Category Archives: Blog


A Waffle House down the road from where you live, 11 P.M., Wednesday night

One of the few memories I have of my father is his years spent working as the night-shift manager at a Waffle House not far from where we lived. Most of the rest of the time he was downstairs, alone, watching television. I don’t know much of what he was watching, but I do remember two things: his love for “The Rockford Files” and the fact that he once let me watch the movie “Stripes” with him, and it was a formative experience for me as a young man because I got to see a topless woman for a few seconds.

(To his credit, he did tell me, “Hey, cover your eyes!” which I pretended to do. But I’m sure he knew I was peeking from between my fingers.)

But Waffle House. Somehow, he paid the bills and supported a family on a Waffle House manager’s salary, and some nights, he would take me with him.

Those were the best nights. Continue reading


Marrow is one thing too much for me

I watch a lot of cooking shows on television. In fact, that’s probably how most of my leisure time is spent. In an alternate universe, I’m at the helm of a delicious and trendy food truck, delighting my public with only locally sourced ingredients. (In this universe, I’m just watching Guy Fieri again, with a bag of Fritos and a bottomless well of regret by my side.)

But as much as I love food – and I do love food, my early lunch today was four salted pita chips with a small dollop of black caviar on each, because less is more and you should eat less and taste more – I have found the line in the sand that I cannot cross.

Marrow. Continue reading


Hardcore Henry might make you vomit – and you will love every moment of it

I don’t normally go to new-release movies. They are too expensive, there are not enough hours in the day, and my Netflix queue is already longer than my list of late-night irrational fears.

But when I saw the preview for “Hardcore Henry” (inexplicably shown during the usually sedate and calm CBS Sunday Morning), I knew I had to be there for this. Take a look:

Continue reading


Clarity in Conciseness (Or, Why Craig Finn Matters)

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about how we communicate with one another. Not only the words we choose, but how many of them we decide to use. And as I get older, I find myself admiring and being drawn toward ideas and concepts that are communicated with a sense of economy.

I know a lot of people who say an awful lot of words, but they don’t really say anything. And that is exhausting. When words are many, etc.

So I’m going to use just a few words here to throw some love toward Craig Finn, whom I have always admired as a lyricist. He cuts to the quick, and quickly, by dropping you into the middle of a story that is already in progress. He doesn’t tell origin stories, he tells stories. And just look at the title of his new, magnificent song:

“Maggie, I’ve Been Searching For Our Son”

This is really a feat of storytelling prowess. In just seven words, we know this much:

  • There are at least three characters in this story (the narrator, Maggie, and their son)
  • The son is missing, and has been for some time (because “been” is in the past tense)
  • The narrator and Maggie are likely estranged, because otherwise he wouldn’t have had to tell her that he’d been searching

I’ve had conversations with people that communicated less information in seven hundred words than Finn conveys here in seven. It’s remarkable.

With that, I’ll stop typing. Less is more, and more Craig Finn is a good thing. Here’s the song:


My thoughts on the movie ‘Whiplash’ (or, Why abuse is never okay, even if it gets results)

This past weekend, I managed to squeeze in time to watch two movies. (This is an unusual occurrence, as a husband and as a parent of three kids.) The latter of those movies was Christopher Nolan’s “Interstellar,” which struck me in the gut for reasons that are probably largely unique to me, and maybe I’ll talk more about that later. But the first of the two was the oh-so-compelling music drama “Whiplash,” and it gave me SO MANY FEELINGS that I felt the need to first parse my thoughts for a day or two, and then come back and write this down.

First: This essay is probably self-indulgent nonsense, and you’re none the worse, and perhaps better off, if you just skip it entirely. The internet is a big place full of more interesting things.

Second: This essay is filled with spoilers about the movie “Whiplash,” so if you haven’t seen it yet, please do just skip this entirely. If you’ve seen it, then I’d be most grateful to engage in a conversation with you about it in the comments, because I am SO ANGRY about this movie, and specifically about the message sent by the final 60 seconds of it. Teachers, at every grade level, I’d especially appreciate your input.

The overview: “Whiplash” is the story of a boy, Andrew, who has a passion for playing the drums, specifically jazz drums. The walls of his bedroom are lined with posters of Buddy Rich; he tells the girl he is with on an awkward first date exactly who is playing each part on the jazz song currently spewing through the overhead speakers; he carries with him charts of the songs he is trying to master.

Andrew is a golden boy. He has his challenges, but it’s not taking anything away from those challenges to say that nothing is ever going to be really all that hard for him. The details of his parents’ life aren’t fully elaborated but sketched out in little bits: mom isn’t around, dad is a writer, certainly no Hemingway but doing okay, and they all are living a comfortable existence in the big city. Andrew will not have to take on any student loans to pursue his musical education.

