Review: The Scarlet Pimpernel

The Scarlet Pimpernel was originally produced in 1982 as a television miniseries based on Baroness Emmuska Orczy's book of the same name as well as its sequel, El Dorado. Despite being a television miniseries made in 1982, it is actually well done and most enjoyable. A pre-Gandalf Ian McKellan plays Chauvelin opposite a post-Bond girl Jane Seymour as Marguerite. However, the star-performance was delivered by Anthony Andrews, who plays the foppish Sir Percy Blakeney to perfection, interpreting a traditionally annoying role as humorous and witty.

• Neesha's favorite line: "More's the pity. Then your tailors will rule the land, and no one will make the clothes. So much for French fashion, and French politics."
• Mark's favorite line: "My dear chap, I never would have dreamt of depriving you of your moment of triumph. Alas, a moment was all I could spare."
• Caleb's favorite line: "I say, I swear you've been taking lessons; the cravat's a picture!"
• Ainsley's favorite line: "I'faith, for one thing, it does seem monstrous ill-dressed for any society, even a new one. Sink me, your tailors have betrayed you."
• Best line that should have been used, but wasn't: "Weeny man away!"
  

Rating:

• Buy it now
• Worth $10 at Costco
• Happy we rented it, but also happy we only rented it
  
• No good at any price
• That numb feeling at the top of your head? That's your cerebral cortex closing up shop

m&n

How to get to Sesame Street

Thursday morning I awoke with two things: a headache, andthe theme song from Sesame Street in my head. I'm not sure where either came from, though my suspicion is that they are not related. Caleb watches Elmo's World before his nap, though to my knowledge he hasn't spent much time on the Street. Tangent: a two-year-old singing "That's Elmo's World!" is far cuter than a 29-year-old with a goatee singing "Sunny day, sweepin' the clouds away." Not to mention more socially acceptable.

Boss: Wright, what the ****?
Consultant: If you look at the next slide with me, you'll...um...that is, if you'll look at the next slide with me...
Waiter in the airport restaurant: Dude! I'm totally into Sesame Street! That's ****'ing awesome!
Drunk at the same restaurant: *blank stare* (I don't think he was doing well)
Little girl on the concourse: *big smile*
Older woman on the concourse: *nostalgic smile*
Dude on the flight from West Palm Beach to Dallas/Ft. Worth: *averts gaze and slowly inches away*
Dude on the flight from Dallas/Ft. Worth to Salt Lake City: "Sunny day, sweepin' the clouds away."

Sure, only one person sang with me, but between two flights, four restaraunts, and everyone at the office in West Palm, over two hundred people had significant, pro-longed contact with me yesterday. I'd wager you as many dinners that two-thirds of them hummed the tune before they went to bed last night. The odds are pretty good you will too after you read this.

Because I know you are curious:

Sunny Day
Sweepin' the clouds away
On my way to where the air is sweet

Can you tell me how to get,
How to get to Sesame Street

Come and play
Everything's A-OK
Friendly neighbors there
That's where we meet

Can you tell me how to get
How to get to Sesame Street

It's a magic carpet ride
Every door will open wide
To Happy people like you--
Happy people like
What a beautiful

Sunny Day
Sweepin' the clouds away
On my way to where the air is sweet

Can you tell me how to get,
How to get to Sesame street...
How to get to Sesame Street
How to get to...

mw

May 30

May 30, 1431: 19-year-old Joan of Arc, also known as “the Maid of Orléans,” is burned at the stake by the direction of John of Lancaster, First Duke of Bedford, in Rouen, France.

Jeanne d’Arc was born January 6, 1412. In 1429, when she was 17, she claimed to have had visions from God that told her to recover her homeland from English domination. These claims coincided with vague prophecies concerning an armed maid who would rescue France.

After meeting the uncrowned King Charles VII and the Dauphin, Joan of Arc was sent to Orléans as part of an effort to lift the siege there. Prior to departing Blois, she sent a letter to the Earl of Salisbury, calling upon the English forces to quit the siege, surrender all cities and territories in France, and to return to England. If they refused, she promised that she would raise a "War cry against them that would last forever....I shall not write any further.” Her audacity in this regard was only to be matched by her accomplishments. Nine days later the siege was lifted after a Joan of Arc led a series of successful attacks against English positions around Orléans. The victory was Joan of Arc’s first major military accomplishment, the first major French success since the Battle of Agincourt in 1415, and marked a turning point in The Hundred Years War. Several more swift victories along the Loire River led to Charles VII's coronation at Reims.

