the rush, the thrill, the birth

I watch the Military Channel a lot. War fascinates me. It always has. When I was little my favorite movie was To Hell and Back. When I was in high school it was A Bridge Too Far. Even when I was little I had discriminating tastes regarding the realism of what I saw. If combat scenes looked far too “cinematic” or “Hollywood,” it ruined the war movie. Patton fell victim to this. I hate the battle scenes in Patton. George C. Scott delivers a knock-out performance as the madman American general, but the scene where he thumps Rommel in the desert looks way too choreographed. The tanks aren’t even accurate (the Germans are driving surplus American tanks that are painted yellow). The first time I saw Saving Private Ryan it was a revelation. Spielberg’s depiction of Omaha Beach shattered what The Longest Day had led me to believe. When the front of the landing boat lowered and the first five rows of men were mowed down by machine gun fire I thought, “Huh. That makes sense. The Germans would actually try to defend themselves.” Realism is a must. People need to understand how terrible war is. Whatever makes people fight each other to the death – be it making the world safe for democracy or toppling a tyrannical regime – those who stay home need to understand what a horrible thing is happening thousands of miles away.

The Military Channel shows war movies every Saturday night. This coming Saturday it’s some Steve McQueen movie about B-17 pilots in World War Two. Most of the movies the Military Channel shows are pro-America clap-traps from the 50’s and 60’s. However, in the advertisement for their movie night, the Military Channel includes clips from Platoon. I wouldn’t mind this so much if it weren’t for the fact that they distort Oliver Stone’s message.

The ad opens with “The Rush of Battle” in big letters on the screen, followed by a shot of GI’s being pounded by their own artillery. “The Thrill of Victory” flashes next, and we have Ramucci thumping his chest and roaring like an animal. Realize that he does this the morning after a firefight where almost all of the main characters die, and the only reason why the Americans “won” is because their commanding officer ordered a massive napalm strike on his own position – “It’s a lovely fucking war.” Ra’s roar stems more from him taunting death than basking in victory. Finally, and this is what pisses me off the most, we have “The Birth of Heroes,” and we see Charlie Sheen, the protagonist of Platoon. We see him with his skin blackened, roasted from the napalm strike, and he’s a breath away from fragging his sergeant with a discarded AK-47. So the Military Channel is cleverly packaging Vietnam in a way that makes it more palatable to the easily offended. Looking at what happens in the movie and literally translating it into words, here’s how they’re selling it: friendly fire maims dozens of American soldiers in the rush of battle, the survivors narrowly evade death by killing more of their own with a napalm strike so they can taste the thrill of victory, and heroes are born when they shoot their squad leader to death. This is exactly the kind of message we need to convey to the average American.

But the average American doesn’t care anyway. He sees Platoon advertised like this and he thinks it’s just another action movie for guys to get their dicks hard and wish they were murdering civilians in a third world country. Platoon is a very good movie. It makes me bawl. It’s depressing. Everyone should watch it and see it for what it is – a very honest war story told by someone who saw it firsthand. I don’t hate the Military Channel for selling it the way they do. In fact, that’s part of the reason why I watch the Military Channel. I want to see how they’re presenting something so horrific. They’re usually very good about showing the grisly side. However, being the Military Channel, they have an obligation to sugarcoat the message. At least they’re showing Platoon in the first place. Hopefully one or two of their viewers will be smart enough to notice the misrepresentations I have.

you're already dead

To make it anywhere in this world you need celebrity status. Track record and credentials will get you so far. Making a public name for yourself will take you all the way.

Look at the three leading candidates in both political parties right now. For the democrats we have the first truly viable African American candidate, a former controversial first lady, and a former vice presidential candidate who made a name for himself in a debate that I felt he lost. For the republicans you have the first Mormon to make it this far, a bigoted ex-governor who isn’t afraid to say he wants the isolation of AIDS patients from public life, and a very vocal former POW who isn’t afraid to challenge his party ideology. All of these candidates talk a big game, and most of them have very important things to say. The unfortunate thing out of this is that ninety percent of American voters aren’t going to listen to what these candidates have to say.

