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:

My top five favorite "horror" films

In honor of Halloween I decided to post my top five favorite “horror” movies.  Somewhat nontraditional, but films that are effectively scary and terrifying, each in their own right.

5. Let the Right One In

This is a film that is as much about friendship and romance as it is about vampires.  Creates a cold, sterile atmosphere that provides the appropriate and yet ironic contrast to the warm affection between vampire and child.   Despite flaws in originality (obviously copying Twilight), I think this film serves the vampire-romance genre quite well.

4. The Shining

From the mastermind that is Stanley Kubrick, who really does have elements of terror in all of his movies, crafts his most popular movie behind the psychotic performance of Jack Nicholson.  The camera movement is simply amazing from when we follow Danny on his tricycle, to the genius jarring of the camera as Jack chops down the bathroom door.  One of my favorite scenes from the movie – Nicholson is amazing, the scene is simple but pretty foreboding.

3. Seven

A great horror film must create a palpable sense of atmospheric dread, and this is what is so masterful about Fincher’s Seven.  From the opening murder investigation scenes to discussions about a man getting mugged in the park, the atmosphere is one of darkness.  The tension that is played out between moral justice, divine wrath, and basic human depravity is shown at both its worst and its finest, all encapsulated by Detective Sommerset played by Morgan Freeman.

2. Requiem for a Dream

You may not find this one in your horror film cannon, but for me it is one of the scariest yet effective dramas I have ever seen.  The plight of self destruction, the utter loss found in addiction, with the ironic and deluded sense of hope places the viewer in the subjective mindset of a heroin addict.  The last twenty or so minutes of the film is absolutely staggering.  Some may not have the stomach to watch it more than once, but it should be viewed at least once, as you will never want to do drugs.  Ever.

1. Mullholland Dr.

A surreal nightmare filled with fears that we all encounter.  Fear of safety, fear of unrequited love, fear of failure.  What begins as a murder mystery turns into one of the best films about the destructive side about dreaming of stardom and success.  As with Requiem passions become overwhelming and obsessive as dreams bleed into reality.  Below is a scene that does a perfect job of unlocking the rest of the film, both structurally and thematically.  It’s amazing.

Mulholland Drive Diner Scene from Michael Oshman on Vimeo.

Radical Christianity...?

Understanding that its satirical point is to call out the conservative/Christian political right, I think this video brings up a great point of how both the outside world and those who call themselves "Christians" view Christianity.  The video suggests a pretty convicting question: What would happen if we really obeyed all that Jesus commanded?

The Daily Show With Jon Stewart	Mon - Thurs 11p / 10c
Indecision 2012 - Hardcore Sects Edition - Mormonism
www.thedailyshow.com
Daily Show Full Episodes Political Humor & Satire Blog The Daily Show on Facebook

A Dialogue of Faith

Dude!  Dude! Oh my gosh!  Did you hear!  The Cubs are gonna get Theo Epstein!

Really?

Oh my goodness that is so awesome!

Who is Theo Epstein?

Man, are you serious?

Yeah, is he like a good first baseman or something?  I don’t think I’ve ever seen him play.

No man, he’s a general manager.  The guy who constructed two championship teams for the Red Sox within the past decade.

Ohhh.  I see.

Yeah man this is such great news.

But he doesn’t play?

Ha! No.  Duh, don’t you pay attention to baseball?

So… you’re excited about a guy who doesn’t really play the game, but only hires the people that play the game?

Yeah!

Huh, just doesn’t seem like that big of a deal.

Uh, hello!  They just made a movie about a general manager.  They’re essential.  Brad Pitt Essential.

Good point.  (rolls eyes)

This is so exciting. We’re World Series bound!

 Like next year?

Well, probably not.  But soon.  Super soon.  Like within five years.

Five years?

Maybe next year.  Yeah man.  Probably next year.  I have hope!  Each new season means new hope, right?

Huh.  Interesting.  Don’t you guys have a lot of work to do?

I don’t know… sorta.  Maybe five years is more realistic.  Yeah.  Five years.  Guaranteed.

But I heard you guys don’t really have any great outfielders.  Don’t really have a long term first or third baseman, your pitching rotation is pretty thin and your bullpen is just terrible, save for your above average closer  - that may or may not be trade bait.

Um.  Well yeah.. but uh, I’d still say five years… probably.  At most seven.  And dude we got a super awesome shortstop.  Castro is going to be like the next Alex Rodriguez.

Didn’t it take A-Rod fifteen years to win a championship?

Dude whatever.  Theo is like really good at building up young talent.  

What about Hanley Ramirez?

Yeah?

Didn’t he trade him?

Yeah… but… but then they won their second championship right after that!  What a great parallel.

So you think he’s going to be able to trade your best and only real building block and then win a championship?

I mean, not all analogies are perfect man.

Of course. 

Come on dude, you got to at least admit that this is fate.

Fate?

Dude, he broke the Curse of the Bambino!  He has a gift.  The baseball gods smile upon him.

Right…  Fate. Curses. Baseball gods.  What, do you have like voodoo dolls at your house or something?

No man. Nah.  I just have faith.

Uh... in what?

I don’t know man.  Why you got to be such a downer?

I’m just being realistic.

Dude you got to be a romantic. You got to have hope.  Like haven’t you ever seen ‘Field of Dreams’ or ‘Angels in the Outfield?’

Are you trying to validate your real life philosophy through fictional movies?

[silence]

  …they were fictional…?

Oh my word.

Whatever man, someday all this hope and pain and anticipation and pain and joy and pain and all of it… all of it will payoff.

How can you torture yourself like this?