On May 23, 1830, Joan was captured by the English and Burgundians as part of a rear-guard action after a minor skirmish. Eight months later, she was tried by an ecclesiastical court led by Bishop Pierre Cachon, an English partisan at the instance of the First Duke of Bedford. Transcripts from her trial continue in existence today, and George Bernard Shaw found much of this dialogue so compelling that sections of his play Saint Joan are literal translations of the trial record. The most famous exchange is “Asked if she knew she was in God's grace, [Joan of Arc] answered ‘If I am not, may God put me there; and if I am, may God so keep me.’” The question is a scholarly trap. Church doctrine of the age held that no one could be certain of being in God’s grace. If Joan of Arc had answered yes, then she would have convicted herself of heresy. However, if she had answered no, then she would have confessed her own guilt. Notary Boisguillaume would later testify that at the moment the court heard this reply, “Those who were interrogating her were stupefied.”

The court convicted Joan of Arc of heresy and she was burned at the stake by the English on May 30, 1431 at nineteen years old. After she had died, the English raked back the coals to expose her charred body so that no one could claim she had escaped alive, then burned the body twice more to reduce it to ashes and cast her remains into the Seine. The executioner, Geoffroy Therage, later stated that he “…greatly feared to be damned” for his part in the execution.

A posthumous retrial, under the authorization of Pope Callixtus III, opened 24 years later to investigate whether the trial and its verdict had been handled justly and according to canon law. The final summary, put down in June, 1456, styles Joan as a martyr and implicates the late Pierre Cauchon with heresy for having convicted an innocent woman in pursuit of a secular end. The court declared her innocence on July 7, 1456. She was beatified in 1909 and canonized in 1920.

mw

Random scribblings on the plane

One of the stewardesses on my connecting flight from Dallas/Ft. Worth to Salt Lake was kind enough to change my seat. As I walked down the aisle, she noticed my long legs (they go all the way to the ground, don'cha know) and suggested I sit in one of the seats on the emergency exit row over the wings where there is a bit more leg room. Had it not been for this random act of kindness, I would not be battling a technological inferiority complex right now.

From where I sit, I see eight people using laptops, just as many listening to mp3 players or iPods, and four more watching movies on mp3 players or iPods. One woman is watching a movie on a portable DVD player. She would look positively archaic were it not for me (happy to oblige). Me? I was reading a book (Memoirs by William Tecumseh Sherman) until a few minutes ago. Not an eBook, not an online document; just a book, complete with front and back cover and paper for pages. Now, I'm writing this blog in my notebook using a pen. The guy next to me (one of the movie watchers) keeps glancing over, and the expression on his face gives me to know what I am doing is roughly on par with attempting differential calculus using an abacus.

I console myself with the fact that my own laptop died about five hours ago, and that this really just proves how skilled and diverse I am. I can rise to the demands of extenuating circumstances and continue to dispense my soap-box wit to the masses. The pen has toppled governments, ended wars, and preserved nations, and I alone on this red-eye flight hold its power in my hand...

Author's note: the foregoing post could not be completed, since somewhere between the word hand and whatever was to come next the redoubtable pen ran out of ink. I considered finishing the rant this afternoon, but, alas, the moment was lost. After rereading the foregoing, that is probably for the best.

mw

He likes older women

Caleb picked his first flower for a girl today; Ayva Broadbent is the four-year-old daughter of some friends. mw

Restrooms are scary

Restrooms are dangerous places, Republican senators from Idaho notwithstanding. The most obvious accident is stepping on a bar of soap while you are in the tub. Probably the worst feeling in the world is when you start to feel your foot slide out from under you and your mind's eye gives you a preview of the next 1.5 seconds, and you know there is nothing you can do to stop it. You frantically reach for the loofa hanging from the shower head to steady your fall as you crash through the shower curtain, taking the loofa and the shower rod with you as you bounce off the counter and the toilet on the way to the bathroom floor. Your wife rushes in at the sound to see you lying on the ground, looking like a greased hippopotamus wrapped in a shower curtain, victoriously clutching her blue and white loofa in one upraised hand.

Lesson number one: it is easy to overestimate the structural integrity of a loufa. Lesson number two: don't use soap in the shower.

As bad as this is, it pales in comparison to when you are soaking in your lavender-scented bubble bath and the microwave you keep on the edge of the tub falls in, electrocuting you and really wrecking havoc on your bubbles. No kidding, I once saw a warning on the side of a microwave box suggesting this might be a bad idea. It seems to me that those who need to be warned against this sort of action shouldn't be. This would facilitate their removal from the gene pool. Admittedly, it does make enjoying three Lynn Wilson burritos with cheese, salsa, and sour cream in your lavender-scented bubble bath less convenient.

