Mike Pence was the Commander in Chief for 53 Sweet Seconds

I know we are all talking today about Trump, and the speech, and what he did or did not say or do.  And I will too, in a moment.

But first -- did anyone else notice that Pence was the De-facto President for 53 seconds?

Pence was sworn in around 11:56 AM, after which the Mormon Tabernacle Choir sang a patriotic tune and there were some handshakes and hugs up on the stage.  As 11:59 approached I started watching the clock very closely, because as of 12 noon the Obama Administration was no more; there was a new sheriff in town and his name is Donald JOHN Trump.  Never knew what that J stood for.  Julius, I think, would have a more fitting, Imperial ring about it.

But not so fast!!!  As of noon Trump had yet to be sworn in.  As he had not yet taken the oath of office, he could not be the President.  He started the oath slightly after 12 and was officially sworn in as of 12:00:53. So for 53 seconds we really didn't have a president.  But we did have Vice President Pence.

I'm not up on my Constitutional Law (though I guess we all should be, as Americans, right?), so I am not sure if the absence of a President makes Pence the President or just vests him the powers thereof;  but either way I am sure that for 53 seconds there Pence was, in effect, the most powerful man in the world.

That's one for the refrigerator door, I'd say.

On His Way to 53 Seconds of Glory

So obviously I did watch the inauguration.  I clocked out for a moment at work and put on CNN (I haven't watched or even been to the CNN website since the election, as part of a one man CNN boycott, because I think they only serve to fan the flames of our discontent with headlines like "Senator Eviscerates President on Health Care Policy" and "Cruz Slams Trump on Barbecue, says KC Style is Best".  It's too much.  A lot of this mess is their fault), and I watched Trump take the oath and give his speech.  I have....a couple comments.

First, the Invocation.  I know as a nominal Christian I shouldn't be bothered that all three prayers (THREE) were Christian in nature, one explicitly evoking the name of Jesus Christ several times.  But as a person who believes in a pretty strict separation of Church and State I was, of course, unhappy.  Yet even as a Christian I was sort of bothered by it too.  A life lived in Christ is among many things a life lived in humility before God.  Wedding Jesus to the State, asking him to bless us so that we might be strong and wealthy and powerful (so that we might be Rome, who crucified Him) seems the opposite of humility.

Second, the speech:  An eloquent speech it was not...I imagine he was proud of the simile comparing boarded up factories to tombstones - I wonder how long it took for him to come up with that one as he lounged around Maro Largo over the Holidays.

But the speech, to me (and I don't say this lightly), had just a whiff of Fascism about it.  I'm not sure exactly why.  Maybe it was the repeated extolling of nationalism, this idea that a renewed pride in our nation and a new spirit of Patriotism will unite us.

America has never been an end in itself. It means something. It has always striven towards Liberty.  It has done so imperfectly, without doubt, but it has always reached for something better than itself.  Now it just seems Trump wants us to be united not by our values but by a love of America in and of itself...but love of country takes many different shades and people love this land for very different reasons (or they don't love it for various reasons).  Which makes me think that the only way to unite in love of country is to put the State on a pedestal, to make the State the most important thing and subsume all values to its Glory.  That, ladies and gentlemen, is fascism -- or at least its what fascism means to me.

Not saying that Trump is a fascist (though he does sort of look the part of a strongman).  And that is perhaps not what he meant to convey.  In fact I am sure it is not what he meant to convey.  But there is something about this speech that I found deeply unsettling. Only time will tell if those misgivings are rooted in any sort of reality.

Just remember folks:  Trump eats Doritos, just like you and me.  We are in good hands.  Good hands covered in nacho cheese flavoring.    

In Which a Clumsily Rendered CGI Nick Discusses Rouge One :: MODERATE SPOILERS!

In what has become a New Years Day tradition, I drove into Hampton and plunked my sweet ass down into the theater to watch a movie.  Don't quite do it every year, but I try my best.  Why?  Because without the cement of tradition, our lives would be as shaky as...

This year's choice was Rouge One, which remains the number one movie in America two weeks in a row and, despite some less than great reviews from the critics, it has been, I think, well received by my friends.  I saw the end credits roll about three hours ago, I've since had some nachos and a coffee (which is not a great combination, in all honesty), and I think I am ready to share some thoughts.

