First piece of published writing in a long time is here! I wrote an essay about how I became a fan of F.C. Girondins de Bordeaux even though I have never been to Bordeaux. Maybe next year I will actually make it there and go to a game! Fingers crossed.
I ran a race, and I made a vlog. The race was the Davis Moonlight Run 5k, and the vlog is this video:
Follow my channel, where I’m going to try to make weekly videos about my training, my life, and other things.
My plan was originally to write a little running report about last night’s race, for a number of reasons. It was my first-ever nighttime race, which was an interesting change to my usual racing routine. I also initially targeted this race as my chance to run a sub-18 5k, but then decided to bail on the race (and that goal) because of a spring and early summer of terrible training. But after a great track workout this week, I decided to try it anyway. All of these factors made me want to record my thoughts leading up to the race and immediately after.
I thought it might be fun to do it as a video, but it turns out that took just as much time as (if not more than) writing a blog post. But maybe having a different medium will help my visibility, thereby boosting traffic to this site (and maybe also generating some writing and other creative opportunities to boot!)
The video is short, but the ultimate takeaway is that I did well in the Moonlight Run in terms of racing–I came in second overall, not “third or fourth” as I say in the video–but fell well short of my time goal. That just means I need to work harder, because I certainly did not train very hard this time around.
As of this writing, I’ve seen Solo, the latest Star Wars movie, twice. It’s been out for one day. Maybe I don’t need to say that I liked it a lot, but I do want to note that while I loved it when I saw it for the first time during Thursday previews, I really loved it when I saw it on Friday, it’s official opening day.
Much has been written (by the people who get paid to write about movies and things) about Solo‘s semi-troubled production. Since the original directors Christopher Miller and Phil Lord were replaced by Ron Howard, it’s been alternately claimed that part of their clash with Disney/LucasFilm execs was about their desire to make eithet a grittier movie or a goofier, Guardians of the Galaxy-esque one. In the end, Solo is stronger for having been made by Howard, who sure does know how to make a good, kind of old-fashioned movie. That’s what this ended up being. It’s good and fun, not very predictable, with good performances, great visuals, and fun capers.
Much has also been made of Disney’s decision to bring in an acting coach for Aldon Ehrenreich, the actor given the unenviable task of trying to create a satisfying young version of Harrison Ford’s iconic character. I don’t know what struggled Ehrenreich had–or if he even had any, as he has claimed the acting coach was hired to support the entire cast–but I do know that he nails it. There will always be people who had their own idea of what Young Han should be like, but Ehrenreich did as well as–if not better than–anyone could have realistically expected.
The thing is, Han Solo as portrayed by Harrison Ford is not a character who can carry a movie. Han Solo as portrayed as Aldon Ehrenreich is. Ford’s Solo is iconic–he’s simultaneously clever and lucky, swashbuckling and sentimental, arrogant and desperate for validation. But he’s able to be all of those things because we are seeing him in relation to other characters who carry more of the story. How does an actor do all of that while also carrying the story in its entirety? The movie is called Solo, after all.
Forming a supergroup is a risky proposition. When several masters of a genre come together to form something new, there is a spectrum of possible end results. It could fail to live up to the hype and expectations, falling short of the talent of any of the individual members. More rarely, it can far exceed anyone’s loftiest expectations, creating something new and exciting and memorable. Most often, it falls somewhere in the middle.
In 2014, three of the biggest names in progressive bluegrass, Sarah Jarosz, Sara Watkins, and Aiofe O’Donovan, started playing together under the name I’m With Her. Earlier this year, the trio released its first album, called “See You Around.” I’m not sure if anyone is throwing around the “supergroup” label for this trio, but I strongly believe that’s how we should consider them, because all three members are great. And this album falls so far on the great end of the spectrum described above that I’m just awestruck. This is one of the best albums I’ve heard in a long, long time.
From August 2012 through July 2013, I lived in Brooklyn with a woman I would end up marrying just under two years after we left New York. I had a scraggly beard and greasy hair and worked for a “New Media” company with offices in the East Village. Our apartment was filled with furniture that Franny found on the street, carried up the stairs of our third-floor walk-up, and completely re-made into something new. Money was always tight but we had great friends with whom we would go drinking on the weekends. Our life was just so Brooklyn, in the 21st century caricature of Brooklyn as a place where white gentrifiers from outside New York live and party when they’re not at their Manhattan-based tech, media, or finance jobs.
Like any place that has, inevitably, changed over the many generations since it was founded, the Brooklyn that we inhabited was the evolution of the legendary and historic Brooklyns of the past — legendary and historic Brooklyns that in some places continued to exist and thrive at the same time they were being displaced and/or appropriated by newcomers like me. It’s a city of over two and a half million that has existed for hundreds of years, so these historic and legendary Brooklyns are innumerable. They include the Brooklyns of Spike Lee, Biggie Smalls, Mos Def, and Jay Z, as well as the Brooklyns of the Jackie Robinson and the Dodgers, Mel Brooks, and Jimmy Durante. They also include the Brooklyn of Betty Smith, the Williamsburg-born author of A Tree Grows in Brooklyn.
