The Slobs and The Bobs and Stinking Isabelle

Movie Review - Shutter Island

doug@whiningkentpigs.com (Doug the Whining Kent Pig) — 2010-03-13T17:21:00Z

It seems these days that the combination of Martin Scorsese and Leonardo DiCaprio is a foregone conclusion…I’m told the next Scorsese film – a biopic of Frank Sinatra – will star DiCaprio as well (fortunately the songs will still be sung by Frank).

Shutter Island, their latest collaboration, was pushed back from a late 2009 release in part because of the Avatar factor. The film was ready to go, but the studio wanted to make sure it wasn’t overshadowed by the barrage of media attention Avatar was sure to monopolize. Financially it was a smart move, and worked out well. Despite Alice in Wonderland, Shutter Island has attracted plenty of moviegoers.

When it comes to psychological thrillers like this, I am forced to review at a disadvantage; I knew early on where the film was going to go, but I can’t assume that was typical of those who watched it. The twists and turns were no all telegraphed, and for most people I think some of the surprises were completely unexpected. Still, for me, the movie was an enjoyable diversion, but nothing more…and it could have been.

Teddy Daniels and Chuck Aule (DiCaprio and Mark Ruffalo – an actor I gain more respect for every time I see him in film) are two Federal Marshalls called to travel to Shutter Island in the 1950’s. Shutter Island is a Federal Penitentiary for the criminally insane located on an inaccessible island outside of Boston Harbor. A dangerous prisoner who drowned her three children has mysteriously disappeared from her locked cell, and it is their job to investigate. They’ve never worked together before, but Teddy is regarded as somewhat of a legend in the department.

The sense of dread begins almost immediately, as they are forced to surrender their firearms before entering the facility. Run by Dr. Crawley (Ben Kingsly), the facility attempts to use more modern techniques to rehabilitate their patients rather than the typical lobotomy. There is also the mysterious Dr. Naehring (Max von Sydow), who Teddy is highly suspicious of both because of his attitude and Teddy’s general distrust of old Germans following his experiences in World War II freeing the prisoners of Dachau.

A hurricane approaches, which traps the two investigators on the island. Teddy also explains to Chuck some of the reasons he volunteered to be on this particular case; he’d been waiting for any chance to get to Shutter Island, both to expose what he believes may be going on there (some sort of sadistic experiments) and to confront an arsonist who lit the fire that killed Teddy’s wife (Michelle Williams). In fact, his wife appears in his dreams often, seeming to attempt to guide him along in his investigations.

Soon Teddy is unsure who he can trust. Is his new partner even safe? The food? The cigarettes? And could the doctors in this facility, if he gets too close to the truth, declare him insane and have him committed? As is pointed out a number of times to Teddy, insane people are the most harmless of witnesses. Once you are declared insane, anything you say or claim is simply part of your own delusion-filled world.

While I wasn’t bored, Shutter Island’s twists and turns became too frequent, too constant, and sometimes too obvious. And while the very last line of the film asked a very relevant question, one I have considered many times for many reasons, I can’t help but believe there was a better way of getting there.

Fire and Rain - Part Four

doug@whiningkentpigs.com (Doug the Whining Kent Pig) — 2010-02-26T03:46:00Z

Once our divorce was final, Mara seemed to have finally given up on the idea that she could somehow move back to Dallas and live with me as a roommate. Either that, or she simply found herself too involved with the life she was trying to build in Florida to think of escape any longer. A few of the details of the events of the time remain fuzzy in my brain, which is partially because so much drama was going on with Mara, and partially because of how heavily I was drinking during this period.

Of any time in my life, this was the only time I found that I was drinking more than I actually planned to. And that did bother me; it seemed to be a true lack of control. In other eras, I didn’t drink at all (either because I was using drugs, or because I didn’t want to use anything at all), or I drank when I felt the urge. If I drank enough to actually be inebriated, it was usually by design. I’d think to myself “I want to get smashed tonight” and I’d go ahead and do it, enjoying both the sort of out-of-body experience a spinning room would have on me, and the temporary peace in my brain when the guilt and regrets and misery were overwhelmed by the deadening power of alcohol.

The failure and guilt I felt about Mara and the marriage (although in my mind the whole relationship was all-encompassing; the part where we were not married was no different) ate away at me daily. My on-again-off-again relationship with my girlfriend was doing nothing but making me feel even more desolate, yet I was unable to break free of it. Every time we’d call it quits, she’d want to be friends again, which would soon lead to sex, and then an unannounced resumption of the relationship. My career was dead, my new job was terribly stressful (and did not pay very much), I had lost my health insurance (and with that dropped any prescription medication I was on), I had a really bad tooth which I knew would eventually develop an abscess, I was living in a shitty apartment where my living room had no furniture…and nothing I was doing seemed to be with the future in mind. Looking back, I realize I wasn’t really thinking about the future, or even admitting I was going to have one.

Still, my excessive drinking was really bugging me. It’s one thing to decide to get drunk. It’s another thing altogether to go to the bar and order a burger and a dark beer, and wind up drinking six of them. Twice during this period I actually got sick off of alcohol, which is something I had only done once in my life before (and that was after drinking six Tom Collins and six lemon drop shots on an empty stomach in a 60 minute span). But here I found myself overdrinking – unintentionally or at least without planning – and vomiting afterwards, while passed out or nearly unconscious. That scared me, when I was sober. The last thing I wanted to do was die choking on my own vomit in a drunken stupor. Or, scarier, maybe that was what I wanted…maybe my attempts at self-destruction were getting more and more overt. Fear of death had long been the main reason I’d never made a serious suicide attempt, despite all the times in my life I’d thought about it, considered it, or even planned it.

Perhaps at a different time, or without the knowledge I had then, I would have continued to drink like that until I never woke up. But Mara’s suicide attempt had solidified in my mind the fact that I never wanted to lay the kind of guilt on someone that suicide had added to my already horrendous burden. I could picture my Dad sitting by himself, crying, blaming himself for the way my life had turned out, and the terrible way it ended. I wasn’t about to let that happen. So I decided I needed to think about the future; I had to turn things around, even though I already had the possibility of a criminal conviction and time in prison hanging over my head like the sword of Damocles. I needed to find things to look forward to.

The stream of nightmarish drama that flowed to me from Mara wasn’t helping things any. She and a female friend from the hospital had gotten an apartment together, but the roommate was a habitual drug user. When she owed money to drug dealers, they took it upon themselves to take what they wanted from the apartment, whether it belonged to the user or to Mara. So a few times I’d get crying phone calls about how her stereo or television, or some of her CD’s, had been appropriated by random seedy people. Clearly this was not an environment Mara was going to able to survive for long. Plus, with how depressing that life was, I am pretty sure she was spending a good deal of her own money on marijuana…something she wouldn’t have admitted to me. With all the psychiatric drugs Mara was taking, and with her limited income from disability (plus whatever modest sum I was able to give her when I could afford it), wasting money on pot was idiocy. But Mara did feel close enough to me, and that I was capable of listening without judgment to most things, to let me know that whenever she found herself running short of rent money, she was able to pick up $50 here or there from other tenants in the building or neighborhood by making herself available to them sexually. I never asked for more details; it wasn’t the kind of thing I wanted to know. But somehow the physical distance between us allowed me to avoid laying the blame for some actions – such as those – on my own shoulders. This was a life she was creating for herself without my enabling. I could hope for better, and offer advice and support, but I knew I could not save her. That was a great relief to realize. True, I hadn’t forgiven myself for being unable to save her from herself in the past, but for the first time since I was 16 years old I was no longer taking the martyr position, or assuming the role of savior. If Mara was going to head along this downward spiral, I’d try to help, but there wasn’t much I could do.

Let's Take Something Terrific...and Ruin It!

doug@whiningkentpigs.com (Doug the Whining Kent Pig) — 2010-02-26T03:45:00Z

Look, I love movies. You know that by now. I love great movies, silly movies, funny movies, cheesy movies, classic movies…even a few TERRIBLE movies. And because Heather and I try to see as many films as we can in the theater instead of just watching them at home, we know we’re both sort of out of step with the modern-day movie-goer. CGI images can really distract me. Transforming robots do nothing for me. Avatar may be the greatest visual film in history, but if I want to watch Dancing With Wolves I’ll watch the original. For me, the story is primary (except in rare occasions where it is a combination of story and visual, such as Yellow Submarine). Does it make me think? Does it make me cry? Does it make me laugh? Does it frighten me? Is it interesting enough so that I don’t know EXACTLY how it will end 15 minutes in?

It is also no secret that Hollywood is devoid of ideas. And the financial side of moviemaking has changed what does and does not work. These days a terrible action film with almost no dialogue – and what there is, clichéd and robotic – is more likely to be globally successful. So the plot and the dialogue has less and less importance. Finding quality films with original ideas and great acting is harder and harder to do. Fortunately, I still have older movies I can turn back to when the latest releases leave me bored.

I think it is the fact that these old releases remain unknown to the modern-day public is why I find the non-stop stream of remakes to be so sinful (for lack of a better word). Yes, I know; today’s generation would find a hundred reasons not to want to enjoy an old Hitchcock film, or the original Dirty Harry, or Bridge Over the River Kwai. But I just don’t get it. If you want to remake a movie, fine, go ahead. But do you have to make such a TERRIBLE remake? One so wrenchingly awful that NOBODY who is first exposed to the film with the remake would EVER want to take the time to see the original?

Look, you want to remake Godzilla? Go ahead. The original requires a certain connection to your childhood to enjoy it. Want to do another modern retelling of The Taming of the Shrew under a different name? Have fun. Want to take a terrible movie like Point Break, remake it as The Fast and the Furious, and then remake THAT? Fine, they all suck, go nuts. But do you have to ruin good, or great, films?

Yes, this is a simple bitch-fest. So allow me, if you will, to give a short list of examples of films I wish they never had remade (or wish they would cancel plans to remake, depending on the individual film itself).

The Taking of Pelham 1-2-3 – Classic Walter Matthau and a fitting tribute to the NY Transit System becomes another John Travolta abomination.

The Bad News Bears – Does Hollywood hate Matthau for some reason? Did he owe a lot of people money when he died or something? Nobody can replace his Buttermaker.

The Birds – Hitchcock should be off limits.

Charlie and the Chocolate Factory – I don’t care if Roald Dahl’s widow says he didn’t like the original musical. For kids at that time, it was magical. So leave the damn thing alone. Gene Wilder during his best years.

Clash of the Titans – The cheese factor is big in this one, but that’s the way I prefer it.

Flight of the Phoenix – Why did they even bother? Gonna remake The Dirty Dozen next? Ooops, guess what…they are. When they decide to remake The Great Escape, I will go postal.

Footloose – Yes, it is a goofy 80’s movie. So what? Just leave it be.

Fun With Dick and Jane – It wasn’t worth remaking really, so why bother?

The In-Laws – Sacrilege. Arkin and Falk cannot be remade. Take perfection, and dump feces all over it. Thanks.

The Longest Yard – A fun and original movie becomes yet another vehicle for the least talented man in Hollywood.

The Manchurian Candidate – What a waste of time. Just makes me ill. The original is still under-appreciated.

Planet of the Apes – As goofy as the later films were, they actually built them all into a semi-coherent story arc. But the first film…it never gets old.

Psycho – See “The Birds.”

Sabrina – This wasn’t a total disaster…just taking a great film and turning it into a boring one.

Romancing the Stone – Is Hollywood completely out of comedic ideas?

Meatballs – There is NO way any remake can have the fun and the quirky hilarity of the original. Low-budget, cast with unknowns (except Bill Murray), and captured the feeling of summer camp perfectly. I wish the remake all the success of Caddyshack 2.

Back to School – Let’s take one of Rodney’s best movies, and redo it as a vehicle for Cedric the Entertainer. This is like watching “The Big Picture” and seeing Kevin Bacon’s film turned from a black-and-white character study into “Beach Nuts.” Rodney and Sam Kinneson are cursing the Earth from hell, or wherever they are now.

Arthur and 10 – I guess they were just waiting until Dudley Moore’s corpse was cold.

Rosemary’s Baby – You have got to be kidding me. This is STILL a tremendous movie, forgetting the fact that Roman Polanski directed it. There is NO reason to remake it. ZERO. STOP!!

Hellraiser – I don’t have quite the same problem with remaking horror films, although I still believe the original Halloween and Friday the 13^th are far superior. These days the remakes just throw blood and brain matter everywhere. No more fear.

Red Dawn – Not sure how we can remake this, unless we replace the Russians and Cubans with the Chinese. But why bother? The original is fun, and filled with young stars.

Yellow Submarine – I wish I was dead. A psychedelic journey into a magical world, enjoyed by adults and children alike. Does Sony need the money so badly?

Charade – They changed the name to The Truth About Charlie, but that still doesn’t change the pointless destruction this remake did of a fabulous movie. If you’ve never seen Charade, the latest DVD versions have much better sound quality then the old VHS releases.

True Grit – This is one I am almost willing to give a chance to, if only because the Coen Brothers are doing it. I’m willing to admit their take may be - at least - interesting.

What about you? Any least-favorite remakes (released or planned)?

Produced By.....

doug@whiningkentpigs.com (Doug the Whining Kent Pig) — 2010-02-26T03:44:00Z

When it comes to music, I am a liner note reader (which could be one of the many reasons I want the physical CD or other medium in my hand, rather than just downloading the songs). I get an odd pleasure from seeing connections between one release and another. Sometimes they are in completely different genres, or 30 years apart. But you recognize a rhythm section, or the feel of a particular producer, or the lyrical style of a songwriter. It can be obvious, or I can turn out to be completely wrong. And sometimes obscure facts come to me years later. Adrian Belew helped write “Oh Daddy” off of “Rumors”? Who is that singing background vocals on this song? Gary Wright contributed keyboards to George Harrison’s Cloud 9 album?

