Social Hygiene: The Happy Meal

It's been a pleasant day, and I've used the GPS to measure another route around the condo complex. If I stay to the outside, and follow the full route of the interior street, I can get a .75 mile walk in. Ten of those would be, um, 7.5 miles!

In the course of today's walks, I've spoken to almost a dozen people. Some of them are my neighbors, others were visitors. People like to say hello to Bodhi because he's always so happy to see them. We'll come back to this later.

But I have been paying a bit more attention the machine today, to see if anyone had something to say about my last post.

It turns out, Elisa Camahort read it and pointed out something she had written earlier about "the dark side of the internet." I like Elisa, I think she's great. So, don't think I'm picking on her, in fact I'm giving her a tip of the old "virtual hat," for being such a good sport and offering pretty much what I expected someone to offer!

At the end of my post I wrote, "You might want to think about that," which is kind of an arrogant thing to write, I suppose. But really, it was an invitation to think about the internet and our interactions online, and perhaps compare it to fast food and our relationships with food, our bodies and our health.

Now, Elisa offered a brief response, perhaps four hours after I wrote my little post. That's pretty quick, I think! I'm flattered, of course. But here's the thing, "thinking" is kind of like preparing a meal. It takes some time, and if you want to make a good meal, you kind of have to work at it. What Elisa has offered is kind of like a fast food meal. It's relevant, it's quick, it's easy to consume, it's inexpensive, it's "tasty" inasmuch as Elisa is a good writer and it's easy to enjoy reading her writing.

But... (Dare I say it?) "Where's the beef?"

(Okay. Don't shoot me...)

This is one of the "problems" with the internet, and I believe it contributes significantly to episodes like the one most recently surrounding Kathy Sierra. It's too easy for us to jump on our machines, which we are far too connected to, and dash off the quick post. I will guess that it has something to do with the reward centers in our brains and dopamine receptors. We go for the "quick fix" (as in drug fix, not "repair" fix). We don't take the time to really think. And since we mostly reason backward from our emotions, a lot of the time our thinking isn't as unambiguously rational as we'd like to believe. Though I hasten to add that Elisa hasn't offered anything emotional or irrational, merely "light."

Elisa quoted herself commenting on the net, which is something I'd asserted I'd not seen: "What a blow to optimism and to passion to see the dark side of the Internet in such stark relief."

And I'll maintain that in fact she's not commenting on the network, she's commenting on human behavior and projecting it onto the network: the "dark side of the Internet." It's the "dark side" of us. The network is merely an artifact.

"No matter where you go... "

"...there you are."

But I happen to also believe that had Elisa the privilege of owning a great dog (Maybe she does, I don't know. Maybe it doesn't need to be walked as much as Bodhi!), she might have taken a walk or two and thought about what I'd written before offering her post. Because I know Elisa is an intelligent person, capable of critical thinking. But where is it on display here? In some disagreement regarding the ratio of "strengths" to "weaknesses?" I'll maintain that the eagerness or urgent desire to respond to a post that explicitly, if impolitely, invites the reader to think, without having clearly done so, is one of those "weaknesses."

Just as it was a "weakness" that caused some people who have enjoyed, or continue to enjoy, a measure of favorable regard from people who are widely respected, to put up a web site that encouraged ridicule in the name of some sort of semi-whimsical "anarchy."

I don't wish to get into a debate regarding the actual ratio of strengths to weaknesses in the human character. It varies widely from person to person, and I will admit that our strengths are often of greater magnitude than our weaknesses, even if they may be fewer in number.

But one of our many weaknesses is to embrace some new or novel artifact and then ascribe to it some virtue that is absent from our own character. We seem to believe that we can create a machine that can liberate us from our foibles and our frailties. That is not so.

Furthermore, we embrace the new and the novel interactions with others on the network at the expense of interactions with others in our own local space. In "meat-space," as it were. But these online interactions are mostly shallow, almost two-dimensional projections of real interactions. That third, "physical" dimension includes some important features that we've evolved to help us get along with one another. But since the two-dimensional interactions can provide most of the same rewards, (With greater immediacy and convenience! Just like "fast food.") as "real" interactions, we invest too much time in this simulated reality of the network, consuming far too many "empty calories," and growing socially "flabby" and unhealthy.

I don't wish to get into a debate with Elisa, but in my opinion, nothing could use a blow more than "passion" and "optimism" when it comes to the network and how it affects our lives. There are far too many cheer-leaders, and people trying to sell something by creating pleasant fictions that appeal to our weaknesses. We need to pay attention to reality, to the truth, as ugly as it may be sometimes, and not get carried away by our own bullshit, as we have with respect to network technology.

