From The Logs Of Captain Bartholomew Burgundy

It took nearly a month to sort things out, but I can finally reveal the contents of a bottle sent to me by Captain Bartholomew Burgundy containing several pictures from last month's Buccaneer Ball.

Unfortunately, water leaking into the bottle washed out the good captain's notes, so I'm forced to add my own commentary. I could wait until he returns to port, but I don't want to delay things any longer.

Captain Burgundy and his esteemed lady friend, Madame Noire, posing for a pre-ball memento.  Notice the charming glow from her countenance.  I gather she is most happy to see and dance with him once more after more than a year at sea.

A tribute to America before the festivities begin.  Captain Burgundy may serve England, but he's the most patriotic privateer I've ever seen.

Three cheers for the USA! HUZZAH! HUZZAH! HUZZAH!

As always, a procession kicks off the merriment.  From the way Captain Burgundy holds his lady's hand, it looks like he has spent much time in the ballrooms of Europe.  One wouldn't expect such courtly gestures from a scurvy knave.  Of course, Burgundy was never that.  I also notice he's wearing a different weskit (vest) this time around, polishing up his act.

A circle dance, a time to prance, for the ball, one and all.

HUZZAH!

Captain Burgundy didn't include many photos of the livelier dances, but I suspect that was by design. Here we see him showing off more of his courtly dancing with his favorite partner. I hear he enjoys the minuet immensely. I'm not sure if that's what he's dancing here, but it's certainly something graceful to honor Madame.

Gentleman that he is, he saves a few dances for other ladies.

And of course, he practices his honors.

I'm beginning to think Captain Burgundy isn't even a privateer, much less a pirate. How can someone who enjoys dancing so much be an effective raider of Spanish ships? I'll have to ask him the next time I see him. For now, realize he was surrounded by many ruffians and knaves who had a Jolly Rodger's good time, and you can see more pictures of them here, including a curious cover of Buccaneer's Quarterly which shows the Good Captain facing a bit of, well, trouble on board.

Reel To Reel: Super 8

Close encounters of the Kodachrome kind.

Going Rate: Worth full price
Starring: Kyle Chandler, Elle Fanning
Rated: PG-13
Red Flags: Language, sci-fi violence, some gross scenes

Producer Stephen Spielberg had to see a little of himself in this film, which he produced for writer and director J.J. Abrams. Make that a lot of himself. It's Close Encounters Of The Third Kind mashed up with The Goonies and multiplied by Cloverfield. Spielberg has to be reliving the aspirations of his youth set off when he saw Lawrence of Arabia and knew he wanted to direct.

I can't remember anybody making Super 8 independent films when I was in junior high. By 1979, when this movie takes place, my gadget-loving father had already ditched our Elmo 8mm sound camera for a weighty Quasar VHS portable. It threatened to put grooves in his shoulders, and it cost a small fortune, but you didn't have to develop anything, and you didn't have to worry about shooting tight. So please forgive me if I find the concept of a bunch of 1979 youngsters focused enough to make a zombie-horror film with "production value" a bit beyond my grasp. I wonder how many kids know what production value means. I also puzzle how a kid from a large rambunctious family acquires enough money, skill, and quiet time to learn old-fashioned film editing. That could be a movie in itself.

But back to the movie I'm reviewing. It opens in a small Ohio town which has just lost a worker in a factory accident. The victim is the mother of Joe Lamb (Jason Courtney), who withdraws into a cold existence. His father Jackson (Chandler), a deputy sheriff, doesn't know much about parenting. He would rather shove the boy off to camp than let him help his friend Charles' (Riley Griffiths) moviemaking efforts for a film festival. Joe and Charles and their buddies are a studio in sneakers, complete with sound, make-up and special effects departments. I bet you they even know about three-point lighting.

As the kids are filming a scene at a train station, they unwittingly become witnesses to a massive derailment, and it's the most spectacular one I've seen on film since The Fugitive. What's more, in one of those derailed cars is some kind of mysterious payload. Once it's unleashed, strange things start happening all over town, making the kids' horror flick look like a family movie. As you would expect, the military moves in and starts covering things up, leading to the inevitable quest to learn the truth.

It's very easy to let a film full of kids get loud and out of control by themselves, without any effects work. Director J.J. Abrams keeps this from happening, though, and the film becomes a creepy, effective thriller until it hits a sentimental moment that evokes memories of another Spielberg film. I dare not say which one.

