My Back in a Saddle Again

Not my actual back. 

You've heard me tell the story about how I almost died at our stake Youth Conference because a pack of negligent teenagers dropped me during a “faith fall” object lesson, right? Out of a tree? 1988? You can read about it here. (Also, I may or may not have just spoiled the ending for you.)

Well, that special event in my life has resulted in some creative methods for treating back pain over the years. Since 1988, I have undergone treatment from a series of chiropractors. Now, I am aware that there exists some skepticism surrounding this industry, but I have personally found success and relief through chiropractic care. There isn't that much controversy to me. I hurt, I get treated, I feel better.

However, like any profession, not all chiropractors are created equal.

Case in point: Dr. Arthur Fonzerelli. (Names have been changed.) (Because I can’t remember his name.) Dr. Fonzerelli was probably in his late 50s, and when it came to his nose, he had a bit of an Ichabod Crane thing going on. He had thin hair on top, but it was still black.

Dr. Fonzi was the uncle of a girl I was dating in college, and his office happened to be in a neighboring town to our little university. It was 1993, and my back had recently been misbehaving. I was complaining about it to Danielle, the girl I was dating (name has not been changed, because I remember her name), and she suggested I go see her uncle, The Fonz. During this same time period I was also complaining that Sally Field was completely miscast as Robin William’s wife in Mrs. Doubtfire, but Danielle said there was nothing she could do about that. Nice attitude. I believe that is what later led to our breakup. 

Anyway, though initially reluctant, I finally paid a visit to the Doc, and surrendered a piece of my dignity that I can never retrieve. I visited his office exactly three times, and each appointment was more bizarre and unsettling than the one before.

First visit. He asked a lot of questions, gathered information, and took some x-rays. He did a pretty flaccid adjustment (I’m not sure that’s the correct industry term for it) that was fairly benign, and told me I could leave.  Not an efficacious treatment, but harmless enough. He was so soft spoken and uncle-y, I just kind of went with the flow and lowered my expectations of actually feeling better while simultaneously taking comfort in the fact that Danielle would be happy with me for being obedient and doing what she told me to do, and maybe I would be rewarded with some smooching. (But probably not.)

Second visit. At the beginning of the visit he said, “So, would you say there’s been about 20% improvement since your last visit?” I started laughing, because I thought he was making a funny.  I removed my shirt and turned to find him standing there with his clip board, pencil poised to write down my answer. He was serious. Not wanting him to feel bad, but feeling no different than before the first visit, I pretended to contemplate my percentage of wellness and kind of mumbled back, “Erm…. uh…. hmmhmm…two…(waving my hand back and forth)….maybe…I’d say two...percent …better?”  He wrote it down.

“I think we’re going to try something more aggressive,” he said. “Like…addressing my back pain?” I wanted to ask. He led me into an adjoining room and had me sit/hunch forward over a bench, while he strapped some electrodes onto my lower back.

“We’re going to try electrotherapy,” he casually said.

“Okay,” I responded with some trepidation.

“You’re going to feel some currents through your back. It’s going to be uncomfortable. I’m going to turn up the intensity with this dial, and you tell me when you can’t stand it anymore.”

“TIME OUT,” I said. “I don’t like to play games like this.”

“You’ll be just fine,” and he started to turn it up.

I tried to be my bravest for as long as I could. “Mercy!” I said.

“Okay,” he answered. “I’m going to leave it there for 10 minutes.”

“What the WHAT?!”

And he left the room. I had never felt this variation of pain before, and it was intense! I felt like something was alive and kicking in me, and I was going to give birth to it – through my CHEST! Currents were having a rave inside my body and I could only anticipate death and my corpse detonating, leaving parts of me covering the entire room. The good news is, if I am ever hit by lightening, it’ll be a walk in the park.  Shoot, I might even enjoy it.

And imagine my surprise, when I actually did feel better when he turned the machine off! Kind of like how your face feels better once somebody stops hitting it with a car. Or how silence sounds so nice when Nickleback is the alternative.  I went home, exhausted and confused.

Third and final visit. I walked into his office, and he asked me to strip down to what the Fashion World terms “tighty-whities.” Not totally unusual; easy access to my back and all. He asked me again, “Where would you say, percentage-wise, your improvement is at? 20%?”