And then, of course, there is this guy. I don't know the details behind this one, but after I saw that picture I didn't go into a restroom for a week.

I am going to add sneezing to the list. Hypothetically speaking, you could be leaning against the wall one Sunday morning, eyes closed, enjoying the feel of the warm water as it runs down your body when you get the urge to sneeze. A simple, natural reaction of the body. Harmless. It can even feel good. Right up until you drive your forehead into the tiled wall you were leaning against. You are then stuck with trying to explain to your wife what the loud thud was and why you came out of the shower with a red mark on your forehead that wasn't there when you went in.

Me? I'd say I stepped on a bar of soap. Hypothetically speaking.

mw

We've been married for some time

You know your wife is having an impact on the way you think and feel about things when, while trimming the lawn, you decapitate one of her tulips and you instantly feel bad for the lost flower, and you wonder if there is something you can do to make it better.

You know your wife still has a lot of work to do with you if you then try to fix said tulip using super glue and duct tape, thinking she may not notice.

mw

Review: Chicken Little

Some friends gave us a gift card to Blockbuster Video some months back. Last night we finally used it on Chicken Little. Good film for the whole family. The plot was an amusing twist on the traditional, "The sky is falling," story of Chicken Little and the jokes were random enough for Neesha and I to appreciate them. While some humor elements did wear thin, I attribute most of that to my being closer to 30 than to 3. For a Hollywood that doesn't produce much I'm willing to let my kids see, this was a worthy effort with enough references to the '70s, '80s, and '90s to keep the adults happy (e.g., "Stay on target, stay on target!").

The only negative? Wannabe by the Spice Girls. That they used the song was actually quite amusing given the context. The problem is that it is still in my head. Picture, if you will, a tall, thin, white male prancing around the living room with a laughing, two-year-old boy in one hand and a vacuum cleaner in the other, all the while singing,

"Yo, I'll tell you what I want, what I really really want,
So tell me what you want, what you really really want,
I'll tell you what I want, what I really really want,
So tell me what you want, what you really really want,
I wanna, I wanna, I wanna, I wanna, I wanna really
really really wanna zigazig ha."

• Neesha's favorite line: "That's your mom and dad? And they brought the Intergalactic Armada?!"
• Mark's favorite line: "This is surprisingly accurate."
• Caleb's favorite line: "You'll have to go on without me. Just leave me some ammo, a little bit of water...chips if you've got 'em."
• Ainsley's favorite line: "Runt, old buddy, the fate of the world depends entirely on me and, to a far lesser extent, you."

Rating:

• Buy it now
• Worth $10 at Costco
• Happy we rented it, but also happy we only rented it
  
• No good at any price
• That numb feeling at the top of your head? That's your cerebral cortex closing up shop

m&n

That's nice. One less thing.

I was browsing the news this morning when I came across an old article covering John Ashcroft's resignation from the Cabinet. I haven't seen his name in the media for a few years, so I followed the link and was happy to learn, “The objective of securing the safety of Americans from crime and terror has been achieved.”

It is nice to have that whole “crime and terror” business behind us, finally. Who knew?

mw

6:15, and all is well

It is 6:15 am and I'm writing a blog using only one hand. It must be a weekend morning.

The Boy is asleep on my lap, a flannel blankie clutched tightly to his chest. This causes me to press the space bar very gently, as it sticks a little and I do not want to disturb him. Upstairs, Neesha is sleeping in; a well-deserved break. Sunlight is starting to make its way across our front lawn to our window. The house is perfectly still. The only sounds I hear beyond the clicking of my keyboard are some birds outside and Caleb's gentle breathing, interrupted occasionally when he sucks on his thumb.

I think I am doing something right.

mw

I'd give my first born child...

Neesha and I are entering a contest. Actually, we're entering Caleb in a contest. It's been 26 months, now, and we can no longer be silenced. We have a good-looking kid, and we are going to share him with the world by entering a cute-baby contest. This would seem rather presumptuous on our part, except that we have conducted some objective field research and based on the considered opinions of two grandmothers, two grandfathers, five uncles, and five aunts, he is in fact a cute little boy.

We have gone through our pictures of Caleb and attached our favorites. Vote on your favorite in the poll on the left and we will send the winner to www.exploityourbaby.com.