Overall, though, I highly enjoyed Super 8 and its love of, well, sci-fi movies. Abrams and Spielberg wouldn't have come together on this movie if they didn't feel a need to create a kind of entertainment that honored their roots. This film does a fine job.

As a bonus, Paramount and Apple have released a Super 8 app for iPhones, iPods, and iPads that lets you make digital movies with the retro look of those old home cameras. Neat stuff!

Reel To Reel: Cars 2

We're running a little hot tonight.

Going Rate: Worth full price (3D not necessary)
Starring: Voices Of: Owen Wilson, Larry The Cable Guy, Michael Caine, Eddie Izzard, Emily Mortimer, John Turturro
Rated: G (but may be too intense for younger children)
Red Flags: Cartoon action gunshots, some mild toilet humor

The original Cars took the idea of an alternate motor-personified universe and made it fun and nostalgic. The sequel expands on that idea and runs around the world with it, producing a film that's visually exciting even if it's not always heartwarming. Cars 2 is a tribute to James Bond's Aston Martin, a salute to imports, and a loving tweak of two notorious clunkers, both made by the now-defunct American Motors Corporation: the dreaded Pacer and Gremlin. I think I also spotted a Pinto in there somewhere.

Our hero from the first film, Lightning McQueen (Wilson) is back home in Radiator Springs, Arizona (loosely related to Peach Springs, Arizona, somewhere north of I-40 near Kingman, in case you forgot). He's resting his wheels after a winning streak on the racetrack, only to face a new racing challenge: Sir Miles Axelrod (Izzard) has come up with a clean, green fuel, and he wants to show it off in a series of international races. When Italian formula-one Francesco Bernoulli (Turturro) taunts McQueen for sitting the series out, tow-truck pal Mater (Larry) jumps to McQueen's defense, and the Piston Cup champ decides to put his R&R on hold.

As McQueen and Mater head off to start the series, skullduggery -- or, motorduggery -- is afoot. British spy car agent Finn McMissile (Caine) picks up on a secret weapon in development by a gang of thug clunkers headed up by Professor Z (Thomas Kretschmann). McMissile, who has enough gadgets and toys to make Bond's ride jealous, hooks up with fellow operative Holly Shiftwell (Mortimer) in Japan to receive a secret device from an American agent. The operation goes sideways, and the agent ends up slipping the device onto the undercarriage of Mater. That sets off an espionage thriller suitable for Spy Kids audiences but nuanced enough for adults to enjoy -- the Pixar touch.

It's Mater who has to carry this film as he takes his bumbling stick-shifter-from-the-sticks act on the road as a involuntary secret agent. This could get very old, very fast, if it wasn't for the chemistry among Mater, McMissile and Shiftwell. The film also takes us to car-populated Japan, Italy and England, which are full of colorful riffs on familiar people and places. You have to admire director John Lassiter's love of automobiles; he finds personalities in oodles of makes and models and matches them to the characters flawlessly. Even the Pope and the Queen of England get customized rides in Lassiter's universe.

The original Cars was a parable about friendship. So is this one, but not as heavily. It mainly just wants to race and have fun, and what's wrong with that? Not Pixar enough? I think that's the main problem people will have with this film. Let us not forget, though, that Pixar remains Hollywood's most consistent hit factory. They have yet to release a bona-fide clunker. That's more than I can say for the auto industry.

Hey Dad, It Flies!

My brother and I briefly flirted with model rocketry back in 1986, several months after the Space Shuttle Challenger disaster, and not too long after a visit to NASA's Kennedy Space Center. Dad bought us both a starter kit from Estes, consisting of an easy-to-assemble rocket, launch base, igniters and a couple of engines. The starter rocket came together easily at the kitchen table. The pre-made plastic tail assembly spared us from messing with glue and triangulating all three fins in their proper locations.

"Watch out for those o-rings," Mother said, referring to Challenger's fatal flaw.

For our launch area, we picked a field behind Raytown, Missouri's Robinson Elementary, home to a baseball diamond, a couple of soccer fields, and now, three amateur rocketeers. October Sky it wasn't. Neither was it the Fourth of July. These were no bottle rockets, which tend to explode on the pad just seconds after they're lit. Our launch devices each consisted of a guide rod on a tripod base wired to a battery-powered ignition button several feet away. A key-activated lamp signaled all systems were go. All we had to do was push and play.

