Avatar? Why?

The Golden Globes selected Avatar as the Best Motion Picture in the Drama category. I didn’t see any of the other nominees, but if Avatar was the best of them, then Hollywood is producing some really mediocre stuff. Avatar isn't a bad movie at all, but it’s not worthy of any awards outside of technical ones--especially one for drama.

Don't get me wrong; I like Avatar. Anybody that asks me about it gets a positive review and a recommendation to see it in the theater in 3D. It won’t be the same on a DVD. I was even willing to see it a second time (but didn’t due to a change in plans).

The cinematography is pretty amazing and the 3D effect is pretty cool even if I can't say it’s necessary. The storyline is not original by any stretch, but hey, it’s James Cameron writing it. I didn’t even mind his plotline. I was sort of surprised it didn’t offend me as a biologist. Biologists, please feel free to comment. Overall, I was pleasantly surprised by the movie. On the other hand, there were many flaws that would immediately disqualify it from being best drama.

First of all, it was as much of a drama as Star Trek or The Bourne Supremacy. All three had some human emotion, but nobody was going to those movies to be moved to tears by awe inspiring acting. They were going for special effects and action. Star Trek and The Bourne Supremacy were both better movies than Avatar in my opinion—and they weren’t even in fancy 3D. Awarding Avatar a drama award makes as much sense as keeping Jay Leno at NBC. (That's zero sense, if you were confused on where I and the rest of America stand.)

Second, the dialogue in Avatar was just plain bad. I can't quote you any lines, but the first line of the movie sets the tone. I will tolerate plenty of bad lines in an action movie. Sometimes, the writer has to move the plot along or punctuate some long-awaited act of justice. But having lines like that automatically disqualifies you from the drama category. James Cameron, I know you wrote the script, but have a little humility and let a professional help you. You’d think you’d learn your lesson after having DiCaprio say, “I’m the king of the world!” Stop being a pompous blow hard, Cameron.

Third, while I don’t always agree with the Golden Globes selection of best drama, they’ve always done a better job than Avatar (except when they chose Titanic, of course). They have chosen the third Lord of the Rings and Gladiator, which could also be considered action movies, but those were much more deserving than Avatar. And does Avatar belong in the company of the following movies: Schindler’s List, Slumdog Millionaire, The English Patient, Platoon, The Godfather, Spartacus, and Ben Hur? I’d say, “Hell, no.” It doesn't even belong in the same category.

Usually, these posts are a sort of catharsis, but this one didn’t do that for me. I realized how much James Cameron thinks of himself. Maybe for good reason, given that he has made quite a number of fun movies: True Lies, Aliens, Terminator, and The Abyss. But I wouldn’t give any of those movies an award for best drama either. Avatar was a great movie; it just wasn’t a drama, let alone the best one.

Why Pilates this Year?

I’m not making New Year’s Resolutions. Since this year’s “resolutions” are pretty much the same as last year, I’d rather just call them recommitments. Among those recommitments is maintaining what I generously call my physique. Some may say that I would have to establish a decent physical form before maintaining it. To them, I say, “Take your wit and . . . well, you have a good point.”

There were a couple of events that occurred during 2009 that did not help me reach my goal of Herculean strength. First, I played too many video games. I did not curtail my hours of open-mouthed, catatonic staring; this year will be different. Second, I dropped my rock climbing gym membership. That left a void that I have filled with Pilates DVDs. Why Pilates? Well, if you eliminate everything else using my list of criteria, that’s what you’re left with.

When choosing an activity that will shape a graduate student’s body, there are many limitations. 1) It’s got to be cheap because I make less than a kindergarten teacher. 2) It’s best if it can be done at night because lab beckons all day. 3) It has to be relatively safe because I am like fine China: extremely fragile. 4) It cannot be repetitive because I can’t stand doing the same motion over and over—call it mental weakness if you want, all of you bikers, runners, and swimmers; I’m OK with that.

Cheap. High start-up or recurring costs are prohibitive. It is one of the reasons I stopped my climbing gym membership, which cost about $600 per year. This criterion also eliminates golf, biking, skiing, wakeboarding, sky-diving, and most types of classes with any decent instruction.

Convenient. Being in lab all day is optional, but given that I am nearing the end of my grad student life (hopefully), being in lab most of the day is pretty necessary. That means working out has to happen at night if it is going to happen at all. That was one of the appealing characteristics of climbing. I could eat an early dinner and then head to the gym. Of course, there are night leagues, but that brings me to the next criterion.

