So after a few months of not blogging I feel it is necessary to begin again. I have been feeling quite extraordinary recently, due to the wonderful (but ever changing) weather and God's amazing world He has created. I also feel more and more encouraged by my decision to become a starving actor. There is something extremely powerful in doing what you want and feel called to do. It's almost hard to explain. I continually look at older people I admire who waste their love or their talents or excitement on one of those well-paying office jobs that they hate more and more when they hear the excrutiating sound of the pencil sharpener conquering its prey, or the power hungry CEO compensating for something missing. I posted this quote on facebook a while back but it has become one of my favorites over time. One of the countless reasons why I love Mark Twain is his fearless commentary on life and the satire that he wrote so perfectly. I will leave you with this to ponder. Enjoy, and I will be back soon...


"What work I have done I have done because it has been play. If it had been work I shouldn't have done it. Who was it who said, "Blessed is the man who has found his work"? Whoever it was he had the right idea in his mind. Mark you, he says his work--not somebody else's work. The work that is really a man's own work is play and not work at all. Cursed is the man who has found some other man's work and cannot lose it. When we talk about the great workers of the world we really mean the great players of the world. The fellows who groan and sweat under the weary load of toil that they bear never can hope to do anything great. How can they when their souls are in a ferment of revolt against the employment of their hands and brains? The product of slavery, intellectual or physical, can never be great."

- Mark Twain

The Dark Knight

"I am vengeance. I am the night! I am...BATMAN!" These words were running through my immature brain as I was sitting first row in the movie theater last week in Decatur, Alabama. Nearing adulthood, I rarely get giddy, unless of course I am about to eat. But concerning films, art, theater, etc, I can certainly get excited, but never giddy. Perhaps it is because I have been working with children all summer long, whose excitement is easily contrived, but whatever the reason, I was giddy when attending the newest of the Christopher Nolan Batman films: "The Dark Knight." Batman sweatshirt on, and smile on my face as I bent my neck backward in order to enjoy the picture. I have already seen a few movies this summer, some of which were extremely entertaining and high-brow even (WALL-E), but this one takes the prize. "The Dark Knight" starring Christian Bale as the caped crusader, and the late Heath Ledger as his first real nemisis, The Joker, was beyond entertaining. This film was incredible; with the director's daring, yet fullfilling choices, mixed with a brilliant cast and a story that leaves you sitting on the edge of your seat, not quite sure whether to laugh, cry, or cringe at the lines. Being a Batman fanatic (he's obvious the best super hero since he doesn't even need powers to beat up the bad guys) I was extremely pleased with the outcome. Nolan, as usual, did an exquisite job of setting the dark story (which he co-wrote with his brother, Jonathan) to the scenes of the fictional Gotham. Bale, one of my personal favorites, keeps adding incredible performances to his resume, this being one of his finest. The way he depicts Batman's internal struggle of not being sufficient, to losing his one love, all the while trying to rid Gotham of one seriously(?) bad dude. Heath Ledger, as all the press seems to be chattering about, served up an Oscar-worthy performance. Some say that he wouldn't have gotten as much praise if he hadn't passed away a few months before, but I beg to differ. Knowning how difficult it is to truly dig into the mind of a madman, especially one who seems to have no real motivation for all the crimes he has committed, I believe this is Ledger's best performance to date. Not only does he display the dark comedy in the Joker (his name IS the joker, after all) getting the audience to laugh when a murder is about to take place, but he soaks up into the Joker so well we forget that he once was trying to win Julia Styles over in high school or breaking his back as a cowboy. There were certainly other incredible performances by Aaron Eckhart, and the always great Freeman and Caine. If you have not seen the movie yet, it is not for the weak at heart. Not only will the performances astound you, but you will wonder how a comic-book film could be so effin good.

Bleeding Rainbow

In lieu of several people asking me what my worst fear is, I decided to write a blog. And yes, I used the word lieu and I'm not taking it back. It's a good word and is not used enough. So people, hear my cry, use it and use it well. But anyway, I felt it was about time that the blogging world got inside of the mind of your favorite blogger, Me. What is this fear, you must be pondering to yourself, while you sit at your computer late at night, clicking that refresh button now and then, hoping you will be poked by another facebooker. No, it's not flying, heights, or getting stabbed in the eye by a pencil over and over again (although I probably wouldn't enjoy that one.) It's not losing all my money, going bald early, or peanut butter sticking to the roof of my mouth. It's not snakes, spiders, germs or clowns. It's ketchup.