The Venue:  I chose my local IMAX 3D multiplex.  I made the mistake of wearing my thick framed poets glasses and the 3D glasses juuuuuuuust barely fit over them.  That's a lot of hardware to wear on one's face for two hours, but those are the sacrifices one must make for art.

The sound system was just....spine shatteringly loud.  And that bring me to....

The Previews

I noticed the sound system was spine shatteringly loud because each and every single preview began with a load, deep "BOOM" that made every atom in my body vibrate at a low resonance, threatening to tear the very fabric of my body into pieces.  This was true even of the previews for movies that probably didn't really need a BOOM to herald their future existence, like some silly movie where Alec Baldwin voices a baby who talks and....I dunno, wants to take over the world or trade stocks or something.

The only preview that really made my blood quicken was for "Dunkirk", naturally.  I'm going to see that when it comes out.

At last, time for

The Show

It begins in a time long ago in a Galaxy far, far away.  And I'm waiting for the iconic accent of the orchestra and the blaring of the horns and that big old beautiful Star Wars logo scroll across the screen in full, voluptuous IMAX 3D BUT....

That doesn't happen.  The movie just starts.  And I was very confused.

But not for long.  I got back with it.  The plot is a pretty good one, and I will summarize it with a simple question or two:  Have you ever wondered how it was that the biggest, most deadliest weapon in the Galaxy could be taken down by a bunch of snub nosed fighters flying down a trench and shooting a pair of photon torpedoes?  Have you ever wondered WHY exactly those snub nosed fighters had to fly ALL the way down that trench?

This movie doesn't provide a convincing answer to the second question.  But it does provide an answer to the first.  One of the scientists who built the Death Star did so under durress, and he built the exhaust port flaw into its design as an act of sabotage.  If he can smuggle the plans out to the Rebellion, they will have the means to launch an attack that will destroy it.  He sends out a feeler message with a willing Imperial cargo pilot, and the Rebel Alliance finds his daughter Jyn, whom he has been separated from for....years.  16 years?  Maybe?  Hard to say.

The Rebels rescue her from an imperial work camp...how they figure out where she actually is and the story behind the mission to get her, I guess, will be another opportunity for another prequel.  She is able to in turn reunite with Forrest Whitaker, sees a hologram of her father brought to him by the cargo pilot, and learns that the structural plans that detail the flaw are on some tropical like planet that kind of looks like Guam, though with not as many Japanese people or seedy strip clubs.    

A big ass battle ensues and the Rebels get the plans.  For a moment it seems the Rebels are going to flake out, but Jyn gives an impassioned speech that manages to convince just enough people to take a chance that the plans are on this planet, and they go in with a plan that make the Expendables look like the fucking Duke of Wellington himself (i.e. there was no plan...less than no plan, actually, if that's possible.  Like a negative plan).  But Rebellions are based on Hope, so....

Yeah.  They get it done.  

A Specific List of my Beefs

Here is the fun part, where I get to point out each and every thing that I found wrong with this movie.  Take a deep breath.....

The Guv:

Governor (or Grand Moff) Tarkin, who features in Episode IV as played by Peter Cushing, makes a reappearance in this film.  Unfortunately, Peter Cushing died in 1994.  Rather than exhume his corpse or try to reconstitute his ashes, the whiz kids at Lucasfilm decided to CGI him back into the movie.

The effect is....not great, though it is an impressive effort.  For some reason we can CGI Transformers and Damn Dirty Apes and even squid people like the one that shares an Imperial cell with Jyn at the start of the film, but we can't CGI a human and make them look really real.  I'm not saying it was a crappy job - I'm just saying that even at its best (and it is pretty amazing), CGI still has its limits.  You CGI a human next to another human and have the two act with each other for more than three seconds, and the CGI guy, no matter how well done, starts to look like Abe Lincoln out of the Hall of Presidents.  They do a better job with a young Carrie Fisher at the end, but she is on for such a short duration that it works.

Oh - if anyone sees the movie again, check to see if the Grand Moff ever gets his feet shown in this movie. According to Wikipedia, of all things, Peter Cushing convinced George Lucas to let him act in slippers because the Nazi riding boots that all Imperials wear didn't fit well and hurt his feet (I only just found this out today, but a quick Google search assures me that I am one of the last to know).  So you never see his feet in "A New Hope".  It would be cool to see if they honored that in Rouge One.

