jesus, meet dumbledore

Perhaps I only now sit down to write this out of some perverse loyalty to what this once was - maybe every year from now, as my birthday comes and goes, I'll return here to move the header up by one year and feel obligated to say a little something; like a speech. A speech to a vacant audience, in an old dusty theatre which never held sold-out crowds in the first place. A funny thing about a theatre like that - it ends up meaning more to the owner than it does to anyone who ever visited.

Well. Enough about that. What ideas have I ached to get out for some time?

I guess if there was an obvious place to start, it'd be concerning relationships. Not that I'm in one, obviously, but having exited a 2 1/2 year affair some seven or so months ago, I think my perspective on relationships has changed rather dramatically. While I'm obviously tempted to just claim that they're all futile and will only end in heartache, I don't particularly enjoy being that much of a Johnny Raincloud. I am more wary of them in general, and not just because of the 4+ months I've spent in relatively high(er) levels of depression: moreso because I keep seeing them fall apart around me.

Four. I've known of four couples to have their marriage fall apart...in the last two months. Four. That's eight people I know who had to deal with the heartache of learning that "the one" wasn't, in fact, "the one". Learning how freakish the human heart is, that within a year you can go from "I'd be willing to die for this person" to "I wish this person had never been born" (that's relatively tame in fact). So what do you do with, forgive me, shit like this?

What I want to do is condemn people for being too quick to rush into relationships. Us cynics look around and decide that people, as a general rule, become too quickly enamored. They find someone and look them up and down and say "This guy is perfect! There's nothing I can see in him which would get in the way of us leading a happy life together." We think they should say "This guy seems okay - what is there that would indicate to me that we can be together?" It's the difference between declaring victory because nothing's wrong and withholding victory until everything is right. This is my nature - things (including people) will always tend to be bad, unless they prove otherwise.

But that doesn't seem very Christlike.

Neither, might I add, does it seem Christlike to find everyone perfect, to declare every okay person you meet to be a saintlike, or to throw yourself into someone as their soul-mate just because you see nothing wrong with them.

Balance.

Jesus had a remarkable way of knowing how to hold people to a high standard without thinking less of them. Someone once told it to me this way: "He understood to prepare for the worst in people, but genuinely expected the best from them." Think Dumbledore - he knows, just like we all know, that certain "bad apples" will always make the wrong choice. He knows that most people will just do whatever their base desires tell them, and will act selfishly. He knows this, and he prepares for it. But he doesn't live like it. He's smart (in preparation), but he's also loving (in life). He always gives second chances, he always waits for the people to make the right choice, and he always loves them (even when they make the wrong choice).

Back to relationships. Somehow - and this is pretty hard - somehow, we're supposed to prepare for people being people. We're supposed to understand the risks, understand and prepare ourselves for everything falling apart in the blink of an eye. And we're still supposed to jump in.


Because the idea is, we're never really jumping all the way in. In a perfect relationship, I'm not devoting myself 100%, fully, irrevocably to another person. Me and another person are devoting ourselves 100%, fully, irrevocably to God. Together. With, and in, and through, and several other prepositions, each other.

So, surprisingly, neither the cynics nor the bright 'n cheery gang are right this time. We have to balance, and when we fail (as we will), we have to (sigh) run back to God. He'll, after all, be waiting.

pro-tips for invading college freshmen

Writing about high school as though I were some 40 year old looking back on the vast expanse of my life and reminiscing about the days back when I didn’t care about anything feels silly. That being said, I aim to put forth here in a few sentences a few things I’ve learned since my time in that 4-year stupor ended, and since my eyes were blinded by the light of the real world.

1: There is no secret.

I’m opening with the big one, the one that I want no one (especially you high-schoolers) to miss. As a teenager, I used to look to adults and assume they knew something, some secret or piece of knowledge, which guided them through life, telling them exactly what to believe and how to act and what to do. Not all adults, but the smart ones, like my parents and my teachers and the president and what-not. Here’s the true secret: no one really knows anything.

Now, I know you may read that and think “Well, duh”, but you really have to believe that it’s true – no one really knows what they’re doing. A few people think they do, but they’re badly mistaken. Every adult you’ve ever known, from your parents to your friends parents to your teachers and maybe even a few friends, knows exactly as much about how to deal with life as you do. The only difference is they’ve had a few more mistakes to inform them of exactly what not to do – you have to start making mistakes before you know that. But you do that already, learning from your mistakes. It’s why you won’t go running after eating a bowl of pasta again after that miserable P.E. class in 9^th grade. It’s why you won’t tell Anna what you think about other people anymore after she ratted out your rants to those you were ranting on. “Adults” just have the benefit of having had more time to do stupid things to learn from.

