I have a predilection for World War II movies. I don't believe this was born of any innate penchant for violence. By and large I would consider myself a passive man. While I don't shun conflicts or violence, I certainly do not seek them out.
My own theory as to why I have a proclivity for WWII movies dates back to my sickly nature as a child. Home with a sore throat or ear infection, those days were largely spent on the couch in front of a television. Beyond Bugs Bunny, I wasn't really into cartoons. As a result I watched more episodes of Designing Women, Matlock, and Murder She Wrote than I should admit. Which, I guess goes quite a ways in explaining a lot about me. My television was glued to such stations as TBS or AMC on days there were (war) movies showing. I continue to regard many of these movies as some of my favorite of all time.
Confined to the couch, it wasn't the war that attracted me. It was the adventure. It was the camaraderie. The fighting underdog spirit that was imbued in each film. Two particular movies especially epitomize these characteristics. The Dirty Dozen (starring Lee Marvin, Telly Savalas, Jim Brown, Donald Sutherland, Charles Bronson, and John Cassavetes) was the film that manifested itself first. However, it was Kelly's Heroes, somewhat later in my childhood, that truly came to pass as a passionately revered film. It's a simple tale. A group of men advance behind enemy lines to steal $16 million in gold bullion from the "Krauts." It is a journey of self-interest and adventure above all.
This will probably always remain my favorite Clint Eastwood film. His taciturn role is comically offset by the supporting cast. It is, in my eyes, one of the most quotable films of all time ("To a New Yorker like you, a hero is some type of weird sandwich, not some nut who takes on three Tigers"). This is thanks largely to the supporting efforts of actors like Donald Sutherland, the very antithesis of truculence, as perhaps the first hippie in the history of man. His philosophical outbursts ("Always with the negative waves Moriarty, always with the negative waves") pepper the movie with a necessary comic edge. The cast is filled out with notable actors like Don Rickles & Telly Savalas who further the movie in their own ways. Rickles with his usual acerbic wit, and Telly Savalas as the somewhat reluctant and stern conscious of the rag tag outfit (having Uncle Leo himself, Len Lester, is just a nice cherry on top).
Burning Bridges, a song performed by the Mike Curb Congregation, is one of my favorite of all time. It is the theme song for Kelly's Heroes. Not only was hearing it on my way home from work the impetus for this post, but I also feel it goes a long way in explaining why I enjoy these WWII movies so much. The lyrics, in a way, mirror the driving force behind the plot in the film. The narrator details how his "friends all tried to warn" him but he passed them by. It is ultimately a song about forging your own path in the face of those who doubt you. The upbeat, almost cavalier song has a deceivingly tragic ending though. You are given the impression that this person will succeed. That despite the warnings of friends, he will over come and be victorious. But the last verse belies this sentiment--"Years have passed and I keep thinking what a fool I've been/I look back into the past and think of way back then/I know that I lost everything I thought I that could win/I guess I should have listened to my friends"
I don't think it's always advisable to toss away the advice of friends. They are often the people with the best perspective on the problems and issues in your life. But, for me, the song is truly the best way to live life. Perhaps it is irresponsibly cavalier to live life without concern for the possible repercussions. For me, however, it is worse to live life with a glaze of fear tinting your decisions. I can live with the repercussions of my mistakes. I don't think I could live with the profound regrets of a fainthearted and truncated existence.
Thursday, February 26, 2009
Saturday, February 21, 2009
The Path
My posting frequency has been unacceptably low of late. Of course, I have plausible reasons for this. Not matter the situation, there are always excuses.
With a somewhat "normal" forty hour a week job, writing six columns a month, fumbling my way through writing a "book", learning Spanish, and maintaining a somewhat functional social life, it often seems that Warm Evenings has been squeezed from it's natural spot at the top of my list of priorities.
I seem to have the exact opposite problem of Hugh Grant in About A Boy. His entire life was one of leisure. Now, granted, I just got back from an amazing trip to Hawaii so I suppose there are parts of my existence that could be construed as "leisurely." The difference, I like to think, between myself and Will is rather large. While his daily plan is to simply take up chunks of time during the day until it is over, I seem to run out of those chunks. He visits the record store or the movies for something to do. I've begun to feel as if I have too much to do. Anytime I get to sneak off for a movie is a treat.
All of this is such a stark contrast to my life at this time last year...in truth it's in stark contrast to the majority of my life. Not much ever got in the way of me doing as I pleased, very much similar to the way Will lives in the film. In the past I was too content to "float on," like the song implores. It's a mindset that in many ways I still think I have. I can all too easily shut out the problems of the world around me. It is both a gift and a curse. It's hard to push yourself to accomplish something when you possess a general sense of ambivalence towards life.