To return to my walks with Bodhi. I've found that the quality of my life has improved as I've lost weight, and as I've spent less time following the minutia of the "blogosphere." I've never tried to read as much as Robert Scoble claims he reads, but I do try to keep up with about 70 or so weblogs. But walking the dog takes time away from being able to sit here and fire off a response to every breathless, brain-dead post from every wannabe internet visionary or marketing guru. And I find my life is more pleasant for it.

I think if more of the people involved with the Kathy Sierra mess, to include Kathy herself, spent more time away from the keyboard, that it's at least possible that the whole thing never would have occurred. But I regret to say that I also think that we have much more of the same to look forward to. Because people like the convenience, the stimulation, and the rewards of online interactions, of "blogging." Real ones require far too much work. And people will resist changing the nature of online interactions for just that very reason. It'll be too inconvenient, too much like "real" interactions! The claim will be made that "fast food" doesn't cause obesity and diabetes, lack of personal responsibility does! And a competitive marketplace that exploits human weaknesses to obtain a competitive advantage will be, as it always has been, just another feature of the landscape.

My advice is to get a dog.

Social Hygiene: It's All Fun and Games Until Someone Loses an Eye

I've hesitated to wade into the whole Kathy Sierra mess until now, and I'm wondering if this is even too soon. It probably is, and this is probably unwise, but here we go.

I've said it so many times, it ought to be my tag-line: Technology changes how we do things, it does not change what we do.

In my experience, it's the "whats" that cause most of the problems. Some "hows" cause problems, most notable at present being the combustion of fossil fuels to provide energy for this civilization, and the increase in atmospheric CO2 as a consequence. But most of our problems stem from "what" we do as human beings, regardless of what level of technology we possess.

We have a great facility for changing how we do things. We have had much less success at modifying what we do, and seemingly little interest in doing so. And maybe that's a good thing, because going down that road can lead to some pretty scary places.

What we've seen in all aspects of the Kathy Sierra mess is nothing new. It's all fairly ordinary, if unacceptable, behavior. Technology expands what we're able to do in space, and compresses it in time. Thus, technology-enabled networks bring many more people and their personalities and psychological quirks together in what may appear to be a "significant" event, that might otherwise have been a localized, isolated, if still unfortunate, incident. This is not to minimize Kathy Sierra's feelings, but it is to say that it is the network itself that made this incident possible, and the network itself that made Kathy's response to it into such a seemingly "significant" event.

But the response to date seems to have focused exclusively on individuals in the usual rush to assign blame and demand "accountability." Secondary to that has been some legitimate criticism and discussion of issues of misogyny in our society, and the problem of anonymity on the 'net. But I've read no discussion of the network itself, and its role in enabling this incident. Given how enamored we are of networks and our own cleverness with technology, this is unsurprising.

I'm not so sanguine. I think the network, while it is an impressive achievement, is not an intrinsically good thing. I think it empowers our weaknesses as much as our strengths; and flawed creatures that we are, we seem to have many more weaknesses than we do strengths. I think "blogs" are the McDonald's of social discourse and thought. The notion here is that, while convenient and perhaps "tasty," excessive consumption of fast food has serious negative personal health and social consequences. I think the same thing goes for the 'net. But you won't find too many people who feel the same way I do.

I think what happened to Kathy Sierra is a terrible thing, but I think the fact that it happened at all is because the network empowers our weaknesses as much as it does our strengths. And I think we aren't terribly good at spotting all of our weaknesses, perhaps even perceiving some as strengths.

I could go on, but I need to walk the dog.

I don't think that we're here to individually change the world. I think the world is here so that we might learn to change ourselves, as individuals.

I don't have a clever, scribbly cartoon to illustrate that, and for that I'm actually thankful.

But I do have a good dog. The amount of weight I've lost (26 lbs since 1 Jan.) is probably directly proportional to the amount of time I've spent walking the dog. Which is also time I've spent not sitting on my ass looking at this computer screen.

You might want to think about that.

New Toy

Walking Bodhi has kind of assumed a significant place in my life. We're still working it out, the walking relationship. We often seem to have differing agendas, and maybe different moods. But spending time together, moving through our surroundings, has become something important for both of us, I think.

Anyway, I'm kind of curious about how far we walk. So I bought a pedometer and a Garmin eTrex handheld GPS unit. It turns out the pedometer is useless for dog walking. At least the way Bodhi and I walk. The GPS is much more useful, though I've already encountered an odd design choice.

