slick move, sign maker! I don’t want to add to that number. What I did want to know was when do they update the figure? Is there someone clicking the counter every time someone flatlines, and if so, why have I never seen the number increase? Both of my vehicles crossed over 200,000 miles over the last month, and you better believe I watched those odometers roll! If I parked on the side of I-65 and watched, would the number eventually count up one by one? Or is it a tally that updates once daily? If so, when?

What happens if a car accident occurs on the border between states, and part of the vehicle ends up in Tennessee but the rest is in Georgia, Alabama, or Kentucky? (I’m no geography wunderkind, so I’ll quit listing states while I’m ahead.) Does Tennessee get half credit? That seems morbid, even for a thought pattern like this one.

I continued up I-65 toward downtown and passed a billboard advertising treatment for Alzheimer’s. I’m pretty sure I read it, but damned if I can remember any details.

Pixar Flicks

This blog entry was prompted by the blog of a friend who composed his entry after checking a professional blogger. Knowing my disdain for the blogosphere, I’m not sure if the third generation of a blogged idea makes it worse due to quality lost in reproduction, or better due to distance from the original idea. Either way, it’s still a blog. Bummer, that.


I wouldn’t have guessed Pixar’s Brave was their 13th film. Tenth, maybe? Sure, if I sat down and considered their output – thanks, Sporcle – I could’ve eventually listed them all. Rating them? A much larger task. I won’t create arbitrary numbers for characters, world building, music, etc. like Adam Quigley (http://www.slashfilm.com/author/adam-quigley/), as his summaries are as subjective as anything I could create. Regardless of how he determined his final order, I disagree largely with his rankings, listed here:

13. Cars 2
12. Cars
11. Brave
10. A Bug’s Life
9. Toy Story 2
8. Finding Nemo
7. Toy Story 3
6. Monsters Inc.
5. Up
4. Wall-E
3. Ratatouille
2. Toy Story
1. The Incredibles

No.

He’s wrong.

It’s his opinion. But it’s still wrong. It reminded me of a debate I once had with a co-worker:

Her: What’s the best song ever?
Me: What kind of song? Best driving song? Dance song?
Her: No, just the best song ever.
Me: Wow. I don’t know. Maybe A Day in the Life, by the Beatles?
Her: How’s that go?
(I should’ve walked away at that point.)
Me: (singing) I heard the news today, oh boy.
Her: What about the chorus?
Me: Um… There really isn’t a chorus.
Her: How can the best song ever not have a chorus?
(I really should’ve walked away.)
Me: Okay. You tell me. What’s the best song ever?
Her: The Lady in Red.
Me: By Chris De Burgh?
Her: Yes.
Me: No. You’re wrong.
Her: I can’t be wrong. It’s my opinion.
Me: Then your opinion is wrong. If it was my opinion that I could fly, I would be wrong.
Her: You can’t say that.
Me: Your opinion is that The Lady in Red is the best song ever. The Lady in Red is not the best song ever. Therefore, using the transitive principle, I can conclusively say your opinion is wrong.

Quigley may not be as egregiously mistaken as my former co-worker, but he could still use some correction. Mine may not be the definitive list either, and you’re welcome to tear it apart accordingly. (One caveat: I haven’t yet seen Brave so I’ll leave it off my list.)

So many of Pixar’s movies are timeless; fifty years from now, people will watch them with the same wonder and reverence we experienced watching Snow White or Bambi. A few movies don’t meet that criteria and therefore must be ranked lower. Both Cars movies, Ratatouille, and The Incredibles? Sorry. While some of you possessed precious themes, brilliant characters and solid conflicts, in the end you fall into the realm of the merely great. Ergo:

12. Cars 2. Unlike the rest of Pixar’s creations, this movie doesn’t strive to explore beyond the constraints of standard genre movies. It’s a well-executed spy comedy, but there was no greater good.

11. Cars. I’ll admit I didn’t much care for this the first time I saw it. As I have three young boys, I’ve sat through it another (at least) twenty times, during which it grew on me. Even so, you shouldn’t be required to re-watch a movie to appreciate it. I admire the theme how winning can be defined differently than coming in first, but I fear Mater may do to the Cars movies what Robin Williams did to Aladdin.

10. Ratatouille. Another off-beat offering which suffers the difficulty of a French real world. Dastardly villain? Check. Mistaken identity? Check. Those provide fantastic gags, but Pixar sets higher standards than gags. Possibly the smallest scale for a Pixar film, and maybe that’s the hang up. A fun movie, but not one with a big wow-factor.