I stood there with the same incredulous expression as the visit before, but this time, much more vulnerable, as I looked like I was an underwear model. Well, I looked like I was modeling underwear. (I’ve never, on my best day, looked like an underwear model.) I mumbled the same response as the prior visit. “Wha-…. uhrm….yeeeaahhh…two…(waving my hand back and forth)….maybe…I’d say two percent?”

“We’re going to try something different today (oh, good!), so…follow me.”

My relief was short lived, as I started following him from our private patient room…out the door…into the hallway. I found myself standing in the public domain...with only my underwear on.  I could see the waiting room.  And they could see me.  Like one of those dreams. But despite the ethereal music of Enya that permeated the office, this was indeed no dream.

Yep, if you were sitting in the right (or wrong) spot in the waiting room, you had a comprehensive view of more Ken Craig than most people care to see. I've never seen more raised eyebrows in my life, as people shook their heads, covered children's eyes, and kept a careful distance between them and me.

We stopped in the middle of the hallway, at some adjusting apparatus there. Yes! In the middle of the hallway! Did somebody leave it there accidentally? Was this really the best place for this thing?

“Go ahead and lie down on this,” he said.

And, as if under some form of hypnosis, I did what he asked. No sooner was I horizontal, but clamps snapped over my wrists and ankles, strapping me to the table and rendering me unable to stand back up, get off the table, and flee from his office out into the streets; cold and exposed, but safe.

He pulled a lever and the table jolted into a vertical position. Now I was standing, in my skivvies, strapped to a table. This equipment could not have been legal. I’m not even sure it was 20^th century machinery. Then, the straw that broke me: Dr. Fonz put his hand on my lower back, and started rapidly pushing my torso forward. Push, release. Push, release. I suddenly looked like I was doing my best Elvis impression. In my underwear. In the hallway. In a torture device.

That was it for me.

I started talking very fast, in a half-panicked voice, like a kid trying to sell a lie to his parents. “Yep. Yep, I’d say I can definitely feel a twenty percent improvement. Twenty or maybe even 25!”

Push, release. Push, release.

“What did Danielle say to you? Did she tell you I didn't like Mrs. Doubtfire? Did that personally offend you?”

Push, release. Push, release.

Finally, after what felt like 18 years, he stopped, unstrapped me, and we went back to his office. I put my clothes on while he filled out paper work. He then said, “I’m not sure what else will help you.” He seemed so defeated. I almost felt bad for him. I probably would have continued to see him just to make him feel better, except that his practices terrified me. Who knows what he would have tried next?! “If you jump out of this plane without a parachute, I really think the landing will give you a twenty percent improvement.  Here, hand me your pants before you jump….”

You’d think this single experience would have steered me clear of chiropractic doctors, but the truth is I’ve had exceptional care from the chiropractors I've met since then. The only real fallout from my adventure with Dr. Fonza-crazy is that to this day, I can’t listen to Enya without instinctively and subconsciously dancing like Elvis.  And I have no tolerance for Mrs Doubtfire, but that was a pre-existing condition.

Stincoln Lincoln

So the Oscar noms are out. Shrug. I used to get so excited for them. And I'm still excited when great lesser known or attended films get recognized. Mostly when I looked at the nominations this time, I saw only one thing:
LINCOLN.

Faarrrrrrrrrttt.

Sorry. I'll explain. I didn't hate LINCOLN. I thought it was beautifully shot, mostly well-acted, and had an inspirational first scene and last 15 minutes. It was still good enough to fall right in the middle of the pack of movies I saw this year. But it was boring.

Here's the scene breakdown in my mind when I recall my viewing experience of LINCOLN (spoilers):

EXT. CIVIL WAR BATTLEFIELD - NIGHT
Soldiers take turns telling Lincoln how awesome he is. Boy are white and black soldiers different! Every Union soldier memorized the Gettysburg address.