I don’t man.  It’s just like… you know, perspective.

A silly perspective. 

It’s the only one I know man.  The only one I want to know. 

For my Grandma

For the love of bacon

As I was working yesterday I walked by the meat counter, and saw a little pink sign that labels all sale items, stating with pure joy and heavenly trumpets that their bulk, thick-cut bacon was on sale for $2.99 a pound.  I thought to myself, Jacob.  This is your lucky day.  

Once I clocked out, I went straight to the meat department, anticipating with joy and excitement, my two pounds of bacon that I was going to purchase.  I thought, man what could be better than bacon?

And then an image went into my head piercing me like Cupid’s arrow.  So straight and so true.  The response was so rapid and immediate that I knew it could only be divine: 

Bacon wrapped in bacon. 

I stood there stunned, almost paralyzed at the thought.  It was the most beautiful thing I had ever heard.  Because what is the one ingredient that makes any food - without any hyperbole - one hundred million times better? Bacon!  So the only way bacon can be improved – in an odd cannibalistic type of way – is by bacon itself.  And then I got an even more specific image: make a crispy piece of bacon and then wrap it with a chewy piece of bacon.  Like a candy cane of swine sweetness.

The meat guy was looking back at me with a gleam in his eye.  I could feel my heart pulsing, my hands were a little clammy, and my knees were trembling.  And he gave me a look that asked, Two pounds, only two pounds? And if I knew better I swore he winked at me. I pondered this and I said to myself, he’s right.  Better make it four.   But I had to stop myself, cause I really think I would have passed out, so I said three.  Three pounds.

As a composer conducts his orchestra he wrapped them all up in the purest of white butcher paper, and handed them over to me like an Olympic torchbearer.  I looked him straight in the eye and said, “God bless you.”  And he was about to respond but I could see he was getting a little emotional.  He paused and with a tear in his eye he said, “No, God bless you.” 

And as I literally skipped my way to the check out line I thought of those two thousand years of existence and the Israelites, a nation without bacon.  I wondered of God, and how he could allow his own people not to enjoy one of the most profoundly delicious miracles of life.  I pursued this more, and concluded that yes, salvation is the best thing about the coming of Christ.  But God does wants us to know the freedom and the gift of salvation, in that through the law we are dead – no bacon.  But through the sacrifice of Christ he has made all things clean… first and foremost our sinful nature, but then a pretty close second… pigs.  And with that I could not help but glorify my God all the more.

I am breaking bad.

After hearing much hubbub and seeing “critically acclaimed this” and “critically acclaimed that” I decided to explore the television series Breaking Bad.   The reason I’m a little slow to catch on is that I’m not much of a television show guy.  I cannot make that weekly commitment, and too often shows leave me disappointed (i.e. The Simpsons, The Office, 24*, etc.)  It's quite a difficult thing to make a show good for an entire season, let alone to make a consistent show that is good from season to season.  (Looking at you Matt Groening)

*I watched seasons 5 and 6 of 24, great premise, but too gimmicky.  An over-reliance on the “bad-guy-is-really-working-for-a-badder-bad-guy” plot development made me feel strung along and stupid.  Advice to you Jack Bauer, the real bad guy in all of this: Satan.

And so I have recently finished the first season of Breaking Bad and I must say, I am impressed.  The plot follows chemistry teacher Walter White who is going through a midlife crisis in part due to the revelation that he has lung cancer, his career is stagnant, and he has lived passively for much of his life.   With finances in a rough spot and wanting to provide for his family after he is dead, Walt decides to start making meth with one of his former students turned drug dealer.  

So far the series falls upon the shoulders of actor Bryan Cranston (as Walter) who carries the responsibility with complete ease.  His acting provides the right amount of humor, emotion, vulnerability, angst, and bravado that keeps the viewer captivated and engaged.  At times the show falls into the pitfalls of sitcom gags and character stereotypes, but they do allow, at least momentarily, for a deeper depth and insight despite the shallow setup or plot lines. 

The show does a great job at being entertaining and I’ll admit that the only thing stopping me from making meth is that I’m not very good at chemistry.  Who knew science was so much fun and useful.

Favorite episode of season one: “Crazy Handful of Nothin’ “ – Great foreshadowed opening as well as one of the more intimate and endearing moments as Walt decides to do chemotherapy while lying in bed, cherishing the little things that reminds him of his wife. 

I’m quite excited to watch the rest of the series as I hear it only gets better.  I think I want to explore more television shows as well – two that are on my radar are Community and The Wire.  I also think (maybe… MAYBE) that television has a higher creative potential than movies.  I have yet to fully flesh out that theory, but more to come on that later… 

Spittin Hot Fire

Hey, top priority

Peace before everything
God before anything
Love before anything
Real before everything

Home before anyplace
Shoot before anything
Style and state radiate
Love power slay the hate

Truth killer, flakey face
Players say it to they face
Ain't afraid to major straight
Race at the table straight

Flow greatest like the greatest lakes
Capes all greatest states
Quiet water major waves

Steer the course make a way
And come ashore on a greater day
Home grown from the greatest grain
Full flavor in the native strain
Now put that on your brainy brain

Full exposure to favorite slang
Minimal wage and major gangs
Y'all seen them play the bait
Later night from day to day they came to play
We came to stay get out the way

Biotch, sun spot heat rocks
Brooklyn finest, preservation to beat box
pitiful poison to detox
When we rock the people I respond priority

Peace before anything
God before everything
Love before anything
Real before everything

Home before anyplace
Shoot before anything
Style and state radiate
Love power slay the hate, priority
Love power