2: Don’t be terrified to question your faith or beliefs.

You’re going to college. If you’re not going to college, then you are (hopefully) at least going somewhere new and exciting.

(I’d say it’s the “way of life”, eventually you leave your parents, but really it’s more cultural than that. In Honduras, my mom was unusual for moving away at such a (comparatively) early age. There you stay home until you get married and leave to start a new house.)

Within this culture, it is often taken for granted that, when you finally leave the warm embrace of your home and venture out into the new, exciting, sometimes scary world, you will reject some of your parents’ beliefs. First things first: this is not necessarily a bad thing. Before I garner the intense hatred of every parent who reads this (including my own), note the “necessarily”. The act of changing your beliefs in and of itself means nothing – in fact, what it really means is that you’re forming your own opinions on things. And the fact is, it’s better for you to disagree with your parents with your own opinions than to “agree” with them by parroting what they believe.

That all being said though, don’t disregard your parents’ advice lightly. Remember what we said up there? They have made more mistakes than you. The sad fact is, most of the time your parents tell you something is a bad idea, it’s because they’ve already done what you’re about to try, and they know what will happen. It’s like in horror movies when the idiotic blonde girl is still going through the mansion, never turning around despite all the warning signs. You want to shout at her “TURN AROUND YOU COMPLETE IDIOT”, because you know the story. You know exactly what will happen to her, and it’s not good. So there you have it: you are your parents’ horror movie. Don’t be the ditsy blonde.

With faith specifically, my opinion has always been that if you’re faith isn’t strong enough to take some questioning, well, it’s not very strong then, is it? Be careful, though, of just getting one side of an argument and immediately giving up. Let’s say your professor offers irrevocable proof that God is not real. Okay, think about it. Digest it. But don’t give up on your faith just because you don’t have a response. Ask around. Talk to your parents, talk to your friends, talk to hip college pastors with weird facial hair. Really try to understand both points of view (one of my favorite things to do is to defend both sides of the argument).

But don’t be afraid for your faith to change. Don’t be afraid to make adjustments to it if you are convinced that it does not violate the basic truths you know. Which leads us into this:

3: Separate core beliefs from fringe beliefs before you go in.

It will make your life so much easier. The difference between core and fringe beliefs is that core beliefs you must be unwilling to compromise on. Fringe beliefs, on the other hand, are “doctrine”: church (extra-biblical) teachings that change all the time (e.g. the earth being the center of the universe used to be doctrine). Here’s a few examples to get you started.

Jesus was the Son of God: core, or fringe belief?

Genesis is a completely literal telling of the beginning of the world: core, or fringe belief?

The earth is 4000 years old: core, or fringe belief?

Obviously I’m catering to a very specific market of beliefs, but whatever your belief or belief system is, don’t be afraid to go through and mark off what you’d be willing to change presented with enough evidence and what you “intrinsically know”.

That seems like enough to get you started, right? I like this idea of protips for the invading freshmen, so I’ll keep you all posted as more things come to mind.

restless

I feel my body dip between this world

and one I try to leave behind in night.

I fear the heaviness of here

Juxtaposed with there

There

There where I have no illusion of control

There where I careen through my inward visions

There where I relive my life, jumbled together

and mistaken for order by my mind

There were I need not fear this truth:

my consequences are results of my actions.

on this vomitorium

I’d like very much to cite (read: scapegoat) quality control for my total lack of updates, but this strikes me as a profoundly unprofessional thing to do (namely, it assumes that what is already here is “quality”). I think I remember originally writing something about this being the equivalent of mental/emotional vomit upon that vast canvas we call the internet, so I really shouldn’t put forth these pretentious notions that what I write is necessarily beneficial to that infinite, dark canvas. It just is.

(On a slightly unrelated note, this is my general view on the degree to which a massive communication forum is primarily malignant or positive for humanity: to grade such a massive object on such terms is pretty much an exercise in futility and, again, pretentiousness – no one ever weighs the pros and cons of humanity having vocal chords)

All this to say, I aim to increase my use of this so-called “vomitorium”, partially because a) I have been profoundly affected to hear that several friends of mine regularly check for updates (and regularly find themselves disappointed), and b) as an aspiring writer, it seems to be a deep mark against me to not maintain a simple site with the sole mission of containing my unorganized, unchecked, and (reasonably) unedited thoughts on life, the universe, and everything.

What say we dive in together then, shall we?