The internal antenna seems to located near the top of the unit. It comes with a lanyard that seems to suggest you can wear it around your neck. The lanyard attaches at the bottom, which means the device hangs with the antenna facing down, looking at the ground and unable to see the sky. As a result, it loses tracking whenever I'm not actually holding it in my hand. I would have have thought the lanyard would attach at the top, so at least the antenna would have a better "view." So I guess I'm going to have to come up with some kind of solution for that.

I walked our normal route and it reported that the distance we cover is roughly half a mile. Since we walk that route between six and ten times a day, we're generally covering about three to five miles a day. There are a couple of variations that I haven't measured yet, but I'm sure they're both longer.

I'm going to try and do Guana Park again with the GPS unit, once I have a solution for keeping the antenna looking "up," without having to hold it in my hand the whole time. Caitie and I took Bodhi last Sunday, but the sweat flies were so thick it was too miserable to go very far. I'm going to try a different time of day next time and see if that helps. But I'm also curious to see how well this unit works in the woods. Reports seem to vary regarding its performance beneath a canopy.

Of course, now I want to get the bike mount and go for a bike ride too, so that's a good thing. I've been thinking about getting a trailer for the bike that might accommodate Bodhi. I haven't made up my mind about that yet, but we'll see. I used to haul my kids in a bike trailer all over the place, but I don't know if Bodhi would be able to be restrained in the trailer while it was moving.

If anyone had asked me, I would never have thought that having a dog would kind of alter my life as much as Bodhi has. I have to believe my almost unintentional success with weight loss is due in no small part to walking him as often as I do. He's a very energetic dog, and if I don't walk him, he can drive me crazy in the condo. But he's also good company, and a good friend.

"Man's best friend." Yeah, I'd say that was about right.

Another Saturday Night

Being something of a creature of habit, I was up at 0500 this morning, walking Bodhi. I like walking him at that early hour, because it's usually just us and the stars. This morning, however, I encountered a couple of neighbors out with their own dogs, seemingly a bit surprised to encounter me. I'm pretty much out there every morning at that hour, so I'd say I was the one who was a bit more surprised.

While I enjoyed the chance encounter, Bodhi gets very excited when he meets a neighborhood dog. When he gets excited, he has a tendency to want to jump at me; and since the ground is wet from the sprinkler system, I got muddy paw prints all over my clothes. Which isn't usually a problem, except I decided to put on a white shirt this morning, not anticipating anything that might excite Bodhi.

All of which has absolutely nothing to do with anything, I guess.

Anyway, after making myself my usual two-egg ham-and-cheese omelet, I checked the state of the tide and noted that low tide was nearly coincident with sunrise this morning, and figured it was probably a good day to go to the beach. I had been entertaining the notion of putting in some time on the treadmill at the fitness center, but there's a certain fitness dimension to attending to the dawn of a new day at the beach too.

It wasn't anything to write home about, but this shot turned out pretty well, I think:

It was rather foggy/hazy this morning, and there was this really weird kind of glow in the waves that I wasn't able to capture with the camera.

I had thought about taking Bodhi, but I decided against it because I wanted to listen to the ocean and not pay attention to whatever new and inevitably hazardous item Bodhi was going to try to ingest. Just as well too, as there were many dead jellyfish littering the beach.

When I was leaving, I tried to get a little "creative" with the camera. I like the one with the street sign against the condo. The other street sign shot is pretty unremarkable, but I like it anyway. The sunrise is a parting shot. I tried to do a little post-processing, but ended up just using what the camera gave me. I don't know if you'll be able to make them out, but there's a woman meditating just to the left of the sun, and you should be able to see a tripod off to the right, and another one to the left of the sitting woman with a camera on it. I'm a handheld kind of guy, myself. (Read: lazy.)

Anyway, I thought of offering some pithy commentary on all the latest frothy, breathless bullshit littering the blogosphere, issued by the commentariat and the punditocracy, usually led by the non-existent A-listers, and rebutted, refuted and futilely objected to by us "losers," but what's the point? (Shout out to Stavros.)

Instead, I'm just posting a few pictures, and a little later on I'm having some neighbors over to play Monopoly and have a few laughs.

Life's too short to drink domestic beer. It's too short to argue with people who already know everything. I imagine if all the people who think they know everything actually knew anything we'd all be living in a frickin' paradise already fer Chrissakes. (Oddly enough, we are, we just can't seem to wrap our heads around the notion. Hence, all the people with all the great ideas about how to "fix" everything.) Anyway, life's too short to drink domestic beer, and it's too short not to watch the sun come up, or spend a few hours with your neighbors playing a board game. Do one or both of those things, and I'm guessing you'd make the world a vastly better place than a year's worth of blog posts would.

