Entries tagged with “Family” from Things You Don't Care About
Grandpa Hilberg was always "old" to me -- he must have been in his mid to late fifties in my earliest memories of him, going to see Cubs games with him and my dad. I remember his apartment on Ashland Avenue; its smell, and how it was filled with his model trains. I remember the creaky wooden stairs in his building and their red stained wood. I can't remember much else though, almost thirty years later.
He moved to Montana when I wasn't much older; I won't pretend to know why exactly, but after that I saw him less, when he would come to visit or on the rare occasion of a family gathering. I would talk to him on the phone, I always intended to go visit him sometime once I started working but somehow it never worked out; the idea of going to see him without my dad always seemed awkward, and how many people in their 20s want to go hang out with their grandparents? I always thought there would be time later anyway -- the mortality of Grandpa Hilberg never really set in for me.
When my mom's dad died on Christmas 2003, I seemed to make it through almost unfazed. Maybe it was because I had just changed my name and his funeral would be the first time I would meet my mom's family as I am now, and selfishly I was more worried about their reactions to that than grieving over his death. I hadn't spent as much time with Grandpa Schroedter either, since he lived further away. For some reason, I feel like he had reach his time -- he had done what he set out to do and now he was done, and maybe felt a bit at a loss with what he was supposed to do now.
Grandpa Hilberg was different; there was always something childlike about him to me. He seemed to have few regrets about his life and despite the fact that I don't think he ever really had a comfortable or successful career, he never seemed bitter or upset by that. It seemed like every time I talked to him, whether in person or on the phone, he had some story to tell about his friends or his family, and nearly every single one ended with his laugh. I don't think I ever heard him to tell a story with a sad ending.
For someone like me, who has felt world-weary and cynical since I was in my teens, there's something fascinating about a person like Grandpa Hilberg who could maintain that kind of point of view and outlook on the world for so long. I never really thought about his mortality, I guess, because it felt like he would never really go -- how can someone like that die? I figured when you see death coming that has to be the ultimate downer -- when the end is near how can you maintain that kind of outlook?
Yesterday, my dad called me as I was leaving lunch and told me that Grandpa Hilberg had died that morning. He'd been in the hospital, and I knew he was sick, but still, I never thought he would actually die -- it just didn't even strike me a possibility. I don't think it really settled in until last night, but for the first time, I think, I'm actually feeling a strong sense of grief over someone's passing in a way I've never felt it before. Maybe it's the fact that I'm getting older, and my parents are getting older too; for the first time I am really thinking about what it will be like when they die and realizing what that will mean.
I'm filled with regrets now, about my grandfather. I always told him I'd come visit, but I never did. He wrote me after the first time I went to Iceland, including an article he'd read on the place, and I don't think I ever wrote back. I talked to him on the phone, sure, but now...I was his oldest grandchild, and I think he was trying to reach out to me, and I wasn't there. I was always going to see or talk to him later, and now there's never going to be a later.
That is always going to haunt me I think, especially when I look at how his kids turned out -- seven boys and girls who managed to turn out to be pretty great people, one of whom I'm happy to call my dad. Whatever he and my grandmother did to raise them, they seem to have done it pretty well, and they managed to pass those lessons on to their kids, because I don't think I could have asked for a better dad than I am lucky enough to have. After all he's been through -- with me and my brothers, with my mom and everything else life has thrown at him, he's always been there for me. And when I think of that, I wonder if that's how my dad feels about his dad, and I wish I understood that more. I can't help but feel a bit of guilt that I am never going to have kids of my own so that I can pass those lessons on too -- and part of me wonders if I could have, even if it weren't no physically impossible. I can't imagine it was easy for him or for my parents to raise their kids as well as they did.
So, this weekend, I guess, I say goodbye to Grandpa Hilberg, and sorry for putting off what is now never going to happen. I hope that he passed peacefully and as without regret as he seemed, and I hope he knew how much he meant to those of us he leaves behind.