Most Americans will vote based on their prejudices. It’s easier that way. We’re all guilty of it at some time or other. There will be many African Americans who vote for Obama based on the fact that he’s black. There will be many women who vote for Clinton because she’s female. There will be many people who vote against Romney because he’s Mormon. It shouldn’t be this way, but that’s the human reality. This may be the best democracy on the face of the planet – the leader of the free world and crusader for human rights (yeah right) – but your average voter only cares about what’s on the surface. Cater to the fears of the common man, and you will go far.

I use 2004 as my example. John Kerry was a terrible presidential candidate, but that’s beside the point. What absolutely did him in had nothing to do with the swift boat campaign or whether or not he voted for the war in Iraq before he voted against it. John Kerry’s demise came at the hands of America’s homophobia. The train of thought of many as they saw the results come in on election night ’04 was this: “Education is worse than ever, the economy is bleeding from the jugular, and too many boys have died fighting the Taleban and Al Kay-da, but at least the goddamned queers aren’t going to get married.” Americans voted for president based on their hatred of homosexuals.

George W. Bush had the nation eating from his hand. All he had to do was win an Oscar for playing to the common man. Too many people bought into his act of mispronouncing words and coming across as the guy you could have a beer with. When the average retarded American in Kansas says, “That’s the kind of guy I’d like to have a beer with,” you can tell him anything you want. My faith in the electoral process dropped just a little bit further that night. Maybe the federalists were right two hundred years ago. The average American is unfit to vote for president. People latch too firmly to swagger. People want nothing more than to laugh and clap their hands. Distract the masses with flashing lights and a joke or two and you can win anything. Bore them to death with figures and facts and you might as well tie yourself a noose.

However we vote in this primary and in the coming November election, we’re going to lose. Vote for the black man, vote for the woman, vote for the Mormon, vote for the bigot. However it comes out, we’re all still on the losing side. We’re being lied to up and down on all fronts, and in the end do you really expect anyone to uphold their promises of reform or troop withdrawal? Accept the fact that you’re already dead. Vote, and vote honestly, but accept that no matter how it turns out we’re getting a celebrity. There’s no way around it. It all boils down to celebrity. The one who plays most to the cameras will win the support of gullible average America. This is the system we have chosen. Participation is perpetuation. Sitting still and not taking part is aiding and abetting. Now more than ever our world is on the brink of explosion. I don’t think anyone truly understands this. Celebrity will win out once again and whoever takes charge will grab the controls of an airplane with no landing gear. No matter how we vote we get what’s worst for everyone. Just retreat into your fantasy of having a beer with President Bush.

snow days

We had a snow day for work. Weather reports yesterday called for snow, sleet, and ice starting around 4am and lasting throughout much of the day. This is the first time in years that I found myself praying and praying for snow. When my neighbor woke me up scraping ice from her car I noticed it was still dark out. I knew there was icy precipitation. I knew all signs pointed to no work today. I received my wish. Now I am warm and snug, listening to Crosby, Stills, Nash, & Young, and happily not serving caffeine hounds in the coffee shop (not that I’m averse to that kind of thing).

I think I was in seventh grade when we had about a month’s worth of snow days. Once a week it seemed as though we had an ice storm, and so we hardly ever went to school. This was both good and bad. On the one hand we didn’t have to go to school – every child’s wish. On the other hand, when you give two young minds like mine and my brother’s that much free time, unspeakable things are going to happen.

This is confession time. Growing up, my brother and I had lots of stuffed animals. My mother ran a head count once we moved out, and she found well over a hundred. I’m not sure of the exact number. I think I kept buying (or impressing others to buy) so many stuffed animals because my parents weren’t very keen on having pets. It’s nothing against them. That’s just the sort of house they wanted. My brother and I were also diagnosed as having cat and dog allergies when we were little, so that played into it as well. I must have compensated for my lack of a kitty by getting a hold of every cat-sized fake furry friend I could find. I’ve written about my stuffed panther Blackie before. He came from this crop of friends. Blackie has a little brother named Leo, a leopard. The ringleader of the bunch is a yellow rabbit named Bean. They all have voices. They all have characters. In seventh grade, when my brother and I had so much free time thanks to snow days, they blossomed. We made up so many stories with them and laughed ourselves asphyxiated. We would play NES or Sega Genesis, either an entire Tecmo Super Bowl season or an EA Games NHL 93 playoffs, and then we got to work on the day’s fun. It might seem scary to the uninitiated. When you’re in the middle of it like me and Tim, it’s a way of life. My mother and father can thank the weather for a legacy of torture at the hands of a dozen or so disembodied voices.