But that's just me. I'm an authority on nothing, and I make all this shit up. Do your own thinking. Live your own life. Nobody else is going to do it for you.

(Department of Loose Ends: My ankle appears to be fully functional, albeit a bit uncomfortable. I did two and a half miles on the treadmill this afternoon. I like running on the treadmill because I can motivate myself to keep going past the point where I'd normally just want to quit. Plus, I can check my heart rate. (179 at a 10-minute-mile pace. Not great, but not bad. At least it's beating.) I'm able to do 35 push-ups at a pop with no trouble, so I'm trying to do 350 a day now. I just have trouble remembering how many sets I've done. I should carry a piece of paper and tick them off as I do them. I've got Caitie this weekend, so I'm not eating great, but I was 197 after the run. That's probably a couple of pounds of water weight, but I'll take the positive reinforcement.

In a weird note, men's pants sizes are meaningless. My Dockers slacks are loose at 36. My Levis 501 jeans are just right, maybe a little on the snug side. Truthfully, I haven't been able to wear 501s, even at 38 or 40, in years because the seat and legs were too tight. So fitting in 36s right now is a happy achievement. I bought a pair of Columbia shorts that fit perfectly at 34! So go figure. I'm probably 20 pounds away from really being happy to go shirtless, but I'm feeling pretty good and I think I can lose that last 20 before my birthday.)

Cheese Sandwich: Dings

I seem to have reached some sort of weight-loss plateau for the moment. I've been stuck at 199 for the last two weeks. That's a bit disappointing, but perhaps not unexpected.

What's a bit more troubling is that I managed to injure my ankle last night in my first night of Krav Maga. It's probably just a sprain, but it hurts a bit, and may put a damper on walking to say nothing of taekwondo and more Krav. I walked Bodhi this morning, and it wasn't a lot of fun.

I hurt it about halfway through the class, but continued to train. We sparred for about ten or fifteen minutes at the end, and Krav is nothing like TKD. We don't punch to the head in TKD, and we do in Krav. I sparred with my instructor, who's a professional fighter, and took a couple of good hooks to the head that rocked my world. I didn't see stars, he wasn't going full speed, but they rattled my teeth. I'm going to have to do better remembering that he's left-handed. I was surprised at the aggressiveness of some of the other students, probably because it was my first class. I thought I handled them okay for my first night; though I find that I'm very much inclined to give a bit more than I get. Fortunately, the class is mostly older guys, so I'm pretty evenly matched in terms of speed.

I've got the weekend to see where this ankle is going. Next class isn't until Tuesday. Hopefully it will have improved enough by then to continue training. It's actually feeling a bit better since I got up this morning, so maybe I won't have a problem.

Anyway, I'm still here.

DVD: The Prestige

It's a "gimmick" movie, a bit like The Sixth Sense. Yeah, I was surprised at the end, and a little ticked off at myself that I hadn't seen it coming.

On the other hand, I really didn't give a rat's ass about any of the characters. So, while I was "surprised," I didn't really care.

Meh.

DVD: Rocky Balboa

Color me sentimental, (like that's a surprise) but Stallone got it right with Rocky Balboa. The first two-thirds of the movie is a really nice character study, with the final third being a fairly typical Rocky movie. The ending was handled very well, a nice grace note on the series.

If there is a false note, it's that Rocky seems to have grown much more sophisticated in his thinking. That's okay, despite the record of blows to the head, because he offers a few worthwhile comments on life.

Much better than I expected.

DVD: Casino Royale

Speaking as a Connery purist, I have to say that Casino Royale is probably the best Bond movie ever.

Bodhi: Walk the Dog

Took Bodhi to Guana State Park this afternoon for a little walk.

Bodhi was very popular with the people we met along the trail, except for the folks who don't like dogs. You can tell who they are because they studiously ignore you. Bodhi was pretty well behaved. He'd sit when I told him, and wag his tail to beat the band. But when someone would pet him, he'd get a little excited. Nothing terrible, but he loves attention, and people.

One of the trails leads to the Intra-Coastal Waterway, and the other one gets pretty near it. This is the latter trail, where we wandered off to look at the water.

I'm a big fan of fungus.

Not a great shot, but we did the yellow trail, Shell Bluff Road, and the black one, Timucuan Trail. Took us about two hours, just about to the minute. We were both pretty beat when we got home.

He's a great dog.

Bodhi: One of those nuances, subtleties and anamolies...

Life's too short to drink domestic beer.

Get a good dog.

If you're very lucky, someone will get one for you.

In my experience, life is much stranger than fiction.

Much stranger.

But wonderful, all the same.

