Passion

I love to cook.

I love everything about it. I love shopping to find ingredients, looking for new recipes, throwing out recipes all together, experimenting, testing, tasting, and trying again. I like rushing and raving and doing things fast. I like slowing down, waiting, simmering and stewing. I like it all.

And it makes me happy.

I mean really and truly happy.

And it does it better than anything else in my life. Better than my family or friends (no offense I do love you guys), better than my favorite song on a perfect day, or the smile of a million babies. When I'm cooking I am doing something that I am truly comfortable doing, something that comes naturally to me. That, in and of itself, is enough to make it my favorite thing in the world.

See, I am not good at very many things. As a matter of fact I'm not even OK at many things. I'm out of shape, bad at sports, bad at math, and a terrible writer. I have some social anxiety issues which makes me pretty bad at talking to, well, humans. I'm uncomfortable and akward in nearly 90% of my daily life.

But then there's the kitchen.

I will venture to boast that I AM GOOD AT COOKING. I'm smart at cooking. I'm even GREAT at cooking sometimes. I know it. I have it down and the things I don't know I can pick up with ease. It's in my heart and down deep.

It means so much to be that this past Thanksgiving my family went to my brothers future in-laws to eat. This meant we didn't have to cook anything. I was so upset that I insisted that I be allowed to cook a second thanksgiving meal at our house a week later. Which I did. Turkey (brined for 8 hours and roasted), mashed potatoes (both garlic rosemary and traditional plain), dressing (sausage, sage and apple), green beans (sauteed with bacon and garlic), and homemade yeast rolls (best I've ever made).

Sounds stupid right? I spent an entire paycheck on food just to have the pleasure of busting my ass for 12 hours to cook it all myself on a Sunday.

Such is my relationship with cooking, my one true passion.

What's yours?

Fucking Comic Book Movies!

If you didn't guess by the title this one is about comics and movies and when the two collide. Before I get into it though I want to give you a short timeline of my comic book fandom. This should allow you to take the rest with an appropriate grain of salt.

1993: Was given a box of old Marvel and DC comics by my uncle and read them all (mostly shite).

1994: Started to buy shitty 50 cent comics at the Quick Stop Mart by my house.

1995: Discovered Spawn, a comic my mother hated and did everything to keep me from (i was 8) and one I loved and started to collect.

1995-2003 Kept reading comics and Collecting Spawn.

2004: Decided comic were for kids and lamers and Sold my Complete Spawn collection (including #1-6 in pristine condition) to help pay for my first car (a shitty red Ford Escort).

2007: Met one Mr. Ryan Jones and read my first couple of comics in 3 years.

2008: Kept reading comics occasionally liking them but feeling like I should not

2009: I came out of the "Nerd Closet" started reading like crazy and trying to catch up on a lot of lost years.

2010: I proudly buy comics every week and love to talk about them and try to convert people who don't read them.

Now,

FUCKING COMIC BOOK MOVIES!

Over the past 10 years the movie industry has seemed to have a huge boner for comics. Each summer at least one or two of the most highly anticipated and highest grossing movies of the year are straight from their pages. Spiderman 1 & 2 and The Dark Knight even managed to be in the top ten highest grossing movies since 2000. But why?

Don't ask a comic book nerd I can tell you that. By in large there are few, if any comic book movies that are universally accepted as good by "true comic fans". This may be in part because fans of comics are the most ravenous and steadfastly loyal fans there are in the world. When they like something they LOVE it. They memorize every nuance and detail. They buy the shirts, the toys, the posters and the trades (for those who don't know a "trade" refers to a trade paperback version of a book that compiles the single issue comics).

These fans can be some of the best and the worst fans in the world . They will support you for years and make you very rich (sort of, I mean we're talking about comics) But on the other hand if you mess with that thing they love, no fans hate more passionately then comic book fans either. A simply change of artist or character decision (say you decide Thor has 40 fucking hammers now. Am I right Jones?) This can insight true and undying rage.

This brings me to comic book movies. The major issue all filmmakers run into when they are deciding what to do with the juicey new comic licence they just picked up is (I'm guessing) finding how to go about making a movie that the general public will eat up and love but that will not piss off too many nerds. This is IMPOSSIBLE. You see, by in large, the things that make comics appealing to their fans are things that also set them apart from mainstream consumption. Whether through ideas or content comics express themselfs in a unique way that rarely can be transfered to another medium.

Another problem is that comics ARE books and because of that fact a huge amount of the what a person gets from them comes from how an individual interprets them. Whether it is as simple as how a character sounds (Batman?) or the intended tone, a book is often much more open for individual experiences than a film.

The final problem with comic book movies is even if someone makes a perfect interpretation of a fans favorite comic, down to every last detail, they will have already seen it.

Oh shit! I almost forgot here's my lame-ass video review of Kickass

My Christmas Spirit

It's very cold outside and the sun is just barely breaking over the horizon. I've been up all night in feverish anticipation but you would never be able to tell it. My brothers and I are jumping around and almost shaking with excitement. We've been waiting in our room for that exact moment our parents told us we should wake up. We've all jumped into the bed with them to wake them and they have instructed us to stay in the hallway and wait for my dad to come get us. We stand as close to the end of the hall as we possibly can, jockeying for the best position. My dad seems to take hours to set up his video camera but finally we hear "OK boys, come on!". There are no words to express the feelings and the joy of the next few moments. Between seeing the lit up Christmas tree with piles of gifts under and four little piles of toys set out for each of us. There are gasps, screams, and my mother's eyes are full of joyful tears. Even the rock solid foundation of our family, my father, is a little glassy eyed. In between sifting through our toys and waiting for the signal to tear into the wrapped gifts there are hugs and "I love you"s for everyone. The one moment a year that no one is afraid to admit how important we all are to each other.

That is the way I remember my first 8-9 Christmas mornings. Those memories and feelings are, to me, the essence of "Christmas Spirit". As the innocence of childhood has faded it has become harder to capture that feeling. I find myself doing odd things in an attempt to find some this so-called Christmas magic. I go shopping listen to Christmas songs and bake cookies and drink eggnog and hangout with my siblings and family. I find great happiness in buying gifts and looking at the lights. I also donate money or time to charity to and find myself very empathetic to the plight of others. I even cry during Christmas movies! (It's a Wonderful Life anyone?) All of this is atypical to my normal behavior. But why? Why do I find all this acceptable only in December? Perhaps it's because every year for fleeting moments I feel exactly like I did when I ran out of that hallway. Something that, for me, is completely and utterly priceless.

Merry Christmas Everyone!