Thought Crime Man

This guy sounds like a champ. His comic books have interesting concepts too.

From SF Scope:

Comics writer Mark Sable was detained and intensively questioned by the TSA for carrying a script for an upcoming comic book about a writer who is detained and intensively questioned by the TSA for writing a comic about terrorism.

"Flying from Los Angeles to New York for a signing at Jim Hanley's Universe Wednesday (May 13th), I was flagged at the gate for 'extra screening'. I was subjected to not one, but two invasive searches of my person and belongings. TSA agents then 'discovered' the script for Unthinkable #3. They sat and read the script while I stood there, without any personal items, identification or ticket, which had all been confiscated.

"The minute I saw the faces of the agents, I knew I was in trouble. The first page of the Unthinkable script mentioned 9/11, terror plots, and the fact that the (fictional) world had become a police state. The TSA agents then proceeded to interrogate me, having a hard time understanding that a comic book could be about anything other than superheroes, let alone that anyone actually wrote scripts for comics.

"I cooperated politely and tried to explain to them the irony of the situation. While Unthinkable blurs the line between fiction and reality, the story is based on a real-life government think tank where a writer was tasked to design worst-case terror scenarios. The fictional story of Unthinkable unfolds when the writer's scenarios come true, and he becomes a suspect in the terrorist attacks.

"In the end, I feel my privacy is a small price to pay for educating the government about the medium."

The Accidental Universe.

Yesterday I woke up beneath the mountains. In the dim morning glow I saw that The Great Wall of China had appeared in my backyard.

I made my way up the side of the wall and walked the stone path, which no one had really put there. I walked a million years and then a million more. I met a creature that no one had created.

He said, “We are without a father.”

I said, “Where is a son without a father?”

He replied, “I came from the wall.”

I followed the creature to his great library made of glass that stood high. Inside I saw the literature of the lonely.

The creature said to me, “This is where we know where we came from.”

I asked, “Where?”

He answered, “The Wall had the rightness of life, and we grew up from the unseen.”

Outside the library as we spoke a city grew up on it’s own, and reached to the sky, and created it’s own light. And the Sun winked down.

And the Sun said, “I came from nowhere. I made you from chaos with dice.”

I turned to the creature in distress and asked, “How can this all be!?”

He said, “You don’t understand. Read all these books. Once you do, you might have the reason and logic that I have found.

“Then you’ll know that you have no father.”

Yesterday I woke up and The Great Wall of China had appeared in my backyard. Nobody had put it there.

What? You don’t believe me?

Irony

I hate reading other people's poetry.

Building

Like the American sticker on the side of a hard hat

The cultural significance of symbolic similitude

A civic duty to show up and work

The trust put into a blue collar man

Skies are blue and buildings grey

Reflected sky in glass

Clouds are grey

They have been built up, by hands

Hands look like concrete

Eyes that cut through the soft

Eyes that are soft

Souls that are...

Has rhetoric really built this place?

Steel wires connecting lips to facade,

or ideas to action?

Foundations

Scraping the sky

Perspectives are perspectives

(Machines lay vacant

Without a host

Are useless

But that is an idea for another time...)

Five-legged Dog

This song can also be heard on Belly of the Whale's Myspace. It was written by Libby (my lead singer/editor) and myself.

Five-legged Dog

(-Music by Libby Landvatter, lyrics by Libby Landvatter and Nicholas James West, arranged and performed by Belly of the Whale-)

I have wrung the blood from my hands

In fields and cubicle-lands for seven workdays straight

You grin and you eat through oil and TV

Off a million dollar plate

Your machine will not make us

Your machine will not break us

Aristocrat!

You get your soul deletion and plugs for class distinction

In a two for one deal

We break our arms to the caste our roots abandon us last

That’s how we foot your bill

Your machine will not make us

Your machine will not break us

Aristocrat!

With your feast of human flesh I will move to Bangladesh

So I will not be maimed

Your five-legged dogs will dance with Santa Claus

And you’re still not entertained

Your machine will not make us

Your machine will not break us

Aristocrat!

A Nice Guy, In Hollywood?

I've been in the early stages of writing a screenplay. The first thing I always do before tackling a new medium is research. I picked up a few books on the subject of screenwriting. This week I started reading "Save the Cat" by Blake Snyder.

In the book Mr. Snyder talks about a few Hollywood-y concepts like pitching something very quickly. A short (usually one sentence) explanation of your work is called a "logline." In the book a few examples were given. I thought I'd take a shot at giving my current story works loglines. It's harder than it sounds. How do you define and explain a work of art in one sentence; while at the same time showing the irony, telling who the audience will be and exciting the potential big shot executive?