Safe. I could play football, but if you’ve ever seen a bowling ball fall on a twig . . . I’m the twig. Given my long history of breaking bones, I prefer something with little chance of hospitalization. Activities that are eliminated by this include team sports with any degree of contact: rugby, football, hockey, soccer, tag team wrestling, or baseball (what if the ball hits me?). Yes, you might call me wimpy, girly, or unmanly, but I call it knowing my limits and drawing conclusions based on a large sample size of data (Six broken bones).

Repetitive sports. Finally, anything that is repetitive is just plain boring (and maybe slightly painful) to me. It really makes it difficult for me to start exercising. OK, it also makes it difficult for me to keep going once I have started. And when I’m done, I don’t feel great that I did it. I just feel relieved that I don’t have to do it again for awhile. That means any event in a triathlon, except for the changing of clothes, is something I’d rather avoid. And if changing clothes occurred repeatedly over a thirty minute time span (or four hours), I would probably avoid that part, too.

What I am left with is Pilates DVDs. They fulfill all the criteria. For now, my New Year will begin with cheap, convenient, safe, and non-repetitive Pilates DVDs. I’ll take some pictures in the future so you can see the results. Or not—I don’t want to deter you from reading the blog in the future.

Why are sports so awkward?

Yesterday, I contended that the most awkward motion in sports is the tennis serve. Of course, my girlfriend, who played tennis in high school, disagreed with me. She also played golf in college and offered the golf swing as the most awkward motion.

All this leads me to this post. I’ve got four motions that do not seem to come naturally to a novice. Granted, I am a novice at many sports, tennis included, but I am far from uncoordinated (at least in my mind). Thus, I think I have a pretty good idea of what is painfully unnatural. But feel free to tell me I’m wrong and let me know what you think.

1. Kicking pretty much anything. Yes, the act of throwing your foot at something is a natural motion. However, making sure that the part of your body that will take the brunt of that motion, your foot, is not. Put a soccer ball in front of somebody and their first reaction is to kick it with their toe. With enough force, that results in a broken toe. In soccer, you use the top of your foot or the inside of your foot. In Tae Kwon Do, you have many potential areas on the foot for striking, none of which are your toe: the top, the ball of the foot, the outside edge, or the heel. It’s odd that people use their largest, strongest limbs to hurl a mass with some of their smallest bones at solid objects. Kicking should only be done by experts.

2. Tennis serve / Volleyball spike. I find serving incredibly difficult. Start sideways. Toss a ball to the perfect height over your head. Strike the ball at the maximum height over your head. Hope to high heaven that you don’t ruin your shoulder as you throw your body’s weight behind the racket. A volleyball spike requires a similar strain on your shoulder, but I think there is even more back involved. Arch your back as you jump, and uncoil it as you strike the ball. Snap through. Maybe it’s all timing. Beats me. I’m usually just swinging as hard as possible and praying that I make contact.

3. Golf swing. So many things can go wrong here. I don’t even know where to begin since I can’t do it properly. All I know is that you have to keep your head still and that trying to kill the ball is bad. That hurts the back and causes a crazy slice in my case. Add mumbo jumbo about swing plane, bringing your knees through first, and breaking your wrists and you’ve only just begun talking about what could possibly be wrong. Think it’s like hitting a baseball on the ground? You’re completely wrong. It’s almost the opposite. The lead hand is in charge; no equal contribution like a baseball swing. And keep that rear elbow in, not up. Narrow your stance and minimize any unnecessary motion. There are more technical things to do in golf than any sport I’ve played.

4. Swimming. Do I really have to make an argument for this? Obviously, we were not made for the water. Exhibit A: water can suffocate us to death until we die. Exhibit B: we have hair, which leads to drag. Exhibit C: webbed feet are abnormal in humans. I admit that I am a pretty bad swimmer, and anybody who isn’t a strong one may admit to it being akin to prolonged drowning. When I heard about how water polo players keep their heads above water, I was baffled and got tired just thinking about how it happens. (It’s like egg beaters with your legs.) Calling swimming awkward may be a stretch, but flailing to survive can be awkward—at least socially. But maybe flailing is the most instinctive thing a person can do.

Any more awkward sports motions?

Why not dress for success?

