New ARG for 2012

The upcoming disaster film 2012 has an associated ARG that begins at the Institute for Human Continuity. As you know, 2012 is the last year of the Mayan calendar.

Let's take this for a ride, shall we. Who of us will "Survive 2012?"

Hollywood Foreign Press Favors Stoner Movie Over Comic Genius

As you all know, the Hollywood Foreign Press Association released their Golden Globe nominations today. No real surprises when it comes to the Dramatic end of things. One can use the patented "Christian Lindke Globe/Oscar Drama prediction system*" and end up with a list pretty similar to the overall selections in the Drama category.

What is surprising is the love for James Franco in Pineapple Express and the lack of love for Robert Downey Jr. (or Tom Cruise or Ben Stiller) for their highly entertaining, and highly quotable, work in Tropic Thunder. How can they overlook the hilarity? What are they smoking? Oops. Think I just answered the question.

*To apply the patented "Christian Lindke Globe/Oscar Drama prediction system" find the most inexpensive films, starring "serious actors" or directed by "serious directors," released toward the end of the year and create a list. Eliminate any that look "fun" (they can look good, or deep, but fun is out of the equation). If there are more than five remaining, highlight films that cover "issues." By applying this rule, you usually can guess a majority of the nominees by mid-September.

DRAGONBALL teaser trailer

I'm pretty much 50/50 on what I think about this film. But I do have one thing to say. They could have made Piccolo look lame, but I think he looks awesome.

No Surprises in This Year's Toy Hall of Fame Selections

I am a ludophile. I love games and toys...more than I love baseball, and that is saying something. Thankfully, like baseball, games and toys -- well at least toys -- have their own Hall of Fame at the Strong National Museum of Play. Every year, they announce new entries into the Hall. Last year they shocked some people with their selection of the "Cardboard Box" as one of the great toys of all time, they were right by the way, so it should come as no shock that this year's inductees included The Stick. The stick...that universal simple machine that can transport players into fantastic places. Want to be Babe Ruth? All you need is a stick and imagination. Darth Vader? Same. Errol Flynn? You guessed it. Scaramouche? Uh-huh. Robin Hood? Yep. Evel Kneivel? Naturally.

I am actually very impressed with the Strong Museum's commitment to promoting the "original" toys which require the use of our imagination, that greatest toy of all, in addition to those toys we -- or our parents, or grandparents -- cherished as children. We too often forget how little is really needed for a young mind to create joy...and that is what simple tools/toys allow us to do -- create joy.

Don't get me wrong. I think things like the stick and cardboard box should be let into the Hall in the same way that many of the pre-modern era greats were let into the baseball Hall. They should be brought in as a line-up, from ball to rock, all at ones. That is, unless you want people discussing the meaning of play every year. Then you let them trickle in, one by one and remind people how the simple things can provide pleasure.

Press Release below:

Baby Doll, Skateboard and—the Stick! Inducted Into National Toy Hall of Fame® at Strong National Museum of Play®

ROCHESTER, New York—The latest toys to be inducted into the National Toy Hall of Fame require no instruction manual. Welcome the Baby Doll, the Skateboard, and—the Stick!

The Baby Doll and Skateboard were chosen from among 12 toy finalists that included Clue®, Dollhouse, Flexible Flyer® Sled, The Game of Life®, Hot Wheels®, Magic 8 Ball®, Rubik’s Cube®, Thomas the Tank Engine™, Wiffle Ball®, and Yahtzee®.
Cradle it, feed it, take it for a stroll. The Baby Doll, with its newborn features and realistic qualities, brings out the nurturing side of pretend moms and dads. Loved by children (especially little girls) since the late eighteenth century, manufacturers have made such dolls ever-more lifelike. Most early baby dolls were made of papier-mâché or wood, followed in the mid-1800s by wax, porcelain, and composition, and in the 1950s by plastic and vinyl. In the mid-1850s, a patented German device allowed dolls to say “mama”; and an 1879 patented design made way for a drinking doll that could hold water in her head and then return it to the bottle. In 1933, Effanbee released its Dy-Dee doll, which could drink and wet. The Betsy Wetsy doll soon followed. Today’s dolls can crawl, cry, eat, dirty a diaper, and—thanks to 1990s microchip technology—talk back via voice-activated commands! While the baby doll comes in hundreds of different styles, it continues to inspire children to imitate parental roles and foster their own sense of identity.

