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The drive out of San Francisco was not fun for anyone. Sunday and I were livid at Tim and Beth for their lack of consideration and they were mad at us for touching their things and sloppily packing their luggage. And we were all mad at each other for existing in the first place.
We all simmered and stewed and did our best to avoid interaction in the small cubic feet that was available inside the tiny blue Acura.
At this point, everyone was just ticked off and wanted to get home as quickly as possible. Our journey out to California offered us little surprises on the road because we had taken the time to get a trip ticket from AAA. It told us where there was road construction and bathrooms and restaurants and gas stations. However, instead of adding eight hours to our trip and traveling back to Los Angeles so that our trip ticket back home would be valid, we instead decided to just look at a map, pick the road that made a direct route east and hit the gas.
We scanned the map and found our path.
Now that Sunday had offered almost all of her money to Tim and Beth in San Francisco, we had to pool our resources in order to have enough for food on the way home. Sure, we could have asked Tim and Beth for some of her cash back, but that would require crossing the lines drawn in blood that separated us from them. Together, Sunday and I had just enough for one person to eat healthily for the next few days. That meant we would have to engage in an impromptu diet as we headed home.
It didn’t help that, at this point in my life, I had a weird obsession about not borrowing any money. It was a combination of trying to jump start my perception of adulthood and partially stemmed from being the last of eight kids. My older brothers consistently complained that I got everything I wanted from our parents. The reality is that I didn’t get everything I wanted, but it appeared that way to them.
I remember telling them that it wasn’t my fault if I asked for something and mom and dad said yes. I told them to take it up with our parents. They didn’t, of course, and instead took it up with me.
When I entered college I was completely unarmed when it came to financial management. No one really sat down and explained how finances and budgets worked and I’m sure if someone would have tried, I would have dismissed them anyway, as it was not something I really wanted to learn .
The end result was that I didn’t manage my money well when I got into college. I didn’t have a lot of money in the first place and to not manage it well on top of that only made things worse. To add fuel to the immaturity fire, I wouldn’t tell my parents I needed money or help until the sky was falling, putting them and the rest of my family into uncomfortable situations. I found out years later that my father, who believes our family, if we put our resources together, can accomplish anything, would call my older siblings and ask for assistance.
I so wanted to be an adult and realized that if I put myself in situations because of bad financial management, it was my problem and no one else’s. I hated borrowing money more than anything in the world. It was a sign of weakness and a sign of immaturity.
Add that viewpoint on money to the already volatile mix of personalities in the car meant that I would have rather doused myself in gasoline and walk through fire before I would ask Tim and Beth for any money. Sunday and I were determined to suffer whatever penalty we had to in order to finalize this trip on our terms.
It would make the rest of the deteriorating trip even more challenging than ever before.
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Part 50, (Text, Audio) - Part 49, (Text, Audio)Part 48, (Text, Audio) - Part 47, (Text, Audio) - Part 46, (Text, Audio)Part 45, (Text, Audio) - Part 44, (Text, Audio) - Part 43, (Text, Audio)Part 42, (Text, Audio) - Part 41, (Text, Audio) Part 40, (Text, Audio)Part 39, (Text, Audio) - Part 38, (Text, Audio) - Part 37, (Text, Audio)Part 36, (Text, Audio) - Part 35, (Text, Audio) - Part 34, (Text, Audio)Part 33, (Text, Audio) - Part 32, (Text, Audio) - Part 31, (Text, Audio)Part 30, (Text, Audio) - Part 29, (Text, Audio) - Part 28, (Text, Audio)Part 27, (Text, Audio) - Part 26, (Text, Audio) - Part 25, (Text, Audio)Part 24, (Text, Audio) - Part 23, (Text, Audio) - Part 22, (Text, Audio)Part 21, (Text, Audio) - Part 20, (Text, Audio) - Part 19, (Text, Audio)Part 18, (Text, Audio) - Part 17, (Text, Audio) - Part 16, (Text, Audio) Part 15, (Text, Audio) - Part 14, (Text, Audio) - Part 13, (Text, Audio)Part 12 (Text, Audio) - Part 11 (Text, Audio) - Part 10 (Text, Audio)Part 09, (Text, Audio) - Part 08, (Text, Audio) - Part 07 (Text, Audio) Part 06 (Text, Audio) - Part 05 (Text, Audio) - Part 04 (Text, Audio)Part 03 (Text, Audio) - Part 02 (Text, Audio) - Part 01 (Text, Audio)
Sunday and I got out of the pool around 10 a.m. We headed up to the hotel room expecting to find Tim and Beth there so that we could pack and leave before the 11 a.m. checkout. Sunday and I were showered, dressed, and packed by ten thirty.