He moved to Montana when I wasn't much older; I won't pretend to know why exactly, but after that I saw him less, when he would come to visit or on the rare occasion of a family gathering. I would talk to him on the phone, I always intended to go visit him sometime once I started working but somehow it never worked out; the idea of going to see him without my dad always seemed awkward, and how many people in their 20s want to go hang out with their grandparents? I always thought there would be time later anyway -- the mortality of Grandpa Hilberg never really set in for me.
When my mom's dad died on Christmas 2003, I seemed to make it through almost unfazed. Maybe it was because I had just changed my name and his funeral would be the first time I would meet my mom's family as I am now, and selfishly I was more worried about their reactions to that than grieving over his death. I hadn't spent as much time with Grandpa Schroedter either, since he lived further away. For some reason, I feel like he had reach his time -- he had done what he set out to do and now he was done, and maybe felt a bit at a loss with what he was supposed to do now.
Grandpa Hilberg was different; there was always something childlike about him to me. He seemed to have few regrets about his life and despite the fact that I don't think he ever really had a comfortable or successful career, he never seemed bitter or upset by that. It seemed like every time I talked to him, whether in person or on the phone, he had some story to tell about his friends or his family, and nearly every single one ended with his laugh. I don't think I ever heard him to tell a story with a sad ending.
For someone like me, who has felt world-weary and cynical since I was in my teens, there's something fascinating about a person like Grandpa Hilberg who could maintain that kind of point of view and outlook on the world for so long. I never really thought about his mortality, I guess, because it felt like he would never really go -- how can someone like that die? I figured when you see death coming that has to be the ultimate downer -- when the end is near how can you maintain that kind of outlook?
Yesterday, my dad called me as I was leaving lunch and told me that Grandpa Hilberg had died that morning. He'd been in the hospital, and I knew he was sick, but still, I never thought he would actually die -- it just didn't even strike me a possibility. I don't think it really settled in until last night, but for the first time, I think, I'm actually feeling a strong sense of grief over someone's passing in a way I've never felt it before. Maybe it's the fact that I'm getting older, and my parents are getting older too; for the first time I am really thinking about what it will be like when they die and realizing what that will mean.
I'm filled with regrets now, about my grandfather. I always told him I'd come visit, but I never did. He wrote me after the first time I went to Iceland, including an article he'd read on the place, and I don't think I ever wrote back. I talked to him on the phone, sure, but now...I was his oldest grandchild, and I think he was trying to reach out to me, and I wasn't there. I was always going to see or talk to him later, and now there's never going to be a later.
That is always going to haunt me I think, especially when I look at how his kids turned out -- seven boys and girls who managed to turn out to be pretty great people, one of whom I'm happy to call my dad. Whatever he and my grandmother did to raise them, they seem to have done it pretty well, and they managed to pass those lessons on to their kids, because I don't think I could have asked for a better dad than I am lucky enough to have. After all he's been through -- with me and my brothers, with my mom and everything else life has thrown at him, he's always been there for me. And when I think of that, I wonder if that's how my dad feels about his dad, and I wish I understood that more. I can't help but feel a bit of guilt that I am never going to have kids of my own so that I can pass those lessons on too -- and part of me wonders if I could have, even if it weren't no physically impossible. I can't imagine it was easy for him or for my parents to raise their kids as well as they did.
So, this weekend, I guess, I say goodbye to Grandpa Hilberg, and sorry for putting off what is now never going to happen. I hope that he passed peacefully and as without regret as he seemed, and I hope he knew how much he meant to those of us he leaves behind.
Well, I am back from Scottsdale, one step closer to having surgery and a bit sunburned for my trouble. Overall, it was a good trip and I feel a lot better in general, but especially about the whole prospect of having surgery, which I admit is a bit nerve-wracking to think about. Arizona is surprisingly nice, even when it's 85 degrees in the middle of March; for someone who comes from the Midwest, the thought of it being 85 degrees and pretty damn comfortable was a bit hard to believe.
