Regrettable Yesteryear

As a person born too late to really remember the '90s, as in the '90s, my main recollections are of boy bands and Sugar Ray. Like, I remember actually sitting there with a cd player or a radio, listening to them. Other music was filtered into my subconcious such that as a result, I can recognize a large variety of music that I can't really recall listening to. This was the kind've stuff my mom would play when I was little, but the music I actually sought out for a short period of time was N'SYNC and Backstreet Boys. I missed the early nineties, the substance of it, the stuff that's still remembered, for better or for worse.

What this means now is that I have a deep, impassioned appreciation for the '90s as they were outside my tiny sphere. This means also that I am deeply wounded whenever someone old enough to really remember that decade, the feel of it, the sound and the smell of it, totally disses it. They recall this last decade of the twentieth century as sucking massively, but as someone who came of age in the beginning of this millenium, the '90s was the last great attempt at a real subculture. It was right before people became easily accessible and capable of spilling their sick, perverted guts all over the Internet. The intentions were already there, but as of yet they had not found their outlet. The music was an outlet of sorts, but now it's faded into the background of yesteryear.

The nineties pulled the curtains shut; it was the last chance to create anything even seemingly original, and now we're stuck in the future, full of cancerous pedophilia, and the most terrible, tasteless music.

Things I've Noticed Watching X-Men: Evolution

1. Professor X relies on Jean Gray, the young, attractive sweet-talking telepath, to recruit new teenaged X-Men before Mystique can. She keeps failing, though.

2. Scott (Cyclops) is a terrible whiner; he's meant to be the "attractive" one, since Wolverine's a little old for the show's demographic. And despite his laser beam-powered eyes, all he can do is knock people around. He can blow up walls, but other people just get the wind knocked out of them.

3. If Jean Gray also has telekinesis, and she happens to get caught by the bad guys and tied up, can't she use her powers to untie herself?

4. Storm drives Professor X around in his car like his personal black chauffeur. I mean, come on, hasn't the Professor heard of hand-powered brakes? I thought he was supposed to be a genius. He also still hasn't mastered stairs in his wheelchair (which is weirdly cumbersome, even being what it is).

5. Don't these kids ever just sit around and eat pizza?

I Satisfy My Own Requirements

I don't see that there's anything wrong with "good enough," as long as it really is good enough for you. It doesn't seem like people necessarily need everything to be perfect, we just all have a complex (at least Americans do) about never settling for less. Sure, people settle for things all the time, but isn't there always this nagging voice in the back of their heads, saying, "Why the fuck did you settle?? Why didn't you do more, try harder?" When we go through primary school, the message is usually to shoot for the moon, at least in the media and through endless subliminal wording. Not that you're actually capable, but that you really have to try, because we're Americans for chrissake, that's what our Constitution is all about.

The problem, really, is that people are fed an ever-evolving but always-unattainable American Dream, and so we're never allowed to be satisfied with anything that's just "good enough."

I Never Want To See This Again

I finally watched Aviator last night. Let me add that Leonardo DiCaprio looks a lot like my brother. His facial contortions every time his OCD started acting up really freaked me out. Both because I felt really sorry for Howard Hughes as a person, suffering so much as he did from this disorder, and also because I could feel my own stomach clench up in knots as though I suffered as well. I mean, guy broke out in a sweat, he was seriously wigging the fuck out. I can't explain it more than that, especially if you haven't seen the movie or didn't get the same feeling.

[Spoiler warning, stop reading now]

And, oh my god, the crash scene, that just about killed me! Seeing him buckled in but thrown back and forth, bloodied and on fire, I thought I was going to be sick. I can't imagine seeing that on the big screen, I think I would have had a goddamned heart attack.

[End of potential spoiler]

All that aside, I thought it was a good movie. It'd be funny if it was a ride at a theme park, like the kind where you're strapped into a movie theater seat and it jerks around with the action going on onscreen. Those so-called "rides" are awesome!