INT. LINCOLN'S LIVING ROOM - DAY

Discussion about the Civil War that includes 3-7 old white men.
INT. LINCOLN'S BEDROOM - NIGHT
Lincoln argues with a harpy that resembles Sally Field.
INT. LINCOLN'S OFFICE - DAY
Discussion about the 13th Amendment that includes 3-7 old white men.
INT. LINCOLN'S BEDROOM - NIGHT
Lincoln argues with a banshee that resembles Sally Field.
EXT. CIVIL WAR BATTLEFIELD - DAY
Lincoln rides a horse slowly through carnage (pictured).
INT. CONGRESS - DAY
Argument about the 13th Amendment between a whole gaggle of old white guys.
INT. LINCOLN'S LIVING ROOM - DAY
Discussion about the questionable tactics to get votes that includes 3-7 old white men.
INT. LINCOLN'S BEDROOM - NIGHT
Lincoln argues with a hound that resembles Sally Field.
INT. LINCOLN'S KITCHEN - DAY
Discussion about the state and federal law that includes 3-7 old white men and a melted wax figure that resembles Tommy Lee Jones.
INT. LINCOLN'S BEDROOM - NIGHT
Lincoln argues with a troll that resembles Sally Field.
INT. CONGRESS - DAY
Argument about the 13th Amendment between a whole coven of old white guys.
INT. LINCOLN'S STUDY - DAY
Lincoln has some sons and one of them resents his neglect even though he's passing a really important amendment.
INT. CONGRESS - DAY
It passed! The 13th Amendment passed!
INT. THEATER - NIGHT
Nope! Not that theater! We hear of Lincolns assassination second hand. We feel really bad for his son but then a little relieved he was seeing something else.
INT. LINCOLN'S BEDROOM - NIGHT
Lincoln is dead.
THE END.

...

Anyway, what did you think of this year's Oscar darling?

The Problem with New Years Resolutions: A Parents Manifesto

Are these slurpee drinking hoodlums killing creativity?

Like all of you, I started this new year off with a list of resolutions. I don't know what it is about this time of year that makes us, collectively as humanity, want to reboot our lives and start over. But we do it, even though we know by about January 10th, half of those resolutions will have fallen by the wayside.

I won't bore you with my resolutions - they were probably the same as yours. And they have gone OK. Some better than others. I think the real problem is that as a parent it feels impossible to make any positive changes in your life because all of your positivity and power for change gets funneled into helping your kids. And then when they are in bed all your change energy has been used up and you just want to sit on the couch and eat pretzel sticks dipped into cookie butter and watch Nashville. Amirite?

I read an awesome book this year called The Family Fang (and is currently available for Kindle for $2.99 - so why don't you just go buy it already?) Its basically the story of a family of performance artists. The parents, Caleb and Camille, use their children in their elaborate performance art pieces. But now the kids are grown up and are dealing with what growing up as a public spectacle meant. One of the themes that runs through the book is something that a friend of Caleb and Camille tells them when they have kids -- "Kids kill art." He thinks that once they have children, their art will suffer.

So, is that true? True life example: One of my resolutions is about writing more. And every day I say to myself, "Today is the day! When my wife goes to the gym and the kids are in bed I am going to sit down and bang out 1000 words in my novel!" And then my wife heads the the gym, and I (finally) get the kids to bed and either I had to scream and yell to get anyone to brush their teeth and I am too grumpy to write or I am just tired and there is a new episode of the Biggest Loser on and so I just watch that instead.

When I was in college and taking creative writing classes, I did a lot of writing. I wrote short stories and poetry like it was going out of style (my poetry probably was.) And it was great. And despite all of my best efforts to write more (I'm pretty sure it was my 2012 resolution too.) my production has slowed to a trickle.

So, whats a creative parent to do? I know there are people who read this blog who are painters or writers or videographers or photographers or print makers or whatever. So how do you find the time and the energy to stay creative when your children take everything you've got.  Parents of older kids: does it get better? Or do I just need to power through and find ways to be creative now?

Even this blog post (which is hardly high art) has taken me an hour to write because I am dealing with a toddler with the flu who just called me down to the bedroom screaming like she was dying because Mikey Mouse's blanket fell off. Now where did I put that cookie butter?

anti-climax

My friends are always telling me what a great storyteller I am. I don't see it, but they always say that. So I guess they must be right. Storytelling is an art; either you got it or you don't! According to my friends, I got it! (I still don't see what you guys are talking about!) Anyway. Here are some of my favorite stories. They aren't much, but you might enjoy them.