As I was driving home yesterday, I noticed many fashion troubles. Given that my sense of fashion is less than refined, it takes something quite horrendous for me to notice. But when it comes to what you wear when you work out, I know what’s what. Khakis while running—uh, no.

Let’s start from the top. Headgear is permissible for baseball, running, football, tennis, hockey . . . pretty much anything. Except soccer. Wearing a baseball hat while playing soccer is wrong both functionally and morally. First of all, you can’t head the ball with a baseball hat. Second, is the sun in your eyes? Poor baby. Get off the field! I’d rather see sunscreen, sunglasses, and a parasol on the pitch than somebody wearing a baseball hat.

Shirts. Unless you are golfing, playing tennis, or wearing a team uniform, shirts with collars should not be worn. Same thing goes for shirts with elaborate patterns. This is especially true if you’re running. If you’re running, no shirt, a T-shirt, or an expensive, high-tech sports shirt is permissible. Anything with buttons or a collar should only be worn before or after running. And if it’s a T-shirt, it should not have cost more than $15. Free is preferable.

Shorts or pants. Do not wear anything made of a high percentage of cotton or wool. Workout clothes are meant for wicking away sweat and drying quickly. The more poly-whatever material, the better. Anything with a lot of pockets should only be worn casually, not while strenuously exercising. That means no cargo or jean shorts.

Socks. This is simple—no dress socks. That means no black or brown or tan or argyle—unless specifically made for the sport like soccer socks.

Shoes. Don’t wear dress shoes. Don’t run in sandals. Wear something that at least looks like it has support. Otherwise, you just look like you’re trying to ruin your feet, shins, knees, and lower back all at the same time. It’s also ideal to have footwear appropriate to the sport. Running on a treadmill in basketball shoes looks like you are not a regular runner. It also makes it look like you have nothing better to do with your shoes than run, i.e., you aren’t balling much nowadays.

OK, that’s all of the ones I could think of off the top of my head. If you have issues with these general rules, tell me I don’t even know exercise fashion. If I’ve forgotten something here, post it.

Why is AT&T so difficult?

Difficult. That’s what comes to mind when somebody mentions AT&T. I don’t know where the company falls on the customer dissatisfaction list, but it’s probably pretty close to the top. I don’t understand why they have to make things so painful for customers. It took less time to set up a joint bank account than it did to combine two calling plans into one.

My girlfriend and I wanted to combine our accounts into one single “family” plan. Before you get excited, no, we’re not engaged--or pregnant. We’re just practical. Each of us would save $10 per month. Simple, right? Uh, no.

Employee #1

First, we visited a store. I wanted to talk to a person face to face to get some information. We wanted to know how much the data plan would cost for an old, non-3G iPhone that we inherited.

We walked into the store, at which point Employee #1 took our names and told us we could watch TV while we waited. It was like restaurant meets hospital waiting room. At least it was nice to be entertained by some golf. But if we had hated golf . . .

Employee #2

After waiting for 15 minutes, we spoke to Employee #2, who told us that the data plan for the old iPhones is the same price as it always was: $20 / month. I thought it was going to cost $30, regardless of which generation phone you had. I was pleasantly surprised.

#2 also said we could activate the phone at home through the internet. This was actually very easy to do, mostly because we didn't have deal with AT&T. We could do it through iTunes. Well done, Apple.

Employee #3

At home, we realized that we should probably just combine our phone plans to save money, so we ended up using internet chat to talk to Employee #3. Of course, the only way to get the Employee #3 is to pretend you're going to buy a plan. Anyway, he told us that we would need to call or visit a store to do so. Blerg! If only we had chatted with Employee #3 before Employee #2.

Employee #4

We activated the phone through iTunes and then called AT&T. Employee #4 basically said that I could just put my girlfriend on my account as a family plan member. My girlfriend would just have to call and say it was OK. Instead of doing that, I just handed the phone to said girlfriend.

Employee #4 then told my girlfriend that she would have to call a certain number. Really? I’m not clear on why she couldn’t just transfer us. I mean, it’s a phone company. If anybody has the technology to do so, wouldn’t they?

Employee #5

Whatever. We called the number. After surviving the menu and maze of “press this number, press that number,” she got Employee #5. Of course, Employee #5 was the wrong person, and she told my girlfriend that she had to call--take a wild guess. That's right, the same number she had just dialed to get Employee #5. Fortunately, #5 checked and told us that the people we needed to contact had already gone home for the day.