With a little help from my friends, I came up with these two:

"A young man who despises superheroes loses his girlfriend to the biggest hero in town, only to discover that he has powers of his own. — King of Pain"

and

"A drug-addicted teenager discovers The beach Boys and they save his life. — Wouldn't it be Nice"

Now, I wasn't completely confident in these two lines. I had never really tried to boil my work down to such an extent before. Maybe I'm prideful and/or the cliched asshole artist, but I hate defining my own work. However, in the spirit of learning and experimentation I gave it a shot.

I also took a chance and sent them by email to Mr. Snyder in hopes that I might get an insider's perspective.

Well holy crap, the guy was nice enough to message me back! In a series of emails he said these aren't perfect loglines but they piqued his curiosity. They need work because they don't really tell him what the stories are about, but they seem like creative ideas. I guess I left out the conflict. He said it's okay though some of his script pitches have taken him years to balance.

He even invited me to keep in touch if I needed any more help. What a swell guy!

Lyrics and Ideas: Seeds, Roots, Trunks, and Branches.

I write music in a band. Since my teenage years the bulk of my creative writing has been of the poetry kind. (Which sort of explains my bad habits when it comes to punctuation.)

Things grow. For example, today I had a lyrical idea and I wrote it down. It's just two lines really and little melody in my head. The lines are:

"Still plagued by the evils of men.

When will my rhetorical promises translate into actions?"

Like any good lyric it can be interpreted many ways. It's just a nugget of an idea. Will it ever become a song? Not even I really know. For sure it will sit written in my notebook; perhaps to be elaborated on someday; or to be forgotten. It is a seed if you will, with the possibility to grow.

In my notebook is another poem. It has grown from an idea into something bigger.

"East of Eden

I'd give you my professional opinion as a human being

But they say that doesn't count for much these days

Then again, John told me it always used to be

But if every day is the same, how in the hell does anyone change?

All our earthbound soul, desire love

Every hand on steel, seeking lover's blood

Thru man and beast we cut, and sink our teeth into

Murder's not romantic, no killing's not a cure

Through betrayal trust is lost. But his love will never leave.

He keeps it deep inside now, where no one else can be

You could choose to wield the weapon, clencher of triggers

Gun blasts and desert sand, Eyes watering from dirty air

I think the same thing every time I go back

To that orchard East of Eden

Of wanting to leave and living forever

Of eating fish and honeycomb

Father can you forgive your son?

Windows clear and sunlight plays on shadows where green and living things live and die by wind and arrow and I'm reading of power and healing my soul and my mind is quickened by the light of ancestral touch and I'm leaving and I'll be back I'll be back."

I think of he above poem more as an actual planted seed that has become a small plant. It is breathing a little and trying to figure out how to survive. It needs care and attention otherwise known as editing.

If "East of Eden" were to be put into song-form some things would change. Lines would be added and removed, because at the end of the day lyrics are secondary to the music. The lyrics support the music (exceptions noted of course, such as ballads and epic-story songs).

The verse that begins "I think the same thing every time I go back..." Seems to me to be the logical and emotional refrain or chorus, and I originally wrote the lines with that in mind.

The last little bit which begins with "Windows clear and sunlight plays..." sort of reads like a poetic rant. I imagined that as a coda. It would end the song powerfully and stream of consciousness-like, with a dramatic chord or key change. I've done it in other songs and I really dig it. You don't see it too often in popular music. (Also, I'd most likely extend and lengthen the lyrical content in said coda.)

Some parts of the above seem melodramatic to me. I wanted to change them while I was typing them. I stopped myself with the idea that maybe I'll post the edited version someday for comparison.

(note: I know that "clencher" is not a real word, but I like the sound of it.)

Now we've seen a seed and something that has taken root. Let's take a look at a finished product, a fully grown tree if you will.

This next poem went through a few re-writes I've unfortunately either lost or misplaced the evidences of the evolution, (A rock n' roll band's studio is a chaotic place mind you) but the finished product is on my hard drive, and can be heard in completed song form here: Belly of the Whale's myspace. (And I am the dork on acoustic guitar and vocals.)

Hands Made of Stone

(music and lyrics by Nicholas James West, arranged and performed by Belly of the Whale)

Whisper in your ear

Next to broken beehives

Can you remember what I said?