Tim in San Francisco.
Beth hanging in San Francisco.
Only one problem. Still no Tim and Beth.
This was before cell phones and we had no idea where they were and when they were coming back. We expected they would definitely return prior to having to check out, after all, the room was on their credit card and if we weren’t out by eleven a.m. we would have been charged an entire additional day.
Nature waits for no bathroom.
As the top of the hour quickly approached, Sunday and I thought the best thing to do was to pack Tim and Beth’s belongings for them. It certainly wasn’t the best situation, but we knew Tim and Beth would appreciate it.
Beth's friend showing his new fangled CD player.
We didn’t have a lot of time so, after throwing everything Tim and Beth owned into their luggage, Sunday and I raced down to the hotel front desk and checked out of the room just before eleven a.m. We moved the luggage over to the chairs in the lobby by the entrance to the hotel and waited.
An hour passed and still no Tim and Beth.
At this point Sunday and I started to get angry. Where the hell were they? Why haven’t they called? You have to understand that Beth called her parents everyday to update them on our trip. Surely she would burn up a few phone card minutes and give the hotel a call to let us know they were running late.
Beth on the phone... calling the hotel to say
she'll be late? No. Calling home... again.
Yet another hour passed and Tim and Beth were nowhere to be found.
The hotel workers were eyeing us and Sunday and I were becoming uncomfortable so we decided to lug all of our belongings out to the front of the hotel, under the awning.
It was hot, but we didn’t know what else to do. We just sat on our luggage and waited.
Each minute seemed like an hour and as we grew hotter on the outside, we also grew hotter on the inside. The chasm between Us and Them was growing with each passing second. As we neared the three hour mark Sunday and I were in a rage. We couldn’t fathom how Tim and Beth would be able to explain the day’s events.
Finally, a little after two p.m. Tim and Beth finally arrived. I jumped up and quickly moved over to the car.
“Where the hell were you guys?” I pointedly asked. “We’ve been waiting here for three hours!”
“Why didn’t you just get a late check out?” Tim asked.
Neither Sunday nor I knew you could ask to check out later. Instead of waiting in the heat of the San Francisco day, we could have been tanning by the pool or hanging out in a hot tub.
Before I could respond, Beth looked at her luggage next to me and asked an angry, rhetorical question, “Who packed my luggage?”
“We did,” I replied.
Beth fumed and walked into the hotel. Tim followed. Sunday and I watched through the front windows of the hotel as Tim and Beth had a heated exchange. Beth was mad, Tim obviously trying to calm her down.
A few minutes later Beth came out and whisked her luggage back into the hotel. Tim came out and grabbed his and said “We’re… we’re going to go up to the room and repack our things.”
And he was gone. Sunday and I stood there in disbelief. No thank you for packing our stuff. No gratitude for doing all of this so they wouldn’t be charged an additional stay on their credit card. No apology for keeping us waiting.
What did they do? They decided the best course of action was to make us wait even longer while they repacked everything we had packed for them.
That was it. I had had enough. Sunday had had enough. Officially, at two twenty-seven that day, we hated Tim and Beth. The line had been crossed, the bridge had been burned, the fumes had been lit. Weeks of growing tension and frustration had dismantled our ability for common courtesy and forgiveness.
From that moment on, the relationships were broken and the rest of the trip would never be the same.
