Room for my Brain

My television keeps showing me events of awards and accomplishment, causing me to reflect on the state of my life. The Olympics just ended, and the Academy Awards were this evening, both offering celebrations of personal achievement and success against the odds. And I’m here to say that nothing puts a finer point on what I haven’t accomplished than getting shit on during the Oscars.

Now, I don’t mean chewed up by the Hollywood system and left unappreciated while someone stands and accepts a coveted statue.

I mean actually shit on. By a person. While trying to watch the awards.

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You may think I picked that title to attract readers or I’ve chosen to exaggerate or speak in metaphor. However, I promise you this is entirely true.

I had an amazing week last week, shooting 6 Days on an independent feature production. The days were long and tiring, but really wonderful. And it was amazing to see how many ways a smartphone can be utilized in the constant melee that is production. Little did I know what lurked in the brain of this device.

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I’ve resisted writing about Haiti because, while incredibly tragic, it irks me to see our nation running to the aid of some other country when there’s so many terrible problems at home. I don’t think we should be policing the world or trying to save it, especially now. I guess the older I get, the more isolationist I become, but I can’t help thinking “why don’t celebraties have telethons to fix problems in America?”.

But I digress.

From the rubble of one of the world’s poorest countries came a story which seemed to perfectly highlight the haves and have-nots of the tragedy. And both the absurdity, and wonder, of our national obsession with technology.

An iPhone saved a man’s life in Haiti.

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People have begun to ask me: “So, how do you like Fatherhood?”. And I don’t, frankly, but this isn’t a surprise to me. It’s unfathomable to most people, but it’s what I’ve always felt and what I expected at this stage. I have, however, figured out a way to explain the feeling.

It’s like commuting home on a Friday night through stop and go traffic-

You want nothing more than for the journey to be over. You can’t stop thinking about how much happier you’d be doing anything but your current task. And yet, you don’t get out of the car, or park and wait til traffic is done, or decide to not leave work at all. Instead, you suffer through it… cause this will be the low-point of the days to come. That’s where I am.

And the hardest part for me is the special relationship I have with my son.

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I’ve been thinking about two news events which happened within 24hrs of each other on Christmas day 2009:

Two men with deeply held religious beliefs illegally traveled into other countries to spread their messages. Neither succeeded, but both made news. And though the news coverage has been very different, I can’t shake the feeling that their stories are almost exactly the same.

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Ladies and Gentlemen, we are now postpartum. The Baby has landed. The Stork has delivered. Whatever way you’d like me to say that we have gone from pregnancy to parenthood.

So you might be wondering how I can write another entry about pregnancy. Well, I’ve decided I’m the town crier of pregnancy truth – “Hear ye, Hear ye….” Because it’s become quite clear that a few months of holding a newborn gives women amnesia. I suspect that something in the smell of fresh skin actually wipes out bad memories.

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I’ve been accused of being a Christmas Buzz-kill. My wife has even threatened to get me a Christmas T-Shirt: Black with white block letters: “This is as Merry as I Get”. And frankly, I’d really like to have that shirt. I’d wear it with pride.

You see – “It’s that time of year…” and just starting off with that quote already has you singing a Christmas song in your head, right? And that’s both my point and my problem.

Don’t misunderstand me, there are some things I enjoy about Christmas. But one thing leads the charge in my dread of this holiday and my hope for its quick departure:

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Well, Bodie, you’re here. And I spent yesterday, your birthday, in a strange time machine, concerned about three generations of people at once.

My parents, who told me stories of my birth with tears in their eyes.

Your mother, who endured the odd sensations of C-Section, pain, and fear.

And you… who got forced into a world you didn’t know and asked to breathe.

Leaving me mostly groundless and unaware of my own age or generation in this march of time. But now I remember, and we should talk about what it means.

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Well, here we are the night before my wife and I become parents. One of my friends named it “Bodie-eve”. Very appropriate. And as I’ve talked to friends and relatives today the same question has been asked by everyone.

Are You Ready?

And there’s really only one answer.

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Over the life of this blog there have been some of you who’ve asked how to know when there’s a new post.

Others have even asked if I’ve heard of this crazy idea where people can actually subscribe.

So.  If you want to, you can.

HERE

It even got its own tab, and everything!  Then you can tell a friend or compete against each other to see who can sign up the most people!!  This could be the blog equivalent of a chain letter!!!

Or.

You can decide you’re sick of me and unsubscribe… it’s win/win.