The Happy Bees

 

A short story dedicated to Tereza, thank you for all you do.

The winter cold began to ebb. The nights grew shorter and the days longer. The mornings awoke veiled in mist and the grass mantled in frost. When the sun rose above the hills on the horizon, blinding and warm, its rays spread over the meadows dispelling the mist and thawing the frost.

Day after day the trees and bushes sprouted with shoots and leaves, and the once funereal branches and twigs soon were clad in a foliage of dazzling green dotted here and there with the buds of precocious flowers unfolding their petals and exposing their pollen.

And as the spring swelled in its symphonic magnificence, with the chirping of birds and the tweeting of fledglings, life stirred within a bee colony that awoke from its winter slumber.

One by one the old workers shook off their grogginess with intermittent buzzing of their wings and wondered about the colony awakening everyone else. As the colony buzzed with activity, the workers all flew out into the wild to forage for precious pollen which they would later bring back and use to make honey.

And after all the old workers had flown away, the young ones hatched from their hexagonal cells and began wondering about. Amongst these was Terka, an energetic little bee who shook her wings vigorously from the sheer joy of being alive.

Seeing how the old workers all flew outside, Terka too decided to fly out of the colony, even as the other hatchlings were barely crawling out of their cells and learning to beat their wings.

‟Come!” Terka said to her sisters. ‟Let us fly outside and see what we can find!”

But the other hatchlings were just learning to stand on their six legs, let alone beat their wings and fly. ‟We can’t,” they said, ‟Flying is too scary!”

‟Flying is fun!” Terka smiled and flew out of the colony. She flew into the skies and breathed deeply the fresh air, smelling all the scents of spring that blew with the breeze.

Everywhere there were flowers, and everywhere there was pollen, and Terka was ecstatic with their scent, yet she wanted to explore and see more, and so she flew and flew farther and farther away, beyond all the old workers harvesting pollen, to places of such sylvan beauty as no other bee in the colony had ever seen. She found trees and bushes bursting with luscious flowers untouched by any other bee, and there she landed upon the petals and harvested as much pollen as she could possibly carry.

Terka flew back as the day came to an end and presented all the pollen she had gathered to the queen. The queen was very impressed and said to her in front of all the colony, ‟You are such a busy little bee, Terka, so young and so diligent! I am sure that with your help we will harvest more pollen than we ever did before!”

Terka was happy and proud of herself. But the other hatchlings were not.

The next day Terka woke up eager to fly out into the world and explore to see what flowers and pollen she could find. She said to the other young bees, ‟Come! Let’s fly out early and we will fly out farther!”

But the other bees were not as excited.

The sad one said to her, ‟You are so fast, and you just want to show off!”

‟Yeah!” Said a jealous one, ‟You just want the queen to praise you again!”

‟We should stay close to the colony,” said a cowardly bee.

‟Flying far away is too tiring,” said a lazy one.

‟We are supposed to fly together,” said an obedient one.

‟But hey!” Terka buzzed her wings eagerly. ‟There is so much to explore and so many flowers to discover! And flying feels so good! Come with me and you will see!”

But the bees refused and so Terka decided to leave and fly away on her own.

She flew high and far, beyond the range of the old bees who already new where to find pollen and nectar nearby, and out into unexplored fields and thickets sprouting with petals of bright whites, alluring yellows, deep violets, and irresistible reds. They all smelled so delicious and Terka plunged into each of them, drinking the nectar and covering herself in pollen.

When at last she was done, Terka began buzzing her way home. She was so heavy with so much pollen that she had to fly very low. She flew across a vast pool of water shining with a million ripples, and she was so heavy with pollen and so tired from flying all day, that she dropped from the air and plunged into the water.

Terka panicked. Her wings were at once wet and she could not fly. She dropped all the pollen she carried and flayed her legs trying to get a hold of something but there was nothing to hold on to. She did not know how to swim and the best she could do was stay afloat and breathe. Terka was terrified. She realized she could not get out of the water and she was too far away for any one to help her.

Always a brave little bee, she dried her tears and prepared to die, but then she heard a very familiar sound. It was the buzzing of wings. She looked up and saw her five sister bees from the colony buzzing about. ‟Here!” Terka shouted at once. ‟I am here! In the water! Help!”

The young bees heard her cries and all flew down to the pool. They grabbed Terka by her legs and together pulled her out of the water and onto the grass.

‟Thank you, thank you!” Terka said as she dried herself.