9. The Incredibles. Conversely, the wow-factor of this was ramped up to heroic proportions. What does it mean that this falls near the top of my list of superhero movies (along with X-Men, Spider-Man 2, and The Dark Knight) but near the bottom of Pixar’s films? While Syndrome provides a stellar antagonist – complete with believable backstory, Mirage left much to be desired. Perhaps her name was a clue that we weren’t sure what to do with her, but she provided a Deux Ex Machina. Foul. You can do better, Pixar. Also, this felt like the set up for a Saturday morning cartoon series. Thankfully, that has thus far been unfulfilled.

The rest are movies I will share time and time again with my children and my children’s children (who hopefully won’t be born for at least another fifteen years).

8. A Bug’s Life. I enjoyed this immensely – the ragtag band of circus performers as motivation for the underdog to rise? What’s not to love? Strangely, I find this is usually the forgotten Pixar film. How, then, can it be timeless? It’s a fable: the ant and the grasshopper. Aesop’s stories are still circulated regularly.

7. Wall-E. I love everything up to the introduction of the humans. Suddenly, it becomes preachy. Were it not for the simplicity and intimacy of the two lead robots, I’d have walked away disappointed. With their budding love, zero-gravity dance, and commitment to each other? Beautiful.

6. Toy Story 2. I still remember fearing the worst when I heard Pixar was doing a sequel. It’s cheating. No longer did they need to set up their own universe, then establish characters and define relationships, as our familiarity with Woody and Buzz took care of that. But what a backstory! The Roundup Gang provided an ingenius counterpart to the toys of Andy’s room. I don’t believe – like many do – that this sequel surpassed the original, but I won’t rob it of its greatness.

5. Up. Another movie with an extended portion sans dialogue more powerful than any words could express. I can’t recall any other ten minutes of film doing a better job of detailing a life-long relationship. A thousand balloons! Talking, flying dogs! The bird! What utter whimsy! If you can’t enjoy this movie, something’s deeply wrong with you.

4. Finding Nemo. A road movie plus an escape movie equals the loving bond of father and son? Wow. Somehow, they overcame the too-often-annoying device of short-term memory loss to make Dory endearing. Each vignette – sharks, turtles, the tank gang – created characters with depth and purpose beyond merely advancing the plot. Every detail mattered, and Pixar didn’t ignore any of them.

3. Toy Story. To call this innovative a massive understatement. I can’t imagine anyone else doing the voices. Not only did they introduce new technology, but their layers of storytelling are on par with any Oscar winner. Buzz’s moment when he discovers he can’t fly? Heartbreakingly real. (God bless Randy Newman.) And yet, not a hokey moment in the film.

2. Monsters Inc. Without question, this is my favorite Pixar movie. Flawless casting. Immense diversion. Tense conflict. Revolutionary – and logical – solution. Perfect closing line. So why isn’t it the best they’ve done?

1. Toy Story 3. To be fair, this is not a kid’s movie. If an adult leaves the theater with dry eyes, they’re inhuman. The only other film to tell the loss of youth so daringly is Peter Pan – my favorite Disney movie, by the way. It’s a sequel, yes, but the story is so genuine, I’m willing to forgive that blemish. Even with things that can last forever, we all move on. Innocence. Joy. Tragedy. Magic. This is how a movie is done.


Thanks to Adam Quigley and Michael Kelley for prompting these thoughts. There are, of course, other great animated movies. The Iron Giant, Peter Pan, Wallace and Gromit, Flushed Away, Despicable Me, Alice in Wonderland – I recall my concern when animation became easier and suddenly there was a glut of cartoon films. At first, it was justified. For every Finding Nemo, there’s a Shark’s Tale. So long as Pixar stays in business, I’m not going to worry.

The Distraction of Distractions

I don't have ADD. I certainly don't have ADHD. If I suffered from either of those, I'd

[twenty minutes later]

As a listmaker, I've constructed plans for a variety of writing projects. I also have a handful of books to read, some for pleasure, some for groups I'm part of, and some because they could benefit the level of peace in my house.

I spend a chunk of time in my car thinking about projects I'll complete - twisted phrases, quirky characters, methods of advancing plots. And then I sit at my computer. And check Facebook. My disc golf crew's bulletin board. StoryMash. ESPN. How Philly's various sports teams fared the previous night. Facebook again, in case someone posted something of interest in the five minutes while I was away. Any assortment of followed linked articles from people I've met, or friends of friends of people I've met. YouTube. My Yahoo email. A PBM gaming site. My daily rundown of comics. Another visit to Facebook.

On rare occasion, something from the above compilation provides something of value. Very rare occasion.