********
Part 49, (Text, Audio)
Part 48, (Text, Audio) - Part 47, (Text, Audio) - Part 46, (Text, Audio)Part 45, (Text, Audio) - Part 44, (Text, Audio) - Part 43, (Text, Audio)Part 42, (Text, Audio) - Part 41, (Text, Audio) Part 40, (Text, Audio)Part 39, (Text, Audio) - Part 38, (Text, Audio) - Part 37, (Text, Audio)Part 36, (Text, Audio) - Part 35, (Text, Audio) - Part 34, (Text, Audio)Part 33, (Text, Audio) - Part 32, (Text, Audio) - Part 31, (Text, Audio)Part 30, (Text, Audio) - Part 29, (Text, Audio) - Part 28, (Text, Audio)Part 27, (Text, Audio) - Part 26, (Text, Audio) - Part 25, (Text, Audio)Part 24, (Text, Audio) - Part 23, (Text, Audio) - Part 22, (Text, Audio)Part 21, (Text, Audio) - Part 20, (Text, Audio) - Part 19, (Text, Audio)Part 18, (Text, Audio) - Part 17, (Text, Audio) - Part 16, (Text, Audio) Part 15, (Text, Audio) - Part 14, (Text, Audio) - Part 13, (Text, Audio)Part 12 (Text, Audio) - Part 11 (Text, Audio) - Part 10 (Text, Audio)Part 09, (Text, Audio) - Part 08, (Text, Audio) - Part 07 (Text, Audio) Part 06 (Text, Audio) - Part 05 (Text, Audio) - Part 04 (Text, Audio)Part 03 (Text, Audio) - Part 02 (Text, Audio) - Part 01 (Text, Audio)
Superman Returns is a great follow up to original Superman film series. Superman Returns ignores the bad version in Superman 3 and
4 and, instead, chooses to follow up the story after the original Superman 2 was completed. Christopher Reeves, who played the original Superman/Clark Kent is replaced in Returns by the charming and warm Brandon Routh. Margot Kidder, who played Lois Lane in the first two films is replaced by Kate Bosworth and Gene Hackman, as Lex Luthor, is replaced by the equally talented Kevin Spacey.
The film, directed by X-Men 1 and 2 helmsman Bryan Singer, does a great job of interweaving elements from the original two films into this third installment. In this story, Superman, having heard from astronomers that Krypton may not have been completely destroyed, leaves Earth to return to his home planet only to find it completely obliterated. The journey takes him two years and when he returns, a lot has changed. Lois is involved with her Editor's nephew, played by James Mardsen, and they have a son. Lois has also recently won a Pulitzer prize for her article Why The World Doesn't Need Superman, which was an outgrowth of the feelings of spurned love at Superman's departure.
The story then propels forwards as Luthor has plans to create his own continent using some of Superman's crystals from his fortress of solitude. The story nicely intertwines Superman trying to understand and possibly recapture his relationship with Lois while, at the same time, trying to stop Luthor from completing his evil plan.
The special effects in this film are amazing compared to the first two films. And Routh, who many people have unfairly criticized, in my opinion, does a great job of showing his emotions through his eyes, not through words. Superman is stuck wanting to rekindle an ultimately unworkable relationship with Lois, but struggles at the impact it would have on her son and boyfriend.
I found the film to be very rewarding and exciting. For me, it was far more enjoyable than Pirates 2 and slightly better than X-Men 3, so as far as summer releases this year, Superman Returns leads the pack.
When Sunday offered to go swimming my mind raced with the sensual possibilities of Sunday’s bathing suit options. Much to my surprise and chagrin Sunday showed up at the hotel pool wearing one piece bathing suit that covered all of the important parts.
“How’s the water?” she asked as she plopped her towel on the lawn chair next to the me.
“Cold,” I replied, hiding my hormonally driven disappointment.
“Let’s go!” she smiled. I slowly waded into the pool like a Granny at a retirement community. Sunday dove in and her body cut the water like a knife. Her swimming motion was smooth and clean and without any excess motion.
She popped her head out of the water and took in a deep, quick breath.
“That’s invigorating!” she replied. I, on the other hand, sucked in air uncontrollably as the ripples from her plunge sent cold waves of water across my navel.
“C’mon, jump in!” she said and disappeared under the water. I slowly sat on the pool stair and let my torso get used to the cold. As I sat and planned my way to recoup my manliness Sunday began to do laps in the pool.