For whatever reason, I’ve been mentally building a great appreciation for the diverse production skills of two “studio genius” types in the last 12 months: Todd Rungdren and Jerry Harrison. I’ll buy a CD, enjoy it, and realize the production is similar in some ways to something else…then lo and behold, discover that it was produced by a familiar name.

Jerry Harrison is of course best known for his work with The Talking Heads, and that was where he learned his production chops. It’s impossible to determine, in a collective setting like that, how much influence one person has over the final product, and in this case you also have the strong personality of David Byrne to deal with. But a quick look at some of the other work Harrison has done beyond the scope of The Talking Heads or his solo projects reveals just how terrific the results can be when he is teamed with a musical act he doesn’t butt heads with (always the danger of trying to act as producer). In his position as producer, Harrison has helped a number of artists create their best work (and occasionally their only successful releases). There are obscure acts like the one-shot “super-group” Neurotic Outsiders, or the one-hit wonders Crash Test Dummies (Harrison produced their only successful album God Shuffled His Feet). You’ll find his name on work from No Doubt, the Pat McGee Band, the Violent Femmes, and Kenny Wayne Shepherd. My favorite production projects by him have to be his albums with Live (notably Throwing Copper and The Distance to Here), The Raw and the Cooked by The Fine Young Cannibals, Villains by The Verve Pipe, and I’d Rather Eat Glass by Bijou Phillips (youngest daughter of Papa John Philips). And I still consider Outside Looking In by The BoDeans to be their finest album, due in large part to the open, acoustic feel Harrison painted across the songs.

On the other hand, Todd Rungdren’s work should be much more familiar to you. From his first production work – The Great Speckled Bird’s self-titled album, Rungdren has found himself at the helm of a number of albums which are considered either the best of an artist, or the most commercially successful (or both). And his choice of projects is widely varied. In terms of commercial success, there’s We’re an American Band and Shinin’ On by Grand Funk, two albums that stand the test of time and helped move the band forward from a three-piece to a full-sounding four piece (with the addition of the great Craig Frost on keyboards, who later created the magical piano work on most of Bob Seger’s best known songs). Then there’s the original Bat Out of Hell by Meat Loaf. For my generation, that’s an album hard to tire of. Rungdren worked during the difficult late-Apple Records period with Badfinger, producing their third album and two songs off their fourth before giving up. From the debut album by the New York Dolls to progressive Steve Hillage’s album “L” you can find his handiwork. And let us not forget Skylarking by XTC and Forever Now by The Psychadelic Furs. Not everything Rungdren touches turns to gold, but many are regarded as classics or the band’s personal favorites (Next Position Please by Cheap Trick and Remote Control by The Tubes are excellent examples). Again, I’m leaving out all his solo work and Utopia albums, because they’re obvious.

So the next time you’re enjoying a CD, read through the liner notes, and make a note of the songwriters, musicians, and producers. Maybe you’ll see some loose ends begin to tie together. I’d love to hear comments from ES readers, either on these examples or on their own favorite industry names (musicians, producers, songwriters, etc.)

Fire and Rain - Part Three

doug@whiningkentpigs.com (Doug the Whining Kent Pig) — 2010-02-26T03:42:00Z

After much arguing and discussing and threatening between herself and her family, Mara agreed to fly down to Florida (where her parents were living, or soon moving to – the exact circumstance escapes me). There she would become a short-term inpatient, followed by a longer-term outpatient, with yet another mental health facility. Mara didn’t seem interested in the program itself, nor in moving to Florida. But she knew that living with her sister was no longer going to be an option. Living with her parents would be even less tolerable. So, in some ways, this plan to enter the program would serve one purpose for her (as she wasn’t going to get anything out of the mental health aspect with the attitude she was carrying, and her past history): it would give her time to figure out what she would do about living somewhere.

The company I was working for at the time had a 1-800 number, so when she could Mara would call me on that. But I didn’t hear much of her for a month or so. The calls I did get were either simply calls looking for a friendly voice, or crying requests that she and I live together again, if only for a short time while she figured out what her next move would be. I just couldn’t see any logical reason for her to come back to Dallas. On the off chance that she was going to receive any support – financially or emotionally – from her family, moving back to Dallas would be the kiss of death. After all, I was (in their eyes) the person responsible for all of her problems. I was the one who turned her into the crazed adult she was now, instead of the happy child they remembered (funny that Mara never remembered being happy as a child). Plus, I was trying to move on with my life, to make this on-again-off again relationship with my girlfriend Andrea either work or gather enough strength to end it once and for all. So on these emotional occasions, I was forced to turn a deaf ear to her cries for help, and tell her that it wouldn’t be good for either of us. Like it or not, she was stuck in Florida.

Eventually Mara was switched to outpatient status, but was lucky enough to make use of some kind of apartment facility they had for the initially discharged patients. It was during this time that I heard about some new man in her life. Mara wouldn’t give me a lot of details, but apparently they met in the program and now were attempting to conduct some clandestine relationship (as it would be against the rules of the facility). He was recovering from drug addiction, and had other skeletons in his closet that Mara hadn’t felt comfortable revealing to me yet. But she wasn’t lonely, and felt loved. I didn’t see any real hope in the relationship, at first glance, but I’d managed to remove myself from the day-to-day structure of what she did and who she did it with that I didn’t find myself having nightmares or losing sleep over it. Yes, I was bothered; but in the back of my mind I was still looking at the time Mara was spending on this planet as temporary. Eventually – I was convinced – she’d kill herself…almost as if she was battling cancer and eventually it was going to eat her up inside. It was just a question of when.

It was at about this time that I decided I needed to approach Mara about a divorce. I no longer had any health insurance, so the main reason we had been staying married was gone. I was providing some financial support, $400 or $500 a month, and she had her disability payments as well. I told her I would continue to give her money as I was able, since I was making a lot less than I used to (this was after I’d lost my job in the series of events that would eventually lead me to prison a few years later). With the potential for lawsuits against me, this was not entirely selfish on my part…I feared that if one of her relatives died, and we were still married, any inheritance she received could be somehow at risk. And eventually one of us was going to want to get married again…I wasn’t planning on that on my end, but already Mara and her boyfriend had an eye to the future.

The divorce itself was very simple, since we had no children and basically no assets of value. I filed the divorce and sent a copy to Mara, with a return envelope for her to acknowledge receipt of the filing. The divorce paperwork simply stated we would no longer be married (I think grounds, if any, were abandonment), and that we accepted the fact that whatever personal property we now had in our possession was ours. There was no financial support to be given (not legally required anyway; Mara knew I was going to help her when I could). I had a few things in my storage unit which Mara wanted or considered hers, none with any monetary value. I agreed to hold them and care for them until such time that she could have me send them somewhere. (Funny, thinking of that reminds me of when Mara was leaving for her sister’s house for the final time, and her entire family seemed outrageously concerned that she be sure to “get the silverware” we’d been given as wedding gifts…silverware we had used once. It was always about money for them, never about emotion).

I handled everything from my end, overnighting paperwork to Mara when necessary with prepaid envelopes to send things back. Mara signed a decree that she did not with to appear or contest the divorce, and that she agreed with the terms. I waited a month or so for my court date to show up, and drove to a building in Waxahachie which was serving as the courthouse at the time. Sitting in the back of the courtroom, I could hear the two cases that took place before mine. These were very angry people, arguing over kids, money, cars…so much hatred in their voices. Relatives from both sides getting up to claim the other side of the marriage was Satan or Typhoid Mary. It reminded me of my parents, and how badly things ended there. The poor kids; I knew they’d suffer for the mistakes of these parents.

Finally it was my turn. I went up, handed the clerk the paperwork, and waited. The judge asked some questions, basically confirming the information on the pages. “Mara Kent is not here today?” “You have no children together?” “No major assets, property, real estate?” “Is there any hope for reconciliation?” Five minutes later it was done.

I walked out into the afternoon sun, and I felt completely empty and hollow. It was as if the universe had just officially declared my relationship with Mara, and all the years that went into it, a complete failure. I hadn’t expected to be upset by the divorce process. It was clean, easy, and inexpensive (the forms cost me about $80, and no lawyers were involved). We’d been apart for a few years, and this divorce was merely a formality; it was simply a question of when we bothered to go through the motions. Once I’d lost my health insurance, there wasn’t any real reason to stay married.

I went back to work and shuffled through the rest of the day, dispatching drivers and confirming details of jobs for the next day. I was sort of a zombie. My boss and friend Patty asked me how I felt, and I just shrugged my shoulders. I didn’t feel. I was just empty.

After work I considered going across the street to Coyotes and having a few drinks. But I didn’t want to see anybody. Andrea and I were in a short “off-again” stage, so I wasn’t going to answer the phone if she called. I drove the four blocks to my apartment, walked slowly up the stairs, and went inside.

I looked around. The living room was nearly empty; I had no sofa, as my old one would not fit through the door, and it had smelled terrible when I pulled it out of storage. There was no “living” going on there. I filled the cat bowls in the kitchen, and gave them fresh water. Tigger whined a hello, as always, and Whisper and Footy rubbed against me as they made their way to their meal. Their companionship was a bit reassuring, but it wasn’t making me feel like anything was right. Everything just felt wrong, and out of place.

The bedroom and the kitchen were the only two rooms left, and that’s where I spent my time. I got undressed, and tried to find some music to listen to. Nothing fit, nothing sounded right. I just climbed into bed and pulled the comforter over my head. One of the cats, probably Whisper, clawed at it, and then laid down beside me. It wasn’t completely dark out yet, but in my cave it was black. I was alone, and the world would never be the same again. I realized then that the marriage hadn’t simply ended, or been declared over by a court document. It had died. It was dead. Despite not seeing Mara since 1999 – three years earlier – life support had kept it alive. Now, it was cold and stiff; a corpse.

So I did the only thing that came naturally: I lay in bed and grieved. And after a mountain of sobs into my pillow, I cried myself to sleep.

Fire and Rain - Part Two

doug@whiningkentpigs.com (Doug the Whining Kent Pig) — 2010-02-26T03:40:00Z

As Mara began to lose weight, my own life was facing major stress. Work was a nightmare; I had left a job where I was busting my ass 60 or more hours a week, and was now making more money but with nearly the same hours, and much more daily stress. I was drinking more than I wanted to, my relationship with my girlfriend seemed to be going nowhere, and even with the additional income I wasn’t able to put anything in the bank. I’d developed a twitch in my eye, I was sleeping badly, and I left work every day feeling like I’d been punched in the stomach. Taking time off was out of the question, the business itself was slowly fading into obscurity, and the office was a constant firestorm of shouting matches and fits by the various owners. I’d gone to my doctor to see what he thought, and he simply put me on some type of antidepressant to combat a bit of the stress. I noticed no difference in my mood or my outlook on life. I was simply miserable.

At home I was paying all the bills while my girlfriend finished Cosmetology School, but I wasn’t feeling any appreciation for how I was treating her like a princess. Instead there was just the constant pressure of making ends meet. I was giving Mara money every month to help her out, as best as I could, and I still felt a tremendous emotional obligation to her. Whenever Mara called, either on my cell or my “private” home phone (because I didn’t want the two women in my life to go at each other), I would find time to listen to her, to laugh with her if we had something to laugh about, to tell her how the cats were doing…and most of all, to try and be as understanding as I could be when she told me about her problems and the complications of her life. I knew that, since her only other emotional support was coming from her family, she was in desperate need of someone who would listen instead of waving her feelings away like an annoying gnat.

As much as I had hoped for good news, whenever Mara called it was anything but. Her sexual and mental issues were reasserting themselves, and gaining strength. Yet she refused to discuss them with her family, especially her sister (whose basement she was living in). Mara’s sister was not ready to handle any mental issues; as it was they could barely get along with each other. They were always fighting over something: privacy issues, money, the lack of air conditioning in the basement, respect (or lack of it), thanks and appreciation (or lack of it). As sisters they had never gotten along anyway – they were VERY different personality types – and Mara living in the basement of her sister’s made her feel indebted in a way she was not happy with. Likewise, her sister felt that since Mara was living in her house, she had the right to boss Mara around when she wanted to. All in all it was an unhappy arrangement, and more than once Mara called me crying, asking if she could come back to Texas and live with me “just as roommates.” I found the strength to say no, but I always felt like such a piece of shit for doing it, even though I knew that if we were ever to live together again in any capacity it would lead to more of the same behavior patterns we’d dealt with: her self-destruction and by enabling. As guilty as everything about Mara made me feel, I wasn’t about to put myself through that wood chipper again.

The worst of Mara’s problems was the re-emergence of her inability to refuse sexual advances from men she encountered. The scars from years of sexual abuse she had suffered had never healed, and looking back I don’t think enough emphasis was ever put on them in her countless therapy sessions. Some of the blame for that could be placed on my shoulders, but I did the best I could with what I knew at the time. Keeping Mara going was hard enough…keeping her going on an upward trajectory was nearly impossible. Now that she had to do a lot of this on her own, it looked the spiral downward would resume; the better she got physically, the worse her life and mental state became.

Details from Mara were often sketchy, or perhaps I’ve blocked some of them out. I do remember when she confided to me that she’d begun sexual relations with one of the Handi-Ride bus drivers that took her to and from appointments. If they were alone in the bus, she’d often gratify his sexual urges one way or another. And while she tried to make light of it to me, as if it was something she chose to do in some sort of sexual reawakening, the mere fact that she even mentioned it was proof enough that she hated herself for what she was doing. But despite my suggestions that she try to get more therapy for these issues, Mara rejected the idea. Her sister had made it rather clear that if she was to suffer any kind of mental regression, Mara would have to find somewhere else to live. So Mara’s world of secrets and lies was reborn, the same world she lived in as a child and as an abuse victim. Not surprisingly, I became more miserable about her situation and my inability to do anything to help, except listen. In my mind, Mara was and always would be my responsibility…not just because I had accepted that position when we married, but also because her family (through actions rather than words) had always made it pretty clear that they preferred to rationalize her conditions and pretend everything was fine, unless they were thrust into a sudden crisis like her previous suicide attempt. And then, once out of the hospital, they’d go back to the stance that she was okay again. Their shifting of blame, directly and indirectly, onto my shoulders was always another red-not poker driven into my stomach, and my heart.