DVD: Stranger Than Fiction (At Length)

After some biographical minutia, this post will discuss the movie Stranger Than Fiction in some detail. Meaning, if you haven't seen it and wish to experience it in the way it was likely intended, you should probably stop reading this. The biographical crap is probably not very interesting either.

It has been something of a mystery, and a privilege, that particular movies seem to have come along at just the right moments in my life to help me cope with some pressing emotional issue. Why this should be so is perhaps not a matter for debate. The rational explanation is that they are merely coincidences, and it is in our nature to attach special significance to coincidences which, in fact, are merely ordinary random events. Unfortunately, I'm unpersuaded and dissatisfied by the rational explanation. The rational explanation for my dissatisfaction is the notion of delusional thinking. As delusional disorders go, mine seems to be a relatively benign case.

In any event, my life has been relatively calm and stress-free since my divorce became final in November, 2005. The only movie that really seemed to resonate with me in a way that kind of compelled me to watch it repeatedly was the Battlestar Galactica mini-series. What that offered, and the series has continued to offer, is something of a meditation on what I seemed to get out of my navy career, its relationship to my life and how it has affected it. Nothing terribly earth-shattering, but interesting and worthwhile.

About a month ago, in connection with Groundhog Day, both the date and the movie, I mentioned that I seemed to be experiencing something I called an "encounter with the wasteland." Not to be overly dramatic, but it's an unpleasant "place" or state of mind. It's not something I care to describe in specifics because it involves people other than myself. But it involves the ordinary challenges that confront everyone from time to time. Things haven't improved much of late, and I bear most of the responsibility for that. It's not as though I haven't been the beneficiary of wise and patient counsel. Still, for all that, I have this unshakable feeling that I am to remain where I am for some time. Perhaps to study the terrain, and learn whatever it has to teach me. Perhaps to wait for something to occur.

It's a subjective experience, so it's not something that lends itself to "proof." Even so, the skeptical part of my mind struggles with the part that may be "delusional," and it becomes something of a debilitating ordeal. So it's almost a form of compounded distress. I have this encounter with "the wasteland," where suffering is the difference between the way things are, and the way I want them to be; and this ongoing struggle in my own mind regarding what is to be my course of action.

Until something like this movie comes along.

It's not as though it resolves all the questions, but it seems to provide some "help." The timely arrival of this movie as a DVD, where I can view it repeatedly, and share it with others, coupled with its theme is itself a significant coincidence. Within the movie, there are many more significant coincidences, few of which I'm likely to discuss here. Suffice to say, it did give one of my most skeptical friends familiar with my situation reason to pause. So what's the reality? I don't really know. But in the struggle between my heart and my head, I'm following my heart; although it seems to be the far more difficult course at the moment.

Well, enough about me. Believe me, I bore even myself.

Spoilers follow. Basically, the whole movie follows, along with my comments.

Stranger Than Fiction is something of an allegory, or a fable. It has a somewhat stylized depiction, like Joe Versus the Volcano, which fairly obviously contributes to the impression the viewer is supposed to get regarding the characters. It's also a movie with a "gimmick" or conceit, like Groundhog Day, where Bill Murray was forced to live February 2nd over and over and over again. The conceit in STF is that an author writing a fictional novel becomes the author/narrator of an actual living person's life. We can have long conversations about what the movie is "really" about, does it take place in "reality," or is it all in the author's mind? But for our purposes, we need not consider that now, and simply accept the conceit at face value.

The main character is Harold Crick, wonderfully portrayed by Will Farrell in a very uncharacteristic, understated performance. Harold is an IRS agent with some obsessive compulsive tendencies, and no "life." His apartment is depicted in flat, neutral tones, all straight lines and nothing "organic" about it, other than a bowl of green apples. Harold's life is one of deadly routine, but Harold seems oblivious to it, even to the point of seeming contentment. A secondary character, almost literally a deus ex machina, is Harold's wrist watch. More about the watch later.

We are introduced to the voice of the Narrator before Harold is, though we don't know at the beginning that it is the voice of author Karen Eiffel, played by Emma Thompson. The Narrator describes the broad outlines of Harold's life, including his work at the IRS. There's a brief, clever scene where the Narrator describes how Harold takes a 4.3 minute coffee break, timed by his watch. In that scene, we see two IRS workers standing near Harold who seem to be talking to one another. As one turns and walks away, we see he's wearing a bluetooth headphone. As the other worker turns away, we see he's wearing one as well, and realize that, in fact, neither was talking to the other. I thought that was a clever, somewhat subtle, and telling scene, and found it delightful. The Narrator continues her description with an emphasis that each night Harold walked home alone, ate alone, did his dishes alone, and went to bed at precisely 11:13 p.m.