And yet, he is passionate. He throws himself into it with the fervor of a true artist. He doesn’t act like anything is being given to him. He cares about his art.

Another thing he cares about is getting into the “studio band” at his school, the prestige band, run by a man named Fletcher. Through the events set in motion by an opening “Meet Awkward” scene, Andrew finds himself in the studio band room, and begins to learn about his new teacher.

Within the first 20 minutes in the band room, Fletcher commits an act that is surely a fire-able offence in any classroom, anywhere, in any civilized place: he slaps a student. Then he does it again, and again, and again. Not to mention threatening that student with violence, and throwing a chair at his head.

Moments before, Fletcher has spent a supposedly tender moment with Andrew in the hallway, letting him know that everything was going to be just fine, coaxing out some details about his family. Back in the band room, he unleashes those family secrets in front of everybody, in excoriating detail, the way an abusive father hurls invective at a child who just didn’t see it coming and just doesn’t deserve it.

The key word in the previous paragraph, I believe, is “abusive.” This movie highlights abusive behavior and, I believe, celebrates it.

There is a trope at work here, and I utterly hate it. It is the notion that Abuse Is OKAY If It Gets Results.

The other great example of this genre is the Morgan Freeman movie “Lean On Me,” in which principal Joe Clark is celebrated for being a blowhard bully who tramples on everyone around him, but by God, once all the dust (that he has kicked up) settles, things are marginally better than before.

Go to hell.

There are tens of thousands of educators who spend all day, every day, making children better, and none of them ever lay a finger on a single child. None of them employ psychological warfare to cut a student down in front of his/her peers. None of them make it all about them and their own personal failings (which, in the case of Fletcher, the failed Charlie Parker wannabe, that’s what it’s all about).

Put your baseball bat down, Joe Clark, and get the goddamned chains off the fire exits. These kids were placed in your care, you arrogant fool – you are not a drill sergeant and they are not your recruits.

In talking to people about “Whiplash” (and “Lean on Me,” for that matter), one phrase kept popping up: “Well, yeah, he was rough, but he got them to do their best! He got them to change!”

Ike got Tina to change, too. He got her to shut up and do what he wanted (for a while, at least). That’s not funny, it’s not noble, and it’s not worthy of praise.

And here’s where we come to the very end of “Whiplash,” and why my heart was so very broken by it. I watched the movie, compelled by such expert filmmaking and such an excellent and interesting story, and I was just hoping against hope that Fletcher would not end up being the hero. And for a brief moment near the end, it looked like he wouldn’t be: At the climactic performance, Andrew finally comes into his own and takes the reigns, and HE IS THE BANDLEADER. He is, for all intents and purposes, Buddy Rich. And it is magnificent! Like nothing I’ve ever seen! Fletcher recoils, like the little emasculated serpent that he is, robbed of his ability to lord it over people younger and smaller than him.

This is a great scene. The drum solo is remarkable, and while I don’t know whether the actor Miles Teller is actually playing the drums, it certainly looks like he might be. Even if you have no love in your heart for jazz, you surely felt your hands and feet pulsing and throbbing along with the insane closing beat that Andrew was pounding out with all of his heart, blood dripping onto the cymbals.

And then.

And then.

After that beautiful moment of redemption and awakening, when Andrew finally realized that he didn’t need to be bullied around any longer, Fletcher raises his bandleader hand, and with an exchange of glances, Andrew cedes control to him, Fletcher takes control once again, brings everything in for a landing, and it’s no longer Andrew’s band, as it rightfully should have been. It’s Fletcher’s band, and everyone is the worse for it, despite any cheers the audience might give. When the audience gives their inevitable applause, they are applauding Fletcher and HIS band.

This last 60 seconds or so deflated me, and removed any love I have for an otherwise excellent film. Because the ultimate message, when the credits roll, is that Fletcher’s abuse was justified, because it got results. That’s a horrible message to send, no matter the genre or the subject matter.


Down and Nerdy Episode 302: The book was so much better

A couple of recent films lead us into a discussion about what makes a great (or terrible) book-to-movie adaptation, Scott preaches about why “The Walking Dead” is still one of the best shows on TV (massive spoilers if you’re not caught up, BTW), we get deep about the space program and its recent setbacks, and each of us shares a perfect turn of phrase – maybe a line from a poem or song or book – that we just adore every time we read or hear it. (It does get slightly NSFW toward the very end, so heads up.) Continue reading