"Mike, are you serious? You built that up to tell us that you are in fear of a condiment?"
Yes, and I would appreciate some encouragement, alright?

Now, I haven't always loathed and feared the nasty stuff, I think I even enjoyed it as a kid. To my earliest knowledge, the reason I will not touch it is because of a television show. I was watching "Reading Rainbow", one of those wholesome, learning shows with the guy from Star Trek, and apparently he visited a ketchup factory or something and made an offhand joke about "If you eat too much ketchup, you might turn pink", not thinking it would, in turn, affect the lives of children everywhere, especially this one. Now, being five or six or however old I was, and a boy, I didn't want to turn pink, naturally. So that's that, I have hated ketchup ever since. Now, there could have been a massive ketchup attack in my family that I was brainwashed the knowledge of, or something far more traumatic, but this is the only logical explaination I have. "But Mike, why don't you just try it, you might enjoy yourself?" Trust me, I have and every time I smell it or get it close to me, I cringe in my skin and pray that God is watching out for me. You know there is a reason ketchup is red: it's Satan's favorite food. Think about that one.
I know this is a lot to take in, and I thank you for listening. But I don't want you to feel sorry for me, or try and convince me otherwise. I will never eat ketchup, and I'm alright with that. It hasn't affected my life too dramatically. It may be why I didn't vote for John Kerry, or why I don't like the newer Star Trek as much, but I've grown to deal. I do, however, enjoy my mustard. Mustard IS mentioned in the Bible, and I don't believe ketchup is. Just saying.
Just like the grown man who sleeps with his night light, I will continue living my life and accept the fact that it will remain ketchupless.

Dangerous

The beautiful thing about America is that in the whole melting pot philosophy, there is an abundance of multi-cultural influence in the realms of art, music, religion, and most importantly, food. Since America has obtained such a massive gathering of unique and tasty foods, it makes the choice difficult. One of my personal favorites, when branching out from the Americanized standards; such as McDonald’s, Burger King, Taco Bell (Mexican?) is the Asian cuisine Pei Wei (pronounced Pay-Way, for you dirty minded readers). Pei Wei is described as an Asian restaurant, so I am not entirely sure of which Asian country or culture it represents, since there are a few of them. I’ve knocked out most of the “stan’s” and I am pretty sure India is gone, so it’s gotta be closer to the Eastern regions. Anyway, my team and I arrived. I ordered quickly, the usual kid’s meal of Honey-Seared Chicken on Fried Rice with a Chocolate Cookie (their cookies are extremely soft and even more extremely amazing). I was enjoying the taste in my mouth that I get when I enter a Pei Wei, when I heard the call of nature and obliged politely. Upon arrival into the men’s restroom, I saw two young boys. One, slightly pudgy, with a good amount of freckles, had to be about ten or so. The other, quite a bit younger, and clearly his brother, was closer to five. Being ahead of me, they went to the appropriate stalls. The older boy went into the actual stall and the younger to the urinal. I wait politely, knowing from my experience this summer how long it takes young boys to use the restroom. Immediately after the older boy closed the door, he opened it again and looked up at me. “Sir,” he said to my confusion. I looked around me, and not seeing anyone over the age of 50, I realized he was speaking to me. “If he says anything weird, like ‘Stranger Danger’, just ignore him, he’s a little kid.”
More confused as the seconds passed, I gave an uneasy laugh and nodded my head in agreement.
About a minute passed and the boys were still doing their thing. Then, I hear a flush of water. The youngest boy had finished, and turns away from the urinal. He walks with his head down closer to me, toward the mirror. All of a sudden he looks up, stares into my face with a look of terror. His eyes grew three times the size, and yells, at the top of his little lungs, “STRANGER DANGER!” He repeats this a little more quietly over and over and over again. Pointing at me all the time, he continues to yell this warning. His older brother responds from the other stall “Colton, just because he is in the bathroom doesn’t mean he is stranger danger.” This, I thought, would calm him down. Young Colton, snaps me a quick look, and continues to repeat “stranger danger” almost at a whisper. Not knowing exactly what to do or exactly what I had done, I left the restroom.
Back to my seat, awaiting my soon-to-be-devoured meal, I wasn’t sure who had been scared the most, the kid or me. I learned an important lesson from this experience: Whenever you see someone you don’t recognize, yell “STRANGER DANGER” as loud as you possibly can, while pointing uncontrollably, and they will probably go away.