Grandpa's place is empty

Full of spider's web

My mother's gone and lost her mind

Grandpa's hands were made of stone, of black and white and gray

Scared of men and dusty moths and sleeping far away

Jet-streaming on blue skies and Christmas when I cried

My brother's bleeding ear and my uncle's pride

Watching for the "Rain Man"

Stories told of ghosts

Those childish things left behind

My lip was busted open

Apricots on broken eggs

I'll never forget his angry face

Grandpa's hands were made of stone, of black and white and gray

Scared of men and dusty moths and sleeping far away

Jet-streaming on blue skies and Christmas when he died

My brother's bleeding ear and my uncle's pride

Watching for the "Rain Man"

Stories told of ghosts...

This final poem/song has a couple things of note that I think are interesting.

In the recorded version I forgot to say "and Christmas when he died" during the second refrain/chorus. Also, when I sing this live I usually croon "I'll never forget my father's face." at the end of the fourth verse.

So performance changes a poem too. And that, my friends, defines the branches of a song or poem. They spread out and follow the Sun, or go to strange heights. They are hard to control, but they end up working out in the end. They need to be pruned and refined (practice, practice, practice); and most importantly they grow.

Chrono Trigger DS Review

This is a review I completed last year for a website called Game Observer. You can find it online here, gameobserver-chronoreview

Chrono Trigger DS

A Game Observer Review

By Nicholas James West

Does this “old school” RPG deliver by today’s standards, or are the paradoxes of time-travel and nostalgia catching up to the myth?

Chrono Trigger was a video-game originally released for the Super Nintendo Entertainment System in 1995. The game was created by a dream-team of Japanese programmers, musicians, and artists who had worked on such projects as Final Fantasy, Dragon Quest, and Dragonball Z.

Chrono Trigger followed the adventures of a mostly silent, spiky-haired protagonist, named Crono, and his rag-tag collection of friends as they tried to save the world from an ultimate evil (sound familiar?). The group of adventurers and would-be savers of the world were time travelers and consisted of a princess, tech-geek, medieval frog-knight, a robot from the future, and a cave woman tribal-leader from the past (maybe this is where it starts to sound different than your typical fantasy story?). The travelers visited different eras in human history in attempt to unravel the mysteries of “Lavos,” the embodiment of darkness. The game-play was a simple, yet effective, role playing style. It included hit points, leveling, upgraded weapons and armor, and turn-based combat. The story was powerful, the game play fun, and the characters memorable. Unless one didn’t care for the RPG genre it was hard to find fault in the game. Chrono Trigger was heralded as nearly perfect upon its release, and since then, its legend has only grown.

Despite a PlayStation sequel “Chrono Cross,” and a re-issue included in Squaresoft’s “Final Fantasy Chronicles” as well as a steady stream of content from its various creators, fans of the series have continued to clamor for more from the world of Chrono Trigger.

Square-Enix has released “Chrono Trigger DS” for Nintendo’s current hand-held system. Now you know of the legend; and you may have played it on the SNES or the PS1; or perhaps you’re contemplating giving it your first go-round. The question is: Does Chrono Trigger DS live up to the hype?

A Unique Introduction

You begin the game by choosing the name of your character. The default name is “Crono.” Our avatar Crono is awoken by his mother and heads to the “Millennial Fair” that’s going on in his hometown.

The first noticeable feature is the excellent choice of sound design. We see and hear the pops of firecrackers and rising balloons, which are accentuated with the cries of seabirds. Suddenly, the screen goes black and we hear “Leene’s Bell,” ringing as a wake up call to the player. The sounds set the tone; they are simple, but extremely effective.

Though the mood is set, the true face of this game is to be subtly revealed. When the screen fades from black we start to hear the tender yet powerful soundtrack, then Crono’s room is revealed. No, we haven’t been dropped into a battlefield of monsters and knights, a massive castle, or an alien landscape, but the quaint room of a boy. Without being overt the game has already proved that it is different from your typical fantasy fare. The combination of sounds, music, and colors are captivating. I didn’t fully realize nor have the words for what I felt the first time I started this game. But I knew I was hooked. In that simple thirty seconds of (originally) 16-bit glory I was already convinced that this universe was real and tangible. It existed.

In those few opening moments I felt that this game was created by masters of their craft. The reality of the universe is reaffirmed when Crono leaves his home and we get our first glimpse of the world he inhabits. We see a tiny town surrounded by mountains and forests, and a castle in the distance, all rendered in simplistic beauty. This turns out to be the rule. The world of Chrono Trigger is always simple and beautiful.