She swam effortlessly from one end of the pool to the other, doing that impressive underwater turn and push thing that real swimmers do. Wait a minute! She’s a real swimmer!
Now what the hell was I going to do? Could I impress a real swimmer by displaying my cannon ball prowess? Would she be impressed by the splash distance of my preacher seat? Would she be intimidated by the subtle genius of my Marco Polo strategy?
The answer was no, no and hell no.
Dejected and humiliated, I remained on the pool stairs and watched Sunday forge her way through the water like a fish. She eventually swam up and sat next to me.
“Where’d you learn to swim like that?” I humbly asked.
“I was on the high school swim team,” she said. “I was pretty good!”
“You still are,” I replied.
“You’re sweet,” she said with a smile and jumped back into the water, like a mermaid emerging from a desert to find a watery oasis.
“You coming?” she asked as she bobbed in the deep end of the pool.
“Yeah,” I said as I reluctantly waded into the shallow end. I succumbed to the fact that any chance I had of recouping my manhood was forever lost in the blue waters of this San Francisco hotel pool.
If I was smart, I would have enjoyed the cool water for as long as possible. For, in a few short hours, Sunday and I would find ourselves hot, not only from the outside heat, but from a burning anger inside of us.
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Part 48, (Text, Audio) - Part 47, (Text, Audio) - Part 46, (Text, Audio)Part 45, (Text, Audio) - Part 44, (Text, Audio) - Part 43, (Text, Audio)Part 42, (Text, Audio) - Part 41, (Text, Audio) Part 40, (Text, Audio)Part 39, (Text, Audio) - Part 38, (Text, Audio) - Part 37, (Text, Audio)Part 36, (Text, Audio) - Part 35, (Text, Audio) - Part 34, (Text, Audio)Part 33, (Text, Audio) - Part 32, (Text, Audio) - Part 31, (Text, Audio)Part 30, (Text, Audio) - Part 29, (Text, Audio) - Part 28, (Text, Audio)Part 27, (Text, Audio) - Part 26, (Text, Audio) - Part 25, (Text, Audio)Part 24, (Text, Audio) - Part 23, (Text, Audio) - Part 22, (Text, Audio)Part 21, (Text, Audio) - Part 20, (Text, Audio) - Part 19, (Text, Audio)Part 18, (Text, Audio) - Part 17, (Text, Audio) - Part 16, (Text, Audio) Part 15, (Text, Audio) - Part 14, (Text, Audio) - Part 13, (Text, Audio)Part 12 (Text, Audio) - Part 11 (Text, Audio) - Part 10 (Text, Audio)Part 09, (Text, Audio) - Part 08, (Text, Audio) - Part 07 (Text, Audio) Part 06 (Text, Audio) - Part 05 (Text, Audio) - Part 04 (Text, Audio)Part 03 (Text, Audio) - Part 02 (Text, Audio) - Part 01 (Text, Audio)
When my family moved to Florida in 1971, my parents found a house in a new subdivision in the Shore Acres area of St. Petersburg. The house was one of the first to be constructed and was located on a small canal. As other houses started to spring up more and more people moved into our neighborhood. At night and on weekends we would play in the skeletal homes in various phases of construction.
We’d take our toy guns and make believe we were part of the army, like in the television shows Combat and Rat Patrol. We would collect the round metal discs that are punched out of electrical boxes and make believe they were money. We had a lot of fun as our neighborhood was built up around us.
When all of the construction was complete we ended up being in a neighborhood in which we would normally never afford to live. Soon after the houses became occupied, pools were put in and docks were built. Every house had a boat and some of the pools were screened in. Our back yard, on the other hand, consisted of the same thing that existed when we moved in… grass and a seawall. No pool, no dock, no boat.
One day, we complained to my dad about this. “Why can’t we have a pool?” we whined. My dad looked down at us with the eyes that showed he meant business and he said “Every single one of your friends has a pool. Go use theirs!”
Notice that EVERYONE has a pool and a dock but OUR house.