Model rocket igniters are not up to NASA standards. You insert the engine into the rocket's tail, and then you carefully insert the igniter, which is connected with a pair of alligator clips. If all goes well, we have liftoff. But many times that igniter burns in half and it's back to the pad for troubleshooting. Still, it beats using a lighter and a punk.

We had success from the get-go: at least two successful launches after at least a couple of misfires. Then came recovery. Model rocket engines include an ejection charge in the top which pushes out a parachute (or sometimes just a plastic ribbon), and the challenge is to get under the spacecraft before it gets snagged in the trees.

I made my second launch of the day using a basic engine -- low altitude, no frills. It shot up high enough to satisfy my expectations, but then the wind caught hold of it. That first rocket drifted into the tree line and never dropped through it.

Dad observed the disaster. "I'll get you another one," he said without hesitation.

I went on to build at least two more rockets, even getting to launch one of them in Physical Science class during my freshman year at Raytown South High School. I earned some easy extra credit points for providing my own launcher. Thanks, Dad!

Model rockets, by the way, are very cheap to build. Ten bucks will get you something you can launch over and over. Forty dollars will set you up with a complete kit. That's about what a family spends for a movie night out, including refreshments and gas.

We never returned to the grassy fields of Robinson, and I never built another rocket after 9th Grade, but the legend, as people say, lives on.

And if you have a red-and-white model rocket you found by the ball field near Robinson School, may I have it back, please?

Those Darned Activist Judges

Last week, while wildfires and talk of one congressman's private parts dominated the news cycle, the Supreme Court issued an opinion [PDF] clarifying the Armed Career Criminal Act. The majority ruling says using a vehicle to flee from police counts as a "violent felony" under the act, which is targeted at curbing repeat offenders. I was struck, however, by Justice Antonin Scalia's dissent, which reads in part:

We face a Congress that puts forth an ever-increasing volume of laws in general, and of criminal laws in particular. It should be no surprise that as the volume increases, so do the number of imprecise laws. And no surprise that our indulgence of imprecisions that violate the Constitution encourages imprecisions that violate the Constitution. Fuzzy, leave-the-details-to-be-sorted-out-by-the-courts legislation is attractive to the Congressman who wants credit for addressing a national problem but does not have the time (or perhaps the votes) to grapple with the nitty-gritty. In the field of criminal law, at least, it is time to call a halt.

So here we have Justice Scalia calling out Congress for passing flawed laws that courts have to clean up later. The delicious irony is that this undercuts Conservative arias -- which Scalia and his right-wing brethren have sung many times before -- against judicial activism. Here, Justice Scalia says the problem seems to be Congressional activism, which is where it all begins in the first place.

So what's it gonna be? Either Congress passes more precise, Constitutionally-sound laws (and actually reading the full text of those laws would be a good start), or judges have no choice but to continue their custodial duties. Those folks in the black robes who have to deal with a stack of cases arising from flaws or omissions some lawmaker didn't have the time or stones to address don't deserve the scarlet "A" for "Activist."

(Tricorn tip to SCOTUSblog for alerting me to this.)

The Pirate Prom

And finally this week, I have to show you this clip, which answers the question, "Suppose a group of pirates held a prom?"

The Plundering Pirates of Paradise did, and they came up with a night of eclectic dancing that included salsa, disco, and a Virginia Reel.



I can't say we'll be doing the Electric Slide at the Buccaneer's Ball, but you can count on a jig... or maybe two.

Dance on!

The Pirate Crashers

What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas, or so we're told. But then I came across this video snippet from a wedding reception at Treasure Island in Vegas (only they call it "TI" now). What follows is an anachronistic display of old circle dance to modern tunes. Furthermore, the YouTube uploader says the pirates weren't officially invited to the ceremony.

You were warned. Hit it.

Jack Be Nimble?

If someone had staged Pirates Of The Caribbean as a contemporary ballet, perhaps it might have looked like this noble attempt, staged at the Mid Valley Mega Mall... wherever that is.



But I prefer the Pirates of Penzance, Gilbert & Sullivan's classic. This clip features Kevin Cline:



Eat your heart out, Jack Sparrow!

New Kids On The Ship

Now in our celebration of piratical prancing preceding the Buccaneer's Ball venture to the Western Pacific, where we find some Korean buccaneers have created that new teen-heartthrob sensation: The Backwater Boys.

