That'll be all, Danny.

I'm not sure why someone bothered asking Danny Glover his opinion about what's going on in Haiti. I am, however, relieved, that it provides an opportunity to point out that Mr. Glover is, in fact, batshit insane.

In a recent interview, Mr. Glover attempts to connect the apocalypse in Haiti with the failure to reach an agreement on climate change in Copenhagen by proposing that Gaia was pissed and therefore smote the Haitians. The implied logic is that because a cohort of jet-setting pseudo-environmentalists couldn't get their act together in Denmark, the Earth itself lashed out with a 7.1 earthquake that leveled the capital city in perhaps the single-poorest country in the Western Hemisphere.

I'd like to think that this doesn't require much in the way of analysis.

Another article that talks about this, complete with a link to the YouTube video of Mr. Glover's phone appearance on GRITtv is here. It takes a bit to pick up; the actual comments are closer toward the end of the clip.

I've enjoyed Mr. Glover's work in film. He's an engaging presence on the screen. However, I think this is conclusive evidence that we can count him out of anything having to do with politics, science or... well, much of anything besides acting.

"Just Another Day"

I meant to post this on Christmas Day. Not because it contains any particularly important theological insight or spiritual revelation, but because it fits with those sorts of occasions. I failed to post it on Christmas because I very much needed to take a day away from work, and apparently the only way to accomplish that is to completely avoid computers.

(iPhones are fair game, but are tougher for these sorts of entries.)

There are folks who would posit that Christmas and New Year's are just another day. Strictly speaking, they're right. Any Winter Solstice holiday you or others may celebrate are just another revolution of the planet as it spins around our sun. The sun rises and sets on that day just as any other. It's a sentiment that I fully understand, and in fact thought about as "Just Another Day" played over my car speaker as I drove down to visit friends and second-family members (many of whom are co-workers) for the holiday week.

However, that sentiment lasted only for a fleeting moment before it was replaced by the larger truth, as I understand it. This truth is that the days which we collectively deem as special or significant do have meaning, and that is the importance we imbue them with. For most of the free world, any random day is just that. While it may be someone's anniversary or birthday it is, to the rest of us, simply another day. Then there are those days which have gathered a collective standing: so many people impart significance upon a given day or days that they become special across broader populations. Businesses close as people declare a time that is to be set apart for whatever celebration or reflection is agreed upon. Traditions sprout and grow around these days, clinging to the occasion through the passage of time when they are, in turn, passed along to a new generation.

These days matter because we say they do. That's what I wanted to share with all of you: a reminder that the significance and meaning -- indeed the power -- behind our "sacred" days exists solely because it comes from us. There's no external force that declares them special. It's us.

We are our own power.

For that reason, it's not just another day. Chanukah mattters. Christmas matters. New Year's Eve/Day matters. They mean something because we hold them dear and collectively agree that they represent something.

With that in mind, I'll take this opportunity to wish you and yours a happy and prosperous New Year.

Virtual Nostalgia & Hand Grenades

I'm Alex Hare, and I'm a Hunter.

I ride my Stormpike Charger through the worlds of Azeroth, Outland and Northrend with my trusted Raptor sidekick, Dexter. My aim is keen and my tracking senses are legendary. My traps make my enemies wish they'd never crossed my path.

What's your game?

Alright, I've never been featured in a World of Warcraft ad. I'm what Blizzard would generously refer to as a "casual player." I have played since open beta, and was one of those who experienced the server land-rush on launch. However, with the day-job having become all-consuming (translation: I'm not writing much for anything other than work) I often go for a few weeks at a time between log-ins. None of my characters are level 80 (the current maximum), and my "main" -- the Hunter -- is only level 70.

This past week Blizzard started airing new WoW ads with Mr. T, featuring the "Mohawk Grenade" -- a more-or-less inside joke tied to his first WoW spot. I had heard there were actual Night Elf Mohawks in-game outside each of the starting areas, and thought it might be fun to find one. When I logged in, I noticed I had mail from Blizzard. Attached was a present for their fifth anniversary. I had to re-read the message. I knew I'd subscribed for a few years, but didn't realize we'd hit the 5th anniversary already. It inspired a brief bit of reflection on my time in meatspace over the past five years; those things which had changed and those which had not. Moving on, I decided it was time to take my Hunter for a quick spin and score some grenades.