In the next scenario the game continues to show its differences from other RPG’s, instead of an immediate mission to a dungeon or cave which involves slicing goblins in half, we are treated to exploring fair-grounds; and it is a treat. We meet girls and play games with the townsfolk. Crono uses his sword at the fair, but it is to compete with a giant robot. This is how the game teaches you its gameplay and battle mechanics. Once more Chrono Trigger is subtle and effective.

I hope I don’t turn anybody off by making it sound like Chrono Trigger is weak on action. It is decidedly not so. You can easily leave the fair and enter a nearby forest to fight little goblin dudes to your heart’s content. And once the plot gets rolling there are plenty of enemies to be slain by sword, gun, and fist.

In a timely manner Crono starts running into the other adventurers and getting into trouble with Kings, creatures, and the time-continuum itself. The characters that join him have differing philosophies and motivations, but they all share a willingness to sacrifice for the needs of others.

As referenced, the path to Lavos takes Crono’s party through different eras. From the pre-history of man to the end of time, you’ll fight reptile creatures, mystics, robots, and dark lords.

The game, though presented simply, tackles issues with surprising depth. Characters met along the way like Janus (a boy in the age of magic) and Nizbel (the prehistoric “reptite” king) are complex. For instance, Nizbel is a “bad-guy” and an end boss, but his motivations are presented with empathy, and defeating him is a melancholy moment. It isn’t all black and white in this world. There are some interesting grays that shade the Chrono Trigger universe.

But is it Fun to Play?

The game play is sharp and balanced. Battles usually take the form of three adventurers versus various monsters. When you obtain more than three in your group switching members in-between battles is a cinch. Equipping and removing gear is painless as well. That for me is always a positive point. There’s nothing like RPG menu fatigue. There is a small learning curve, but once you get used them the menus are slick and helpful.

Another unique feature of Chrono Trigger is the lack of random battles. For an RPG this was virtually unheard of in 1995. You can actually see enemies and choose to confront them or not. However, there are enemy ambushes, and most bosses aren’t optional.

The bosses are a blast. They are audacious and sometimes screen-filling. Most of them come with quirky dialogue to show off their distinct personalities. Figuring out the patterns to defeat them is classic RPG fun.

The battle system is easy enough to learn for beginners and just deep enough to please RPG veterans. There are the tech system, items, and basic attacks (that allow you to use whatever weapon your character is equipped with). It is by no means the most complex array of decisions, and for the flow of this game, that’s a plus. Anything more would have been a distraction.

The “tech” system is the game’s standout feature. Tech options consist of special moves and magic. Magic points are used when choosing to use a tech. Using magic is satisfying in battle, but the really fun part is the combo moves. Different characters can learn to combine their respective abilities in order to perform powerful dual and triple attacks. It’s fun to see the characters interacting with each other during battle using their respective “dual” and “triple-techs.”

I should mention that you are able to choose between the “ATB” (Active Time Battle) or “Wait” mode. In the ATB mode monsters don’t wait for you to make decisions. The game was designed for this method of play and it seems to flow better than wait mode, which lets you take your time to decide how to attack or heal. However, it really depends on preference, and the ATB is slightly more challenging.

A Few Issues

Though I enjoyed the battle system, it is also where I found my first discomfort with the DS presentation. Sometimes I find the touch screen to be more of a novelty than a helpful gaming feature. Do the touch screen controls add to or detract from the DS experience of Chrono Trigger? This is another feature that depends on preference. I personally found it distracting. I ended up ignoring any touch function and just using traditional controls. It was nice to have the upper screen free of clutter. At times I missed the result of an action on the top screen while I was making a decision on the lower. For example, there was one particular boss-battle where, because of the dual screen, I kept accidentally healing my opponent.

A factor that exists from the original release is the repetition of the combat, specifically techs. If you do any sort of level grinding (or fighting to get experience points) you will obtain most of your magics fairly early in the game. Even though this may be a drawback for veteran RPG players, the good news is, a new player can run through the game without needing to grind, but it will make the bosses more difficult.

Having played Square’s re-releases of Final Fantasy games for the Game Boy Advance and DS, I was also expecting a quick save feature. Chrono Trigger does not have one. So make sure you plan out your time a bit before you get too far into a scenario.

A World to Believe in

The graphic presentation needs to be seen in motion to be understood. For a game released in 1995 it was quite spectacular. The vibrancy of the graphics have endured to the modern Nintendo DS. The color choices and art direction are top notch. Characters are designed with personality and feeling, monsters are diverse and fun, and the backgrounds have a depth to them that helps support the believability of it all. It should be mentioned that the soundtrack excels and compliments throughout the story, influencing the perception of the images.

