On Responsibilities, Parenting and Not Letting Your Children Read Playboy

“I don’t like this movie.”

Those words were spoken rather loudly by the young girl sitting behind me at a viewing of Where the Wild Things Are.  These words were spoken just seconds before the young girl proclaimed she had to go to the bathroom or she would pee in her chair.

As you can well imagine, I was far from thrilled to be seated in front of this youngster.  I was, not, however angry with her.  I was angry with the grown man who had chosen to bring her to the movie in the first place.

I am well aware that parents are allowed to bring their children to the movies.  I am not one of those people who feels that children should never share the same space that I am in.  I love kids.  I’ve taken kids to the movies before myself.  I have no problem with kids in a movie theater when I make the decision to see a movie that is made is for children.

The issue here is that Where the Wild Things Are is not a movie that is made for children.

Yes, the movie is based on a popular children’s book.  Yes, the movie features large puppet-like creatures.  Yes, the central character of the movie is a young boy name Max.  None of this, however, means that Where the Wild Things Are is appropriate for children.

I knew this was a movie for adults before I even stepped foot into the theater.  I knew this because I read a few reviews of the film.  I did my homework.  I educated myself.

Why the hell can’t parents do the same thing before shoveling their kids into their mini vans?

When you are a parent, you have a responsibility to your children.  This means you do not bring them to a movie just because you think it’s appropriate for the little ones.  This means you look into the film.  Any parent who would have done so would not have taken their children to see Where the Wild Things Are.  And yet, I saw that exact film with quite a few children.

It’s all rather troubling if you ask me.  In a day and age when Marge Simpson is on the cover of Playboy magazine, animation can no longer be the measure for determining whether or not a product is kid-friendly.  Similarly, you can’t just bring a five-year-old to a movie because she likes the book it’s based on.

Children do not know any better, but adults do.  Or at least they should.  Most parents would not let their kids read Playboy just because a cartoon is on the cover.  So why would they let their kids sit through an emotionally dark film just because it features cute furry monsters?

I’m not a parent.  Maybe I am missing something.  Maybe it’s now acceptable to have your children see movies that grapple with some pretty heavy issues such as divorce, loneliness, trust and betrayal.  Maybe I’m way off base.

If I am, I apologize to all those parents out there who blindly took their kids to see one of the most adult films I’ve seen in a long time.  I’m sorry for making assumptions about your choices.  Next time I’ll go to a late-night showing of any film I think may have even the slightest appeal for children.

All I have to do then is hope that young kids still have bedtimes.

On Imagination, Goonies and Going Where the Wild Things Are

It’s rare that a movie intrigues me so much that I contemplate seeing it on the first night it hits theaters. I tend to give a movie a week or so before I settle down with my ridiculously expensive bucket of popcorn. I prefer to let the hype die down. I’d rather let the fanatics see it before I plop down my hard-earned cash.

Where the Wild Things Are has me feeling differently. I may just have to break my own rule and see this one as soon as I possibly can.

Truth be told, I have only the vaguest memories of the book. I’m not one of those people who is waiting with bated breath to see whether or not the movie will crush all of my childhood memories. I haven’t spent the better part of my adulthood imagining this moment. I’m just not that invested.

And yet, I’m really excited to see this movie. There is something about this film that speaks to the little Dr. Sparky that still lives deep down inside of me.

As a child, I was an imaginative little bugger. I didn’t need a lot of toys. I never really enjoyed video games. All that was required for me to be happy was a book and my imagination.

I spent hours roaming our house and backyard pretending to be everything from a pirate to an archeologist to a soap diva on a deserted island to a Goonie. I was He-Man. I was a Smurf. I was Christopher Columbus. I was a wild thing.

As I’ve gotten older, my sense of imagination has certainly lessened. It has not been completely lost, however. I still hold on to that magic I was able to conjure as a child. Sometimes I’m still a Goonie.

It’s that piece of my that still pretends to be exploring a cave with the help of One-Eyed Willie’s map that can’t wait to see Where the Wild Things Are. I can’t wait to loose myself in a good old-fashioned story of imagination. I can’t wait to go on an adventure with Max. I can’t wait to be a little boy all over again.

I can’t wait to find myself where the wild things are.

On This Is It, Michael Jackson and Hoping This Really is It

I wasn’t blogging on June 25, 2009. I was on hiatus. Therefore, I missed out on adding my two cents to the circus that was the death of Michael Jackson. Sadly, the circus has yet to really die down. Just today, Michael’s new single was released. This Is It hit the waves of the internet.

Ladies and gentlemen, the circus continues.

I have yet to listen to This Is It. The release of a new Michael Jackson single hasn’t made a splash in my world since he and sister Janet gave us Scream in 1995. Between then and now, Michael released 17 singles, most of which are either completely forgettable or songs I’ve never even heard.

Yes, Michael Jackson the performer died for me some time in 1996.

But now, it seems, Michael Jackson the performer is being resurrected. A new single is being dropped to coincide with the release a movie featuring footage from Jackson’s tour rehearsals. Rumors and allegations may have kept him down in life, but death is no match for Michael Jackson.

I predict This Is It will be a huge hit. I have little doubt that it will top the charts all around the world. Sales of this one are going to break records.