The Boat Is Rockin', So Don't Bother Knockin'

You wouldn't think a bunch of mangy seafarers would have enough discipline to pull off an interpretive display of movement, would you?

I don't know the name of this group from Dover, but they defy the averages:



Ditto for this group, the Arts In Motion Irish Dance Class:



I'm sure we'll see some inspired jigs at the Buccaneer's Ball!

Do A Little Dance, Raid A Little Ship, Get Down Tonight

Ahoy! With the Buccaneer's Ball quickly approaching, it's time for another week of dance tributes to pirates.

We know that some of them were gentlemen, but many weren't. We also know that their fleetness of foot did not lend itself well to artistic purposes, beyond jigging and maybe a few reels.

But this bunch, the Oak Mountain Craftsmen, can really shake their booty!



And for an encore, have you ever seen a pirate break dance?



Oh to be on stage and be swooned at by a giddy group of young ladies... but that's off topic.

Reel To Reel: X-Men: First Class

Groovy powers, baby!

Going Rate: Worth matinee price
Starring: James McAvoy, Michael Fassbender, Kevin Bacon, Rose Byrne, Jennifer Lawrence
Rated: PG-13
Red Flags: Action violence, mild profanity, some mild sexuality

My admiration of the X-Men franchise comes not from its action but from its altruism. Its world of mutants vs. humans illuminates the nature of prejudice and xenophobia. It raises tough questions about terrorist threats versus individual liberties and gives the brain plenty to chew on.

This prequel delves into that somewhat, but its main fascination is tinkering with one of the scariest chapters in American history: the 1962 Cuban Missile Crisis, which drove the U.S. and the U.S.S.R. to the brink of nuclear war. X-Men: First Class retools it as a covert showdown involving maniacal mutants set on annihilating normal humanity so mutants can rule over it, uninhibited by prejudices, governments, or well, just about anything else.

The picture opens in the middle of another dark historical chapter: the roundup of Jews in Nazi Germany. A young Magneto, Erik (Fassbender), sees his mother being herded into a concentration camp and notices, in his anger, he can bend the gate that is closing behind her. The Nazis capitalize on his power and begin to refine it. Meanwhile in England, Young Professor X Charles Xavier (McAvoy) notices there's a stranger in the kitchen who looks like his mother. Only it's not his mother, it's the shape-shifting blue bombshell Raven (Lawrence). And Charles can tell just by reading her mind.

The young Xavier grows up to be a hip professor in 1960's London, authoring theses on mutation and cruising chicks in a way Austin Powers would love. This whole film at times reminded me of a mash-up between the Austin Powers movies and Mad Men, with a bit of The Avengers thrown in. A CIA operative comes to Xavier for help when she notices plans for world domination forming in the back room of a Las Vegas club. They involve a high-ranking U.S. officer and a devilish creature who can disappear into thin air in the blink of an eye. Erik is on his own mission, setting out to kill the Nazi doctor Sebastian Shaw (Bacon) who built up his metal-warping skills while killing his mother.

These two missions come together, and so do Charles and Erik in a tenuous friendship laced with questions about men versus mutants. Will mutants be ultimately feared or accepted? Will the be assimilated into society or exterminated? Along the way, we're introduced to several new mutants, including one who can evolve on the spot and an oversized dragonfly. They will team up with Charles to form a squad charged with saving the world. Not bad for a first assignment.

I liked the picture's 60's vibe, and I liked its balancing of ideology and action. It's not at the level of Batman Begins, but it's there, and it's palpable. The film leaves some more room for development down the line, and I'm sure we'll see another sequel or spin-off film. Hugh Jackman, by the way, makes a brief cameo as Wolverine. But don't expect much.

X-Men: First Class is satisfying in that it makes you want more. You know that these characters will grow up, grow older, and become more interesting over time. Then again, you've already seen the four other pictures and know what happened. Yet Hollywood can re-do established film series in a short time frame, as it did with Batman and will soon do with Spider-Man. Comic books truly do exist in a world of their own.

Just Run, Already

Dear Mrs. Sarah Palin,

Watching your bus tour and photo-ops and the buzz that surround them, and reading you answer "Don't know," when people ask if you're running for president reminds me of a scene from the closing minutes of The Godfather: Michael Corleone is confronting the traitor Carlo when he says, "Don't tell me you're innocent, because it insults my intelligence."