I was also impressed by the details of Chrono Trigger’s plot. There are a multitude of well-balanced scenarios that add up to a long adventure. While cleverly paced so as to not be boring or tedious, the plot twists make sense but aren’t predictable or telegraphed. The game moves you forward in a somewhat linear fashion, but it doesn’t feel forced, making the task of saving the world seem plausible. When it finally branches into different directions it feels natural.

Chrono Trigger follows the Japanese tradition of the protagonist being a symbolic representation of the player. The main character is also mute, except for certain yes or no questions and other similar decisions at key points of the story. Many choices even alter history itself. Because this was first released in 1995, which was a good thirteen years before Mass Effect or Grand Theft Auto IV, multiple paths weren’t an accepted staple in the mainstream yet. It was surprising that your answers could actually affect the outcome of the story. This eventually leads to about fourteen multiple endings if different paths are chosen.

Bonus Round

Even though the main game has plenty for an eager player to chew on, the DS release also gives us extra goodies. Anime cut scenes that were originally added to the PlayStation release are also found here. A bestiary and item description area is included for the collector and completion-ist types. There is also a music player, art gallery, and movie player. It felt like Square included DVD bonus features, which I found enjoyable.

On top of the “DVD” features there is a monster battle arena for obtaining goodies, and (possibly) battling your friends. I enjoyed getting rare items and watching my “little darling” level up and morph.

There are also two new dungeon/quest areas, which are optional. This is good as they may be tedious for some. I found them quite enjoyable and looked forward to discovering the challenges set forth.

Because the main game is so solid, Chrono Trigger shouldn’t be judged by its bonus features. However, if fourteen different endings weren’t already enough, the re-playability factor is boosted.

At the End of the Day

Chrono Trigger has a special spirit to it. The characters are charitable and put the needs of others above their own, seeking to save a planet against impossible odds. Of course, this is basic RPG or superhero fare, but it somehow feels different. I know it sounds weird to say, but as I played, I felt like I was doing something good for the world. The universe created around Crono and his friends is not only immersive but emotional too.

Does Chrono Trigger DS live up to its considerable legend? Yes! Thirteen video-game years can be a lifetime, but this title has held up considerably. If you own a DS and are even mildly interested in RPG’s this is the game to get. It represents a moment of pure creative genius. The presentation is authentic, the themes are mythic, the characters are interesting, and most importantly the game play is solid-fun.

The Breakdown

Graphics: 98- Chrono Trigger was almost perfect in what was trying to be captured. The quirkiness and detail shine through. It seemed the only thing holding the creators back was technology. However, the graphics hold up well even against modern 2-D titles.

Gameplay: 90- Despite some enemy and tech repetition, it is satisfying to zap and bash opponents with single, dual, and triple tech combos. Making decisions that alter history is exciting. I’m not a fan of the DS touch controls, but some players may find them workable.

Production: 100- Flawless. Chrono Trigger is that rare moment of genius when creativity comes together and makes something legendary.

Sound: 95- There is some cheesiness, but the soundtrack performs its job at enhancing the story, game play, and authenticity of the world.

Lasting Appeal: 100- Chrono Trigger has obvious appeal. It has been around for years, and cited by many as the greatest game of all time. Without question it has a higher than normal replay ability, for an RPG especially.

Overall: 97

Edgar and the Long Night

JOE WOODWARD and I were running from a truck at 2:00 am Saturday morning. We were both eleven years old.

Joe and I had wanted to have a sleepover. We had been talking about it in Mrs. Lambert’s 5th grade class. A friend of ours named Chris Edgar wanted to have a sleepover too. His Mom approved of all us staying the night at their place. I think Joe and I dreaded this slightly, but we were eager for sugar fueled pre-teen adventures.

In order to understand our dread of the sleepover you must understand, no one fully trusted Chris Edgar. There were two sides to him. We all liked him. He was a friend. He could be charismatic, and was often the leader of a group. I really liked Edgar. He had even punched a kid in the face for me once.

The kid Edgar punched had, first, kicked me in the face during ‘King of the Mountain.’ King of the mountain is a game we played when it snowed. First, someone would make a pile of snow. Then someone would stand on top of the pile. That someone was King of the Mountain. Everyone in the immediate vicinity would then viciously charge the ‘King.’ Whoever knocked down the King took his place, and everyone proceeded to attack the new ‘King.’ It’s all very Shakespearean. There are so many social metaphors I can see associated with this game. Yet it remains as brutally simple as another childhood favorite, ‘Smear the Queer.’ So this kid in our grade had been ‘King’ and I pushed him one way while someone else pushed him towards me. This kid jumped in frustration and kicked me in the face. The webbing between my top lip and front teeth split. Tears filled my eyes, and blood came from my mouth amidst hot winter breath seen on the air. The recess bell rang and everyone started running towards the school to line up for class. I was on my back and Chris Edgar helped me up. He had been playing the game and saw the entire incident. I think his words were something like "That dick! I’m going to punch him in the mouth next recess" Chris Edgar made good on his promise. That kid, who is so important I forgot his damn name, never really came near me again.