But dad didn’t understand. Sure everyone had a pool, but only SOME of them were really cool pools. Our next door neighbors, the Pearsons, had one of the best. It wasn’t screened in, but it had a really good diving board and was built so close to the house that, when the parents weren’t home, we would climb up onto the roof and jump into the pool.
That was fun!
Whenever all of the neighborhood kids wanted to go swimming, we immediately knew we wanted to go over to the Pearsons to play with their son Paul so we could swim in their cool pool. We’d get in our bathing suits, put on our flip flops, grab our goggles and put our towels around our necks and head over to Paul’s house. We’d knock on the door and Paul would open it to find us covered in swimming accoutrements. Without a word Paul would roll his eyes and sigh and say “I’ll meet you in back.”
We’d jump up and down and run around to the back yard, diving into the pool. We’d swim for hours, until the skin on our hands and feet were raw from getting in and out of the pool and running on the cement deck.
So, when Sunday offered to hit the pool at the San Francisco hotel, I felt very confident. I grew up on a pool… well, in my neighbor’s pools. If there was anyplace where I could recover my masculinity from the debacle of attempting stomach crunches for the first time, in chlorine water was where it would be.
Plus, I was going to get to see Sunday in a bathing suit. That was a bonus. Considering Sunday’s selection of tight fitting silky lingerie, I could only imagine what her style would be for swimwear… and imagine I did!
Would it be a revealing two piece, one showing a lot of cleavage? Or a thong? Or some combination of both?
I heard the door open and turned to see Sunday wearing a bathing suit I had never imagined.
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Part 47, (Text, Audio) - Part 46, (Text, Audio)
Part 45, (Text, Audio) - Part 44, (Text, Audio) - Part 43, (Text, Audio)Part 42, (Text, Audio) - Part 41, (Text, Audio) Part 40, (Text, Audio)Part 39, (Text, Audio) - Part 38, (Text, Audio) - Part 37, (Text, Audio)Part 36, (Text, Audio) - Part 35, (Text, Audio) - Part 34, (Text, Audio)Part 33, (Text, Audio) - Part 32, (Text, Audio) - Part 31, (Text, Audio)Part 30, (Text, Audio) - Part 29, (Text, Audio) - Part 28, (Text, Audio)Part 27, (Text, Audio) - Part 26, (Text, Audio) - Part 25, (Text, Audio)Part 24, (Text, Audio) - Part 23, (Text, Audio) - Part 22, (Text, Audio)Part 21, (Text, Audio) - Part 20, (Text, Audio) - Part 19, (Text, Audio)Part 18, (Text, Audio) - Part 17, (Text, Audio) - Part 16, (Text, Audio) Part 15, (Text, Audio) - Part 14, (Text, Audio) - Part 13, (Text, Audio)Part 12 (Text, Audio) - Part 11 (Text, Audio) - Part 10 (Text, Audio)Part 09, (Text, Audio) - Part 08, (Text, Audio) - Part 07 (Text, Audio) Part 06 (Text, Audio) - Part 05 (Text, Audio) - Part 04 (Text, Audio)Part 03 (Text, Audio) - Part 02 (Text, Audio) - Part 01 (Text, Audio)
Derailed is a good old-fashioned film noir crime suspense drama about a man, Charles Schine, played by the charming Clive Owen, who's in an uninspiring marriage and faltering under the stress of his daughter's illness. During one of his daily commutes on the train he unintentionally strikes a friendship with the beautiful Lucinda Harris, played by Jennifer Aniston, who is also in a rather lifeless marital existence.
Over the following days their daily travel to work turns from friendship to infatuation. When the infatuation turns to lust the two of them struggle to maintain their vows, yet finally succumb to their emotions and sneak away to a run down hotel to engage in ill-advised adultery.
Before their morally challenged act can be fully consummated, they are attacked by an evil man named Laroche, played by Vincent Cassel, who beats Owen unconscious. Owen awakes to find Aniston bruised and raped. It appears their little tryst has turned tragic. Things don't get any better for Owen who finds himself being stalked by Laroche, who demands more and more money, holding Owen's affair as leverage over his tenuous home life.
The pressure and violence Laroche perpetrates on Owen grows until Owen is forced to sacrifice everything to either save his family or save himself.