‟You fly so far away!” Said the sad one. ‟You are lucky we found you!”

‟This is what you get for showing off!” Said the jealous one.

‟You should have stayed close to the colony,” said the cowardly one.

‟We tried flying as far as you,” said the lazy one. ‟But flying far away is too tiring,”

‟We are supposed to fly together,” said the obedient one. ‟So when it got late and you did not come back we flew out to find you!”

‟Thank you!” Terka buzzed her wings eagerly. ‟I just wanted to fly far and explore, but I should not have left you behind. Thank you for saving me.”

‟It is OK,” said the jealous bee. ‟Now let us fly back to the colony and bring in today’s pollen.”

Terka was suddenly sad. She looked back at the pool where all her pollen was floating on the water. ‟But I have nothing to bring back. The queen will be disappointed.”

‟Don’t worry,” said the cowardly bee. ‟We will put all our pollen together and say that it is from all of us!”

‟Really?” Terka was impressed. ‟Thank you so much! I promise I will never fly away on my own and leave you girls behind! And we will share all our pollen!”

So the young bees buzzed their way back to the colony and, starting the next day, they always flew together and helped each other... Like happy little sister bees.

A Dilemma Of Causality

 

Dear readers, here is a little dilemma to make you think...

Two friends go to a river where they find a pair of inflatable boats, and each one of them boards one of these boats.

The first friend says, ‟Hey, lets take them out to the middle of the river, it will be fun.”

The second says, ‟No, lets stay close to the shore so that, in case something happens, it is a short swim to safety.”

‟Come on man, it will be fine,” says the first and rows his way to the center of the river where he sits back and enjoys the view.

‟What if the current sweeps us downriver?” Says the first and rows his boat close to the bank where the water is shallow and the jagged rocks under the surface rip the bottom of his inflatable boat.

‟I am sinking!” The second friend screams as his boat begins to deflate.

The first friend is out in the middle of the river and too far away to help.

As the inflatable boat sinks, the second friend swims for the river bank and climbs ashore.

The first friend rows his float towards the bank, lands and meets his friend.

The second friend, soaking wet, says, ‟I am glad I stayed close to the shore because it was a short swim to safety, like I said.”

The first friend says, ‟If you had rowed into the deep end like I did, the rocks in the shallows would not have ripped your boat and you would not have needed to swim ashore.”

So, which of the two is right?

She’s Got Better Days Than Nights

    It is funny how meaning can be lost in translation. It is even more funny when a new meaning is imagined to replace it.

    I was around 9 years old, living in Santiago de Chile, when I first heard the song ‟She’s Got Bette Davis Eyes,” a great song by the American singer Kim Carnes. I did not speak English at the time, so I could not understand any of the lyrics.

    There is a certain beauty to listening to music without understanding the lyrics. It wraps the song in an aura of mystery, and one wonders what the artist is singing about that needs to be expressed with such music. My love for Classical music is in part because of this - pure music unadulterated by lyrics.

    As I grew up I learned and became fluent in English, and when I re-listened to the 80s songs I had grown up with I was disappointed that, basically, every song talks about wanting to get laid. Lame. That is when I turned to Pink Floyd, who sung about deep personal existential angst which matched my teenage mood.

    And yet, once understanding English, I still misunderstood certain songs, which takes us back to Kim Carnes. There was no way that I could have known that the words ‘Bette’ and ‘Davis’ existed, let alone that they were personal names. I also could not have known that Bette Davis was an actress from the black and white era, and an amazing one at that, I came to find out the day I sat to watch one of her many movies, ‟All About Eve,” from 1950. This movie, funny enough, and without me having known it, closely resembles the plot of my book VIVIANA, which you can read by clicking on the icon at the top of this blog site ;)

    Anyway, the title verse, ‟She’s got Bette Davis Eyes,” means that the abstract ‟She” in the song is as sexy as the actress of old. Yet in my limited English I understood it as being, ‟She’s got better days than night.”

    And the hilarious confusion only started there. Since the whole song praises the sensuality of the abstract ‟She,” I thought that ‟She” was a prostitute. Oops!

    It was a sad song for me really, because I imagined this woman dressing herself up and behaving sensually to attract clients. She spent the whole night whoring, I imagined, and it killed her inside. So when she was awake in the daytime, she was more calm because she was not prostituting herself. Hence, ‟She had better days than nights.”

