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.
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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. I love Pixar movies. The end.
In all seriousness, I could probably and justifiably start and end this post with only those two sentences to accompany the graphic above, but that would do little justice to the pantheon of Pixar features I adore so much. Stopping there would also fail to provide an explanation for why the post covers a collection of films rather than a single stand-out. When Toy Story debuted in theaters during the fall of 1995, I was still adjusting to my freshman year experience. Moving away from home and finding my way through those first few months at college helped nudge me further along my path of self discovery. While continually expanding my knowledge of the world around me and discovering more about myself, I also retained several core tenets of my identity that developed over the preceding 18 years. One of those essential attributes was my love for Disney movies, a truth I established early in posts about Bedknobs and Broomsticks and The Lion King. So, because previews for Toy Story advertised the film as a joint venture with Disney, I was initially excited, even if Pixar was a relatively unknown studio at the time. As Disney released more information about Toy Story, I will confess one thing had me a bit worried--Pixar's well-publicized breaking with the Disney Renaissance film convention of characters breaking into song, a convention I had grown accustomed to and loved dearly. I need not have worried. Pixar's groundbreaking first computer-animated film exceeded all expectations. Toy Story proved winsome, heartwarming, and beyond infinitely entertaining. (See what I did there?) With a single film, the studio's creative team effectively changed the landscape of animated motion pictures and established the medium as worthy of well-developed stories that appeal to adults on multiple levels and every bit as much as they engross children. With the subsequent releases of A Bug's Life, Toy Story 2, Monsters Inc, Finding Nemo, The Incredibles, Cars, Ratatouille, Wall-E, Up, and Toy Story 3, Pixar delivered a string of near-perfect and brilliant movies, raising the bar for live-action and animated films alike and setting ridiculously high expectations for themselves (perhaps unfairly). In fact, prior to the release of Cars 2 in 2011, each new contribution to Pixar's oeuvre either improved upon the achievements of its predecessors or further solidified the studio's foundation with pure and honest emotion, poignancy, imaginative storytelling, and beautiful animation. Originally, I planned on writing today's post strictly about my favorite Pixar film, Finding Nemo. But then I got to thinking, if I only focus on Finding Nemo, what happens to Toy Story 3? I decided, okay, I'll write about that instead. But wait. What about Up? Maybe I should pick Up. No--that leaves out A Bug's Life, and I can't leave out A Bug's Life! I'd be fired, courtesy of Tuck & Roll. I mustn't forget Inside Out, though, either. I loved that movie. And Wall-E. How could I write about a Pixar movie and not include Wall-E? Or Ratatouille? Or The Incredibles? My gosh, I almost forgot about The Incredibles! Not to mention Monsters Inc and Cars. Jeez. What was I thinking, picking just one of Pixar's films? Clearly, then, when I say Finding Nemo is my favorite, I mean that very loosely, and primarily only make the distinction because the summer when Brave came out, Bryce and I challenged each other to rank all of the Pixar films released at that time. Afterwards, we compared our lists. Turns out the exercise proved more difficult than it seemed at the outset. We both agreed on which two movies rounded out the bottom of the list--Cars 2 and Brave--but the remaining 11 movies were practically interchangeable, with mere minutiae separating them. And that was before Pixar added Inside Out and Finding Dory to their arsenal. Which, at the end of the day, is why I couldn't settle on just one of their outstanding offerings for today's post. Downfall first hit theaters in the United States during 2005, following its release abroad in 2004. Advertisements and previews touted the film as the first German-made film starring German actors to depict the final days of the Nazi regime from within Adolf Hitler's Berlin bunker. (A claim I later discovered ignores certain historical facts.) Largely based on the memoirs of one of Hitler's personal secretaries, Traudl Junge, and a book written by historian Joachim Fest, Downfall also promised to provide a rather intimate portrait of Hitler, dangerously bordering on sympathetic. My predilection for films dealing with World War 2 and Nazi Germany practically dictated I would see it. What I did not realize at the time was how influential Oliver Hirschbiegel's motion picture would become in just a few short years.