Employee #6

Two days later, we called back. Employee #6 tried to get rid of us by again giving us the SAME number as Employee #4 and #5. At least they were consistent. Upon further explanation by my girlfriend, they realized that we weren’t navigating the menu quite right. Fine.

Employee #7

Call back, enter the magic combination of numbers, and get Employee #7. Employee #7 told my girlfriend that all she needed to do was give a thumbs up that her account could be put on mine. Now, all that had to happen was I had to call in and finish the deed.

To recap, I had to put a note on my account OK’ing combining; then my girlfriend had to put a note on her account OK’ing combining. Then I had to call back to finally slay the dragon that is combining accounts.

But ah ha, I am in the room, so she just handed the phone to me, so I could deal with the details right away. Now that we’ve both given the thumbs up, it should be no problem, right?

Even more Employee #7

First, they had to run a credit check. Why? Don't know. Don't care. Whatever, go ahead and check my credit. What? You also need my address again? It's not right there on the computer in front of you? OK.

Employee #7 then explained that it was going to cost $60 to combine accounts. That makes sense because there’s a guy that has to go in the back and splice a bunch of wires together and . . . oh wait, no there’s not. Fine, nothing is free, and in the long run, after three months, we’ll be saving money.

20 minutes later, which probably cost us minutes, we had a family plan going. And in three months when we are actually saving money, I’m sure it will be worth it. Of course, they always tell you things may not show up on your bill for a few billing cycles. And that also makes sense because there are a bunch of interns hand writing the details of my paperless account.

All of these employees were helpful if not enthusiastic. I can hardly imagine being enthusiastic when you work in such a terrible system.

At the end of the day, you may tell me to just shut up and join a different company. Unfortunately, I can’t join a different company. I don’t actually have a choice because AT&T is the only cell company that works on campus. And if I want to have an iPhone, only AT&T works. If somebody could explain the marketing logic of that, I’d love to hear it. As for the shutting up, I’m done whining.

Why would I need help from sticks and stones, Part 2?

When I was 15, I was a week away from taking my driver’s license test. One week and a simple test stood between me and unfettered freedom—at least in my mind. But my body wasn’t quite on board. It had to go get broken, possibly causing life altering teen drama.

That Saturday morning was sunny and breezy: a perfect morning for a spring soccer game. The opponent was a team made up of my friends from my high school team. Twenty one buddies on the same field sounds like a big party to me. The whistle blew and the game was underway.

About midway through the game, I was dribbling up the field. I juked two or three guys as usual (or by accident) and then came up against a guy we’ll call Splevin Spletano to protect his identity. Splevin was probably one of the nicest guys I knew. I approached him doing my patented cross over spin move, aka, looking like a spaz. I’m sure he was afraid of getting burned like kindling or passed like salt or some other clever schoolyard simile.

Whatever he was thinking, the next thing I knew, I was on the ground. As I lay there, I immediately knew I had broken my collar bone. I’m sure there was no malice intended. In fact, I think I actually just didn’t quite get around his leg, which caused me to basically fall like a tree onto my shoulder. He was apologizing profusely before he even knew I had injured myself. Like I said, he was a nice guy.

I eventually got up, gingerly tested my arm, and subbed out. And then it was off to the hospital. The diagnosis was a fractured clavicle. Eight weeks sidelined from soccer and maybe social life.

For some reason the DMV won’t let you take a driving test when you have a broken collar bone. Perhaps, it’s because lifting your hand above 8 o’ clock on the steering wheel hurts like hell.

So, I had to reschedule my driving test. On top of that, my driving permit expired while I was incapacitated, and I couldn’t take the license test without it. Thus, I had to retake my written permit test before taking the driving piece. My freedom was stuck in neutral, seemingly in reverse. Was my teen life over?

If my life had been a movie, events preceding the soccer game would have included an approaching dance and the hottest and purest girl in school. There would have been non-threatening study dates, a quarterback stud competing for her attention, and a plain looking female confidant. The hot girl would attend the dance with me because I could drive her to it in a sweet ride. But now, without my license . . .

After the trip to the hospital, I would have sunken into a deep depression and explained to my wiser, plain-looking but blossoming friend that this broken collar bone had forever changed the course of my life--in a bad way. And then I’d finally fall for her even though she had wanted me since the second grade. Cue music, hand out tissues, roll credits. Or some version of that. That’s if my life were a movie.

