Happy December 21, 2012. Are you dead yet? Zombie Mayans
eating your guts?
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Note on guns: My brother loved to play all sorts of gun
games when we were kids. And sword fights. Roman soldiers. Cops and Robbers.
All that.
I liked making the swords and daggers. We would whittle
small lumber into weapons. Strap on belts. Run around and actually use the
weapons…playing, of course. Careful not to stab. It was fun, sort of. I got
bored. I did like running around, though.
My brother liked army toys, army men, especially, and
eventually joined the Navy, though during his four years he mostly ran the ship
store. He saw no action. However, the
destroyer he was on did have nuclear weapons.
The Navy was not as much fun for him as childhood games.
The amount of war-play that goes on with boys is huge. I saw
it first hand. It is no wonder that when they grow up, boys (and girls) like to
own guns, shoot guns, kill shit.
I believe the only answer is to change our culture. Instead
of, “Bang, bang, you’re dead.”
How about, “Whoop, Whoop, I hit you with a corn cob?”
Couldn’t we somehow teach kids to use that eye-hand
thing--the thing that makes you feel good when you HIT SOMEONE with a FAKE
BULLET---into simple scoring? Like---It feels so good to hit a target? But more
like a ball into a hoop? Or is this Bang-Bang-You’re-Dead thing simply hard
wired? I don’t know.
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I love cults. I loved THE MASTER. See it. It’s brilliant. It’s maddening. It’s
incredibly unsettling. It’s agitating. It’s beautiful. This guy can make a
movie. Paul Thomas Anderson. Joaquin Phoenix as the scoundrel-drunk and Philip
Seymour Hoffman as the charismatic leader? What more could you want?
I love the ending. It is quiet…and it says it all.
Self-centered, made-up, circular reasoning never looked so
beautiful. This movie is something else. I’d give Paul Thomas Anderson the BIG
BALLS award.
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