Alone.

All that is about to change when Harold begins hearing a voice describing his life and actions, even as he is doing them.

Harold is introduced to the Narrator as he brushes his teeth one morning. The movie is filled with wonderful turns of phrase, and if I were a less lazy man, I'd have the DVD queued up so I could get some of them down verbatim. But I'm not that diligent, so suffice to say that Harold appreciates that the Narrator describes what he is doing "accurately, and with a better vocabulary."

Naturally, hearing this disembodied voice is disquieting to him, and one of his fellow agents and his only friend, Dave, perceives Harold's distress and gives him an "easy" audit of a baker, taking the far thicker return of an investment banker for himself.

Harold sets off to audit the baker, Ana Pascal, played by Maggie Gyllenhaal. The bakery is itself an enormous contrast to both Harold's apartment and the cube-farm of the IRS office. It is full of rich colors, few straight lines, clutter, and vibrant people. The name of the bakery, which isn't really given that much emphasis, is the Uprising Bakery, and is printed on the door at a slant. Ana Pascal is also a contrast to Harold. This is somewhat obvious, but pleasant. She's tattooed, dusted with flower, has bright red lips, and is highly animated, compared to Harold's neat, excessively buttoned-up appearance and demeanor. Naturally, they mix like oil and water.

The Narrator, however, begins describing to Harold the things he denies to himself, how Ana's sensual appearance appeals to him. Naturally, Harold finds this narrative turn very disconcerting, even as he finds himself following the narrative path, to the point of "oggling" Ms. Pascal's breasts, who notices and objects quite vocally. Thoroughly discombobulated, Harold takes his leave and promises to return tomorrow. Outside the bakery, Harold shouts to the heavens as the Narrator describes, only he's shouting at the Narrator, not as the Narrator describes. Here we begin to perceive that there is some contention, some fuzziness, between the roles of the Narrator and Harold. Just how much freedom of action does Harold have?

This is the point in the movie where we finally meet the Narrator. When introduced, we find Karen Eiffel standing at edge of the top of a building, smoking a cigarette, gazing at the people below. We see two characters who have a repeating role in the movie, who, like Harold, are seemingly real people, but whose roles are somehow tied to Harold's and the Narrator. Like Harold, Karen Eiffel seems rather lifeless. When we first meet her, she seems to be wearing a black robe of some kind, over blue pajamas. She wears no makeup, and her face is almost devoid of emotion, though one gets the impression of some some pain or sadness. She only partially smokes her cigarettes, spitting into a tissue and stubbing them out. Perhaps she's ambivalent about her desire to kill herself by smoking. In this scene, after she stubs out the cigarette, she appears to step off the edge of the building to her death.

Wherein we learn that this is a scene from her imagination, as the fall dissolves to another image of Karen Eiffel's hand, her face seemingly lost in thought, standing on the edge of her desk as Penny Escher, played by Queen Latifah, is introduced. Escher is an author's assistant, hired by her publisher to help her finish her book. Attend to Penny Escher's attire. She's clothed in a dark suit, but a lavender blouse. The color red is important in this movie. Penny and Karen have an exchange regarding thoughts of leaping off buildings. Penny says she never thinks of leaping off buildings. Karen doesn't believe her, maintaining that everybody does.

Karen describes a photograph of a woman who committed suicide by leaping off a building. If you pay attention to the description, I think you'll find that the particulars may be repeated later in the movie, though the creators seemed to have almost decided not to do so. More about that later.

In this scene, we learn that Karen Eiffel is preoccupied by thoughts of death, her own perhaps not least among them. Her office is just as devoid of life as Harold's or the IRS cube-farm. Although there does appear to be at least one dead plant present, so some sense of the organic is present, if only in the past tense.

At the IRS office, Harold is invited for a session with a counselor of some kind, one who is portrayed as something of a buffoon. While he's in session with the counselor, the Narrator begins trashing the counselor, and noting that Harold can't seem to get the smell of brownies out of his mind. In the scene, Harold is seated before a wall which is covered with clouds. As the Narrator begins to speak, the clouds begin to move, ever so slowly, and we can tell that Harold is no longer "here." So can the counselor. He suggests that Harold should take a vacation, since he hasn't had one in several years, "Use some of that 'vay-cay' time." Harold allows that he'll think about it.

On his way home from the office, Harold's wristwatch spots Ms. Pascal among the people across the street from Harold. In an effort to try to get Harold's attention, the watch goes on the fritz. This is the pivotal moment in Eiffel's ironically tragic vision of Harold Crick's death. When he resets his watch, Harold hears the Narrator say "Little did he know that this simple seemingly innocuous act would result in his imminent death."