We flew out Saturday, and everything went pretty well; I don't think we had any major delays, surprisingly. O'Hare was packed though; it looks like the snow on Friday had socked a lot of people in overnight. When we were waiting to board the flight to Phoenix, the people waiting for the Miami flight at the next gate actually cheered when the boarding announcement was made, so I'm guessing that they were stuck there for quite a while. Our flights weren't too bad, but once again I am annoyed by the fact that American can't even show you a damn movie on a 4 hour flight -- one of the reasons I prefer to fly United when I can. Dad got the tickets with his frequent flyer miles though, so I can't really complain too much.
I do find myself getting increasingly annoyed with the nickel-and-diming of the airlines these days, though. When I flew out to LA to visit my grandfather in '92-'93, I remember I got a meal on both my trip there and back, and it was actually pretty good -- Uno's pizza (and even a reasonable facsimile) on the way there and shrimp pesto pasta on the way back -- and there was at least one movie on the flight, possibly two. This flight, which was slightly shorter but not significantly so, had beverage service, but no movie, a sandwich ran you something like 5-6 bucks, and if you wanted a "snack" (not sure how big that was, but it didn't sound like much), that was 3 bucks. I am hoping this was just an American thing, but I wouldn't be surprised if they were all doing it. Definitely going to have to start bringing something to munch on when I fly from now on, because by the time we got off the plane I was starving.
Anyway, so we got to Phoenix all right, but my dad's map for the route to the hotel was....well, it wasn't very clear, and the fact that the interstates and state routes there are a bit confusing didn't help matters; lots of loops and merging and splitting roads made things a bit confusing, but even with a bit of backtracking we eventually got to the place we were staying, the Scottsdale Plaza Resort, after about 45 minutes. It's on the north end of Scottsdale, a few miles north of the Old Town area, past about 27 other resorts, and it was pretty nice. I have to admit I was a bit nervous when I saw some of the reviews online, and the place is not really what I would call a four-star resort (at least, our room, which was one of the cheaper ones), but it was clean, fairly well appointed, and looked like it had been remodeled at least somewhat recently. The grounds were gorgeous, and it was conveniently right across the street from Dr. Meltzer's office, so that was good.
Sunday, we went to see a Cubs game at the Peoria Sports Complex, the spring training field of the Padres and the Mariners. It was a bit anticlimactic though, with the Cubs going ahead 6-3 after the end of the first (very long) inning, but a good game nonetheless, with Maddux on the mound for the Padres' first four innings and Wood pitching for an inning for the Cubs. The park was very nice, and we had great seats -- furthest back from the field, but still within spitting distance of the Padres' dugout, and in the shade (though that didn't help keep me from getting sunburned -- ouch). I think probably the most memorable moment of the game was when Maddux left the field after the fourth inning, and had half the crowd (including many of the Cubs fans, who had earlier not been too happy to see him and Barrett, another ex-Cub, on the field) stood to give him a standing ovation. Whether it was because he'd let the Cubs have six runs in his first inning (and bat around), or just because he's one of the best (or was one of the best) pitchers in the game, I'm not sure, but I don't think I've ever seen anything like that when I've seen a game at Wrigley. Granted, attendance at the game was pretty small compared to Chicago (the total attendance was about 12,000 people, with a packed house), but still, it was a nice touch.
Monday was the main event, and after my dad and I had breakfast we wandered over to Dr. Meltzer's office for my appointment. I won't delve into the details that much, but I did fill out a bunch of paperwork and had a good consultation with Dr. Meltzer and his staff. I didn't feel like I was getting talked down to, which was good, and he seemed to expect that people came to him already being fairly familiar with most of the process. My questions were answered and I felt pretty reassured; I had seen Dr. Meltzer speak in Chicago before, so I was at least somewhat familiar with him, but that was almost six years ago now. He seemed to think everything should be smooth for me, and that I'd done well with most of the prep work I'd had done so far, so that was good to hear. My dad seemed suitably impressed, which I was glad to hear. Even as a grown adult now, I still feel a bit overwhelmed by this stuff sometimes, and I'm half worried I am going into things a bit less critical than I should be sometimes, so it was good to have him there to check me. I can't imagine doing this without the support of my parents -- for as long as I've lived and been going through this, as frustrating as they have been sometimes, I owe them a great debt for instilling the values of critical thinking, cautious planning, and careful examination in me at a young age. I think a lot of the reason my transition has been so smooth is due to the way they raised me, and I am forever grateful for that.
