Guilty Pleasure Part Three: The End of the World

I was ten years old, laying on my stomach, elbows propped, hands bracing the chin, mesmerizingly witnessing the end of the world.   Armageddon.  A movie of unabashed testosterone and machismo, and I loved it.  Love(d) every heart pounding minute of it.

Here are some plot points to remind you of all its glory and splendor. (Spoiler alert! But I’m sure you all have seen the movie, and if you haven’t this summary will do just as well)

Opens with Charlton Heston.  Dirty apes indeed.  World is going to get destroyed – just a matter of time.  (Dinosaurs sadly agree)

Space craft exploding.

NASA team going crazy, exploding.

Guys on oil rig, Bruce Willis exploding bullets from his shotgun – or what others simply call “shooting.”

 

A discreet meteor the size of Texas coming to destroy the earth, possibly for revenge

Only solution NASA can come up with: blue collared, fun lovin, shoot from the hip, hard exterior/soft interior, space cowboy oil drillers.  USA! USA!

Training is so fun and goofy.  What a dysfunctional crew.  Could be a light hearted sitcom...

Save for the fact that millions of Parisians die, but it looks really, really cool.  (Explosions)

Training ends, they go to space, John Denver, humor and love triumph in the face of adversity.

Another space station explodes.

Two spacecrafts get to the meteor to nuke it, one has landing problems – explodes.

One space ship is lost, the other begins to drill, Billy Bob Thorton is sweaty.

The one that is drilling hits a gas pocket, explodes.  MAAAAX!!!

All hope is lost.

Just in the nick of time, the lost space ship is now found, they begin to drill again!

Oh no! More meteors!  Explosions! Houston we have a problem.

Bruce Willis decides to take one for the team and detonates the nuke by hand.  God bless him.

Aerosmith, Liv Tyler, father-daughter goodbye, tears*

Bruce Willis explodes the meteor as spaceship barely gets into orbit.

The surviving crew returns, walking in slow-motion.  Explosion of emotions. 

Bruce Willis: really dead the whole time. 

So I bet after reading that summary and remembering the actual movie, you’re thinking how can that great piece of entertainment possibly be a source of guilt and not one of pure pleasure?  Why?  Because I detest the director, Michael Bay.  He is a disgrace to story telling, to the film industry, to intelligence and sensibility.   And I’ll admit, no I have not seen any installments of the Transformers series, and I never will, but I’m confident in saying they’re terrible movies – even with viewing them as mere, shallow entertainment.  (But how can you judge something you never seen?  Oh I can and I will.  – That topic, I’ll save for another day)  But I have seen the rest of his filmography and it is not good.  Not one bit. 

And yet I love Armageddon.  AAH! I do.  If it’s on television I have to sit down and watch it.  The unapologetic campiness, romantic sap, and a blatant disregard for all science and logic appeals to my ten-year-old self – which is not exactly a compliment – but the ten-year-old in me loves it.  I laugh, I cry, I feel the tension, the pride, the fear.  The film is a roller coaster of emotions, a shallow, puddle in the parking lot, yellow-tinted-kiddy-pool of emotion. 

There is something to be said about a man who is one of the most financially successful directors in the history of film, in that his stories obviously appeal to the inherent heart and soul of man and woman.  The masses are not always right and they can be down right foolish, but alas, I am no better.   Sometimes you just have to enjoy things for what they are.

Maybe I’ll give Transformers a chance… (Remembers Pearl Harbor, shakes head in disgust)  

*As a ten year old I literally cried during this scene:

A Vegi-tale.

A vegetarian?  *snickers

What. An. Idiot.  Probably doesn’t even know Jesus. 

Over the years I wondered with much scoffing and mockery why any one would intentionally deny themselves something so wonderful and assuring as meat.  I would pity vegetarians, knowing that their reasons of morality and health were superficial and insubstantial. 

Protecting animals?  Ha.  David killed a lion with his bare hands.  Sorry PETA, we’re made to kill animals.  It’s why we have thumbs and why we’re so much more smarter. 

And you want to be healthy?  Well Jacob, the Bible does say to treat your body as a holy temple.  My response, you’re taking that way too symbolically.   How many animals were killed in the temple for sacrifice…?  Answer:  Not enough. 

Meat for the stomach and the stomach for meat.  That’s what I say. 

Or rather, that’s what I did say. 