We got a copy of her landmark 1943 novel the way we got so many books and records during our year in Brooklyn: from a sidewalk near our apartment, after somebody had put a stack of books and magazines outside for the taking. I didn’t actually read it until this January, nearly four and a half years after we left Kings County.
The Last Jedi came out out December 14, 2017. I saw it on December 16, then again on December 29. This continued my streak of seeing all of the new Star Wars movies in the theater twice, which I began with The Force Awakens and continued with Rogue One: A Star Wars Story. The Last Jedi is the best of the new Star Wars movies, and is maybe the best entry yet in this massively successful, 40-year-old franchise.
This is, of course, not an incontrovertible position. The White Male Resentment crowd has some problems with it, flooding the movie’s Rotten Tomatoes profile with negative reactions in an effort to artificially deflate its score. [Ed. Note: A long and forceful discussion of Rotten Tomatoes being a crappy metric has been removed. Nobody has time for that.] There are also good-faith reasons to dislike the movie, or at least have some problems with it. It is certainly not a perfect movie — no big-budget blockbuster will ever be a “perfect” movie — but some of those good-faith arguments against it are exactly why I liked it so much.
The following comes from an email I sent to a friend from high school, a doctor back in Baltimore, who emailed me with some of his concerns about the movie:
A huge part of this movie, I think, was sort of blowing up what we expect a Star Wars movie to be. In the same way that lots of people expected Snoke to be nouveau Palpatine but then he ended up dying in the Second Act of the second film in the trilogy, a huge secondary theme has to do with Poe’s recklessness. So much of sci-fi relies on the dashing, daring hero speaking truth to power and taking the necessary steps that the powers-that-be refuse to. We’re expected to dislike Holdo in favor of Poe — I actually expected Laura Dern to be a double agent when I watched the movie the first time — but as it turns out she knows that if she gives Poe an inch he’ll undermine her authority and mess things up. Which he, Finn, and Rose end up doing anyway!My thinking is, the stakes are actually super high for the Canto Bight/Benicio del Toro sequences, it’s just that the stakes aren’t what we expect. The normal stakes would be: They succeed in their mission, the Resistance survives; they fail and everyone dies. But because Holdo has an actual plan — which she withholds from them because of Poe’s documented refusal to follow orders — the actual stakes are that they need to minimize the damage they do. They DO need to succeed, but not for the usual reason: when they fail, Benicio del Toro sells them out, and hundreds of Resistance fighters die.Their failure to follow orders, and subsequent failure to minimize the damage for that, means that suddenly the entire Resistance can fit inside the Millennium Falcon. This sets up a crazy, holy-crap-how-do-they-eventually-win third installment.
I almost didn’t write this essay this year. Looking back on the ones I’ve written before, it seems like I write the same exact essay every single year. When was the last time I finished a year genuinely satisfied with how it went, and excited about what the next one would bring? Well, at the end of 2015, the year I got married, probably. But other than that? Never.
Last year I even wrote this essay twice. I had to re-write it because the first one was so self-indulgent and mopey. As excited as I had been to enter 2016, I felt like the year crushed me. I finished last year hating myself and my surroundings — basically hating everything except my wife and my cat. (Not always in that order.) It was the lowest I’d felt since the spring of our year in New York.
This time last year, I set several goals for myself: to be at least a fraction as good a person as my wife; to run regularly and start racing again; to go to therapy and get myself right in the head; to write more regularly and more productively; and to follow current events but not so closely it threatened my mental health. To sum it all up, I wanted to take better care of myself. I wanted to get myself healthy.
I didn’t achieve a single one of these things! Even the therapy one — which really should have been the foundation upon which the rest of the getting-myself-right would be built — was a failure. It took me a month and a half to find a therapist (because insurance is bad!), and then she wanted me to come in more often than I could afford to. Yes, my biggest stressor is financial, and she wanted me to come in once a week even though I could barely afford to go in once a pay period.
When I re-read both of last year’s essays, I was shocked to realize how much those words mirror how I have felt this fall and early winter. Finishing out 2017, I felt exactly the same as at the end of 2016.
Just after Christmas, my wife and I were talking about our general dissatisfaction with this past year. I compared it to the year we lived in New York. The difference, we agreed, is that when things were really bad in New York, we made a change. In 2016, we did nothing to help ourselves.
(Ironically, just a few years ago this would have been a good thing! After we got ourselves right after our New York disaster, I craved stability more than anything, and in 2015 I got it! Just two years later, and it’s gone from benefit to detriment. Funny how important context is to what we value.)
In 2018, something has to change. What, I’m not sure — but I don’t think it has to be a big thing. At least not to start. The foundation upon which further change can be built lies within me. Over the last two years, I’ve allowed myself to wallow too much. I’ve allowed myself to be brought down by the way I live in a terribly boring place, or by my growing failure to create any art, or by the way I can barely pay my bills* despite making the best money I’ve ever made, because the cost of living in the Bay Area is so outrageous.
These things drive resentment inside me. In the — bear with me — Nitzschean sense. Ressentiment, allowing my internal state to be a reaction to external factors rather than maintaining control of what I feel within me.
I want so badly to be a happy, loving, positive person, the kind of person who empowers and uplifts those around him. But I become so worn down by the things bothering me that I can’t see or appreciate the good. More often than not, I’m just a big, blue crab.