One time I was at this big banquet where I was nominated for an award. I didn't think I was going to win, which is a good thing because when I sat down in my chair my tuxedo pants caught on a sliver of wood which ripped a giant hole in the seat of my pants! Wow. Embarrassing! I bet you can guess what happened next: I won the award! And then I had to stand up in front of all of those people with a giant rip in the seat of my pants. I walked up to the platform to accept the award, and I was really sheepish. But I realized as I was walking up that my suit coat was long enough to cover the rip. Saved by a suit coat! What a great story.

One time I was walking on BYU campus - this is when I was an undergrad there - and I saw an old mission companion walking toward me. I panicked because I couldn't remember his first time. I always thought it was so lame to call people by their last names after your mission. But I couldn't remember his first name! What was I going to do? Suddenly, at the last minute I remembered: Brian. Whew!

A few years ago Lisa kept asking me to paint one of the kids rooms in our house. She was tired of the old color, and she wanted me to redo it. She had picked out a color she really liked at Home Depot. Well, as fate would have it, she went out of town for a weekend, and I thought it would be the perfect time to repaint the room and surprise her. So I did just that! When Lisa got home it turns out that I had painted the room the wrong color! Egg on my face! But Lisa just cocked her head, squinted, and said "Well, that color is close enough. I can live with it." I love that story.

Yesterday I was driving to work and I came to a four-way stop. Another lady got to the stop at the same time as me. I waved at her and said "Go on!" But she waved back at me, as if to say "No, you first." So I nodded my head and waved my arms to indicate that she should go. But she did the same thing at the same time! It was crazy. So I so "Go! Go!" in a really positive and encouraging way. And wouldn't you know it - she did that, too! Finally she just went. It was hilarious!

One time I was in a social gathering where no one really knew each other. So we played a getting-to-know-you game where we all sat in a circle and one by one everyone admitted something they had never done. I knew immediately what I was going to say: I have never seen Jurassic Park! It's a slam dunk, and it's true. But guess what - the person right before my turn admitted that he had never seen Jurassic Park! Which really threw me for a loop! So I had to think quick. I admitted that I had never seen High School Musical. No one acted like it was that big of a deal. I still think Jurassic Park is more impressive. But it got me through my turn, and I felt like people were able to know a little bit more about me.

If you have any questions about these stories or if you would like to hear them in person (they are GREAT LIVE) please don't hesitate to ask. I don't think I'm that great at telling stories, but my friends would beg to differ!

Nowhere To Go From Here

Here's the thing, there is this lady at my work who eats for lunch, like, a blue berry and a dash of oats, every day, all day long she is digesting grain and veggies and fruit.  So here's the rub, she comes to work after New Years and we start talking about our resolutions and she goes in to this whole monologe about how she is going to be...kind.  Her 2013 is going to be focused on being a good person, she looks in on the elderly woman next door already, but now she wants to do more.  She wants to be open to new ideas and new people and let this year be the one where she connects with people, and I thought, "Oh, it's cause you have nowhere else to go."  I mean, her trouble is, she eats too well.  That's what New Years is for, we all commit for another year to eat better, but when a person genuinely eats well already, the only next step is to better themselves for reals...no thanks.

I promise this year to eat nothing but the bottom of the pyramid and never eat anything that tastes good and always leave the table hungry and get so super skinny that people ask me if I'm feeling well.

Pheew.

Ditto for next year.

Sure beats making a commitment to being genuine, friendly, interested, thoughtful and of good report...it's like, if you can't do it, why make the goal. Pull yourself together.



    

Sugar Free January

Several years back Katie came up with the horrifying clever idea of dubbing the first month of the year “Sugar Free January.”  Basically, the theory is that since December is such a month of caloric debauchery and habitual treat-munching, January should be a cleansing month.

I’m not going to lie to you. January has never been my favorite month, and it is even less so now. We are currently in a fight, January and I. 

I mean, in theory I agreed with Katie. And when I say “in theory,” what I mean is that I don’t really agree with her at all. What she is essentially saying was, “Since December is a month of happiness, how about January be a month of NO happiness?”

