Category: Uncategorized

I don’t want to worry anybody, but apparently Phillips Morris and I are on close enough terms that I merit a birthday present.

I read The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe as a kid, completely oblivious to the Christian overtones. Years later, someone made casual mention of it and the whole series reset itself in my mind as “Lord of the Rings for kids and with Jesus”. It was not until seeing the movie that I really took in the more complex themes relating to war and dictatorship.

It’s pretty clear that the cinematic version wanted to highlight the warfare aspect as much as possible. The first two scenes, depicting zee Churmens bombing suburban London and kids being shipped out to the country with labels on their chests to identify them to the strangers who will act as their new stewards, extrapolate the time-and-place setting which was identified in the book in a single sentence, seeming in the text more of an inconvenience than actual danger. Was this the kind of anti-war statement that seems to be popping up more often in recent movies (Episode III, War of the Worlds), or was it just added for effect? Couldn’t tell ya.

Anyway, the final battle between the big WETA-garbed forces of Narnia was kicked off by griffins dropping rocks on the bad-guy army, the imagery directly parallelling the shots of the German bombers at the beginning of the movie. The Nazis and the forces of Aslan compared? Not as black-and-white as you would expect from a kid’s movie.

The Thomas character is disturbing for more than one reason. Firstly, here’s this bare-chested demi-god whose kind is known for promiscuity and deviance making friends with a six-year-old. Creeptastic. More interesting, though, is his decision to free Lucy and the repercussions of that choice. His sense of rightness and his fear of the Secret Police battle within him, and when he picks the former, he pays the price.

Thomas’s story reads like something out of Nepal or Iraq, and it isn’t the only instance in the movie which reminded me of modern stories of life under a fascist dictator or oppressive occupying force. The fox (who died despite Edmund’s efforts to placate the Witch), the beavers (who escape the Secret Police via a tunnel dug from their home, only to find their safehouse captured), and the White Witch’s treatment of Edmund (promising him power and delight until his usefulness wore out) might as well have been plucked directly from the pages of a 1930-to-today history text. The moral here is that when a powerful and cruel government is in place, your actions, right or wrong, have absolutely no influence on your life or the lives of those you care for. Apparently all you can do is wait for Jesus to come back.

While I enjoyed the movie, I found these themes depressing and unresolved. I’d be curious to go back and read the book to see just how much of this was inlaid over the text and how much is from the source. If I do, I’ll keep you posted. After all, I know you’re just dying to read another freshman English essay here on B A Start.

I got the go-ahead for the employee videogame tourney. I need some help coming up with a name for the event. Best I’ve come up with so far is “Extra Life”. Anybody?

Want to see the difference between liberals and conservatives? I have been eating lunch with Slazak for years now. Someone joined us yesterday, and when asked by a passer-by why we were breaking years of tradition by allowing a third at our table, Matt replied “we’re taking in orphans” and I said “we’re recruiting”.

I think I may have convinced my workplace to hold an employee Halo 2 tournament as a fundraiser today. As you may remember, I’ve been trying to get a game going on one of the big-big screens for a while now. Only recently has the concept of making a real event out of it come about. With any luck, Microsoft or Bungie will hook us up with some prizes. It doesn’t matter either way, though — the title of King Geek should be enough motivation to get attendance. Further updates as events warrant.

There’s a turkey on my kitchen floor. It will be there all week.

Tomorrow I’m giving chocolates to the woman I drew in Secret Santa. When asked for gift ideas, she suggested world peace exclamation point.

If pushed, I would describe the general tenor of all recent phone conversations as ‘strained’ at best.

It is definitely too late for me to get gifts to my brothers in time for Sunday, even if I was sure of their current addresses. Every day this week I will check the mail with apprehension, hoping that neither of them got me anything. I’m fairly certain I can count on them for this.

I wish I could put my finger on how to spread tidings of comfort / joy to my coworkers without looking like either a conserva-fascist who refuses to bend with the times or a media-brainwashed wuss who’s too afraid to call the day off what it really is.

Despite itself, I do genuinely enjoy Christmas.

Almost got run over by some jerk leaving the Lexington Co-op parking lot. And they say weed doesn’t make you stupid.

I went to a seminar today in which, among other things, the trainer stated that Generation-X’ers don’t like to work in groups because we’re all latch-key children who came home to empty houses and played Nintendo. As the only representative of the under-40 crowd in attendance, I decided to hold my tongue. My thoughts on the root causes of the apathy and indolence of Gen-X aside, I have to confess that I was baffled by the Nintendo being cited as an anti-socializer. I don’t remember ever playing videogames by myself as a kid. I remember my brothers watching me crawl my way through Final Fantasy, my father spending entire weekends burning every tree and bombing every rock in The Legend of Zelda as we logged his progress, my friends and I mastering the intricacies of Pro Wrestling and RC Pro Am. For my sixteenth birthday my parents bought me a 12-inch TV for my bedroom, so my brothers just watched my run through Lifeforce there instead.

Lies! Lies I say!

There are men in the hills here, men with guns. Along the highways, pickup trucks bedecked with yellow-ribbon magnets have been left like rusty snake-skins as their owners prowl the snowy forests for the unlucky bucks who will secure their places at the Men’s Table at all social events until next year. I’m hoping the dim, orange light of a cigarette in no way resembles moonlight in a deer’s eye.