Here we are, at the end of all things. Well, at least at the end of my Countdown to 40, anyway. I may turn the big four-zero today, but life certainly does not end here. No, many more adventures and memories await me, my family, and my friends. Because, after all, that's what it's all about.
I truly believe I've saved the best for last, though it probably surprises no one that The Lord of the Rings earns the number one spot on my list of most important, influential, and favorite pop culture moments. On the whole, the trilogy employed several different mediums to make an impact on my life--through the books and movies, of course, but music and video games also came into play. Combined, then, the truly multi-media series thus represents a quadruple threat. I will confess that before Peter Jackson released his cinematic interpretation of The Fellowship of the Ring in 2001, The Hobbit was the only book set in J. R. R. Tolkien's Middle Earth I had read in its entirety. I thoroughly enjoyed the fantastic tale of Bilbo's adventures, which serve as a prequel of sorts to The Lord of the Rings saga, and I expected I would react the same to Frodo's quest to destroy the One Ring. I found, however, the trilogy books difficult to navigate, mostly because I tend to read at night before I fall asleep and am therefore prone to miss things. Like with any true literature, Tolkien's masterworks require a reader's full attention, but as a result of my (questionable) bedtime reading habits, I initially thought The Lord of the Rings confusing and had to reread a number of chapters just to grasp who was who, what those characters were doing, where they were, and when everything was happening. I generally felt lost. After The Fellowship of the Ring hit theaters, everything changed. Jackson's virtuosic film drew me into Middle Earth and provided me with such clarity about the characters, history, and lands that I began Tolkien's books anew. The movie truly helped me to understand The Lord of the Rings in a way I probably never would have without it. In true Chris fashion, I became obsessed. I read through the trilogy quickly, feeding my newfound passion and priming my anticipation for the release of the next two films. I then roped my friends into attending midnight screenings of The Two Towers and The Return of the King when they arrived in December of 2002 and 2003 respectively. In fact, I ended up seeing The Return of the King in the theater a total of eight times, more than any other film. (Though I will admit I probably only paid full admission for four of the viewings and may or may not have left on occasion after Aragorn tells the Hobbits they bow to no one.) My escalating craze for all thing Lord of the Rings led me to buy Howard Shore's brilliantly scored soundtracks, multiple movie posters, t-shirts, and several video games. This is all because of Peter Jackson's motion picture trilogy, the importance of which has only deepened with time. A year or so after The Return of the King came out on DVD, I invited some close friends over to watch all three in succession and make a day of it. We enjoyed tasty food and drink throughout the day as we lost ourselves in Middle Earth. Unbeknownst to me at the time, I initiated a tradition that continued annually for a few years. Now, every odd numbered year, Bryce and I host a Lord of the Rings movie marathon the first Saturday in January, complete with food and drink to make any Hobbit proud. We even switch out the theatrical releases for Jackson's extended versions every other marathon. The viewing parties have become much beloved events for Bryce and I, and we start looking forward to them well beforehand. Because what is better than sharing your love and passion for something so intrinsically linked to your sense of identity with dear friends and family? Nothing, I tell you. Nothing. Blogging these past 40 days about the music, movies, books, television shows, and video games that played a role in shaping the person I am today has been fun and enlightening for me, and I hope the same holds true for anyone who read/reads the posts as well. The exercise proved cathartic and revealing at times, especially when the writing process prompted new revelations about my path of self-discovery and sense of identity. I look forward to rereading my Countdown to 40 in the near future and perhaps pondering some of the items a little more deeply. And who knows, maybe new insights will inspire me to expand on some of the posts, create and share new Spotify playlists, add entirely new entries, or even turn this little project into a book. Only time will tell.
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May 18, 1993. A date that will live in infamy...at least to me. On that day, Janet Jackson released her janet. album, intensifying my growing passion for her and her music. In the weeks leading up to the CD's arrival, I began counting down the days until I could purchase my own copy. Not surprising, right? Particularly since countdowns and I have history and fit together so well. Still, you may find my anticipation and excitement not all that noteworthy, until you take into consideration the rest of my classmates were preoccupied with how many days of school were left until summer vacation. I could not be bothered by that. Clearly, the new Janet Jackson CD proved far more important than the last day of sophomore year for 16-year-old Chris.