WALL-E

Imagine a future where Earth's luscious valleys are overtaken by miles of waste, where humans have evolved into massive orca-like creatures, whose only transportation is some sort of hover device, where one company monopolizes over everything manageable, and where technology is so sophisticated that robots have taken over for people. No, I am not talking about Al Gore's latest documentary. This is the premise for Pixar's latest film, WALL-E.
Having a bias already for Pixar movies, due to the fact that their track record is unfailing; I, of course, loved this film. Not only did I appreciate its ecological and anti-lazinessical underlying themes, but it was a brilliant combination of state of the art computer animation and clever comedy.
Some have compared WALL-E to Chaplin's Tramp, and I can definitely see the connection. The first twenty mintues barely had any vocals, save for Fred Willard's always pleasing cameo, and a tip-o-the-hat to the musical "Hello, Dolly!" with it's song "Put On Your Sunday Clothes." The way the main character, WALL-E, moves about and tries so hard to please in the midst of an overwhelmingly advanced world, is down right hilarious. I won't go into details about the plot, only because I encourage everyone to see it. I laughed my obnoxiously loud laugh too many times. And better yet, the short at the beginning was well worth $9.00 in itself. Only Pixar can make a movie about two robots who fall in love in the future. I loved it. So gooooo, seeeeeee iTTT.

happy camper

if anyone wants a visualization of the camp i'm doin this summer, feel free to check it out:

http://picasaweb.google.com/team1c3

Alfred Hitchcock Was Right

So I've gotten into this whole "running" phenonmenon (i love that word) this summer. My former and future roomate, Brad, is a cross country zealot and runs like it's fun to do or something, but I never really got hooked until now. By hooked, I don't mean I am running everyday or even every other day, but it's a slowly growing habit. One staffer on our team, Zack, or Xaq, as we call him, does the whole marathon thing and has inspired me to run with him and even on my own a few times. Now, I have blogged about running before, but that was while watching Star Wars at the Y. This is different, this is like running running, not just running.
But anyway, I try to run now. There isn't a whole lot of time at camp, but I've found splotches of time here and there to excercise my right to excercise. As I went running the other morning before church, I was enjoying the beautiful world that God has created, minding my own business. I didn't even bring my Nano Video iPod Nano; it was just me, God, nature, and the Memphis suburbs. Time passes and I'm beginning to grow a tad bit weary, but I kept keepin' on. I soon arrived to a streth of sidewalk that appeared to have no end, with little trees on either side. It was almost robotic how perfectly these trees were aligned. I decided to give it a chance, however, when all of a suddent I feel a scratch against my buzzed head. Thinking that it must have been a not-so-neatly trimmed tree branch, I kept running. Randomly, however, I looked up and saw a small, dark shadow flutter by. Like a villain escaping the scene of a crime, this bird high-tails it out of there. "Ow!" I thought to myself, "I just got attacked by a freakin' bird." Realizing that it was probably some normal course of nature, birds attacking and all, I didn't let it phase me, too much. About ten minutes down the sidewalk (yes, it kept going) I looked at my watch and noted that I'm already a moron for running period, and I definitely don't need to be running that long, so I should double back. Forgetting where the crime scene had commenced, and more focused on making it home without my lungs falling out, I made no attempt to switch sidewalks. I kept running. My pace had lost most of its momementum, and heavy breathing gave way to gulping for air. Almost to there, I thought. "I can do it. I'm still ali-" Out of nowhere flies at least four birds directly onto my head. It's as if the Grim Cheeper had been waiting for me in his lair. Except this time, he doesn't give up after one peck on the head. They begin to scratch and peck at me like I'm a can o' worms. Not knowning the correct procedure for bird attacks, I begin running faster, waving my hands above my head to save my brain from getting pecked out. I must have looked like an acid trip gone bad, screaming and waving like that. But I could have cared less. Finally, I reached the open air. You're probably thinking, "Mike, you're an idiot. Why didn't you just move onto the road where it's safe?" Well, it's the same as watching a movie where the person is running in front of the monster or falling rock or moving car. You just don't think straight in a moment of pure terror.
I made it out alive, in case you were wondering, and only with a few scratches on my poor head. Next time I go running, though, I am bringing my airsoft gun. "'Nuff Said."