Be Good Company

I was trying on cowboy boots in Allen’s Boots in Austin when I said to Dan, “It seems like it would be easy to fall in love with Texas.”

He was a nice and generous man, with a whitening beard, and a smile not unlike Hemingway’s (when Hemingway smiled). He had three motorcycles in his garage: a BMW, a Harley Road King, and his favorite, a Triumph Bonneville. On the walls were memorabilia from movies and places, some Americana, some kitchy travel mementos. Near the doorway was a black and white picture of Steve McQueen. He and his wife, Julie, were friends of my girlfriend’s family who were putting us up for the night. At that point in the day they had treated us to a few sights, lunch and drinks.
     Dan reached out and put a black Stetson cowboy hat on my head. “That’s the one,” he said, because the prior hat was too big, “take a look.” I turned to my girlfriend and did my best Buck Swope (Don Cheadle’s character in Boogie Nights). “Cowboy,” I said with my hands out at my sides as if presenting my new look, and turned slightly to my right, “Cowboy.” My girlfriend laughed, as did the girl who was helping us (though I think my reference was missed). I checked myself out in the mirror. It wasn’t a look I was accustomed to seeing myself in, but it did look really cool. Something about the “cowboy” look is very alluring. I bought the boots, but couldn’t commit to the Stetson – I couldn’t go full-cowboy – and we left the store before the girls started going crazy around all those boots.
     “This is Dan getting back at me for Julie’s hat,” I said smiling. “He knew I was gonna end up with boots.” Everyone laughed. It was only twenty minutes prior I asked to stop in a Goorin Bros. hat store, and bought nothing, while Julie ended up with a new hat on a whim.
     “Thanks, Jeff!” Dan had said, feigning frustration, but Julie looked great in that red fedora.

Throughout the rest of the afternoon we saw a few places, had a few more drinks, and made it back to their house. During that time there wasn’t a single moment of friction between Dan and Julie. There was never a moment of impatience. Everything was easy. Everything was genuine and light. Dan and Julie met when they were 15 and 16, respectively, and had been married for 40 years.

They took us to a honky-tonk bar called The Broken Spoke. Sawdust lined the unfinished wood floors. A small museum had a collection of pictures taken with the owner – Clint Eastwood, Quentin Tarantino, Dolly Parton, Peter Billingsley, Willie Nelson – along with some other memorabilia of people who had passed through. In another room a live band performed while the crowd learned to country line dance. The owner worked the door in a yellow silk shirt and a white kerchief tied at the side. He was a heavier man, with the fierce and sullen look of a man who doesn’t take any shit, but his eyes and smile were bright enough to make anyone know that he was a nice fella. We all had a beer and moved on.
     By the end of the night I was at the end of Dan and Julie’s driveway, sipping wine with Dan while he smoked a cigar. I don’t remember our conversation because we were pretty lit at that point, but I remember laughing a lot, and the smell of the cigar, and the lights glinting off all the chrome in the garage behind me.

So, why would it be easy to fall in love with Texas? For the same reason it would be to fall in love with any place, I suppose, when you’re with the right people at the right time. Austin marked the first leg of the trip back to Denver for my girlfriend after being away for four months. I had flown down to Houston to drive back with her. Dan and Julie were incredibly nice people, who clearly care for my girlfriend, and were more than willing to show us a good time. Also, Austin has a charm not unlike Denver, but with a different vibe. I can’t describe it, but the boots are a good start. My girlfriend, Dan and Julie, are – like a few other people I know – very good company. We talked about fishing, and cigars, where we all were from, and we were would like to go. But, we mostly joked around, had some drinks and good food, and there wasn’t a worry on the wind. It’s further proof that a lot of happiness comes from filling our lives with the right people. It helps us understand how our actions define us, and turns us into better people. I have been lucky in knowing the people I know, and even luckier in being loved by them.

For the rest of the trip back to Denver my girlfriend and I read to each other, listened to some music, and enjoyed the serenity of the wide open Texas landscape. It was a long and peaceful drive made nicer by good company. I have left out the details, of course – the glancing touches, the inside jokes. I have included a picture at the bottom. The rest I’m keeping to myself, save for this:

Our last stop was a little place in Colorado City (which is far from a “city” in the traditional sense, and where it seemed everyone smoked two packs of cigarettes a day), and left with about three hours of driving ahead of us. My girlfriend resumed reading aloud. Her voice was getting slightly hoarse, and at times she had to speak up over the sound of the road. Eventually, with the Denver skyline in view, she read the last line of our book:
     “’Okay, baby, hold tight,’ said Zaphod. ‘We’ll take in a quick bite at the Restaurant at the End of the Universe.’”
     She closed the book and smiled. We were home.