Sarah -- you don't mind if I call you Sarah, do you? -- we all know what you're doing. We all know how the game is played in Washington. Your assertion that you don't know if you're running has about as much authenticity as a copy of Das Capital autographed by Margaret Thatcher.

Sarah, it's time to grizzly up and say you're running. No more claims that your campaign bus isn't a campaign bus. No bob and weave around the press. You're touring like a candidate. You're planning to hit Iowa. It's not a listening tour, it's not a unity tour, it's not a rolling pep rally for the GOP. It's the start of a campaign.

But we know why you want it this way. This non-campaign campaign gives you an exit strategy. It's an easy way to bail when the polls don't come around and the competition gets too tough. You can always claim you were never campaigning in the first place, and technically, you're right. And as a bonus, because you're not a real candidate, you don't have to answer real questions from real reporters, including the ones you like at Fox News. Really, though, since when did you worry so much about the "lame-stream media?" Or, as I contend, is Fox part of it now?

What are you afraid of? A year and a half is forever in campaign time. It's plenty of days to build and organize and woo those moderates and independents you can't stand, even though you'll never publicly admit you can't. And what can you do to your image that Tina Fey and Katie Couric haven't done already? (Katie's off the tube for now, by the way.)

Making it official now also provides you with competitive advantages. Once you're in, you'll eclipse the early birds -- Pawlenty and Bachmann and Gingrich and Cain and Paul -- and overshadow the leaders. You'll begin to thin the herd and save yourself some headaches once we head into primary season early next year, but you have to commit.

You and I know politics is no game for the meek, and championship politics can't be won on assumptions. You're becoming dependent on your base, as if you're expecting a coronation once you announce, either because you think you can grab the nomination or the GOP thinks it's committing campaignicide if it doesn't give it to you. Learn from the experience of your adversary Hillary Clinton: nothing comes on a platter in Washington except people's heads.

So it's your call, your mission if you're willing to accept it. I think you are, but it's the fallback position that's killing you. After John McCain, you refused to go into the sunset, even though it would've been the safe thing to do. If you're tough enough to keep your name in play, you can put your hat in the ring.

The Unknown Hero

I never asked my Grandfather Francis what he did in World War II. At most, I knew he was stationed in Egypt, and he told me about the incessant grumpiness of camels. He used to show me a Bible he'd bought in Jerusalem, and I thought it odd it was written in English instead of Hebrew. When I explored ham radio and teletype over the shortwave bands, he used to tell me about how used logarithms to figure out how to tune in a signal.

After he passed away in 1999, I learned the story I wished he would've told me. He had been involved in cryptography, working with the people who had the Enigma machine to decipher enemy secrets that would guide Allied Forces to victory. My dad says Grandpa couldn't talk in depth about the specifics of his service, even 50 years after the fall of the Third Reich. Still, I would have liked to have given it a try, chronicled it somehow. Perhaps there was a memoir in it.

Instead I have to be content with the memories of a chilly December morning after Christmas, standing beside his his casket, when the VFW post handed an American Flag to my parents, and a gun salute ripped apart the silence. I knew Grandfather Francis as "Grandpa," not the war hero. That's my lasting regret.

I'm grateful for the Veterans History Project and similar efforts to collect the words of our World War II veterans before they're gone. They're succeeding where I failed. The government estimates, but cannot prove with certainty, 1,100 WWII veterans die every day. The exact number is irrelevant; they won't be on this earth for much longer.

I can only pray Grandpa can see, from wherever he is, that his eldest grandson dons the uniform of Patriot soldier every so often and tries his best to inspire those around him to love their heritage and their country as much as he did.

Civility In Progress

Pleading for civility in politics degrades into a Sisyphean effort, but every now and then I see a wee bit of promise. The National Institute for Civil Discourse, formed in Tucson in the aftermath of the January 8th shootings, is slowly but steadily coming together.

I'm not expecting miracles, even though they've been known to happen. But what bothers me is this: with all that's happening in Tucson, what's going in Washington? Or maybe the question is, what will happen? I'll withhold any further commentary for now.

But next January, as we mark the one-year milestone of the shooting rampage and mourn the dead, I hope I do not have to lament a stalled-out effort and look upon a Washington that hasn't learned anything.