So it is all very odd for me to truly care about something outside myself--to generally and openly seek to become something. My past was consumed with finding something to do to finance the things I wanted to do. After spending almost a year here, I have finally realized the futility in this sort of behavior. Without actively seeking the life you want for yourself, you'll never attain a sense of pleasure in your life. I'm not there yet but I feel I'm at least on the path. And that is certainly better than wandering aimlessly in the woods.
With a somewhat "normal" forty hour a week job, writing six columns a month, fumbling my way through writing a "book", learning Spanish, and maintaining a somewhat functional social life, it often seems that Warm Evenings has been squeezed from it's natural spot at the top of my list of priorities.
I seem to have the exact opposite problem of Hugh Grant in About A Boy. His entire life was one of leisure. Now, granted, I just got back from an amazing trip to Hawaii so I suppose there are parts of my existence that could be construed as "leisurely." The difference, I like to think, between myself and Will is rather large. While his daily plan is to simply take up chunks of time during the day until it is over, I seem to run out of those chunks. He visits the record store or the movies for something to do. I've begun to feel as if I have too much to do. Anytime I get to sneak off for a movie is a treat.
All of this is such a stark contrast to my life at this time last year...in truth it's in stark contrast to the majority of my life. Not much ever got in the way of me doing as I pleased, very much similar to the way Will lives in the film. In the past I was too content to "float on," like the song implores. It's a mindset that in many ways I still think I have. I can all too easily shut out the problems of the world around me. It is both a gift and a curse. It's hard to push yourself to accomplish something when you possess a general sense of ambivalence towards life.
So it is all very odd for me to truly care about something outside myself--to generally and openly seek to become something. My past was consumed with finding something to do to finance the things I wanted to do. After spending almost a year here, I have finally realized the futility in this sort of behavior. Without actively seeking the life you want for yourself, you'll never attain a sense of pleasure in your life. I'm not there yet but I feel I'm at least on the path. And that is certainly better than wandering aimlessly in the woods.
Sunday, February 8, 2009
Dark is the Night
(This is a rough excerpt from One Good Year, a book about life, love, and traveling that I'm trying to finish)
It's harder at night to keep a rein on my mind. Lying their in darkness I can almost feel her next to me. Her head resting against my chest, a leg strung across my thigh, as she lay tightly against me. It's the night--the pure and unalterable emptiness of the night--that is the most difficult.
When the sun is up it's not as much of a challenge. Your life is in effect, there is activity, there is work. These distractions can only momentarily be broken—by a day dream or an inquisitive friend. Life takes hold again and you are forced from the lonely thought. In the darkness there is no one to distract you from your own mind. You're forced to bear what weighs on your heart.
I fought against this emptiness. I sought comfort in the companionship of others. I distracted myself to the point of exhaustion trying to avoid any chance of dealing with the devil of the darkness.
The irony is that the more we seek to distract ourselves from something, the more we encounter it. It's an endless struggle, one that is constantly fought. Inevitably this silly battle of distractions will fail and the more fully we'll experience it as a result.
Now my life is spent feeling the emptiness beside me. Often I return home secretly hoping she might be there, another sly surprise like the one so long ago. A flood of happiness overtakes me when I see that she has sent me an email. These little naïve hopes are manageable. Though despairingly embarrassing, they are minor. Just small bumps patiently waiting to be smoothed in time. It's the night—the reality of the longing, the void born from our separation—that seems unmanageable.
Night after night, each evening was traded for morning next to my love. A constancy was created. Now this expected certainty has vanished. My only companion in the darkness are those long ago memories of tender nights.
It's harder at night to keep a rein on my mind. Lying their in darkness I can almost feel her next to me. Her head resting against my chest, a leg strung across my thigh, as she lay tightly against me. It's the night--the pure and unalterable emptiness of the night--that is the most difficult.
When the sun is up it's not as much of a challenge. Your life is in effect, there is activity, there is work. These distractions can only momentarily be broken—by a day dream or an inquisitive friend. Life takes hold again and you are forced from the lonely thought. In the darkness there is no one to distract you from your own mind. You're forced to bear what weighs on your heart.
I fought against this emptiness. I sought comfort in the companionship of others. I distracted myself to the point of exhaustion trying to avoid any chance of dealing with the devil of the darkness.
The irony is that the more we seek to distract ourselves from something, the more we encounter it. It's an endless struggle, one that is constantly fought. Inevitably this silly battle of distractions will fail and the more fully we'll experience it as a result.
Now my life is spent feeling the emptiness beside me. Often I return home secretly hoping she might be there, another sly surprise like the one so long ago. A flood of happiness overtakes me when I see that she has sent me an email. These little naïve hopes are manageable. Though despairingly embarrassing, they are minor. Just small bumps patiently waiting to be smoothed in time. It's the night—the reality of the longing, the void born from our separation—that seems unmanageable.
Night after night, each evening was traded for morning next to my love. A constancy was created. Now this expected certainty has vanished. My only companion in the darkness are those long ago memories of tender nights.
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