Review of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Part Two

(spoilers)

It is unprecedented that we have an 8 part film series, spanning 10 years, containing mostly the same actors and following a single narrative. That much must be said right up front - this is a monumental achievement in filmmaking.

Having read all of the books multiple times, it strikes me that this film shifts dramatically depending on how it is viewed - thus, a tri-review.

As A Movie

Splitting the seventh book into two films was a smart move in some respects, for example much more attention could be devoted to individual plot points (not to mention the financial benefits of charging two tickets to one movie), however this decision wrecked havoc on the structure of the film.

Because we're effectively entering in the middle of a story, we immediately find ourselves in a bit of a lull. The audience is thrust into boring events without any precursor to even introduce them to why they should care about these boring events. I watched the film with two people who had never read the book nor seen Part 1 for several months, and to say they were a bit lost was an understatement. Perhaps you're not meant to go into this a stand alone film, but then why does it market and present itself as one? This continues throughout the entire film: my parents walked with me out and immediately barraged me with important plot questions which the movie found no reason to answer - "alienating" is an apt description.

The action is all very well and exciting, but it actually serves to severely undermine the overall tone of the film. At one moment it feels like we're watching an intelligent fantasy film, and at the next it feels as though we're watching Die Hard with wands instead of guns (this problem has actually been present in the films since about the fifth one, actually). Plus, I don't know why the film is trying so hard to be a summer action flick when it's just so freaking dreary - I understand it's part of the story and what-not, but at no point did I feel like I was having "fun", even during the extensive and intricate action scenes.

The acting is a bit of a curiosity - on the one hand, you have superb (and I mean superb) actors and actresses, most notably Alan Rickman, Ralph Fiennes, John Hurt, and Maggie Smith. On the other, there are so many stale deliveries, confusing facial expressions, and painful screams coming from other parts of the cast (interestingly from the more adolescent actors), that it almost serves to even out the stellar performances at the other end. Smack in the middle are the films three main protagonists, Daniel Radcliffe, Emma Watson, and Rupert Grint. The three have certainly very, very much improved over time (this being Radcliffe's best performance yet), but there were still moments in which I just didn't buy them as their characters. Perhaps it was the occasionally questionable writing or incredibly obvious use of CGI, but whenever they were on I was usually being reminded that I was watching a film.

The climax didn't feel like a climax, the beginning didn't feel like a beginning, and the middle felt like the end.

As A Movie With Respect To The Book

The movie departed from the book in several specific ways, and unfortunately many of them seemed to make little to no sense to me. Why was the entire sub-plot of the harrows of the young Dumbledores exorcised? Was it necessary to intertwine Voldemort and Harry's conversation at the end with a "thrilling" action scene? Why was the conversation between Dumbledore and Harry in King's Cross so considerably shortened? As I've hinted, I greatly fear that the answer is to make room for the action scenes, and this itself hints at the greatest problem the movie has with respect to the book: it is dumbed down.

Why do the filmmakers seem to assume the audience couldn't understand that a disgusting baby, moments after Harry is murdered by Voldemort, is Voldemort himself? It may seem a minor point that, as opposed to the book, Dumbledore readily answers Harry "That is what's left of Voldemort's soul", but it's further evidence that the film-makers felt the audience couldn't understand interesting and intelligent symbolism without holding their hand.

This "dumbing down" actually raises one of my biggest issues with the films: why do wands now function as (like I said before) laser guns? The best part about warfare in the books was watching characters duel using mind and matter, employing clever jinxes or using environmental objects (such as statues) to their benefit. None of this occurs in the film. The entirety of dueling is shooting and blocking, and occasionally two laser beams meeting in the middle. Everyone says this movie has respect for the source material, but does no one consider that this phenomenon (lasers from the wands meeting in the middle) is an extremely circumstantial event which the books describe (importantly) as only occurring in the fourth? It's nitpicking I know, but it just disappoints me that this decision was made, seemingly, for the audience's "benefit".

On that note, it's also a serious flaw in the film that evil characters have needlessly gory deaths. Perhaps not "gory", there's no blood or guts or anything, but the beauty of the book's description of Bellatrix and Voldemort's death is that they both died exactly as every other character would - with a simple, undignified fall to the ground. Not only does it not make sense within the world's rules of magic, but it feels like the filmmakers are trying to draw catharsis out of events which the book specifically states are, inherently, absent of drama.

The most positive point I can say about the filmmaking in respect to the book is that, somehow, the epilogue works considerably better in comparison. I don't know what it is, but (story issues aside) I found the film's portrayal of the epilogue as somehow more interesting and clever than the books.