One of our favorites pieces, titled, Ode to the Great Pumpkin.
This was taken on the steps of the Bountiful Temple the morning Keira and Adam were married.Thought we should include at least one action shot. We tried to catch him doing a 360 back flip, but never could get the timing right, so we had to settle for him climbing.We'd rather not talk about this one.
Neesha thinks he looks older with his shorter hair. Personally, I just don't see it.
We try to not let him run around the house without any clothes on but sometimes, when he strikes a pose, it is just so cute!
m&n

They should really consider renaming some candies

We are not above bribing our children. I am, in fact, the sort of father who is willing to buy his way into the hearts of his offspring. At this point, it is only Caleb who is able to cash in, but I have already cut a few deals with Ainsley. For instance, I promised her a pony if she delays her arrival past the Utah vs. Michigan game this fall. Two ponies if she will be born on a Monday afternoon so I get the full week off of work.

For Caleb, the stakes aren't quite as high. A half-sippy of chocolate milk if he'll eat his hamburger, a chip dipped in Queso for every two bites of dinner. Is it bad parenting? Perhaps, but I know most of you are going through your own experiences as a mom or dad right now, remembering the times you're role resembled that of bookie more than parent.

Probably the most frequent bargain we strike with The Boy is a package of Smarties if he keeps his shoes on the entire time at the grocery store. In defense of bribing my children, Caleb has also developed a sense of fairplay. When he takes a shoe off, or both shoes, or both shoes, both socks, a pair of pants, and starts working on his diaper, he will announce, somewhat dejectedly, "No Smarties." It's very cute and I'm convinced is a play on his part for us to give him the Smarties anyway.

Well, tragedy struck this past week at the grocery store, and Dick's in Bountiful stopped giving away individual packages of Smarties. Not to be refused, the Lovely and Talented Wife looked to buy a large bag full of Smarties, realizing that, if she carried one or two packages in the diaper bag she could employ the same carrot at Target, at Costco, everywhere! No longer would sugar-coated bribery be limited to the confines of the grocery store checkout line, but it could now permeate every aspect of Caleb's social and cognitive development. So long, Doctor Spock; Babywise, farewell! Your services are no longer required. She would now have two pounds of Smarties to govern our child's behavior like a true B.F. Skinner disciple! She raced her grocery cart to the candy aisle, weaving in and out of soccer moms like a blonde Danica Patrick, Caleb screaming delightedly all the while, "Run away!" Frantically she searched the shelves, flinging bags of candy to the floor as snot-nosed children cowered in fear. Ultimately, she realized the truth of the matter: not only did Dick's not carry individual packages of Smarties, they also did not carry them in large bags. As she stood in the wreckage formerly known as aisle nine, she considered her options. Murder? Too Shakespearean. Arson? Too conspicuous.

Then, like a Republican who just discovered a new tax cut, she saw her solution. There, at her feet, lay a package of suckers. She didn't need Smarties. Triumphantly, she carried the bag to the front of the store, swiped her credit card, and walked into the sunset, suckers, boy, shoes and all.

The name on the bag of suckers? Dum-Dums.

mw

To go up, you must push down

We have a fairly simple screen door on the front of our townhome. This in contrast to our main door, which I think is quite nice. But the screen door is your basic, straight up and down door with no protrusions or anything like unto them.

I left Caleb in the living room the other day while I went into the kitchen to keep Neesha company. As we were talking, I heard something bang against the screen door. My first thought was that Caleb has remembered how to open the door and was moving full speed across the lawn into the street where he would be run down by a little, blue-haired lady in a big, black Oldsmobile (we have a pluthra of those in our neighborhood). I ran from the kitchen to the living room, Ninja-Daddy to the rescue. To my relief, my little boy was still inside, and the screen door was still closed. The noise I heard? He was five feet up the screen door, using one hand to hold on to the top while the other was looking for a handhold on the door jam.

Me: ...?
Caleb: Oh, hi Daddy!
Me: How did you...I mean, that's a no!

mw

The accident

Me: Hey, I'm on my way to the airport.
Neesha: I have some bad news.
Me: Okay.
Neesha: Caleb ran out of hair.


m&n

Can I get you anything, sir?

Stewardess: Drink?
Me: Yes. Thank you, ma’am.
Stewardess: Chips?
Me: Please.
Stewardess: Trash?
Me: No, thank you. I filled up before leaving.

Not everyone appreciates my humor.

mw

My trip to Austin, Texas

I don’t travel well. Some of this is due to my height. Most people don’t realize it, but at 6’8” I’m taller than most. It is something I don’t talk about very often because I don’t like to burden my friends. But, when traveling, it becomes a real liability. Showerheads are too low, beds are too short, and every conversation begins with, “Mark Wright…6’8”…no, I don’t play basketball.” I’ve considered changing my name to Kevin Garnett and pretending I retired, lost 40 pounds, and turned white.