One day I received the phone call from Mara that I had been dreading; she was unsure where she would be living, but it wouldn’t be with her sister any longer. Apparently she had gotten upset and cut one of her thighs up. The cuts were small, and not deep, but quite numerous. As usual Mara tried to play it down as not a big deal, but the damage was done. As she called me, her sister was on the phone with her parents, and they conferring on what the next step should be with their troubled relative. I knew that moving in with her parents was completely out of the question. But they were holding their private little phone conference, deciding Mara’s fate, without asking for any input from her. I don’t know if she was in a position to offer anything but roadblocks, but it did hurt me to think that she had – once again – lost control of her life.

And, as I always did, I couldn’t help but think that if I’d stuck it out longer, and Mara and I were still together, maybe things would be better for her. Not necessarily for me, but at least for her.

Eternal Sunshine #38 Released - March 2010 Issue - Diplomacy Subzine

doug@whiningkentpigs.com (Doug the Whining Kent Pig) — 2010-02-25T01:55:00Z

Eternal Sunshine #38, the March 2010 issue, is now available. Among the usual foolishness, you can find:

Columns from Andy York, Paul Milewski, and Jack McHugh
The latest chapter of Fire and Rain
Jokes
Photos
Two new variant openings (including rules and maps)
Letters
Hypothetical Questions
More of the Movie Quote Contest
The Baseball Prediction contest
and lots more!

You can find the pdf version in the Eternal Sunshine Yahoo group at:

http://games.groups.yahoo.com/group/eternal_sunshine_diplomacy/

or both the pdf and html versions at:

http://www.whiningkentpigs.com/DW/

Check it out and make sure you send in some feedback!

Eternal Sunshine #37 Released - February 2010 Issue

doug@whiningkentpigs.com (Doug the Whining Kent Pig) — 2010-01-26T23:01:00Z

Issue #37 of Eternal Sunshine has now been released! More of the usual foolishness, including columns from Andy York, Jack McHugh, and Paul Milewski....Part 3 of Fire and Rain...the latest rounds of By Popular Demand and the ES Movie Quote Quiz...Letters, Movie Reviews, and more!

You can find it in the ES Yahoo group in pdf format at

http://games.groups.yahoo.com/group/eternal_sunshine_diplomacy/

Or in both pdf and html format at

http://www.whiningkentpigs.com/DW/

Check it out, and send some feedback! Also, if you're playing in games, remember February is a SHORT MONTH! Don't wait till the last minute!

Direct links to the zine are:

http://www.whiningkentpigs.com/dw/eshtml37.htm

and

http://www.whiningkentpigs.com/DW/es37.pdf

Enjoy!

Movie Review - Up in the Air

doug@whiningkentpigs.com (Doug the Whining Kent Pig) — 2010-01-20T22:46:00Z

I’ve never found George Clooney to be a great actor. He can be funny (O Brother, Where Art Thou) and carries his particular attitude-filled charm quite easily (Ocean’s 11 being a perfect example). But when I heard rave reviews for Up in the Air, directed by Jason Reitman, I felt I had to give it a shot. Reitman is very capable, and the plot seemed original enough to withstand scrutiny: Ryan Bingham (George Clooney) fires people for a living. His company is hired by other companies to handle the firing and transition process. His entire life is flying from city to city and telling people they no longer have a job. That got me…I was ready to see how this worked.

Bingham enjoys his life on the road. His character is a suave, charismatic alternate to the never-home Del Griffith in Planes, Trains, and Automobiles (the late John Candy). While Del pined for his old life, when his wife was still alive, Ryan Bingham has no wish to spend time in his tiny apartment. Home, for him, is in the air. Hotels, airports, offices, and airplane seats are where he feels comfortable. He even gives occasional motivational speeches, titled “What is in Your Backpack” to teach people how to live their lives without anything tying them down. Material possessions, friends, family…to Bingham they are unnecessary. They slow you down. “The slower you move,” he tells one group “the faster you die.” In fact, the only possession Clooney prizes are his frequent flier miles. They are, to him, his goal in life.

Jason Bateman, who plays Clooney’s boss, calls him back to the home office in Omaha. A young addition to the firm named Natalie (Anna Kendrick) has designed a process which allows the company to fire people via webcam. This would save the company a tremendous amount of money, and allow them to handle a larger client base. However, it would also force Clooney to spend his life in Omaha. That is a situation he cannot accept. And, in essence, his argument is a sound one: firing people is a tremendously personal process, and to do it in such an impersonal manner is a terrible idea. After a little office demonstration to reveal that she doesn’t have a tremendous grasp on what the firing process is truly like, Bateman orders Natalie to accompany Bingham on a road trip so he can “show her the ropes.”

Much of the humor in Up in the Air is found in Bingham’s perfection of the travel process. He lives out of one small rolling bag. He knows which rental car agencies are the fastest, which line to get in at the security checkpoint, and what to eat based on the per diem the company allows. He also strikes up a relationship with fellow traveler Alex (Vera Farmiga) who he meets at an airport lounge, where they compare travel status cards. Soon that relationship grows, which begins to complicate Bingham’s life…his “backpack” is no longer empty.

The mix of both bold and quiet humor, combined with old fashioned romanticism and the overall question of purpose in life (for all the major characters, not to mention the nameless individuals Clooney and his young pupil have to fire along the way) create a delicate balance, and a very powerful film. I wouldn’t be nominating Clooney for an Academy Award (in fact, I felt Kendrick gave the strongest performance as she walked the tightrope between self-assured go-getter and confused young adult) but I do highly recommend Up in the Air. It’s one of those quality, moving, though-provoking adult films which answer no questions, but still serve a great purpose.

Diplomacy World #108 Released - Winter 2009 Issue

doug@whiningkentpigs.com (Doug the Whining Kent Pig) — 2010-01-06T00:28:00Z

Diplomacy World #108, the Winter 2009 Issue, has just been released. You can find it in pdf format both on the Diplomacy World website (www.diplomacyworld.net) and in the DW Yahoo group (http://games.groups.yahoo.com/group/diplomacyworld/)

Inside this issue (which had a theme of Face to Face Diplomacy) you'll find:

Jack McHugh on Favorite Con Memories

Dave Simpson on the Future of FTF Diplomacy in the UK

Steve Cooley on You Might Be a Loser If...

Chris Sham on How to Write for DW the Easy Way

Strategy & Tactics Articles from Greg Duenow, Joshua Danker-Dake, Alex Maslow, and Richard Hannon

3 more game years of the Demo Game of the "Known World" variant

and MUCH MORE!

Check the issue out and let me know what you think. Feedback is important!

Movie Review - Sherlock Holmes

doug@whiningkentpigs.com (Doug the Whining Kent Pig) — 2009-12-31T02:18:00Z

In general, the modern-day action film leaves me cold. The plot and dialogue are secondary to the CGI sequences and other special effects. Marketing of the film in other countries brings in a good percentage of revenue, so the less the film relies on dialogue the better. Still, I have been a lifelong fan of Arthur Conan Doyle’s consulting detective, and director Guy Ritchie has entertained me quite a bit with some of his past work. Previous film incarnations have been rather sterile in my view, although I do recall enjoying “Young Sherlock Holmes” quite a few years ago, and “The Seven-Percent Solution” had its moments, but the preview for this new release gave me a bit of hope. So we decided to give Sherlock Holmes a try.

Overall, it was a decent movie. I liked it, although I can’t say that I loved it. As I mentioned, Robert Downey, Jr. plays Holmes, with Jude Law his companion Dr. Watson. As the film unfolds, Watson is planning on moving out of their Baker Street rooms and marrying his sweetheart (those of you who read the books know that this does not fall outside of Doyle’s direction). Along with everything else going on along the way, Holmes takes any available opportunity to draw Watson back into his cases, and hopefully back into Baker Street. The bickering between two friends with opposite goals is part of the charm this version holds. Rather than being constantly submissive, Law’s Watson refuses to be bullied (but can certainly be manipulated on occasion, when he doesn’t see it coming).

The case Holmes is following involves Lord Blackwood (Mark Strong), who is caught in the attempt of murdering his sixth victim in a typical cultish/mystic sacrifice. Holmes and Watson stop the process, Inspector Lestrade and his men arrive to arrest Blackwood, and he is sentenced to hang for his crimes. Before he dies, he warns Holmes that this is only the beginning, and that there are powers far beyond mortal men involved.

Soon afterward, it seems that Lord Blackwood has been resurrected from the dead, and Holmes is called in to solve the case. Watson tags along, often while protesting or questioning his own sanity. I won’t divulge any plot points from here forward, except to say that Holmes utilizes his usual keep powers of observation, as well as physical strength. In sequences where Holmes is about to attack an adversary, we are treated in Guy Ritchie fashion to a blow-by-blow analysis in Holmes’ brain, dissecting his opponent and determining exactly how the fight will go before it even takes place. I did find some of the trademark Ritchie quick cuts and slow/fast sequences to be more irritating then enjoyable, pulling me out of the story rather than further into it. But overall the action is fun and necessary within the plot.

Downey’s Holmes has a quick wit, a sarcastic and somewhat childish sense of humor, and is unkempt most of the time we see him on screen. Holmes’ notorious drug habit is never discussed, although his romantic side is touched upon, with the introduction of Irene Adler (Rachel McAdams) – a con artist who has bested Holmes twice in the past, in part by using his affections against him. Her reasons for being in London, and for approaching Holmes, are revealed a piece at a time in a subplot.

If you’ve never read the original Holmes stories, I suggest you do so. But in the meantime, you could do worse than watching the film itself.

Eternal Sunshine #36 Released - January 2010 Issue - Diplomacy Subzine

doug@whiningkentpigs.com (Doug the Whining Kent Pig) — 2009-12-30T19:36:00Z

Eternal Sunshine #36 is now available for download. You can find the pdf version in the ES Yahoo group at:

http://games.groups.yahoo.com/group/eternal_sunshine_diplomacy/

or in both pdf and html version at:

http://www.whiningkentpigs.com/DW/

This latest issue includes such items as:

Part 2 of a new essay, Fire and Rain
Movie Reviews
Letters
Hypothetical Question of the Month
The 10-round Movie Quote Quiz
Paul Milewski
Jack McHugh (and his new Adults-Only By Popular Demand)
Game results
and much more!

Check it out and send me some feedback!

Direct links to the pdf and html versions are:

http://www.whiningkentpigs.com/DW/es36.pdf

http://www.whiningkentpigs.com/DW/eshtml36.htm

Fire and Rain - Part One

doug@whiningkentpigs.com (Doug the Whining Kent Pig) — 2009-11-28T03:55:00Z

Those of you who have been reading Eternal Sunshine for a while, or who first encountered me through my old zine Maniac’s Paradise, will probably remember that Heather is my second wife. My first wife and I divorced in 2002, although we’d split up as a couple a few years before that. Mara had been my High School sweetheart, my first (and only) love up to that point…and someone who saw her mental and physical state deteriorate year after year from the day I met her. It has always seemed to me that Mara simply did not get a fair chance at life. She suffered years of sexual abuse at the hands of one of her grandparents, enjoyed little of the kind of support she longed for from her parents, and watched as her dreams passed her by to be replaced by lower and lower expectations. Eventually her goals would be just to be able to go out to dinner without getting sick, or on a really good day go out to dinner. When I met her Mara seemed like such a vibrant, strong, driven person who had incredible talent and promise. When we split up she’d attempted suicide, weighed over 400 pounds, could only comfortable get around in a wheelchair, had been on SSI for years, took about 12 different medications a day (not including those she took on an as-needed basis), and would drift from reality to fantasy without warning. Her bipolar disorder at its worst would have her up all night and asleep all day, weeks at a time. And despite what her family might have thought, I had to handle this all on my own; they made every attempt to minimize her conditions, and interaction with them inevitably led to crying fits or throwing things like a child.

I’ve already written in Eternal Sunshine about her suicide attempt in 1998, and how at that point I was finally pushed over the edge, no longer willing or able to carry on the marriage. Yet even then I couldn’t fully break free, and Mara clung to the hope that after she’d spent 6 months in various hospitals and another 4 or 5 months in New Jersey – living with her sister – that she could come home and we’d be able to rebuild the relationship. I knew it was impossible, but I couldn’t find the strength to tell her so…although I did my best to lower her expectations. But, being me, I still let my least favorite memories haunt me like ghosts passing through my body.

I still feel like a complete piece of shit when I think of the day she realized it wasn’t going to work, that we were finished. This was perhaps four months after she had returned to Texas, or maybe six…my memory of those days is very hazy now. We were in the kitchen, and she’d decided to make us something for dinner. I still loved her then – fuck, I still do today – but the bond between us had been shattered irreparably. I like to say that it was when she truly attempted suicide that she gave up on life, and I gave up on the marriage. But I don’t think that’s honest…I had given up on it months, if not years before, and was simply going through the motions waiting to see how the movie would end. That hurts for me to admit, but I now believe it to be true. Anyway, we were sitting there eating dinner, not saying much…maybe talking about the cats. The fact that we were eating in the kitchen, at the table, rather than in bed is memorable in itself. That didn’t happen very often; only when Mara was feeling well enough. But all of a sudden she burst into tears and, through the gasps of misery, said “This isn’t fair. You never even gave me a chance to prove that I could be your wife again.” All I could do is sit there and let my own tears run down my face. I had nothing to say which could make her feel better, and nothing to do to make any difference. After all, she was right; I’d left very little room for the marriage to be saved, if any. And considering I had based the last 13 years of my life to finding a way to save her from herself, her past, her family, her demons, and her illnesses, to face the fact that I’d given up on us as a couple made me feel as if I’d given up on her as well…and me too, if I hadn’t already done that years earlier.