After that, we drove down to Mesa because my dad wanted to see Ho Ho Kam Park, the Cubs' spring training field, which was a bit of an adventure; thanks to the same street having three different names, it took us a while to find the place, and then it turned out there was a game that day, so we couldn't really go look around, at least without paying crazy scalper's prices for games. After that, we went back to the hotel and just took it easy for the rest of the day, though I did get my dad to watch some of the stuff from the Eve FanFest this year, which I hope he found interesting -- otherwise, I feel bad for talking his ear off about Eve all weekend. :)
Yesterday we flew back, and this time things were not quite as smooth. High winds in Chicago delayed our flight from Phoenix (though thankfully, we didn't run into the horrible traffic on the way to the airport Phoenix is supposed to have) and then our flight from Chicago to Champaign as well. We ended up making it home only about a half hour late though, so all in all not too bad except for the turbulence on landing in Chicago and Champaign. Had a bit of a scare when I didn't see my bag at the airport in Champaign, but it ended up being the last one to come off the plane, to my relief. A productive weekend, especially because I got to do a fair bit of brainstorming and writing for both Eve stuff and Cthulhu Rising stuff, so I'm feeling pretty good about the whole thing. Now, I just need to get everything else done in the next five or six months to get this all sorted out by the time I have surgery, and it'll be golden....
We flew out Saturday, and everything went pretty well; I don't think we had any major delays, surprisingly. O'Hare was packed though; it looks like the snow on Friday had socked a lot of people in overnight. When we were waiting to board the flight to Phoenix, the people waiting for the Miami flight at the next gate actually cheered when the boarding announcement was made, so I'm guessing that they were stuck there for quite a while. Our flights weren't too bad, but once again I am annoyed by the fact that American can't even show you a damn movie on a 4 hour flight -- one of the reasons I prefer to fly United when I can. Dad got the tickets with his frequent flyer miles though, so I can't really complain too much.
I do find myself getting increasingly annoyed with the nickel-and-diming of the airlines these days, though. When I flew out to LA to visit my grandfather in '92-'93, I remember I got a meal on both my trip there and back, and it was actually pretty good -- Uno's pizza (and even a reasonable facsimile) on the way there and shrimp pesto pasta on the way back -- and there was at least one movie on the flight, possibly two. This flight, which was slightly shorter but not significantly so, had beverage service, but no movie, a sandwich ran you something like 5-6 bucks, and if you wanted a "snack" (not sure how big that was, but it didn't sound like much), that was 3 bucks. I am hoping this was just an American thing, but I wouldn't be surprised if they were all doing it. Definitely going to have to start bringing something to munch on when I fly from now on, because by the time we got off the plane I was starving.
Anyway, so we got to Phoenix all right, but my dad's map for the route to the hotel was....well, it wasn't very clear, and the fact that the interstates and state routes there are a bit confusing didn't help matters; lots of loops and merging and splitting roads made things a bit confusing, but even with a bit of backtracking we eventually got to the place we were staying, the Scottsdale Plaza Resort, after about 45 minutes. It's on the north end of Scottsdale, a few miles north of the Old Town area, past about 27 other resorts, and it was pretty nice. I have to admit I was a bit nervous when I saw some of the reviews online, and the place is not really what I would call a four-star resort (at least, our room, which was one of the cheaper ones), but it was clean, fairly well appointed, and looked like it had been remodeled at least somewhat recently. The grounds were gorgeous, and it was conveniently right across the street from Dr. Meltzer's office, so that was good.