As opposed to Edgar’s leader-defender role, was his extreme-selfish anger. Edgar used to freak out. I mean he really went nuts. Everyone in our little friend group, sometimes called “The Krew,” (This was our gang invented by Joe Woodward) knew that Edgar was dangerous when he lost control. Personally, I spent a lot of energy trying to prevent any ‘freak out’ episodes when I was with him.

I recall the first time I went to Chris Edgar’s house. He lived in a basement apartment. In his room he had a World War II era bayonet. He kept it on top of his television. He showed it to me. Then he jumped up and down jamming it into his ceiling. He was yelling, “My fucking Mom! I don’t fucking care!”

I wasn’t really sure what he was mad about. I still don’t.

After he created about fifteen holes in his ceiling we went outside and played guns. I had an orange water gun that looked like a police issue semi-auto, and Chris had a black sub machine gun. His gun looked real, but it wasn’t. It was from the 1980’s. Back then you could sell toy guns that looked authentic. There weren’t any bright colors to warn the police that you were just a kid. We started by hunting down “The Predator” (from a popular movie starring Arnold Schwarzenegger). And we finished with an epic showdown versus a large dragon. We fired thousands of rounds at that dragon. Edgar finally grabbed a (plastic) sword to stab its heart. While I finished the job with a grenade shoved into the creature’s fiery mouth. As we walked away satisfied the creature came back to life briefly. We had to quickly turn around and fire a few hundred more rounds to finish the job like heroes from an awesome 80's movie.

Another time at Edgar’s my pants got wet during a water fight with “Super Soakers,” balloons, and a backyard hose. Chris lent me a pair of blue-jeans. Joe Woodward was there that time too. Joe and I decided to go to his house to play a Nintendo game. Chris was going to come also, but his Mom came home and said he couldn’t. Edgar started screaming at his Mom. He said she was a “stupid bitch.” Joe and I went outside while Chris and his Mom yelled at each other. We stood around for a minute, but decided to just take off.

I remember it was a cloudless and beautiful summer evening. The Sun was shining just right through the green trees of Holladay. We were a few houses down when Edgar came running at me like a man on a mission. If you’ve ever seen The Red Hot Chili Pepper’s video for “Under the Bridge,” and watched Anthony Keidis running in slo-mo, well, that’s what Edgar looked like. He grabbed my shoulders and said, “No. You’re staying at my house.”

I said, “Uhm… I think I want to go to Joe’s House.” I looked over and saw some cute girls, about our age, walking by and staring at us.

Edgar screamed, “Okay! Take off my pants! Take them off!” He started to grab at the jeans he had lent me. “Give them back now!”

I was like, “No way man. Come on.” My pride was destroyed, in front of cute girls and everything. Somehow I felt like a bigger jackass than how Chris was actually acting.

Eventually Edgar’s Mom showed up and somehow talked him into letting me go. She was sort of a pushover with him though.

My Mom and I brought his pants back that same week.

So, later on Joe and I scheduled a sleepover. And like I said, it ended up at Edgar’s. Now, as to what event caused Joe and I to leave at 1:55 am on a Friday morning, I can only imagine. Because I don’t actually recall what he did. But it was scary enough for two 11 year olds to brave the dark streets. So we snuck out while Chris was in the bathroom. We shoved all our gear into our backpacks. We slipped quietly past his sleeping Mom. (She slept in a bed in the kitchen area.) And Joe Woodward and I went walking to his house at a brisk pace.

Now, walking in the dark is something I didn’t want to do. I had a lot of fears as a kid. One of those fears being that of the dark. I was also afraid of the possibility of some older teenagers seeing us and harassing us, possibly pounding us. Teenagers didn’t see us, or pound us, that night. But when Joe tapped my arm and pointed towards the headlights coming from behind us, I thought I was a dead man. My heart went “heeeuggghckkk!” Joe, ever the sharp survivalist, jumped into some bushes to our right. I followed promptly.