I am now on Day 3 of Vegetarian Month.   Yes, I am giving up meat for a month.  Beginning on Black Friday and lasting until Righteous Sunday (or what some call Christmas) I shall be meatless. 

The seed was planted the other week when I was eating breakfast with a few friends, consisting of bacon and eggs cooked in bacon grease (not a lot of bacon grease, just a dabble).  We found ourselves conversing of health and the impact of working out and dieting, making me well aware that I do neither.

I don’t work-out, at least consistently, for many reasons:

1.     I’m Asian.

2.     God blessed me with permanently toned biceps.

3.     I have asthma.

4.     Gym memberships cost money. 

5.     I don’t own anything sleeveless.

6.     I’m left handed.

As you can see I’m up against some daunting barriers.  Therefore dieting would appear to be my only other option to fight the onslaught of a failing metabolism.  (As I am Asian, the metabolic decay begins at age fifty so I do have a while before I need to get “serious.” But better to set good patterns sooner than later.)

This health reason was much better than my original reason, that of simple, unrepentant pride.  “Of course I could go without meat for a month.  I’m a man!” (Paraphrasing)

Another goal for this month is that as I diversify my eating habits I will also diversify my cooking repertoire.   I really do love to cook but I am not very creative or motivated, which results in a lot of eggs and bacon, sandwiches of various sorts, and frozen pizzas.  The plan is to get me to think outside of the box, get more fruits and vegetables on the plate, and therefore make me a better human being - physically, morally, and attractively…

Only time will tell if this month significantly changes eating habits.  However, if this permanently makes me a vegetarian then something has gone horribly, horribly wrong.  I’ll be like Dr. Frankenstein, with the cure being an equal and opposite experiment of eating only meat for an entire month.  It’d be disgusting, but necessary.  And, if we're honest and decent people, it’d probably be the more impressive feat…  *considering

An Upset of Doubt: Iowa State over #2 Oklahoma State

Now faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen. – Hebrews 11:1

And then with about three minutes left to play in the game Jared Barnett threw a quick pass over the middle of the field.  The ball was a moment late as the receiver stuck a out desperate hand; the ball tipped into the air, fell end over end quite conveniently into the hands of the linebacker. 

Amongst the crowd of 52,000 I dropped my head, knowing the game was minutes away from a surprisingly respectable albeit disappointing end.

***

One of the joys of sports is the pregame anticipation, trying to analyze and pick apart players, statistics, and simple gut feelings on which team will win and why.   Only truth can be played out on the field, leaving theory and philosophy to be discussed before hand. This means any preemptive claims found in the future-tense will always fall into two categories while forever avoiding one: Either faith or doubt.  And never fact. 

Hours before the game I read in the paper that Oklahoma State was favored by 27.5 points over Iowa State.  And all the experts, regardless of the point spread, believed that the Cowboys, with arguably the best offense in college football (real college football – sorry Houston) would win the game handedly.   My co-workers agreed, my roommates agreed, and so did the friends that went to the game with me.  I’m not one to be immune to pure logic either.  I believed that Iowa State would not win the game. 

As I left to meet up with my friends, I scoffed with my roommate – who was also going to the game – that the next time I would see him would be on the field, celebrating a Cyclone victory.   This is the natural defense mechanism of the fan, the guarding of the heart for the one in love: the superstitious attempt to avoid any certainty, naturally placing one in either a sea of self deprecation, or sarcastic, exaggerated hope. 

The sick, beautiful word of hope.  And here is where the heart begins its attempt to discern itself.   What is the difference between hope and belief and faith?  And why is it that they always seem to walk hand in hand with doubt, such a disruptive and deceptive mistress? 

The heart is fickle and where doubt lies so does fear.  And within three minutes into the second half my beliefs were justified in the purest form of logic, that of numbers: Oklahoma State was winning the game 24-7, proving they were indeed the number 2 ranked team in the nation. 

At that point, beliefs were confirmed and hope deferred, making the mind proud and the heart sick.  Circumstances tend to validate emotions quicker than they affirm facts and statistics.   An interception or a fumble and the belief of failure is justified, the hope removed.  But moments later when roles are reversed - a field goal going wide right - so are the expectations, emotions beings as fleeting as consistency. 

As the offensive line combined its counterpart three yards deep into the endzone, Jeff Woody following with both ball and the wills of  the collective mass, the referees shooting their arms straight into the air in an act of final worship, I shouted and hugged and high fived all who were around me in a dumbfounded state of joy.  A subtle irony stirred within my soul as I stood admittedly in disbelief of the victory, while all hope and faith were fulfilled and confirmed by the score and those pouring out of the stands to celebrate. 