As a public service announcement, I thought I would chronicle my experience thus far this year.  I call it My Descent Into Madness: the Autobiography of Ken Craig’s January. 

January 1: 9:00 a.m. Woke up feeling fantastic. Enjoyed an egg and toast for breakfast. Actually kind of looking forward to the detoxification and purging sugar from my body. A new healthier, happier me. 

January 1: 9:15 a.m. Ransacked house looking for sugar. Checked pantry, fridge, 72-hour kits – even searched hard-to-reach areas for possible overlooked plastic eggs filed with Easter candy from 9 months ago. 

January 2: Wept. Like a baby. Felt moody all day. Punished one of my children for “not being funny enough at the dinner table” and sent him to bed. Lethargic. Unshaven. Kicked the dog.

January 3: Realized I don’t own a dog. Wrote apology note to neighbors for kicking their dog. Tied note to brick and threw it through their window. 

January 4: Ate entire jar of Sweet Pickles. Contacted lawyer for "false advertising" claim… Wondering where I can locate some Sugar Beets. 

January 5: Promised Katie the Sugar Nazi if she let me eat a bowl of ice cream I’d watch  Downton Abbey with her. Nothing doin’. 

January 6: Packed a hobo sack, flung it over my shoulder, started whistling “Pour Some Sugar On Me,” and told Katie I was hitchhiking to The Big Rock Candy Mountain. She tried to convince me there was no such place. (As if I’m going to fall for that Sugar Nazi propaganda!) 

January 7: Came back home, listless. I think my body is imploding. Bones weakening. Organs leaking vital fluids. Heart slowing. Breathing shallow. Darkness closing in. Slight headache. 

January 7: While hallucinating, tried to eat plastic cupcake in daughter’s toy kitchen. Once hallucinations stopped, tried once more to eat cupcake. Found bag of Ruffles potato chips instead. Ate entire bag. And also the chips. 

January 7: Realized this is just going to be one long month of zero happiness. Katie told me to pour myself a big heaping bowl of “Shut the Heck Up.”  Poured myself a bowl of unsalted almonds instead. That's what happens when you're living under a Sugar Nazi regime!

Delicate Etiquette: Can Manners of the 1880s Help Us in 2013?

A few years ago I came across a post on The Art of Manliness that listed etiquette from a book called "Hill’s Manual of Social and Business Forms" published in 1880. (Read AoM's full post here.)

The article lists examples of things a gentleman in 1880 was to do or not to do. Below I have listed a few of my favorites with personal commentary in italics where possible:

• Never exaggerate. Oops. I always exaggerate about everything.
• Never laugh at the misfortunes of others. What am I supposed to do when I have lunch with friends?
• Never send a present, hoping for one in return. This is why I don't send presents.
• Never speak much of your own performances. Instead, ask people how you did.
• Never make yourself the hero of your own story. It's more fun to be the anti-hero.
• Never question a child about family matters. Especially my children. They know too much.
• Never present a gift saying that it is of no use to yourself. "Happy birthday! I couldn't use it but here's a healthy self-image."
• Never call attention to the features or form of anyone present. True, have you read "Wonder"?
• Never associate with bad company. Have good company, or none. Poison or Warrant is, however, just fine.
• Never look over the shoulder of another who is reading or writing. Seriously makes me want to murder.
• Never appear to notice a scar, deformity, or defect of anyone present. Aka, don't take your kids anywhere in public.
• Never punish your child for a fault to which you are addicted yourself. How am I supposed to know what they're addicted to ... hang on, Josh just tagged me on Instagram.
• Never, when traveling abroad, be over boastful in praise of your own country. U-S-A, U-S-A!
• Never attempt to draw the attention of the company constantly upon yourself. Have you ever been in a room full of actors?
• Never enter a room noisily; never fail to close the door after you, and never slam it. That rules out French farce.
• Never will a gentleman allude to conquests which he may have made with ladies. Fine. I'll stop talking about that time Amelia and I climbed Mt. Everest while fighting a gang of snow leopards.
• Never fail to offer the easiest and best seat in the room to an invalid, an elderly person, or a lady. It's still a problem ... watch.
• Never give all your pleasant words and smile to strangers. The kindest words and the sweetest smiles should be reserved for home. Home should be our heaven. Amen.