The headlights, as it turned out, belonged to Edgar’s Mom’s truck. They were looking for us, presumably to take us back. We did not want to go back. They were driving very slowly. I could see the dark shapes of mother and son as they drove by. Of course, they seemed to drive even more slowly when passing our hiding place. I’m surprised the headlights didn’t reflect off my eyes, which were about a mile wide with fear.

It was a rush. But it kind of felt cool too. It felt like I was living a little bit of an adventure. I thought that’s what it’s like to be in “The Krew.”

The truck turned a corner and Joe was up and running. I was right behind him. Now I could feel the adrenaline and my hands shaking with excitement. It wasn’t really a life or death situation, but going back to Edgar’s that night would have felt like prison. Because of how the neighborhood was setup we knew the truck would be coming back around our way. We had 100 yards or so to get to Joe’s house.

It seemed like 400 yards.

We finally reached Joe’s driveway, and there were headlights coming! Joe’s Dad had his old beat-up truck in the driveway. There was a shell on the back. Joe lifted the window of the shell and we both scrambled in. Joe actually made sure I was in first. He was a good guy that way.

Joe and I peeked through the shell window and watched Edgar and his Mom drive back the road we had just sprinted. We had made it. But now we were tired. And Joe’s parents were kind of weird. For some reason they wouldn’t have understood that we needed to get away from Chris Edgar. I don’t think they even allowed sleepovers at their house. They didn’t even like Joe’s friends to eat dinner with their family. I was never allowed to. Joe’s Mom would cook up some crazy looking casserole. I would be at their house all day and practically starving by dinner time. This woman, who was either sadistic or just oblivious, would then take the casserole out of the oven, have me and Joe set the table, and then say, “Call your Mom to come pick you up now Nick. We’re having dinner.”

No shit lady! I’m starving.

I wonder now if it was Joe’s Dad. He was a pilot. I think he was one of those guys who wanted his house to be a quiet refuge. As far as I’m aware Joe’s parents weren’t very affectionate to their children.

Also as a side note: Joe’s Mom had boobs that drooped down to her waistline. It looked like they just popped out of her stomach. Her belly button would’ve been the cleavage area. It was pretty gross.

So there we sat in the bed of a truck. We didn’t have sleeping bags or pillows. We had backpacks with toothbrushes and candy. Joe knew there would be hell to pay if we knocked on his door, and he didn’t have a house key. I think it’s a law of nature that eleven year olds don’t carry house keys. So we tried to sleep on the hard, uneven metal of a 1978 GMC. (I’m guessing the year and make of the vehicle. But it sounds good, doesn’t it?)

Well I couldn’t sleep. I don’t think Joe could either, but I complained more. To this day I just really like mattresses and pillows. I finally convinced Joe to try and break into his house. Getting inside was a long process. I have to hand it to Joe though. He would’ve made an excellent cat-burglar.

We snuck ever so quietly to the side gate. Joe took about five minutes to open it, as to not have it squeak. Then we stepped through, and there was another five minutes to close the damn thing. We sat on the back porch and whispered for a bit. (On this same back porch, later and in the daytime, we would roll maple leaves into paper and pretend to smoke it. We also would later obtain dirty magazines and read them in the bushes on the other side of his house. For having prudish cold parents, Joe’s house was a pretty fun place.) Joe still needed some convincing. He was really afraid if we got caught it would not be good for him. He was pushing his glasses in the middle of their frame.

Joe was known for his thick glasses and blue “chums.” Chums were pieces of thick cloth that acted as a security belt for if a kids glasses fell of his face. They turned your glasses into the dorkiest necklace of all time. Joe was always pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose when he was thinking hard.

I don’t remember what I said, but I can be very manipulative at times. I’m sure I used this attribute. I was sick of being outside. And the back of a truck for five more hours was just too much for me, if there was a possible option of a bed. Only a sliding glass door, a living room, and hallway separated us from our goal of Joe’s room. Finally Joe went quietly into his garage, through the window. I stayed outside. He came back with a screwdriver. He jimmied this tool into the bottom of the sliding glass door. A cut broom handle was in the metal to prevent one from opening the back glass door. Joe wriggled the wood up onto the carpet. He then whispered, “Let’s hope the top lock isn’t locked.”

It was.

But Joe, bless his soul, silently wiggled that damn door until it somehow lifted off the lock and slid open. The sliding open process took another five minutes; and of course five minutes to close too. I’m not exaggerating about that either. When it came to silent break-ins, Joe was a perfectionist. It was a long ten minutes for myself. Long.

I hadn’t actually seen him like that before. He was always loud and crazy. His parents must have put some serious fear into his mind. It was like seeing him act as an adult. He was taking a sort of responsibility I hadn’t seen him act on before that night.