"That's the Way Love Goes," the album's lead single, introduced the world to a different, more mature Janet. The song's laid-back, sensual mood deviated from the more dance-driven, Minneapolis sound featured on her Rhythm Nation and Control albums. On the new CD, Jackson traded social consciousness for sexual exploration and individual assertiveness, most overtly showcased on the sizzling "Any Time, Any Place" and "Throb." Her infamous semi-nude Rolling Stone cover symbolized the singer's maturation and announced the arrival of the new Janet, not only on the magazine but on posters, too. My infatuation dictated I had to have that poster, and my friends often share their memories of seeing it in my room. Though none of them has admitted as much, they probably asked themselves why a gay guy would have a picture of a woman whose breasts were bare save the cupping hands of a man otherwise unseen. The easy answer to that question is: Because Janet Jackson, of course! Have I not mentioned I was (and still am) obsessed? It wasn't the only poster of the singer that adorned my walls, either. I wanted everyone who came to my room, both at home and at college, to know how much I loved her, so I snatched up any poster I could find and proudly displayed each one. (Update: I no longer own any of those posters, not that Bryce would let me hang them anywhere in our house. I lost them in the apartment fire my roommate, Maggie, and I experienced in the fall of 2000.) Once janet. hit stores, I rushed to obtain a copy and proceeded to listen to the entire CD on repeat until I knew it by heart. Thinking back to the days of Chris's Top 40, the album's impact on my life was evident. Each one of the songs eventually made its way onto my countdown regardless of whether or not Jackson released them to radio. Many of them found their way #1, including "That's the Way Love Goes," "If," "You Want This," "Because of Love," "Again," "This Time," and "Where Are You Now." One of the standout tracks from the album, "If," quickly catapulted to the top of my favorite Jackson songs, earning it the #2 position on my Hot 101. The song also spent more weeks on Chris's Top 40 than any other, hanging around on the chart from the summer of 1993 until I discontinued the weekly ranked list at the end of 1995. And as much as I loved Rhythm Nation and thought Jackson would never be able to outdo herself, janet. proved that assumption wrong. In just about every way, the CD defined my high school experience and served as my soundtrack to 1993, 1994, and 1995. Few other albums can boast such longevity and prevalence in their impact on my life.
Fun fact: R.E.M. released their masterwork album, Out of Time, on my birthday in 1991, something I learned just today. I am almost positive that is merely coincidently, though I took the news as a nice surprise this morning. I think my recent discovery only makes the CD's inclusion in my Countdown to 40 all the more fitting.
"Losing My Religion," arguably the band's greatest song, initially lured me into giving Out of Time a chance. Though the song certainly served as fodder for Top 40 radio, R.E.M. represented a divergence of sorts from my favorite typical artists, and their music defied the genre I listened to most in the early 1990s. As you may have gleaned from my earlier posts about Janet Jackson, Deee-Lite, and Michael Jackson, my general taste in late 1980s/early 1990s music skewed toward more dance-pop than pop-rock and alternative. R.E.M. changed all that with Out of Time. I thoroughly enjoyed each of the album's eleven songs, and "Radio Song," "Low," "Shiny Happy People," and "Country Feedback" are a few standouts I gravitate towards in addition to "Losing My Religion." My appreciation for Out of Time took a while to develop. Several years and a number of listens passed before I recognized just how great the CD was. Today, one attribute I find most appealing about Out of Time is that the album has aged extremely well. In fact, I'd go so far as to say R.E.M.'s 1991 work has improved over time and with each repeated listen. My deepening respect and love for Out of Time also converted me to a die-hard R.E.M. fan (I'm still mourning their retirement), though all of their subsequent works pale in comparison. I will admit that their follow-up album, Automatic for the People, is great, too, and I can understand anyone's argument favoring that album over Out of Time. After all, some of the band's most beloved and notable repertoire hail from Automatic for the People, like "Everybody Hurts," "Nightswimming," and "Man on the Moon." On the whole, though, Out of Time and its impeccable track listing bests Automatic for the People every time. The genius of "Losing My Religion" certainly helps, and the song has also stood the test of time, earning it the #3 position in my 101 most favorite songs of all-time. Speaking of "Losing My Religion," Fun Fact #2: For a hot minute in the early 2000s, I considered using "Losing My Religion" as my coming out song. I even started creating a PowerPoint presentation using the song's lyrics as substitutions for me actually having to say to anyone three little words, "I am gay." In the end I scrapped that idea entirely and chose the traditional route, a decision I am glad I made. My great-aunt Althea introduced me to the wizarding world of J.K. Rowling's Harry Potter in the spring of 2000. Not quite a year after graduating from the University of Minnesota Duluth, I packed up my belongings and moved in with Althea, who graciously opened her spare bedroom to me as I sought work and a place of my own in the Twin Cities metro area. I had been living at home after college, but soon realized rural Minnesota was not the place for a young twenty-something who recently came out to himself and his friends. I needed the support of a wider, gay-friendly community and wanted to establish a place for myself among my network of friends already living in and around Minneapolis-Saint Paul. Consider it my insurance plan so when the time came to come out to family I would have cast a fairly secure safety net. Turns out I didn't need to worry about my family rejecting me, but contingency plans are always important...just in case.
