Cynicism always trumps faith, and if it ever doesn't, marry that person.

So I've now seen The Dark Knight twice--once painfully alone and once with friends. And here's what I've got: it's obviously the best Batman movie ever. Anyone with any sort of lingering love for Tim Burton's Batman movies just has to accept that. It's also clearly the best superhero movie ever. This admission pains me, but it's just true. It's also the most awesome movie I've seen all summer and the best movie I can remember seeing this year or even in the past few years.

So, the thing about The Dark Knight that makes it hard to compare to pretty much every superhero movie that's come before is that it's so fucking much more than a superhero movie. Part of this is the character: unlike Spiderman or Superman, for example, Batman's just a dude. This inherently makes him more believable, and the action in The Dark Knight is some of the most believable action in any action movie I can think of. No one lifts a continent over their head, there's not a bus that makes a magic jump across an uncompleted highway, there's not even a ridiculously unbelievable fight scene. All of the fights happen exactly how I imagine real fights between a fucking unbelievably fit and well-trained fighter and a bunch of random thugs would actually go. Maybe you can't hang glide from one Hong Kong skyscraper to another using a batcape, but that's not so fucking out of the realm of possibility, you know?

But while the realism of the action is one of the things that makes The Dark Knight so fucking awesome, that realism is more important in that it fits into the overall realism of the whole movie. The Dark Knight has some of the most realistic characters in any movie I've seen in a long time. Ok, sure, it's hard to believe that some guy would actually devote his life to fighting crime in a batsuit, but once you swallow that pill, Batman comes across as a real fucking person. He's torn in a thousand different ways--rage, the need for revenge, the love of a woman, the need to protect Gotham City, the desire for a normal life. Oh, and he's probably batshit crazy, too. All of the characters are believable in that you can understand both how they got where they are and why they want to go where they want to go. When Harvey Dent loses his shit and becomes Two-Face, we get why. Maybe it's not what I would do, but then I've never been where he was.

The exception to that rule, of course, is The Joker. Everyone's talking about how awesome Heath Ledger is as The Joker, and I wasn't really buying the hype. But the fact of the matter is that the performance is fucking amazing. The Joker is fucking scary. The calm, collected craziness is really, really unnerving. The casual way in which he kills and tortures is fucking chilling. Even the way he talks suggests a man who is both all there and completely gone. And the few scenes between Batman and The Joker--especially the one in the interrogation room, which is one of my favorites--are just fucking amazing. I don't know what one has to do to deserve an Oscar, but I wouldn't be pissed if Heath Ledger got at least a nomination. And I'd feel the same way if he was still alive.

And, of course, what ties it all together is the plot. Basically, Batman, together with Harvey Dent and Jim Gordon, are trying to take down the whole fucking mob. The mob freaks out and "hires" The Joker, and the whole fucking thing gets crazy from there. But that's all set up for what's really going on: The Joker wants to watch the world burn. Or at least he wants to wreak as much havoc as he possibly can. And he does a fucking bang-up job. The movie is fucking dark.

One of the things that made Spiderman 2 great was the fact that things really sucked for Peter Parker on pretty much all fronts. But even then, things got better by the end. That's not the case here. There is a constant sense of tension and apprehension--something bad is always about to happen. Most of the time, Batman manages to avoid the bad things. But sometimes--and especially in the case of Rachael Dawes--he fails. The fact that they actually killed the romantic lead tells you just how different this movie is. The first time I saw it, I expected her to be saved at the last second somehow--I sort of expected that they wouldn't have the balls to actually kill her. Then the building exploded and she fucking died. And it was sad, but also awesome.

That darkness and tension never really let up, either. No sooner does Batman beat one obstacle than The Joker sets up four more. And in the end, while Batman survives and the villains lose, you can't really say that Batman won. In fact, Batman took one for the team like a motherfucker. It's not a happy ending, but it's exactly the ending the movie needed, and the fact that the writers came up with it suggests that they really, really understood the fucking character.

There's really no way I could say too many good things about this movie. It would be stupid to compare this movie to pretty much any other movie with guys in tights, and it does a lot to show just how overrated Ironman was. God, that thing was wretched compared to this. The Dark Knight really does go beyond its genre and deliver something genuinely good not just as frivolous popcorn entertainment but as, you know, cinema and stuff.

Well, as it turns out, I don't have to be in court tomorrow and I'm not meeting any clients. I've got stuff I have to do, sure, but I don't have to be up at any specific time. That left me wondering what I was going to do tonight. And then I got an IM from C-SME that would change the course of my evening, but not necessarily for the best.

