tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-50318319656140146632024-03-13T18:01:57.527-07:00Sporadic Statementsand other things that pop into my headMike Treadwayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03962569812661721324noreply@blogger.comBlogger43125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5031831965614014663.post-38639260787877670692012-03-26T11:36:00.003-07:002012-03-26T11:37:37.414-07:00I See the Sea<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 100%; ">I see the sea, </span></div><div style="text-align: center;">the rolling waves</div><div style="text-align: center;">washing their briny, musty scent</div><div style="text-align: center;">upon the shore,</div><div style="text-align: center;">again and again. </div><div style="text-align: center;">And my ears hear this </div><div style="text-align: center;">lapping and panting;</div><div style="text-align: center;">stillness is in the</div><div style="text-align: center;">foothills. </div><div style="text-align: center;">Passion is in the sea,</div><div style="text-align: center;">I see.</div>Mike Treadwayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03962569812661721324noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5031831965614014663.post-52263009385321530832012-03-04T17:36:00.003-08:002012-03-05T06:53:34.196-08:00Kid in Love<p class="MsoNormal">You’re in the trenches. You don’t know how you got there, you don’t know when they were built, and you don’t know what lies for you above them. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">But there you are, kid, right in the trenches. You’re fighting and you’re fighting hard. It’s not just about shooting the other guy, killing some faceless enemy across the mud and barbed wire. It’s about staying alive in this filthy mire of shit and decay. It’s about being able to breathe the air that still blows gently in, fetid with death. It’s about being able to enjoy the peace and quiet for the thirty seconds that your hearing comes back and that next shell is waiting to whistle. It’s about being able to smile with your brothers as you taunt the enemy just by being alive. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">It’s also about killing the enemy.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">The enemy? Nameless, faceless , formless. It’s not quite boredom, it’s not quite yearning. It’s desperate and demanding, but phantasmagorical, intangible. It’s realizing that you had something you truly wanted, but you’ll never get it back. It’s feeling a breeze across the nape of your neck in a heat wave—long enough to make you notice, cold enough to make you want more, and wicked enough to leave you there. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">The enemy is this void in your heart, in your chest, hidden behind a damask shroud, luring you in. Sucking and pulling at your very will power to give in. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">But there you are kid, still fighting. It only ends one way: with you in a trench. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">One way or another, kid. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">The pine box will stain and warp, bathed in your mother’s tears as they lower you in. The damask shroud will be around you this time, spreading from the inside out. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">It will get you. You fought the good fight, but you just can’t win. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">So they say. </p>Mike Treadwayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03962569812661721324noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5031831965614014663.post-39731282915405344912012-02-13T12:10:00.001-08:002012-02-13T12:10:43.669-08:00New updateChapter Six of my story The Thief With Wings is here. <div><br /></div><div>Check it out: </div><div><br /></div><div><a href="http://michaeltreadway.wordpress.com/2012/02/13/the-thief-with-wings-chapter-six/">http://michaeltreadway.wordpress.com/2012/02/13/the-thief-with-wings-chapter-six/</a> </div>Mike Treadwayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03962569812661721324noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5031831965614014663.post-75503274664749719602012-02-03T17:34:00.003-08:002012-02-03T17:34:58.904-08:00Chapter Five is here!<div>Check out Chapter Five of my story, "The Thief With Wings"</div><div><br /></div><a href="http://michaeltreadway.wordpress.com/2012/02/03/the-thief-with-wings-chapter-five/">http://michaeltreadway.wordpress.com/2012/02/03/the-thief-with-wings-chapter-five/</a>Mike Treadwayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03962569812661721324noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5031831965614014663.post-69310836319251056882012-01-27T15:26:00.001-08:002012-01-27T16:32:22.384-08:00Shifting BlogI have moved my short story "The Thief With Wings" from this blog to my blog at wordpress. Follow along with chapter four here!<div><br /></div><div><a href="http://michaeltreadway.wordpress.com/2012/01/27/the-thief-with-wings-chapter-four/">http://michaeltreadway.wordpress.com/2012/01/27/the-thief-with-wings-chapter-four/</a> </div>Mike Treadwayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03962569812661721324noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5031831965614014663.post-22103432088272268532012-01-21T12:38:00.000-08:002012-01-21T17:29:30.742-08:00Plane-guins<div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;">Don't let the tricky title fool you: It's exactly what it sounds like.</div></div><div><br /></div><div>On a recent flight on Southwest, I was lucky enough to ride home with the Sea World PR Crew and two penguins.</div><div><br /></div><div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8ntEw8V5N5EnCF_MGS5P5hIOtjnJ3bMX6nB3xXQNAqH-3LsnFwFp0Z-zx2dqn81QgAHX2hcfEXVCpUQSfXPgcU_vQopobfHGPHWGvqGuHnE7OO9RDgSY8XcWzlUUj7xnrPWJV9EVVaCw/s200/IMG_6900.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5700194977506473842" /></div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>During my voyage home from seeing the Illustrious Annie Chen, I was routed through Denver International Airport. I had heard much about conspiracies, but didn't see many causes for concern in Concourse C, which is the crappiest of all concourses, to be sure, but I didn't feel like exploring. Maybe some other time I'll be sure to travel through Denver with a layover and check it out the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Denver_International_Airport#Controversy">supposed creepiness</a>. </div><div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>Anyhow, on the plane ride I took back from San Diego, I was accompanied by Magellanic penguins. Two of them, Pete & Penny, in fact. Although, those are cute monikers, as both of these birds were males. </div><div><br /></div><div>After refreshments were served, Pete came out to visit us!</div><div><br /></div><div><div><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuJH1iwZi-aNS38UFya8cEWG7KON_yWnamJ6-MAbmSMyAJ4L9-4TGjDMdsnBZwVKrZglYGEmnK_MSjLFYb_v1TAe96jrKgBrnOAl6YrWgha9fakQsqSI7ch0HiRIZLcSgf39o-TMpbFcU/s200/IMG_6915.