Not long after settling into Althea's apartment in Edina, she handed me a paperback copy of The Sorcerer's Stone and recommended I read it. She recently finished it for her book club and could not stop raving about it. As I tucked myself into bed that evening, I flipped to the first chapter. In a matter of minutes I was hooked, and I tore through Rowling's first Potter novel in a couple of hours. Never before had a book captivated my imagination to such a degree, though perhaps I should not have been surprised owing to my already-established general appreciation for the fantasy genre (see Bedknobs and Broomsticks and The Legend of Zelda). Still Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone took things to a whole new level, and I ran to the bookstore the following day to purchase Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets. That night I sped through the second Potter book in a matter of hours. I simply couldn't get enough of Harry's adventures with his two closest friends, Ron and Hermione, at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizadry. So, I went back to the bookstore the next day and grabbed book three, Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban. The third in Rowling's series may have taken me two nights to finish, but I voraciously attacked it with the same fervor of the first two. If possible, Prisoner of Azkaban made me fall more in love with the Potter books. In many ways, the first two books follow similar conventions, which I appreciated but also questioned whether or not Rowling could sustain her planned seven-book series by repeating the same basic patterns. Azkaban introduced several new and important characters to the Potter universe and diverged paths from the one set forth in Sorcerer's Stone and Chamber of Secrets. Harry was maturing and the stories along with him. It was a brilliant move on Rowling's part, one she kept up through the final book, Deathly Hallows. Unfortunately for me, when I got through Prisoner of Azkaban, Rowling had not yet published book number four, Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire. I was therefore forced to wait for its arrival. Around the same time, Harry Potter emerged as a pop culture phenomenon. Everywhere you turned, people of all ages seemed enchanted by the Potter books. When Goblet of Fire finally arrived, I grabbed a copy and jumped right in. Because the books typically came out in June, I also started gifting them to my niece, Brittani, who also became a fan. (You should see the drawings she made of the main characters for me once upon a time.) Again, the book explored Harry's aging process by tackling the complicated and challenging obstacles confronted by teenagers as they learn how to navigate the tricky transition between adolescence and adulthood, complete with trials and tribulations often left for them by adults. This translated into a novel much thicker than its predecessors, and I therefore needed a few extra days to read Goblet of Fire. In less than a week, I plowed my way through and was summarily faced with having to wait an uncertain amount of time for book five's publication and release. (It was at this time I discovered Robert Jordan's Wheel of Time saga.) During the interim between Goblet of Fire and Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, several of my close friends, Dianna, Kara, and Allison, and I bonded over the Potter books. We shared a mutual infatuation with Rowling's works and eagerly anticipated the release of the first Harry Potter movie in November of 2001, a much needed respite in the wake of the 9/11 tragedy. When The Sorcerer's Stone hit theaters, we braved the crowds and late hours to catch a midnight showing. For the most part, the cinematic interpretation of book one met our expectations and set in motion a tradition for us to see as many of the new films and purchase as many of the forthcoming books at midnight as possible. We even made our own t-shirts for the Prisoner of Azkaban movie, and I wore mine to most (if not all) subsequent midnight release events. The books posed an interesting conundrum for us as each new one arrived. The four of us, occasionally boosted in number by other Potter-head family and friends, excitedly attended book parties to ensure we'd have our pre-ordered copies in hand as soon as we possibly could. We'd all get home and start ripping through the new volume. Inevitably, one or more of us would spend the rest of the night and early morning hours rushing through the most recent publication to learn what happened next for Harry and his friends. The problem then became