    It is a funny confusion, but you can see how misinterpreting one sentence gave the entire text a different meaning. Anyhow, this is a great song, one I recently learned to play on the piano, and I invite you to listen to it gain with the misinterpreted verse in mind.

Search: Kim Carnes - Bette Davis Eyes.

I will add the link below and we’ll see how long it stays until it is taken down by copyright fiends.

PS: ‟She’s pure as New York snow.” Really? I lived in New York for over four winters, including one when there was a brutal snow storm that brought the city to a halt, and let me tell you one thing: ‟New York snow,” is only as pure as the night when it falls. The next day it is pilled along the side walks gray and brown with grime and dirt. Not pure at all, Kim, not pure at all.

My Days In The Roman Legion

  Three years ago I was very lucky. I providentially had the chance to participate in the filming of a TV series ( Britannia ) set in ancient Rome. This film, which takes place during the invasion of Britain, was shot in a field outside of Prague, where a Roman fort had been replicated with tents, ramparts, general's tent and all.

For the next five days, I arrived in a bus full of film extras before dawn to be lined up in front of the wardrobe tent where I was fitted with the standard Roman trappings. I was extremely excited, and these are my impressions.

The Tunic

First came the tunic. What can I say? I love tunics. I find them incredibly comfortable and sexy and I would walk around in them all day if people did not look at me like I was crazy ( which I am, but that is a point for another blog! :P

Being a Roman legionnaire, first I was fitted with shin-length trousers. These were thin trousers which were tied below the knees.

Then came the tunic(s). First I donned a thick, grey, long-sleeved woolen tunic. This was incredibly comfortable and warm - almost like slipping into bed!

Next came a second, thin, blue, short-sleeved cotton tunic. If the first tunic felt like slipping into bed, this felt like donning bed-sheets.

One Caliga, Two Caligae

Then came the shoes - Caligae - the standard issue Roman legion boots. Made from leather, they slipped-on easily and were laced up the shin right below the knees. It is worthy to note that, since this film takes place in Northern Europe, the Caligae provided were fully enclosed leather, as opposed to the 'sandal' type used round the Mediterranean.

The Caligae fit as comfortably as costume wardrobe shoes can. Man! I'm horribly fuzzy when buying shoes at a store - as I am sure that everyone is ;) - so I just took what they gave me and moved along.

But the Caligae are the weakest point of the Roman uniform - indeed - of the Ancient World. It is not that they were not comfortable, but ancient cultures had no concept of sole ( let alone insole ) or tread. How could this be? It is a mystery still. But if you want more insight on Caligae, I suggest you take a moment to watch this excellent video by Mr. Lindy Beige, where he explains in detail why - if you could travel back in time - the best thing you could take with you is a pair of good sneakers ( or trainers, as my fans from the UK call them).

https://youtu.be/-3qTniJsoEg

Incidentally, the Roman emperor Gaius Julius Caesar Augustus Germanicus ( C.E. 37–41) was nicknamed "Caligula" because, as a kid, he used to walk round the Legionary encampment wearing said Caligae which, tailored to a child's size, were smaller than the standard issue.

Hence 'Caligula' = 'Little Boots.'

Little did the legionnaires at the time know what cruel tyrant 'Little Boots' was going to grow up to be!

"Wow, that is very interesting, Georg, but I thought this blog was about you wearing Roman armour?"

You are right. Let me continue...

Chain Mail

Then came the chain mail. Oh have I been waiting for years to wear one of these! Chain mail - for those of you, my new fans, who still don't know - is a shirt made of rings of iron. The Roman Chainmail was short sleeved ( it ended at the shoulders ) and dropped down below my groin. It weighs around 10 kg ( 22 pounds ).

Did it feel heavy? That is the key question. At first the weight was, well, surprising - the way your own clothes feel surprisingly heavy after being pushed - fully dressed - into the pool. Yet the weight of the chain mail distributes itself evenly and becomes like a second, heavier, layer of skin. It did not weigh me down. It allowed me to walk and even jog, though running would be impossible - unless desperate!

Let me tell you this: I sat down on an iron braced trunk many times during the day to rest and, while I was sitting, I absolutely forgot about the chain mail. It was only when I stood up that I was reminded - again, by the weight - that I was wearing armour.

Ultimately I can say this: did chain mail weigh me down? A little. Did it make me uncomfortable? Not at all. But, really, there is only one word to describe how I felt in chain mail: tough. Yeah, I strode about the camp with my hand resting on the pommel of the Gladius ( sword ) sheathed at my belt with calm and confidence. And when I looked at the Britons whom the Romans were to battle - who wore no armour at all - I asked myself, how could these people ever have stood a chance?

