Movies I've only seen once

I love movies. Whenever I have the free time, I'll watch as many as I can. Even if its something I've seen a dozen times.
However, there are a few that for whatever reason I've only seen once. Either I hated it, or it made me feel things I don't know if I want to again. So to make things fun, here's a list!

1. Pearl Harbor (2001)
Micheal Bay directed, with Ben Affleck, Kate Beckinsale, and Josh Hartnett. I like war movies. Especially World War II. Tora Tora Tora is great. This...was terrible. The bombings were essentially a backdrop for a love story that wasn't that interesting. Has Josh Hartnett ever been a good actor? I have actively avoided watching it on cable. The only part I really enjoyed was Alec Baldwin as Lt Col James Doolittle.

2. The Devil's Advocate (1997)
Taylor Hackfor directed, with Keanu Reeves, Al Pacino, and Charlize Theron.
Keanu is a lawyer who gets in a firm run by the DEVIL. Nice subtle metaphor there. It went from lawyer drama to a supernatural thriller and it never made much sense why. So I decided to not rewatch. Ever.

3. Sundown: The Vampire in Retreat (1989)
Directed by Anthony Hickox (who?) and starring David Carradine and Bruce Campbell.
I saw most of this once on HBO many years ago. Its about a group of vampires that retire in a small western town and live off fake blood. Ths is on the list cause I haven't been able to find it anywhere, and would like to see it again, actually.

4. The Passion of the Christ (2004)
Directed by Mel Gibson, with Jim Caviezel. Like you didn't know. And this is a cheat because I've actually seen it twice...
Ok. It is good. I love the story, the authenticity of it being in Aramaic. The flashbacks to Jesus inventing a chair with a back on it is actually pretty fun.
What makes me not want to see it again is the violence. It was just too much for me.

Stories from the South: Part Two: Riding in the Dark with Dad

My dad always told me stories. Some where just the regular “When I was your age” stories about going uphill both ways with no shoes. Or how he grew up with no electricity. But the ones that were the best, which still stick in my mind, were the late at night scary stories. The kind you tell to the kid who won't sleep on a long drive. He would wait until it was pitch dark with the hum of the engine being the only sound.

I was sitting shotgun in the van. My mom was in the back bench seat with my little brother. It was somewhere between Amarillo and Dallas. There is nothing but farmland and long stretches of lonely roads. Dad finished a cigarette, and threw it out the window. I had been listening to a tape, but just finished.

“You know who lived out here? The Texas Chainsaw guy.” He told me. I hadn't really seen the movie, but I knew enough about it. Didn't know he was a real guy. Dad told me the real guy was found near where we were. How he captured people and skinned them alive. This made sure that my insomnia would last the rest of the night.

My favorite stories were about the weird half-man creatures that lived in the forests or swamps near our little town. Ever since that time I've been a little obsessed with Bigfoot stories. There was a legend of something like that up in Arkansas. Dad told me about how a friend of his had been camping, and heard this howl that wasn't quite human, and not really an animal. Then this smell, like a hundred skunks. He hid out behind his tent, and heard something moving nearby. It was right as the sun was setting, so the light wasn't very good. He turned on his flashlight, and saw a face that looked like a gorilla! He quickly turned it off and ran for his truck. The next day he went back with my dad and some friends. Along with their shotguns. The camp was torn up. All the food was gone. The smell still hung around though. After searching through the woods for a couple of hours, they decided that whatever it was had left.

I made him tell me that story at least 50 times a week for a while. I wanted the details. Where was the campsite? Can we go there? I was ready to go hunting for Bigfoot at 10 years old. It took my mom telling me that it was just a story about a hundred and fifty times to convince me. I was a little sad for a while, but eventually got over it. Grew up some, started losing interest in those type of things.