Returning to Ironforge, I was reminded just how much I enjoyed that city. It's a perfect fit and feel for what one might expect of a race of dwarves, with its massive halls, Great Forge and proud background music; which is amusing considering "dwarf" is a completely fictional concept. Riding out of Ironforge my ram galloped down toward Kharanos, a smaller nearby town. Past the Thunderbrew Distillery, my Hunter's first hearthstoned "home." Riding along the road that passed through Kharanos, on through the frozen mountains of Dun Morogh, I found myself getting a bit nostalgic about my Hunter's own history. Onward, past a mortar team I fondly remembered them cracking each other up as they blew up target dummies during my Hunter's earliest foray into the wider world.

As I neared the Coldridge Pass, I felt as though I was genuinely having a homecoming of sorts. I nailed a couple of Rockjaw Raider troggs as I went through, payback for the hassle they'd given a certain red-haired dwarf during his earlier days as a hunter. I emerged from the tunnel and found myself staring at my own birthplace: the starting area of Coldridge Pass where I'd taken my first few steps on launch day. It was like I'd come home, seventy levels and five years later, having seen the furthest reaches and depths of Azeroth and the other world of Outland.

What I appreciated most about this trip down a virtual memory lane was that these memories of myself, as the Hunter, were just as real as those reflections upon the real world when I saw the Fifth Anniversary note. It was amusing and ironic to feel as though I'd lead some kind of double-life. One in Southern California, and one in the World of Warcraft.

Thank you, Blizzard. My quest for hand grenades yielded a pleasant reward of a fond memory of my time as a Hunter.

Now, time to help Mr. T. make Azeroth look gooooood.

Color me stunned.

It's official. I am genuinely flabbergasted: Filmmakers demand Polanski's release.

If I'm reading this correctly they're crying foul over the fact that he was bagged in Switzerland on his way to a film festival to receive a lifetime achievement award, because he has previously been allowed to travel in and out of the country freely. He even owns a house there.

So, let me see if I've understood the logic being applied here: these same filmmakers are fine with Roman Polanski drugging, raping and sodomizing a 13 year old child, and with his having fled justice for the last thirty years. He's admitted it, and justified his pedophile desires at the time. The problem these signatories seem to have is that he finally got popped by a country willing to extradite him on an occasion to which they knew he'd show up? I call that fair play, kids. If you want to nail someone you time your arrest to get them at a time and place when you're pretty damn sure they'll be.

In the case of the filmmakers, it seems like they think film festivals should be sacred. The night you get an award should be sacrosanct. The law can't touch you on your award night at a film festival?

I call shenanigans.

I'm still very interested in working in the Industry, but I did actually decide years ago that if I had a chance to work with Roman Polanski I would pass out of general principle. What does it say about these folks that they're backing him on a formal petition?

---

In other news, France passes tough anti-piracy measure. Ah, the French... soft on pedophiles, tough on illegal downloads.

Speaking of past lives...

Have you noticed that no one who believes they have had a previous life ever believes they were some anonymous random peon? Every one I've heard of imagines they were Cleopatra, Joan of Arc, Napoleon or another famous figure. Nobody ever says...

"Hey, I think I may have been a victim of the Black Death back in 1349."

"You know, I honestly believe I may have been one of those innocent bystanders slaughtered when the first Crusaders finally reached Jerusalem."

"Man, you know what really sucked? That day when our village was completely slaughtered by the ancient Israelites."

"I miss the old days tending the ziggurat in Ur. That was the life."


Why is that? If past lives were possible, we couldn't all have been someone famous. Of course, given the overall expansion of the global population over the last hundred years or so it would be statistically impossible for all 6.5 billion people now living to have been someone else in the past; there just aren't enough dead people to go around.

And this is how my mind wanders on a Saturday night when I should be working...