The Helmet

The helmets provided were copper replicas of the iron originals. As such, they were slightly lighter yet had been forged identically. The Roman helmet consisted of a round basin with a brow ridge at the front and a nape guard at the rear. The face is fully exposed except for the two cheek guards flanking it, guards which were tied together below the chin. The production had a whole lot of helmets in different boxes in the dressing room, and picking one which was the right size was the key to the comfort/discomfort one would enjoy/suffer for the rest of the day. The interior of these replicas were lined with strips of sponge ( the grey utilitarian type ) and I can only imagine that the originals were lined with some sort of wool padding or something, as having the bare metal round one's head would be uncomfortable - even painful - and would do little to cushion blows from an enemy.

The Cloak

By far the most versatile item of the Roman uniform is the cloak. I could wrap it about my shoulders and let it drape down to my feet in the chill before dawn ( yes, we were in full costume that early) or I could wrap it into a bundle and use it as a pillow ( in fact placing the bundle atop my helmet made for perfect naps throughout the day ). It was tied over one shoulder with leather strings which were incredibly firm to hold a knot and yet incredibly easy to untie when needed. Although we did some drilling with our cloaks on, I believe that when deployed for combat these would have stayed in the camp. But that is just me.

The Shield

I remember on my first day I saw a Roman shield and wanted to hold it to feel its grip. I was too shy to do so, since there were only two - one for each of the guards at the entrance of the fort. But little did I know that the next day EVERYONE would be given a shield as we filmed a 'call to arms.' The actual Roman shield weighed around 10 kilos, but the replicas we had must have weighed about 5. Still, in the scene we shot that day, everyone had to stand side by side ( arms length ) with their shields braced as a horde of Britons approached the fort. I tell you, holding that shield for 2 - 5 minutes at a time made it feel really heavy.

The Roman Fort

Only few people know this, but I have already completed the second draft of a novel which takes place in the ancient Roman world - one which starts within an encampment of a Roman Legion, just like the one I was standing on. In fact, let me share with you the snippet where I described a Roman legionary camp:

"It was a brisk night of spring and the stars sparkled bright in the heavens above. Crickets chirped amongst the grass of the surrounding meadows, and frogs croaked amidst the reeds of a distant pond. At a faraway grove, an owl hooted now and again.

Within a vast quadrilateral palisade, the legionary encampment was laid out in a grid of perfectly straight streets, a grid lined with rows upon rows of tents and pavilions. Within these, thousands of men slumbered under the red, eagle emblazoned standards of the Legions of Roma.

All was quiet in the night but for the neighing of one restless horse or another, and the crackling of wood at the campfires about which some men lingered still."

And that is where I was! The moment I walked into the meadow ( clad in full Roman armour ) and I saw the replica of a Roman fort which was the film set, my eyes all but popped out of my face. I walked back and forth, examining every detail, thrilled that the production company had done everything right, and that I had written everything right... ditch, spike palisade, tent rows, iron fire baskets, catapults, scorpions, balistae, general's tent... Everything! For a moment I felt that I was standing inside the very book I had written!

The Legionnaires

One of the things that I dislike about bad/cheap historical fiction, be it in books or film, is how characters are portrayed as marble statues or stereo types. People are people as they have always been, and I always pay close attention when writing characters to ensure that they are as human ( or as 'normal') as possible.

Being surrounded by all the extras in different variations of Roman uniforms ( legionaries, centurions, archers, etc ) I had a moment. It is difficult to describe, but it was something like this... I saw all the characters you would expect to find in a legion... The old big-bellied one with blood-shot eyes after a lifetime of drinking, the young slacker, the fool who would not stop blabbering about the same topic all day, the 'senior' legionnaires with their condescending attitude and the ass-hole who leads them, the friendly guy who shows you the ropes, the father who misses his family, the divorcee who resents his ex wife, etc... All of them, they were all there.

But then I realized, these are real people I am just seeing with a Roman uniform on. But how do they look in real life? And later in the day, when we changed out of our uniforms and back into our personal clothing, I looked at them again, and there they were, unrecognizable at first, but there was the drunkard, the slacker, the ass-hole, the friend, the father and the divorcee. It is funny how I ( like everyone, really ) can be so fooled by exterior appearances to miss the true nature of the person within. The palette of personalities today is the same as it has always been, and I witnessed a bridge between reality and fiction. Writing about characters will never be the same for me. Now I will write about people.

