Star Trek: Into Darkness

I have three words for you. Benedict Cumberbatch plays the best futuristic, maniacal, kick-ass villain ever! In this next sentence, the one in which I’m about to tell you how I think Star Trek: Into Darkness may be better than Iron man 3, I would normally have a link to the review I have already written about Iron man 3. However, no such review exists yet, thus, there is no link….but the show must go on.

One would think that a man with the name Benedict Cumberbatch would be anything but a futuristic, maniacal, kick-ass villain…..and one would be right. Thankfully his name in the movie is not his real one. Those of you who are fans of the British television show "Sherlock", are familiar with his work and may have possibly been as giddy as I was in the theater waiting for him to appear. Those of you who are not, will still appreciate his commitment to crazy.

Anyway, as I was saying, Into Darkness is a wholesomely entertaining movie that in my opinion, was not as good as the first, but still didn't disappoint. There was just enough action and the story line, while plausible and multifaceted, was still easy to follow. Even the nuances in the development of the intricate relationships between humans and Vulcans was masterful, and well…logical.

I could have done without the Dr.’s plethora of over-acted metaphorical quips, and while I felt there were

some decent moments of comic relief, most of the attempts at humor were a little contrived or poorly timed, an ailment of which the first film surely didn't suffer. I did enjoy the film and was mostly entertained, but I couldn't help thinking that this movie was like the U.S.S. Enterprise with a stalled hyper-drive, floating along the fringes of the galaxy without the ability to warp into greatness.  

Some critics, like the Huffington Post had more to say about the films lack of profit generation and celebrity status, but I find that a movie review commenting solely on a film's box office numbers is sort of like judging an entree by the dessert that follows it. Others like Rotten Tomatoes, reported the movie at a 78%, while audiences rated it at almost 90%. Even though the movie fell a little short of expectations, it's still a fun, sleek, intergalactic thriller worth watching.

In short, those three words I promised earlier sum it up rather well….two thumbs up! 

I love the 80s...

I should be studying right now and working on an assignment that's due at the time after which you should never feed a mogwai, but every cell in my body is fighting it. My mind is literally remembering all the things I've been neglecting to do, and trying to get me to do them. Must. Be. Strong. I have a poem that wants to come out and my blog keeps calling..."Brown, ya no me quieres"...you don't love me anymore.

I just started grad school, and every time I begin an assignment I ask myself what the hell I was thinking when I enrolled (I just noticed there were a lot of I's in that sentence). I suppose gleaning information from charts and graphs that illustrate Health Care Expenditures in the United States since the 1960s will do that to you. I'm up to my eyeballs in health care data. These are the moments I wish I could absorb the information like Johnny 5 in Short Circuit..."Need more input!"

Sorry for those of you who didn't grow up in the 80s and know that reference..."Your battery fluid is leaking!" (sorry, couldn't help myself) Your childhood was not nearly as awesome as mine if you didn't wear a Swatch, collect Garbage Pale Kid cards, watch Wrestlemania, The Cosby Show, The A-Team, Silver Spoons, Remington Steele, Magnum PI, and have at least one of these on your bed spread or pajamas: Star Wars, Pac-Man, Knight-Rider, The Goonies, Smurfs, My Little Pony, Rainbrow Brite, The Snorks, GI Joe, Gremlins, Karate Kid, E.T., or the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles.

Yeah, you wish you knew what a Care Bear Stare was.

I'm in the mood to share a poem with you. I hope you don't mind...

Eternal Love

Walk into the tomb my sweet
and fall upon my grave.
Fear not the statued sentries there,
who guard this hallowed cave.

Yet deeper through the dark abyss,
where whispers go off to die.
You’ll find me quietly waiting,
upon a bed of stone I lie.

These catacombs are winding,

chambers fraught with dreams and bone.

Carve softly your name upon the walls,

So I shall never rest alone.

By Brown

30 Days and 30 Nights

I'm not sure if I'm writing to satisfy a particular agenda, or just because I couldn't continue to bear the thought of anyone stopping by my blog and judging me solely on my last post, or the idiocy of my pet peeve because quite frankly I have many, and while being constantly mugged by my shower curtain is frustrating, I would hope the world would think me a little more sophisticated.

Then again...I'm not sure how much I really care about people who are compelled to surmise a person's intelligence, sense of humor, imagination, and writing prowess all by a singular post complaining about something, which in the grand scheme of things, is rather trivial. After all, I can't really blame anyone wanting to be all over me while I'm naked.

But then again, this is who we are...biologically and otherwise. We judge, as we always have, in order to survive, weighing risks and identifying potential threats from our environment, and those in it, in a matter of seconds. We often calculate hundreds of scenarios in fractions of seconds, make a decision, and begin initiating a plan...all in the blink of an eye.