Those Damn Stoopid Storm Troopers:  

I think all the tacticians in the Empire must have gone to Trump University for their courses in military science.  "Hey, you know what....we just sent that squad of storm troopers head long into that Rebel held defensive position, but it didn't work.  Like, everyone of them is dead or seriously injured.  What do we do guys?........Yeah Smitty, I agree.  Let's send another squad in just like before.  They'll never think we'd never try it for the fourth time."

Seriously, it's become a cliche, a joke. In Episode IV and V Storm Troopers at least struck fear and maybe a little perverse admiration into the hearts of the 10 - 14 year old boys they were supposed to impress.  You might remember that in Episode IV they take the Princesses ship, and in Episode V they successfully assault the rebel base at Hoth.  I think the Battle of Endor is where they start to lose some of their luster, start to look really, really bad at what they do.  But hey - it happens.  The Russians were beaten in Afghanistan, we were defeated in Vietnam; every super power has  a bad day at the office.

But now?  I think the guys that made this movie were actually making fun of how bad the troopers were.  It was like watching that scene in Indiana Jones where that swordsman does all that sword play to intimidate Indy and Indy just shoots the guy with a revolver, but not once but a thousand times, over and over again.  A bloody robot, a single robot, killed like whole Battalion while Jyn and Captain Cassian are getting the plans in the archives.  If there are to be more of these movies, we have to have the Storm Troopers perform better, because they are lousy villains at the moment.  You would never expect them to win in any engagement now. I think a movie from their point of view might actually be worthwhile.

And Speaking of Captain Cassian Andor

I kept waiting for him to say "My name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my faddah.  Prepare to die."

Was I the only one who noticed that he was the only person in an Imperial uniform with facial hair?  Like none of them, NONE of them, have facial hair in any of the movies.  No beards, no mustaches....not even really a decent set of sideburns.  Captain Cassian looked awfully suspicious walking around in an Imperial Officers digs with a 2 week beard on his face.  You think that would tip people off that something isn't right, that this guy might be an imposter.  But....well, see above.

Vader makes a Pun?

So Vader is choking the head Death Star Scientist who clearly wants to command his creation.  Vader (still voiced by James Earl Jones) quips, says something like "Be sure that you are not choked by your ambitions" before releasing him.

What what?  Vader, with a sense of humor?  And a bad one at that?  Unforgivable. The rebels are the ones who deliver the silly little one liners in any Star Wars film;  it makes them kooky and fun.  Loveable. Servants of the Empire do not tell jokes.  I'm sorry.  They just don't.  It makes them easier to hate.

The Score

It ain't John Williams.  It's like John Williams, its similar, there are familiar motifs and themes sort of modulated and such in the back ground.  But it rarely ever goes full blown Star Wars (except maybe during the last battle), and it just lacks that certain something....

The Verdict

Which sort of brings me to my conclusion.  This was a solid movie, an enjoyable film (I give it a B-, but I am hard to impress).  I like the fact that the Rebel Alliance is portrayed with a little bit of shade to it, filled with characters who have killed for what they believe in and carry that with them in the dark places of their hearts.  The obligatory protocol droid in this movie was actually my favorite of any of them - way funnier than C3PO and a bright spot of comic relief throughout a movie that needed it.

And the battle at the end...THIS is the space battle you have been waiting for, Star Wars fans. Absolutely incredible. Just as good if not better than the climatic battle in Return of the Jedi (though I did notice the absence of Wedge Antilles, even though I thought I heard his name).  Its not as iconic as the one in Episode IV (it is actually rather derivative of it), but it was still awesome to see, and something that hasn't been a part of the more recent movies.

But somehow, in someway, it seems like Star Wars lite, like it was a really good copy of a Star Wars movie but it wasn't quite as good as the real thing.  A knock-off German beer brewed in New Jersey. Louisville Slugers from Louisville, Colorado.  Replica Glocks. Implants.

And that I think is my worry for the franchise;  that like the Marvel movies these films will just become more and more ubiquitous and eventually they will all be mediocre and the same.