Sunday, we went to see a Cubs game at the Peoria Sports Complex, the spring training field of the Padres and the Mariners. It was a bit anticlimactic though, with the Cubs going ahead 6-3 after the end of the first (very long) inning, but a good game nonetheless, with Maddux on the mound for the Padres' first four innings and Wood pitching for an inning for the Cubs. The park was very nice, and we had great seats -- furthest back from the field, but still within spitting distance of the Padres' dugout, and in the shade (though that didn't help keep me from getting sunburned -- ouch). I think probably the most memorable moment of the game was when Maddux left the field after the fourth inning, and had half the crowd (including many of the Cubs fans, who had earlier not been too happy to see him and Barrett, another ex-Cub, on the field) stood to give him a standing ovation. Whether it was because he'd let the Cubs have six runs in his first inning (and bat around), or just because he's one of the best (or was one of the best) pitchers in the game, I'm not sure, but I don't think I've ever seen anything like that when I've seen a game at Wrigley. Granted, attendance at the game was pretty small compared to Chicago (the total attendance was about 12,000 people, with a packed house), but still, it was a nice touch.
Monday was the main event, and after my dad and I had breakfast we wandered over to Dr. Meltzer's office for my appointment. I won't delve into the details that much, but I did fill out a bunch of paperwork and had a good consultation with Dr. Meltzer and his staff. I didn't feel like I was getting talked down to, which was good, and he seemed to expect that people came to him already being fairly familiar with most of the process. My questions were answered and I felt pretty reassured; I had seen Dr. Meltzer speak in Chicago before, so I was at least somewhat familiar with him, but that was almost six years ago now. He seemed to think everything should be smooth for me, and that I'd done well with most of the prep work I'd had done so far, so that was good to hear. My dad seemed suitably impressed, which I was glad to hear. Even as a grown adult now, I still feel a bit overwhelmed by this stuff sometimes, and I'm half worried I am going into things a bit less critical than I should be sometimes, so it was good to have him there to check me. I can't imagine doing this without the support of my parents -- for as long as I've lived and been going through this, as frustrating as they have been sometimes, I owe them a great debt for instilling the values of critical thinking, cautious planning, and careful examination in me at a young age. I think a lot of the reason my transition has been so smooth is due to the way they raised me, and I am forever grateful for that.
After that, we drove down to Mesa because my dad wanted to see Ho Ho Kam Park, the Cubs' spring training field, which was a bit of an adventure; thanks to the same street having three different names, it took us a while to find the place, and then it turned out there was a game that day, so we couldn't really go look around, at least without paying crazy scalper's prices for games. After that, we went back to the hotel and just took it easy for the rest of the day, though I did get my dad to watch some of the stuff from the Eve FanFest this year, which I hope he found interesting -- otherwise, I feel bad for talking his ear off about Eve all weekend. :)
Yesterday we flew back, and this time things were not quite as smooth. High winds in Chicago delayed our flight from Phoenix (though thankfully, we didn't run into the horrible traffic on the way to the airport Phoenix is supposed to have) and then our flight from Chicago to Champaign as well. We ended up making it home only about a half hour late though, so all in all not too bad except for the turbulence on landing in Chicago and Champaign. Had a bit of a scare when I didn't see my bag at the airport in Champaign, but it ended up being the last one to come off the plane, to my relief. A productive weekend, especially because I got to do a fair bit of brainstorming and writing for both Eve stuff and Cthulhu Rising stuff, so I'm feeling pretty good about the whole thing. Now, I just need to get everything else done in the next five or six months to get this all sorted out by the time I have surgery, and it'll be golden....
So another Christmas has come and gone, spent as usual with my brother, his girlfriend, and my parents at their house. Now, while I'm admittedly not exactly the target market for this holiday, I don't think you need to be Christian to be able to appreciate a time like this, where you can gather with family and celebrate the fact that everyone's made it through another year, enjoy some good food and good company, and just generally have a good time. Christmas is probably the time of year when I most feel at home with my parents, when my house feels the most empty. Sitting on the couch at my parents' house, in front of a roaring fire, with the Christmas tree decorated and everyone there, together, that's a feeling of contentment I get far too little. It's a sense of connection to my past, and when I move away, as I know I will eventually, that's going to be one of the hardest things to adjust to if I can't come home for Christmas.