Ah, the Internet: bringer of new guilt

I'm developing "match guilt." It's like TiVO/DVR guilt or Netflix guilt: a mental state created when there's so much of something which requires your attention that you don't have time to properly address it all, which only serves to create a further backlog that requires your attention. It's a self-perpetuating, spiraling form of obligation that has no true impact on your daily life, yet causes occasional bouts of low-grade anxiety or guilt.

Now I'm finding it in online dating sites. I've been on a free one for a few years now, mainly because the tests are amusing, though if I stay away for an extended interval I have no guilt. It's free, and there's nobody expecting me to contact them. On a paid dating site, like the one I joined a couple months ago, things are different. They send you matches night after night. I was rather busy when I signed up, and so left a lot of these women in the queue. Now there are four "pages" worth. I've weeded out the ones with no photos (because you can tell a lot about personality from the face) and the ones that weren't going to work. But that's the catch: the majority of these women are interesting enough that I can't simply eradicate them all. I could, though that would defeat the purpose of the exercise.

Now, there are four pages of women. After joining a paid dating service with the intent of meeting women, I now have a backlog of them. The larger it gets, the more daunting the sorting becomes. It does not help that after reading a few profiles my brain begins to glaze over.

Hence, match guilt.

Which will now have to wait, as I've work to do.

---

*(from DEFENDING YOUR LIFE, wherein Albert Brooks' character discusses his ex-wife with Meryl Streep: "I have a rule. You should be with someone who is just attractive enough to turn you on. Anything more than that is asking for trouble. She was much prettier than I needed.")

RIP: Blake Snyder

Everyone knows about John Hughes, because a lot of us grew up on his movies of teen life, angst, love and ditching school during the 1980's.

What has gotten considerably less press is the passing of another screenwriter: Blake Snyder. Most people probably haven't heard of him, but he made a fair living writing high concept scripts like BLANK CHECK and NUCLEAR FAMILY. More personally, he wrote a fabulous book on screenwriting called "Save The Cat." I found this book (and software) at a point in time where I needed a good mental boost to get my head back in the writing game. It's an outstanding read.

I recently helped an aspiring novelist friend out by buying them a set of books, which I described as the three I would pick if I could only have three books on screenwriting, story and most importantly structure. "Save The Cat" was one of those three books.

I saw Blake in person at CS Expo a couple years ago. He appeared to be a guy who was just happy to be where he was. He even published his personal e-mail address in his books, and personally answered hundreds if not thousands of e-mails from aspiring writers who were inspired by reading his guidance.

He's not as famous as John Hughes, of course. Writers never are, but this one did what all writers hope to: he touched my life in a very positive way for which I remain grateful.

Godspeed, Blake Snyder.

Coming soon-ish: Tales from the Script

Yeah, yeah. Been a while. Worst blogger ever. I know the drill. What can I say? I've been busy. It hasn't been with writing so much, lately, though I hope to change that. Work has been a time devouring exercise that pays well enough that I can't exactly turn my back on things like eating, making rent and clothing myself.

Excuses aside, I may be turning my attentions away from the still long-gestating-but-sure-to-kick-ass-someday feature and getting back into a project I developed with a friend a while ago. We hammered out the rough beats years ago and really liked the premise but life got in the way and nothing came of it. Outside events have now brought that project back to the foreground, and the distance I have on it thanks to the intervening years helps me more objectively analyze it as someone else's work.

This should be fun.

Until then, a recommendation to all of you writer-types out in the audience: sometime this winter, look for a DVD called Tales from the Script. I caught a screening tonight in LA and thought it was quite a useful, insightful and vaguely depressing look at the world of screenwriting from people who have had their "big break." Shane Black, Zak Penn, David Hayter, Bruce Joel Rubin and the ray of sunshine that is William Goldman (IMDB them, kids) and many others share their tales from the inside. It's not all depressing, of course, some of it is quite funny and totally relatable for anyone who is or has circled the Industry from the perch of the aspiring screenwriter.

The director hopes it will be out on DVD in January, along with a companion book that is scheduled for release then.

Check it out!