Then, about 5 years ago, I got an invite to go camping with some friends. We were going to canoe down some of the rivers in Arkansas, and camp and fish all night. In the middle of the night I woke up with a big call from nature. I grabbed a flashlight and headed a little bit away from the tents. Just as I got to a nice looking tree, I heard something moving off to the left. I panned my light over that way and saw leaves shaking. There was a smell, like rotting fish and waste and everything nasty put together. I'm sure my eyes got really wide. I froze for a minute. Then, I had an idea. I made a howling noise like a coyote mixed with a monkey. Waited a few minutes, did it again. Heard the rustling again from somewhere behind me. Then I felt something like breath on my neck. Slowly I turned around. My hand was shaking so much, I dropped the flashlight. I could see just a little bit of an outline that looked like a giant. We must have stared at each other for a few seconds, but it felt like forever.

I dropped low and picked up the light, but when I got it, the creature was gone. I tried howling again, but it never came back. I eventually gave up, and finished what I had come there for. I traced my way back to the tents. One of my friends, Kyle, had heard the howling. I told him what happened, and we woke up the others. None of us went back to sleep, we sat around the fire telling stories for the next few hours. When daylight hit, we went through the woods to where I saw the creature. There were some faint tracks, and scrapes like claw marks on a nearby tree. We followed the tracks for a while, but finding they disappeared after a short distance.

Today I'm driving from Dallas to a town in Colorado with the family. I timed it so that when we get in between there and Amarillo, it will be pitch dark. I hope my boy is sitting next to me, wide awake listening to music. When he looks up from his iPod, I'll start telling him this story. And then the one about where the old Native Americans used to bury their dead, and how at night their ghosts protect it from outsiders. Or maybe how his grandfather spent the night in a haunted house. As long as it helps keep him awake, I could tell stories forever.

Stories from the South: Part One: Growing Up Blues.

Ever since he first heard the sounds of blues guitar coming from his neighbor's house, Kris wanted to play. He was 7 years old, poor, and living with his grandmother. Kris's mother was currently living in Houston, trying to get her life straight. His father had died in a car accident just after Kris turned 4. The apartment was getting more and more run down every day. 

Kris didn't know the neighbor really well. Just that he was a white guy with long hair and an old rusted car. Grandma was asleep, so he snuck out and sat outside his neighbor's door. The music started moving something deep inside him. Later he snuck into the apartment just to get a look at what was playing. He saw tons of records by Buddy Guy, BB King, Stevie Ray Vaughn, and old dusty things by Leadbelly and Robert Johnson. While he knew it was wrong, he grabbed a few of them and ran back to his apartment. Just to borrow, he told himself. After listening to them for 3 days solid, his grandmother found them and just about whipped him to death. She made him take them back and apologize.

When he knocked on the door, the neighbor was surprised to see who had taken his collection. After listening to Kris's explanation, he invited him in for a talk. His name was Charlie Thornton, and he worked at a radio station. Kris expected a few yells and curses. What he got instead was a nice, calm, talk about music. The deejay was excited that he found a young kid in the apartments that listened to something other than hip hop.

They talked for at least an hour, then Kris's grandmother knocked on the door looking for him. She was not sure how she should feel about them talking for so long, but eventually he won her over by playing some old Temptations albums. Just before leaving, Charlie handed him some tapes of Jimi Hendrix and Carlos Santana.

“See, this music, its for everyone,” Charlie said, “It can bring all races and kinds of people together if its done right.”

Kris beamed, “Thanks Mister. Can we talk some more maybe?”

Charlie looked at Kris's grandmother, and she nodded. “Sure kid, just listen to these and tell me what you think.”

So every Wednesday night when his grandmother would go out with her church friends, he went to Charlie's house for a couple of hours of music and conversation. Kris soaked in all the information he could about all the great guitar players. He even found the old jazz stuff like Wes Montgomery fascinating. Charlie had an old Fender Stratocaster in the corner, and he would pick it up and play a couple of riffs, showing Kris how to play chords. The kid took to it like a natural, and quickly learned how to listen to a song and follow along with it.

His birthday was coming soon, and his grandmother knew exactly what he wanted. She just didn't have the money. But when you love someone, you find a way. Her way was taking her late husband's watch and wedding ring to the pawn shop. The day he turned 8, Kris unwrapped a slightly beat up Squire Strat, black as he was. He ran over to show Charlie, who showed him how to tune it and keep it maintained by cleaning it regularly. Charlie knew it was coming, so he gave him a book that would help teach him some basic chords and tricks.