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5700195245572331922" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px; " /></div><div></div></div><div><br /></div><div>I sat in the front row between Booker, the PR guy for Sea World, and Jason, a penguin keeper there. Across the row was Jen, and 18-year veteran keeper and two kennels with the South American birds. I talked with them for a while about Sea World, the Park, and all sorts of things. </div><div><br /></div><div>They were in Denver doing PR for Sea World at the local ice rink, the airport and a lot of places around Denver. </div><div><br /></div><div>This was honestly a dream come true. As a kid, I wanted to be a Shamu trainer and fly on the Shamu plane. I wanted to fly on a plane with the penguins like the pictures at the Penguin Encounter at Sea World show.</div><div><br /></div><div>I think this was better than flying on the Shamu plane. </div><div><br /></div><div>Check out my youtube video here: <a href="http://youtu.be/nKX8Z2lGYjo">http://youtu.be/nKX8Z2lGYjo</a></div><div><br /></div></div>Mike Treadwayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03962569812661721324noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5031831965614014663.post-47106009267299663102012-01-20T11:00:00.000-08:002012-01-20T11:03:46.270-08:00The Thief With Wings - Chapter Three<div>I run at the wall, push up and grab the windowsill. I dangle briefly. The rush of blood makes me feel the pain all over my body. </div><div><br /></div><div>I pull myself in. There’s something strange about breaking into my own house. </div><div><br /></div><div>Everything inside is turned over. What Solon said was true. There was some kind of struggle. I move silently through the chaos that was my kitchen and head to the rooms. I don’t call out in case someone is hiding inside. </div><div><br /></div><div>If word has already gotten out to the black market, chances are one or two of them have already made their way here to glean from the rubble. Not to say there’s no honor amongst us, but some things are just business. Lucky for me, I don’t keep my stash here.</div><div><br /></div><div>I make a round of the house. No one inside but me. I clean off a chair and sit down. Emotions deluge my mind. I weep when I think of Seth and Kyra. The three of us lived here. Live here. </div><div><br /></div><div>There is no other Nyx plant to bargain for their lives. I know what I agreed to with Solon. It seems the only way to have a chance at saving them. I must bring down the New Guild. But I have no idea what my next move is. And how can I bring them down in two days? </div><div><br /></div><div>I can’t go to the black market. That much is clear. If Solon was keeping track of my moves, anyone there could be keeping track of my moves. I need direction. </div><div><br /></div><div>I decide to go see Sambethe.</div><div><br /></div><div>Sambethe is an oracle who operates at the end of Gryphon alley. She’s known to many, but getting a reading from her isn’t easy. She needs a relic of her quarry to prophesy. This severely limits the questions one can ask her. And her cost is steep. She often doesn’t want coin, but favors and promises. Sometimes the cost is too much. </div><div><br /></div><div>I need to know where Seth and Kyra are. I have plenty of their possessions here, so the relic won’t be a problem. But I don’t know what the cost will be. Even if she can tell me where they are, what can I do?</div><div><br /></div><div>I remember Kyra being taken away in chains. I shudder to think of Seth going the same way. </div><div><br /></div><div>This is the first time I’ve had to think of what happened that morning and something doesn’t make sense. Why did the Captain open the box? He forced me to get the Nyx plant. Why would he open it in the sunlight? Wouldn’t he know that it would wither and die?</div><div><br /></div><div>Then it dawns on me. The Captain was acting on orders. He didn’t want the plant for himself. Someone had hired him to retrieve it. He opened it to make sure that I had brought it. He didn’t know anything about the plant. </div><div><br /></div><div>I stole it for someone else. Likely a member of the New Guild. But why couldn’t that person get it from the Healer himself. And if the Captain was acting on orders, why did he see to it personally and not just send his goons?</div><div><br /></div><div>I am lost in thought when the front door swings open. </div><div><br /></div><div>----------</div><div><br /></div><div>I dive from the chair as a blade flies my direction and sticks into the wood where my back just was.</div><div><br /></div><div>I roll into the closest door. Seth’s room. It’s a good thing he loves to play warrior. A couple of his wooden swords are scattered around. I grab one in my off hand. With my right I reach for his blanket.</div><div><br /></div><div>I can hear something glass slip and shatter. I picture the mess in my head and know he’s stepped towards the oven. I wad the horse-skin blanket up and I peek around the doorway. Another blade flies my way and sticks into the jamb.</div><div><br /></div><div>He’s hooded, so I don’t recognize him. But with how he’s fighting, I know he’s one of the thieves from the market. One of my rivals. He must not have been expecting me to be here or he wouldn’t have come through the front door. </div><div><br /></div><div>“Ongredost, hear my prayer and give me strength,” I whisper. I take a deep breath. </div><div><br /></div><div>I heave the balled up blanket at him as I come around the corner. It’s a heavy and cured and it opens as it flies toward him. Another blade thuds into it as I make my move. I sprint full speed behind the cover and ready the wooden blade with both hands.</div><div><br /></div><div>As the horse skin falls I swing with all my might and connect with my attacker just above his right temple. The blow rattles my fingers and they sting. The hooded figure slumps to the ground. </div><div><br /></div><div>I remove the hood and recognize Bruno, one of the thieves from the market. We specialized in similar jobs, so we were rivals. He’s unconscious and I leave him there after relieving him of his knives and coin purse. </div><div><br /></div><div>It’s no longer safe to be here. I grab one of Kyra’s shawls and take Seth’s sword with me. I head off towards Gryphon alley to see Sambethe. </div><div><br /></div>Mike Treadwayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03962569812661721324noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5031831965614014663.post-36993860531295805152012-01-13T08:35:00.000-08:002012-01-20T09:33:04.464-08:00The Thief With Wings - Chapter Two<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span>The King’s head was on a spike. The queen’s and the princesses’ heads were next to his. The pink of their tongues looked embers glowing in an ash-covered piece of coal. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span>Everyone was cheering.</span></p> <p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span>I imagined all the times that the King stood in that balcony over the public square and spoke to us.</span></p> <p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span>Now a severed head told his story. His graying skull wagged in the breeze as a crow pecked at his eye. A sentinel shooed it away.</span></p> <p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span>I cheered right along with them.