Reel To Reel: Pirates Of The Caribbean: On Stranger Tides

"Captain Jack will get you by tonight, and take you to your special island..."

Going Rate: Worth matinee price, without 3D.
Starring: Johnny Depp, Penélope Cruz, Ian McShane
Rated: PG-13
Red Flags: Ye Olde Pirate Violence & Swordplay, Some Scary Supernatural Effects

Joining us once again on this edition of Reel To Reel is our resident privateer, Captain Bartholomew Burgundy, to give us additional insight on the latest Pirates Of The Caribbean movie, a franchise both of us thought had ended one picture ago. Director Rob Marshall is taking the wheel from Gore Verbinski, but Johnny Depp is back as Captain Jack Sparrow, so let's see what happens. Captain Burgundy, you have the deck.

Thank ye kindly, mate. I 'ave to say quite plainly tha' if ye seeking a swashbucklin' pirate film, well, ye got one. Ye got Cap'n Jack, ye got Barbossa (that be Geoffrey Rush), ye got a search f' treasure, and ye got an all-star pirate, Edward Teach, who's known to ye landlubbers as Blackbeard.

I really don' need t' say much about th' plot, because everybody's after the same thin': th' Fountain o' Youth. But ye see, it ain' as simple as just findin' th' fountain, righ', because they also gotta fin' several things tha' make 't work, like a couple of chalices an' a mermaid's tear. How's tha' for a shoppin' list?

Anyhow, Capt. Jack ends up 'n th' unlikely service of Blackbeard after trackin' down a lady who's masqueradin' as 'im to pu' a crew together. This lady known as Angelica (who be Penelope Cruz) also 'appens to be someone he'd 'ad a fling wit'. So ye got a complication there. I always warn me prospectiv' privateers never to mix work an' love.

Speaking of privateers, Barbossa has gone legit, in service to a fashionably portly King George II, and a whole lot of British sailors and officers who are mainly along for the ride. Obviously, Captain, you know that has benefits, namely the support of the Crown and a better wardrobe. And you get to loot for benefit of King and Country.

GOD save th' king! Aye, you're right. But I foun' something quite curious. Th' Spaniards ar' involved 'n this pursuit, an' they seem to, as ye would say in modern vernacular, fly under th' radar. They have all these ships 'n sailors an' commanders, and nobody seems t' want t' attack them, even when His Majesty's Navy 'as 'em dead in sight fer a broadside. I tell ye' they would never slip away, 'f I had command of a fleet. Instead, everyone else be busy fightin' each other here 'n there 'n everywhere.

I felt that way, too. The more I watched this film, the more I got the feeling it was conceived as five or six big action sequences duck-taped together with some dialogue and Johnny Depp sauntering about. By the way, how many British regulars does it take to capture Jack Sparrow? That sounds like the first line to a joke, and you're right. A sequence at the beginning of the movie shows them more like Keystone Kops than seasoned soldiers of a mighty empire as Captain Jack gets away from them -- again -- in such convoluted and incompetent fashion that it should win the Rube Goldberg Prize for Escape Scenes. General Washington would laugh at these ridiculous redcoats.

Well 't is just a movie, mind ye. Bu' what bothers me is that we 'ave so many supernatural elements 'n this film. Take Cap'n Blackbeard. Somehow, e's got this magic sword tha' can fill th' sails of the Queen Anne's Revenge with win' and comman' the ropes t' tie 'up any mutineers. Blimey, where does 'e get such wonderful toys? I sure neva 'eard of a sword, nay even a cutlass like 'at. From wha' I know, the real Blackbeard never 'ad t' worry 'bout mutiny, either, on accoun' he commanded s' much respect from 'is crew. Bu' here, I see most'a 'is crew swabbin' th' deck, an' he got 'is officers zombified or somethin'. An' di' I tell ye he knows voodoo, too? Talk about ye artistic license! I know Blackbeard, an' tha' ain' Blackbeard.

No, it's not. But we both know legends tend to impede upon the truth, which brings us to another problem with this film: the mermaids. Okay, they're beautiful, even if none of them look like Darryl Hannah. They lure you in and spout fangs like vampires once they've got you -- I wonder if somebody actually researched the fang bit or just decided to throw in something for Twilight fans.