So soon afterward, Mara moved back to New Jersey to live with her sister again. We stayed in touch, speaking at least four times a week on the phone as well as by email. Mara told me that in general she kept those communications secret from her family (although I believe her sister knew). Apparently they blamed me for the failure of the marriage, as well as for Mara’s physical and mental state. I think they also hated me for allowing Mara to become “their problem” again. This was the daughter who had attempted suicide; who had stopped speaking to them for over a year; who accused her mother of knowingly sending her to spend summers with a man who was sexually molesting her. I can only imagine that their hatred and anger at me was a convenient way to replace some of the guilt they might have felt. Not once in all my time with Mara did I hear either of her parents admit they had made even the smallest mistake in the way they raised her, or in any of the parental decisions they had made (except, my implication, their decision to allow her to have a relationship with me and later to marry me). Since I haven’t spoken to them in 10 over 10 years, I can’t ask them if they’ve changed their views. And I don’t think I’d want to ask, because I am fairly certain none of their opinions have changed.

While I tried to piece together my own life, Mara’s didn’t seem to be getting much better. She gained even more weight, fought constantly with her sister and her parents (who were moving to Florida), and threatened suicide a number of times. I know she really missed the support I had given her emotionally (I sent her money every month so the financial support was still there), even if I was a terrible enabler at the same time. Still, she was now in a situation where she had to fight for herself, manage her own medication (a dizzying array of pills), and decide what was best for her life. Her parents had been trying to get her to agree to gastric bypass surgery for a number of years; Mara was afraid of the complications from the surgery, and more afraid that if she was able to successfully lose weight she would uncover the reasons she kept herself so obese in the first place: her history of molestation and the sexual problems it had left behind, which she had never been able to overcome. As I saw it, aside from the medical reasons she had gotten so heavy (years of prednisone, a bad back, no exercise, etc.) she had added the fat as a defense shield. As long as she remained undesirable to men, no man would approach her. This, for Mara, was the preferred scenario…because she seemed to have no ability to turn down sexual advances. Whoever, whenever, however…if a man propositioned her Mara was willing to oblige. She wanted desperately to be liked, to be loved, by everyone she met, and sexual favors was the way she had been taught by her abuser to show the most personal, special, true love and affection.

When her weight started to approach close to 500 pounds, Mara finally decided to have the surgery. She knew that at the rate she was going it was life or death anyway (I used to ask her “How many old but morbidly obese people do you know? Not many, because they all die young.”), so the surgery was her only option. Mara had a number of potential complications to worry about…aside from anesthesia on someone so large, she had Factor 11 deficiency in her blood which made it hard for her to clot properly. And with so many medications, how to keep them balanced within her system was in question. But the whole procedure went surprisingly well. I had to wait until she could call or email me herself, since nobody in her family could be bothered to let me know if the woman I was still married to, and had dated since 1983, had died while under the knife. There were no major complications, just some minor surface infection on the incisions which she’d have to deal with for a few weeks.

So now that the bypass was in place, Mara was ready to begin to lose weight. It would be physically impossible for her to eat enough to sabotage herself THIS time. Even if her stomach was to stretch out, it would a good deal of time. And in the meantime, the pounds would simply drop off. And that’s exactly what happened! She looked forward to being able to walk more easily, to climb the stairs to and from her basement room, and one day to walk around a shopping mall again like a normal person. There were so many things for Mara to look forward to once she continued to lose weight.

And, as she and I both knew, but everyone else seemed to ignore, plenty of pitfalls waiting in the path as well…

Movie Review - A Serious Man

doug@whiningkentpigs.com (Doug the Whining Kent Pig) — 2009-11-28T03:53:00Z

Given the subject matter of A Serious Man, it isn’t surprising to me that it has received somewhat limited distribution. Brought to us by the Coen brothers, those moviegoers expecting to find Fargo or O Brother Where Art Though should look elsewhere. A Serious Man is clearly their most autobiographical movie so far, and treads in Coen style on some very simple topics: the meaning of life, how perspective decides how we feel about our lives, how God speaks to us (if at all), and how we know anything about anything. In other words, A Serious Man is to popcorn movies as War and Peace is to some light reading.

The plot, a parable of sorts itself (and loosely based on the biblical tale of Job), centers on Larry Gopnik (Michael Stuhlbarg). Larry is a physics professor, about to receive tenure, married with two children. He lives in a peaceful suburb area of Minneapolis in 1967 (which is beautifully recreated in detail; everything about the film carries the essence of the late 60’s). To Larry, everything in his life seems to be on the right track. His son is about to have his Bar Mitzvah, he enjoys his job, he loves his wife…even his nebbish brother (Richard Kind) who is staying with the family and sleeping on the couch manages not to break his stride.

Suddenly, though, cracks appear and Larry discovers his life is not what is seems to be (or is it simply that it has changed into something else?). A disgruntled student attempts to bribe Larry for a passing grade (or does he?), and then threatens to sue him. Larry’s wife Judith (Sari Lennick) announces she wants a divorce, as well as a Get (a ritualistic Jewish divorce) so she can marry friend of the family Sy (Fred Melamed). His son smokes pot constantly, and owes a neighborhood tough $20; his only concern seems to be whether his father can fix the television antenna so he can watch F-Troop. Judith and Sy eventually convince Larry to move into the local motel (the Jolly Rodger) with his brother. Money pressures are surrounding him, and the divorce is simply icing on the cake. Even the Columbia Record Club is hounding him for money.

At the urging of a few minor characters, Larry goes to “see the Rabbi.” In this case there are three Rabbis, and Larry seeks advice from each of them. What is God trying to tell him? What is he supposed to do? Why has his happy life been turned upside down?

A complex web of questions tie the film together. Can we really know anything? Is life simply a collection of surmises? Are the coincidences and events of life messages from above, or simply the daily hassles of life as a human being? What is faith, how do we keep it, and does it matter? An opening scene in A Serious Man, spoken in Yiddish but subtitled in English, seems to have no connection to the rest of the film…but I believe it does. Because A Serious Man is such a personal film to the Coens, it will likely have different meanings to different people. It is also very heavy on Judaic references, which may be lost on some audience members. And the final scene leaves as many questions as it answers.

I won’t say that A Serious Man was the most enjoyable film the Coen brothers have given us, but it is to me the most thought provoking, the most meaningful, and the most detailed. I really don’t feel able to give it a true full review, because there are still so many things I need to consider…what did this mean? What did that mean? What was the purpose of that exchange?

Walking out of the theatre, I was suddenly reminded of a page I printed in an old issue of Maniac’s Paradise explaining the differences in various religions using the term “Shit Happens.” It ends with “Judaism: Why does shit always happen to us?”

Eternal Sunshine #35 Released - December 2009 Issue - Diplomacy Subzine

doug@whiningkentpigs.com (Doug the Whining Kent Pig) — 2009-11-25T19:18:00Z

Eternal Sunshine #35 is now available for download. You can find the pdf version in the ES Yahoo group at:

http://games.groups.yahoo.com/group/eternal_sunshine_diplomacy/

or in both pdf and html version at:

http://www.whiningkentpigs.com/DW/

This latest issue includes such items as:

The conclusion of I'm No Edward Norton
Part 1 of a new essay, Fire and Rain
Movie Reviews
Letters
Hypothetical Question of the Month
A new 10-round Movie Quote Quiz
Paul Milewski
Jack McHugh (and his new Adults-Only By Popular Demand)
Game results
and much more!

Check it out and send me some feedback!

Whining Kent Pig Applications

doug@whiningkentpigs.com (Doug the Whining Kent Pig) — 2009-11-08T16:17:00Z

For all of you Whining Kent Pig fans, there are now *TWO* Whining Kent Pig gift applications on Facebook. The first is Whining Kent Pig Food Staples, where you can send friends such WKP standards as brown sugar, moldy bread, or Ring Dings. And the newest is Whining Kent Pig Memories, which allows you to give friends such WKP necessities as a 49-card deck or cards, an overflowing toilet, or piles of newspapers. Check them out on Facebook!

Halfway Home at the Halfway House - Part Eight

doug@whiningkentpigs.com (Doug the Whining Kent Pig) — 2009-11-01T16:44:00Z

At first, work had its own difficulties. To begin with, there was the matter of being accessible by phone. After breakfast and collecting my bag lunch, I’d leave the halfway house on the 7am van, which would take us to the light rail station (arriving around 7:20). From there I’d take the rail to Union station and catch a bus, which I could get off right across the street from work. Timing, however, was the issue. There was no way to arrive at close to my 9am start time. So I’d arrive closer to 8:30, which absolutely nothing to do. I usually had a paperback which I would try to read, but I would find myself harassed by beggars every few minutes as I stood by the store. If I was lucky, they’d just ask for money and I would say no. If I was unlucky, they’d engage me in conversation. “Do you work here? What’s in the bag? What do they pay? Can I get part of your lunch?” I couldn’t be overly rude, because these same people would walk by morning after morning. I didn’t have a key to the store at this point, so I’d be stuck standing there until my boss arrived.

His schedule was not a very dependable one, which caused me quite a bit of grief. Because I had to be accountable for my whereabouts at all times, it was my job to call the Halfway House when I arrived at work. But, since my boss often wasn’t there on time, I was unable to do that. Instead I’d wait until about 9:15 and then call using the payphone on the corner, explaining that I was at work but that I could not yet get in. The staff would tell me to call again when I was actually inside the store. Then I’d go back to waiting. Sometimes he’d show up about that time, right after I’d wasted 50 cents on the call. But often he’d pull up at 9:30 or later. Once he had someone else drive down to let me in after 10am. On days like that I’d have to call the Halfway House from the payphone a second time, letting them know I was still stuck. Generally the response was that I could wait until 10am but then I’d simply have to forget work and come back. “We can’t have you wandering around Dallas.” Of course, most of my fellow clients were doing just that, all day long, with their fake jobs and with the cars they were driving without authorization. But me? I was a problem, since I had a REAL job and had to wait for my boss to let me in.

The Halfway House was supposed to call your workplace about once a week to “spot check” and make sure you were where you were supposed to be. As usual, I got dealt the heavier hand; they called an average of four times a week, and a few times they would call more than once a day. I got the feeling that the reason I was singled out – as in other circumstances, such as always being searched when leaving he chow hall in prison – was that I wasn’t going to make a big stink about it or give them a hard time. So because I tried to be agreeable, I was a favorite target for the staff; they had a quota of calls to make, so why not knock one off that quota by taking the path of least resistance? My boss didn’t seem to mind, but then he’d bug me about after they called. He just liked to complain, really.

The other problem with work, for the time being, was that I had to go to mandatory group meetings twice a week, on Tuesdays and Thursdays. These would require me to take the bus from down the street to downtown, run 3 blocks (because I had only about 2 minutes to make the switch), and transfer onto another bus which would take me up to the counseling location. It happened to be only about a 5 minute drive from my house, but with the bus system it was a real pain in the butt.

Worse, my boss (who was the only other person who worked at that location, if you remember), had a habit of taking long lunches. Sometimes I’d be sitting there staring at the clock, knowing that if he didn’t show up within a minute or two I’d miss the bus and be late for the meeting. I couldn’t just leave the store, because I had no key! If I did, I could just lock it up and take off…but in these cases I had to panic and count the seconds. Occasionally I’d have to run off so quickly that I wouldn’t be able to call the Halfway House to say “I’m leaving work and heading to my group meeting) which was mandatory every time I moved from one place to another (they had a phone at the therapy center which rang directly to the halfway house, so that part was easy). If I forgot to call, I had to find a payphone along the way and call from there, otherwise I’d be guilty of not being accountable for my whereabouts, and I’d potentially have passes or other privileges taken away (or worse if I was a repeat offender). Fortunately I always kept a supply of quarters in my pocket for these pay phone calls. But what a beating the whole system was!

There was one occasion when I completely forgot to call from work, on a day when I was coming back to the halfway house directly. I realized once I got on the van at the train station and we were heading back. This was the one and only occasion that I remember when the fact that I obeyed the rules and didn’t cause trouble paid off. When we showed up, the staff member who signed me in asked if I had called to say I was leaving work (they had a system where they moved your file from one place to another based on what you told them when you called, and my file was still in the “at work” area). I made the only choice I thought appropriate: I looked at her and lied to her face. “Yes ma’am, I certainly did!” “Well, do you remember who you talked to?” “I’m almost positive it was you, ma’am.” She just shrugged her shoulders and assumed she’d forgotten to move it.

As irritating as these work-related hassles were, I didn’t have much reason to bitch. After all, it only took two weeks of working before I was able to secure my first 24-hour pass…which meant spending the night at home for the first time since I’d left in November 2003! Usually someone with a stable job could get a 48-hour pass, but because I worked six days a week that wasn’t allowed. The 24-hour pass was pretty simple: you had to give them what your schedule would be, in advance. If you wanted to go to dinner or a store or anything, you had to put it on the pass request, including address and phone number. But one thing you couldn’t do was go to someone else’s house. This actually was amusing for me, because the first 24-hour pass I had was over Mother’s Day weekend, and Heather had planned for me to go to her mother’s apartment with her. My case worker told me that I wouldn’t be allowed to do that (lucky me!). The only catch was I had been joking about not being allowed to go there since Heather first brought the subject up, so now that I found out I REALLY wasn’t allowed to go, I felt I needed proof. So, I asked my case worker to write a simple note. He looked at me funny, and I explained why I needed it. “What do you want me to write?” he asked, and I told him what to put down, which he basically copied word for word. I still have that note (although I’m not sure why), and it appears below:

Heather didn’t want to believe me when I told her that my joking had turned out to be prophetic, but the note was enough to convince her. So while Heather was forced to go off and spend time with her mother, I’d be able to sit around the apartment and relax.