having to wait to discuss the book's events until everyone else finished, too. No spoiler alerts allowed! Text messages would zip back and forth. How far are you? Did you sleep? Did you eat? Are you done yet? Call me when you've finished chapter 18. Thus, we collectively motivated each other to coordinate our reading efforts, often putting us on the same page. Our midnight movie traditions continued even after publication of the final book as well, eventually adding more family, friends, and fiancés to the party: Kelly, Jason, Bailey, and Bryce. The Harry Potter series proved amazing in every way, shape, and form, packed with magic, adventure, and the always timely message conveying the importance of tolerance and love in the face of hate and prejudice. For my friends and me, Rowling's masterpieces and their cinematic counterparts became much more--they served as focal points around which we gathered and grew closer, thereby strengthening our friendships. On the eve of turning 40, I look back on all of our experiences with an overwhelming sense of joy and happiness. I even commemorated our shared Potter time and love of the series with a Deathly Hallows tattoo last fall. The experiences remain infinitely meaningful to me, and I cannot divorce my memories of the decade-long journey my friends and I took together from the Potter books and movies.
Well, I made it to the top five on my Countdown to 40, which means in a few days I will cross that bridge into a new decade. You'd think I'd be nervous or scared, but I'm not. The looming birthday also means the inevitable end to this little introspective project of mine, with several of the best and most important films, books, and music yet to come. Like today's feature post on Prince's Purple Rain album.
When it broke last April, the news of Prince's death hit me pretty hard, more so than the passing of fellow icons Michael Jackson and Whitney Houston in the decade prior. More so than George Michael and Carrie Fisher in the year afterwards. More so than any other famous person, to be honest. Up until that time, I never really understood how people could get so emotionally bent out of shape over the loss of a celebrity. I mean, we typically only know the public persona and not the person, so how could a pop star's death really mean all that much to anyone? When Prince died, though, I could finally empathize. In the earliest years of my cultural development, he laid the foundation for my love and understanding of pop music with the soundtrack to Purple Rain, which, to this day, remains my all-time favorite. No other album made a larger impact on me or my taste in music, thanks in large part to my sister Missy. I certainly wasn't alone in feeling that sense of loss. The outpouring of memories and odes to Prince filled my social media news feeds in the hours and days following the announcement of his death. I dedicated an entire Flashback Friday segment to Prince for my United States History class, to which a number of students expressed their dismay at his passing. The death also affected my sister, Missy, who introduced me to Prince more than 30 years ago. Like it did for me, Purple Rain played an important role in Missy's life, prompting her to write: Ah, the memories that flow into my mind when remembering Prince and Purple Rain. I recall my parents weighing in with their opinion of Prince's "so-called music"...which in their eyes was "just noise". But I loved it. I connected to the lyrics and the music itself was so different from what I was used to hearing. Not to mention the mysteriousness of Prince himself. I couldn't help but be drawn into it all.
She was right, too. Her adoration of Prince and constant replaying of Purple Rain helped me fall in love with it, too. I proudly showcased my liking for Prince, dancing around (was I really gyrating?) and lip syncing to my favorite songs from the album, like "I Would Die 4 U" and "Baby I'm a Star." The applause, laughter, and support I earned from Missy and my parents only encouraged me to continue my performances, each one likely more flamboyant that the last. Which brings up another trait of Prince's that made him such a big influence--he appeared fearless and confident to be whoever he wanted to be. He wore boots with heels. He changed his name to a symbol that represented equal parts male and female. And he challenged people's preconceived gender biases in rock music by featuring artists like Wendy and Lisa as prominent members. He also sponsored and wrote music specifically for women as a way to help promote their talents, serving as a champion for women in music.