***

Faith and doubt stand opposed to each other, waring within us.  Both transcend logic and statistics, circumstances and experiences, with faith being fueled by love and doubt by fear.   If all of us are honest, no matter where we are at in life, or what we claim to believe in, we would all prefer faith and love over doubt and fear.   Some say that perfect love casts out all fear, and some are blessed to know, in the midst of pain and fear and doubt, that such love certainly does exist. 

Immediately Jesus reached out his hand and caught him.  “You of little faith,” he said, “why did you doubt?”

Underrated/Overrated - Pt. 2

3. Overrated – Peter (The Disciple) 

Another one with muddled statistics. 

Peter the Disciple has the perfect equation for being overrated, a high SSP with a high MSC.   He gets a 7.4 SWC since being part of the disciple crew, he did all that healing and stuff (maybe not stated explicitly – see Lk 9:1-2, Lk 9:10) and there is of course the “Walking on Water” bit, which with the ironic and iconic “The Denial,” gives Peter a staggering 10.0 SSP, while paradoxically giving him a 9.1 MSC (the “Get Behind Me Satan” clause included).   The contradiction between the much overlooked MSC and the SSP, places Peter the Disciple as one of the more overrated figures in the gospels. 

3. Underrated – Peter (The “Rock” Peter)

Paul is not the most gracious to this man, the church father – as we see in Acts and a later recounting in Galatians – but considering the circumstance, Peter did deserve the criticism.  However, what makes this Peter underrated, is the title that Jesus gives him – “The Rock,” that has been informally given to his contemporary Paul.  The infancy stage of the Church is dependent on Peter’s influence.  People tend to forget the influence such a prophetic title suggests. Peter The Rock, has a pretty high SWC (the beginning of Acts) at 9.2, and an inverse of appreciation with a rather humble 4.4 SSP.  (He does get some recognition for Pentecost.)

2. Overrated – Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego

An inexplicable 9.6 SPP will rate these three men as grossly overrated – and are hurt much in that they do not have their own book, nor are they mentioned in the New Testament.   They also have a controversial 8.8 SWC.  Many are in disagreement whether Walking in the Fire, gives more recognition to the three, the fourth man (probably Jesus), or even Nebacudnezzer.   What solidifies their title of being overrated is that they often overshadow Daniel, the main character of the book that made them famous. (Daniel would be an honorable mention in the underrated category.)

2. Underrated – Luke

This may be a debatable choice, as Luke does not have any traditional, objective statistics to rank him with the others.  But he did pen the two largest and arguably most extensive books in the New Testament, Luke is often misplaced for two reasons: one, his gospel is like the middle child.  Everyone loves Matthew for being the first one in line, Mark for being the shortest, and John for being the most philosophical, Luke is often forgotten… (ignores Mark Driscoll and Mars Hill Church).  Also, the fact that Luke and Acts are separated into their own books minimizes the great and epic scope of Luke’s writing.  Good one church fathers.  Dropped the ball on that one...   Ya idiots.

1. Overrated – Moses

Bold and controversial choice on many levels I know, and Moses is a statistical enigma. 

He wrote the first five, and what many believe to be, the “most important” books of the Old Testament.  He is mentioned 85 times in the New Testament.  He rates high with a 9.6 SWC – “The Exodus” alone would have sealed the deal, but all the things in the desert only pads the stats.  He does have an ambiguous 6.6 MSC – killing a dude, and the whole You Cannot Enter the Promised Land thing… meh.  And then he has the Hollywood Effect, which gives him a blatant and undisputed 10.0 SPP. 

So what do we do with all that?  Well, unfortunately for Moses there is a group that overrates him tremendously, placing him at number one: The Pharisees. 

1. Underrated – Elijah

Moses’ statistical counterpart. 

Although he may not have authored or been the main subject of any book, he does carry much significance in Kings.  He is also referenced an impressive 28 times in the New Testament.  And with Moses is one of the three seen in The Transfiguration – pretty big deal if you ask me.  Elijah is right there with Moses at a 9.1 SWC, (“The Widow,” “Battle With Baal,” “The Cave,” etc.).  And he does hold the advantage with a relatively low, 3.7 MSC (maybe his heart was slightly impure when he ate the widow’s food…) as well as not dying and being “Lifted Up to Heaven.”  However, despite all this, he has a quite modest 5.3 SPP with no Hollywood movie made about him.  At least not one that anyone remembers.  This makes him the most underrated figure in the Bible… Other than Jesus.  