See, Co-SME discovered a midnight showing of The Dark Knight that was not sold out. "Buy two tickets!" I told him, and he did. But then he was all "Oh, wait, I might not be able to come." See, Co-SME has certain responsibilities which, to be fair, are significant and not easily thrown aside. So I started looking around to see if anyone else--specifically Mr. Vice of pH--wanted to come with me, since I now had two tickets. After a fair amount of ridiculousness, pH decided she'd come if Co-SME couldn't. Cool.

But then Co-SME decided that he could, in fact, make it. Jesus, fine. But now there was a new problem: there was some doubt as to whether the showing we were supposed to see was even going to happen, and Co-SME was entirely unable to find any information on the internet or through the phone. The theatre where we were going to see the movie, however, is relatively close to my apartment, so I drove down to the place and said I'd find out what was up. This was at 10:00 o'clock. Our showing was at 12:20.

At 10:15, I get to the theatre and confirm that our showing is, in fact, going to happen. So I call Co-SME and let him know. I also asked him what time he'd be at the theatre, at which point he told me that he wasn't going to be able to get to the theatre until 11:45. "What the fuck are you talking about," I asked. Yup, he wasn't going to get there until just before the movie started. But the fucking line was already fucking long.

So now I've got the tickets and I'm at the fucking theatre in line. Alone. Because if we're going to do this, we need to have good seats, goddammit. Then I get the following text message from Co-SME: "Hey, do you think pH can still make it if I can't?" Are you fucking serious? Are you for fucking real?

So now the whole thing is up in the air but it's way too fucking late to invite anyone else. So there I am sitting on some concrete steps in line for a midnight movie by myself. And the whole thing is up in the air as to whether Co-SME is coming. So then we get into the actual theatre, and I save a seat. And then Co-SME confirms that he will not be coming, at which point I get really pissed. And then they come around asking whether there are any empty seats in any aisles. And I raise my hand and say that there's one next to me, thereby making it obvious that I am, in fact, by myself at a midnight showing of The Dark Knight. And the girls sitting next to me refuse to scoot over and laugh at me.

And that is the story about how I saw The Dark Knight at midnight by my fucking self. I know movies aren't really social things, but I felt like a fucking loser.

Oh, and how was the movie? Well, seeing as how most people are going to see it tomorrow--and with their friends, like I would have liked to see it for the first time--I won't say anything about it.

But I will say this: the trailer for Watchmen looked fucking amazing. And I was really into its use of an extremely obscure Smashing Pumpkins song--it was very effective and fit the mood perfectly.

Oh, and in case this wasn't clear: I fucking hate Co-SME.

So, you know, she's got some things going for her. What she does not have going for her is musical talent. Check out her music video:

Now, unlike "Popozao," which was the best bad thing that's ever happened, this thing is just bad. I actually couldn't make it through the whole video despite the appealing visuals. This is perhaps the most embarrassing celebrity attempt at crossing over.

Which brings me to my point: why the fuck do all these people think that they have to be famous for everything? It used to be that being a famous singer or a famous movie star was enough, but now every one of the stars thinks that because they've been moderately successful at one thing, they'll be successful at another. Or, worse yet, that because they're moderately talented at one thing, they can do anything. I mean, even Lindsay Lohan released an album.

This is all bullshit. Look, if you're an actress, act. If you're a singer, sing. And if you're not good enough at any one thing to support a career, you have two choices: give up and pack it in or drag it out for as long as possible and wait to get spit out the bottom of the soft-core porn industry. It's pretty much a win-win for me.

But, though I sometimes crave McDonald's, my need for In-N-Out is ever-present. In-N-Out is, by far, the best fast-food food out there. It's fresh, tasty, and just plain good. It's not healthy by any means, but it's also not artificial or processed or whatever. And it's still consistent--consistently good. In college, my friends and I had an unreasonable--some would say unhealthy--obsession with In-N-Out. In fact, Mr. Morenononsense has missed at least one transcontinental flight due entirely to In-N-Out. And, from what I hear, it was worth it.

But while In-N-Out is my fast-food wife, I have to admit that I also miss my fast-food booty call: Jack in the Box. There's almost nothing better at 3am after a long night of drinking than two orders of tacos, two orders of bacon-cheddar potato wedges, and a sourdough jack. If I'm going to die young, I want it to be because I had too much cheddar and fried food stuck in my mouth, and Jack in the Box makes that goal easy.

I'd kill someone for a double-double and some animal fries right now.