This year was a little odd, since my mom had surgery on her wrist in October and as a result hasn't been able to really decorate the house as she usually does; her Halloween Department 56 miniatures are still up for instance, which is a bit weird. Still, I think it may have actually been good for her because she wasn't stressed out about getting everything up and making it perfect, which I know can have a tendency to creep up on her sometimes. My dad did more of the cooking this year than he usually does (which is saying a lot, since this is the time of year he does most of his baking) and despite his cinnamon rolls not turning out quite like he wanted, he really outdid himself. I think the eggnog this year was the best it's ever been, the smoked ham we had yesterday was amazing, and everything was just really good. The food at my folks' is one of those things I always look forward to, especially on the holidays, and I definitely wasn't disappointed. The only thing that really bothered me is that I wasn't able to help as much as I would have liked because I was waiting for the mail to arrive here at my house on Monday, because a few of my presents still hadn't arrived yet (they made it, finally, at 5:00).
And of course, there's the presents. This is always kind of an iffy thing for me, because my mom, as much as I love her, still hasn't really quite figured out what I like even after thirty years, and my transition has only made that worse in some ways I think. While I can usually appreciate the sentiment (except the year she gave me the gift of cleaning implements, which I interpreted as "your bathroom needs to be cleaned better"), it's often stuff I am never going to use. My dad usually does better, but I think it's hard for either of them to really bridge the generation gap sometimes. However, overall, this year, they really outdid themselves for the most part.
Definitely the highlight of the day was the Blade Runner Ultimate Collector's Edition, which is, quite frankly, the best single-movie boxed set I've ever seen. Not only does it have the new "Final Cut," which is still pretty close to the 1992 Director's Cut with cleaned up effects and a significantly better transfer, it has the 1992 Director's Cut, the US theatrical release, the international theatrical release, and the previously unreleased workprint that was circulated as a bootleg for a while I guess. But that's not all, oh no. For me, the highlight of this boxed set is the three and a half hour making-of documentary Dangerous Days. We watched the Final Cut and this documentary yesterday, and frankly, it just blew me away. Seeing how they did all those effects and how they built those amazing sets, all the wrangling over the script, and all the other growing pains that that movie went through, you really get a sense for how much people just poured into this movie to make it as good as it is. Honestly, I don't know if I will ever see another movie made in my lifetime that will reach the scope and vision that Blade Runner achieved; I don't think it's out of the question to put it there with movies like Citizen Kane as a triumph of cinema. In addition to the monstrous documentary, there's a number of other featurettes I haven't had time to watch yet. If you're a true fan, this five disc set is a must-buy, especially at only 55 bucks from Amazon. Considering the last Limited Edition didn't last in stock too long, you might want to grab it while you have a chance.
I got plenty of other goodies too, of course; the Serenity Collector's Edition, a few Call of Cthulhu books (which will be handy for working on Cthulhu Rising), Stephen Colbert's I Am America (And So Can You!), a collection of t-shirts and posters from the Valve Store from my brother (sadly, he wasn't able to get one of the plush headcrabs, a deficiency I took care of last night myself), one of Johnny Cash's American Recordings CDs and Santana's Abraxas from my dad, in an effort to expand my musical tastes (I suspect inspired by Guitar Hero), and vast array of other assorted knickknacks.
As far as the title for this entry goes, it was my brother's girlfriend's question to my mom about the fact that her nativity scene does in fact have four wise men. Evidently this is something she inherited from her mother and no, she has no idea where the fourth (very out-of-place looking) wise man comes from. It's not a Catholic thing, it's....a my family is a little odd thing, as if that should be a surprise to anyone at this point. :)
This year was a little odd, since my mom had surgery on her wrist in October and as a result hasn't been able to really decorate the house as she usually does; her Halloween Department 56 miniatures are still up for instance, which is a bit weird. Still, I think it may have actually been good for her because she wasn't stressed out about getting everything up and making it perfect, which I know can have a tendency to creep up on her sometimes. My dad did more of the cooking this year than he usually does (which is saying a lot, since this is the time of year he does most of his baking) and despite his cinnamon rolls not turning out quite like he wanted, he really outdid himself. I think the eggnog this year was the best it's ever been, the smoked ham we had yesterday was amazing, and everything was just really good. The food at my folks' is one of those things I always look forward to, especially on the holidays, and I definitely wasn't disappointed. The only thing that really bothered me is that I wasn't able to help as much as I would have liked because I was waiting for the mail to arrive here at my house on Monday, because a few of my presents still hadn't arrived yet (they made it, finally, at 5:00).