The screwdriver was put into Joe’s back pocket. The wooden door-stopper was replaced ever so quietly. We snuck across the living room, down the hallway and had another long wait as Joe, slooowly, opened his bedroom door. Then slooowly shut it behind us.

Morning light was sneaking in through Joe’s curtained window. We crawled into Joe’s bed and relaxed. He explained that in the morning we would go outside and pretend to walk home from Edgar’s. That plan actually worked too.

I really liked Joe at that point. I was happy he was my friend.

Joe, crazily enough, turned on some music. There was a small tape player at the top of his bed. He assured me his parent’s wouldn’t hear it. He pressed play and a very low volumed soundtrack to “Super Mario Bros. 2” came on. He had recorded it from the game himself by putting the tape player up to the TV speakers.

We were talking in sleepy whispers when we heard a door open in the hallway. It shut and footsteps came towards us. They walked pass and into the kitchen. We could hear running water. Joe said, “My Dad’s making tea. My parents just had sex.”

I believed him. I didn’t ever ask him how he knew that his parent’s had just had sex. But I still believe him to this day.

We both slept well.

Life in the Movies

THE BLUE SKY held the moon above the mountains.  How could this scene be understood if you didn’t grow up in Utah?  My seven year old eyes looked, and I wondered.  How is that I see the Moon in the daytime?  The sky was summer clear blue. Three quarters of the celestial object were visible.  It was easy to see, but you still had to look for it.  If one looked Eastward from Holladay the moon could be viewed above Mount Olympus floating graceful yet solid.  My attention was caught on another heavenly object also.  To the North of Mr. Moon a jet was leaving its white stream across the sky.  From where I stood the jet seemed to be at a crawl.  Like an ant treading a smooth ocean.

It’s hard to imagine life without cinematic framing.  As a child of the late twentieth century I tend to make statements before I make the point.  That’s what I just did.  

Maybe we could focus on this cinematic theme for a moment.  I opened this chapter with something that could make a great opening shot for a movie.  Is that because I see life through cinematic eyes?  Surely more visual paragraphs have been written before the advent of moving pictures.  It would be interesting to know how much movies have affected my way of thinking.

When I was serving a mission for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints in Nebraska I first thought of this idea of life being related to movies.  Well, Elder John thought of it first actually.  

Elder David John was from Arizona.  He was born into the LDS Church.  At age 14 he was in an off-road accident.  This left him with amnesia.  He started living with a Jewish rabbi at age fifteen and converted to Judaism.  Later when challenged to read the Book of Mormon he was touched by a certain story and was convinced of The Book’s authenticity.  Thus he found, as an amnesiac Jew, that Jesus was The Messiah.  When I got home from my mission and saw The Lord of The Ring movies, I was blown away at the resemblance John had with Gollum.  Anyhow, I was driving a green Dodge Neon we used for appointments.  Elder John had been serving with me for about six weeks.  We were in an affluent part of Lincoln Nebraska.  We drove past a man strutting down the sidewalk.  When we drove past the man stared at us and then squinted down the road with a swagger to rival John Travolta.   John exhaled breath and said, “Gah, people make me sick.  They all think they’re in some movie or something, you know?  Like life is just a movie.  You know what I mean Elder West?  People are so stupid.”

So I’ve never seen a cinematic representation of the Salt Lake I know.  Every time I see that Moon in the daytime I wonder why no one has captured that on film.  Maybe someone has and I just haven’t seen it. 

If you ever get the chance, take a drive down Big Cottonwood Canyon in spring time.  Right when the sun is going down.  If you come up just right you can catch the dark glow of my valley.  Right when the Sun has gone behind the Oquirrh Mountains but is still giving light, the mountains would be dark around you.  But a golden glow would welcome you.  And that glow would fade as lights from kitchens, porches, and living rooms become magic.

That’s what I would like to capture on film.

Could you assemble your life in chronological order so that it made sense?  So that it had a point, or a theme?  

What level of pretentiousness do I have to write an autobiography at the age of twenty-seven years?

Music.  I always felt like I had a soundtrack to my life.  Maybe that’s because since my tenth birthday I’ve always owned some type of portable music player.  

Beer.  I really like beer.

The end.

These words are just a symbolic representation of experiences from my own perspective.  You can only understand these words because you’ve learned the symbolic meaning.  Most human beings I know understand the world through symbols, (at least as far as I can figure in my interpretation of their symbolic expressions anyhow).  

 

I suspect that rationality is a misnomer.