In all seriousness, it's a new year. Maybe we can resolve to try a few of these and see what happens? Which old-timey customs, etiquette and rules would you like to see more abundantly revived in 2013? What are you guilty of? Let us know in the comments.

Confessions: I Lie Sometimes

With the start of the new year, I feel like I need to get a few things off my chest. You see, it turns out I am a bit of a liar. Not a big one. I don't cheat on my taxes or tell people that I am 5'3". But there are a few things that I feel like I should come clean about.

It all started when I was at work the other day. I have an enormously powerful sweet tooth, so when I packed my lunch I had filled a little Tupperware with fresh berries and Cool Whip. (I'm all for actual whipped cream, but there is something delightful about that sweet, room-temperature, stable, vegetable-oil foam.) Berries and Cool Whip is not actually all that bad for you (if you are just looking at calories) so some berries mixed with the Whip isn't too unhealthy of a snack. But when one of my other manager walked into the break room and asked what I was eating I instinctively said "Yogurt and raspberries." Because suddenly I felt sheepish about eating a big bowl of cool whip. I don't know why - it just came out without thought. It made me think about what other little lies I told for the sake of making myself seem more cool or worldly. So in the spirit of disclosure, here they are:

1. When people ask what I studied in college I say "English, with a creative writing emphasis." I guess it sounds more bourgeois and interesting than just English. Well, I had no creative writing emphasis. I just was a straight up English major. I did take some creative writing classes. Most of the time I didn't even do anything creative. I just turned in stuff I had written for other creative writing classes. That was sort of my MO in college. So, no, I didn't sit in hip cafes and write amazing poems and compelling short stories. I just read (or pretended to read) lots of books.

2. I read a lot of Young Adult novels. I do it because I love young adult novels. I think they are clever and well written and have great stories and characters. And if you are an adult male reading Harry Potter you are good. But if you are a 30 year old and you are reading The Girl Who Circumnavigated Fairyland in a Ship of Her Own Making, then it seems a little weird. (Great book, BTW. My review here.) So when people ask what kind of books I like reading and I say Young Adult, I usually follow it up with "I am writing a Young Adult novel, so I like to see what is going on in the genre." That is kind of true. I am "writing" a young adult novel (I have about 4 pages so far.) But that isn't why I read young adult novels. I don't get myself - I am not at all ashamed to admit that I watch America's Next Top Model but I get embarrassed when I tell people I am reading Delirium (also a great read.) So there you have it. I am a YA reader.

3. I didn't like Battlestar Gallactaca. There I said it. Sci-Fi. Critically acclaimed. Cult following. It seems tailor maid for me. But I couldn't get into it. I'm sorry. But if someone professes their love for BSG I just smile and say "Yeah!" like I am totally in on the joke. I sort of feel the same way about Dr. Who. It's kind of required if you are a geek like me to LOVE Dr. Who, but until about a year ago I didn't know a Tardis from a Dalek. I do enjoy Dr. Who, but I have watched about a total of 10 episodes in my life. (I'm working my way through the first season on Netflix. It's one of my resolutions.)

4. I like Country Music. I like to pretend I just like alt-country, what with my Mumford and Sons and my Civil Wars. But sometimes I also listen to Reba and Brad Paisley. They make me happy.

5. I'm not excited about the Arrested Development relaunch on Netflix. Again, I understand as a young, 30 something person, I am supposed to think Arrested Development was the greatest thing since Jesus. And I did love it and laugh heartily at Bob Loblaw. But I believe in letting shows that are canceled die in dignity. Sure I was sad to see AD go, but it made room for Community and Parks and Recreation and New Girl which have all made me laugh just as much. It's like how I was bummed when Buffy the Vampire Slayer got canceled, but then I found Veronica Mars and I was OK. There is a season for everything - a time to be a hit, and a time to be canceled. And when a show gets canceled and everyone  starts talking about making it a movie and moving it to a new network it makes me nervous. Just let it go. I'm sure this AD relaunch will be hilarious and delightful, but I am wary.

5. I'm really 5'3. I wear really tall shoes.

There. I feel better.

my les mis review!