It's rather fascinating once you think about it...your entire life is mostly comprised of impulsive, instinctual decisions you've been making since you were able to grasp the concept of your actions having consequences. People like to think that they make their decisions through a more scientific process, basing them on empirical data, analytical comparisons, and deductive reasoning, but in truth, we are looking to either justify or reverse a decision that was already made. We have a brain capable of vast conscious capabilities, but it is those of which we are unaware that are truly enumerable and infinite.

I think wisdom is the acknowledgement of this process, the embracing and acceptance of our animalistic nature, the realization that while we judge, decide, discriminate, dislike, alienate, and choose by snapshots and soundbites of the world around us...we ultimately possess the power not to act upon such diminutive and limited samples.

Gandhi once said, "Anger is the enemy of non-violence, and pride is a monster that swallows it up." Let us hope that we are endowed with the strength to fight such demons, as well as the vision to see the limitations and exclusivity of our perceptions. Time is our most precious commodity, and it would be such a shame to waste a month of it.

Pet Peeve #416

I'm not sure what distorted laws of physics, or vengeful ghosts continue to haunt my bathroom, but I'm sick of the shower curtain gravitating towards me and clinging to my leg like an overzealous, pubescent pit-bull puppy.

I even have those stupid weighted magnets at the bottom of the curtain, but they don't really help; I don't have a bathtub made of medal. If my dumbbells weren't made of iron I'd tie the curtain to those.

I already wake up in a bad mood most days, and now I have to wrestle a giant piece of Saran-wrap for real estate while I'm wet and naked? I think I may need an extra shot of espresso this morning....

Saving Private Ryan

I've often contemplated Harakiri...not on myself of course. I couldn't imagine pushing a dagger into my abdomen, and then forcefully dragging it horizontally across my torso until my insides are no longer where they belong. No, that's a little drastic, and messy. But the act of Sepuku on the blog however...is an act who's reality has become increasingly plausible with each passing day that does not see a sentence written by my hands.

I often wonder at what point a person who has dedicated his or her entire life to dancing, acting, or professional sports decide when their last audition is if they still do not achieve their goals. At what juncture does someone realize that the universe has been trying to nudge them in a different direction and decide against everything that feels right, in order to pursue a path different than the one of which they have been so sure?

I wonder if torn ligaments and crushed egos are the byproducts of greater forces imposing their will, or does coincidence, chance and serendipity ultimately decide who among us is chosen for greatness? I told a friend the other day that I was done with pursuing a career in writing, that I recognized that I didn't possess the right amount of whatever ingredients were necessary for a successful career as a writer. I'm not bitter, I will not live with regret, nor will I abandon an art that has granted me solace over the darkest years. I have simply chosen another path. I do not see this as quitting, relenting, or settling.

I've often struggled with the philosophical paradox of whether we truly possess choice, or if it is merely an illusion to which we are all slaves. I'm not sure we can have it both ways...things happening the way they are supposed to, as well as the ability to create a world by the power of our thoughts alone...or a bed to lie in as it were.

It's never been about how far the rabbit hole goes, but the reasons that motivated us to jump in it in the first place that truly matters. So, for now, the blog lives to see another day. Until of course, I, or fate, decide otherwise.

Skyfall

Although gadgetry, ego, and explosions are Bond staples, Skyfall was refreshingly scant on all but the latter. Mendes paid exceptional attention to detail, imbued subtlety in the too-often one line zinging hero, and allowed viewers to peel back layers of 007 where his predecessors feared merely scratching the surface.

With the exception of high stakes poker in Casino Royale, this was a much more cerebral Bond flick than its predecessors, one that kept us on edge as it explored the inner workings of both the villain and the resurrected.

Bardem embodied a virulent, violent, and crazed psychopath with a cool exterior. Motivated entirely by revenge, and possessing all the skills of a double zero agent, Silva was like an atomic bomb with a faulty detonation switch. His bleached blonde hair and overly calm demeanor were the only indicators to his underlying lunacy. The brilliance in his character was that we expected him to explode at any moment, to be overcome by his emotion as Bond so often does. But we never quite get to see Silva angry or flustered, even when his plans do not yield the expected results. As bumpy as the ride gets, the bomb never goes off; its destructive potential well known, even secretly desired.

Another refreshing element to Skyfall is that the plot does not revolve around world domination, rogue military generals hellbent on genocide, or giant freaking lazers. In fact, with the exception of a perfectly timed derailed subway train being summoned by Silva and almost crushing 007, this film appeared quite realistic. Skyfall's action sequences were plausible and plot driven, not bombastic and random.

Daniel Craig's grittier and less charismatic archetype of the historically and egregiously over-exaggerated spy is a welcome repast, and Mendes ingeniously lets audiences feast on more than merely car chases, shoot outs, and chiseled physiques. This bond is wounded, humbled and even doubts himself for a time. We learn that 007 is human after all, and as Q put it, "less of a random killing machine, more of a personal statement."