We're Talking 'Bout Equality

As in: Not Simply Passing The Torch

You can't go around thrusting your chest out, grabbing your balls, and otherwise asserting your manful manliness for hundreds of thousands of years and then all of a sudden decide it's much easier (and sexier, apparently) to let the woman make the first move. Not that I want a big, hairy Viking to throw me over his shoulder and run through a burning village waving a double-headed battleaxe, but seriously? Some of you just come off like total pussies. You guys spent most of written history telling us women to get back in the kitchen and to stop backseat driving and suddenly asking one of us out is just too difficult? Here's a deal: I'll man up when you do. If I'm not worth the effort, then you probably aren't, either.

Old Times

I kinda miss the days when the only cameras I had were a Polaroid and a Konica Autoreflex TC. I can't figure out how I managed to correctly expose so many of the shots I took on my Konica when I didn't even know the first thing about f-stops. Someone tried to explain depth of field and ISO to me, but that was about it (100=bright sun, 400=indoors, 800=low light). I must have also been quicker at shooting, because a lot of the people I shot were self conscious and likely to hide themselves with enough warning, but I still managed to capture their uncertainty. Plus I had more options for portraits, both with people and settings.

Looking over my old photos, I wish I still possessed the exuberance of a total n00b.

History is But a Constant Stream of Ideas.

I got through the little bios of the six men in the epic flag photo before I had to put Flags of Our Fathers down. Really, James Bradley? You're going for the silent, stoic Indian, the hardworking loyal-to-adopted-homeland immigrant angle? Bradley skims through the first four guys because, let's face it, they were just regular ole small town white boys. There wasn't a whole lot to say about them. If he were a better, less painfully biased writer, perhaps he could have found a way to make me see the significance of such ordinary American boys becoming part of a legendary piece of history. Shit though, it's not that significant, if you think about it. Ordinary people are thrust into legend all the time. That's just how it works. You don't need to shove it up my butt. Jeez.

Anyway, the first four boys are pretty ordinary. It's not till Bradley gets to the last two that he really gets into it. Ira Hayes, the Pima Indian, the guy furthest to the left in the photo. Bradley writes that Hayes' hands are outstretched, unable to grasp the flagpole, when the sequence of photos on the inside of the front cover shows very clearly the progression of the pole as it's raised. As in, by the time of the infamous photo, the flag was well enough grounded and well enough on its way to going up, that Hayes had most likely just let go of it. Bradley's attempting to make a dramatic correlation between Hayes' place and attitude in the photo to his position in society, as a good ole American Injun, different and apart, though Hayes is right up there against the other guys. Bradley also says that Ira Hayes is silent in the photo. I'm not sure what this means. It sounds like he's really stretching it. He has almost no information on the man's character, other than that he was a very quiet person. Bradley takes this to mean that he was silent and stoical in the typical manner of all Indians, even while he quotes several people as saying that Hayes was particularly quiet.

Here's Bradley's words on Mike Strank: "He was the enigma: the immigrant who became the ultimate fighting Yank..." Talk about glorifying. Strank was out fighting battles, got promoted and stuck in charge of scared men even younger than him, so he told them he'd do his best to keep them alive. Sounds like a good guy, but jesus christ, the ultimate fighting Yank?? What's so enigmatic about him? Strank was the oldest brother in a coal-mining family. He was pretty smart and took care of his own. Bradley romanticizes and glorifies to no end. If the guy is really awesome, the reader will be able to pick that up. All the author needs to do is tell the damn story.

I think the problem is Bradley arranged his book like a really biased essay, when it's obvious he wants to write a novel.

Here is what annoys me about historical books and movies: they spend so much time setting everything up and showing supposedly necessary and factual clips and snippets that the whole point, the message, the ideals, get lost. What is your point? Your thesis? Why should I bother reading Flags of Our Fathers? Does the iconic image on its cover represent the indomitable spirit of America, as carried out by six seemingly unremarkable men? Is the meaning so blatantly obvious that I should feel mentally challenged for even having to ask? All this extra fluff is not necessary. Most often it obscures the true idea. Just like harlequin romance novels put a lot of bells and whistles on sex, most historical books and films cloud the real significance of events, the ideas that push history forward.