 

  

2016 in Review, and New Year's Resolutions

2016.  What a year, eh?

I've been sitting here trying to sum up the year, and it's honestly hard to do.  I am not going to sit here and call it the worst year ever, or call it a Dumpster Fire of a year.  I don't even know if this year will actually ascend to become one of those Years of Wonder, the ones that history majors can recite off in their sleep (to whit:  1066, 1492, 1516, 1776, 1815, 1863, 1914, 1939, 1944, 1969, 1989, 2001).  It was a year were Globalization and Liberal Democracy were beset with setbacks, where the British voted for Brexit and we (and I still can't really believe we did this) voted for Donald Trump to be....to be the President of the United States.  Phew.  It's hard to even to write it.

And there was a Syria, and the Siege of Aleppo which was Tweeted in real time, and all we could really do was wring our hands in anguish, if we cared to do anything at all.

Meanwhile, Death stalked the Earth like a giant, stalking thing, reaping the lives of our favorite celebrities at the rate of 0.4 celebrities per day, which is worth like 10 normal people and some 100 Syrians, apparently.  I usually don't get too misty eyed over the deaths of singers and actors and the like, especially when they are advanced in years, though the passing of Ellie Wiesel gave me pause (I actually had the privilege of seeing him speak at VT), and the recent loss of Carrie Fisher and her mother Debbie Reynolds is a sad story, proof that you can still indeed die of a broken heart.  But honestly, good people, I can't spend everyday next year mourning the passing of yet another movie star or singer, no matter how endearing and beautiful and incredible they may have been; I can't do that anymore than I can summon outrage at Donald Trump over almost everything he says no matter how much he deserves it.  It's just too exhausting.

So a bad year for the world.

But oddly enough....it was a good year for me.

Work is going well.  I got a few poems in a regional journal.  Kids are healthy.  Wife has found a bit of joy with Jamberry and Trim Healthy Momma.  I finished my masters degree (pending some administrative stuff). The new anti-depressants seem to be still doing their job, two months in, and that is a blessing.

I also read a whole mess of books. I met my goal of reading 20 books, and as I am an engineer by training I felt compelled to do run some numbers.  Here are the salient facts:

• 20 Books, a total of 8759 pages
• Marickovich's Top Pick of 2016:  "At the Existentialist Cafe" by Sarah Bakewell
• Marickovich's Honorable Mention 2016:  "Napoleon:  A Life" by Andrew Roberts
• 4 books by Female authors, 16 by Male authors
• All books written by White people
• 13 books were written by English Authors.  7 books were by American Authors. 

The most striking thing is that 13 books that I read were written by English authors.  Note that that is not British authors, they were all rather English.  Not a Scot or Welshman in the bunch.  

And, perhaps more damningly, not a dark skinned person either.  

So that gets to my New Year's Resolutions.  Last year I picked the squishy and vauge Oprah like mantra of "Live into your best self".  Well, this year, I am going to make it simpler.  

First, I am going to try and read 20 books again.  It won't be easy, because I have some real heavy hitters sitting on the shelf that I want to get to this year (Montaigne, Rebecca West,), but I think its a worthy goal.  But next year, when I put my books into a spread sheet, I want to see a but more diversity.  More women, different races, maybe a few more nationalities.  Heck, maybe even a Scotsman (though lets not push it).  It's not merely for the sake of political correctness, for the sake of seeking diversity in its own right. Rather, it is because if this year has taught me anything it is how essential it is to hear other voices and other experiences, lest we get stuck in our own silos.  It's hard to get out of your particular niche in society and see things from a different point of view.  Art (and in particular novels and poetry) is the bridge on which we experience other voices and gain a broader perspective.

Second, I really want to start doing more Yoga.  I don't seek oneness with the self or anything like that.  I merely want to make sure that in 20 years when I get out of a chair after a meeting at work I can do so without all my joints cracking like a kid popping bubble wrap, and without my back and limbs being stuck like the blades in a poorly maintained pocket knife (a third resolution is to write with a little more imagery, experiment with similes, in case you haven't guessed).  

Well.  Adios 2016.  Hello 2017.  I'm not sure hanging a new calendar on the wall is going to change things much for the world at large.  As the white water rafting guide said to us when he missed his line on Sweet's Falls:  "I'm sorry Fellas...this is gonna hurt".