In preparation for the pass, and for the eventual switch to home confinement which I was looking forward to a month or two down the road (getting to actually LIVE at home, while still under the supervision of the Halfway House), I ordered a separate phone line in my name. It wasn’t allowed to have any features: just tone dialing. No call waiting or call forwarding, because if they called to check on your whereabouts they wanted to know that you were truly home. And since you had to provide them a copy of the telephone bill, they’d know if you even tried a one-time usage of services like that. A staff member also came by and inspected the apartment, making sure there were no guns, drugs, or alcohol on the premises. With those tasks completed, my first pass was approved, from 6pm on Saturday May 13th 2006 until 6pm on Sunday the 14^th. I couldn’t go directly from work: I had to travel back to the Halfway House, sign in, and have Heather pick me up. But from there, we’d go back to the apartment, and I’d get to fall asleep, and wake up, with my arms around the women who had so patiently waited for me to come home; the woman I wanted to marry and spend the rest of my life with.

There was one more thing I was looking forward to, almost as much: seeing Tigger, my cat. When I left in 2003 she was already 16 years old, and I never in my wildest dreams imagined she’d still be living (at age 19) when I came home three years later. But she’d been a good companion for Heather, keeping her company on lonely weekends, and her health had not been a problem at all. So with the big day approaching, I had two major questions in my mind: first, would Heather and I find it easy to slip back into the magical “nation of two” we’d experienced in the time we spent together before I left; and second, would Tigger recognize or remember me after spending the last three years with a woman she hadn’t known for very long prior? I hoped the answer to both questions would be yes, but all I could do is wait to find out.

Movie Review - Paranormal Activity

doug@whiningkentpigs.com (Doug the Whining Kent Pig) — 2009-11-01T16:42:00Z

Alfred Hitchcock once gave an interview where he explained what suspense was, and how it could be used. In essence, he said that having a bomb under a desk blow up could be frightening, but having that same bomb sit under the desk for five minutes while two men in the room discussed baseball, unaware of the bomb’s existence, was unnerving suspense. Paranormal Activity, which in some ways is the new Blair Witch Project (a micro-budget horror film which is growing in popularity by word of mouth), successfully uses that Hitchcockian principle to frighten audiences at times, and keep them uneasy the rest of the film.

The plot is simple enough, and much of it could be (and probably was) taken from episodes of A Haunting, Ghosts, or any of a number of cable television shows which retell haunting experiences which are supposedly based on truth. As Heather and I recently finished watching seasons 1 and 2 of A Haunting, many of the ingredients were very familiar: a young couple (Katie Featherston and Micah Sloat, who use their first names as their character names as well) live in a two-story home in San Diego. Prior to the start of the film, we’re led to believe they have experienced a number of nighttime disturbances: noises, bumps, and voices. Katie has revealed to Micah that this is nothing new for her; she’d gone through similar periods when she was 8, 13, and at other times. Micah doesn’t take the events seriously, but he does relish the idea of capturing any paranormal activity on film. So he buys himself a digital movie camera, which he sets up in their bedroom to capture anything they might miss while asleep.

The story progresses as you would expect it to. The activity grows more frequent and more alarming, and now they have proof that something or someone is causing it. Katie becomes more frightened and agitated, while Micah seems to dare the forces to let themselves be seen; whether this is because he wants more “cool” footage, or because he feels he can deal with the problem if it is no longer hidden (or both), we’re not sure. A psychic is brought in, who suggests that because this has followed Katie throughout her life, it is demonic rather than a haunting. In this instance, leaving the home will do no good; it has followed Katie before, and it likely would do so again. He suggests they call on a colleague who specializes in such matters, but Micah is the normal alpha male, and he is determined to learn the answers to all the questions and eliminate the problem on his own, despite Katie’s protests. So step by step he makes stupid decisions and antagonizes the situation, which would be less believable in a larger film. But here, where the action never leaves the house and the interaction between the couple is shown in such minute detail, it doesn’t come across as dishonest characterization. And, as it happens, Micah does many of the same things other husbands and boyfriends do in various episodes of “true life” haunting episodes on television.

The suspense lies in the videos the camera takes. These are played back for the audience, with a clock in the lower right hand corner. The videos speed through in time-lapse format until something is about to happen, at which time they slow to real-time speed. This is the Hitchcock method; we know something is going to happen, but we simply don’t know what it will be. Sometimes it is benign, such as Katie waking from a nightmare. Other times, it is unworldly.

If you go to see this film alone, it won’t be that enjoyable. See it with someone you know; our theater was rather empty, but that did not detract from our enjoyment or Paranormal Activity. It isn’t a horror film in the modern sense (where bloody, violent movies like Saw VI and remakes of Halloween or April Fool’s Day rule the box office), but more of a suspense film. Regardless of how you classify it, it’s a fun movie (and Heather was really scared and uptight by the time it ended, which is always a bonus).

Movie Review - Extract

doug@whiningkentpigs.com (Doug the Whining Kent Pig) — 2009-11-01T16:41:00Z

I’m sure there are people out there who have seen Office Space and hated it. There must be. But so far I haven’t found any. That isn’t to say that the humor of Mike Judge is beloved in all cases; Idiocracy – while a favorite film of some people – was to me a great idea with horrendously unfunny execution. Fortunately, Extract returns us back to the same sort of familiar humor as Office Space: an Everyman who is somewhat unhappy in his life, while surrounded by oddball characters and morons, is forced to determine what he can do to make himself satisfied with life again.

In the case of Extract, our straight man is Joel (Jason Bateman). Joel is a successful businessman, the founder and owner of a company which produces and sells flavoring extracts. It’s not an exciting business, although he does find some pleasure in it. His employees are generally incompetent or lack basic skills, but Joel knows them by name and in feels sorry for those who need some help (many of his employees were hired off of the “Job One” program, which by inference is for unskilled laborers).

Joel has grown tired of this life, and hopes to sell the business so he can retire. In the meantime, his sex life with his wife is non-existent. His former co-worker and buddy Dean (Ben Affleck) is a bartender at a local hotel, and he tries to give Joel advice on how to spice up his life. Enter Cindy (Mila Kunis), an attractive con-artist who uses her feminine wiles to get what she wants. In an effort to hook up with an injured worker, and to convince him to sue Joel’s company, Cindy joins the workforce, and feigns interest in Joel. Strongly attracted to her, Joel considers cheating on his wife…but his guilt would never let him do that.

In typical stoner fashion, Dean comes up with a plan to relive that guilt: they will hire a gigolo he knows, and give Joel’s wife the opportunity to be seduced by him. If she succumbs, Joel will no longer feel guilty, and he’ll be free to have sex with Cindy.

As with Office Space, the plot is almost secondary to the characters Joel is surrounded with. His goofy employees, his annoying neighbor, the moronic gigolo/landscaper are all good for laughs. Gene Simmons (of Kiss fame) appears as an obnoxious and somewhat creepy lawyer who advertises on television and represents the injured worker, and even he gets a chuckle or two. If you’ve seen Office Space and enjoyed it, I think you’ll find Extract very funny, even if it is not up to the hilarity of Office Space. That film is a classic; this one is just a really good time.

Eternal Sunshine #34 Released - November 2009 Issue - Diplomacy Subzine

doug@whiningkentpigs.com (Doug the Whining Kent Pig) — 2009-10-28T18:59:00Z

The November 2009 issue of Eternal Sunshine is now available, both in the ES Yahoo group at

http://games.groups.yahoo.com/group/eternal_sunshine_diplomacy/

in pdf format, or in pdf and html format in the Diplomacy section of my personal website at

http://www.whiningkentpigs.com/DW/

Lots of fun this issue, including , Part 4 of I'm No Edward Norton, the beginning of the new By Popular Demand game, Deviant Diplomacy insanity, and much more. Enjoy! Check it out and send me some letters, orders, and feedback!

PS - The direct link to the pdf file is:

http://www.whiningkentpigs.com/DW/es34.pdf

Diplomacy World #107 Released - Fall 2009 Issue

doug@whiningkentpigs.com (Doug the Whining Kent Pig) — 2009-10-07T17:31:00Z

Diplomacy World #107, the Fall 2009 issue, has just been released. You can find it at the official Diplomacy World website:

http://www.diplomacyworld.net

and at the Diplomacy World Yahoo group:

http://games.groups.yahoo.com/group/diplomacyworld/

Inside this issue you’ll find articles such as:

The Diplomacy World Variant Design Contest

Jim Burgess and Edi Birsan on Balance of Power

Numerous reports from HuskyCon VII

New DW Technology Editor Chris Babcock’s take on the future of on-line Diplomacy

New DW Strategy & Tactics Editor Joshua Danker-Dake on finding purpose when victory is unattainable

The final two years of the DW Demo Game “After the Rapture” plus all the EOG statements

And much much more!

Take a look, and if you get a moment send us some feedback at diplomacyworld@yahoo.com

Eternal Sunshine #33 Released - October 2009 Issue - Diplomacy Subzine

doug@whiningkentpigs.com (Doug the Whining Kent Pig) — 2009-09-30T18:48:00Z

The October 2009 issue of Eternal Sunshine is now available, both in the ES Yahoo group at

http://games.groups.yahoo.com/group/eternal_sunshine_diplomacy/

in pdf format, or in pdf and html format in the Diplomacy section of my personal website at

http://www.whiningkentpigs.com/DW/

Lots of fun this issue, including a new column contributor (you'll have to look to see who), the return of Albion, Part 3 of I'm No Edward Norton, the end of the latest By Popular Demand game (and the beginning of the next one) an dmuch more. Enjoy! Check it out and send me some letters, orders, and feedback!

Halfway Home at the Halfway House - Part Seven

doug@whiningkentpigs.com (Doug the Whining Kent Pig) — 2009-09-05T17:37:00Z

It was only luck which found me a job while in the halfway house. All my attempts to locate one on my own had failed. I’d filled out applications anywhere I could think of, tried to get a job at the propane company next door to the halfway house (who often hired clients, but we’re getting tired of the process), and even asked if I could get a job at Goodwill (who was considered the “employer of last resort”). None of those avenues were successful. Heather had faxed my resume to about 100 places, none of whom seemed interested (or if they were, the messages never reached me). Joe’s Crab Shack in the West End of Dallas had many clients working as servers, but they stopped hiring all of a sudden just as I was going to apply; a month later that location shut down, which explained the change. Who knew it was so hard for a convicted felon to get a job? I mean, besides as Mayor of Washington D.C.

It was my stepmother (I dislike using that term with Barbara, but I use it here just to differentiate from my birth mother) who indirectly hooked me up. She found the phone number for the first boss I’d had after High School, a friend of my father named Vincent. We’d moved to Dallas together to go work at the same firm, and while I’d lost touch with him, he was still in the area. As it turned out, nobody had ever told him about my father’s passing, which he was sad to hear. He did know all about my imprisonment, and in fact had heard the full story directly from the gentleman who had been my boss at the time of the incident; so Vince understood what I’d done, and how it had spun out of control. He told Barbara he’d love to have me come work for him doing computer and IT work, and helping him with writing and editing (I’d helped edit his first book, and basically wrote much of his second myself, taking his ideas and turning them into chapters). It looked like some luck had finally come my way.

Two days later I was sitting in one of his two offices, shaking hands and feeling like a huge weight had been lifted from my shoulders. He offered me a modest salary, with a promise to give me a raise once I was out of the halfway house if my work was up to par. I explained the approval process, and that the halfway house would be calling him to confirm this job was real and not some sham set up by a buddy. I spent so long there that I realized I was going to miss my train back, and had to break the rules and get a ride to the station instead of taking the bus.

At the halfway house, I filled out the proper paperwork and turned it in to Miss Fosse for approval. She called Vince, confirmed the job, and then handed me the paperwork back. “You will just need to bring this to Mr. Korn for final approval.” Mr. Korn was the head of the halfway house, and a very dry and corporate-inefficiency-type fellow. I brought in the paperwork, and he started asking me questions about the company and Vince’s other business interests which I’d listed on the form.

“I don’t understand what kind of company you’ll be working for. What does this company actually do?”

I tried to explain that this was an intellectual property company, which designed turnkey solutions for corporate clients and for some of his other companies. My actual job would be the hardware and software IT stuff, writing and editing of letters and papers, and checking data and spreadsheet work by other people for inaccuracy and for illogical comparisons.

“But you say here that he owns part of a company which deals in commodity trading?”

Yes, I told him. But that company was in another location, and I would not be working for them.

“You’re sentencing says you can’t do that kind of work.”

I left like I was talking to a bureaucrat from some huge government agency. I pointed out that a) like I had just told him, I wasn’t working for that company; b) it was in another location (another city, actually); and c) technically I was not restricted from that work by the guidelines of my sentencing. On that count he was simply wrong.

“Oh, yes you are!” My. Korn pulled out my file and looked. When he realized he was wrong, he took the next logical step for any mindless bureaucrat: he started using other roadblocks to get his way.

“You’d have access to the internet. That isn’t allowed.”

I pointed out that more than half a dozen clients worked for a company in Plano which dispatched tow trucks, and their entire job required the use of the internet.

“You might gain access to personal financial information of other people.”

Again, between that Plano towing company, restaurants, car dealerships, and just about every other job, clients were doing everything from physical handling of credit cards to pulling up accounts on computer systems.

It was clear that for whatever reason, he just did not want to admit to being wrong, and did not want me to have this job. I hadn’t forgotten: this was their house. So I wasn’t about to fight him on this, or bring it to a higher level. It wouldn’t be worth it, and I didn’t have the time to mess around. This was the one point that he and I seemed to agree on, as he played his final card in this minor skirmish.

“I think that, in order to approve this job, I’d need to speak to Vince and do some investigation of my own. With my workload here, that could take some time, a few weeks. I’m afraid you simply don’t have the time left for me to do that properly, so it would be wasted effort.”

In other words, he had the power, he was going to win, and I should just accept it. Which I did, in the most diplomatic way possible: “I understand and respect your concerns Mr. Korn, and I know you’re just doing your job. I guess I’ll keep looking and find something else. Thanks for your time.”