Kris slept, ate, played with that guitar every day. His friends would come over and at first like the way he played, but soon get annoyed that he didn't have any video games. He didn't really care. His whole world was wrapped up in the sounds he made or listened to on his tapes. That and the time spent with Charlie. They were becoming more than friends, more like family. Then one day, Charlie sat him down.

“Kid, I have to tell you something. I won't be around anymore.”

“What? Why? Is it something I did?” Kris asked, tears starting to well up in his eyes.

“No, its not that, you are great! If I ever have a kid, I hope he's just like you. Its my work, they are closing down. I have to move to work.”

“Can't you just stay here? I need you!”

“I need you kid, you bring so much light in my life. I'll write you. I promise.”
 

Kris ran back to his room and cried himself to sleep. The next day he didn't want to eat or talk or even play his guitar. Gram came in and held him, told him she loved him and would always be there for him.

 “Can you really say that? Everyone I love leaves. My dad, my mom, Charlie...”

“Oh child, I'm healthy, I am here, and I love you. What do those songs you like say about feeling bad? Sometimes you just have to let it out. The hurt will get less. But you will remember it.”

“Why?”

“So you can learn from it.”

After she left, Kris picked up the Strat. Played a basic 4 bar blues song. Started singing softly to himself, about the things he had been through. By the end of the day, Kris had written his first song. He sat down and wrote what he had been singing. Looked at it and smiled.

Kris found some guitar magazines at the library, and read as many as he could find. He asked the librarian if it was okay to take some home, so he could practice the songs he liked. She said told him how they were going to get rid of some old issues, so he could just take those if he wanted. Which of course he did! So he loaded as many could fit in his backpack and headed home. When he got there, his mom was on the couch talking to his grandmother.

He hadn't seen her in at least six months, and she rarely called. To Kris, she was someone who only came around when it was convenient. She grabbed him and hugged him and told him how much he had grown. Kris smiled, because he knew that's what she liked. She took off his backpack, and remarked on its weight.

“Goodness child! What do you have in here?”, she questioned, opening it up. Before he could say anything, she pulled out the magazines. A frown appeared on her face. “Guitar World? What are you doing with this?”

“He's been playing, honey,” said his grandmother. “Kris is a prodigy! He's so good with that thing!”

“Oh no...no son of mine will play the guitar. Only those...lowlifes play those evil things!”

“What? Why are you talking like that?”, said grandma.

They went back and forth like this for an hour. Kris's mom screamed and cried and swore to heaven that her boy wouldn't play the instrument ever again. Grandma told her how talented he was, and how it brought him out of his shell, and anyway, what right did she have to say anything on how Kris lived?

Later, his mom left to get something from the store for dinner. Grandma came in and told him to hide his records and guitar in her room, under the bed. She swore that there was no way Kris would stop playing and learning. She gave him a big hug, and a grilled cheese sandwich. All his troubles seemed to fade away as he got sleepier.

Kris's mom left a week later, and sent cards and letters for a few weeks, then every few months. Meanwhile, Kris just kept on finding new inspiration in different CD's and on the radio. He bought a few more books, showing him easier ways to do some riffs and chords. Life went on this way for a while. He got taller, and skinnier. Girls followed him around like he was a young rock star.

His Junior year of high school, on the day Kris was about to go on his first date with a cheerleader, he got a call to go to the office. The school counselor sat him down.

”I'm sorry that I have to tell you this Kristopher, but we received some sad news. Your mother died.”

Kris sat there in silence. A slow pain started in his heart. Even though she wasn't in his life very much, she was still his mother, the only one he would ever have. They let his grandmother come and pick him up. She told him they would drive to Austin for the funeral. He just nodded. For the first time in years, he was unable to even pick up his guitar that night.

Two days later they were driving back home, listening to his favorite rock station. The dj came on and said something about Stevie Ray Vaughn. Kris didn't quite understand what was said. Grandma looked over, asked, “Stevie Ray, he's one of your favorites, right?” Kris said, “Yeah, what were they saying?”. Grandma said, “Well..we'll see what it says on the news when we get home.”