To the woman at the courthouse:
It's Friday. It's Friday afternoon. No matter what else is going on--me getting rained on, me being frustrated by court--at least I've got the weekend to look forward to. So I'm saying "have a good weekend" to everyone I meet. And everyone's saying it to me. But not you. You responded to my "Hi, how are you?" with a nervous sniff. Fine, whatever. But then when I say "Have a good weekend," give me something. I mean, yeah, I'd like to hear "Thanks, you, too!," but I'd settle for "Thanks," or even some acknowledgment that I had just wished you a good weekend. I'd even be willing to forgive your mind-numbing incompetence if you just sort of nodded your head or smiled or something. What did I get? A nervous sniff. Fuck you.

To the public at large:
I just want you all to know that there is absolutely no way not to look like a giant, unmitigated assjacket while wearing a navy blue sports coat with gold buttons on it. There just isn't. Gold is so unbelievably tacky to begin with, and navy blue somehow only enhances that. You look like you're trying to be a mob boss and the Skipper at the same time. It's a crappy look. Don't wear it.

This is due partly to the fact that I haven't really felt like there was anything I could do about most things I've been opposed to or in favor of. How was I, for example, going to have any measurable influence on how the people of Wisconsin voted when confronted with a constitutional amendment that would strengthen this state's prohibition on gay marriage? The fact of the matter is that there was very little I could do, and anything I could do was very likely to reach only those people that agreed with me. A demonstration on the University of Wisconsin campus in favor of gay marriage is the very definition of preaching to the choir.

But maybe I've found something that I can fight. And the best part is that I might be able to make some small difference.

It's not a fight that involves lightsabers or lava pits or anything awesome like that. The only weapons are words and arguments. And the fate of the human race is not at issue. On the grand scheme of things, the whole conflict is about as insignificant as it gets. But, of course, it's not at all insignificant to the people whose lives are being affected. And since those are the people I'm sworn to protect, it's my duty to scratch and claw at every possible benefit to them, no matter how insignificant, and to fight every injustice, no matter how minor.

It's a small fight, and one I might very well be completely unable to win in the long run. Still, I'm not about to--as was suggested today--give up.

So now I've got the rough workings of a verse and a chorus. Because years-old pain is definitely worthy of a giant "fuck you" in song form.

And, of course, the classic insights into a NASCAR coach's strategy:

NASCAR Coach Reveals Winning Strategy: 'Drive Fast'

Hi-fucking-larious.

The music is always the easiest part for me. At any given time, I've got about a billion different parts and chord progressions and whatever else sitting around waiting to get put into something. Most of these don't go anywhere not because I don't think they're good but because I have a really hard time coming up with lyrics to go with them that I wouldn't be embarrassed to sing in public--not that I do much singing in public, but you know what I mean.

Still, sometimes lyrics just sort of come to me. I like writing songs that have a bunch of words that basically express one idea or theme. I don't like writing songs that are narrative sorts of things. So a lot of the times whether I can write a decent song depends on whether I have an analogy or insight that I think is worth exploring.

So what's really frustrating is that I've been working with this riff for a few weeks now. I really like it, and I think it's got a lot of potential. But I can't come up with shit for words to go with it. And it's not even that I don't have anything to say, it's that I've got a garbled mess in my mind and I want to somehow convey all of it at the same time, but I haven't been able to come up with any sort of analogy for it all, and I can't pin down any one aspect of what I'm feeling to write about.

So I just play the music over and over again but I can't move past the dummy words I came up with to help work out a melody.

And that's some frustrating shit.

As lazy as I am, and as much as I half-assed school and whatever else, the fact of the matter is that, emotionally, I'm not half-assed at all. I throw myself into things, people, causes, vendettas, and ideas more readily than I think most people do.

I remember one time in college Mr. X had an emotional personality test. Mr. X was the "Cool Cucumber," someone who neither felt nor expressed deep emotions due to normal occurrences. I was the opposite. I can't remember the name, but I was the person who felt and expressed everything to an exaggerated degree. Surprising, right?

I didn't drink in high school. I mean, I guess I consumed some amount of alcohol before I graduated, but I had never been drunk. That changed in college. Still, for a long time, I was ashamed of the fact that I could drink well. Then I grew to love the fact that there were few people who could drink as well as me.

Why am I telling you all this? Well, it's because I'm about to make two rather embarrassing revelations about myself.

I've written frequently about The House--the house that I was almost always at in college. And I think I've mentioned more than once how the people who lived there would host frequent booze-fueled parties. But what I haven't mentioned is that every time I went to the bathroom while drunk at The House, I held my left hand out in front of me and imagined that I was pyrokinetic.