</span></p> <p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span><o:p>---------- </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span><span>In Solon’s hand is a small golden locket, trimmed with small rubies and amethysts. My family has never been rich. That was the most expensive thing that I ever owned. </span><span><span>An angel on a golden chain.</span><span> My mother’s locket. I pawned it.</span></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span>“I know who you are and the skills you possess,” Solon says. “I also know your priorities.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span>After my parents died, I sold the locket to pay for food for my brother and Kyra. Before I began stealing. Before I had to steal.</span></p> <p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span><span>My mind races. </span><span>“But how,” I begin.</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span>“Friend Hawk,” he says, shushing me with a finger in the air. “We have been watching you for some time now. I know your movements and your motives. You are the man we need for a special job.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span>I gulp. My life deals in secrets. I have taken it for granted that I operated without anyone knowing. If Solon was watching me, what the guards must know!</span></p> <p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span>“A job?" I ask. "What do you want?”</span></p> <p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span>“It’s not what I want. It’s what we need. Everybody! What everybody needs!” Solon works himself up, stops and takes a deep breath. “We need you to recover the King’s crown and his scepter.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span>“The crown and scepter? But why?” I ask.</span></p> <p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span><span>“There is deep magic within those elements." Solon says. "If we are to right the kingdom, they need to be taken away from the New Guild. Think about it! What makes their rule so powerful? Just money? We have plenty of money, my associates and I, but we cannot control the will of men with it. Sure, we can buy pieces of a man’s loyalty, but we cannot rule based upon it. Neither can they. Not for as long as they have been ruling.” </span><span> </span></span></p> <p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span>I’m silenced. Something inside of me shudders at what I’ve just heard. Is there really something deeper at work?</span></p> <p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span>“I can’t help you,” I say. “I have to find a way to save Kyra. I have to get home and take care of my brother.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span>Solon looks down. “We tried to get to him before the guards did, but they have taken him as well. They left a note that I have here.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span>Kyra's capture punched me in the stomach. This news of my brother kicks me while I am down.</span></p> <p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span>The note reads: “Hawk, you failed to bring the Nyx plant in time. You will not fail this time. Bring it to the meeting place before dawn in three days, or they both will die.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span>“When did you get this note?” I ask Solon.</span></p> <p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span>“Yesterday,” he says. “But you know as well as I that the Nyx you stole from the healer of Dragon Plaza was the only one within a month’s journey of here.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span>I can’t save my brother Seth or Kyra. My anger burns the words in my mouth before they reach my lips.</span></p> <p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span>“There is a way to save them, yet,” Solon says. “Steal he crown and scepter for us. Then we can overthrow the very guards who have taken everything from you." </span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span>Kyra. Seth. My parents.</span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span>"Here, this belongs to you,” he says.</span></p> <p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span>Solon hands me my mother’s locket. It’s cold to the touch. I remember my mother while I handle it. The simplicity of life back then. I remember her laugh, her spirit.</span></p> <p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span><span><o:p> </o:p></span><span>“Okay, Solon,” I say and squeeze the locket. “I’m in.”</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-size:12.0pt;font-family:"Times New Roman","serif""><o:p> </o:p></span></p>Mike Treadwayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03962569812661721324noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5031831965614014663.post-74933961134175360772012-01-06T10:30:00.000-08:002012-01-13T08:47:55.109-08:00The Thief With Wings - Chapter OneWhen the King was in charge, we had peace and order. Farmers, workers, warriors—all were under the ruling protection of the King. We paid him taxes and tributes. We gave him our oaths of fealty. But there was a strange disquiet.<br /><br />After years of amassing gold and jewels, there were many who had wealth like the King. These merchants and nobles didn’t like that he had all the power and that they had none. They wanted the power for themselves. They hired people from within the city and without. They turned the guards into mercenaries. They broke and took away our ruler.<br /><br />At first, it wasn’t so bad. To quiet the masses, the nobles and the merchants were feeding the hungry and poor. Everyone had enough. That had never happened under the King.<br /><br />After the initial coup, there were no more public battles. There were only surreptitious skirmishes. Whispers passed of neighbors who supported the old ways and they disappeared in the night. No one was being killed in the streets. Yet slowly and silently the supporters of the crown were eliminated. The food in our bellies pacified us.<br /><br />Then the handouts and perks began to dry up. Men from each of the guilds and professions met and gathered with these nobles and the merchants. They talked about equality and liberty. We were enflamed by the ideas.<br /><br />All along no one saw the noose we were tying around our own necks.<br /><br /><br />----------<br /><br /><br />I wake up and the first thing I can feel is an acrid churning in my stomach. I sit upright and I’m dizzy. I want to vomit the contents of my stomach and start over again, but my body is uncooperative. My eyes adjust to the darkened space I’m in. I don’t know where I am.<br /><br />“Please, friend, try and relax,” an unknown voice says.<br /><br />“Who are you?” I ask.<br /><br />“Just call me Solon,” he answers. “Now please, relax.”<br /><br />A warm, damp cloth is draped across my forehead and I feel an instant cooling and relief.<br /><br />“By Ongredost, what was that?” I ask.<br /><br />“Brewed leaves of the Galene plant,” he replies.<br /><br />My nausea subsides. It’s quickly replaced by sudden pains as I remember the image of Kyra against the rising sun, taken by the guards.<br /><br />“What time is it, Solon?” I ask. I’m feeling good enough to stand. My caretaker eases me back to the resting place.