They got to the apartment. The news was just on, and said that after a concert, Stevie Ray and members of Eric Clapton's band had died in a helicopter crash. For the first time in a long time, Kris cried. Grandma held him tight, soaking up his tears with her blouse. It was too much loss in such a short time.

 A few days later grandma came home to the familiar sounds of blues music coming from down the hall.

Kris needed a job, and the church needed a musician of some kind, so he started playing gospel music every Wednesday and Sunday at the Emmanuel Baptist Church. It wasn't the kind of thing he really wanted to play, but at least it was something. Eventually they got a drummer, bass player, and keyboardist. The guys were semi-retired, and Kris was the youngest person on the stage, but they could put out a version of Amazing Grace that would get the congregation toe tapping, then swaying, then jumping up dancing. They pastor liked how more people would stay and bring friends each week, so he let them get away with a solo here or there.

After graduation, Kris got the chance to move in with a few friends, but still came to the apartments every chance he got. He would show his grandmother a new song he learned off the radio, and she would make his favorite meal, chicken pot pie. Kris was thinking about going to college, maybe studying guitar. Then he came home one night, and his grandmother had a stroke. She was rushed to the hospital, where they performed surgeries on her. The next day he went to see her. She was so small in that bed, with all the tubes and wires hanging everywhere. He brought an acoustic he got at the pawn shop and played her songs while she slept. It took a while, but eventually she did improve. But it was obvious that she couldn't live on her own anymore. It was hard on both of them, but she went to live in a nursing home where they could take care of her needs better. Kris got a job as an orderly just so he could be around her more.

On his 21^st birthday, grandma called him to her room. “I've got something for you son. I can't afford much, as you know. But I got this here bus ticket for you to go to Memphis. That's where the Blues comes from!”

Kris was amazed, and couldn't talk for a minute. “Momma, I can't go. You're still not well. I need to be near in case...”

“In case nothing! I'm getting stronger. You been taking care of me for too long. Go out and have some adventures. But first, I want you to go down and see your mama's grave.”

“What for? She never did nothing for me. Hell, she didn't even like my guitar playing.”

“Your mama, she was a hard headed woman who never did have no good sense. But she was your mother, for better or worse. I had a dream where she told me to get you down there, so go.”

Kris knew better than to argue. So a week later he borrowed his Pastor's car and drove to Austin. He went to the graveyard that held his mother's remains. His father was buried in Chicago, where his family was from. He lay the flowers on her grave, and talked to her a bit. Told her he missed her, and wished things could be different. It started getting dark, so he headed back to his car.

Driving around, he saw a statue by the side of the waterfront. It was of a man in a broad brimmed hat, holding a Fender Stratocaster. Kris knew right away, this was Stevie Ray Vaughn. He pulled over and got out. His guitar and a small battery powered amp he carried around were in the back, so he took them with him. As he stood in front of the statue, Kris looked into his eyes, and at his hands. The likeness was amazing. After a minute, Kris spoke.

“Stevie, sir. Thank you. When I first heard you play, you changed my life. Through all the things that have happened to me, your music was there. Lifting me up. Gave me hope.”

He plugged his guitar into the amp. Tuned the top two strings. Started playing 'The Sky is Crying', one of Stevie's last hits. After the first chorus was done, he felt a cold wind blow. He heard a slight rustling, making him think a bird or something was behind him. He turned around, but nothing was there. Turning back to the statue, he saw that it was slightly different. The face looked more realistic. He looked into the eyes again, and suddenly, they blinked.

Kris just about jumped out of his skin, nearly tripping and falling on his guitar chord. A shape formed and walked right through the statue. Somehow, standing right in front of him, was Stevie Ray Vaughn. Kris was frozen, not exactly with fear, but what could be called awe. The man smiled.

“Hey kid. I was hoping you would get here. Been wanting to talk to you.”

“Wha..me? Is this...is this happening?”

“Yeah, it seems that it is. We've been watching you. There's some things you should know, and we want to see you do good. But first, finish that song.”

Kris wasn't sure what he should do at first, but his hands seemed to have a mind of their own. They started playing right where he left off. By the time his mind caught up with his hands, Kris was breaking down the solo. He looked up, and saw a big grin on the ghost's face. Kris smiled back, and said, “Think that's good, watch this!”