And of course, there's the presents. This is always kind of an iffy thing for me, because my mom, as much as I love her, still hasn't really quite figured out what I like even after thirty years, and my transition has only made that worse in some ways I think. While I can usually appreciate the sentiment (except the year she gave me the gift of cleaning implements, which I interpreted as "your bathroom needs to be cleaned better"), it's often stuff I am never going to use. My dad usually does better, but I think it's hard for either of them to really bridge the generation gap sometimes. However, overall, this year, they really outdid themselves for the most part.
Definitely the highlight of the day was the Blade Runner Ultimate Collector's Edition, which is, quite frankly, the best single-movie boxed set I've ever seen. Not only does it have the new "Final Cut," which is still pretty close to the 1992 Director's Cut with cleaned up effects and a significantly better transfer, it has the 1992 Director's Cut, the US theatrical release, the international theatrical release, and the previously unreleased workprint that was circulated as a bootleg for a while I guess. But that's not all, oh no. For me, the highlight of this boxed set is the three and a half hour making-of documentary Dangerous Days. We watched the Final Cut and this documentary yesterday, and frankly, it just blew me away. Seeing how they did all those effects and how they built those amazing sets, all the wrangling over the script, and all the other growing pains that that movie went through, you really get a sense for how much people just poured into this movie to make it as good as it is. Honestly, I don't know if I will ever see another movie made in my lifetime that will reach the scope and vision that Blade Runner achieved; I don't think it's out of the question to put it there with movies like Citizen Kane as a triumph of cinema. In addition to the monstrous documentary, there's a number of other featurettes I haven't had time to watch yet. If you're a true fan, this five disc set is a must-buy, especially at only 55 bucks from Amazon. Considering the last Limited Edition didn't last in stock too long, you might want to grab it while you have a chance.
I got plenty of other goodies too, of course; the Serenity Collector's Edition, a few Call of Cthulhu books (which will be handy for working on Cthulhu Rising), Stephen Colbert's I Am America (And So Can You!), a collection of t-shirts and posters from the Valve Store from my brother (sadly, he wasn't able to get one of the plush headcrabs, a deficiency I took care of last night myself), one of Johnny Cash's American Recordings CDs and Santana's Abraxas from my dad, in an effort to expand my musical tastes (I suspect inspired by Guitar Hero), and vast array of other assorted knickknacks.
As far as the title for this entry goes, it was my brother's girlfriend's question to my mom about the fact that her nativity scene does in fact have four wise men. Evidently this is something she inherited from her mother and no, she has no idea where the fourth (very out-of-place looking) wise man comes from. It's not a Catholic thing, it's....a my family is a little odd thing, as if that should be a surprise to anyone at this point. :)
...and I kind of wish I was going too.
I've never been a real big fan of watching sports, and honestly, since I stopped playing hockey when I was in high school, I haven't been that big a fan of playing them, either. I don't watch baseball or football or whatever on TV, I am annoyed by the waste of University resources blown on the DIA that could be going to other departments on campus that are actual academic institutions, and I think I can count on one hand the number of college or professional-level sports events I've been to in my life -- with the exception of Cubs games.
My dad comes from Chicago, and his dad comes from Chicago, and of course, he's a Cubs fan. I can remember when my grandfather lived in Chicago on Ashland Avenue, not that far from Wrigley, and my dad and I would go up there pretty frequently and we'd go watch games. I can remember my mom waking me up for the last game of that 1984 playoff series (because my dad was on a business trip) and how crappy it was when they lost. After my grandfather moved out to Montana, we didn't do it as much, but the whole family goes up there for a game every couple years even now. And I still go, even though I'm not really into baseball and honestly, I can think of better things to blow a whole day on for the trip up there and back. Why?