But life wasn’t a movie. No dance. No hot girl. No homely turned comely female friend. Not even much of a social life to lament being lost. In retrospect, all that was lost was six to eight weeks of playing soccer and driving a car that was built the year before my current car. But at the time, it seemed like a slightly bigger deal.

The lesson? The lesson that I often forget after a bad day at work is that failures or set-backs seldomly ruin our lives. They usually end up as tiny blips on our life lines, resulting in no change in the overall trajectories. They aren't worth the stress.

After all, a bad day at work beats a broken collar bone. And a broken collar bone isn’t even that bad.

Why would I need help from sticks and stones, Part 1?

If I told you that I’ve broken six (maybe seven) bones in my life, you may assume one of the following: I was in a bad car accident, I have early onset osteoporosis, I was jumped by a jujitsu gang, or my parents accidentally signed their scrawny son up for hockey. But none of those happened.

My parents were glad when I took a liking to the “safer” sport of soccer instead of football. They didn’t think that I would break five (maybe six) of my own bones while playing soccer and another doing Tae Kwon Do. But what did all those breaks teach me?

Break#1, Lesson #1: “Dis-graceful”

We’ve heard the phrase “brain over brawn,” but my club soccer coach probably realized that his team was a bit short on the brain part; thus, he focused on the brawn. He was always trying to make men of us teenage boys, toughen us up physically and emotionally. As a Navy man, he understood the effects of drills, so he had us do some inventive drills.

For example, in one drill, we formed two lines facing him and ran towards him, crashing our shoulders into the person’s in the other line. We did this before every game to toughen us up, get us in a mindset, and intimidate the other team. To my coach’s credit, he was trying to use brawn to get into the other team’s brain while simultaneously teaching us how to win a loose ball. But I was too naïve to realize that then—or care about it. I didn’t love the drill, but despite a few bruised shoulders, I never injured myself doing it.

The inventive drill that was my downfall was equally creative, but much less useful in my mind. The object was to practice slide-tackling. Two lines were formed facing each other about 30 yards apart. The person in front of each line would then run towards the other. At about midway, one would slide tackle and the other would jump over AND do a somersault. Why would we do a flying somersault? Beats me, but questioning the point of a drill was not an option at practice.

My turn to jump came and I ran and jumped. At the peak of my jump, which was insanely high because I had hops (no, I am not being sarcastic), I remembered that I was supposed to do a somersault.

Let’s pause while I’m in the air and emphasize that I didn’t like conflict, so I would avoid it all costs. I especially didn’t like being the receiving end of a stern reprimand. I would have rather injured myself than felt the wrath of my just-out-of-the-military coach. Who knew what he would make me do?

So, at the peak of my jump, I started tucking into somersault position. It must have looked like I was diving head first into a pool—but without the pool. I finished about half of the somersault, coming straight down on my shoulder. Yes, I heard a crack, but when you hit the ground with your limbs flailing, contemplating the meaning of new sounds takes a backseat to trying not to land on your head.

Whatever it looked like, it was ugly enough for the coach to call off the drill. He told us to take a lap. Did my shoulder hurt? Probably. Did I want to anger my coach any more after throwing my body into the ground and ruining his drill? Definitely not. I had no idea I had broken anything, so I got up and started to run with the team. Maybe it looked tough to run with a broken bone, but it was the opposite. I was a bit scared, and maybe a little dazed.

Thankfully, my coach noticed that I was running pretty gimpily (ßnot a word) and pulled me out of line. He asked me what was wrong and sent me off to the hospital. I was quickly diagnosed with a fractured clavicle. I say quickly because that was the fastest I would ever get through the hospital; my mom was working in Urgent Care that day. The treatment was an arm sling, rest, and a brace that held my shoulders back and in place.

At the end of the year, my coach had names or phrases engraved on our trophies that reminded him of each of us. Mine had the phrase “Dis-graceful.” I wasn’t hurt by the engraving, but you can imagine that I was hoping for something a little cooler. Besides, it definitely wasn’t the most proud or elegant moment in my life. And it did commemorate a number of important life lessons summed up in cliches: Brain over brawn, think before you act, look before you leap, don't jump up in the air and throw yourself head first into the ground (well, if that last one were a cliche, maybe I wouldn't have broken my collarbone). Unfortunately, it also commemorated just the first of many more broken bones.