I don't know why I imagined that I could control fire with my mind, but I did.

Actually, I just lied to you. I know exactly why I imagined that I could control fire with my mind--I imagined it because I was somehow convinced that if I could, in fact, control fire with my mind, I could make things better. Maybe I'd need to be able to control more than fire. Maybe, given complete telekinesis, I could fix everything that's wrong with the world. Yeah, maybe drunk Ismael is that arrogant.

But, of course, neither I nor anyone else can fix anything simply by existing.

There are moments--for example, when I'm drunk and imagining that I can control flames with my mind--when I think I'm qualified to handle the world's problems. There are, however, other moments--for example, when I'm sober and thinking clearly--when I realize that there are plenty of difficult questions without easy answers.

Life is a series of problems, and how we deal with those problems determines who we are.

So far, I've been a coward.

Anyway, I won't name either of the other people in the song--each one can identify herself if she wants to. It's my hope they'll want to. So, the first verse is about one of my longest-standing friends--at this point, I've known her for almost fifteen years. Second only to my mother, this girl is responsible for whatever positive attitudes I might have about women. She was one of the first women I ever met that was beautiful, intelligent, independent, and generally all-around awesome. I respected--and respect--her a great deal. So it seemed apt to include her. She also had extremely beautiful arms and a really cute nose.

The second verse is about a friend of mine from college. She greatly impressed me during our first conversation because we discussed our misunderstanding of gravity. Drunken philosophical conversations are, of course, nothing new. But this girl was--and is--actually smart. Extremely so. And fun and cool and pretentious. But that last thing is good. Anyway, yeah.

And, of course, the third verse is about my mom whose complete lack of selfishness has never, ever stopped surprising me. I talk a lot about how my rolemodels are Superman and Socrates and whoever the fuck else, but in terms of being a good, decent, hard-working, unbelievably generous person, no one compares to my mom.

So, yeah, this has been up on the blog for a while. But, as a shoutout, I'm putting it on the front page with an explanation.

The Lovers of Sight and Sound - Three

I also very rarely think about my father. He died when I was three, and I have no memories about him at all. I only know what he looks like from pictures. People that did know him tell me that he was a pretty awesome guy, but for whatever reason, I've never really missed him or a father figure generally. My mom was awesome, and I never felt like I was missing out on anything. Although I have to admit that it took me a very long time to teach myself how to shave, so if fathers generally teach their sons, I guess I missed out on that. I'm also very bad at sports, but I don't think that having my dad around would have changed that. It seems like all that would have happened is that I'd still suck at sports and he pissed and disappointed.

Anyway, given that I rarely dream and rarely think about my father, I was sort of shocked this morning when I realized that I had had a very vivid dream about my father. And I was extremely shocked when I remembered the content of the dream.

I was in a very dark place--in fact, I couldn't see my dad, but I knew it was him. I don't think I was as old as I am now; I think I was about twelve, maybe. And I was really, really scared. My dad was very angry at me because, even though I was only twelve, I was who I am. And he was really disappointed and saying really mean things. He wasn't putting me down for any of the things I deserve to be put down for, either--he was insulting the various things about myself that I actually like. As the dream went on, I started standing up for myself a little and then more and more. And my dad got even more angry.

Then he pulled out a gun and threatened to kill me.

I nearly shat myself, but then I started standing up to him again because I knew that, even if he was angry and disappointed, I was still his son and he wouldn't kill me. And he didn't. At least not before the dream ended.

I've never subscribed to the notion that dreams mean anything. I analyze myself enough to know exactly how I feel about my dad--there's no work for my subconscious mind to do. But the thing still haunted me all day. It was really fucking strange.

As some of you know, I went to college in Flagstaff. But what makes this even closer to home for me is that my house was literally about two blocks from the hospital where these helicopters were heading. I remember driving home many times and seeing the helicopters flying onto the landing pad on top of the building. I actually almost crashed a few times because I was so fascinated by the things.

Anyway, it's just sort of strange because, when I read the headline, my mind immediately flashed to that specific hospital and that specific area. And then that's where it happened.

The article says that the crash happened in a wooded area about half a mile from the hospital. I wonder if I would have been able to hear the collision if I was still living in that house.

Anyway, this doesn't have anything to do with anything. It's just a sad thing that happened near somewhere I used to live.

Also, FMC doesn't have flight-traffic controllers? The pilots are just supposed to watch out for other helicopters themselves? This seems like a fucking failure, and I'm sure there are going to be lawsuits like a motherfucker after this incident.