Derailed works on a lot of levels. The script is finely tuned and keeps you guessing throughout. The blackmail and following actions are believable within the context of the story and the performances by Owen, Aniston and Cassel are all extremely good.
I was first introduced to Owen when BMW, along with David Fincher, had decided to promote their new line of cars by hiring famous directors to shoot short films that involved their cars. Owen starred as The Driver in all of the BMW shorts, directed by such well known helmsman as John Woo, Tony Scott, Joe Carnahan, Ang Lee, John Frankenheimer and Guy Ritchie.
Owen, who also starred in Spike Lee's Inside Man, should be a bigger star than he is right now. He's handsome, charming and can act. I hope the rest of the world discovers this wonderful talent.
Aniston continues to expand her creative wings in a post-Friends era by taking on a sexy femme fatale whose motives are darker than we've seen her show before. And Cassel, who was recently in Ocean's Twelve, is frightening as the unpredictable and ultra-violent Laroche. When he's on the screen, you pay attention.
The $22 million Derailed was a modest hit in the United States, grossing $36 million and continues to generate money worldwide. If you like a classic noir-ish film about lust, blackmail and violence Derailed fits the bill.
Today during lunch I finished writing my the last entry for my trip to Cally. It was a fun ride. I hope everyone has enjoyed it as much as I do. I'll continue to post the entries through their completion over the next few weeks.
Now I can start working on some screenplays I've been thinking about.
Everyone has heard about the demise of Enron on the news and names such as Kenneth Lay and Jeff Skilling have become synonymous with the greed of the late 90's, but few people actually understand what it was that Enron did wrong. The sharp documentary Enron: The Smartest Guys in the Room takes us on a journey of enlightenment and corruption, of greed and excess as we see the rise and fall of Enron from two truly talented people, Lay and Skilling. Unfortunately, both men appear to have put the accomplishment of their dreams above ethics or morality.
What was Enron? A company that came up with idea to sell energy as a commodity. For Enron to be able to manage the energy business landscape they had to acquire gas companies, oil companies and electric companies. This was such an innovative idea that Enron, the Securities and Exchange Commission and Arthur Anderson auditing agreed to allow Enron to put in their financials projected incomes from the emerging markets. How does that work? Well, if they were to build an power plant in India, lets say, and they estimated it would generate $10 billion over 10 years, they would simply show that as income, even though they actually hadn't earned the money yet. In the end, the cost of electricity in India was too costly for the average person in India to afford, so the facility lost money, but on the books, it would show $10 billion.
As the company grew and entered other markets, they simply projected and announced income that was not actually being generated. Through this process the lines between right and wrong started to blur. Greed seeped into the company. Mismanagement and conflict of duties became acceptable as long as the value of the company grew. And this money was so enticing that every level of the industry, the levels that were supposed to provide logical checks and balances, fell prey to greed.
Faces of Enron Greed: Lay, Skilling, Fastow and Pai.
For example, Andrew Fastow, the Chief Financial Officer of Enron, created a company that would sell stocks to banks for mutual fund usage... well, it only sold one stock, Enron. So, the CFO that controls Enron's value was making money by selling this one and only stock. All of the major banks went along because they were going to make money buying/selling Enron stocks through the CFO's company as well.
Arthur Anderson was getting paid $1 million a week to audit Enron, so they kept looking the other way as not to kill the golden goose. When all of the other areas of Enron's business began to falter, they company started falsely inflating the cost of power in California by shutting down power companies for "maintenance." Remember the rolling power outages in California that eventually cost Gray Davis the governorship and allowed Arnold Schwarzenegger to take over the state? They were a direct outcome of Enron's unethical abuse of managing the power infrastructure.
The demise of Enron truly began when a Fortune reporter asked Enron leadership a simple question... "How does Enron make money?" When she couldn't get a straight answer the house of cards began to collapse.
Enron: The Smartest Guys in the Room is an intriguing documentary that shows how an environment of corruption only breeds more corruption. Lay and Skilling are not evil men, but their actions, or inactions, allowed many lives to be destroyed and that, as a whole, is evil.