<br /><br />“You have been unconscious for more than a day,” he says and pauses. He must see the urgency and fear in my countenance. “She is long gone, my friend,” he says solemnly.<br /><br />Chills run down my spine and tears swell. I squeeze my eyes shut until they are a desert once more.<br /><br />“Then I must go after her,” I say.<br /><br />“And where have they taken her then?” Solon asks. “The prison? The palace turned statehouse? The barracks to take advantage of her? You are lucky to be alive right now! You don’t even know where she is? What can you hope to do? If you make an appeal to the courts, it is certain death.”<br /><br />Solon’s words rip through my resolve. I don’t know where she is. She could be anywhere. I was out of it for so long. I’ll reach out to my contacts. One of them will know.<br /><br />“Friends of mine will surely know where she is,” I say. “I will find her.”<br /><br />“The friends of yours in the underground?” Solon asks. “How do you think it is that the guards were turned on to you in the first place? How do you think it is that I knew where to find you?”<br /><br />My mind roils from his words. I don’t want to believe him, but I know he must be right. If I was truly turned in by someone in the underground, then it’s a death sentence to the courts or anywhere else. And why does want to find me?<br /><br />I’m not sure how long I’ve been silent for. Solon puts his arm on my shoulder.<br /><br />“Friend Hawk, I’m sorry to be so harsh. But I need you alive. You’re the only one who can help me. I need a man with your talents.”<br /><br />“And just what do you know about me?” I ask.<br /><br />Solon smiles. He stands and walks out of the room. He reemerges with a small chest.<br /><br />When he opens it, the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.Mike Treadwayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03962569812661721324noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5031831965614014663.post-5588222011871376402011-12-29T20:03:00.000-08:002012-01-13T08:48:15.668-08:00The Thief With Wings - PrologueAlleys. By Ongredost’s beard, I hate the alleys that weave throughout the city. With day breaking soon, I’ll never find my way back to the meeting place in time. Then the guard’s will take her away from me forever.<br /><br />I wheeze and pant. The taste of blood poisons my gums. My palms find my knees and I'm doubled over. Blue flashes scatter across my closed eyelids as I psych myself up to run again.<br /><br />After five or six strides, I stop again. I’m vomiting.<br /><br />Dawn’s rosy fingers creep from the horizon. Gnawing at the inside of my cheek is all I can do to not stop running. It can’t end like this. I won’t let it.<br /><br />The guards have gone crooked. When the King was in charge, we were better off. There was law and order, especially from the officers of the peace. But now things have changed. No one has any moral obligations. All that matters to the guards is the jingle of a coin purse.<br /><br />The sun is moments away from rising when I turn the corner and find the meeting place hidden at the end of Scorpion Alley.<br /><br />“Kyra!” I shout. I’m surprised by the roar that escapes my chest.<br /><br />She’s bound and gagged. There’s nothing but a muffled response. The author of her chains pulls tightly and her head lifts. My love is choked to silence. By the emerging light I can see tears clouding her eyes.<br /><br />I run forward with all my might and throw myself down before the captain of the guards.<br /><br />“Here,” I stammer and hold up a satchel. “This is what you want.”<br /><br />The captain rips the satchel from my hands. He draws it open to find the Nyx plant. He raises the shrub up to examine it in a ray of sunshine that has splashed into this corner of the alley.<br /><br />“Don’t,” I scream, attempting to rise to my feet. The guard behind me forces me the ground and garrotes me with his halberd.<br /><br />It’s too late. The roots and tendrils are singed and seared by the sunlight. The creamy orange petals and verdant leaves wither and fade into soot.<br /><br />The captain flexes his fingers and palm. The dying plant drops to the ground. It crumbles to dust. He sneers and kicks me in the forehead. The oak of the halberd presses into my throat hard as I recoil.<br /><br />The last thing I see before I black out is Kyra’s darkened figure being dragged away down the alley. The sun has risen and the blackened figures are burned into my sight.Mike Treadwayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03962569812661721324noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5031831965614014663.post-31062148767974929222011-12-12T23:57:00.000-08:002011-12-13T00:02:27.878-08:00SignificanceHave you ever stopped and considered the significance of the number five? 5. Five.<br /><br />Outside of it's placement between 4 and 6, is it even important? Is it just a comparative, i.e. 5 is less than 6 but greater than 4? <br /><br />Rather than thinking of it in a comparative sense have you considered five as just five? Like five gold rings? Have you ever pictured those rings? (No, not the Olympic rings) <br /><br />Take away the rings and just picture five.<br /><br />What is five? A placeholder? <br /><br />Anyhow, we all know there is only one ring to rule them all.Mike Treadwayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03962569812661721324noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5031831965614014663.post-41516016616938710422011-12-07T21:57:00.000-08:002011-12-08T15:01:23.397-08:00Plot-hole or Plot-well? A Film RantHaving recently watched <span style="font-style:italic;">The Fountain</span> again, I'm reminded why Daron Aronofsky is such a good director. (Fun aside, he may be the only director whose feature-length body of work I've seen in it's entirety). <br /><br />Anyhow, I think one of the reasons I like his movies so much is because he explores different worlds, and makes them palatable to anyone: <span style="font-style:italic;">Pi</span>'s creepy dip into the world of government conspiracy and high brow math/computer work, <span style="font-style:italic;">Requiem for a Dream</span>'s path into the dark world of narcotics and pharmaceuticals, <span style="font-style:italic;">The Fountain</span>'s dip into rebirth, spirituality and enlightenment, <span style="font-style:italic;">The Wrestler</span>'s stunning portrayal of a man faced with the reality of and weight of his life choices, and <span style="font-style:italic;">Black Swan</span>'s chilling portrayal of a woman so focused on achieving her goal that she loses all balance and moderation. <br /><br />These films present questions that are sometimes left open to interpretation, or conclusions that are just a modicum of horrors, pains or stress to come. Yet I appreciate that in being cerebral and deep, Aronofsky gives the viewer a chance at seeing his vision, or at the very least a hint of conclusion. He doesn't hide his story from the viewer and cause confusion as a way to make the audience discuss his movies. His films just are. <br /><br />It also made me think of another director with whose movies I hear Aronofsky's compared to often--Christopher Nolan. <br /><br />Now Nolan's work has been highly enjoyable to me. I liked <span style="font-style:italic;">Inception</span> and <span style="font-style:italic;">Memento</span> and the Batman films, but I find much lacking in his work, and if you've been around me anytime in the last three years when one of his movies hit theaters, chances are you've heard some of my rather strong opinions on his films. <br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Warning:<span style="font-style:italic;"> The Dark Knight</span> spoilers follow!