That being said, I miss those guys tremendously. I am very sad that I will not be able to part-take in the filming over the next week, as I have commitments and responsibilities in Prague. I was truly sad that it was over for me. While I was there, I felt like I was part of something. And all these guys, however different our walks in life, and however much we would not have met or connected under normal circumstances, became like a band of brothers to me, and I accepted all their flaws, and they accepted all of mine. If I felt like this after a week with these guys, I can only imagine what fellow legionaries must have felt for each other after months of duty together. I have a feeling that it is true what they say, that battle and war - when it comes down to it - is all about the man standing next to you. I felt as much because, however much I despised the slacker or the drunkard or the ass-hole, I would have still stepped up to protect them in battle, as I am sure that they would have for me. Indeed, a band of brothers.

Star Struck

After my second day I was chosen along with another 10 extras for a different role the next day. We were given different armour, a leather version of the steel Lorica Segmentata, which is the armour of the Roman heavy infantry. This consists of layers of steel encasing the torso like a lobster.

Thankfully our leather replicas were quite light, as an actual Lorica Segmentata weighs - like the chain mail - approximately 10 kilos.

Either way, once fully armoured the next day, the production team referred to us as "Jedenactku," which is Czech for "The Eleven." Little did I know that we would part-take in a scene as the personal guards of the general, and as such, we were outside the fort behind the main actors as these met with the Britons ( other main actors ) for a parley.

As it turned out, our general was played by David Morrissey of The Walking Dead Fame ( he played "The Governor," in case you missed it ). I have come across many 'stars' during my years in Los Angeles and New York, and I have never been star-struck. I never really cared.

But when I saw David I was like, "Woa..." because I really admire his work in "The Walking Dead." Still, the ultimate privilege was not to be in his presence, but to see him at work. I paid close attention, eavesdropping on the conversation between him and the director as they discussed the details of the scene, and I have to tell you, Mr. Morrissey knows what he is doing. It was such a pleasure to see a master at work... It really struck me - not the star, but witnessing the craftsmanship of a master at work. It was a treat!

But to be fair, the scene was carried by the actress playing across from him - Zoe Wanamaker ( Rolanda Hooch in the Harry Potter films ) who portrayed the queen of a Briton tribe. In the parley, she tells the Roman General ( Morrissey ) about the harrowing evil inflicted upon her son by their rival tribe, and how, because of this, she would forge an alliance with Rome for the sake of crushing said tribe.

Me and "The Eleven" were sitting on the grass in a row behind the General and his captains, so that I could only see Morrissey's back. But I had a full frontal view of Zoe as she was telling her story, and her acting was impeccable. I was transfixed by her narration, by her voice tone, her pacing, how every emotion etched itself on her face... Truly a master at work. It was a treat. We shot that scene round three or five times, and I was riveted by her performance each and every time. Indeed, what a treat, what a treat!

So, between takes, we - The Eleven - got to interact with David Morrissey a little, and I can tell you that he is cool, suave and charismatic. During the first shooting, a girl from the Briton extras standing behind the queen fainted with a heat stroke ( and she was not even wearing armour! Ha! ) so the scene had to be 'cut' and we had to take a break. They brought the girl over to where the paramedics on site looked at her and gave her water. Morrissey, EVER the gentleman ( and not going into a hussy fit about the scene being cut because of an extra ) calmly walked over to her, arms behind his back, regal in his Roman General's armour, and kindly placed a hand on her shoulder, asking her if she was OK.

Wow.

WOW!

I mean... WOW!

What can I say? David Morrissey was amazing, and I was lucky to be there.

Conclusion

This experience was a dream come true. I was as happy while I was there as I was sad when my assignment was over. While I was there, however brutal it was to stand in chainmail in the sun all day, I felt like I was part of something, that I was better than myself. After returning home, and after a couple of days, the routine of the daily life in the modern world started kicking in, with the same demands and time constraints and problems as always. And, more than once, I found myself thinking, "Man, I wish I was back with the legion."

-Georg Freese

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How I Met Your Mother... Again.

Browsing through titles on Netflix I came across the TV series ‟How I Met Your Mother” and, remembering with fondness having watched the whole series twice during my stay in upstate New York, I decided to watch an episode for the sake of nostalgia.

Now I am almost at the end of the 22 episode first season and trying as I can to slam the brakes because I just don’t have the time to binge watch another series on Netflix ( It happens to the best of us, it is true ).