The documentary also reminded me just how false the "boom" of the 90's really was. Enron, Worldcom and Global Crossings were all cooking their books, so to speak. The internet boom was truly virtual, using falsely validated business models which eventually disintegrated under the weight of financial folly and went bust. The 90's boom that made so many people rich was truly "virtual" and something to which we should avoid trying to achieve in the future.
As for Enron, check out this film if you can. It is an excellent story of real dreams turned into a nightmarish reality.
Tim and Beth were heading into downtown San Francisco to visit Beth’s friend. They asked if we wanted to join them, but we rolled over and said “no.” In reality, we needed a break from each other. The tension had grown into a definite us versus them mentality. Tim and Beth were very frustrated with Sunday and me and we felt the same way with them.
A part of me was also frustrated with Sunday, but I also felt responsible for her being on the trip in the first place, so I was in a no-win situation. I decided to put my relaxed “let’s see what happens” attitude to the test and just focused on making it through the rest of the trip.
The sound of Sunday fumbling around in the bathroom finally pulled me from my sleep. We knew that the hotel checkout was at 11 a.m. and Sunday and I wanted to try out the exercise room and pool. Sunday appeared from the bathroom wearing a comfortable outfit designed for working out.
“You coming?” she asked.
“Sure,” I said as I hopped out of the bed into the bathroom. After a quick teeth brushing and face cleaning, I threw on a pair of shorts and t-shirt and was ready to sweat my butt off. My senior year in college I had taken a weight lifting class and was very familiar with the latest equipment and effective exercise techniques.
As we walked into the hotel exercise room we could not help but be completely disappointed. It was only slightly larger than a walk in closet and consisted of a single, four station pulley-system weight machine. Sunday and I just sighed and did whatever exercises we could figure out.
It was at this time that Sunday introduced me to something I had never experienced before… the abdominal crunch. I had done plenty of full sit-ups, but not the half sit-up crunch before. Sunday lay on the bench and showed me how to do it. It looked simple enough… I mean, you just start to do a sit up and quit when the hard part starts. That’s easy!
I lay down next to her and she placed her hand on my stomach. “Pull up from here, not from your neck,” she said. I shrugged off her comments with a “yeah, yeah, get out of my way so I can master this crunch thingy” attitude. I started up and back down. Easy. Up and back down. Easy. Up and back down. Okay, a little harder that time. Up and back down. Hey, that burns! Up and back down. I think I’m hemorrhaging. Up and back down. I think my spleen exploded.
At this point I was frantic. Sunday had just reeled off a quick set of twenty and here I was on crunch number seven seeing a light at the end of a tunnel and my dead relatives waiting to greet me. I was a complete wuss!
I was not to be outdone doing exercise by… by a girl! Yes, in a moment of sheer panic I had reverted back to third grade. I was a boy and she was a girl and I was supposed to be stronger than a girl, period, end of sentence.
Up and back down. My face was turning purple. Up and back down. The veins in my neck popped so far out from the strain that the collar of my t-shirt was getting tight.
How was this possible? Just a few months ago in weight class I was lifting two hundred and fifty pounds over my head with ease. But now, in San Francisco, on a pansy little pulley machine I can’t do a half sit-up in front of a girl?
I collapsed when I reached ten and lay motionless on the floor waiting for the fire raging in my stomach muscles to subside.
Sunday hopped up and looked at me with sympathetic eyes.
“Hurts, doesn’t it?” she asked.
“A little… maybe,” I lied.
She chuckled, knowing I was lying through my teeth and pulled me up to a standing position.
“Wanna go swimming? We have time,” she asked as she checked her watch.
What I wanted to do was collapse on the floor and try to recapture my masculinity. But the idea of seeing Sunday in a bathing suit… well, I decided to suffer in silence.
“Sure!” I replied. “I love to swim. I pretty good, actually.”
Having seen me struggle to complete ten half sit-ups, better known as Satan’s crunches, Sunday found it difficult to believe I possessed any physical prowess what so ever.
“Really?” she asked with such disbelief that I found myself insulted at the same time.
The third grade boy inside of me was determined to kick her little girl ass in the pool. I’d show her just what sort of manly man she was dealing with.