An Edifying, Educational, Biblical List: Underrated/Overrated - Pt. 1

Top five underrated/overrated people in the Bible.   This is not a complete and comprehensive (some may even argue “holy”) list, but it’s always good to know who is getting too much love, and who’s not getting enough love within the church today. 

Here are a few, completely objective, qualifications/statistics that may be a helpful guide to us.   The statistical features will be calculated on a very specific and scientific scale from 1-10:

1.     Are they named after a book?  Did they write a book?  - Actually contributing to a book in the Bible can be a pretty big deal… Or maybe not…?

2.     .If they are Old Testament figures do they get mentioned in the New  Testament.  – Nothing says ‘value’ like being acknowledged by your biblical “peers.”

3.      Number of signs and wonders completed (or SWC).  – Easy, quantifiable statistic.  And a great standard to see how holy you really are. *Does not count if God does it to them rather than through them.

4.     Any major sin committed (or MSC) – This can be partnered with (3), do we overlook a certain sin, or place too much emphasis on it? 

5.      Sunday school prominence (or SSP)* – If they hold celebrity status in the Sunday school arena, odds are they’re probably overrated.  And if they are not in the familiar graces of kindergartners – then they're probably underrated. 

*Also proportionate to VTA – Veggie Tales Appearances

The list begins: 

5. Overrated – Jonah

Jonah is a classic overrated figure with all the statistics to back it up.  He’s named after a book, he rates a 0.0 SWC (what tends to be overlooked, is that “The Whale” and “The Vine” are all Yahweh), an 8.9 MSC - cowardice and self righteousness, contrasted with a respectable 7.7 SSP.  The only thing that prevents him being higher is that JC does name-drop him – albeit somewhat negatively. 

5. Underrated – Lot

Poor Lot.  More or less a righteous man, who definitely acquired much within a short span, so much so that he had to find his own land apart from his grandfather, - The Patriarch of Patriarchs – Abraham.  Here is where the stats can be misleading:

An 8.5 MSC – Having to be rescued many times, especially from a town called Sodom (I mean really you live in a town called Sodom, what do you expect?), just shows lack of wisdom and discernment.  Oh and sleeping with your daughters isn’t the most prudent either.

BUT this gets countered by a deceptive 8.2 SSP.  All Sunday schools will reference Lot, but the true focus is on his wife.  Jesus agrees (see Luke 17:32).  And he does have an abysmal 0 SWC.

What makes Lot underrated is how we view him.  Lot does not get the sympathy that he deserves as the unlucky schmuck that he is. 

4, Overrated – Job

Similar statistics to Jonah.  Job is the opposite of Lot.  He gets a lot of sympathy and understanding by the media, but does he really deserve it?  I know he may “get it” at the end of his book, but man does he complain a lot before he gets.  He’s not a bad one per say, he’s just ranked way too high on the Sunday School circuit especially when he has a 0 SWC, and is only mentioned in the New Testament by James.  

4. Underrated – Saul

Saul gets the short end of the stick when it comes to reputation.  Trying to kill the greatest king of Israel will always put you on the crap-list and get you a 9.7 MSC.   I argue however, he is a much better scout/coach than king.   The talent – the future king in David, all those amazing warriors, priests, etc. – that will prove itself during the greatest period of Israel, all began under the reign of Saul.  (Some may say this could be traced to Samuel, and I will counter, that yes, they are right.) One can also argue that he is a decent father.  Jonathan turns out pretty well.   

The rest of the list will come tomorrow. 

Guilty Pleasure Part Two: All those single ladies...

Beyoncé  is a true guilty pleasure.  The “pleasure” was birthed when I first heard "Say My Name" (the song is all sorts of awesome).  And the “guilt” reared itself quite dramatically during the eighth grade when my mom was taking two of my friends and me to school.   We only lived maybe a mile and a half from our middle school, so the trip was relatively short but long enough for Destiny’s Child’s “Independent Women Pt. I” to come on the air, which was impossible not to sing along with. 