I love the cast, the characters, the stories, the flashbacks and flashforwards and the narration of old Ted. And there are some true life lesson to learn from the show.

It was nostalgic to see how Barney and Robin met for the first time knowing they would end up complementing each other and married in the end. And I say the end because the show’s finale does not exist for me.

Like many fans, I resented the finale’s forced twist ending. Yet, as a writer I can understand what happened. Not that it made the creator’s decision any more acceptable, but at least it provides some insight in a TV series’s production process.

You see, many shows struggle to make it past a pilot ( that is a ‘demo’ of the show, usually the first episode of the first season) and after a show gets slotted to air, it can be cancelled within weeks of its start. I have seen this happen with a few shows while living in Los Angeles, though I could not tell you which ones or nor would you remember them because they were cancelled and cast into TV oblivion.

Making it to the end of one season is an achievement. Producing 9 seasons is a miracle, and not a standard ( as many binge watchers would believe ). And the length of a show’s run ( that is to say, it’s existence ) depends on, well, you guessed it: ratings.

But what does this mean to the show’s writers and producers? Well, lets say you have a story in mind, in this case, Ted telling his kids about his days before meeting their mother as a subconscious way to hint that he would like to date Robin again ( loser Ted, but more on him later. )

In a short time span, say, three seasons, this arch would make sense. It would not be a particularly good arch twist even on a good day ( to be honest ) but whatever. The problem was that the show was extended season after season after season, and the original arch became a bridge. We learned more about the characters, the characters learned more about themselves, and the original arch just was not enough any more.

Which brings me to Barney and Robin. Their characters are the ones which experienced the most change. Barney with his deep seeded daddy issues, as was Robin, and Robin with her unwillingness to an emotional commitment, as was Barney. They changed, they evolved, and they became better version of themselves... this is the definition of a protagonist as stated in Writing 101.

If you ask me, the show should have been called, ‟How Your Uncle Barney Met Your Aunt Robin.”

BAM!

Anyhow, Look at Ted Shmosby on the other hand. After all those years, after a marriage and two children, he is still standing below the window of a girl who sees him as just a friend while holding up a stupid blue french horn. Zero change, zero growth. He is still the same narcissistic douche he was his whole life.

But what is a narcissistic douche? Excellent question, because watching Ted really helped me understand what the term ‘narcissist’ means.

You see, I remember from my teens reading the original Greek legend of Narcissus - a man so gorgeous and self-centered that he found himself incapable of falling in love with any of the most beautiful women in Greece. One day while wondering in the nature, he came across a perfectly still pond of crystal clear water. He saw his own reflection and found the love he had been looking for. The gods punished him for this and turned him into a flower, the aptly named Narcissus flower.

Growing up I never understood the difference between vanity, egoism, self-centeredness, and narcissism. But Ted Shmosby explained:

A narcissist is a person with some relatively high intellectual upbringing who thinks his ideas and his view of the world are so innately infallible ( that is, he thinks he is always right ), that he does not only not listen or consider other points of view, but thinks of them as being inferior to his own.

With this in mind ( and understanding that Narcissism is a counterproductive habit/characteristic ) it is fun to watch the show and see how wrong Ted always was, and how hard he worked to force everyone around him into his vision of the world, or in this case, of his search for ‘the one.’

In a sense, Ted impersonates the classic ‘romantic fool looking for true love,’ seen countless times in books, movies and TV shows. But really, who is this ‘love fool?’ He is a person looking for true love who never finds it because he should be looking for ‘real love,’ the kind that exists outside his head in the real world - imperfect, messy, and painful: human.

I mean, seriously, how could a man like that ever be a good boyfriend/husband if when he looks at his girl/wife he does not see the person but the avatar of his fantasy?

Meh.

But let us get back to Barney and Robin. Their stories were real. These were broken people at the beginning. Fiercely independent and terrified of commitment. Yet it was all a mask to hide their true pain inside. And it was only when each addressed and came to terms with his/her own pain that they matured and were ready for the next stage in life.

Think about it. At the beginning they both wandered into McLaren’s pub because they needed friends. Aw....

Eff it. I am watching season 2 tonight! :D

-Georg Freese

PS: I did not mention Marshall and Lily’s relationship, which deserves a blog of its own. But let me just say what the Marshall actor Jason Segel said about them, ‟What I like about M & L is that while in most sitcoms the married couple are always ripping on each other, these two are always supporting each other.” And this key difference is what makes their relationship/marriage inspiring.