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Part 46, (Text, Audio)
Part 45, (Text, Audio) - Part 44, (Text, Audio) - Part 43, (Text, Audio)Part 42, (Text, Audio) - Part 41, (Text, Audio) Part 40, (Text, Audio)Part 39, (Text, Audio) - Part 38, (Text, Audio) - Part 37, (Text, Audio)Part 36, (Text, Audio) - Part 35, (Text, Audio) - Part 34, (Text, Audio)Part 33, (Text, Audio) - Part 32, (Text, Audio) - Part 31, (Text, Audio)Part 30, (Text, Audio) - Part 29, (Text, Audio) - Part 28, (Text, Audio)Part 27, (Text, Audio) - Part 26, (Text, Audio) - Part 25, (Text, Audio)Part 24, (Text, Audio) - Part 23, (Text, Audio) - Part 22, (Text, Audio)Part 21, (Text, Audio) - Part 20, (Text, Audio) - Part 19, (Text, Audio)Part 18, (Text, Audio) - Part 17, (Text, Audio) - Part 16, (Text, Audio) Part 15, (Text, Audio) - Part 14, (Text, Audio) - Part 13, (Text, Audio)Part 12 (Text, Audio) - Part 11 (Text, Audio) - Part 10 (Text, Audio)Part 09, (Text, Audio) - Part 08, (Text, Audio) - Part 07 (Text, Audio) Part 06 (Text, Audio) - Part 05 (Text, Audio) - Part 04 (Text, Audio)Part 03 (Text, Audio) - Part 02 (Text, Audio) - Part 01 (Text, Audio)
The second films of most trilogies suffer from middle child syndrome... they're usually not as interesting as the first film and not as satisfying as the third film. In trilogy-speak, I call this sequelitis.
Very few middle children of trilogies overcome sequelitis. Films like Back to the Future II, Matrix II and, unfortunately, Pirates of the Carribean: Dead Man's Chest suffer greatly from sequelitis, which leaves an audience with unfulfilled expectations and a growing sense of wanting more when the end credits begin to roll.
In reality, every film of a trilogy should be able to stand on it's own. Some middle children succeed at this, such as Empire Strikes Back (the best Star Wars film ever), Superman II and Lord of the Rings: Two Towers, but most do not. Why? Because the filmmakers often write the second and third films at the same time to cash in on the success of the first film and, because it's cheaper to shoot the two films at the same time then not. Because they are written at the same time and because they are filmed at the same time, the two films end up being one long story.
In Pirates II, we find our heroes, Elizabeth Swann (Kiera Knightley) and Will Turner (Orlando Bloom) arrested on the day of their wedding due to their exploits at the end of Pirates I which freed Captain Jack Sparrow (Johnny Depp). Things get overly complicated as everyone gets involved with hunts for a compass, a key, a chest and a heart, with each character attempting to leverage their goals to help themselves.
Depp continues to shine as Sparrow and I thought the writers did a good job of not making him a caricature of himself, as often happens when a unique character is seen for the second time. Bloom and Knightley relive their roles as well, but I thought Knightley's character, in particular, was underwritten or miswritten at times. The effects of the film are interesting, but are a little on the gross side. The pacing of the film is problematic at times as it struggles to wrap it's overly complicated plot into over two hours long.
Pirates II is entertaining, yet unfulfilling without the third film, which is a problem, as people are paying to see this film... and not getting their money's worth. If you've got over two hours to escape back into the world of Pirates, then you'll enjoy the ride, but be warned that it is simply one-half of a two-part story.
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BTW - I saw this film at my sister Loretta's surprise 50th birthday party. Her husband, Bob, rented out the theater, which was awesome! After the film we were served with chicken and fries and their daughter, Meghan, put together a wonderful presentation on Loretta's life.
Anytime we can get the family together, we're happy. Thanks Bob! And Happy 50th Rett!
It didn’t help that, at this point in my life, I had a weird obsession about not borrowing any money. It was a combination of trying to jump start my perception of adulthood and partially stemmed from being the last of eight kids. My older brothers consistently complained that I got everything I wanted from our parents. The reality is that I didn’t get everything I wanted, but it appeared that way to them.
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