For some reason that’s what I think of when I think of snow days now. There was the thrill of staying home from school, but after a while you get bored. Use the tools at hand to entertain yourself. I found myself thinking of seventh grade last night. I don’t know if I have it in me anymore to make up stories with these guys the way I used to, but it’s nice to reminisce. My entertainment tools have become DVD, CD, and vinyl oriented, but Blackie chills out on the back of the couch while he waits for me to finish what I’m doing. He gets his love in due time. There’s nothing else to do on a workless, freezing night but listen to music, watch DVD’s, and write a blog about snow days from the past. There is always time to love an old best friend.

country todd favre

No Country For Old Men did not win the Golden Globe for best motion picture drama at last night’s untelevised awards ceremony. I believe Atonement received the honors. I will not comment as to whether or not Atonement deserved the award over the other movies, none of which I saw, but I am glad that No Country For Old Men did not win. It’s the sort of movie I desperately need to see again before I make a judgment, but even if I wind up on the right side of the fence there’s no guarantee I can call it “best movie of the year.” I probably won’t. There are some major issues, all of which I have written about before and I will not reiterate. See my previous blogs here and at myspace. One thing I was glad to see was that Javier Bardem won Best Supporting Actor for his performance as Anton. He deserved it. This movie was so well directed and well performed. Too many loose ends remain for me to crown it as best of the year.

One thing I was glad to learn was Sweeney Todd winning best motion picture musical or comedy. I saw Sweeney Todd Friday night. If it finds itself in the Best Movie category along with No Country For Old Men at the Oscars, I sincerely hope it comes out on top. Tim Burton’s vision blends superbly with Stephen Sondheim’s script and score. It takes a visual madman to adequately present the imagery of a lyrical genius. The opening sequence takes us on an animated journey from the mechanized barber’s chair, through the trap door in the floor to the cellar, and finally into the sewer. A trail of blood is our guide, dribbling through the metal grate into the murky water and ultimately into the Thames. It’s a grisly take on ashes to ashes – the lives of human beings washing away with a city’s waste. Johnny Depp is one of those actors who continues to impress me. I always give great credit to actors and actresses who can sing to back up their art. Nicole Kidman and Ewan McGregor showed their true colors in Moulin Rouge. Both Johnny Depp and Helena Bonham Carter deserve serious Oscar consideration for their performances. Johnny Depp won his Golden Globe last night. Hopefully the Academy will follow suit.

Last, and well off topic, I suddenly feel the need to write about the Green Bay Packers. They made the NFC Championship game, and I am seriously pumped. Not only are they in the NFC Championship game, they are hosting the damn thing. The New York Giants toppled the Dallas Cowboys, who were the only team in the NFC that I was afraid of. I’m apprehensive about New York, but I have renewed faith in Brett Favre and his young football team. Watching the way they dealt with Seattle on Saturday evening after dropping behind 14-0 early in the first quarter, it was like watching the old Green Bay Packers from the mid-90’s, the Green Bay Packers who had Brett Favre at the helm but who also had Antonio Freeman, Robert Brooks, and Don Beebe at wide receiver, Dorsey Levens in the backfield, Reggie White and Gilbert Brown taking care of business on the defensive line, and Desmond Howard winning Super Bowl MVP with his kick return touchdown. On third down Brett Favre is stumbling and losing his footing as he evades a sack when he glances up and finds a receiver. The moment before he finally falls he gives a nonchalant, underhand flip. They pick up the first down and wind up scoring one of their six touchdowns. Favre is finding receivers all over the field and playing with a sublime patience, and the running game is stronger than ever with Ryan Grant. I’m excited to say the least. Talking about them now is probably jinxing them beyond belief, but I haven’t had much to cheer about recently as a Packers fan. Eli Manning has come of age, and I take that Giants defense very seriously. This will be a game for the ages either way. With a little luck I’ll have a lot to cheer about come Monday morning, and maybe I’ll plan a trip home for Super Bowl Sunday.