The people from Guinness just called to let me know that I am now, officially, the last human being alive who  has not seen the new Les Miserables movie. Are you surprised? I am. I thought I would have seen it a week ago. But truth be told, the holidays were busy and I only got one night off to see a movie, and I chose Django Unchained, which was amazing and which I do not regret.

Luckily, 4000 of my dearest friends, relatives, and neighbors saw it and everyone seemed super excited weigh in on Facebook. I know you know what I'm talking about. Did you hear the people sing? Facebook exploded in reds and blacks last week, and everyone seemed to have an opinion crying out to share. So, having thoroughly read them all, I would like to now write for you my own review of Les Miserables, based on everything I heard and read last week.

Les Miserables is sweeping and epic! It will seriously blow your mind. Take whatever expectations you had, double them, and prepare to be blown out of your seat. Except it's not as good as I expected. In fact, it was weird seeing it on screen. It doesn't really work as a movie; they should have left it on stage! I hate when Hollywood comes along, steals a Broadway classic, and tries to make a film out of it. You just can't capture theatrical magic.

I thought the singing was amazing. I'm so glad they cast actors who can ACTUALLY sing! Except most of them. I thought some of them were fine, but a few of them were way off! They couldn't hold a note in a bucket if they had to. Why does Hollywood keep casting these people who can't sing and expect us to like it? I hate when people can't sing. I actually loved how the director had the actors singing live! What a cool idea. Except it didn't really work. Everyone talked through their songs and nobody sang! WTF?

Hugh Jackman was amazing. His voice was incredible. Except it was a little nasal and I got tired of it halfway through. I liked his make-up a lot. They made him get older! Anne Hathaway was INCREDIBLE. She'll get an Oscar for sure. She was by far the strongest performance in the show. But I thought she pushed it a little. She was trying way too hard. Sometimes she cried too much. Good try, Anne Hathaway! Amanda Seyfried was perfect for Cosette, she sings like a tweety bird. Eddie Redmayne shakes his jaw too much. I loved Sacha Baron Cohen and Helena Bonham Carter as the Thenardiers! They were so over the top! I loved it. Except I feel like they were holding back. They could have gone way farther with it. Why so subtle? And so gross! Could you believe how gross they were? It was way worse than it was onstage. They could have gone way farther.

(At this point I reveal that no one, NO ONE, said one word about Eponine. I can't review her. Literally nobody has mentioned her. Was she in it?)

Russell Crowe was the WORST part of this movie. I liked the whole thing except Russell Crowe. He can't sing and he was just all growly the whole time. I thought he did a beautiful job showing the hidden pain of Javert, though. And I liked how he kept his character so militant and controlled. He's such a fantastic actor. Too bad he's the worst part of this movie and I don't even want to think about how bad he was! He did an OK job, though.

Basically, to recap, Les Miserables is amazing and sweeping and you will cry. You will cry and cry and cry. It will move you! It didn't move me at all, but that's just how I am. I like the stage play way better. The movie will change your life, though. Honestly. You won't stop thinking about it for days. Unless you are thinking about how disappointed you were. You might like it. It's pretty good. It was way better when my high school did it.

Best of 2012: Books

For our final "Best Of" I get to wrap the year up in Books.  Now if you knew me in high school you would think, "He don't know no books."  Weel, first I would correct your grammar, "I do not know any books."  But then I would have to agree with you. I never ever ever read any book in high school.  Not one.  I remember taking a test for 'My Antonia' and it was a open book test and I was just scrambling threw the chapter and I thought, "This is the dumbest book I've ever had to skim." I never read, "To Kill a Mockingbird." I never read, "The Scarlet Letter." I never read, "Huck Finn." I never read, "Lord of the Flies."  I hated to read, I raged against.  It was dumb and you were dumb if you did it.  Then, I was living in California and I didn't have a TV and I woke up in the middle of the night and I could not get back to sleep and there was copy of 'The Lion, The Witch, and the Wardrobe'. I opened it, read the first word, the last word, and all the words in between in that one night.  I was fixed. And now I get to sift through all the books I've read this year and tell you my favorite:


The Best: Beautiful Ruins by Jess Walter. 