It's hard to get tears out of mermaid, we're told, and I guess exposing them to onions doesn't work, so the writers had to add a throwaway romance between the mermaid Syrena (Astrid Berges-Frisbey) and Philip (Sam Claflin), a captured missionary on Blackbeard's boat.

Truth be told, I didn't really buy any romantic overtures between Jack and Angelica, either, because Jack only uses ladies to further his own cause. Captain Burgundy, I do believe you once said you thought Jack was a gentleman at heart.

I know. An' I'm walkin' that statemen' back. Bu' what leaves me scratchin' me cocked hat is how the cap'n can swing 'n swordfight 'is way outa anythin' and yet he's always walkin' like 'es under the gin tipsy.

We don't see anything new or original about Jack, which is just the way audiences want it: a flamboyant pirate strutting around. But, Captain, I imagine you can relate to people calling you flamboyant with your red stockings and big tricorn.

Aye, I 'ave been called a fop 'n mo' than one occasion. But 'tis me, 'tis th' way GOD made me.

Nothing wrong with that. Getting back to the movie, though, with all its issues, is it something we should be plunking down hard-earned booty for?

If 'ye enjoyed th' fir' three pictures, aye. But I wouldn' shell ou' extra fer tha' 3-D. I don' see th' point of it.

Neither do I. I think Disney should've quit with the trilogy, but it won't as long as it keeps earning the booty. Disney has done quite well with this franchise, certainly better than its other films based on its theme-park rides: Haunted Mansion and The Country Bears. I wouldn't rule out a fifth installment.

So, sword up or down on this one?

Sword up, but just barely. I woul' love t' see a pirate film mo' faithful t' history.

I agree. I give it a marginal sword up, or maybe sword level. As far as history goes, one thing I did enjoy was seeing the wonderful 18th century costumes of the English townspeople and regulars. No detail was spared, head to toe.

Ye thinkin' about a wig?

Maybe.

What Was Once Normal

I'm beginning to wonder if Tucson will ever see a normal meeting of the Tucson Unified School District board ever again. This week's edition came refreshingly free of mob scenes, lines of police and general boorishness... mostly.

What is incomprehensible to me is how the student protesters supporting Ethnic Studies think scenes of them chaining themselves to the board members' chairs are going to help win over the state officials who are convinced the courses on Mexican-American studies foment hate. Allegations of police brutality or not, it just doesn't look good, and in public relations, controlling perception is the goal. I think of the last line in the movie The Social Network, directed at Facebook founder Mark Zuckerberg: "You're not an [expletive], Mark. You're just trying so hard to be." Perhaps somebody needs to say that, in love, to some of the Ethnic Studies defenders.

I have heard the counter-argument: TUSD repeatedly ignored them, ignored their concerns. Perhaps. But that's life sometimes, and that's the educator-student dynamic. The students aren't running the board. Some of you will want to equate the Ethnic Studies protests to some chapter from the civil rights movement of the 1960's. Please don't go there. In 1960, when four black students sat at a white lunch counter at Woolworth's in Greensboro, North Carolina, they didn't chain themselves to the stools. They didn't chant. They didn't shout. They just ordered food... which employees refused to serve. Later, as the sit-in swelled, some read books. The sit-in movement spread to other parts of the segregated south and remained mostly peaceful. Nearly six months later, Woolworth's abandoned segregated lunch counters. Nonviolent, non-jerk resistance works if you give it a chance, but we have an instant-gratification generation unwilling to work the program.

We heard calls for civility in the aftermath of the Tucson mass shooting. So much for that. We can't let go of our self-destructive passions.

Regular Feedings

Every time I go home to California, I know I'll gain at least five pounds over the course of a week. I eat better at home than I ever do on my own, and that's largely because of Mother's refusal to see me get any thinner. Brother Michael used to joke about Mom "pushing food" when we were younger. It didn't change when we grew up.

"Do you want a salad with that?"

"Do you want some cookies?"

"Do you want some ice cream?"

I hardly leave the table less than full. Fortunately the big comfy family room couch is less than a foot away from the kitchen table, ready to accept my vacationing self. At this stage of her life, Mom is glad to see me anywhere around the house, even if I'm merely taking up space.

Dad requires a different approach. We can't seem to reduce his appetite, but we can re-channel it.

"I'm making your father some lowfat brownies."

Dad still fills up and doesn't miss dessert, and we don't kid him as much about his weight anymore.

"Are you getting hungry, Christopher?"