Life is not easy. Life is messy. And it takes a lot of work to, well, to keep a relationship alive.

Scarface The Book

To many, the nickname 'Scarface' brings to mind the image of Al Pacino slumped behind a massive desk piled with mounds of cocaine, yet few are aware that the iconic 1983 Brian DePalma film is in fact a remake of a 1932 black and white film directed by Howard Hawks and produced by renowned aviation entrepreneur Howard Hughes. Fewer still are aware that the '32 film was based on a 1930 novel by Maurice Coons written under the pen name Armitage Trail.

Scarface '83 was a film of incredible popularity in a time of action-packed movies where triumphant endings were the norm, and yet it is a tragedy by the end of which everyone is dead. This phenomenon is intriguing for, while that big studios will always push for love interest and happy endings, this film, which did the opposite, has reached an incredible cult status.

The '32 film, though amusing, is quite toned down in comparison to its remake. Here the characters are Italian, not Cuban, and the illicit traffic of the day is bootlegged liquor, not cocaine. And yet the gist of the tragedy is the same: a young (foreign) Upstart who is more ambitious than his moderate boss; the boss's girl, a cold shouldered trophy dame whom the Upstart covets; the womanizing best friend, or right hand man, who is loyal to the Upstart until he falls in love with his sister; the young sister who, once a symbol of innocence for the Upstart, is now involved in the same shameless world he is; the alienated mother who is ashamed of her son and, of course, classy clothing, surprise murders, gang rivalry, law enforcement persecution and police corruption.

Now, the book, is slightly different.

Mr. Trail spent two of his years in Chicago frequenting the hang-outs of these Italian-American characters (gangsters glorified in so many movies). It does not come any closer to the source than this, and it gave me a great thrill to read the work of someone who was witness to the very history that he wrote about.

Mr. Trail tells a story measured in its violence (compared to '83) and moderate in its social commentary (compared to '32) and yet more gritty at its core. Think a film noir. It is the story of Tony Guarino (a veiled biography of Al Capone) from the days of his youth until his ultimate demise. The elements of tragedy explained earlier are there, but toned down in function of a dynamic story which is unique and exciting.

Now, while the '83 film blames cocaine heavily for the Upstart's downfall, the novel points out how following a lifestyle of crime and violence invariably leads to a tragic end because of the very people it attracts, namely, back-stabbing acquaintances who will be around only so long as they see a profit in doing so, but will betray, sell out, and flee when most needed.

In the novel, Tony Guarino, or Tony Camonte as he later renames himself, eventually tires of fighting, but realizes all too late that he has a wolf by the ears, and that as soon as he lets it go he will be chewed to pieces. Hence there is no retirement for gangsters, only a fight to the death.

Armitage Trail does not delve on descriptions, yet this has its charm too. Because he was describing the Chicago of his own time, he did not feel the need to, assuming that everyone would know, for example, what a car looked like, though for us today, we would need to Google the image of a 1920's car to specifically see what he referred to. This is not a period piece but a piece written in its period.

Now it must be said that this edition, by Blackmask.com, is an editorial joke, riddled with spelling and orthographic errors, yet legible all the same. So be prepared to see some pretty bad typos and mistakes as you read along.

The novel itself, by Armitage Trail, is incredibly exciting and fun to read.

Scarface is a must read, as even for those not interested in the genre will find it thrilling, and especially for those who find themselves enjoying HBO's Boardwalk Empire, for they go hand in hand.

Saving Terminator: Salvation

I never saw the movie. I stopped caring about the franchise at Terminator 3, which I also did not see. I did not see T3 because it was clearly a poor re-hatch of the amazing T2. And Salvation? Well, when I heard it starred whats-his-face as a terminator with a heart I lost any interest immediately. Why? Because the producers are recycling the same premise with a different wrapping: what it is to be human.

And while T1 had the simple premise of robots from the future, T2 focus almost exclusive on the question of what it is to be human. We see it when John Connor tells the Terminator he cannot kill people. Why? Because he can’t! We see Sarah Connor muse on this when she sees her son playing with the Terminator... the perfect father. Sarah Connor also sees some children playing with toy guns and ponders on the self-destructive nature of man. And further Sarah Connor tries to kill a man for a crime he has not comited yet.

So what premise would I have used to approached the script for Salvation? Easy: prophesy.