On the flip side, the Skateboard—encouraging speed, sharp turns, spins, thrills, and risks—brings out the more daring side of a child’s personality and has been attracting kids to the sport since the early 1950s. The first skateboarders cruised the beach walks of Southern California trying to imitate the moves of the surfers they watched offshore. Singing duo Jan and Dean’s Top 40 hit “Sidewalk Surfin’” gave the new sport national exposure. Network television aired skateboard competitions, and by the time Life magazine put a skateboarder on a 1965 cover, more than fifty million skateboards had been manufactured. The early contraptions were homemade affairs of roller-skate wheels fixed to two-by-fours but changes in skateboard technology in the 1970s improved traction on asphalt and concrete. Today’s superior technology and improved safety gear provide for a safer, more stable ride. Skateboarding requires creativity, discipline, stamina, and risk-taking. It is now the sixth most popular participant sport in the United States.

And last but not least, one very unconventional “plaything”—the Stick!—has now taken its honored place in the hall. Found in all sizes in nature, sticks inspire spontaneous, unstructured play and can be used in unendingly imaginative ways—to draw in the sand on a beach, or to use as a magic wand, slingshot, light saber, fishing rod, or walking stick; not to mention playing stickball, toasting marshmallows, or playing “fetch” with your dog. Sticks are the original construction toys: children make toy buildings out of sticks and design toy boats with leaves for sails. Many an adult has picked up a driftwood souvenir from the beach, and artists and crafters use sticks in wreaths, chairs, and sculptures. The stick now keeps proud company with another untraditional “toy”—the Cardboard Box—inducted into the hall in 2005. After all, the best toy is often a plaything that’s free, easy to get, and a source of endless creativity.

The National Toy Hall of Fame® at Strong National Museum of Play® recognizes toys that have engaged and delighted multiple generations, inspiring them to learn, create, and discover through play. Criteria for induction include: Icon-status (the toy is widely recognized, respected, and remembered); Longevity (the toy is more than a passing fad and has enjoyed popularity over multiple generations); Discovery (the toy fosters learning, creativity, or discovery through play); and Innovation (the toy profoundly changed play or toy design).

To date, the following 41 toys have made it into the National Toy Hall of Fame®: Alphabet Blocks, Atari® 2600 Game System, Barbie®, Baby Doll, Bicycle, Candy Land®, Cardboard Box, Checkers, Crayola® Crayons, Duncan® Yo-Yo, Easy-Bake® Oven, Erector® Set, Etch A Sketch®, Frisbee®, G.I. Joe™, Hula Hoop®, Jack-in-the-Box, Jacks, Jigsaw Puzzle, Jump Rope, Kite, LEGO®, Lincoln Logs®, Lionel® Trains, Marbles, Monopoly®, Mr. Potato Head®, Play-Doh®, Radio Flyer® Wagon, Raggedy Ann & Andy™, Rocking Horse, Roller Skates, Scrabble®, Silly Putty®, Skateboard, Slinky®, Stick, Teddy Bear, Tinkertoy®, Tonka® Trucks, and View-Master®.

Playthings, the leading trade magazine covering the children’s toy industry in the United States, is a national media partner of the National Toy Hall of Fame®. Founded in 1903, Playthings offers the most current and in-depth information and news on toy manufacturers, retailers, licensing, products, and people. Playthings is published by Reed Business Information, the largest business-to-business publisher in the United States.
For more information on the National Toy Hall of Fame® visit www.museumofplay.org.