I called Vince back and let him know the situation. He was pissed, especially since he’d gotten all excited after our meeting and was piling up work he wanted me to start on right away. Vince is very anti-government-intrusion, and he started telling me to go back and make this argument and that argument. I had to break it down for him: it wasn’t about right and wrong, this was simply the way it was. The end.

“I’ll try to think of something,” he told me. “Call me on Monday.”

My stomach pains were growing worse every night, as I felt the clock ticking. How was it that all these other clients found work so easily? In retrospect I realize that some of it was through personal connections, some were fake jobs they scammed past the process, and some was simply because the clients had very little legitimate work experience. When you’re not qualified for better jobs, companies are more willing to hire you for menial positions, because they don’t need to worry about you quitting when something better comes along. A guy like me? Aside from the fact that I had been convicted of a crime of “moral turpitude” (fraud, meaning I was probably untrustworthy in many people’s eyes), I had a long history of solid and technical work experience. Why should the grocery store train me to work at the deli counter when I was qualified to do so much more? Catch-22 strikes again…they were everywhere! In my mind I was already making

When I called Vince on Monday, he had big news. “I found you a job!” He’d been to the boutique in Uptown Dallas where he bought his suits, and mentioned my plight. The owner there, an African gentleman named Nana, had suggested he could hire me for at least a while. Nana was working this location of the boutique chain by himself (they had two other locations in north Dallas, and were opening another at the DFW airport’s international terminal). They sold only very high-end Italian clothes and suits: Brioni, Ravazzolo, Belvest, Stefano Ricci, and the like. If I was there, I could help clean the place up, straighten out the stock, offer customers beverages, pack up orders, cover the store for him when he stepped out for a few minutes, things like that. And if he liked my work, he would train me to sell and let me work there as a salesperson. He understood the limitations of my availability, and said he was willing to put up with the hassles involved: leaving early two days a week to go to mandatory counseling, phone calls from the halfway house to make sure I was at work when I said I was, and occasional visits from Miss Fosse to have him sign forms confirming I was performing my duties in a satisfactory manner. I offered to work on Saturdays too, which he readily accepted (they were closed on Sunday) and took as a sign that I might be a hard worker. There wasn’t any real interview process: Nana said he was taking me on as a favor to Vince (one of his better customers), and there was little risk on his part; if I didn’t show up, or didn’t work hard, he could fire me. There was no real training involved; cleaning and organizing was simple, and he’d be directing me anyway. I was just a body for now. And that was fine with me.

Back at the halfway house, this job sailed through approval, and I was ready to go. More than ever, this had made me believe that in so many cases, it isn’t what you know, it’s who you know. It was dumb luck, a loving mother, a former boss, and a favor called in that found me a job. I knew I could do the work, so my only major obstacle to making it through the halfway house process was now effectively overcome. If I did what I was supposed to, I’d get two and four hour passes, then a weekend pass, and then eventually be moved to home confinement: sleeping in my own bed with Heather in my arms every night.

It felt so odd to be on the side of good fortune for a change, but I wasn’t about to second guess or question it. I was willing to let good things happen, despite my eternal negative nature. I think having such a wonderful woman in love with me and supporting me had changed my attitude on life enough to the point that I had started to believe in myself in little ways. If nothing else, it was a start!

Movie Review - Inglorious Basterds

doug@whiningkentpigs.com (Doug the Whining Kent Pig) — 2009-09-05T17:35:00Z

Although I love many Tarantino movies, I can’t say he is one of my favorite directors. Reservoir Dogs is a favorite, but Kill Bill and other recent films left me cold. Still, I was intrigued by the idea of QT giving his take on World War II. Brad Pitt can be great or can mail a role in, and I wasn’t sure what to expect…was this going to be a bloody shoot-em-up action film or something where the dialogue drives the plot? I’d sort of decided to skip Inglorious Bastedrs and wait for the DVD, until someone who I share a good deal of film taste with told me I *HAD* to see it. Since was the same fellow who made sure I didn’t miss Whatever Works, I felt obliged to take his advice. A bit of arm twisting was all I needed to convince Heather to give it a try.

Don’t let the trailers fool you. The opening scene lets you know that this is not going to be a QT take on The Dirty Dozen. Sure, you have Brad Pitt and his gang of Jewish GI’s, who have been dropped behind enemy lines in France and are terrorizing the Nazi’s. But that is only a secondary part of the film. As usually, Tarantino has multiple storylines, which he toes together later. As the film opens, you have 20 minutes of dialogue between a Nazi Colonel (Christoph Waltz) and a farmer who he suspects of hiding Jews. The tension is heavy, but also lies underneath the innocuous conversation. You keep waiting for the bullets to fly, or the body to drop, but brilliantly each moment where a lesser film might do this comes and goes. The man lights his pipe. The Colonel drinks some milk. It is, in a way, similar to the Hitchcock theory on the bomb in the drawer. But in this case, there is no bomb that we can see…we just suspect one.

From here we meet Brad Pitt, who plays Lt. Aldo Rain. A combination of a hillbilly, an Apache, and a few drops of a satire on Lee Marvin, Rain and his crew travel to France to kill (and literally scalp) Nazis. They gain quite a reputation and attain legendary status among the common Nazi soldier. Hitler is beyond himself at his army’s inability to track them down and kill them. Admittedly, from this point forward, we’ve entered an alternate history of the war, but it doesn’t matter. You’re having too much fun to care, and Tarantino is able to bring you into this world without a struggle.

Two more storylines are developed and brought together: a Jewish woman named Shosanna (Melanie Laurent) who escaped from the Nazi Colonel (known as the “Jew Hunter”) and now runs a cinema, and a British Intelligence plot to assassinate a number of high-ranking Nazis. Eventually everything comes to a combined volcanic eruption, as you’d expect in a QT film, but again he manages to do this with plot twists that play against the obvious and expected. Thus the magic of his touch is his ability to lead you towards the cliché of World War II films, and then deftly reveal that the pea is not under the cup that you expected it to be.

As always there are some showdowns, some shoot-outs, and a pile of delicious dialogue. I worry that many moviegoers will skip Inglorious Basterds because of the trailers and the generally poor promotion the studio provided. Fortunately for me, I didn’t miss it, and I hope you don’t either!

Movie Review - District 9

doug@whiningkentpigs.com (Doug the Whining Kent Pig) — 2009-08-26T18:32:00Z

When it comes to summer movies, most of them are simply mindless action, cliché-ridden dialogue, and clear lines drawn between good guys and bad guys. District 9 is a summer film that gives you reasons to think, but still entertains.

The premise of the film is a bit unusual. A large alien craft arrived 20 years ago and hovered over Johannesburg, South Africa. Then…nothing happened. It just sat there. Eventually South African military breaks into the ship, and finds huddled masses of malnourished alien beings; hundreds of thousands of them. Why they came to Earth is a mystery. South Africa takes it upon itself (and later with international help) to nurse these aliens (referred to derogatively as Prawns) back to health. They’re give a camp to live in, known as District 9.

Fast forward to today. District 9 is a lawless slum, populated by the Prawns and some Nigerians who smuggle in contraband (cat food is a particular favorite of the Prawns) and sell it at excessive prices. The walls have become militarized, and the Prawns are not permitted to leave the area any longer. But citizens of the city are still unhappy. They want the Prawns moved, so a new camp, District 10, is built about 200 kilometers outside of the city. The international group which oversees the aliens, Multi-National United, is given the task of moving more than a million Prawns from District 9 to District 10. In bureaucratic fashion, laws exist to make ruling over these aliens legal. And one of those laws requires that they be given 24 hours notice before they are evicted from District 9.

Here the story begins. Wikus Van de Merwe (an effective Sharlto Copley, in his first film) is a pleasant, typical desk jockey who is given charge of the project because his father-in-law holds an important position higher in the MNU. Generally unprepared and out of his element, he leads the MNU representatives (with military support) into District 9 to try and get enough signatures to make the eviction notice legal. Language is not a problem, for after 20 years they’ve learned to understand each others’ language. While collecting signatures, Wikus all searches for hidden caches of weapons (human and alien) and other contraband, hoping to make a good impression on the higher-ups. But things go wrong, and soon Wikus is learning things he doesn’t want to know, and experiencing things he never thought he’d be a part of. And through his eyes we see the lines blurred.

The choice of South Africa as the setting is ironic (and intentional). I’ve read a bit about the real-life relocation of people being relocated during the Apartheid era. Yet even the black population of the city is distrustful and hateful towards the Prawns, wanting them as far away as possible. Not once in the documentary-style footage (which is mixed with the live-action) are any of the citizens interviewed shown expressing the slightest concern for the Prawns. They just want them to go away…which apparently they can’t do.

Some may prefer more explosive, constant action, but if you’re like me, you appreciate a thoughtful story to go along with the fun of the action. District 9 is worth seeing, so check it out.

Halfway Home at the Halfway House - Part Six

doug@whiningkentpigs.com (Doug the Whining Kent Pig) — 2009-08-26T18:29:00Z

Despite all the anxiety I was having about finding a job, nothing could dampen the enthusiasm I had for Heather’s first official visit on Sunday. We’d talked about it on the phone, and since there was really nothing to do in the Halfway House (and visits were confined to the community room, which consisted of a television, a pool table that was missing a few balls, and tables and chairs scattered throughout), Heather was going to bring a book of crossword puzzles that we could do together, along with some personal items and books for me to keep in my room. I couldn’t exactly “dress up” for the visit as my wardrobe was somewhat limited, but I did put on a nice long-sleeve shirt and khaki pants. While in theory cologne was forbidden, because of its high alcohol content, Heather had brought me some which they’d let through, so I put a dab of that on as well. Since she’d found her way there before to deliver clothes a few days after my arrival, I knew she could make it without getting lost (Heather has a sense of direction almost as poor as mine, and to her “north” is whichever way you’re facing at the time).

The plan was for me to eat the lunch provided at the Halfway House, and then Heather would arrive for her visit around 1pm. Dinner started at about 5pm, so that was the ideal time for her to leave and head back home. The drive itself wasn’t too bad; we live a block from the interstate, and except for the final five minutes the entire trip was on one highway or another. Door to door it should take 30 minutes, maybe 45 if there was traffic or construction (or which there shouldn’t be any on Sunday).

I wolfed down my lunch that Sunday, and headed back to my room to change. Sundays were usually pretty quiet around the Halfway House. First of all, a tremendous number of “clients” took advantage of the two-hour religious passes to go to church. Well, that’s what they SUPPOSEDLY did…most of them would swing by the church they put on the pass request, pick up a program to “prove” they’d been there, and then go off for who knows what activity (sex, shopping, drugs, or maybe just visit a restaurant). I didn’t have any interest in those types of shenanigans, especially my instinct I assumed that I’d be the one person who would get caught. Besides, Heather would never have approved of anything like that, and unless someone drove you to services the whole plan was a waste.

After returning from services, a large percentage of clients would then have a legitimate pass to go out with family for a meal, or shopping, or to their home. Unfortunately, I couldn’t apply for even a two-hour pass until I’d been in the Halfway House longer, found a job, and kept it for two weeks. So my only source of outside contact besides the phone (which I made regular use of whenever possible, despite the two quarters every call cost me) was Heather’s visit. A few friends asked about coming to visit, but the process was such a pain in the ass that I told them all it wasn’t worth the bother of even getting them approved.

Anyone who knows Heather knows that she has a tendency to be late for thing. Okay, that’s being overly polite; she is never on time. Ever. She was nearly half an hour late for our first date! So I can’t say that I expected her to arrive at 1pm as scheduled. That wouldn’t have been amazing, or a miracle; it would have been a sign of the apocalypse. But when 1pm turned into 2pm I began to get a bit concerned. At this time Heather did not own a cell phone, and never had…in fact, she hates the phone. I had spoken to Heather earlier in the day, and I didn’t want to harass her, so I tried not to call. After a while, though, I couldn’t help myself. So I called, got the answering machine, left a message expressing my nervousness, and continued to wait. Finally, a bit before 3pm, while I stood outside in the fenced-in smoking area (which also had a basketball hoop), I saw her little red Mitsubishi chugging down the road. At last! Not only did this mean no disaster had befallen her…more importantly, it meant I was finally going to get to spend an afternoon with the woman of my dreams, after all these months of waiting. Okay, not an afternoon – she was much too late arriving to call it that. But two hours was better than nothing!

The details of the visit itself might seem a bit anticlimactic. It was clear that Heather was a bit nervous seeing me again. I didn’t know if she felt especially self-conscious or something, but to me she looked more beautiful than ever. (Speaking on the phone to her later, it was really more fear that we wouldn’t find ourselves connecting in the same way we’d used to. Fortunately, those fears were unfounded, as we are closer today than ever, and the adjustment period wasn’t very difficult at all). For me the two hours went by like two minutes. We sat and worked on the crossword puzzles together…only being interrupted twice by the angry-looking staff member on duty; once because we were holding hands (I had no idea that wasn’t allowed, and I still can’t understand why it was), and once because we were “sitting too close to each other.” That second interruption came with the threat that if she had to talk to me one more time she’d end the visit. Considering I’d seen other clients kissing their visitors in the room before (and seen clients having sex with each other – standing up – behind the vending machine in the snack room) I found this strict adherence to the rules when it came to me to be both irritating and typical. It reminded me of how at my first prison I’d get patted down leaving the chow hall about four times a week, while other inmates would walk out with their pockets stuffed full of stolen food and be waved right through. I’d come to realize over time that most staff members only like to hassle the inmates (or in this case, clients) who won’t give them any resistance. I guess by bothering me, they were showing their superiors that they were doing their jobs. Besides, since I never bribed anybody at the Halfway House – a practice I’d heard was commonplace so cell phones and other contraband would continue to go undiscovered – I knew I should expect to be treated a bit worse.