You see, prophesies and ‘the chosen one’ are staples of fantasy ( over used tropes, really ) yet rarely used in Sci-Fi. But here it lent itself perfectly. It is a time traveling prophecy. Imagine this:

We start Salvation in the future with a battle hopelessly lost by the human resistance.
Skynet win.
John Connor is already a grown man and an established leader.
He sees his people die and suffers tremendously because of it.
The people believe it is hopeless.
But John Connor knows better.
He knows that at some point Skynet will send a T800 to the past and try to kill him.
He knows someone called Kyle Reese is sent back in time to save him.
He knows Kyle Reese is his father.
He also knows that later Skynet will send a T1000 on a second attempt.
He knows the T1000 was foiled by a reprogrammed T800 sent back in time.
This T800 John Connor knew, personally, from his childhood (Terminator 2: Judgement Day)

But how did this happen?
Here is an outline of how I would have drafted the script:

The resistance is being crushed and there is no sight of a Skin Tissue T800.
John Connor knows that his past could not have happened at least until these models have been created and deployed. 
The resistance despairs.
But John Connor encourages them on. He knows that his fate is coming.
Then he is assigned a new sergeant: Kyle Reese.
John Connor knows that he is his father.

Bam! Father issues!

John Connor knows that the time is approaching.
Yet he cannot share this knowledge with anyone because they would think that he went crazy.
Bam! Imagine the drama of not being able to confide on the very people you are trying to save.
He confides on a Hacker.
John and Kyle ( son and father ) go into battle.
Kyle Reese proves himself a brave soldier, but he has lost his faith.
John Connor tells him, ‟No Fate but what we Make, it is what my mother used to tell me. Here is a picture of her for you, Kyle, so she can inspire you to continued the fight.” 

Bam! Next battle, a Skin Tissue T800 infiltrates the headquarters and the resistance loses another battle.
This is the scene where Kyle Reese looses the photo of Sarah Connor to the flames, seen in Terminator 1.
While everyone dispeirs, John Connor has hope because the sight of the Skin Tissue T800 means that the wheels of fate have been put motion. Now it is a matter of finding the time machine. But how?

They capture the T800 which infiltrated the base.
The Hacker hacks into its CPU.
They get the location and the floor plans for the time travel facility.
The resistance wants to follow John Connor’s leadership but raiding the facility is suicide.
Plus many believe he is delusional with the whole time machine idea.
Because how could it be possible?

John Connor convinces the other generals. They decide to create a diversion battle while a crack team infiltrates the facility, including John Connor, Kyle Reese, the Hacker, and the hacked T800.

A double action sequence ensues, where the resistance outside is massacred in the diversion while the crack team reaches the time machine.
They see Skynet send the Skin Tissue T800 back in time to 1986.
BTW: This battle is part of the Terminator lore, so it lines up with the previous movies seemlesly ;)
The crack team is discovered and outnumbered by T800 models.
But the Hacker hacks into the local network and overrides Skynet.
He takes control of every T800 in the facility.
The team is saved.
They send Kyle Reese back in time to 1984.

The Hacker thinks they are done.
But John tells him they need to reprogram another Skin Tissue T800.
They need to send it back to the year 1990s.
BTW: This is a production mistake because, for John Connor to be 10 years old in Terminator 2 the film would have needed to take place in 1995.  ;)
 
The Hacker does not understand why but he reprograms the Skin Tissue T800.
They send it back in time.
He also finds a Classified file in the Computer Mainframe.
It is for a prototype named T1000.
With the hacked batalion of T800s, the Hacker and John Connor set the time traveling machine with explosives.

As they are leaving the facility, the Prototype T1000 emerges from the lab.
It is informed by Skynet to kill John Connor.
The T1000 sees John Connor running away with his team.
The T1000 walks to the time machine.
It sees the last travel log ( 1990s )
It chooses to walk into the time machine instead of chasing adult John.
It sets off the time machine even as the explosives mark the countdown.
In a blinding flash, the T1000 disappears before the whole facility explodes.
It travels back to the last destination, 1990

In the future, the facility explodes with a bang and flames.
No more time machine and no more T units. 
The team runs to help the resistance.
With the hacked T800s, John Connor and the Hacker arrive to save the remnants of the resistance. The battle is won. Yeh!

And then the Hacker says that he has acquired access codes which allow him to hack any T800 unit within a 1km radius. The resistance has the advantage, and there is hope for the future. 

The End.

What do you think?





 

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