She'll see me digging in the fridge for cheese slices and start gauging my appetite.

"Give me about a half hour," I'll reply. By then I'm ravenous. And then I can lap something up in the blink of an eye.

When I lived in Texas and flew back to my parents' old home in St. Louis, they took me straight from Lambert Field to Steak 'n Shake one time.

"Christopher, I think you inhaled that hamburger," Mother observed.

"I was hungry," I replied, wondering why people were surprised at the lack of any filling meal on the two-hop journey from McAllen to Missouri.

Still, Mom worries about my weight. I sent her a Mother's Day card a few years back with a penguin on the front. "Poppo The Penguin wishes you a Happy Mother's Day," it said before you opened it up to reveal a salivating polar bear with the punchline, "but he wishes he'd taken his mother's advice and eaten more!"

"Yes, you need to eat more," Mom replied over the phone.

Gotcha!

Osama Bin Laden is dead. Does this wipe out Al Qaida? Does this end terrorism?

No and no, and none of us should be under the impression that it will. We are not dealing with a snake, where cutting the head kills the body, but with a multi-headed dragon, where two heads grow for each one we lop off.

I'm not throwing dirt on our success. Our forces deserve every bit of praise. Let's be real, however. The world will not be less dangerous tomorrow because Bin Laden isn't in it. It will be safer because we have so many people working to prevent the acts of terror being plotted against us.

Remember, too, that GOD is involved in this fight as well. Please thank HIM for the courage he has given to our troops and those who protect us.

The Ladies' Version Of The Big Game

For those of you who can't understand the obsession with the Royal Wedding, a friend gave me the best explanation I've heard yet: "This is the Super Bowl for women!"

She's right. What's more, it doesn't happen every year. Oh yes, we still love fairy tales; that explanation still holds water. But looking out into the crowds on Friday, who did you see: Ladies, overwhelmingly. Your humble servant found himself quite along in his interest among his circle of friends. Indeed, at Friday Morning's prayer breakfast with the guys from church, they couldn't believe the fuss. But it's no different than the ladies who can't understand men who crave football like a drug.

So why was I interested? It's because the Royal Wedding was so much of what the world is lacking in right now: beauty, grace, kindness, love, and acknowledgement of GOD'S presence. When the Lord Bishop of London gave his homily, I felt he was speaking to all of us, especially in these words:

We stand looking forward to a century which is full of promise and full of peril. Human beings are confronting the question of how to use wisely the power which has been given to us through the discoveries of the last century. We shall not be converted to the promise of the future by more knowledge, but rather by an increase of loving wisdom and reverence, for life, for the earth and for one another.

I especially appreciated the reading from Romans 12, which says, in the NIV form:

1 Therefore, I urge you, brothers and sisters, in view of God’s mercy, to offer your bodies as a living sacrifice, holy and pleasing to God—this is your true and proper worship. 2 Do not conform to the pattern of this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind. Then you will be able to test and approve what God’s will is—his good, pleasing and perfect will.

3 For by the grace given me I say to every one of you: Do not think of yourself more highly than you ought, but rather think of yourself with sober judgment, in accordance with the faith God has distributed to each of you. 4 For just as each of us has one body with many members, and these members do not all have the same function, 5 so in Christ we, though many, form one body, and each member belongs to all the others. 6 We have different gifts, according to the grace given to each of us. If your gift is prophesying, then prophesy in accordance with your faith; 7 if it is serving, then serve; if it is teaching, then teach; 8 if it is to encourage, then give encouragement; if it is giving, then give generously; if it is to lead, do it diligently; if it is to show mercy, do it cheerfully.

9 Love must be sincere. Hate what is evil; cling to what is good. 10 Be devoted to one another in love. Honor one another above yourselves. 11 Never be lacking in zeal, but keep your spiritual fervor, serving the Lord. 12 Be joyful in hope, patient in affliction, faithful in prayer. 13 Share with the Lord’s people who are in need. Practice hospitality.

14 Bless those who persecute you; bless and do not curse. 15 Rejoice with those who rejoice; mourn with those who mourn. 16 Live in harmony with one another. Do not be proud, but be willing to associate with people of low position. Do not be conceited.

17 Do not repay anyone evil for evil. Be careful to do what is right in the eyes of everyone. 18 If it is possible, as far as it depends on you, live at peace with everyone.