There's a kind of emotional energy when I go to Cubs games that's just really hard to describe. I know it's not just me either; I've seen documentaries (like Wait Till Next Year) where they talk to Cubs fans and they feel the same way. When you are up there at Wrigley, you feel part of a strange collective, even if you're just on the fringe of Cubs fandom. Add to that the fact that it's one of those few things that I really keep close to my heart from my childhood, that really bonds me to my dad, and it's not just a game. The Cubs could win or lose, and it really wouldn't matter. It's really most pronounced at Wrigley, but you can feel it even on the road.
I'm sure it's not restricted to the Cubs either, but I definitely think the fact that they are one of the oldest teams in the game, in a park that hasn't lost any of the charm it had when it was first built in the early 1900s, and that you can't really just be a fair-weather fan really intensifies things. Even I get pretty excited when the Cubs are doing as well as they are this year. I'm not a baseball expert by any sense of the word, and I admit I don't really know much about the subtleties of the game, but I check to see how they're doing, I listen to games on the radio or watch them on TV (usually only when I'm visiting my folks, I admit, but doing it at all is more than I usually do), and I have the same getting my hopes up that happens to a lot of (less embittered) Cubs fans when they're doing well this close to the end of the year. It's a very strange feeling for me.
I don't know that I'll be watching the Cubs' games when they go into the playoffs (as I was writing this, the Brewers lost to the Padres and the Cubs clinched the pennant), but I will be paying attention to what happens, and wishing I could be there, at the park, for those games. I'll never be a big sports fan, but thanks to my dad, I think I'm always going to be a Cubs fan.
I've never been a real big fan of watching sports, and honestly, since I stopped playing hockey when I was in high school, I haven't been that big a fan of playing them, either. I don't watch baseball or football or whatever on TV, I am annoyed by the waste of University resources blown on the DIA that could be going to other departments on campus that are actual academic institutions, and I think I can count on one hand the number of college or professional-level sports events I've been to in my life -- with the exception of Cubs games.
My dad comes from Chicago, and his dad comes from Chicago, and of course, he's a Cubs fan. I can remember when my grandfather lived in Chicago on Ashland Avenue, not that far from Wrigley, and my dad and I would go up there pretty frequently and we'd go watch games. I can remember my mom waking me up for the last game of that 1984 playoff series (because my dad was on a business trip) and how crappy it was when they lost. After my grandfather moved out to Montana, we didn't do it as much, but the whole family goes up there for a game every couple years even now. And I still go, even though I'm not really into baseball and honestly, I can think of better things to blow a whole day on for the trip up there and back. Why?
There's a kind of emotional energy when I go to Cubs games that's just really hard to describe. I know it's not just me either; I've seen documentaries (like Wait Till Next Year) where they talk to Cubs fans and they feel the same way. When you are up there at Wrigley, you feel part of a strange collective, even if you're just on the fringe of Cubs fandom. Add to that the fact that it's one of those few things that I really keep close to my heart from my childhood, that really bonds me to my dad, and it's not just a game. The Cubs could win or lose, and it really wouldn't matter. It's really most pronounced at Wrigley, but you can feel it even on the road.
I'm sure it's not restricted to the Cubs either, but I definitely think the fact that they are one of the oldest teams in the game, in a park that hasn't lost any of the charm it had when it was first built in the early 1900s, and that you can't really just be a fair-weather fan really intensifies things. Even I get pretty excited when the Cubs are doing as well as they are this year. I'm not a baseball expert by any sense of the word, and I admit I don't really know much about the subtleties of the game, but I check to see how they're doing, I listen to games on the radio or watch them on TV (usually only when I'm visiting my folks, I admit, but doing it at all is more than I usually do), and I have the same getting my hopes up that happens to a lot of (less embittered) Cubs fans when they're doing well this close to the end of the year. It's a very strange feeling for me.
I don't know that I'll be watching the Cubs' games when they go into the playoffs (as I was writing this, the Brewers lost to the Padres and the Cubs clinched the pennant), but I will be paying attention to what happens, and wishing I could be there, at the park, for those games. I'll never be a big sports fan, but thanks to my dad, I think I'm always going to be a Cubs fan.
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