Harold, already disturbed by the voice in his head and its knowledge of his life, is totally freaked out by this revelation. Yelling to seemingly no one, he troubles his fellow pedestrians. Returning to his apartment, he yields further to his distress, demanding answers from the voice, even narrating his own actions to goad the Narrator into providing an answer. All this is fruitless, and Harold is left sitting on his bed, distraught.

The next scene has Harold in the office of Dr. Mittag-Leffler, played by Linda Hunt, describing his symptoms and learning that he likely has schizophrenia. Harold rejects the diagnosis, and in an appeal for any other kind of help, she guesses that he might consult with someone with some knowledge of literature.

Which brings us to Professor Jules Hilbert, played by Dustin Hoffman. Professor Hilbert is more than merely a literary advisor. In this movie, which very much follows the arc of the hero's journey, Professor Hilbert plays the role of the Mentor. He's also the faculty life guard, in case you missed that point. This movie tickles me.

To kind of move things along, I'm going to skip lots of stuff. Professor Hilbert is persuaded to take Harold's case by the Narrator's invocation of "little did he know." He tries to aid Harold in determining what type of narrative he's in, a tragedy or a comedy. "A tragedy, you die. A comedy, you get hitched." This sets up the next interaction with Ms. Pascal at the bakery.

Harold returns to the bakery to continue his audit, armed with a small Moleskin notebook, with one page marked "Comedy," and the other "Tragedy." Harold offers a small attempt at humor in their first interaction, and dutifully makes a tic-mark on the Comedy page. His subsequent attempts manifestly fail, and the tic-marks begin to add up on the Tragedy page.

Ms. Pascal makes an effort to extend an olive branch to Harold for treating him so badly, but Harold, conscientious of IRS rules and regulations, fails to recognize the intent behind the gesture and ends up alienating Ms. Pascal further. He's convinced he's in a tragedy.

Professor Hilbert is encouraged, and notes that Harold's Narrator seems to sometimes rely on Harold to advance the plot. He advises Harold to do nothing and see if the plot catches up to him. This happens in an unequivocal way, and Professor Hilbert asks Harold if he realizes he's not in control of his own fate. Harold says that he does, and the Professor advises him to simply live his life then. Enjoy whatever time he has left.

Although Harold does not welcome this news, he does begin to make changes in his life, to do the things that formerly had terrified him. He begins to learn to play the guitar. And he decides to pursue Ms. Pascal.

Throughout this, we are also following Karen Eiffel's efforts to figure out how to kill Harold Crick. She's experiencing writer's block, and can't figure out how to end the life of this character. She still has no idea that Harold Crick is a real person.

Harold's effort to woo Ms. Pascal meets with success, and the Narrator tells him that Ms. Pascal was falling in love with him. Excited, Harold returns to Professor Hilbert to tell him he's in a comedy, and that the Narrator confirmed it. At this point, it's important to note the changes in Harold's appearance. He's wearing blue jeans and a red sweater.

Professor Hilbert seems a bit dismayed, as he'd assembled a list of likely "sociopathic authors" based on the details of the narrative Harold had provided to him to that point. While they are discussing this, an interview of Karen Eiffel from ten years earlier is playing on the television in Professor Hilbert's office. Harold recognizes the voice and tells Professor Hilbert that she is the narrator. This is unwelcome news to Professor Hilbert, because she only writes tragedies. She kills all her heroes.

Alarmed, Harold tries to reach Karen Eiffel. Karen Eiffel seems to be writing this portion of the narrative, even as Harold is working it out on his own, and at this point fiction and reality merge as Karen Eiffel writes about her phone ringing as her phone begins to ring. In the course of this scene and the ones immediately prior, you may note that Harold is the only person in any sort of red attire. The suggestion seeming to be that Harold is "alive" while nearly everyone else may not be. The green apples in Harold's apartment seem to suggest a rejection of life, of becoming "ripe."

Harold gets to meet with Karen Eiffel and discovers she's figured out the ending, resolved her writer's block, and all that remains is for it to be typed. They argue. Penny Escher persuades her to allow Harold to read the book. Harold takes the book to Professor Hilbert, since he can't bring himself to read a book about his own death.

Professor Hilbert agrees to read the book. The next morning, Harold meets with Professor Hilbert who explains that he must die. This is, to me, one of the best scenes in the movie. He explains to Harold that in all tragedies, the hero dies, but the story lives on forever. Harold is now in the wasteland. It's a very affecting performance by Ferrell. He takes the manuscript to return it to Ms. Eiffel, but decides to read it on the bus. He rides the bus all day and through the night, catching up with Ms. Eiffel the next morning.

