As I See It

There are few times in my life that I feel invincible. I am an average height, small-framed woman in my early 20s.  I am painfully aware of predators; I walk with my keys ready to unlock my car or jab in someone’s eye. When I was kid I picked fights at school, maybe because of some altruistic desire for justice, or maybe just to see if I would win. I won’t lie, I am proud of that. At that time everyone was pretty much on a level playing field, and I wasn’t big for my age, but I was scrappy.

As I have grown older, unsurprisingly that playing field has become uneven, full of giants. Now we resolve conflict or challenges often by just smiling stiffly and hoping for the best. There’s a lot of talk of being humble, polite, taking the perverbial high-road. Which would be great were we not so preoccupied with being noble. Everyone is so sure that those mountains they face can be imagined away. Rather than stare them down, sometimes I feel like we stay back to see who will go for it first.

Yesterday morning I read an article about a tiny puppy who was not afraid of the danger outside his door. (Feisty Puppy  ) The article describes Pawlee’s (the puppy) tenacity towards a family of bears that had invaded his territory. Imagine that tiny little animal, big amber eyes and curly brown hair, being that fearless. It wasn’t like he was barking at an alley cat or a possum, this puppy went up against a Mamma Bear and her two cubs. There was no hesitation, no thought that he was too small to oppose those who threatened him.

That got me thinking about myself. I talk big a lot of the time. I act like I have it together or am not afraid of the changes or challenges I am facing, but it reality, I am terrified most of the time. I like to tell others to have faith in difficult situations, when if it were me, I’d be crying for God to just pick me up and place me gently on the other side of it. The one thing I do have, a lot of the time, is my stubborness. When I get something in my head to do, when I think it is my destiny, it takes the Almighty capturing my imaginations for me to be moved.

So maybe that is a version of faith, because faith is an act of your will and emotions submitting to the Holy Spirit. God doesn’t really give you faith, because he already knows what’s going to happen, he wants you to decide to believe on your own. To be like David and walk into the battle with just the tools God gave him. It is a faith inspired from your own tenacity to meet your destiny, to be feisty just like Pawlee.

Pawlee didn’t see the bears for what they were, something that could destroy him with great ease. Pawlee saw his territory being invaded. He thought of the family that he loved, and probably his food bowl, being threatened. Then he acted. It was simple for him and it should be simple for us. Faith should be an instinct, second nature, not a battle with our own will. 

Sure, the playing field is no longer level. The problem may not be solved with a few punches on the playground or by closing our eyes until it passes. However, the faith that a child has when it faces the monster under the bed, is still found beneath all the logic and propriety we have piled on top of it.  So, be like Pawlee, bark at the bears in your yard.

I have gotten two tickets for “running” a red light. I remember the first time I noticed the ominous white camera sitting to the side of a stoplight I frequently drive by. I grumbled something about the city being greedy, money-hungry fascists, to which my husband surely rolled his eyes. I wasn’t so much shocked by its appearance as I was irritated that my formerly small and artsy North Texas college town had grown so much away from it’s roots.

I am someone who obeys the laws of the road about 84% of the time. Sometimes I speed, but not too fast anymore (I spent a lot of my driving adolescence finagling my way out of speeding tickets). Occasionally I pause at stop signs on a deserted road. I rarely do an illegal U-turn. However, one I thing I do not normally do (whether on purpose or because of impatience) is run a red-light.

 I remember when I was a little girl driving home with my family from Walmart one Saturday, and there was a massive wreck at the light close to our house. It was awful, lots of shattered glass, the twisted body of a Buick. I remember my parents saying one of the cars had run the red-light and gotten broadsided. This terrified me, I imagined being out in the intersection after the red light was like being a knight without armor, totally vulnerable and weak.

My dad owns the title to my VW Bug, he gave it to me when I was a teenager, and I still drive it today. So, naturally, when he called me to say he had gotten a ticket for running a red-light, I was shocked. I racked my brain, I couldn’t envision myself running a red-light. Then my husband reminded me of the incident (I was halfway through the intersection on a fresh yellow-light, and it changed to red suddenly) and that set me off. Would they assume I read the traffic lights mind and knew it was going to change at a pace inconsistent with other lights in the area? I suppose I should have.

This situation did little to quell my frustrations with the city and their blatant design to put more money in their pockets. But what angered me more was these new camera-cops removed human accountability and judgement from the equation of traffic safety completely. Where were the reasoning skills of a cop on duty who would witness an alleged violation and deduce the facts surrounding it? Gone were the days where you could explain your circumstance to a law-enforcer human being and hope for pity, sympathy, or at the least, amusement at the case you lay before them.

The other day I read this article entitled Red-Light Cameras Just Don’t Work. The author of this article goes into great detail about why the camera’s are for anyone’s benefit but that of the common driver. The article says:

“Well, according to study after study, rather than improving motorist safety, red-light cameras significantly increase crashes and therefore, raise insurance premiums.”

Isn’t it so like our government to tout something as being advantageous to us, while really, it does little more than pad the pockets of those in charge or with specified interest? There have been numerous studies done that show a direct increase in accidents in the areas where the cameras have been installed. And, as I suggested earlier, there are an increased amount of yellow-lights being shortened (two of note were found right here in Texas). So, if they have truly been placed atop the traffic lights that govern our roadways for the purpose of drivers safety, why is it that they are causing more harm than good?