It begins with a dying actress and it winds through the history of the movie Cleopatra, LA Screen Plays, the Donner Party, WWII German Soldiers who paint, and community theater.  It is beautifully written and stuffed with interesting facts about subjects I didn't think I cared about. Everything ties together, but lightly and without strain.  If you are going on a cruise around Italiana this year, you need this book...but not as bad as if you are NOT going on a Italian cruise.

Guilty Pleasure: The Sisters Brothers, by Patrick deWitt.  

The protagonist is a ruthless hit man (and his brother) in the wild west who get an assignment to hunt down and knock off a amateur chemist.  You guys, this book is wonderful.  SUPER FUNNY, and weirdly has this heart that hit me just right.  There is wild 1800's science and the relationship between the brothers is so spot on...I would know, I have four.  It might get violent, but not so much that you put it down...let's just call it dark.
    

Josh's Picks:

Best: The Fault in Our Stars, by John Green

When you try to explain this book and tell people that it is about a girl with terminal cancer who meets a boy in her cancer support group, people think you must hate yourself. Why would anyone want to read such a depressing story. John Green is an amazingly gifted writer (one of my personal favorites) who creates believable, lovable characters. I don’t think it is a spoiler to say that I sobbed several times while reading this book. It is gorgeous and life affirming and hopeful and wonderful.

Guilty pleasure:The Gathering Storm, by Robert Jordan & Brandon Sanderson 

Let me tell you a story. There is this series of books called The Wheel of Time that I started reading when I was a freshman in high school. They are of the epic fantasy vein and are full of a million characters, good vs. Evil and are all about 900 pages long. I would eagerly await each book and devour it when it came out and then begin the long (sometimes 2 or 3 year) wait until the next book came out. The books started out great, then by about the 6^th one they started to drag. In those 900 pages, very little would happen to advance the big plot. It was painful and I eventually gave up. I figured I would just wait until they were all done and then read them. Then, after 11 books, the author of this series, Robert Jordan, died tragically and left the series unfinished. His widow picked a new author, Brandon Sanderson, to write the last three books using Jordan’s notes and wrap it up. Books 10 and 11 (the last 2 Jordan wrote) were absolute slogs. Page after page of description with no plot advancement. The Gathering Storm is book 12 and was amazing. It reminded me of everything I love about these books. I to read the next two and finally, after about 20 years, see how this series ends.

Brett's Picks:

Best - Bossypants, Tina Fey. 

I know, I'm late to the party but this book is so good because I laughed a lot and learned extra stuff about something I love: comedy and improv. 

Guilty Pleasure - Ender's Game, Orson Scott Card. 

Very late to the party on this one. That's why I feel guilty about it. It's really quite amazing and I'm glad I finally got to it. Card really puts you right in it, makes the stakes super high, and keeps raising them through the whole book. There's not one moment that feels like padding. Just so good.

Ken's Picks:

Best Book: The best book I read this year? Why, it’d have to be Tell Me Who I Am, written by your very own Part Time Authors, plus others! 

If I’m not self-promoting, then I would have to select AMillion Miles in a Thousand Years, by Donald Miller. 

Mr. Miller wrote a book called Blue Like Jazz,and then, in the wake of its huge success, he found himself in a weird funk where he kind of questioned his life and life in general. While in this slump he was approached by two movie producers that wanted to make Blue Like Jazz into a movie. (Which they did! And it bombed at the box office!) However, in writing the screenplay and transforming the book events into proper and interesting movie dialog, Donald learns more about the elements of story and through that process learns more about life being a story and the story he wants to be living. I love storytelling, so this book struck a chord with me.

Guilty Pleasure: I don’t think I have any guilt pleasures in this area. But if you want to read books out loud to your kids, may I suggest the classic Rascal, by Sterling North. 

We did that this year, and it was a great read!    

 

Chris' Picks:

I really only read non fiction, to be honest. I have no idea why. Im not proud of it or  trying to sound awesome or smart. In fact, a lot of the non fiction I read is trashy, pointless, or inflammatory. That being said, My favorite book this year was Life Itself by Roger Ebert. A really charming and funny memoir by someone who loves movies as much as I do and probably more.

I also read that Amateur book about President Obama but it was pretty dumb. I'm sure enjoying Untouchable, a biography about Michael Jackson right now! Whoo boy! He was a kook!

Well, there you go!  Happy Reading!