Kris cranked up the volume and started wailing on some fun and crazy riffs, going from one to the other so smoothly it was like he had practiced it all his life. The small amp produced sounds it had no business really doing. It was if he had a wall of Marshall stacks behind him. Something made him just better, faster, and louder.

 “That's great kid. You know the music. You have the touch. It's in you. But I have some questions.”

“Like what?”, Kris asked.

“Are you ready to earn it? Sleeping on pool tables in dirty clubs. Getting cheated out of money for the gig. The loneliness. The road.”

“Earn it? Haven't I been through enough? My family is almost all gone.I've got nothing, just the music. So yeah, I'll sleep somewhere bad, I'll fight for what's mine, I'll go where the money is."

The ghost stood still. Then that smile came back even bigger. "Good kid, that's what we wanted to hear."

"Who is this we? I only see you."

"The ones who went before you. They sent me. Hell, Buddy Guy said he was my black daddy, so I guess I'm your white one!"

Kris laughed at this. "I still am not sure this is real, but okay. What else do I need to know?"

Stevie's smile dimmed a little. "This is going to be hard to hear, but it's important. Your dad, your real one, he's here. He said to tell you he loves you. He wishes like hell he could have known you. But on this side, we see things differently. He knows that things were rough for you, but it's been building your character for what's to come."

The kid's eyes started to water a little. He placed his hands over his face, like he was hiding from his idol.

"It's ok. Trust me kid, I've seen worse. But there's one more thing."

"What? Any more messages from beyond?", asked Kris.

"Let's call this a history lesson. Your daddy's grandfather was also a blues man. One of the best, the first to really bring it out. They say, and he even talks about it to us, that he sold his soul to the Devil to learn how to play. Of course if that wasn't true, I don't think he'd be where he is now."

"Wait, I know that story. Robert Johnson? That's my great-great-grandfather?"

"Right on, Kris. You're smart."

"Wow...I'm heading to Memphis soon. That's not far from the crossroads."

That smile came back. "Yeah. And trust me, its great being there. And that will be the start."

"The start of what?"

Sunlight started to come over the distance. "Looks like my time is coming soon," Stevie said. "The start of everything. You'll see. It'll be a hard road, but so worth it. We'll be watching."

"Wait! Will I ever see you again?"

"Why do you need to? You've got the music in you. The soul. It lives in you." His form was starting to fade.

"Gotta go, Kris. But if you see my brother, tell him I love him."

"I will Stevie. I promise. Thank you again!"

As he faded out, the last thing Kris saw the smile one last time. That was enough. Kris played one last song, 'The House is Rocking'. A song of celebration of music and good times. Then he winked at the statue, and headed back to his car.

"Guess I gotta see gradma one more time before I go. Then Memphis. Here comes Kris Johnson."

The Amazing Adventures of.... Someone

The Amazing Adventures of...Someone

The desert fifty miles south of Las Vegas is lonely. Sometimes teenagers come out here on their four wheel drives and race around, kicking up dirt and grit. The dry lake beds are perfect terrain for rocket enthusiasts, gun nuts, and anyone else bored enough to actually make the drive. Today was too cold in the desert for any of those people. They stayed in Vegas, lured by the casino's offer of easy money and free drinks, or stayed in their homes on the outer edges of town.

As it was, only the snakes and bugs and birds and other desert-dwelling animals were around to see something like a shooting star. Something that looked like a man wrapped in bright orange flame, framed by the fading light of dusk.

A loud sonic boom shot through the area. Dirt and a few lizards were wiped out in the shockwave as the strange, man-shaped object hit the ground. Had anybody been there, they would have rushed to the crash site, but the animals knew better. They kept their distance.

The man who lay in the shallow, hot crater was in some sort of protective suit, made out of what looked like hard, black rubber. Though whether it was that color naturally or was scorched by the flames was anyone’s guess. Flesh showed through rips and tears in the suit and the white stripes that ran along the sides were smudged with black and sand-colored dust. The helmet meant to protect his head had a large crack down the center. His face was obscured by a black mask. Surely the man was dead. After all, who could survive such a fall?