</span><br />For instance, in <span style="font-style:italic;">The Dark Knight</span> I had trouble with the ending, and the fact that Batman ultimately made a choice to kill Two-Face, and not the Joker. (For those who think that Two-Face either isn't dead, or that he wasn't meaning to kill him, I disagree with y'all. Count the seconds when Batman goes off screen while Harvey has Gordon's son and then attacks with a lunge that takes all three of them over the edge. Batman is a calculating fellow, knows his own strength, and is the owner of two nifty bat-equipped arms. He is quite capable of grabbing the edge and saving only one of them, and knowing all this, he lunges and chooses the boy, effectively choosing to kill Two-Face). Not killing the truly evil villain, but the neutral one (perhaps further drawing a Jesus parallel, viz., Revelations 3:16) made me quite angry and unable to enjoy to that movie for over a year.<br /><br />Now, I enjoyed <span style="font-style:italic;">Inception</span> and <span style="font-style:italic;">Memento</span>, as I said before, but what I find to be lacking in both of those films are the plot-holes. <br /><br />In <span style="font-style:italic;">Inception</span>, I could care less about the ending, and what I'm going to talk about are these aforementioned holes. <br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;"><span style="font-style:italic;">Inception</span> spoilers ahead</span><br />1) The fact that they were able to be kicked out of the first level inside Fischer's dreams by the stewardess even though the plan had been clearly sped up and the first level was a war zone, and then Fischer & Uncle have a bonding moment after they get kicked back there and the van crashes. What a nice, sweet moment. News flash, the bad guys are still out there, shooting and killing. You are stuck there for a WEEK before waking and the stewardess has no way of being contacted, and yet here you are waking up without being killed and sent to limbo. Sorry, not buying it. <br /><br />2) Fischer and Ariadne were able to be kicked from within Limbo to the third level (after Ariadne and Dom conveniently use the machine to go down there in the first place) without anyone to help kick them back from the third level itself. I'm sorry, since when did falling within the level itself act as a kick? I do believe the kick had to come from the level above you! <br /><br />Those are just a couple, but they sure do rankle. Now, I feel like Nolan knows they exist, and that they're holes, but tries to dissuade the audience from noticing them by making the plot as convoluted as possible, as difficult to follow as possible, and dazzle you with special effects in a Michael Bay style, effectively telling the audience: "Hey, these aren't plot-holes, these are plot-wells! Look, you can draw up your own conclusion in this bucket!" To that I say, good day, sir.<br /><br />Yes, <span style="font-style:italic;">Inception</span> was visually stunning and enjoyable without over-diagnosis, but I saw the movie three times in theaters to "get to the bottom of it" only to realize that it was just a sham. Fun to watch, but a sham.<br /><br />Wait, Mike, maybe all the plot-holes mean that Dom never woke up in the first place and the he was in Limbo or a dream world the whole time! If so, then why would Nolan credit older children? <br /><br />Here's the further problem I have with his plot-holes. Nolan just likes to throw out as many choices for the audience as possible so they make their own conclusion or they not be a real one. This is an act of nothing other than wishy-washyness and lukewarmity. It's quite distasteful and makes me lose respect for him as a storyteller.<br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">"Drink from my plot-wells, America! Make my movies net over a billion dollars!"</span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;"><span style="font-style:italic;">Memento</span> spoilers now!</span><br />Making a film complicated for the sake of hiding your inabilities to write a coherent story, as well as throwing as many possible scenarios in to the mix to add flavor is just plain lazy, just like in <span style="font-style:italic;">Memento</span>. There were so many additional frames thrown in at the end of the movie: Was Leonard's wife a diabetic and he killed her? Was she not? Did he finish it and go home to her and get that tattoo? Was he really in an asylum? So many choices! Whatever shall I do!<br /><br />I shall call it what it is: crap. He doesn't have the balls to stand behind a completed and solidified story arc, so he slams the audience with all the possibilities, effectively ruining any clear message or answer. Is it brilliant? No. Is it lazy? Yes. Is it a sign of depth? Hardly. Shitting on a canvas doesn't make art. Not plot-wells. Plot-holes. Big, fat ones. <br /><br />I've heard people say they had to watch <span style="font-style:italic;">Memento</span> multiple times to "get it." There's nothing more to get than the first viewing gives you. There's nothing any chart can add to it. It lacks a definitive quality. But it's just postmodern! No, it's crap writing. <br /><br />The way I've learned to cope with and enjoy these three films of his in particular, is to watch them and just turn my brain off, and just avoid thinking about that. Kinda like watching a Michael Bay film. <br /><br />Now, he can tell a conclusive story and it's quite enjoyable. Watch <span style="font-style:italic;">The Prestige</span>. The movie is kind of predictable, but it works. The direction/acting is fabulous, the visuals are stunning, and the story is compelling. It has no glaring plot-holes, and it overall works as a film. (Besides, who doesn't love Bowie in a feature?)<br /><br />Now, I guess the reason I bring this all up, is because I consider myself somewhat of a storyteller, and I guess I'm old school in the sense that a story should conclude. <br /><br />That rant was a lot longer than I had anticipated, but if you've read this far, I'd suggest you watch <span style="font-style:italic;">The Fountain</span>. You don't have to, but I liked it. That movie is meditation in a film. It just is. There's a lot to it, it might take a couple of times to put together some of the finer points, but it just is. And it is enjoyable. <br /><br />I guess I'm tired of poor story crafting be taken as a sign of depth or intelligence. Kind of like not talking doesn't make you deep. <br /><br />PS - I take any and all credit for coining plot-well if it has not been used before. =DMike Treadwayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03962569812661721324noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5031831965614014663.post-38343966731115113562011-10-02T22:44:00.000-07:002011-10-02T22:46:15.177-07:00I can't sing, but I sure as hell mayOne of my favorite pastimes is singing in my car with my windows down and stereo up. <br /><br />When I do this, it’s usually not to the radio, unless I’m telling you how I’ll be