Happy News (I'm Back) and Sad News (Michael Crichton has Died)

The good news is that I will be able to post, if infrequently for the next few weeks, on a regular basis. I have been running around like a chicken with its head cut off for a couple of weeks helping schools prepare for simulation elections. I was able to coordinate and facilitate 26 simultaneous simulation elections for this Presidential Election. It was the most schools we have done at one time and I had a great time organizing the events.

Now to compile the results...which should take a little while as I don't have the same equipment as County Registrar Recorders and have to hand count ballots for schools that have participating populations ranging from 30 to 1500. Whew!

On a sad note, Michael Crichton has passed away. Crichton has always been one of my favorite science fiction writers. I know there are some who wouldn't give him that label, as he was of the "best seller" and thriller genre, but he was one of the modern giants for me. Maybe not as high up there as Iain M. Banks and Tim Powers, but up there none the less.

Crichton was responsible for my favorite science fiction film as a kid, WESTWORLD, a film which holds up surprisingly well and which likely inspired the very fun Dream Park series of novels by Jerry Pournelle and Steven Barnes.

He was also responsible for one of the most realistic science fiction films ever made, and another favorite of mine, THE ANDROMEDA STRAIN.

His novel TIMELINE was a wonderful argument against our almost knee jerk dismissal of the Middle Ages as primitive. Sadly, the movie didn't live up to the promise of the book -- though it did make me a Gerard Butler fan years before 300. Butler's portrayal of Marek seemed as if it had stepped right out of the pages of the book. Too bad the depictions of towns during the 100 Years War couldn't have followed suit.

I was also deeply entertained by his book EATERS OF THE DEAD and the movie THE 13th WARRIOR inspired by the book. I enjoyed the book's and the film's portrayal of the Beowulf myth "as real occurrence." It gave greater depth to my appreciation for the original poem.

JURASSIC PARK, both book and film, were excellent. The second JURASSIC PARK was better than the remake of Conan Doyle's LOST WORLD that Spielberg brought to the big screen.

Crichton's work was often "high concept," in that it could be reduced to the Hollywood tagline very easily. But his work also tended to be well researched, from the position of the argument it was making, and engaging. My future reading list just got one author smaller, and I am saddened by the news.

A glimpse into the annals of the internet

Because some things are eternal, I give you the Peanut Butter Jelly Time video. Ahhhh...2001 how I long for thy innocence.

In Memoriam Ten Years Later: Eugenie Lela-Ilsa Johnson 05/04/1952 - 10/07/1998

Those of you who have been long time readers will have to forgive me once more for a "repeat" post, on an annual basis today is a day that I don't feel like posting about popular culture. Today is the tenth anniversary of my mother's death, and I always feel a need to share on this day. I thought about writing something entirely original, but then I reread what I wrote in 2004 and it captures most of what I want to say. So instead of trying to reinvent the wheel, I will post the contents of a prior entry. Before you move on to the piece, I'd like to make two comments. I have added two paragraphs today (I also updated my age and the length of time since my mom died), they are in italics, and my statement below that my mother will never get to meet her grandchildren has come true. My mom will never get to meet her lovely granddaughters Nora Thekla Lindke and Clio Millie Lindke. I don't often include photos of family on this blog, but I'll make a rare exception today.



Here are Nora and Clio. Do you see how much they look like their grandmother?

This is a picture of my mom in 1971, that blob on her lap is me.

A Day to Listen to the Velvet Underground

I am only 37 years old, but today marks the end of my first ten years without a mom. That is an awkward sentence, but it best captures my sentiments. I am not an orphan, I still have a father. In fact, he should be receiving his Halloween card shortly. Yet a part of me is still very much missing, a large part. October 7th, 1998...10,7,98...those numbers loom large and ominous in my heart and this is the first year I am not completely overwhelmed by them.