There truly was no one else like Prince. He taught me just how great pop music could be, and even when I listen to Purple Rain today, I am constantly amazed at how timeless the album really is. He also showed me how powerful being true to oneself can be, unafraid and unashamed, a lesson I carried with me into adulthood as I grappled with my homosexuality. Prince and Purple Rain therefore form core elements of my sense of identity, and when he passed away, it felt as though I somehow lost a connection to that foundational part of myself.
I'm sure the inclusion of a Madonna album in my Countdown to 40 comes as no surprise, especially considering I am a child of the 1980s. And gay. It's one of the stereotypes I wear proudly. Truth be told, though, I know several gay men who could take or leave Madonna and her music. Not many, mind you. But there are some. Ultimately choosing Music as the one of her many albums to include may, on the other hand, surprise you.
You may have expected to see her quintessential, star-making album Like a Virgin here, which would not be a stretch by any means. I remember slipping quarters into the juke box at the local bar and grill near my grandparents' summer home to listen and dance to "Material Girl." Singing along to the title track with no concept of the meaning behind the song's lyrics whatsoever. Blaring the cassette tape from our garage and practicing my color guard routine in the driveway. (My brother and I joined a Drum and Bugle Corps for two whole days--he wanted to play drums and I wanted to twirl flags...to think it took me another decade or so before I realized I was gay is beyond me sometimes.) Then there's Ray of Light. Madonna enjoyed a renaissance of sorts in the late 1990s following the birth of her first child and her starring role as Eva Peron in the movie musical version of Evita in 1996. Many consider 1998's Ray of Light the pinnacle of Madge's career. Motherhood and a newfound passion for yoga and the Kabbalah seemed to give the Queen of Pop a more mature perspective, while coaching for Evita strengthened her voice in both tone and quality. The lead single, "Frozen," hinted at Madonna's new electronic sound and more introspective sensibilities. I grabbed my copy of Ray of Light on CD when vacationing in Orlando with my family, and I may or may not have forced them to listen to the entire thing with me for the first time. They may not have appreciated it much, but it turned me into more of a Madonna fan than I was before. Impressed with her new sound and direction, I eagerly anticipated Madonna's follow-up to Ray of Light, 2000's Music. The title track had me hooked well before the CD's release, and I think I even ventured to Wal-Mart shortly after midnight that September to purchase my copy as soon as it became available. I quickly fell in love with the entire album, listening to the CD on my drive to and from work for weeks. In addition to "Music," I developed quite a fondness for "Don't Tell Me" and "Nobody's Perfect," both of which made appearances on earlier compilations of my Hot 101. Beyond remaining one of my favorite Madonna albums in the years since its release, Music holds the distinction as the sole CD to survive an apartment fire my roommate Maggie and I experienced in October of 2000. We lost practically all of our material possessions that day, with the exception of the things we had with us. For something so tragic, Maggie and I managed to stay level-headed and kept our sense of humors about the whole thing. Though I had to leave a message with her parents informing her of the bad news, as soon as she could she returned my call. When I answered the phone, she asked in a tone clearly meant to mock infomercials: "Did you or anyone you know recently lose everything they owned in a fire?" I couldn't help but crack a smile. Maggie's attitude and support along with the comfort and familiarity of Madonna's Music album helped me cope with what could have otherwise been a complete and utter disaster. Surprise! I bet no one saw this post coming. Timely, too, as Netflix just revealed it was in very early talks with show runners about the possibility of producing more episodes as a follow up to last fall's "A Year in the Life." Let's just say the news has me cautiously optimistic, considering I liked but didn't love the Netflix limited series but thought it showed promise. The original Gilmore Girls series that ran on network television from 2000-2007, on the other hand, is one I absolutely adore.