And, of course, there is the plane. The distance between my seat and the one in front of it is shorter than Caleb’s attention span, so I am constantly kicking the seat in front of me…and the seat in front of that…and the seat in front of that. The result is that the guy in front of me thinks I’m a jerk, the lady in front of him thinks I’m a pervert, and the guy in front of her thinks he’s found his new, special friend.

This is all fine. If nothing else, it gives me rich meat to blog about. No, the primary reason I don’t travel well is because I have to leave Neesha and Caleb behind. Some people I know call it being a home-body. Others call it being a dedicated family man. I call it being selfish. There are few whose company I enjoy as much as my family’s and I don’t like being away from them. When I was packing, Caleb thought it was great fun to climb into my suitcase and close the lid. Unpacking in Austin, I found myself hoping that, by some chance, he’d poke his head, up with all of his hair (more to come on that), and give his typical, “Oh, hi Daddy.”

On my lap is a stuffed bear. I bought it for Caleb when I first arrived in Texas, and I’ve kept it with me since. Together, we’ve gone to meetings, listened to sales proposals, set short- and long-term strategies, reset those same strategies, enjoyed traditional Southern BBQ and breakfasts, discovered a fantastic seafood restaurant, walked the streets of Austin, sipped Dr. Pepper from wine glasses, and battled motion sickness on the plane. It’s a fun way to carry my family with me when they aren’t around, but I still miss the real thing.

So, here’s to beautiful wives and little boys. May God bless them.

mw

And I thought sunless tanning was humanity's great achievement

.
"Scientists Map the Genome of the Platypus"

mw

Very well, you may apologize

It occurred to me this week that the phrase “Please allow me to apologize,” is not really an apology. Rather, it is a request for permission to apologize. When someone uses this phrase, be careful that you do not allow the pseudo-penitent to get away without actually apologizing once you grant him or her permission to do so. In fact, you should state explicitly, “You may apologize,” and then wait with an earnest and sincere expression on your face.

Do not be surprised if not everyone finds this as amusing as I do.

mw

The definition is anything but...

I used the word 'pithy' today on a conference call. At first, everyone thought I said 'pissy,' which given the context was wholly inappropriate but also quite amusing. After we cleared that up, someone googled the definition: "[n. PIH-thee] Pithy, when used accurately, describes speech or writing that is short, direct, and memorable."

I'm not a linquist by any means, but isn't the meaning of a word always predicated on it being used accurately?

mw

Why I shouldn't watch sports in Texas

I am in suite 547 of the Driskill Hotel in Austin, Texas right now, propped up on four feather pillows on a king-size bed, wrapped in a robe I can't afford, and drinking Dr. Pepper out of a wine glass. Four Points paid for the hotel, though I covered the DP. For the record, early 2008 is an excellent year and the bouquet is fantastic.

This past year I decided I was going to stop watching sports on television. Not exactly a soul-altering decision, though I am proud to say my motivation in this regard is as soporific as befits such a monumentally insignificant resolution: I need glasses. It was during the last college football season that I realized I could no longer read the scores on the screen while sitting across the room. Naive optometrists would likely blame this deterioration on my staring at spreadsheets on the computer all day as I grow older; or perhaps just on my growing older. Personally, I blame it on a receding hairline and a University of Utah football team that has underperformed for the past three seasons. I've thought about this a lot, and have developed a solution which, while it may appear complex on spec, is actually quite simple in application. Do nothing and wait for the problem to go away by itself while hoping the Utes get a new offensive coordinator next season. That failing, get plugs and continue to hope for a new offensive coordinator. In the meantime, stop watching sports (the better to ignore the problem, my dear).

Except for when I do. The Jazz just dropped Game 2 to the Lakers and looked pretty good doing it. Boozer needs to rediscover himself, and Williams needs to stop reinventing himself, but considering they have no answer for the NBA's elite 2 guards, that isn't bad. According to the announcers, at one point Bryant was 8-for-5 from the field, and I just don't know how you stop that.

At the end of the game there was a fishing-for-litigation commercial that made me recommit to my non-committal commitment. Studies conducted by the law firm of Shyster, Shyster, & Shyster have found that thousands of heart patients given a particular medication have died over a period of time. "If you have experienced similar side effects," and have no comprehension of statistics, call them at 1-800-DE-MINIMIS.

mw