Now I’ll tell you why this is out of place (apart from the obvious), even for an eighth grader who has not really developed any real sense of taste.  In the sixth grade I got Pink Floyd’s The Wall for Christmas.  Listened to it constantly, probably one of the best gifts I’ve ever gotten.  At a middle school dance my friend and I got the DJ to play “Wish You Were Here” and smugly watched all of our peers respond in confusion in disgust.  Even as a middle schooler I was a hipster in the making. 

And so when Beyoncé proclaimed “throw your hands up at me” and all I could do was throw my hands up at her, I was a bit surprised at myself but not ashamed.  That was until my friend turned to me and said mockingly, “You know she’s telling that to girls…” 

Here’s how I knew I was truly in the moment, fully enjoying myself and the song, not just being goofy or making of fun it: I had no response.  I sat there with my head down, embarrassed.  I felt like this poor kid. 

After that moment, whenever I would hear a Destiny’s Child song on the radio I would quickly change it to ensure I was keeping my manhood.   And this has been a problem ever since because I really like her songs – they’re pretty catchy, but there’s a large part of her catalogue – especially the singles – that are focused towards the female gender.  (i.e. “Survivor,” “All the Single Ladies,” “Bootylicious”*). 

*The gender exclusivity is debatable on this one.  My body is pretty bootylicious.

Only until recently have I begun to embrace my fandom, and it’s a bit sad because I’m not even like one of those hardcore-closeted fans.  I don’t even have any of her albums on my Itunes.  But if I hear a Beyoncé song on the radio, you bet your bottom dollar I’m cranking that one up and singing my heart out.  I’m really loving 1+ 1 at the moment.

Even if you’re not a fan of her music you have to be – at the very least – impressed at the way she markets herself, or – at the very most – utterly terrified.  I’m convinced that she and Jay-Z are probably one of the most powerful entities in the entire world.  There is not a doubt in my mind they could literally have anyone on this planet killed. 

I know this isn’t Beyoncé, but it’s quite a good cover, and makes me like both her and the song even 

more:

Wuthering Heights...? More like Wuthering Sucks.

I was reminded of my animosity the other night, when it was brought up briefly in discussion.    The mentioning was indeed brief, but it brought back a flood of embittered emotion. Seriously.  This is one of the most overrated, detestable, disturbing pieces of literature I have ever read. 

And I hate it. Yes, I know ‘hate’ is a strong, steroid induced word, but it is the only appropriate, accurate descriptive of my feelings. 

I do not want to suggest anything negative, or imply anything of its author, Miss Emily Bronte – she is a sweet lovely woman, God bless her.   I do not hold her responsible in part due to sound, flawless theology.  James 1:17 states: “Every good and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of the heavenly lights, who does not change like shifting shadows.”  Therefore, the opposite must be true that everything that is terrible and imperfect (i.e. Wuthering Heights) must come from the gates of Hell, the bowels of Satan.  (But seriously, let's be honest - there's a reason why this is her only novel.)

Here is my brief, torturous history with the book:

I took AP Literature my senior year in high school, and because the class was so extensive we had to read two books during the summer preceding the school year for preparation.  Those two books were Catcher in the Rye and Wuthering Heights.

If you want to garner any affection for a novel, just let a high school male read Catcher in the Rye – it’s like shooting fish in a barrel.  They’ll come to class with their homemade, ironical t-shirts saying: “Save Holden Caulfield.”

At the time, and even years after, I believed my first mistake was to have read Sallinger’s novel before Bronte’s.   And then I also believed that my youth and inexperience with “classic” literature, dictated my initial disdain for the latter.   I was not alone for even my classmates – even the girls – did not like it.   But I thought, hey high schoolers are stupid, there has to be something we’re missing.

You know how when you’re young, like five years old and you see your parents always drinking coffee and you think that has to be one amazing drink for them to have so much of it – plus it smells pretty amazing.  So one day you decide to drink it and you realize how disgusting it tastes.  Your parents just sort of laugh at you, cause they have the foresight to know that once you’re older you’re going to be addicted to coffee.   Well Wuthering Heights is NOT like coffee.  It’s like drinking gasoline.  It sounds disgusting when you’re younger, and it sounds even more terrible when you’re older since then you actually know why it’s such a terrible idea to drink gasoline.  (Cause you’ll die.)