the colors of me

I fashioned a look for myself. It’s pretty obvious. I wear my red hoody and my red and purplish shirt every day. Practicality was the key when I began. I needed a jacket that wasn’t too warm in fall and spring and that could stand up to low 30’s weather at night, possibly lower. I also wanted to stay warm indoors when I’m only wearing a short sleeve shirt. My multi-shaded green flannel from middle school served this purpose for well over a decade. The thing is like an old blanket. All the memories of Weezer and Green Day come rushing back when I wear it, and I feel thirteen again. The fabric is growing flimsy and I noticed small tears riding up the sides, so I decided to put the old kid to bed. I’ll never get rid of it. It’s one of my oldest friends.

Enter new hoody and comfortable shirt. I bought the hoody at JC Penny about three years ago. The shirt was a Christmas present from my mother that I finally unpacked last winter. I suppose I’ve always been one to go for a signature look, something to set me apart from everyone else. I’m not a very vocal person. If I have absolutely nothing to say, I’m not going to say anything. Maybe wearing something prominent like a red hoody is my way of sticking out of the crowd. Maybe the regularity of my shirt is my way of visible idiosyncrasy. Maybe I’m just a pompous indie rock jerk who wants to make a fashion statement with his cheap clothes. Maybe I should stop worrying about it.

I would do the same thing with a car. The only reason I have a black car is because I wanted a car that day and First Team Auto didn’t have a yellow Outback or a green one. Green is my favorite color, but I’ve always wanted a yellow car. Yellow cars are easy to pick out in a parking lot. If you’re ever at a sporting arena or in a big city and you forget where you parked, look for the yellow car. No one drives a yellow car. No one drives an orange car, either. I would get an orange car if the opportunity arose. Is this really out of necessity to locate my car in a heavily populated urban environment, or is it because I want to make a statement? Do I really find my life so uninteresting that I feel the urge to drive a mechanized piece of fruit? The same goes for my hoody. Am I so afraid of the status quo that I need that signature look?

My father was in the Army in the 60’s. He entered Officer Candidate School, but he dropped out. When I was in college I found his OCS trench coat, and I hijacked it as my own. That was another warm piece of clothing that became a Nick Leitzke signature. It was a nice coat. It was really nice. It was designed so you don’t freeze to death at the bottom of a foxhole. It had to be nice. That was my coat for years until one of the buttons fell off. I didn’t have the patience to sew it back on, so I bought a new coat. That thing was me, though. When I say it was me I don’t mean that in a perfect fit sense. That thing became me. It was to the point where I felt pressured to continue wearing it. If I stopped wearing it, people would think of me differently. I would stop making whatever fashion statement it was and fall back into the status quo. The new coat I bought to replace the trench coat was a nice black one, but I haven’t worn it much this season. Instead I’ve been wearing my hoody and nice red and purplish shirt in layers, and I wear my scarf when it gets particularly chilly outside. I guess I’m back on the fashion statement wagon. But you know what? Forget it. This is easier. Wearing the same thing every day is like Einstein filling his closet with nothing but white shirts, black ties, black jackets and black slacks. It’s easier to throw on the first thing you see than to sit there debating what to wear. My hoody lies draped over the back of a chair. I grab it before I leave the house. I’m not going to successfully develop a unified theory of physics anytime soon, but it’s easier to do the things you want if you’re not worried about asinine bullshit.

velocity of music

Most music travels roughly 30 miles per hour. Measure tempo in your car from axel to axel. Fall into the rhythm of whatever music is playing. Look for any approaching irregularity in the road – a manhole cover, a bump, a crack. Listen closely for your tires to make contact. Feel the impact through the bottom of your car, through your shoes, right in the soles of your feet. Mentally mark that moment, and then wait for you rear tires to follow up. Glance quickly at the speedometer. It should read roughly 30 miles per hour.