On Humanity

Wickedness and evil are unfortunately parts of our existence. We live in a world where conscience can be maligned and underdeveloped, where people can be brainwashed to hate, and where mental illnesses allow people to carry out unthinkable acts.

We watch horrors on the news and think, “Humanity is really fucked up.”

But, it isn’t. Humanity is never the culprit.

Humanity is what drove hundreds of people in Boston today back to the scene of the explosions to help total strangers. It is what makes us consider our choices thoughtfully even when rage and fear would have us simply react. It is what allows us to laugh in dark times, and cry in good times. It is what allows us to forgive despite our need for revenge. It is what allows us to love after heartbreak. It is what allows us to feel safe in someone’s arms. It is the collective need to reassure ourselves that both the pains and joys of life will not be endured and experienced alone.

Despite our sometimes selfish and greedy ways, our compassion and need for love maintain inside all of us a reverence for life. To observe a tragedy of unthinkable stupidity and callousness – like the bombings today in Boston – and to remark that “humanity is horrible” is to mar not only the good in the world, but the good in your own heart. While it is understandable to be cynical in these times, and to blame humanity for such acts, it is simply inaccurate. Were it not for our humanity we would have died off long ago, having literally destroyed one another. Despite the efforts of some, this has not come to pass. We endure wickedness and unthinkable acts because the base nature of existence is good. We know that to traverse this life without the warmth of others is not an option for any of us – no matter how disparaging we may feel in the wake of the horrible things people sometimes do.

When innocent people are hurt or killed we quite naturally have negative thoughts, because that could have been us that was hurt and/or killed, and we feel a piece of our safety chip away. We want answers, and we want someone to blame. As of this writing there are no suspects, so quite naturally Humanity as a whole is shouldering the ire of the people. I urge everyone to be more thoughtful in their reactions to the occurrences today. There is far too much good in the world to allow ourselves to react without reflection and conscience. I will not say that wickedness didn't land a punch today – as wickedness sometimes does. But, the function of humanity is to prevail and endure. It is an act that we, as people, have always undertaken together despite the acts of the misguided and thoughtless.

Roger Ebert

I read Roger Ebert on a daily basis. After watching any movie for the first time I Google “[movie title] ebert” to find out what he thought.  I often agree with his reviews, but sometimes I don't. When I am on the fence about a film his insights help me see what perhaps I am missing. Since he has left behind 40+ years of writing about cinema, I will continue this ritual. Although it is through film that I became accustomed to what will be his untouchable legacy, he was more than a movie critic.  Reading Ebert helped shape my own writing voice (though I don’t dare put myself in his league). From him I learned clarity and simplicity, and above all else, thoughtfulness when expressing opinions or when pontificating on world events.

By contrast, a lot of today’s critics resort to “pop” writing, or go out of their way to defend films that deserve no defense, upholding the concept “it’s so bad it’s good.” Ebert didn’t write with such philosophy – bad was bad, good was good, and the rest was mediocre. He wasn’t out to impress or shock, to stand out amongst other critics via bold opinions – though, when he hated a movie he HATED a movie.  It could be argued he didn't have to try to stand out, because his name was synonymous with film criticism.  Nevertheless, he didn't try to impress with language beyond that which was necessary to get his point across. He was an impartial voice that happened to have a big audience; he was a poet of observation.

Only on certain occasions had I ever sought out other critics. This was usually if Ebert had forgone reviewing certain titles, or when my opinion of a film was so drastically different from his that I required a second opinion. His review of Prometheus is a good example. So perplexed by his four-star review of the film I had to question him personally on Facebook. Not expecting a response I posted on his wall: “Four stars for Prometheus? What am I missing about this movie?” He almost immediately responded with: “What can I say? I love sci-fi.” That was all he needed to say, I suppose. I still don’t get why anyone would like that movie, or why a critic of such standing and intelligence would ignore all the flaws at the hands of such reasoning. Then I thought about it. He loved sci-fi. He loved it, I suspect, in the same way he loved it as a young boy. It’s a reminder that no matter how serious we are about the things we love, we must still allow ourselves the courtesy to escape within them despite the cynicism that strives to poison the eyes and ears that had us fall in love in the first place. This goes for anything.

I often wonder what Ebert would think of my films should I ever get around to making a feature. I will continue to wonder. I’m sure in such an instance other critics could potentially say nice things. But, “thumbs up” is still the best review a filmmaker can get.  Rest in peace, Ebert.