So fast forward four years, now a college student, studying literature, really studying it – I’m in a Brit-lit class and Wuthering Heights is on the docket.  I think, great, now with all the tools I have acquired to analyze literature, I will be able to finally fully appreciate this acclaimed piece of the Western canon.   Wrong.  So terribly, terribly wrong.  I read the first two chapters, and I threw the book across the room, to prevent myself from stabbing out my eyes.   If I had a fire place I would have thrown it into the flames and then peed on all its ashes.  

The only thing that I could give the novel credit for is that in some weird, twisted, ironic way, the story is really a commentary about how one should respond to the book itself.   The themes of unrequited love, bitterness, revenge, hatred, jealousy, nature or nurture are the same literal and physical emotions and thoughts you, the reader, will have – not in some philosophical, metaphysical way – but actually towards the book itself.  Brilliant really.  But like evil genius brilliant.  Which in other words just means morally debase and irresponsible.  

There is one flaw in the design of this post, and that is the potential for breeding curiosity.  Do not let this be a temptation to read the book, but let it serve as a fair warning.  I have intentionally refrained from mentioning any plot elements, characters or anything that may tempt one to really read it – my neck is not made for millstones.  If you have to do anything, just read the synopsis on Wikipedia, and have faith that it sucks and know that it will be a waste of your time.  Life is too short and God is too good and loving for our hearts to be filled with bitterness and anger.  Do not read Wuthering Heights.  

Guilty Pleasures - Part One: The World Wrestling Federation

The other day I read an article that referenced a professional wrestling match, which then prompted me to spend the next hour and a half scouring Youtube for old videos of my favorite wrestlers.  Each clip reminded me of my former deep, affection and dedication to the worldwide leader in entertainment.

I remember the exact day that I truly fell in love with that poetic philistine sport.  The day was March 31^st 1996.  And  I remember it because that was the day of Wrestlemania XII.  A watershed moment in the life of Jacob Michael McLaughlin. 

My neighbors had a window to their living room that directly mirrored our window to our own living room.  They had two boys that were about five years older than I, and they would always buy the pay-per-view events (something my parents – frustratingly – would never commit to), which meant if their blinds were open I could see directly to their television and the magnificence of professional wrestling.

And with my chin fixed on the windowsill, not really hearing the phone ring moments previous, my mom came and told me that my neighbors had invited me and my best friend to join them in Wrestlemania XII.  We sprinted over to now hear and see the most amazing and incredible event we were to ever witness in our young, impressionable lives.

The match that won me over was the title bout, the first ever Iron Man Match.  An hour-long battle between challenger Shawn Michaels, and heavyweight champion Bret “The Hitman” Hart, with the victor being the one with the most pins during said hour.  After an invigorating, brutal, breath taking, majestic sixty minutes of tortuous body beating, neither one had pinned the other.   Hart believing that he had retained his title by default began to walk up the ramp when the announcer told everyone that the match would go into sudden death overtime!

The living room erupted with incredulous and anticipatory exclamations.  This was so intense.  You literally could not make up this type of drama.  Ohmygoshthisissocrazy!

And then within a minute into the overtime, Michaels finding his fifth wind, and carrying the mental momentum landed a thunderbolt kick to the chin of The Hitman.  Sweet chin music.  Michaels collapsed on his opponent to get the pin, the victory, and the title. 

My friend and I ran back home and I told my parents everything, with precise replication of all moves and maneuvers.   From then on I was in love.  Only wearing underwear, I would stand in front of the mirror flexing my in-proportionately sized biceps, mimicking artful poses of the squared-circle gladiators. 

I don’t know exactly how the transition took place, but by the end of elementary school I knew that wrestling was “not real.”   But I continued to watch it with regularity until the end of middle school when somehow for some Godawful reason, people assumed that fandom for professional wrestling was directly proportionate to intelligence – it had become stupid and childish…

At this point in my life wrestling does not hold its same captivating sway, and is viewed only with nostalgia.  I cringe now whenever I hear the announcers proclaim hyperbole after hyperbole in a cheap attempt to create drama and action.  It’s entertaining, it’s silly, and it has little substance.  However, there is something quite genius about its simplicity and its ability to speak to the inherent desire and attraction for pure storytelling.  God is the perfect author and there is no coincidence that he sent his words in the form of stories (what I would like to call, the Bible).  I believe that professional wrestling exists to remind us what it truly means to have a childlike faith. 

Such a romantic...

The other night I watched Paris Je Taime again, a collection of short films about being in love (or out of love) in Paris.  Pretty endearing and wonderful.  Here is one of my favorites segments, directed by Tom Twyker: