There seem to be two different kinds of people in this world, Star Trek fans and Star Wars fans. I always thought that demarcation quite silly and considered myself an equal opportunity supporter of both franchises. I anxiously await the release of new Star Wars and Star Trek films and have fond memories of both. I've thoroughly enjoyed sporadically joining Bryce throughout his years-long journey to experience all of the Star Trek films and television series, from the original 1960s series all the way up through Enterprise and the J. J. Abrams cinematic reboots. (Fun fact: While The Next Generation remains my favorite iteration of the Star Trek canon, Deep Space Nine proves a close second.) As I sat down to work on my Countdown to 40, though, I finally faced the actual (rather than alternative) fact: as much as I try to convince myself I fall definitively into the Star Trek camp every bit as much as I fall into the Star Wars camp, it's just not true. I connect more with the latter than the former, an admission I'm sure Bryce would argue was obvious from day one.
Now, I mean no disrespect towards Star Trek and the fans who adore it, Star Wars simply signifies so much more for me. As a child, A New Hope was the first movie I ever saw with my dad. Whether he realized it or not and whether I accepted or not, I often sought things over which the two of us could bond. I never was much of a sports guy, and though I wouldn't consider my dad a sports fanatic, he could usually be found taking in the weekly Vikings game with my mom and brother on Sunday afternoons. The older I got, the more I gravitated towards the arts and longed to connect with my dad through them. I knew very little about his taste in movies and music, however, since we rarely talked about what he liked. One thing I did learn over the years: my dad liked the original Star Wars films. I therefore took advantage of and loved every opportunity I had to experience them with him. That alone is reason enough to justify the inclusion of Star Wars on my Countdown to 40, but that would cut short the story of the saga's ongoing relationship to my life. In the late 1990s, George Lucas re-released all three films to theaters in anticipation for the debut of a new addition to the series, Episode I: The Phantom Menace. I learned then how a good friend of mine in college idolized Star Wars, and his enthusiasm for the sci-fi epic rejuvenated my own enthusiasm for A New Hope, The Empire Strikes Back, and The Return of the Jedi. We made sure to catch each one in the theater on opening weekend, discussing in depth the lore surrounding the Star Wars universe afterwards and hazarding guesses as to where Lucas would be taking us with the forthcoming Episodes I, II, and III. By the time The Phantom Menace debuted in May of 1999, my rejuvenated enthusiasm had transformed into genuine excitement. As with any heightened sense of anticipation, I wanted to share my delight in the new films and could think of no one better to accomplish that than with than my niece, Brittani, and nephew, Jordan, who were 9 and 6 at the time. When the chance came to treat the two of them to seeing the film in the theater, I snapped it up. They both seemed to love the film, especially Jordan, and I happily spoiled them with repeated viewings of Episode I as well as the original trilogy. (Confession: The character of Jar-Jar Binks never bothered me as much as he did other people.) Today the Star Wars universe continues to expand, adding on three more episodes to the original series and tacking on several stand-alone films that focus on backstories and fill in the holes exhibited by the nine episodic movies. I will no doubt see them all, remembering all of the happiness, contentment, and fulfillment that accompany the rest of the Star Wars anthology.
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I jumped aboard the Sex and the City bandwagon late, only ever watching it on DVD after the final season aired on HBO. I knew the show's stellar reputation, as it frequently appeared on year-end best lists and garnered numerous awards throughout its six-season run. Not subscribing to HBO, though, meant I had no easy access to the show and therefore could not watch it. And before ever seeing a single episode, I simply could not understand the hysteria surrounding Sex and the City, at least not initially. It was well before streaming movies and television series was a thing, after all. Still, the critical hype piqued my interest, increased all the more when one of my good friends, Carrie, highly recommended the show to me.
The question then became, how does one gain access to a premium-channel show without the premium channel or an option to stream? Through DVD, of course. The early 2000s saw the rise of entire seasons of television shows on DVD and even if Netflix has now become synonymous with binge-watching, the modern phenomenon truly started with TV on DVD. So, one year I asked my parents for Sex and the City on DVD for Christmas, ultimately receiving the first two seasons as a gift. That same year I felt a little under the weather at Christmastime, not thinking much of it, especially considering I seemed to feel better within a couple of days. Fast forward a week to New Year's Eve, however, and suddenly it became clear that whatever illness I contracted was not done with me. Before long I felt the sickest I remember ever feeling in my life. What started as a sniffle turned into the worst possible sinus infection one could imagine. I spent New Year's Eve lying in bed, scared to move for fear of throwing up. Even rolling to one side while in bed caused severe nausea. The only way I could manage the dizziness and prevent vomiting was by lying perfectly still, and provided I did so, I actually felt fine. I could eat. I could drink. I could read. I could watch TV. I could play video games. The problem arose when I readjusted my position or needed to use the bathroom, and even sitting up in bed made me ill. I survived the bout of intensely debilitating sickness, clearly, but not without the help of some very generous people. My parents suggested I try eating a banana and drinking some gatorade as a way to restore my potassium balance, replenish my electrolytes, and rehydrate my body, all of which they thought could be culprits. My roommate at the time, Kara, and her new beau, Bailey, made sure I was okay and brought me some bananas and gatorade to try, though I felt as if they were suspicious of my illness--primarily because it was just so strange. After a full day in bed and feeling no better, another of my good friends, Allison, responded to my call for help and drove me to urgent care. Imagine, if you will, being so off-kilter that rolling over in bed caused so much dizziness that the only way your body knew how to react was by throwing up. Then imagine having to get into a car. Allison, my brave friend, managed to get me to urgent care, albeit with my arms wrapped around a bucket for the entire ride to and from the doctor's visit. Luckily enough, I had been so sick over the past 24 hours nothing was left in my digestive system to empty. Turns out I had contracted a very nasty sinus infection, most likely a hold out from the cold I had the week before. My orders were to lay low so as not to upset my equilibrium much, drink lots of water to cure my severe dehydration, take prescription-strength dramamine to help ease the nausea, and let my body take care of the rest. Over my days of recovery, I longed for something to keep my mind off of being sick. My good friends Kara, Bailey, Allison, and Dianna, another life-long friend made during my time at the University of Minnesota Duluth, helped with that by dropping by, hanging out, and checking in on me. With more free time on my hands than my friends had to give, I turned to my newly-acquired Sex and the City DVDs. It did not take long for me to see why the show had earned so many kudos, and soon Kara and I were hooked. Together, we binge-watched the entire series, instantly drawn to the comedy, romance, and drama of it all while also connecting to the power of great friendships as portrayed by the show's main characters, Carrie, Miranda, Charlotte, and Samantha. We zipped through the first two seasons with lightning speed, and yearning for more, I purchased the remaining seasons on DVD so we could finish what we started. By the very last episode of season six, I knew I had discovered another all-time favorite television show. Filled with humor, romance, drama, and heartbreak, Sex and the City proved immediately engrossing and infinitely watchable. Over the subsequent years, the show quickly became my most-watched, having seen it in its entirety several times. Even now I return to the show every summer, for like the good friends who took care of me while I was at my most sick, Carrie, Miranda, Charlotte, and Samantha never let me down. Somewhere between The Lord of the Rings and Game of Thrones rests Robert Jordan's epic high fantasy series, The Wheel of Time. Spanning fourteen volumes and one prequel, the books total more than 10,000 pages and follow the adventures of four friends who leave behind their remote village after strangers from afar and unforeseen events upend their lives. As they travel further from home, they discover foreign lands, ancient legends, hidden powers, and new peoples, which in turn force each to wrestle with their own fate and responsibilities in the looming final battle between good and evil.
When whittled down to such a basic description, The Wheel of Time sounds pretty much like every other fantasy series ever written. And, in many ways, I'm sure it is. I often compare the books to J. R. R. Tolkien's The Lord of the Rings and imagine George R. R. Martin's A Song of Ice and Fire series echoes many of the familiar genre tropes featured in Jordan's saga. Similarities can even be found in J. K. Rowling's Harry Potter books. Where The Wheel of Time differs for me, however, is in its arrant and unmatched combination of a richly detailed and expansive universe, clear and distinct in-world lore, deeply captivating and approachable narrative style, and large yet manageable cast of characters representing almost every imaginable permutation along the spectrum of human morality. Sure, those other series I mentioned above exhibit those qualities, too, but just not to the same degree. While addictive as HBO's Game of Thrones, A Song of Ice and Fire has thus far failed to capture my attention. Though clearly an inspiration for The Wheel of Time, I find everything about The Lord of the Rings bettered by Peter Jackson's movie-trilogy masterpiece. Rowling's Harry Potter may actually be the most similar in my estimation, yet seems quite juvenile in comparison at times. Actually, come to think of it, if not for Rowling's Harry Potter saga, I may never have stumbled upon Robert Jordan's first Wheel of Time volume, The Eye of the World, in the first place. Not long after devouring the first four Potter books in a single week, I developed a new hunger for fantasy novels and needed something to fill the time between the release of Rowling's books four and five. It was at work one fateful day that I noticed a colleague reading a paperback adorned with the typical artwork featured on many a fantasy cover. Intrigued, I inquired about the book, and upon my coworker's recommendation, I slipped next door to the Barnes & Noble on my break and purchased The Eye of the World. Soon thereafter I was hooked, the only downside being I had found another incomplete series. Luckily for me, Robert Jordan had already written and published the bulk of his series by that time, and with each one ranging in size from roughly 650 to 1,000 pages, plenty of chapters stood between me and the end of what books were available. I thought for sure I'd still be working through them as Jordan finished writing the remaining planned novels. Unluckily for me, though, once engrossed in the epic series, I read through them quicker than I expected, eventually catching up with the series at book nine, Winter's Heart. I found myself in a predicament with The Wheel of Time not unlike the one I had with Harry Potter. Waiting. When Tor Books published book ten, Crossroads of Twilight, I decided I could wait a little longer for the new novel to also be available in paperback. Each time I walked past the new release shelf at Barnes & Noble or Target and spotted the hardcover, though, my resilience to wait wore down. Until, one day, I gave into temptation and bought the book. I longed to return to the world of The Wheel of Time and uncover what Jordan had in store for my favorite characters. The process continued with the release of book eleven, Knife of Dreams. Sadly, Robert Jordan passed away while writing what was slated to be the twelfth and final novel in the series. Before he died and knowing he was unwell, he met with fellow fantasy scribe and Wheel of Time fan, Brandon Sanderson, and tasked him with finishing book twelve. Soon thereafter Sanderson announced that Jordan left him with too much material for one book. He estimated three more were needed to complete the story as imagined by Jordan, bringing the total number of books to fourteen epic and unbridled tomes. The final contribution, A Memory of Light, arrived in January of 2013, practically 23 years after The Eye of the World kicked things off in 1990. (There's that magic year again.) And along with the Harry Potter books, The Wheel of Time further deepened my love for reading and its genre in general, even inspiring me to start the process of writing my own series of fantasy novels. Who knows where that will lead? Along my Wheel of Time journey, I met a few other fans of the series here and there, most recently including Bryce's brother, Peter. Our first summer together, Bryce and I made a trip to his mom's house in New Jersey, where I met the rest of his family for the first time. As any new significant other being introduced to the family, I was nervous about finding things in common to talk about. When Peter and his wife Susan invited us to dinner, somehow The Wheel of Time came up in conversation, and that was our in. Peter and I found something to bond over, particularly without anyone else around who understood the depth and intensity of Jordan's world. Following that trip, Peter graciously had each subsequent Wheel of Time release shipped to me, and I plunged into books thirteen and fourteen with renewed fervor...if not out of sheer anticipation, then out of a desire to be ready to discuss them the next time we would see Peter. There really is something special that happens when people connect over a book (or series of books in this case), and I will take that feeling with me forever. I still recommend Robert Jordan's Wheel of Time series to friends and acquaintances searching for something new and immersive to read and am happy to lend anyone my copies of the books. I also remember thinking that the anthology would make excellent fodder for Hollywood, especially following the critical and commercial success of The Lord of the Rings trilogy. In recent and cautiously optimistic Wheel of Time news, the wife of the late author announced in April of 2016 that a major studio had obtained the rights to turn the books into a television series, obviously owing such a development to the critical and commercial success of HBO's Game of Thrones. Either way, the prospect of bringing The Wheel of Time to life through another medium positively excites me. Being that today is Valentine's Day, I wanted my Countdown to 40 post to focus on what I love most in life, my husband, family, and friends. Based on the title and image above, you thought I was going to say Ina Garten or Barefoot Contessa, didn't you? Not quite, but she, her television show on the Food Network, and her cookbooks symbolize that love on many levels.
One of my favorite ways to connect with those I love most is through cooking and sharing food, my fondness for which started young. I enjoyed watching my mom and dad cook for our family and helped whenever I could (and they would let me). With great happiness, I remember my family gathering around the table almost every evening to share at least one meal. My brother, sister, and I may have spent the afternoon playing nicely, arguing, picking fights, avoiding each other, or forming and changing alliances faster than the cast of Big Brother, but we always came together for supper. Even when I was a teenager and generally couldn’t be bothered to do much else with them, I still counted on seeing the family at dinner time. Food nourished our bodies, minds, and souls while also building that sense of community that only sharing a meal can provide. When I left for college right after high school, my world turned upside down (in a good way). Gone were the comforts of home and the safety of having family in close proximity for protection and support. I was therefore forced to truly become my own person for the first time in my life. As scary as that may seem, though, everyone else starting college with me was in the exact same situation. We reached out for those who shared a semblance of similarity in interests, personality, and location – often times over a meal. Before long, I had established a new family consisting of wonderful people, most of whom remain my close friends today. Like at home with my traditional family, mealtime served to strengthen the bonds of our burgeoning collegiate family. I would often call up one or more of my new friends with the sole purpose of getting together for lunch or dinner, furthering my love for food and all the joy it can bring. In the years since graduating from college, I have become much more culinarily curious as my palette has evolved and my network of family and friends grows. Trying new foods, cuisines, and restaurants provides not only great sensory experiences but also a wealth of inspiration. Additionally, I continue finding ever more joy from cooking something that brings together friends and family. Perhaps the largest source of inspiration for my culinary adventures, though, stems from my fondness for the Food Network and its celebrity chefs. For more than a decade I've tuned into the basic cable station for comfort, entertainment, and fresh ideas. In particular, I grew to enjoy cooking shows hosted by Alton Brown, Giada De Laurentiis, Bobby Flay, Anne Burrell, Alex Guarnaschelli, Ree Drummond, Trisha Yearwood, and, for a time, Paula Deen. My favorite, however, always was and remains Ina Garten and her show, Barefoot Contessa. When I met Bryce in the fall of 2009, my affinity for the Food Network and Barefoot Contessa was already well established. Like most new couples, we spent many an hour over the course of our first few dates talking about all of our passions and interests. We quickly discovered our mutual adoration for great food and drinks, new restaurant experiences, the Food Network, and Ina Garten, of course. She clearly surrounded herself with a host of fabulous gay men, and we both talked about our dream of joining her inner circle. Additionally, her call for the use of "really good" ingredients, like vanilla and olive oil, struck us both as evidence of her wealthy East Hampton lifestyle, one we both admired and envied. And her complete and utter love for her husband, Jeffrey, inspired us. As our relationship deepened, our idolization of Ina Garten continued. We recorded each new episode of her show, being sure to watch it together. When she popped up as a guest on the early seasons of The Next Food Network Star, we made sure to tune in. We also took turns presenting one another with each new Barefoot Contessa cookbook, highlighting new recipes we wanted to try and annotating the inside cover with little love notes equating our love with the love shared between Ina and Jeffrey. So, for me, the Barefoot Contessa symbolizes much more than my love of food and cooking. She, her show, and her cookbooks symbolize the life Bryce and I have built together as well as our mutual love for one another, from the earliest days of our relationship up until now. To imitate Ina's practice of asking rhetorical questions, how great is that?
What is a motion picture without its score, I ask you? Not much different, I suppose, than macaroni without cheese. Or Ben without Jerry. Or Mary-Kate without Ashley. Or Laverne without Shirley. Or Bert without Ernie. Or C-3PO without R2-D2. I could go on listing famous pairs almost indefinitely, but I think you get the point. In each example, one of the individuals can most definitely stand alone; however, something magical happens when the two join forces. Together they create a whole much greater and sometimes more powerful than the sum of their parts.
The same symbiotic relationship holds true for movies and their music. When you think about it, could you imagine Jaws without the music of John Williams? It certainly amped up the film's suspense level (...and convinced me never to swim in the ocean, but that's another story for another time). What about Braveheart without James Horner, The Lord of the Rings without Howard Shore, and American Beauty without Thomas Newman? No, I would venture to bet you could not separate a film from its score, not in a way that would keep intact a movie's connection with an audience. For, as in each example listed above, the composer interprets a film's narrative using music, thereby establishing the emotional core of its accompanying motion picture and conveying its tone. Fairly early on, I recognized the power of film scores to leave their lasting impressions on me, largely because of John Williams and his work in Jaws, Indiana Jones, and Star Wars. It was his soundtrack for Schindler's List, though, that stuck with me the most, so much so that I went out and bought the original score on CD. When listening to it, the film's haunting theme, played on violin, prompted equally haunting images and scenes from the film, eliciting many of the same emotions I experienced while watching the movie. The soundtrack evoked such an emotional response, it intensified my personal connection to the film and marked the beginning of a new appreciation for the power of movie music. Before long, my newfound appreciation for film scores turned into more of a fixation, particularly as my love for movies intensified. From that point on, it seems I could not get enough of movie music. Over the years I amassed quite the collection of film scores, both digitally and on CD. Along with the soundtrack to Schindler's List, several others join an elite group of all-time favorites, including The Last of the Mohicans (Randy Edelman and Trevor Jones), Braveheart (James Horner), The Lord of the Rings Trilogy (Howard Shore), American Beauty (Thomas Newman), Gladiator (Hans Zimmer and Lisa Gerrard), Atonement (Dario Marianelli), The English Patient (Gabriel Yared), Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban (John Williams), Elizabeth (David Hirschfielder), Shakespeare in Love (Stephen Warbeck), Brooklyn (Michael Brook), and Finding Neverland (Jan A.P. Kaczmarek). Beyond and within those full scores, many individual pieces stand out in memory and importance, like "The Park on Piano" from Finding Neverland, which served as the processional music for our wedding ceremony. Additionally, about 10 years ago, my love of movie music even inspired me to create a set of compilation CDs for a good friend of mine, Carrie. The resulting collection spanned twelve discs and featured many of what I considered to be the greatest film score selections at the time, grouped according to quality, mood, or emotion and showcasing just how deep my passion for movie music ran. Since undertaking that project, I've continued to expand my collection of motion picture scores, further highlighting the importance movie music plays in my life and sense of cultural identity. And because I couldn't spend an entire post waxing on about such wonderful pieces of music and not share them with you, below you will find a Spotify playlist with highlights from the 12-disc collection I mentioned as well as several more recent pieces that have joined my iTunes library during the intervening years. In today's political climate, when division and refusal to compromise reign supreme, I long for the idealism of Jed Bartlet and his administration. Yes, I realize full well The West Wing fictionalized the president and his staff from a left-leaning perspective, but they managed to hold steadfast to the tenets of their ideology while recognizing the need to reach across party lines and allow for some give and take when necessary. Politicians on the show may not have agreed on every issue, in fact they often argued vociferously over contentious points, yet they listened to one another instead of speaking at and over one another. Believe it or not, they actually tried to understand where each other was coming from, an approach that would be all too welcome in 2017.
Regardless of which side of the political fence you fall on, such empathy and patience would be refreshing, wouldn't it? We citizens of this planet really are not all that different, needing clean air to breathe, nutritious food to eat, and sufficient shelter to protect us. Sometime over the last decade or so, though, we Americans seem to have lost any sense of common ground as we transitioned from championing compromise and civil discourse to demonizing both as character flaws or worse--as flat out weaknesses. Instead, our society celebrates rigidity and considers sticking to your guns, no mater what, a sign of strength. It's as if backing down from an argument, acknowledging the validity of someone else's perspective, and/or admitting when one is in the wrong somehow equates to failure. Perhaps superhero movies are to blame, which until recently perpetuated the falsehood that life fits nicely into good versus evil. Or maybe the end of the Cold War challenged how we think of right versus wrong. The impossible dichotomy of one over the other, however, fails to take into consideration the existence of any variables, and variables persist in every place, time, and situation. Resident of the United States versus Thailand? Variable. Born in 1977 versus 2017? Variable. Learned to speak German instead of Spanish? Variable. Learned to speak both German and Spanish? Variable. Born gay rather than straight? Variable. Identify as Christian and not Buddhist? Variable. Grew up in Minnesota versus Texas? Variable. Life exists in and endless set of variables, and so it ends up somewhere along the hard-to-define spectrum between good and evil, right and wrong. Life fills that murky space between two inadequately defined binary opposites, no matter how you describe them. Just like no two people share the same fingerprints, no two people share the same life experiences. That also means no two people fit perfectly into a neatly arranged box that conforms to the expectations of society. Growing up in the historically "blue" state of Minnesota, you might think the roots of my liberalism formed there, and in many ways, they did. After all, I grew up and spent much of my life in the land of MPR and A Prairie Home Companion. Still, conservatism surrounded me living in rural Minnesota, and I don't mean that negatively or as something I am ashamed of, it was simply a fact of life. I could see and feel the very real tension between urban and rural America that has since come to dominate much of our national dialogue, particularly when my small-town high school invited students from a high school in the Twin Cities for a symposium on diversity. Some parents were so upset by this that they kept their kids home from school that day, a decision and form of protest I could not understand. When news of the reason behind student absences spread through the school well before our guests arrived, all I could think about was how those teenagers would feel if they found out. It saddened me, and I made it a point to attend as many of those sessions as I could and make those students feel welcome. Nevertheless, we remain almost singularly focused on Republican or Democrat, Left or Right, Liberal or Conservative. All of those political qualifiers are labels we identify with, not labels we need in order to identify ourselves. Still, our culture demands that we choose one over the other, and I can honestly say that I considered myself a Republican for much of my adolescent years, primarily because that's the political party I thought my parents preferred. Things started to change for me after I traveled to Germany during my senior year of high school. Walking down the streets of a city more than an ocean away, I began to see my life as smaller and less significant. I discovered I wasn't so special, in the grand scheme of things. Suddenly, the world outside my small hometown and everyone in it felt less anonymous and remote, and I felt ignorant and naive. Leaving home for college and striking out on my own afterwards only intensified those feelings. I had a difficult time connecting with and defining my changing political views. Until I discovered The West Wing, that is. An instant fan of the show's whip-smart banter and unconventional narrative style, I saw my personal beliefs reflected more and more in the characters of Bartlet, CJ Cregg, Bradley Whitford, Toby Ziegler, Donna Moss, Leo McGarry, Josh Lyman, Sam Seaborn, and Charlie Young. A personal highlight of mine is the season premiere episode Aaron Sorkin and the series' creators ran in the fall of 2001 following 9/11. In the episode, the White House deftly confronts the very real threat of terrorism without equating entire countries, regions, or religions as blanket terrorists. (Remember the variables thing I mentioned earlier? This particular episode tackled the issue honestly by portraying a certain amount of natural tension, fear, and uncertainty and not allowing that tension, fear, and uncertainty to cloud the judgment of characters and transform into unwarranted prejudice.) While The West Wing certainly did not turn me into a liberal as this post might imply, the show helped me to better define my own political leanings and beliefs and recognize not everyone thinks the same way--and that's okay. So far I've thoroughly enjoyed examining the elements of pop culture that provide some point of reference in my life. Regardless of their impact, writing about them has been both challenging and fun. The posts about Entertainment Weekly, Schindler's List, Jagged Little Pill, and The Velvet Rope proved especially cathartic and meaningful, as I never sat down to put my thoughts and feelings about them into such coherent reflections before. Considering the depth, gravity, and importance of my three most recent posts, though, I figured the time had come to lighten things up a bit and focus on pure, unadulterated fun. What better way to accomplish that than with Super Mario Bros, one of the all-time great video game franchises?
In their various adventures and iterations, the constantly evolving Italian plumber and his friends provided countless hours of fun throughout much of my life (and still do), accompanying me all the way from my preteen years up into my late thirties. I could always count on them to bring the fun. The best thing about my favorite Mario games? They brought together family and friends for a bit of innocent, good-natured competition. Well, mostly innocent. And usually good-natured. Like with any game that pits players against one another, there were heated verbal exchanges at times, but they were relatively rare and never transformed into physical altercations. Nevertheless, we always enjoyed ourselves and the time we spent immersed in the worlds of Mario, and here I highlight a few of my favorites: Super Mario Bros. 3 (NES): The first two Super Mario Bros. for the original Nintendo Entertainment System ruled, no doubt. But #3 brought things to a whole new level by giving Mario and Luigi a Tanooki Suit (aka the Flying Raccoon Suit). My younger siblings and I spent many winter afternoon hours plodding our way through the game until one of us would get frustrated and quit or the game system would unexpectedly shut down. Take out the cartridge and blow--that'll fix everything! Super Mario World (SNES): My best friend in high school, Jonathan of CJJ5 fame, and I played this Super Nintendo game incessantly for a while. Who could blame us? Yoshi made everything more interesting. Plus I had a TV in my room at that time, so who could stop us? MarioKart 64 (N64): A racing game featuring Mario, his friends, AND his foes? Yes, please! I swear my college friends and I played this game for a solid decade, even after new systems and updated versions came out. No new offering could ever beat the Nintendo 64 versions of Rainbow Road and Wario Stadium, though. Only time and skill helped master those boards. And Donkey Kong. He was my go-to guy. Mario Party (N64/GameCube/Wii): As mature adults in our late twenties and early thirties, my friends Dianna, Allison, Kara, and I were known to spend many an evening engrossed in a lively round of this board and video game hybrid. We tended to gravitate toward the mini games, each of us gifted in our own unique specialties. Sometimes frustration with an outcome would prompt a curse word or two to escape from one of our mouths. Normally not an issue, except when my niece and nephew, Brittani and Jordan, were visiting for a weekend. Jordan chided us after a particularly salty evening as he proclaimed, "No swearing!" On more occasions than I can recount, we laughed so hard we cried. New Super Mario Bros. (Wii): I never really got into the open-world concept of the Nintendo 64, Game Cube, and early Wii platform versions of Super Mario Bros. I understood the potential of Mario unbound by the constraints of side-scroll games, but they never drew me in. When Nintendo released an updated version of a more traditional Mario game for the Wii, I knew instantly it would be a hit. Bryce and I spent much of our first summer together mastering every level, going back through each on diligently to get all three coins. I think he was supposed to be working on his dissertation, but neither one of us could resist the throwback nostalgia and infinite fun of the New Super Mario Bros. Such great times and memories over the course of three decades! It's easy to understand why I cherish the Super Mario games to this day. Not all my favorite pop-culture obsessions served as catalysts for introspection and helped me figure out and define myself. Some, like the television series Pushing Daisies, I simply fell in love with.
The show follows the adventures of Ned, the Pie Maker, who possesses a secret and magical ability: he can bring dead things back to life momentarily just by touching them. When he touches the reanimated person or animal again, they are dead forever. Of course, Ned's unique power also proves to be a curse, and because a natural balance exists between life and death, anything he brings back to life can only be alive again for one minute. Any longer than that and another nearby living creature dies. Intriguing, right? It only gets better from there. Emerson Cod, a private detective, discovers Ned's secret and blackmails Ned to help solve murder mysteries around town. It's the perfect premise. Ned can bring the victim back to life, ask her or him who the murderer was, and then send the person back to the land of the dead. No harm, no foul. BUT then Ned's childhood sweetheart, Charlotte 'Chuck' Charles, turns up dead. When confronted with having to make Chuck dead again, Ned could not bring himself to do it--even though keeping her alive meant the two star-crossed lovers could never touch. Chuck's discovery of her untimely death and subsequent un-death, her eccentrically agoraphobic synchronized swimming star aunts, and the always pining-for-Ned character of Olive Snook eventually lead to the unraveling of a larger, over-arching narrative spanning the two short seasons of Pushing Daisies. In a word, brilliant. Filled with quirky characters, over-the-top murder mysteries, and engaging storylines, not to mention Jim Dale's perfect narration, Pushing Daisies remains one of the most whimsically original and beautifully designed shows I've ever seen. I'm not bitter that the writer's strike interrupted the show's first season in 2007 and seemingly jettisoned its momentum, ultimately leading to the show's cancellation midway through season two in 2009. No, not bitter. Not. One. Bit. I couldn't think of a more fitting way to officially kick off my Countdown to 40 than with Entertainment Weekly, a publication that has fueled my proclivity for best-of lists and kept me in the pop culture loop for more than 20 years.
After moving to west-central Minnesota from suburban Saint Paul, I felt acutely aware of how rural and disconnected from any sense of culture I was. Sure, we went to the movies and watched television, but as an over-dramatic and angsty teenager, I thought our new geographical location severely limited our access to what I considered the outside world. After all, I thoroughly enjoyed and had grown accustomed to the variety of programming offered by cable television in the Twin Cities area. The four local stations, or sometimes five, depending on the weather and position of the antenna, therefore just didn't cut it. Then there was our town's cinema. Though it gradually increased to include seven screens by the time I graduated high school, only three existed when we moved to the area. Adding insult to injury, many friends and relatives, including my older sister, still lived near our old hometown, and trips to visit them only exacerbated my sense of cultural isolation. Looking back, it's not surprising, then, that I often romanticized living a more suburban lifestyle, which would bring with it many of the cultural opportunities such a lifestyle could provide. When Entertainment Weekly came along, it superficially granted me access to the sense of suburban belonging I so badly wanted, and suddenly I felt much less alone and culturally uninformed. I eagerly anticipated the arrival of each weekly issue, without which I may not have heard about or seen films like Dazed and Confused, Trainspotting, or Velvet Goldmine. Nor would I have given Gilmore Girls or Sex and the City a chance. But the magazine also did more for me and my sense of self than I ever realized at the time, something subtle and perhaps wholly unintentional. In covering all things popular culture and generally throwing its support behind the entertainment industry, Entertainment Weekly introduced and reinforced the idea that being gay was okay, if not normal, and homophobia simply was not. For a not-yet-out teenager--heck, for a not-yet-aware teenager--those sentiments made a huge impact, even if only subconsciously at the time. I still read my Entertainment Weekly every week, though I've transitioned from print to electronic copies over time, and consistently rely on the movie reviews, often agreeing with them before ever seeing (or not seeing) a film. It doesn't hurt, either, that the magazine always seemed sympathetic if not approving of Janet Jackson. Still, the year-end double issue remains my favorite annual EW offering, primarily because it recounts the best (and worst) in the year's pop culture releases. A no-brainer for a pop-culture geek and list enthusiast, right? |
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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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