Prompted by the smell of singed flesh, a hungry coyote came out of hiding. His curiosity getting the better of him, he trotted carefully towards the body and sniffed his potential meal starting at the feet, then moving up his legs on the side. Saliva started to form on the corners of the animal's mouth. The idea of snacking on a human was rather appealing. He howled out into the darkening night to invite others in his pack of the tasty meal that awaited them. As he started to lean in to the small crater, preparing to nibble lightly until the rest of the pack arrived, he heard a slight beat. The beat that was a signal of life was faint at first, then started to get louder as the tempo increased. The coyote stopped, backed up, and cocked his head to one side.

The man's eyes opened barely. His fingers twitched slightly and his chest begin to rise and fall as his lungs took in precious air, causing the coyote to give up on his meal entirely. Inside the darkened mask, the man’s eyes opened ever so slightly. Despite evidence to the contrary, this man was alive! He took a small breath, moved his tongue around his mouth. His eyes opened wide, a look of shock on his face. He sat up, and looked to his right, at the coyote. The animal took two steps back, let out a yip of surprise, then ran away with all his might.

Carefully, the man crawled out of the hole. He looked at the rips in his outfit, and examined his body for any open wounds or broken bones. It didn't really surprise him that he didn't find any, but there was a dull pounding in his head, as if something was boring into his brain, and very slowly at that. He looked up to the sky, and shook his head. Shaken and still woozy from the fall, the man spoke his first words. “Oh. Crap.” A slight buzzing sound came from his left pocket. His communicator? Why did that survive?

He pulled it out, and read the screen. It was the Lieutenant. Headquarters. They were looking for him. With the tracking beacon built in to the communicator, he knew they would be here soon. Time to make a decision; was he going to follow through with his plans, or be their puppet again. It wasn't a hard choice to make. Finding a huge rock, he placed the communicator on the ground and struck it again and again until it was just useless, twisted pieces of metal. Satisfied with a job well done, he turned towards the lights of Las Vegas that can be seen for miles on a clear, balmy night like this. Might as well find some new clothes, and realizing how hungry he was, something to eat.

As he walked away, the coyote came back. He looked at the smashed remains of the communicator, and a bright light blinked on. The tracking device somehow worked. To the coyote, this was indeed a curious thing, so he ate it.

Just some silly rhymes

These days I feel us getting close
You're the one I like the most
When you give me that sweet look
Should I change my status on facebook

Our friendship is slowly changing
My life you are rearranging
Like is somehow becoming love
We fit together just like a glove

Sometimes it seems to me
That we were meant to be
I know this is full of cliches
But that's how happy I feel these days

And now the time has come to end
These silly rhymes once again
Just wanted to make you smile
Want to watch a movie for a while?

My girlfriend hates you

We've been friends since 1993
you've always been there for me
So how can I say this to you
I think our time together is through

I just found out that this could be the end
And its all because of my girlfriend
We were close as brothers, yes its true
But it turns out she just hates you

I love all the time we hang out
and all the things we talk about
But she thinks you kind of suck
I think we are out of luck

I just found out that this could be the end
And its all because of my girlfriend
We were close as brothers, yes its true
But it turns out she just hates you

It seems I have a choice to make
between a friend and a future mate
How long until I have to choose
Which of the two will I Iose?

I just found out that this could be the end
And its all because of my girlfriend
We were close as brothers, yes its true
But it turns out she just hates you

Like Glue

Just some lyrics.

You stick with me no matter what I do
So close together it kinda feels like glue
No matter what I do I can't get rid of you

She threw out all my clothes when she moved in
Took all my stuff into a storage bin
Painted the bathroom an ugly shade of pink
All her stuff is in my sink
Don't know why I just give in

You stick with me no matter what I do
So close together it kinda feels like glue
No matter what I do I can't get rid of you

Everytime I wake up her face I see
She just won't seem to let me be
I want to be alone for a while
Find the place where I lost my smile

You stick with me no matter what I do
So close together it kinda feels like glue
No matter what I do I can't get rid of you

The worse part is that I really care
How she feels when I'm there
She begs and pleads
For all of her needs
I'm all torn up and its not fair

You stick with me no matter what I do
So close together it kinda feels like glue
No matter what I do I can't get rid of you