there after the boys of summer have gone. Usually it’s to a carefully laid out cd I’ve burned, as my tape deck turn iPod jack died over a year ago. The most socially acceptable tracks I pick for this, I suppose, are the tracks from Girl Talk’s All Day album (although shouting “you about to get ran the f**k over” at the top of my lungs in the open air, I worry slightly about offending people, but it’s nothing anyone hasn’t heard before). <br /><br />I was grinned at by an older woman today during an “All of My Love” heartwrencher. I’m not sure it was mean-spirited or anything, but I smiled right back and kept on yelling about who I’d give the fullness of my heart unto. <br /><br />The next song to blare and belt to was “Since U Been Gone,” a modern classic. Genres aside, that song is truly a masterpiece, and I defy anyone not to get excited and sing along with that chorus. Whether it’s Kelly rocking me or I’m “under da sea,” I’m going to sing my heart out if the mood strikes me. I don’t care who sees me or hears me sing. At least when I’m in my car, that is. <br /><br />It feels good. Seems like I can breathe for the first time. Guess I’m just moving on.Mike Treadwayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03962569812661721324noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5031831965614014663.post-38611340103987154912011-09-29T23:32:00.000-07:002011-09-29T23:35:04.472-07:00The SilenceI dream about the moment my heart stops beating.<br />Will I notice? Will I feel the blood thicken and slow in my veins? <br />Or will it sneak up on me, until I can do nothing but welcome the silence. <br />I picture the gun in my mouth, the taste of sulfur on my tongue. <br />Can I do it? Will I do it? Night after night I’m here. <br />The sweat makes my finger slip on the trigger. That’s it. I won’t. Not tonight. <br /><br />But her gun is a bottle. She’s the waking dead. The walking headache. <br />Eyes puffy, throat sore with a constant nasal drip. She’ll drink again tonight. <br /><br />And I’ll dream. Wishing not to wake up, wondering where I’ll go. <br />What the silence is really like, and will I ever know? <br /><br /><br />I might submit this to the San Diego County Poetry Annual 2011-2012. We'll see.Mike Treadwayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03962569812661721324noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5031831965614014663.post-52987110890416066152011-08-19T20:59:00.001-07:002011-08-19T21:05:22.881-07:00A Game of ThronesI know it seems trite, but damn, A Game of Thrones (book) is infinitely better than Game of Thrones (series). It's not even close. Not even a little bit.
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<br />The show has pretty bad direction, awkward art design, with things being just... not at all how they are in the book, and this habit of awkwardly lifting "key" lines of dialogue from the book and using them as a catch-all for what's supposed to be going on. The action is... adequate? I mean, it's nothing special.
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<br />Seems like they did the show on a shoestring budget for being so high profile, and then it seems like they managed to give every aspect of it less than enough to be passable, but not enough for it to be in anyway exceptional.
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<br />I bought the book, because everyone around me seemed to be reading it. I saw the first 4 episodes of the show, which comprised around 350-450ish pages of the book, depending on certain details, and took a break for a few months. I read the book in a couple of weeks during my spare time, and it was riveting. Breathtaking. Spectacular. Without a doubt, right up there with The Fellowship of the Ring and The Gunslinger, and the other books that have opened my favorite epic series. (I don't include Harry Potter).
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<br />I can't believe the show could suck so hard. Look at what Peter Jackson did with LOTR. If you want to make a movie/show out of a book, follow his advice. Just without the whole 'every time Frodo puts on the ring, Sauron's eye is upon him' thing.
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<br />TL;DR - A Game of Thrones (book) is way better than the show. Obviously. Mike Treadwayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03962569812661721324noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5031831965614014663.post-52590473226903003892011-05-13T23:43:00.001-07:002011-05-13T23:43:44.363-07:00Show Me a Place Like Bright EscondidoShow me a place like bright Escondido,<br /> Where the sun splashes, dry breezes blister,<br /> Verdant foothills around seethe and glister,<br />Take me there if you know, I long to go.<br /><br />The fields and pastures have been bought and sold,<br /> Asphalt and concrete tear through the valley,<br /> Carving out neighborhoods, streets and alleys,<br />The land that remains is more precious than gold. <br /><br />Show me a place like bright Escondido,<br /> Set aside somewhere for the moon to shine. <br /> Give me fields of white sage, scrub oak and pine. <br />Take me there if you know, I long to go.Mike Treadwayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03962569812661721324noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5031831965614014663.post-55578826915210944272011-04-28T15:32:00.001-07:002011-04-28T15:33:35.730-07:00Ganged Up On By GeeseOne of the most butterfly related things I do as a butterfly keeper is feed the butterflies. They drink a nectar made up of primarily sugar water from hexagonal plates, which need to be changed out every day. This is much more time consuming and laborious than one might initially think, and requires hauling a heavy black cart through narrow passageways, across rugged terrain and into the greenhouse. <br /> <br /> Normally, this trek goes undisturbed, but recently I've become engaged in a bit of a turf war. There are these two geese who live in the village, and they've decided that their new roosting spot is the path I take to the greenhouse. They've also decided that they absolutely hate the cart. I dunno if it wears opposing colors, forgot to pay their toll or whatever, but they hate this cart. Before this, I'd heard a goose honk, and almost bleat, but never hiss. Everytime that cart goes by, one goose hisses, the other honks. <br /> <br /> After finishing up in the greenhouse this morning, it was a little different, though. I was leaving, and through the doorway, I saw one of the geese, and it looked as if it was waiting for me, well, the cart anyway. I opened the door and began to consider how I should approach it without bothering it too much, and I heard this rap-click-tap. Looking down, I saw the other goose right outside the door, at the angle where it opens, attacking the cart. What was the other goose doing? I swear to God it was playing lookout. <br /> <br /> I was a bit shaken from this unprovoked assault and closed the door, bringing the cart back. I rap-click-tapped back on the glass, but the goose was undeterred. I thought of radioing for assistance, but didn't want to become a joke. <br /> <br /> So I used my big-boy voice. <br /> <br /> "Let's go!" I shouted gruffly at the geese. That seemed to get their attention, and I was able to corral them a bit, enough to