My wife and I have intimate conversations often, it is one of the joys of marriage, and she and I were discussing death the other day. Her grandmother had just died at the age of 92. My wife explained it this way, "When someone dies, the world feels a little less complete. Bird songs aren't as joyful, and sunrises are slightly less beautiful." Displaying, as she often does, the magnificence of unedited, awkward, and spontaneous verbal poetry. She was also correct. C.S. Lewis opens his book A Grief Observed with another observation about death:

No one ever told me that grief felt so like fear. I am not afraid, but the sensation is like being afraid. The same fluttering in the stomach, the same restlessness, the yawning. I keep on swallowing.

I still feel this way, not everyday...today.

There are two things that are still difficult for me to do seven years after my mom died when I was 27 (she was 46).

I have a hard time remembering truly happy moments with her...on command. Happy moments enter my consciousness at random moments and seldom on the anniversary of her death. Glimpses of her nymph-like smile...brief auditory illusions of her laughter enter my mind. But the majority of my memories are neither happy nor sad, they are the memories of everyday activities, evening dinners and the question which ever looms over the head of a teenager, "Have you finished your homework?" I remember watching videotapes with her on many occasions, though none as awkward as the time we watched The Hunger, just the two of us and an erotic vampire film. I remember feeling both uncomfortable being aroused by the film, in my mom's presence, while at the same time finding the situation hilarious. This moment just came to mind. There are many more like it, I just can't remember them on demand. In all honesty, I remember my mom as a happy person, a person who added joy to the world. Which is why I have my other difficulty.

I can't understand my mom's addiction, and eventual death due to how it ravaged her body, to heroin. I try, by reading/watching/listening to and about other addicts. I know the narrative of my mom's addictive cycle, I can see each step of her hopeless journey. That's not what I can't understand. I know the things that led to her addiction. What I can't understand is the overwhelming power of it, how addiction stole my mom from me...day by day. Oddly, some really shallow things help. They are a poor substitute for true knowledge, and seem trite when I think hard on them, but they help. These things include the music of the Velvet Underground (in particular, you guessed it, Heroin) and Iggy Pop, the films Permanent Midnight (which I saw just after her death) and Trainspotting, the book and film versions of Razor's Edge, and the writings of C.S. Lewis among other things.

I am the only member of my immediate family I know of who attends church. I was raised secularly. Strange as it sounds my mom found comfort in, though she was baffled by, my belief. She once asked -- before I was a regular church attendee -- if I believed in God, expecting me (the first college student in my family) to laugh at the absurdity of the question. I told her I did and her response lingers with me to this day, "Really?" Her eyes looked at me...proud, confused, unbelieving, yet hopeful. I never was able to tell her that hope was what faith was all about ("Faith is the realization of what is hoped for and evidence of things not seen" Hebrews 11:1). It isn't about "knowledge," little of life is about actual knowledge. This is why Socrates asked us to know ourselves, that is a difficult enough task. Let alone the ability to acquire actual knowledge of something else.

I was notified of my mom's death by answering machine. I was in classes all day and didn't have a cell phone. A series of messages of an ever-worsening condition. Seizures...followed by emergency medical action. My wife and I later read the medical records to piece together a time line, to see if there was an heroic effort to save my mom. There was. It is not the best way to be notified of death, answering machine, I think it is the worst. I also wish that my mom had been buried not cremated, I would have liked to have had the chance to speak, to say my own words. Instead, I will share the two poems I think best capture the way I feel. One is gender confused (for my situation not its own) and the other is written from an older generation to a younger one, but they will have to do. In addition I would like to add a part of Philip K. Dick's author's note from A Scanner Darkly.

The first poem is by W.H. Auden (and yes it's the poem from Four Weddings and a Funeral but the scene it is in is one of my favorites in all of cinema).

Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.

Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message He Is Dead,
Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.

