April 4: Jaws is Stranger than Fiction

I have a dilemma.

Because so many class days were cancelled at the university because of snow this semester, I can't show all of the movies I originally intended for my Intro to Film class.  After Brokeback Mountain, I have Will Ferrell's Stranger than Fiction on the syllabus.  Before spring break, I told my students we weren't going to view Jaws.  Now, I'm reconsidering that decision.

The majority of my students were disappointed that I'd chosen to eliminate Jaws.  One guy tried to talk me into getting rid of Brokeback Mountain instead.  Hardly anyone is looking forward to Stranger than Fiction.  My dilemma is whether I give into popular pressure and show Jaws, thereby insuring more positive student evaluations at the end of the term, or stick to my original plan and screen Will Ferrell next week, incurring wrath and recrimination from my students, not to mention some shitty evaluations.

If I was a purist, I wouldn't cave in.  I'd tell my classes that Stranger than Fiction is a more interesting film, exploring ideas of comedy versus tragedy, a life of quiet desperation.  However, Jaws is a kick-ass movie, taking on the themes of man versus nature, Captain Ahab versus Moby Dick.  I'm completely at a loss.

I think what I'm going to do is bring both films to class next week.  It will depend upon my mood and chocolate intake as to whether the last film of the class will feature Bruce the shark or Will the tax man.

In the mean time, Saint Marty will be up on Brokeback Mountain, tending the sheep.  (Do no read anything into that statement.  No subtext is included.)

This...

or...

this?

April 4: Sadistic, Not Unkind, Express More Love

I started groping around in front of me, like a blind guy, but without getting up or anything.  I kept saying, "Mother darling, why won't you give me your hand?"  I was only horsing around, naturally.  That stuff gives me a bang sometimes.  Besides, I know it annoyed the hell out of old Ackley.  He always brought out the old sadist in me.  I was pretty sadistic with him quite often.  Finally, I quit, though.  I pulled the peak around to the back again, and relaxed.

Holden can be pretty mean, especially to people who he considers to be phony or annoying.  Ackley is guilty on both counts, and Holden takes advantage of every opportunity to bait him.  In this little passage, he's trying to get Ackley to leave his dorm room.  It doesn't work.  Besides being phony and annoying, Ackley is also incredibly obtuse.  He doesn't take Holden's hints at all.

I'm a lot like Holden in this way.  I was brought up in a house with three brothers and five sisters.  Sarcasm was like oxygen.  We teased each other mercilessly.  This upbringing has served me well as an adult.  As a child, it was all about fending off my siblings' ribbing.  As an adult, it's all about being charming and funny.  I often tell coworkers and friends, "I tease you because I love you."  And everyone laughs.

However, I am well aware of the fact that sarcasm can be very wounding at times.  There's a very fine line between being witty and being cruel.  I walk that line constantly.  In fact, some of my friends consider me to be a fairly negative person.  I'm always making fun of ridiculous and/or just plain stupid situations and people I find myself around sometimes.  And now that I've typed that sentence, I realize how callous and shallow I sound.

This morning, in my devotional, I received the following piece of advice:  "If I experience disharmony in my life; if I have difficulty getting along with others; if I can be gossipy, critical or unkind, I begin right where I am to express more of God's love toward others."  Basically, the whole meditation is about opening up my heart to love.  I read it to one of my coworkers, and she said, "Mart, I think that's spectacular advice."

So I have been trying to be nice this morning.  Or at least not unkind.  Because, as the devotion said, "As I sincerely seek to express more love, opportunities present themselves."  That means I get something out of this love experiment.  Opportunities.  Blessings.  I have no idea what these opportunities will be, but I'm open to anything that improves my lot in life.  Maybe somebody will buy me chocolate or a Diet Mountain Dew.  Maybe I'll get a poem published with a good magazine or journal.  Maybe I'll be offered a full-time job at the university.

Or maybe Saint Marty will simply go to bed tonight knowing that he's made somebody feel a little better today.

Sarcasm is soul food

April 3: Poets and Beer

So, after I'm done teaching this evening, before I humiliate myself at choir practice, I'm meeting a poet friend for a drink.  He's a colleague from the university, and we haven't gotten together since early January.  Actually, I haven't seen him since early January, either.

I don't know what it is about poets, but, when they get together, there always seems to be beer involved, among other mind-altering substances.  It may be traced back to alcoholic poets like Dylan Thomas.  (I'm sure Frost and Wordsworth and Blake were closet drinkers, as well.)  I'm looking forward to seeing my friend.  He's one of my favorite people in the world, but our schedules rarely allow for us gathering at the pub and lifting a pint.  Actually, I hate beer, so I may be simply drinking Diet Coke.  It's a little too early for anything stronger.

Anyway, Saint Marty's evening has just gotten a little happier.

Jack Daniels and Poetry

April 3: Terrific Whistler, Choir Practice, Stress and More Stress

...He could even whistle classical stuff, but most of the time he just whistled jazz.  He could take something very jazzy, like "Tin Roof Blues," and whistle it so nice and easy--right while he was hanging stuff up in the closet--that it could kill you.  Naturally, I never told him I thought he was a terrific whistler.  I mean you don't just go up to somebody and say, "You're a terrific whistler."  But I roomed with him for about two whole months, even though he bored me till I was half crazy, just because he was such a terrific whistler, the best I ever heard...

Holden has an appreciation for people who have talent.  He loves his brother D. B.'s short stories.  He loves that Jane is a ballet dancer.  He loves the drummer in the Radio City Music Hall orchestra.  He loves the writer Isak Dinesen.  And he loves this guy's whistling.

I appreciate people with talent, too.  I play keyboard in a praise band at church.  The lead singer has been performing professionally for over thirty-some years.  The guy who plays guitar has over forty years as a professional musician.  The drummer can play guitar, bass, and cello, as well.  All of them have perfect pitch.  When we're practicing vocals, the guitarist will look at me and say something like, "It's just a third down," and I'll nod as if I understand him.  I love playing with these people.  They're crazy talented.  But I also walk a tightrope of inadequacy.  I know that I'm like the red-headed stepchild of the group.  Sometimes I think they simply include me out of pity.

Tonight, I have to play the pipe organ for the chancel choir practice.  These are people who know music, and they know I'm not a terrific whistler, if you get my meaning.  I will stumble through whatever sheet music the choir director places in front of me.  It will be an hour of complete humility.  And when I make a mistake, the choir members will all shake their heads.  Stress will build on more stress.  By time the rehearsal is over, I'm going to look like the Hunchback of Notre Dame.  One big knot of tension.

That's my worry today.  Choir practice.  Not being the most terrific whistler in the world.

Saint Marty will put his lips together tonight and blow, but what comes out of his mouth will sound more like "Tin Roof Collapsing" than "Tin Roof Blues."

The mother of the most terrific whistler in the world