Then it was time to say goodbye again. It hurt, but not as badly as I thought it would, because for once I knew I’d see Heather again in a week…and I knew that assuming I could find a job and proceed with the other tasks set in front of me, I’d be living at home again in a few months. I gave her a light kiss and a long, tight hug goodbye at the door to the Halfway House (that was allowed – one kiss and one hug upon arrival, and when the visit was over), and watched her climb in her car and drive away. I already knew this was the woman I wanted to spend the rest of my life with…I just had to wait until the rest of my life was ready to start.

Eternal Sunshine #32 Released - September 2009 Issue - Diplomacy Subzine

doug@whiningkentpigs.com (Doug the Whining Kent Pig) — 2009-08-26T02:47:00Z

Eternal Sunshine #32, the new September issue, has just been released. You can find it in pdf format in the Eternal Sunshine Yahoo group at:

http://games.groups.yahoo.com/group/eternal_sunshine_diplomacy/

or in both html or pdf format in the Diplomacy section of my personal website at:

http://www.whiningkentpigs.com/DW/

Included in this issue you will find:

Part Eight of Halfway Home at the Halfway House

Part Two of I’m No Edward Norton

Letters

Hypothetical Questions of the Month

Football Prediction Contest Picks

Movie Reviews

Issue #10 of Jack McHugh’s Brain Farts

Another great column from Paul Milewski

Out of the WAY #11 by Andy York

Gamestarts in Diplomacy and Gunboat

Plenty of Game Openings – Diplomacy, Gunboat, Fog of War, and more

Complete and utter hilarity and chaos in the Deviant Diplomacy II game

And much more!

Check this issue out (and all previous issues as well, which are available on both sites), and drop me a line with comments, criticisms, suggestions, ideas, letters, game entries, columns, or anything else!

Movie Review - Whatever Works

doug@whiningkentpigs.com (Doug the Whining Kent Pig) — 2009-08-06T21:19:00Z

For me, Woody Allen has usually been either genius or misfire. And my opinions don’t always match well with those of movie critics. The Mighty Aphrodite was boring to me…I barely got a laugh out of it. Yet it seemed I couldn’t find a critic who didn’t love it from start to finish. Whatever Works, his latest film, has received rather negative reviews, or mixed at best. True, it has some flaws, but overall Whatever Works is a wonderful, fun film, full of laughs and witty dialogue.

Larry David plays Boris Yellinikov, a self-proclaimed genius who at one time was considered for a Nobel prize in physics. After the break-up of his marriage, the onset of terrible panic attacks, and a failed suicide attempt, he leaves his comfortable life for a small apartment in Manhattan, where he makes his living teaching children how to play chess. In this case, teaching is a euphemism for yelling at them, berating them for their mistakes, and dumping the pieces on their heads. Boris has a true disdain for humanity. He refers to the common people at inchworms, cretins, and idiots. He, the genius, can see the big picture: life is pointless, the things we fill our lives with are meaningless, and it will all come to an end sooner rather than later. And, as a race, humans are not inherently good or kind. They are stupid, lazy, selfish, and unreliable.

One evening Boris is approached by Melody St. Ann Celestine (Evan Rachel Wood), a kind, innocent, and thoughtful 18-year-old runaway looking for someplace to stay the night. For whatever reason, Boris gives in, and one night turns to two turns to a month. The two strike up a friendship, with Boris lecturing Melody on the stupidity of the world and the people in it (including herself). Melody, for her part, is pure southern country, and seems not to mind when Boris calls her a cretin or an inchworm. She helps Boris through his frequent panic attacks, hypochondria, and OCD compulsions (singing Happy Birthday twice, out loud, every time he washes his hands to be sure he is getting all the germs off). Incredibly, she picks up and adopts a few of his theories on society, which delights Boris. Slowly, Melody is growing and changing and learning, but not blindly following; she still has her own beliefs and ideas.

Eventually, and inevitably, their relationship grows beyond friendship. Meanwhile we’re introduced to Melody’s parents…first her mother (Patricia Clarkson) and then her father (Ed Begley Junior), both southerners with strong faith in the Bible; at least until New York City grabs hold of them and they begin to think about what they want instead of what is expected of them.

There are a few minor problems. Larry David does a decent job, but every once in a while you feel you’re watching Larry David and not Boris Yellinkov. There is also a gimmick where Boris speaks to the camera; that in itself is not a problem, but the goofy way people keep asking him who he is talking to falls flat. The point seems to be that, as he says many times, only HE sees the whole picture, but the effect doesn’t work. The ending isn’t quite what I hoped for either, but it does help to highlight what Boris learns through his experiences (and which ties into his string theory past): a never-ending stream of minor events and unlikely occurrences, we are born, grow, and live our lives…but take away any of those events, and we would not be where we are now. We are the sum of all that we have experienced good and bad.

That is a message I try to remind myself of – more so because Heather sees so much of me in the Boris character. If I had not lived through all the bad experiences that I survived, I would not be who I am now, and more importantly, I would not be where I am now. Somehow, through it all, I found myself face-to-face with the woman of my dreams…astronomical odds, but it happens, and to more people than the odds suggest possible.

Whatever Works is disappearing from theaters as I write this, so you’ll probably have to see the movie on DVD instead. Do so, and let me know what you thought.

Eternal Sunshine #31 Released - August 2009 Issue - Diplomacy Subzine

doug@whiningkentpigs.com (Doug the Whining Kent Pig) — 2009-07-29T01:10:00Z

The August 2009 issue of Eternal Sunshine, Issue #31, has just been released. Inside you'll find:

The usual crap
Halfway Home to the Halfway House - Part Seven
I'm No Edward Norton - Part One
Subzines from Jack McHugh, Paul Milewski, and W. Andrew York
Play Reviews by Larry Cronin
Football Prediction Contest
Plenty of Game Openings
Letters
Hypothetical of the Month
The latest game results
And maybe some other stuff, who can remember?

Check it out! You can find it in pdf format in the Eternal Sunshine Yahoo forum at:

http://games.groups.yahoo.com/group/eternal_sunshine_diplomacy/

Or in both pdf and html format from the Diplomacy section of my personal website at:

http://www.whiningkentpigs.com/DW/

Enjoy!

A New Low in the Banality of Life

doug@whiningkentpigs.com (Doug the Whining Kent Pig) — 2009-07-18T16:11:00Z

When your wife tells you "Hey, when we go to Super Wal-Mart today, let's try to get the same check-out lady we got last time" you life is beyond repair. You've fallen off the ladder of life, had both your legs broken in multiple places, and gangrene has set in....in the middle of the desert, with no living creature around for miles except the vultured that wait for your still-fresh corpse to become available for their nourishment.

It

is

OVER.

Diplomacy World #106 Released - Summer 2009 Issue

doug@whiningkentpigs.com (Doug the Whining Kent Pig) — 2009-07-07T22:38:00Z

The Summer 2009 issue of Diplomacy World, #106, has just been released, with a theme of Historical Variants! 141 pages of Diplomacy for your reading enjoyment. It would impossible to list all of the highlights, but a small sampling would include:

· Multiple articles on World DipCon 2009, including one from champion Andrew Goff

· Prussian strategy in the Ambition and Empire variant

· Two new variants: Battleship and 1648 with detailed designer notes, plus many more variant articles, historical and otherwise

· Lots of information and player statements on the Diplomacy World Cup

· The second to last installment of the Diplomacy Demo Game “After the Rapture”

· The first installment of our new variant Demo game of the “Known World” variant

· A review of phpDiplomacy on Facebook

· And SO MUCH MORE!

You can find the new issue of Diplomacy World for free download in pdf format in the diplomacyworld Yahoo group:

http://games.groups.yahoo.com/group/diplomacyworld/

or directly from the official Diplomacy World website:

http://www.diplomacyworld.net

Read it, absorb it, and let us know what you think about it! The deadline for #107 is October 1^st, 2009, with a theme of “Balance of Power.” Remember, theme material only takes up a portion of each issue, so don’t feel your submissions need to be theme-related!

Movie Review - Away We Go

doug@whiningkentpigs.com (Doug the Whining Kent Pig) — 2009-07-04T18:13:00Z

Reviews of Away We Go have been mixed, but I think that those who cannot find warmth, humor and honesty in the film simply don’t understand the generational yearning that baby boomers feel when they reach their mid-30’s. A product of broken families, “modern” child-rearing methods, and a desire for material over emotional, it becomes easy to find yourself utterly jaded.

This is why Verona and John (Maya Rudolph and John Krasinski) are such a breath of fresh air. I found it so easy to identify with their outlook on life; they just need each other, and a place to call home. Verona is six months pregnant, and the two of them live in a tiny “junky” home near John’s parents. Upon learning that his parents (a goofy Catherine O’Hara and Jeff Daniels) have decided to move to Belgium for two years, a month before the baby is due to be born, the couple realizes that they have nothing tying them down to their home. Both have jobs which allow them to work from basically anywhere, and with no family nearby, and no close friends (they have clearly build a Vonnegut “nation of two” between them), they are free to try and find a place where they want to raise their unborn child.

What follows is a series of visits to cities where relatives or friends have chosen to live. Admittedly some of the characters they interact with are more caricature then person; Maggie Gyllenhaal as an over-the-top new age college professor who wants to convert everyone to her own child-rearing philosophy is the best example of a joke carried to the extreme. But even then, Verona and John are able to act and respond in honest ways…they listen to her confusing line of crap for a while, until they can’t take it anymore, and then tell them what they really think.

Each city they visit explores another facet of modern families. Whether it’s the family of oddballs who can’t understand why they aren’t accepted into the social circles around them, or two college friends who have a home full of love and happiness (and adopted children) which can be overshadowed by the despair they feel about being unable to conceive their own child, there are lessons for Verona and John to learn about what makes a family, and what makes a home.

Parts of the film had very personal meanings to Heather and myself, and it is possible others without the connection we felt may not be as moved. But the humor is both broad and subtle, often unexpected, and the general good nature of Verona and John is contagious. It’s hard not to like two people who really just want to do the best they can for their child, despite their fears of personal shortcomings. Away We Go won’t be the same movie to everyone, but I highly recommend it anyway. At the very least your laugh and smile a lot, which can be hard to come by these days.

Movie Review - Drag Me to Hell

doug@whiningkentpigs.com (Doug the Whining Kent Pig) — 2009-07-04T18:12:00Z

Back in the dark ages, before Spider-Man, Sam Raimi was a struggling film director who created one of the scariest and creepiest films of the time: The Evil Dead. With only limited blood and violence (and a shoestring budget), he developed a terrifying atmosphere of demonic forces, a dark and evil forest, and inescapable horror (with the now recognizable drop of humor and cheese that Raimi greatly expanded in the two sequels). Now, he and his brother Ivan have returned to this format with Drag Me to Hell. In some ways this can be a considered a response to the stream of horror-porn-gore which has become so commonplace these days (in film series such as The Saw and Hostel). Drag Me to Hell is meant to prove you can frighten and entertain without stooping to those levels. And on that score it does succeed.

The plot is pretty simple, and follows the time-honored horror film tradition: don’t screw with a gypsy. Alison Lohman plays Christine, a young loan officer at a bank. A former farm girl, she wants to distance herself from the past, including trying to eliminate any country accent; she longs to be a successful, professional woman. She and a coworker are both up for a promotion to assistant manager, but her competition (Reggie Lee) has a reputation for being able to make the “tough choices” (which translates, in this case, into not giving the customers a break, but doing whatever possible to increase bank profits). When an old woman comes in to ask for a 3^rd extension on her overdue mortgage, Christine’s boss tells her “It’s a tough decision. It’s your call.” Eager for the promotion, she denies the request, and the old woman will now be evicted. Even after she gets on her knees and begs, Christine does not change her mind. But this old woman is, of course, a gypsy…now an angry gypsy. “You have shamed me!” she tells Christine. Soon, after a violent garage confrontation, Christine is the recipient of a powerful curse. In four days, unless she can defeat the demon or convince it to take someone else, her soul will be taken to hell to suffer eternal agony.

What follows is a partially generic, but well done, horror story. Christine is tormented by the demon, and struggles to get her dopey and overly understanding fiancé (Justin Long) to believe her. While trying to maintain a semblance of normalcy (including a Raimi-style humorous visit to meet her future in-laws), Christine enlists the help of a local medium to guide her through this nightmare. Overall the frights work well, and Lohman plays the part very well. My only real problem with the film was a plot twist which I saw coming from miles away. However, I know I look at films in a very analytic fashion, and the audience reaction was such that maybe it was just me. So if you want a good scare, without sex and blood (there are plenty of gross moments, and a hilarious nosebleed, but no limbs chopped off), check it out. Drag Me to Hell is fun.

Sound Files

doug@whiningkentpigs.com (Doug the Whining Kent Pig) — 2009-07-04T18:10:00Z

I am sorry I haven't added any new sound files to the web site lately. I have GOT to get to more of that one of these days.

Halfway Home at the Halfway House - Part Five

doug@whiningkentpigs.com (Doug the Whining Kent Pig) — 2009-07-04T18:09:00Z

My first day out looking for work, all in the same shopping center (four corners of a major mid-Dallas intersection) would also be my first day out on my own in semi-freedom. The long bus journey to Texas didn’t really count, because I was so shell-shocked and tired that there was very little I could do but try to make it from station to station. This, however, was my first day of what seemed like being a normal person (despite all the phone calls I would have to make). I knew I had to make the most of it, because the following day I’d be dealing with another nightmare: a trip to my therapist/counselor for the duration of my halfway house stay, followed by a trip BACK to the halfway house (because passes were only permitted for a certain number of house), and THEN back out to try and figure out how to get my Social Security card and driver’s license. What fun!

Because I was going to be out during lunch hours, I had been sure to sign up for the bag lunch the halfway house provided. Meals there were hit and miss. Breakfasts on weekdays were decent, but only served VERY early; get up or you’d be out of luck. Lunch was simple cafeteria food, and dinner could either be rather edible, or terrible, depending on what they had. Overall it was still better than prison food. On weekends, breakfast was a stale donut or some sugar cereal, and lunch and dinner (while no better than other days) were big events for those of us who didn’t have weekend passes. Meals were pretty much all you had to look forward to.