My only other minor nitpick is with Michael Gambon's portrayal of Albus Dumbledore. I'm not sure what it is, but somehow the character in the film is lacking so much of the charm and, frankly, cheeriness of the character in the book that I have a hard time connecting the two. I never felt the same affection for Gambon that Rowling's writing inspired in me for the character.

But now we get to the heart of the matter...

As A Story (i.e. Briefly Reviewing The Book)

People love these characters. I know this - a woman one row in front of me literally sobbed almost the entire second act. And it's understandable - they're good characters, it's hard to not be fond of them (especially when we've been following them, in one form or another, for the better part of fifteen years). The problem, though, is that Mrs. Rowling herself became far too fond of her own characters.

Yes, there are certain, painful, unprecedented, surprising deaths of important characters. And these deaths do mean something. But what I can't bring myself to understand is why, even though the whole series seems to be about dealing with heartbreak and loss, at the end our three protagonists go on to lead a completely perfect life. A "happily ever after" ending, if you will, feels so out of place in a series which until now benefited from mixing fun and fantasy with serious themes about the hardship and challenge of life itself, the loss which we all must suffer at one point. With the last book, it just feels like Rowling undermined this incredible tension she kept up for so long in favor of feeling happy - and this fundamental problem is carried over into the film.

Overall then, I must admit I was a bit disappointed. There are one or two very positive points worth mentioning though.

Alan Rickman is beyond brilliant. I highly doubt any actor in the entire world could so successfully carry this complex character, highlighting his strong and weak points, and playing so believably that I never once felt like I was watching "Alan Rickman".

Further, most of the technical aspects of the film are superbly done. For some reason my theatre was incredibly dark, but I give the film the benefit of the doubt in assuming that this was the problem with the theatre. The camera angles, the cinematography, and some of the visual effects were top notch, though (as I said before) the CGI was generally sub-par, and I always, always noticed it.

To sum up, then: Harry Potter is as much, if not more, a part of my childhood as any other story. I love the books dearly, warts and all - I must say, though, that the movies always seemed somehow lacking to me. I'm not one of those snobs who presumes that source material must necessarily be better than that which is based on it (see: The Godfather), but in this case this truism rings loud and clear. Ambitious, legendary, and successful, the movies were entertaining, though they will never hold the same place in my mind or heart as the books on which they were based.

want

(for a good friend)

Happiness: wanting to be wherever you are, doing whatever you're doing.

Sadness: not wanting to be wherever you are, or doing whatever you're doing.

Dissatisfaction: wanting to change something about your world.

Anger: dissatisfaction, plus wanting to use force.

Disappointment: wanting things to have gone differently.

Curiosity: wanting to know something you don't.

Euphoria: wanting more of whatever's happening to you.

Boredom: wanting something to do.

Fear: wanting to not be in danger.

Contempt: wanting the earth to be totally rid of someone or something.

Pride: wanting it all to be about you.

Guilt: wanting to confess.

Love: wanting someone to be content.

Contentment: not wanting anything else.

hammock

Today I fell asleep in my hammock.

If you haven't had this opportunity, I highly recommend it. I'm not sure I've ever felt so at peace with myself or the world. The extraordinary thing, though, is that this blissful hour or two would've been impossible without an entirely miserable night.

I'm not sure what it was, but last night I could not sleep. I've always had on and off insomnia, and this was particularly nasty. No matter what I did, I could not get comfortable, and on top of that my mind was racing, refusing to settle down for a mere few moments. Finally, at 3 am, I sat up, turned the lights on, and read for a full hour. I finally decided that my desire for rest outweighed my un-comfortableness, and fell into a not-entirely restful slumber, only to awake a few hours later to begin my day.

No doubt because of the night, my day thus far had been ridden with peculiar headaches and general lack of comfort. Finally, I resolved to come out to the porch and read. I still felt miserable, though, and in the middle of reading laid my Kindle down, took off my glasses, and leaned back. Gradually, like cool air penetrating your core on a hot day, contentment settled over me. Within an hour, I was fast asleep.

The thing is, that initial painful night was necessary to bring about the glorious hammock moment. It's the concept of juxtaposition, something that comes up a lot in English (and art in general): things look and feel different relative to one another. Had my night been relaxing and restful, I probably wouldn't have even fallen asleep in my hammock.

In times like these in life, then, I tend to pray that God is leaving me in a restless night because there's a beautiful, restful day ahead of me. And He wants that moment to be unlike anything I've ever experienced.