Watching Downfall for the first time, I immediately started questioning its presentation of Hitler as a man rather than a monster. Like you, I knew what history says about the author of Mein Kampf and man behind the Final Solution--he was a xenophobic demagogue who exploited fears, employed powerful propaganda, and utilized an armed paramilitary to coerce ordinary citizens to commit extraordinary crimes. So it should not surprise you that scenes hinting at Hitler's softer side made me rather uncomfortable, whether through his love for his dog, his romance with Eva Braun, his gentleness towards Junge, or his sadness at being abandoned by Albert Speer. Why? Because those scenes challenge the image of Hitler solely as a monster, and I wondered how someone responsible for the systematic extermination of so many millions of people could also possibly be the guy next door. When finding myself sympathizing with the character of Hitler on screen, even if only for a scene or two, I wondered if that meant I connected to Hitler on some level. And what does that mean? Could I be Hitler? Perhaps the filmmakers intended Downfall to pose such questions to audiences, a strong statement to be sure. Still, the exercise proved not all that pleasant and therefore resulted in an unsettled feeling, at least for a while. In the following months and years as the film's subject matter sank in more deeply, my perspective changed a little, and the thing that stood out to me most about Hirschbiegel's Downfall was not its presentation of Hitler as the man but rather its portrayal of Germans as victims of National Socialism. This theme of victimhood appeared perhaps most provocatively in one of the most disturbing scenes of the film. Frau Goebbels enters her children’s sleeping quarters, where they are reading a nighttime story. With the help of a doctor, she administers a sleeping draft to her six children, telling them it’s to help them stay healthy in the dampness of the bunker. Having successfully drugged all six children, Frau Goebbels then wishes them a good night’s sleep and leaves them in the darkness of their cement room. She returns to the sleeping children a short time later, and one by one Frau Goebbels inserts a cyanide pill into each child’s mouth, killing her own children because she cannot fathom they live in a world without National Socialism. I made several important observations because of this scene. By denying her children the chance to live in a Germany free of Hitler and the Nazi Party, Frau Goebbels chose ideology over life. The children, in a way, symbolized the German conscience, unable to combat the oppressive influence of the Nazi party, and the murder of the children therefore represented the killing of German innocence, in which fanatical Nazi leaders misled the German public. Narratives like this one piqued my interest and inspired a certain degree of historical inquiry. I wanted to know, how could Germans now claim victimization, especially considering those specifically persecuted by the regime? How accurately does the film portray the German wartime experience? What are the implications of placing German civilians among Hitler's victims? How do Downfall and several other post-2000 German films that depict Germans as victims fit into German society's larger, over-arching process of coming to terms with their Nazi past (ie. A Woman in Berlin and Sophie Scholl: The Final Days)? These questions about victimization in the postwar period eventually formed the base of my thesis research, which centers on the confluence of history and popular film as purveyors of cultural memory. And while I certainly recognized the problems posed by Downfall when I left the theater that day in 2005, I had no idea it would help lead me to graduate school and a Masters of Arts in History. 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. 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? Confession: I have not read a single novel in George R. R. Martin's Game of Thrones series, though not for a want of trying. Over the past couple of years, I opened the first ebook on my Kindle multiple times, read a few chapters, and promptly moved on to another book or issue of Entertainment Weekly. Months later I'd pick up my Kindle and repeat the whole cycle from start to finish, never venturing more than a chapter or two further than before. Martin's books have simply been unable to pull me in despite my general interest in the fantasy genre.
The adaptation of Game of Thrones for television, on the other hand, proved a completely different story altogether. My husband, Bryce, and I jumped on the bandwagon rather late and started watching the series while HBO aired season five for the first time. Friends and family members remarked how excited they were for us, wishing they could go back and experience the show from its beginning, too. I quickly grew to understand why they felt that way. The captivating characters and absorbing narratives drew us into the engrossing fantasy world almost immediately, and we devoured the first two seasons in a matter of weeks. The intensity of season two forced us to take a short break, but less than a month later, we found ourselves delving into season three on our quest to catch up in time for the April 2016 season six premiere. Why so quickly? Partly because of the show itself, which compels audiences to binge watch, but mostly because of good friends in our current hometown. During our marathon viewing of the first five seasons, Bryce and I discovered several in our friend circle were also hooked on the series. We soon decided in the months leading up to the season six premiere that we should take turns hosting viewing parties and watch the new episodes together. Sometimes we'd start Sunday evenings with dinner beforehand, other times we arrived just as the show got underway, enjoying simple snacks and beverages. Regardless, not a week went by without lively debate and discussion about what happened, what might happen in the next episode, and what the episode could mean for the story further down the road. We'd share our reactions to the episode's most surprising twists and turns, introduce new theories based on observations or outside research, and summarily reject theories we posited in the weeks before. Game of Thrones has become, therefore, more than a show--it is an experience and a weekly highlight. And while I find the portrayal of Martin's characters, kingdoms, and storylines enthralling, what I love so much about the show is how we now share it with friends. You might think that after a fall into the Game of Thrones universe so deep and complete I would be able to move forward in the books. Unfortunately for me, that still has not been the case. One day, perhaps I'll finish the first book and tackle the subsequent volumes. For now, I'm content to immerse myself in the TV version, and I very much look forward to restarting our weekly viewing parties when season seven starts later this year.
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. 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. |
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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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