But where were all the people who will buy This Is It when Michael Jackson was still alive? I don’t recall anyone I know singing his praises and calling him out on being the greatest performer to ever live. I never heard his music blaring from cars as they passed on the street. It had been ages since I’d heard a Michael Jackson song on the radio.

And then Michael Jackson died and everyone wanted to be his biggest fan.

This Is It will most likely rocket Michael Jackson back to the level of superstardom he enjoyed with the release of Thriller. For one last brief moment he’ll be the guy with the glove that everyone loves. The rumors surrounding him will fade away and his music will be given a chance to shine once more.

It’s a shame he won’t be here enjoy it. It’s a shame that it comes from a disingenuous place. It’s a shame the world forgot him until he died.

I just hope that once the song and the movie are forgotten, we can finally just leave Michael Jackson alone. It’s high time we put the King of Pop to rest once and for all.

I hope this really is it.

On Paris, Trailers and The End of the World

Below is the actual trailer for the actual documentary about Paris Hilton.

The movie is called Paris, Not France and will evidently debut at the Toronto International Film Festival in September.

On the Toronto International Film Festival website, the film is given this description:

Polls show that in certain demographics, a higher percentage of people identify the name “Paris” with the woman than with the city. So let’s refer to her on a first-name basis. Not a day goes by that Paris isn’t mentioned in a magazine, TV show or gossip column. Presidential candidate John McCain invoked her as an icon of shallow celebrity and she retorted with a witty spoof ad. But despite all of this attention, what does the public really know about her? Director Adria Petty gained close access to Paris during a tumultuous year, and her film reveals different sides of the heiress than we are used to seeing. Petty has a penchant for creating fantastic worlds out of special effects, like the magical funhouse she directed in the music video for Regina Spektor’s song “Us.” In the case of Paris, no special effects are required. Her world is a real-life fantasy.

We follow Paris jet-setting through international capitals – where everyone wants a piece of her. Her “Paris the Heiress” persona was concocted for the reality TV show The Simple Life, but at some point fiction and reality began to blur.

We see Paris starting to grow up and taking more control. Petty inspires her to talk about her life in a way that no other journalist has: the rebellious streak that propelled her into a modelling career, the shock of having her sex life exposed to the world, and the pressures of living under constant media distortions. Paris is by turns seductive and vulnerable, in charge and out of control. As she sits at a table with her brand managers, it is hard to tell whether they work for her or vice versa.

Petty gets revealing interviews with Paris’s parents Rick and Kathy Hilton, sister Nicky and other family members. Donald Trump, Camille Paglia, Michael Musto and others weigh in on her mystique. The film becomes a fascinating case study on the role of celebrity in our culture. Paris isn’t known for picking her film parts wisely, but her most interesting role turns out to be that of herself.

I kid you not.

“But despite all of this attention, what does the public really know about her?”

I think I speak for the public when I say we know all we’ve ever wanted to know and so much more than we ever even cared to ponder. Therefore, this film is so far from necessary, it even trumps Paris on the scale of uselessness.

The end of the world is near.

On 2:07, 2:33 and Writing Mini Posts When I Should Be in Bed

It is 2:07 in the morning and I should be in bed. Between working, working late, going into work early, attending volunteer events and organizing upcoming Book Club meetings, my week’s been just a wee bit hectic. I need all the sleep I can get. And yet it’s now 2:08 in the morning and I am sitting here instead of soundly sleeping in a bed that sits empty just feet from my computer.

I can’t sleep for three reasons. The first is that I’m hungry. The second is that I’m hot. The third is that my mind is racing. It’s this third reason that has brought me here. When my mind races, I have to run around and catch it. Catching my mind usually means chasing it to this very spot. And so, here I am.

It’s 2:11 in the morning and I’m offering up some early-morning mini posts.

On Häagen-Dazs, Cranberries and Polishing Off the Pomegranate Chip
I am completely enamored with Häagen-Dazs at the moment. First I discovered their fat free cranberry blueberry sorbet. A sucker for anything involving cranberries, I bought it. And I devoured it. And when I finally do get some sleep I am liable to dream about it. If that weren’t enough, I also came across their pomegranate chip ice cream. This is a smooth blend of pomegranate ice cream and dark chocolate chunks. It’s quite heavenly. I suggest you eat a pint as soon as possible. In fact, it’s 2:18 in the morning and I just polished one off.

On Massages, Kinks and Wondering if a Doctor Should Work Me Over First
I am contemplating getting my first professional massage. In fact, I have an appointment booked for Sunday. My back’s been rather sore as of late and I figured it was time I got over my body issues long enough to have a trained masseur work out some of the kinks. My current worry is that some of the kinks are due to that time I fell on some ice and landed squarely on my back. If that’s the case, I doubt a massage is the way to go. In fact, I’m guessing I need to go see a doctor. What’s a boy with back pain to do?

On Office Space, Tiny and Wishing I Owned a Baseball Bat
You know that infamous scene in Office Space where the three guys take the copier into a field and beat the ever-loving crap out of it? I so want to do that to one of the printers at work. That monstrosity (which we ironically refer to as Tiny) is currently at the top of my hit list. It often errors out on my projects. It likes to print any merges I send to it in random orders. And when I am at the office in the middle of the night trying to get letters ready for the temp staff that will be in the next morning, it has the tendency to just turn itself off. It’s damn lucky that I neither own a baseball bat nor know of any empty fields.

It’s now 2:33 in the morning and I should be in bed.