A Place You Never Thought You'd Be

I don't like the idea of using a blog solely for the purpose of personal narrative. To me, a web log should be an outlet to explore ideas and practice the skill of persuasive or argumentative writing. You should always have a point, and you should arrive at it rather quickly in a decisive and satisfying manner.

Of course, sometimes we break the rules to prove a point, or to do something we couldn't possibly have done if we allowed ourselves to become prisoners of habit.

So, I feel the need to explain the reason for the lack of posting on this blog over the past couple of weeks. And the only way I can do that is to destroy the persona and speak to you, the reader, as plainly as I can. Part of the reason I haven't posted here has been technological constraints. My internet service was just hooked up yesterday here in Columbia and I'd been mooching bandwidth from the neighborhood Hy-Vee. You can only refill your coffee cup so many times before that kitchen attendant starts to wonder if maybe you're a transient beatnik poet who's decided to fuel his next cross-country masterpiece with Caribou and crab rangoon. I blame my long hair more than anything.

But I could have posted at Hy-Vee or any other free wi-fi spot I happened to stumble into over the past several weeks. The real reason I didn't post was much more complicated than that. This isn't where I thought I'd be four or five years ago. And, to be honest, it extends beyond the whole Kansas fan selling his soul conundrum. If it was just that, I'd have torched my new student I.D. card with the giant Bengal tiger staring me down and strutted down Broadway with my KU National Champions '08 shirt a long time ago.

No, this is more of an existential concern of mine. I know I want to be a journalist. I'm excited that I have a skill set that I believe will prove useful in informing the public and serving a basic civic function within a democratic society. I know all of that. I knew that when I applied here last fall, and when I made plans to attend here last spring.

Proust said that the individual is never whole or unified, but merely a succession of selves throughout time. The idea implies progress--or, at the very least, some sort of constant evolution in our personality and consciousness. Sometimes, when I find myself in a place I never thought I'd be, doing something completely different than what I've done before, I can't help but wonder if that succession of selves must always build toward something, or if we float around on the whims of a moment and where we end up, be it pre-ordained by a benevolent force or not, is unquestioningly what we are meant to do.

Tomorrow, I officially begin my education at the Graduate School of Journalism at the University of Missouri. I'm excited, nervous, but most of all curious.

It's hard to write about video games, TV and what kind of violent circus is being held in the Kansas City Chiefs locker room with all that floating around in your head. But I promise to try. Stay tuned to the Shallow End, it's going to be an interesting fall.

Sticky Floors and Salty Popcorn-"The Fighter" Review

The Fighter does several things a great sports movie needs to do. It introduces us to a down-on-his-luck journeyman with one last legitimate shot at glory. Mark Wahlberg deftly steps into the shoes of Mickey Ward, a welterweight who has been used one too many times as a "stepping stone" (read: fighter pulverized by others en route to their own title shots) by his overbearing family. Ward's mother and manager, Alice (Academy Award-Winning Supporting Actress Melissa Leo) has a little trouble releasing the umbilical cord, and proves completely inept at getting her younger son into a fight that will allow him to rise in the ranks of his weight class (can someone please draw me a diagram that explains who is the champion of the world in boxing in a weight class anymore? It's like trying to figure out what "spending cut triggers" mean). Meanwhile, Mickey has to deal with his older brother Dicky (played with heart-rending pathos by Skeleto-ahem-Christian Bale), a crack-addicted former fighter himself whose unwillingness to let go of the past (he "knocked down" Sugar Ray Leonard in the late 70s) is only surpassed by his inability to be counted on when Micky needs him.

Add to this bubbling cauldron of familial dysfunction the presence of local law enforcement as Mickey's new trainer after Dicky lets him down for the final time and goes to jail, and a love interest (Amy Adams) with her own thoughts on how Micky can reach the top, and you have the perfect recipe for disaster. Which is precisely what happens about an hour into the movie. Then, a metaphoric cake delivered to his old crack buddies by Dicky himself and one porch-top confession of guilt later, and everyone is back behind Micky again as he fights for the unlikeliest of titles against a far superior foreign fighter.

Is all this sounding familiar? That's because it is. The crack addiction angle with Dicky is perhaps the most interesting and emotionally-realistic part of the film, and undoubtedly as the credits roll the audience gets the sense that Dicky's sobriety is a much more significant accomplishment than David O. Russel's titular hero. It's unsurprising, as a result, that Mark Wahlberg didn't get the dap most that he deserved for portraying Mickey. The movie never really seems to be about him exclusively, even when that last triumphant punch is inevitably thrown. This is no fault of Wahlberg's-the character quite simply goes through most of the movie without a spine. When he finally does develop the backbone to stand up to his brother and mother, it is the actions of others that allow a peaceful resolution and all of his loved ones standing in the corner behind him. "The Fighter" is less a testament to the resiliency of an unsung warrior (even though the obligatory training montage in the middle of the film wants to force you to think otherwise), but more about the wily-nily Cinderalla story that emerges as a result of forces beyond Mickey's control.

The Fighter is an excellent sports movie. It is also a stylish and endearing journey down a well-beaten path, with lots of pretty performances to look at. This "based on a true story" feature somehow still winds up playing out like a Disney miracle (with a larger portion of drug use and language than another Mickey would find acceptable), and less a true character exploration of the titular hero. We should expect more from Oscar-nominated motion pictures.

Verdict: 3.0/5 stars