I’d also been smart enough to schedule my leaving on this job hunt for after 9:30am, so I didn’t have to fight for space in the van with all of the people who actually HAD jobs. If the van was full, you were out of luck, unless another driver was around to take the backup van and drive the leftovers. All they did was ferry us up to the train station, from where we began the public-transportation journey to wherever we were going. Dallas actually has a decent light rail and bus system, so you can get quite far within the “metroplex” – as far north as Plano, out to parts of Mesquite and Garland, and by tying in with the heavy-rail Trinity Rail Express, you could connect with the Fort Worth system too. As I may have mentioned previously, if you got a job where it was even remotely possible to get there and back by public transportation, you would not be permitted to drive a car. Only if you found work outside those areas could you apply for driving privileges. And since the only way to apply for those types of jobs in person was to have a family member drive you around, that plan was out of reach. While my family was planning on moving my late father’s old Hyundai Accent down to Texas for me to drive once I was ready to be on home confinement, in the meantime it was the bus and the train for me.

Part of the difficulty with applying for jobs when you live in the halfway house is you have to be completely honest when filling out the applications. There’s no sense lying about your conviction, because the employer is going to have to deal with the halfway house on a regular basis anyway. So when those questions about “have you been convicted of a felony within the last five years (or seven, or ten), you are instructed to mark yes and when it asks for details, to put “will explain in person.” The theory is that this gives you the opportunity to speak to the manager in person, and put the best possible face on what you did and how you’re been rehabilitated. In practice, it doesn’t work that way at all. I moved from store to store on my list (and even one or two which I hadn’t listed), filled out their form (or used their electronic kiosk for job applicants), and left. Nobody asked for more information, and if I wanted to speak to the manager I was always told they were not available. There simply wasn’t much hope for me to get any of these retail jobs. Aside from the fact that I was a convicted felon, with no mode of transportation other than public (which limited the hours I could work), my address was some odd-sounding place in Hutchins which to some might appear to be a homeless shelter of some sort. I was over 35 years old, with no retail experience since I had been 17. Plus, because I had been convicted of a type of fraud, my crime was of the “moral turpitude” category…in other words, I could not be trusted.

I think I filled out about 8 applications that day, and only received one bit of positive response. The deli manager at a grocery store asked me if I was truly interested in working, because she needed people. I said I absolutely was, would work any shift I could based on bus schedules, and was willing to work weekends as well. She seemed enthusiastic, and told me she’d go pull my application and be in touch the following day. As expected, I never heard from her. If she HAD called, I doubt the message ever would have gotten to me anyway, but I just assumed she brought it to her boss and he gave it the thumbs down. I was actually a bit surprised that there was less interest from retailers about menial jobs for felons, if only because of the $3,000 tax break they could apply for if you worked there for a full 90 days (I think, maybe it was 120 days). Still, my experience during my time at the halfway house showed that most of the people I was living with would think nothing of skipping work, or quitting with zero notice. So the prospect of actually finding someone who you wanted to keep for that long AND who was willing to show up for work for that long was probably a major long shot.

On the bus, heading back towards the pickup point to return to the halfway house, I dug through the bagged lunch I had been provided. Clearly these lunches would not be a preferred method of sustenance. There was a delicious dry bologna sandwich on white bread, a semi-edible apple, a pack of crackers, and a juice box. As my time at the halfway house went on in the coming months, I would find myself still requesting these bagged lunches, specifically to leave on bus stop benches for the homeless or others who might really need or want the food.

The following day I was ready for the daunting and enjoyable task of running back and forth between the halfway house and Dallas. First thing in the morning I had to make a trip to my mandatory drug/alcohol/psychiatric counseling intake interview. Then, instead of simply being allowed to go downtown, I had to pass THROUGH downtown and go BACK o the halfway house, wait half an hour, and THEN go back downtown to try and resolve this who Social Security/driver’s license mess. During the course of the time I’d been at the halfway house, family members had been calling the prison, asking if anybody had located the ones that had been sent for me there (and signed for). No luck…either they were lost, someone was lying, or (most likely) people were simply too lazy to go look for them.

The procedure to solve this problem was a bit convoluted. First I’d have to go to the Social Security office, present them with my birth certificate and a photo ID (which in this case would be an expired driver’s license that Heather brought me from home). Then the Social Security department would be willing to provide me with a letter stating that they verified that this was in fact my proper Social Security number. With that, I was told I should be able to get a copy of my current DL (which I’d renewed prior to incarceration, so it was NOT expired). Then, with the birth certificate and the CURRENT photo ID I could get a true Social Security card. The offices were within a few blocks of each other, so it wouldn’t be much travel time; just bureaucracy time. With luck I MIGHT be able to complete these errands in one afternoon. If not, I’d find myself wasting another precious day filling out forms instead of looking for a job.

First, however, it was off to meet Tom, my new counselor. He was a very easygoing, friendly sort. He asked a bunch of questions, went over my personal history with me, and informed me that as part of my after-prison program I would now be required to meet with him once a month personally, and to attend twice-weekly group therapy sessions. As I wasn’t working yet, the groups would be Tuesday and Thursday in the late afternoon. There was also a Saturday morning meeting, but that was usually reserved for people who couldn’t get off work during the week. The bus schedules I looked at made these appointments look like a hassle to get to and from, but otherwise it would simply be part of life. The only positive was it meant I would NOT have to take part of the counseling program they did within the halfway house, which I’d heard was a pain in the ass. My halfway house case manager Mr. Jonas (who was also a pretty easygoing guy) told me I did have to take a few life-skills classes, but the way he ran them if you couldn’t make it because of work he just wanted you to do the page of homework and turn it back in. More than anything else, it sounded like a formality which they were required to do in order to retain the contract with the Federal government.

After the complete beating or going ALL the way back to Hutchins, waiting 30 minutes for the next van, and leaving for Dallas again, I made my way to the Social Security office. Unfortunately, it was clear I would Not be able to complete this maze of lines and forms in one day, because the SS office closed earlier than I hoped. All I was able to do was get the initial letter from Social Security, and then go wait on line for 90 minutes to get my drivers license. Twice I had to ask someone to hold my place in line as I went to the payphone to call in and request “additional time” from my two hour pass to complete the task. Fortunately for me, Mr. Chekov (the head of the halfway house) was unavailable both times, and the woman who worked directly under him was much easier to deal with. She simply approved my extension and said to get back as soon as I was able.

The only eventful part of the driver’s license process (aside from the horrendously long line, filled with people who didn’t bother to fill out the forms properly or listen to instructions) were the two female County Constables. One walked up and down the line, asking to see paperwork so they could try and make sure you were where you were supposed to be, and had what you needed on hand to complete the task. This way you would waste the least amount of time when you made it up to the front desk. The Constable walking the line didn’t take crap from anybody. If you gave her any grief, she’d threaten to have you pulled from the line. A number of very grumpy people discovered they did not have what they needed to complete the task they wanted, and left muttering obscenities. When she reached me, she was going to do the same until she realized I wasn’t looking for a NEW license but a copy of a “lost” and unexpired one. So I’d passed the first test.

For an anxious mess like me, who had no faith in the criminal justice system to get things correct, the NEXT step was the scariest. See, when you’re almost ready to released from Federal prison, they do a thorough check with all state and local agencies to make sure that you don’t have any outstanding warrants or other legal complications. If you do, they try to help you work them out…otherwise, instead of being released to a halfway house, you are released into the custody of the state, county, or local jurisdiction. So, in 99.9% of the cases, once you’re released, you know you have no other criminal legal problems waiting for you. In my case, that was no surprise. I’d never had a problem before, except for two speeding tickets (one in Texas and one in New Jersey) which I had paid immediately. But I’m a worst case scenario kind of person, so as I got closer to the front of the line my anxiety grew.

I’d heard about this from people at the halfway house. Fellow “clients” had gone to get driver’s licenses or (if unable to do that) Texas state ID cards, and never come back. What happened was, when you got to the front of the line, they’d run a check on you in the computer system. If something came back, a “red flag” from a warrant to an unpaid ticket of some sort. That’s when the clerk calmly asks you to “stand to the side for a moment” until someone comes through the door behind the counter with your paperwork (supposedly your license, ID, or whatever you came there for). Instead, a huge African-American 7-foot Amazon-looking Constable comes through the door, asks you to follow her through the doorway…and you disappear.

Fortunately, that wasn’t the case with me. I made it to the line, and left with my copy of my unexpired driver’s license. While I still needed to get a true copy of my Social Security card, the confirmation letter I held would suffice temporarily. While it took the waste of an entire precious day to complete this mission, and the clock was ticking before my first “violation” for failure to find work, I could at least feel like I was headed in the right direction. That didn’t make me feel any less anxious, however…find a job was clearly going to be the hardest part of my halfway house existence.

And the best part? I would have thought that was obvious…I’d be able to see Heather face to face for two hours over the weekend. The fact that it would take place in the visiting room was only a minor bother; I’d waited so many months to see her with my own eyes, to gaze into her loving blue pools, to smell her skin and her perfume, and to touch her with my own hands – even if it was just to hold hers. These were the moments I had pictured during my worst nights in prison, and I didn’t want to let anything ruin them. Not even the prospect of being sent back to prison for “refusal to find employment” (there’s a joke if I ever heard one) could dampen my enthusiasm for seeing Heather again, and wrapping my arms around her in a big, tight, long hug.

Eternal Sunshine #30 Released - July 2009 Issue - Diplomacy Subzine

doug@whiningkentpigs.com (Doug the Whining Kent Pig) — 2009-07-01T22:36:00Z

Now released: The July 2009 issue of Eternal Sunshine, issue #30. Included in this issue:

* Diplomacy results
* By Popular Demand
* Movie Reviews
* Deviant Diplomacy II
* Bourse
* New Game Openings
* Subzines by Jack McHugh, Andy York, David Hood, and Paul Milewski
* Prison Stories
* and more!

You can find Eternal Sunshine #30 in pdf format in the ES Yahoo group at:

http://games.groups.yahoo.com/group/eternal_sunshine_diplomacy/

or in both pdf and HTML format in the Diplomacy section of my personal website at:

http://www.whiningkentpigs.com/DW/

Check it out and let me know what you think!

PS - Diplomacy World #106 is about to go into final proofing...watch for it sometime after July 4th weekend!

Movie Review - Is Anybody There?

doug@whiningkentpigs.com (Doug the Whining Kent Pig) — 2009-05-31T19:42:00Z

Given the right film, Michael Caine has always had the ability to carry himself as one of the great actors of the last 40 years, from Zulu to Alfie to The Italian Job and on through the ages. Occasionally a bit loose with his choices, in recent years he his presence has been a welcome, shining attraction in a number of very satisfying movies; his part in Children of Men, in particular, I found terribly moving. Now we are presented with Is Anybody There?, which despite its rather simple setting and what could have been twisted into a trite plot, the strength of Caine carries the film through from beginning to end (with some help from a young Bil Milner). Milner plays Edward, a child of about ten. He lives with his parents in their home in late-80’s England, an only child, surrounded only by the other occupants: old folks whom have come to live in the home, as his parents converted it into a rest home as an attempt to get a business off the ground. It is crowded, his parents are on edge with each other, and death is always around the corner. Edward has become fascinated with death, or more specifically with the idea of knowing what happens after death, and whether ghosts move about in our world, unseen. When a resident dies, his first instinct isn’t to report it but to try and record any signs of a ghostly presence with his audio cassette recorder.

Enter Clarence Parkinson (Michael Caine), who has been moved to the home by social services against his will. He arrives in a small van decorated with advertisements from his prior career: The Amazing Clarence, a magician. It is at this simple plot point that the entire film could have been derailed, but Caine and Director John Crowley allow Caine room to reveal a complex and honest character. Clarence is angry at being moved into a home filled with doddering old folks he is afraid of become like, bitter at being alone, frustrated at his complete lack of control, and sadly aware that physically and mentally he is deteriorating. His anger and frustration is not hidden; in one early scene he and Edward scream at each other after a minor incident with a soccer ball, and Caine walks away crying in misery.

Eventually, a bond is built between the two, but that bond is always strained by the bitter lessons Clarence wants to teach Edward: among them “Your life changes, and not always for the better” and “You collect regrets, and they stick to you like old bruises.” Clarence most succinctly expresses his frustration in one moving scene when he exclaims “It just hurts to get this far and realize that there is NOTHING!” Despite his rages, their bond grows, and Edward does his best to help Clarence resolve issues from his past.

There are messages in Is Anybody There?, but they are not crammed down your throat: the aged have things to teach us, and they are desperate for the slightest bit of comfort and understanding; death is not to be feared, but accepted; you make your choices in life, choose your path, and it is better not to waste your years wishing that choice had been different. Above all, the film tries to show that life changes for the better and for the worse, and that moments of happiness can be found if you look for them.

Is Anybody There? is quite good, and produced a good number of tears for Heather and myself. I highly recommend it.

Eternal Sunshine #29 Released - June 2009 Issue - Diplomacy Subzine

doug@whiningkentpigs.com (Doug the Whining Kent Pig) — 2009-05-26T20:07:00Z

Eternal Sunshine #29, the June 2009 Issue, is now posted. It includes all of the usual foolishness, such as:

Halfway Home at the Halfway House Part 5
Hypothetical Question of the Month
Movie Reviews
Book Reviews
Columns by W. Andrew York and Jack McHugh
Music that Doesn't Get Old
Diplomacy results for Wouldn't It Be Nice and Dulcinea
Bourse
Deviant Dip II Results
Final Results for the Eternal Sunshine 7x7 Gunboat Tournament
Two new games transferred from Strange Meeting
and more!

You can get the pdf file in the Yahoo group at:

http://games.groups.yahoo.com/group/eternal_sunshine_diplomacy/

Or in either odf or html from the Diplomacy section of my website at:

http://www.whiningkentpigs.com/DW/

Check it out!