For the uninitiated, Gilmore Girls follows the story of single-mom Lorelei Gilmore and her daughter, Rory, in the fictional yet enchantingly quirky small town of Stars Hollow, Connecticut. When the series starts, Rory learns she's been accepted to Chilton, a private New England school that all but assures her Ivy League college dreams will come true. Faced with the high rate of Chilton's tuition and a lack of money, Lorelei turns to her rich, socialite parents, Emily and Richard, for financial assistance. Asking for help proves difficult for Lorelei, as the relationship between her and her parents is rocky at best. Still, she swallows her pride to improve Rory's future and agrees to a loan requiring Lorelei and Rory to attend weekly Friday night dinners with Emily and Richard until which time the loan is paid off. Over the ensuing seven seasons, Lorelei and Rory attend many lively Friday night dinners, exchange quick-fire banter laced with obscure pop culture references, fall in and out of love numerous times, and exceed and fall short of their own expectations as well as those placed on them by others. Throughout the entire time, the Gilmore girls traverse the tricky waters of high school, starting a business, and going to college, all while surrounded and supported by a bevy of eccentric townspeople. As much as I adore Gilmore Girls, I cannot honestly say it led to some revelation about my sense of self or my life's journey. I simply love the show and consider it a close second in all-time rank behind The Wonder Years. What became clear as I embarked on my Countdown to 40 quest, however, was just how much Gilmore Girls really serves as a conglomeration of all the best qualities of the other shows I've written posts about. (Save Game of Thrones, that is. I got nothing on similarities with that series, though I'm sure Lorelei and Rory talked about it during the revival episodes.) I think I started realizing the similarities between Gilmore Girls and other shows when I wrote about Northern Exposure earlier in the project. Like that show and Pushing Daisies, Gilmore Girls takes place in a small town populated by some of the quirkiest characters and stories on television. In many ways, Gilmore Girls is also a coming-of-age tale like The Wonder Years, though the process is not limited to Rory navigating late adolescence. Lorelei, Emily, Richard, and several additional supporting characters undergo significant growth, too. One likeness I often used when the show originally aired was to Will & Grace. The endless one-liners and lightning-fast repartee exchanged between Gilmore Girls characters echo those traded between Will, Grace, Jack, and Karen, pop-culture references included. On that note, the whip-smart scripts and their flawless delivery by the actors similarly liken Gilmore Girls to The West Wing, too. And, at its heart, Gilmore Girls offers a very clear message similar to the one practically introduced by The Mary Tyler Moore Show and reproduced by Sex and the City: The outdated paradigm of defining women through men no longer applies to characters like Lorelei and Rory Gilmore. They represent strong, intelligent women who work hard and achieve their goals independent of men. Sure, they have men in their lives, but their lives are not singularly focused on those men. Nor do they succeed solely because of men. In fact, anything the men of Stars Hollow can do, I'm confident Lorelei and Rory can do better. So, Gilmore Girls reigns as one of my favorite shows by being all of my favorite shows at once, wrapped into sometimes neat, sometimes messy, 45-minute packages. I teetered back and forth between Band of Brothers and Saving Private Ryan for the focus of today's post, ultimately settling on the HBO miniseries for its sheer magnitude and undeniable role in propelling me to pursue a graduate degree in history (and despite my general estimation of Steven Spielberg's 1998 World War 2 magnum opus as one of the greatest films ever made).
I knew about the critically acclaimed Band of Brothers miniseries well before I ever saw it, largely thanks to Entertainment Weekly. The magazine's coverage and reviews intensified my overall interest, already piqued by the comparisons made to Saving Private Ryan. Without access to HBO, though, I waited to watch Band of Brothers until I found a deal for the boxset I couldn't pass up. DVDs in hand, I binged my way through all ten episodes in a matter of days, and to say the series surpassed my expectations would be an understatement. In fact, Band of Brothers made such an impression that when I rewatched the series again a year or so later, it motivated me to finally start the process of obtaining my Masters degree in History, something I had been stewing over for years. Based on the work of historian Stephen Ambrose, Band of Brothers depicts World War 2 from boot camp to war's end through the eyes of the US Army 101st Airborne's Easy Company. Throughout the series, viewers witness the company's involvement in such momentous events as D-Day, the Battle of the Bulge, and the liberation of a concentration camp. In fact, the image above comes from episode nine, "Why We Fight," which deals with Easy Company's discovery and subsequent liberation of a Nazi Concentration Camp and represents one of the most heart-wrenching hours of programming ever to air on television. Not surprisingly, a strong bond of brotherhood develops between company members based on the intensity of their shared experiences over the course of the war, not unlike the kind identified by the character of Upham in Saving Private Ryan. And while Spielberg's war film certainly introduces the idea, the miniseries format allows Band of Brothers to expand on the groundwork laid by Ryan, flesh out a broader cast of characters, and incorporate recollections from surviving Easy Company veterans. Brothers therefore provides audiences with a much more intimate glimpse of what the war was like for soldiers fighting in Europe. If you've been keeping up with my Countdown to 40 blog, my fascination with World War 2 does not come as a surprise, and I can think of two specific reasons why the it interests me so much. First, as I recounted in my post about Schindler's List, the Holocaust and its socio-political repercussions in Germany raised several historical questions for me, ones I eventually explored in grad school using films like Downfall. The second reason, one I have not yet shared, relates to my grandfather. Like many people my age and around the world, my grandparents lived through the war. And like many men of his generation, my mother's father fought in the war. I was not yet fifteen when my grandfather passed away, and I often regret not learning more about his wartime experiences. That's not to say I am completely without knowledge of his time in the Navy. When putting together a video memorial of my grandfather's life shortly after his death, my older sister and I came across a set of letters he and my grandmother exchanged during that time. Based on what my relatives told me, I also learned that Grandpa returned from the war a changed man, one who no longer believed in the existence of God. Taken as a whole, that pretty much sums up what I know about my grandfather's wartime perspective. Of course, given the intense nature of such experiences, perhaps he wouldn't have wanted to talk about them with me. Nevertheless, I still wish I would have asked him, and I think things like Band of Brothers and Saving Private Ryan offer a way for me to imagine the war through Grandpa's eyes. And maybe, just maybe, my desire to know the world and time of my grandparents better was the real impetus behind initiating my graduate studies. If I ever experienced a defining, a-ha series of moments directly connected to the media arts and my sexuality, I would say my relationship with Disney's 1989 animated classic, The Little Mermaid, symbolizes that. Though I had an inkling of the film's importance at the time, real cognizance that it marked a significant point in my development and self-awareness materialized more slowly over self-analysis during the ensuing decades.
I distinctly remember when and where I first saw The Little Mermaid, which happened almost 30 years ago now. My younger siblings and I were spending time with one of our cousins and her kids, the youngest a toddler. We played games, took turns riding around the block on the back of a motorcycle, and watched The Little Mermaid. From the wondrous animation to the charming musical numbers and endearing characters, the movie captivated me entirely. The vivid sequences of Prince Eric's ship caught in the throes of a violent storm, Sebastian leading denizens of the deep in "Under the Sea," and the final confrontation with Ursula the Sea Witch stuck with me in the days and weeks afterwards. Not able to get the film or the music out of my mind, I got the soundtrack on cassette tape and began listening to it almost nonstop. Before long I knew every word to every song, no doubt annoying my brother and sister by singing along at every opportunity. I was, in a word, obsessed, a term I have frequently employed throughout my Countdown to 40 project. Then, one day while strolling the aisles of the local K-Mart, I noticed a copy of The Little Mermaid on VHS for sale. My fondness for the movie and preoccupation with the music led me to ask my dad if I could buy it. He responded with a resounding no, commenting that cartoon movies were for kids and I was much too old. Taking the contrary position I so often did with him, I argued and pled for him to change his mind. Though I could not convince him otherwise at the time, I eventually circumvented his decision and acquired my very own copy. Or maybe I simply wore down his resolve with my constant requests. Either way, once in possession of the video tape, I took every chance I could to watch The Little Mermaid, thereby satisfying my desire to escape