He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last for ever: I was wrong.

The stars are not wanted now: put out every one;
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood.
For nothing now can ever come to any good.

The second poem is by Wordsworth:

SURPRISED by joy--impatient as the Wind
I turned to share the transport--Oh! with whom
But Thee, deep buried in the silent tomb,
That spot which no vicissitude can find?
Love, faithful love, recalled thee to my mind--
But how could I forget thee? Through what power,
Even for the least division of an hour,
Have I been so beguiled as to be blind
To my most grievous loss?--That thought's return
Was the worst pang that sorrow ever bore,
Save one, one only, when I stood forlorn,
Knowing my heart's best treasure was no more;
That neither present time, nor years unborn
Could to my sight that heavenly face restore.

Wordsworth wrote Suprised by Joy (C.S. Lewis titled one of his autobiographies after this poem), for his daughter Catherine who had died at the age of four. This poem masterfully captures the grief I feel over the loss of my mom. Every time I have wonderful event in my life, I want to call her and share the news. That can never happen and it brings the event of her death immediately to mind and my sorrow and feeling of loss are renewed. Every time...without fail. My mom missed my graduation, my wife's master's, my acceptance to graduate school, my wife completing her MFA in film at USC. She will not be there to see her first grandchild, or any of the joy that her grandchildren will bring into the world.

As I stated before, I have continually looked to fiction and biographical narrative to understand my mom's addiction and that is why I am including the following by Philip K. Dick.

This has been a novel about some people who were punished entirely too much for what they did. They wanted to have a good time, but they were like children playing in the street; they could see one another of them being killed --run over, maimed, destroyed -- but they continued to play anyhow...

Drug misuse is not a disease, it is a decision, like the decision to step out in front of a moving care. You would call that not a disease but an error in judgment. When a bunch of people begin to do it, it is a social error, a life-style. In this particular life-style the motto is "Be happy now because tomorrow you are dying," but the dying begins almost at once, and the happiness is a memory..."Take the cash and let the credit go," as Villon said in 1460. But that is a mistake if the cash is a penny and the credit is a whole lifetime...

If there was any "sin" it was that these people wanted to keep on having a good time forever, and were punished for that, but, as I say, I feel that, if so, the punishment was far to great...

I don't entirely agree with P.K. Dick's statement above. Certainly I agree that "the punishment was far to great," but I disagree with his statement that "drug misuse is not a disease." I absolutely believe that an individual has some -- though not always complete -- control over the initial decision whether to use or not use a drug. Some people are self-diagnosing their psychological state and self-medicating to heal themselves, others are being "happy now because tomorrow they are dying."

It does not matter why a person first used drugs, whether for "happiness" or to feel normal, there is a point in the addict's life where the drug takes over. The addict's brain chemistry is altered and they begin to experience the disease that is addiction. I firmly believe that addiction is a disease. Drug use? Not necessarily, but addiction is. When you've seen addiction in one person, you begin to recognize it when you witness it elsewhere. It is an eerie phenomenon to see the addicted personality because no matter who the addict is, no matter what their personal pain or prior life, no matter that every person is unique, the addicted personality is strikingly familiar.



When my mom first told me of her addiction to heroin she expected me to be angry. A lot of my family was, I think the thought of my mother using heroin was too alien to them to even imagine. I think they viewed her use as somehow a failure on their part. I didn't, I only wanted to know if she was okay. By which I meant was she okay at the time she told me. My mom thought that heroin could make life more pleasant, for her it wasn't a selfish desire for more fun than anyone else was having, because she felt empty and sad on a regular basis. Heroin made her feel happy, like she could live life. But in making her think she could live life, heroin took life from her.

I don't "forgive" my mom for dying, I have never thought there was anything to forgive. I miss my mom and wish she were here. I love her and knowing that makes the missing part not so bad, because (as C.S. Lewis would say) the pain we feel now is a part of the love we have.