get to the fork in the path. It was then that my cart was attacked again, and I decided to take the lower route. Apparently the lower path, the long way to my working area, isn't part of their territory, so I escaped, further unmolested. <br /> <br /> I've decided I should get one of those signs for my cart, one that says, "Please do not heckle, vex, annoy...the keepers" <br /> <br /> Pssh, bullies. <br /> <div style='clear: both; text-align: center; font-size: xx-small;'>Published with Blogger-droid v1.6.7</div>Mike Treadwayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03962569812661721324noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5031831965614014663.post-17619033269180350202011-04-15T13:34:00.000-07:002011-04-15T14:00:29.083-07:00Henry'sI was in Henry's the other day, wearing a hunter green shirt I got from the Roar & Snore team training event we had at work a few days back. It says Wild Animal park on the breast (it's from last season) and has a very large picture of a cheetah on the back. So there's the back story. <br /><br />I walked through the produce, heading towards the tangelos. The price was four pounds for a dollar, which is reasonable for organic fruit, and the last ones I bought were particularly sweet, so I made a special trip back out for more. On my way towards the check-out stand, I noticed an older woman dropping a box of strawberries. She looked embarrassed and didn't immediately make an attempt to reach down and get them. I wasn't sure if she had a bad back or what, so I reached down and picked them up. I told her she ought to put the box on the loading cart an employee had left behind. I went to walk away and she stopped me. <br /><br />"Do you know which is a good box to buy?" she asked me. <br /><br />"Ummm, I'm not sure, I usually just grab the reddest ones," I said kinda laughing. <br /><br />She looked at me like I had offended her, or not met some kind of certain expectations. She opened her mouth as if to start saying something and stopped, looking quite puzzled. <br /><br />"Don't you..." she mumbled and trailed off. <br /><br />I realized what the confusion was. <br /><br />"Oh, I'm sorry ma'am, I don't work here," I said as politely as I could. And I turned around and left, sure now that she could see the very large cheetah on my back. <br /><br />When I turned around I was face to face with a portly man, with thick glasses resting on equally thick skin. <br /><br />"Are you going to be stocking any more pitted prunes?" he asked me. <br /><br />"Uhhh..." I said, about to break the news to him, too. <br /><br />"He doesn't work here," the elderly woman now behind me said, informing him of the news.<br /><br />The man looked down at my shirt, looked up at me, standing there with an oddly apologetic look on my face and kept walking. <br /><br />I continued to the check-out stand and bought my tangelos. The checker asked me if I worked at the Park, and we chatted a bit about that as I paid.Mike Treadwayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03962569812661721324noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5031831965614014663.post-70428481028248066372011-04-06T09:45:00.000-07:002011-04-06T09:47:27.745-07:00Learn to Yearn?What vain striving it may be<br />To try and see what angels see,<br />As they sit majestically<br />Upon their clouds in Heaven.<br /><br />And yet we sit with stalwart gaze<br />Toward the ethereal haze,<br />Pondering just what the days<br />Will be like in Heaven. <br /><br />And sitting here unhappily,<br />Looking forward, forgetting we<br />Often never quite fully <br />Enjoy the time we're given.Mike Treadwayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03962569812661721324noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5031831965614014663.post-52170422385567864872011-03-12T06:55:00.001-08:002011-05-01T17:54:16.100-07:00Yeah, I'm Talking to YouDear Mr. Sony Dream Machine,<br /><br />Hello. We've been together for a few years now, and so far we've had a pretty decent relationship. We've learned each other's boundaries, and really had our ups and downs. I have tried to stop hitting you with such force, and blaming you for things that aren't your fault. I know you don't control the earth's rotation. You just display it in a quantifiable way for me. I get that! And you've done your job over and over and over again. I thank you for that. <br /><br />But hey, now. This is the weekend where I lose an hour of my precious sleep. This is the weekend we set the clocks forward in an age old marketing ploy. This is the weekend I don't work on Sunday and was planning on skipping all the confusion and grogginess regarding the change. The first one of those weekends in a long while. <br /><br />You know what you did. I've never particularly liked your auto-set time function, and you know that. The first day I took you out of your box I spent a while trying to set the the time manually. But you just wanted me to push the region button and let your automatic preferences take effect. Then you worked. And along came a DST situation, and remarkably you worked again. Two times a year like clockwork. Funny, because you are a clock, Mr. Sony Dream Machine. <br /><br />Like clockwork until today. Like clockwork until Saturday, March 12, 2011. Now, Mr. Sony Dream Machine, I have work today. It starts at 8 a.m. I usually get up at 6:45, get ready and get out the door by 7:50. It's a game we've played for over a year now. We've taken a few Saturdays off here and there, but there's no real big surprise. But that wasn't good enough for you, was it? No, of course not. <br /><br />You're Mr. Sony Dream Machine! Now I really know why your initials are Mr. SDM! First you make me feel bad for hitting your snooze button so hard, but then I find out you like it. Now you play tricks on me! Now you decide that you will set my clock ahead one hour a day early! So now I've been robbed of an hour of sleep when I've got such a big day ahead of me. <br /><br />You sir, are an ass. And I am sending you this letter to let you know that you are indeed an ass. Pray that I don't decide to unplug you and give you to the Goodwill. You jerk. <br /><br />Grumpily,<br /><br />Mike<br /><br />PS You really should have come with an antenna. Your radio function is scratchy at best. Yeah, that's right. I went there.Mike Treadwayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03962569812661721324noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5031831965614014663.post-42910406027861319882011-03-09T09:15:00.000-08:002011-03-09T09:19:21.886-08:00New JobSo I got a new job yesterday. I'm now a writer for <a href="http://robotgeek.co.uk">http://robotgeek.co.uk</a> <br /><br />Basically the job will entail me writing a couple of reviews per week of games that I get *for free* from companies before their release. (15-year-old me is salivating)<br /><br />Currently, that'll be the only form of payment since this site is just being launched, but hey, that's good enough for me. Plus it'll give me a chance to work on my writing style. <br /><br />My application consisted of me sending the editor a link to my gaming blog and saying, if you want some of this, eh? Apparently he did. <br /><br />In my excitement I must give a big kudos to the esteemed Joshua Hill for giving me the lead. <br /><br />Boosh.Mike Treadwayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03962569812661721324noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5031831965614014663.post-71990105004927998472011-03-02T00:09:00.000-08:002011-03-02T00:34:51.046-08:00Sequels(Warning, very slight Dark Tower spoilers ahead and if you haven't read/seen LOTR or HP 7 definite spoilers ahead)<br /><br />If you've read the <span style="font-style:italic;">Lord of the Rings</span> you know that things happen just a bit differently in the books than they do in the movies. First off, Boromir is killed by the Uruk-Hai at the beginning of <span style="font-style:italic;">The Two Towers</span>, and not at the end of <span style="font-style:italic;">The Fellowship of the Ring</span>. When Tolkien wrote his masterpiece, it was meant to be one volume, so the drop off between the end of the Book II and the beginning of Book III is not that much. By making it into two books, it's a little more shocking when you pick up the second book and boom! Boromir dies. But, Frodo and Sam had already left. That was the major event to end the book. Frodo broke the fellowship and left. Boromir dying, though sad, wasn't the big dramatic finish. Peter Jackson had the sense to bring Boromir's death into the first film for obvious reasons. Tied things up nicely. <br /><br />Now, imagine if you will that the <span style="font-style:italic;">Fellowship of the Ring</span> (movie or book) ended with Frodo escaping from Boromir and going off to be alone. Then imagine that <span style="font-style:italic;">The Two Towers </span> began with Frodo breaking the fellowship and leaving. And then as an added kick while you're down, Boromir died. All within the first five pages of the story. (Now, I don't know who I'm kidding, Tolkien would have taken 20 pages to accomplish this). All these game changers to start the book. Oh what's that nice world you're in, lemme go ahead and just see that... Yeah...<br /><br />What's the relevance of this, you might ask? <br /><br />The book I'm reading just did that. I just finished <span style="font-style:italic;">The Gunslinger</span> by Stephen King. It's the first book in his seven part <span style="font-style:italic;">The Dark Tower</span> series, the work King considers to be his magnum opus. <span style="font-style:italic;">The Gunslinger</span> ended in a good way, looking off into the distance. Typical epic ending. <span style="font-style:italic;">The Drawing of the Three</span>, the sequel, started off with a bang. Actually more like a few clicks... And had some huge game changers right at the beginning. And when I mean beginning, I mean, in the prologue. Within the first five pages, the shit hit the fan. I've never had a sequel be so cavalier. Especially when the prologue is supposed to just kind of bring me lightly back into the world. <br /><br />Let's just say I got so mad I put the book down, mouth agape. My comfort level was completely breached. The prologue should be almost optional in a novel. If one were to skip it, he shouldn't miss all that much. But apparently this story is above that. I haven't had a book wow me in a while. Some twists in Harry Potter came close, like George losing his ear, and Fred dying. But I mean, I was at least prepared for some gnarly stuff to happen. This took me completely by surprise. <br /><br />Kudos to you, Stephen King. You have both infuriated and thoroughly intrigued me. I know that this book will not disappoint, but damn you for arrogance, you brilliant man. When I am no longer angry, I will pick the book back up and be in for a good read, I am sure. Until then, that book is going to sit on my desk. It knows what it did...Mike Treadwayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03962569812661721324noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5031831965614014663.post-70558646989407545932011-02-23T15:59:00.000-08:002011-02-23T16:04:58.055-08:00ReturnThis cold needs to go away. Barring that, I feel like I'm back. <br /><br />Even though it's still pretty damn chilly out, I feel like I'm coming out of hibernation. Not a physical hibernation, but kind of an emotional hibernation. I'm getting my groove back.<br /><br />I'm not settling back into any ruts or anything, but I'm just... back. I've been in a lull, in a kind of listless state. I'm seeing new seedlings sprout within my soul. And it is good. I guess now I just have to be a constant gardener. Like Ralph Fiennes in that movie that was nothing about gardening. <br /><br />Cold, cold, go away!Mike Treadwayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03962569812661721324noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5031831965614014663.post-7791220328315198372011-01-31T10:21:00.000-08:002011-01-31T10:42:42.156-08:00Brand-vertisingSame as any kid growing up watching a lot of movies and television, I was definitely inundated with a lot of commercials and advertisements. Some of the funniest commercials were always the Coca-Cola commercials. I remember this one in particular where a guy goes into a store in Asia and is trying to act out how to get a coke. (Youtube link <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vqXhKUVHi58">here</a>)<br /><br />Commercials like this happened all the time, and definitely stuck in my head. But as I think about it right now, there is a battle being waged inside my head. One part of me quite sympathetic and loves the idea of Coca-Cola. Red label Coca-Cola. Served at McDonalds. Exclusive beverage of Disneyland. True American. What's not to love? I guess the product, because I hate it!<br /><br />My problem is I hate the taste of it. It's the worst! People tell me it's so much better with real sugar, so I've tracked down bottles from Mexico at Vallarta and tried it. Still not any good, though. I like Diet Coke just fine, but regular, red-label Coca-Cola is just the worst. (I'm a Diet Dr Pepper guy. Honestly, better than regular.) <br /><br />I wish I didn't hate the taste, because I like the brand name just fine. They did a lot of good advertising in my formative years, I think. I like seeing it around. My mom and grandma and uncle use vintage Coca-Cola in a lot of their decorating, and I like that. Feels home-y. <br /><br />It's kind of weird to think--that in advertising to me specifically--Coca-Cola won the battle, but lost the war. I have nothing against them, but I will not buy their product. I will go buy Diet Dr Pepper. Or store brand Diet Dr Pepper (Diet Dr K at Ralphs). Or Schweppes Gingerale (also made by the Dr Pepper company, as I have found out in researching this). <br /><br />I feel like I'm missing out in not enjoying Coca-Cola. Like those people that hate Disneyland.Mike Treadwayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03962569812661721324noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5031831965614014663.post-18909712262132678402011-01-24T20:13:00.001-08:002011-01-24T20:16:50.255-08:00Meerkat ManorCity workers did maintenance on the road today, directly out from where my window is. Cars keep cruising up the hill and braking in front of my house and no matter how many times it happens, I keep peeking outside to see who's here. <br /><br />Just someone braking past the cones too late.Mike Treadwayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03962569812661721324noreply@blogger.com0