And yet, it's all I can do to finish this blog post before thinking of something to change my status, thereby inviting people to comment or like me. Because existence is about collecting likes! I've intentionally avoided the Twittersphere because of the danger of lurking there for hours, searching for whatever inspiration I can find to push me away their site and into writing.

What makes me think going to Facebook will make me want to write?

Is this going to culminate like the games I've finally had to break to stop playing? How many sobrieties must I maintain on a daily basis? Isn't discipline supposed to get easier the longer I practice it?

How many things am I avoiding in order to post this blog entry for my occasional audience of nine readers?

Just now had a brief distraction conversation with a co-worker, which finished with her saying, "Getting up and doing something is overrated." In her defense, she's 37 weeks pregnant. What's my excuse?

Crappity Crap Crappiola

Yeah, so what if this was motivated partially by commenting on someone else's blog. I also want to keep pace with 2011's blog output, and by the end of this, I can check that off my list. I won't bother listing what I accomplished from my Halloween post, as the results waver between disappointing and depressing. Rather, I'll get into the meat of this. Or, more accurately, the crap.

Some crap floats. Since I have a kid with digestive issues, I've occasionally had to check to see whether his feces stay on the surface or sink to the bottom of the tank. It has to do with his properly processing the waste, and I suspect his diet plays a part in it too. Some ice cream has dye that rushes through his system and turns his poop green or blue, which shouldn't be as comical as it is (and probably isn't as comical to anyone who doesn't still laugh at a well-timed fart).

So I looked in the toilet this morning and discovered a brick hovering a few inches beneath the surface but never dropping to the drain. I stared curiously, waiting for it to blow a bubble and sink. If not air bubbles, how else could it sustain its current position in toilet purgatory? Eventually, it absorbed enough tankwater to descend and rest before it's journey to the center of the sewer system. I'd like to think I had a better reason to waste three minutes staring at my waste.

Right now, at this very moment, I'm sure you do too.

(It's good to be writing again. I have no other excuse for this.)

Na Na Na Na Hey Hey Hay NaNoWriMo!

This is the third consecutive year that I'm attempting to scribe 50,000 words in the span of 30 days. Considering I don't write on weekends, that's a buttload of words to churn. And none of these count. I don't expect to succeed this year, especially since I've been struggling like hell to get anything written. It isn't writer's block as much as it is comprehensive lack of motivation. Rough.

While I'm punishing myself at the keyboard, I may as well murder myself across the board. Never one for New Year's Resolutions, I'm going to take this opportunity to make some life changes. Hopefully for the better.

List items, in no particular order or logic:

Clean
Attic
Garage
Car
Desk
Mind
Corner of the room

Change banks
Change insurance carriers

Get Water Company to adjust bill
Enter receipts
Budget

Lose 40 pounds
Park far away and walk to work
50 pushups/situps per day (start with combo, work to individual)
No dessert or candy (today's Halloween. Niiiiiice.)

Write
The Want to Want
Boys' stories
Song for Les
Songs for boys
Chuck's FU story
Chuck's daughter's critique
Bill's critique
Ransom note

Tapioca

Home
Paint kitchen
Replace gas mower cap (gotta have something easy)

No Dominion
No inappropriate sites

Deposit Kitty and birthday checks

Lunches
Atchison
Tucker

Make mix CDs for Les/boys

I've not decided whether I'll invent a reward system; more likely, I'll assign an arbitrary number of points, much like "Whose Line Is It Anyway?" Whose life is it, anyway? Oh yeah. Mine.

I hope to log in at least a few times weekly to update progress. If you're a praying person, I could use your support. If you're not a praying person, I could use your encouragement. If you're a preying mantis, I could use a better bug management system.

Here goes nothing. And lots of it.

One mile up, two miles back

On my drive to work today, I crested a hill and saw lines of taillights illuminating a backup. They occasionally blinked, but most of the time they remained lit. Jerks switched lanes. I immediately checked my rear-view to make sure no one was riding my bumper, then I swerved off and turned down a side street. Better to take my chances with stop signs and back roads than inch forward until the traffic cleared.

The stick shift I drive has lost its clutch twice, and the idea of riding the pedals didn’t entice me. I have no car radio, which only magnifies dead time. Especially time inert.

I didn’t care that the detour was the exact opposite direction from my destination. At that moment, it dawned on me: I happily traded progress for movement. That’s how I live my life. Doesn’t matter if the momentum is lateral or even backwards, so long as I’m going somewhere. Stimulate the eyes. Only tax the brain as I mentally plot my newly evolving map.

This feels like an allegory to something much bigger. Once I figure out what that is, I’ll compose more on the topic.