to another world. I often chalk up my fixation with The Little Mermaid as simply another stereotypical signpost of my innate homosexuality. My predisposition for the animated movie musical fit nicely alongside other examples throughout my childhood and teenaged years hinting at my gayness. One particular example comes to mind. Around the age of six or seven I asked my parents for a doll house for Christmas. (Or was it my birthday? Some details are fuzzier than others...) Regardless, I ended up receiving one, complete with working light fixtures and everything. My parents, for their part, fulfilled my unconventional request without hesitation or prejudice, and if they questioned it at all, I never knew. Other members of my extended family, on the other hand, proved less than understanding, and I remember being teased heavily for having a dollhouse...even though it had lights. (Did I mention the lights?!? Seriously cool.) They made sure I knew boys played with Tonka Trucks, Transformers, and footballs, not dollhouses. Unequipped to effectively deal with the jabs, I took them to heart much more than I think my family intended. I remember wondering whether or not something was wrong with me, and in a fit of childhood frustration and rage, I cut all the wires for the lights. Perhaps I thought my actions would earn me some recognition that I wasn't such a girly-boy after all. In the end, though, all I got for destroying the wonderful gift I so desperately wanted was disciplined. Within the context of figuring out when my sexual orientation became clear, I often look to experiences like the one with the dollhouse for clues. I clearly didn't know then, but did my parents? I also reflect on the interchange that occurred between my dad and I over The Little Mermaid with a peculiar sense of fascination. What really was the big deal with a 12-year-old wanting an animated movie? I mean, I was not yet a teenager and therefore still a kid by most peoples' definitions. The more I thought about the whole experience, the more I wondered if my dad's refusal represented an intentional or unintentional reaction to my homosexuality. Surely my parents noticed the repeated signs I exhibited growing up, and maybe they originally thought nothing of them. Unlike my request for a dollhouse, which could be attributed to my young age rather than my sexuality, my adoration of The Little Mermaid defied expected behavior for a typical, straight boy of twelve. Perhaps, then, my obsession made the final connection between dots for my dad, and as a result he shut my request for the VHS down. Of course, this could all be in my head and related to my tendency to overthink things. My dad may have truly believed I was too old for an animated Disney movie and thought nothing more of it, a forgotten exchange between the two of us twenty-some-odd years ago. The memory probably stands out so strongly for me because of my desire to constantly search my youth for any and all tell-tale signs that said, in big neon lights: "YOU ARE GAY." And even if it is not the signal to my dad I suspect it might be, The Little Mermaid, my love of it, and the processing of memories connected to it certainly symbolize important milestones in my coming out story. In honor of today's Breath of the Wild release, I present you with Nintendo's incomparable The Legend of Zelda, which, as far as I am concerned, represents the best video game series. Ever.
I originally became entranced by The Legend of Zelda series when the first iteration arrived for the Nintendo Entertainment System (NES) in the late 1980s. (Remember the gold cartridge? Ah, the good old days.) It didn't take long for the game to grab my attention and stimulate my imagination. I remember sneaking out of my bedroom late at night, after everyone else was asleep, to solve just one more puzzle, find just one more secret lair, or play through just one more dungeon. Then came The Adventure of Link for the NES and A Link to the Past for the Super Nintendo (SNES), and I eagerly returned to saving Hyrule from the evil Ganondorf. While those early games turned me into a series fan pretty quickly, Ocarina of Time for the Nintendo 64 (N64) changed everything and converted me to a true Zelda superfan. The new adventure retained all of the familiar characters and story arcs I grew to enjoy and expect from earlier games while perfectly utilizing the 3-D capabilities offered by the N64 to fully immerse players in the land of Hyrule. (I could even ride a horse!) The puzzles, quests, dungeons, and bosses of Ocarina of Time kept me challenged and engaged by offering the perfect balance between difficulty and solve-ability. By the time I maneuvered through the final dungeons and defeated Ganon at the game's end, I knew I had experienced something special, and from that point on, no matter where Zelda console games went, I was sure to follow. Considering my already-professed love for the fantasy genre (see Bedknobs and Broomsticks, Game of Thrones and The Wheel of Time), I suspect my declaration in support of Zelda throughout this entry is not all that surprising. That assumption may, however, relate more to the order in which I wrote my Countdown to 40 posts than the order in which those featured items impacted my life. In reality, The Legend of Zelda serves as one of the biggest and most important influences to nurture my growing interest in the vast and magical worlds of fantasy film, literature, and video games. And if you are trying to get a hold of me this weekend and don't get a response, know that I'm probably puzzling my way through Breath of the Wild. |
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I am a self-proclaimed pop culture geek and list enthusiast who is celebrating the big four-zero by counting down the most important, influential, and favorite music, movies, television shows, books, and video games of my life so far. Categories
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