When he reaches her, he tells her to finish the book. He allows that he doesn't know "literary anything," but it seems simple enough. It's the only way it could end. Ms. Eiffel appears puzzled, smiles and they part company.

Harold spends his last day attending to important details about his job and the people he loves. The next morning, kisses Ms. Pascal goodbye, returns to his apartment and follows his usual routine preparing for work. Four weeks earlier, when his watch stopped at Ms. Pascal's appearance, he received the incorrect time from someone, setting his watch three minutes fast. Thus, he arrived at the bus stop three minutes before the bus arrived, and in time to step out in front of the bus and save the life of a child whose bicycle had ridden off the curb and fallen over in the path of the bus.

The scene cuts to Ms. Eiffel who is experiencing an emotional crisis of her own. The camera dwells on the words, "Harold was de".

The next scene is Professor Hilbert's office, where there's a knock at the door. It's Karen Eiffel. They have never met, though he loves her books and has written to her many times. She loves his letters, though she's never replied to one. She asks him to look over the new ending.

Of course, Harold lives. It's quite literally a deus ex machina, with Harold's watch sacrificing itself to obstruct a ruptured artery, which otherwise would have killed Harold.

As literature, it's unsatisfying. Professor Hilbert describes it as "okay," but it doesn't fit with the rest of the book, and Ms. Eiffel explains that she's going to rewrite it. She couldn't kill Harold Crick. Professor Hilbert asks if it was because she found out he was a real person?

She said no. The book was about a man who didn't know he was going to die. Harold Crick was a man who knew he was going to die, who could stop it, but died willingly instead, "I mean, isn't that the type of man you want to keep alive?"

There is also a story here about Karen Eiffel, and how perhaps Harold has saved her life. Although she wasn't wearing red in the last scene, she looked as though she was beginning to come to life.

And you probably shouldn't listen to this if you want to see the movie, even if you've read all the foregoing.

Anyway, this movie came along at the right moment for me. And there have been many other nuances, anomalies and subtleties, to include this film, which have propelled me to this place, as unpleasant as it may be. I don't know how long I'll have to remain.

Or if I'm waiting for a bus.

Cheese Sandwich: Still Going Down

The red LEDs on the scale have read 201 the last few mornings.

Time to go buy some sun screen.

And probably some new pants.

BSG: The Death of Starbuck

Obviously, there is more to the story. What that is, and how satisfying it may ultimately be, remains to be seen. I do know that I will be most unhappy if it turned out Starbuck was a Cylon. I rather think that is extremely unlikely.

All that said, the loss of Kara Thrace as one of the pivotal figures of the series is resonant with the overall theme of loss of the series.

She was a polarizing figure, both in the story and among fans of the series. While I never identified with her in any significant way, I remained deeply sympathetic to her character, and the flaws she exhibited. All of which, in my opinion, were more than redeemed by her special qualities.

It's just a TV show, but I will miss her. And I think Katee Sackhoff has earned herself an outstanding reputation as an actor in her portrayal of this unique character.

A4-isms

Life is too short to drink domestic beer.

Somebody taught me that. Can't claim that as an original insight.

Of course it hurts.

Love big.

Even if it hurts.

Especially if it hurts.

And it will.

It. Will. Hurt.

You'll live. You'll just feel like dying.

I hate mixed messages.

Life is too short to drink domestic beer.

Unless there's no other beer available.

"If you can't drink the beer you love, love the beer you're drinking."

Or something like that.

Don't make beer a crutch. It's just a beer.

It's just a beer.

Don't listen to people who think they know something you don't.

They don't know shit.

On the other hand, you should listen to people who actually know something you don't.

If you don't, you don't know shit.

Good luck with that one.

Yeah, I'm talking to you.

Kinda gives you a headache, doesn't it? I've had one for years.

Get a good dog.

Hell, just get a dog.

Life's too short to drink domestic beer.

Not knowing is worse than knowing.

Not that either is ever especially comforting.

Finding out takes guts.

Of course it hurts.

What are you doing here?

You'll never get back the minutes you spent looking at this screen.

Don't say nobody ever told you.

It ain't over till we say it's over.

Or we're dead.

It ain't over.

Life's too short to drink domestic beer.

Love big.

Failing that, get a good dog.

But love big.

Pay no attention to me. I don't know shit.

Now get out.

DVD: Stranger Than Fiction

What a wonderful movie. A wonderful movie.

Wow.

Wonderful movie.

Some day, I may write more about it.

For now:

Wow.