It is not for us they have been placed there, that is a thinly veiled lie. I am so tired of  the “for your own good” line being force fed me just so someone can go ahead and do exactly what the want anyway. So, I have a few equitable words for city officials and Big Brother: First, don’t silence your guilt or conscience with a statement you yourself know to be a lie. Second, the drivers of America are anxious, impatient and distracted enough already without you adding one more reason for us to panic and make a fatal mistake on the road. We live in constant awareness that our world is changing, but with this so called progress that is supposed to make us feel safer, we end up feeling more frazzled and unsure than before.

I had heard a lot of buzz about Woody Allen’s new comedy Vicky Cristina Barcelona, namely a certain kissing scene that takes place in the film. This annoyed me somewhat. Why is it that the media can only focus on something if it’s salacious? I was hopeful, despite the focus that had been placed on the sex in the movie, that since I have generally enjoyed the Woody Allen comedies I have seen in the past this would be no different. And, for better or worse, it wasn’t. But before I begin I must say, I am not recommending this film to you. I couldn’t do that in good conscience. However, I will tell you why I enjoyed it and why it was an achievement for the director.

Vicky Cristina Barcelona is a romanticized, unrealistic, sexy romp about two best friends who are both trying to find themselves in Barcelona one summer. Vicky, is a conservative, grounded grad student (played vulnerably by Rebecca Hall) who seems an odd match to the wild and idealistic Cristina (typecast with Scarlett Johanssen). They meet a passionate artist, who is also an unabashed charmer, named Juan Antonio (Javier Bardem portrays him with a great deal of humor) and they set off into a whirlwind of new experiences. The film really just meanders through their lives, giving no more weight to the romance between Cristina and Juan Antonio, as it does for Vicky’s conflictions with her own situation and choices. The dynamic in the film takes off when Juan Antonio’s unstable ex-wife Maria Elena (played winningly by Penelope Cruz, who I have never liked before) comes on the scene and all-manner chaos is unleashed.

All of this is both fun and slightly ridiculous at the same time, but one thing is for sure, you find yourself being completely engrossed in this fantasy world of avant-garde intellectuals that Allen creates. The film is carried along with a loud, dry narration that reminds more of a documentary than a feature film. It was a bold move, and could have stuck out like a sore thumb, had Allen not completely committed to it. At one point, Cristina is very drunk and gets sick, the whole scene is shot with a slightly fuzzy resolution that makes you feel off-kilter with the drunken Cristina. That was one of the most enjoyable things about the movie, being captured by the technique of the filmmaker. Woody Allen, for all his neurosis and eccentricities, remains an innovator in this industry.

The performances of the actors are vibrant and full of life. As I said before, newcomer Rebecca Hall, is funny and vulnerable, portraying her sense of confusion with a refreshing candor. While I always think Scarlett Johanssen is appealing to watch, hers was the only performance that bored me. It felt very much like what I have seen from her before, even reminiscent of her performance in her first Woody Allen movie (and a fascinating movie it was) Match Point. I wondered why she had taken a role so like what she has already played and mastered previously. Truly, if she doesn’t take something different soon, she will run the risk of always being the bombshell.

The two characters with the greatest challenge were Juan Antonio and Maria Elena. Javier Bardem is hilarious with his cheesy orations on love and life, all the while really just trying to get someone (anyone) into bed. I have always found him a little terrifying, but in this movie he is non-threatening, even human. Pennelope Cruz, who I have always felt looked like a field-mouse, was captivating as the tortured artist-bohemian who was always trying to kill herself or someone else. She curses, she’s brilliant and disturbed, and throughout the film she teeters on the edge of insanity. Maybe it helped that I don’t like her, because I was surprised when her performance charmed me.

Which brings me to the one thing that everyone is talking about, which I think is the least interesting thing about the whole movie. There is a scene in which Penelope Cruz and Scarlett Johnassen kiss. Yep. I closed my husband’s eyes, but really, only to annoy him. It was 10 seconds of screen time and would have been forgotten completely by me had it not been so well publicized. And, really, that’s all I have to say about it. Don’t go see this movie for this scene and don’t disregard it because of it. I only mention it because you should know it’s there so you can make an informed decision for yourself.

Ultimately, I would say yes to Vicky Cristina Barcelona. But I will not say you must see it or you will be sorry you didn’t. It’s classic Woody Allen in a beautiful setting. It really is an actors film and the cast sparkled. The movie just tells a story, there is no great message or incredible life lesson found in it. It’s romantic fluff with great dialog. The subject matter is wordly and mature-themed, but I am not someone who needs to agree with a perspective to enjoy the view. It is what it is. And it is enjoyable.

Stiller, Downey, Jr., Black

First off, I apologize that the first movie I am reviewing is Tropic Thunder. I blame Hollywood’s inability to produce good material. Please, please don’t judge me.

So, for better or worse, here it is…

There is little distinction between Ben Stiller’s new action-comedy Tropic Thunder and what I put in my trash can. Friday evening, after an awesome dinner at a local Thai restaurant (where my husband and I indulged in the most incredible Coconut Ice Cream in the North Texas area),we headed off to the movie, hoping in earnest that it would not fall short. We were not so lucky.

I had heard some things floating around in cyberspace about protesting from several human rights groups in regards to a particular stream of humor in the film. Now, I must say, I rarely pay attention to accusations regarding the brand of humor or political statement featured in a film. I am someone who stands in firm opposition against censorship, in any form. I do not agree with a lot of what is out there (in film or printed in the media, and a lot of modern fiction is purely fluff), but that does not take away the civil right of the author or filmmaker to present it to the world. After all, that is where our freedom to choose not to support it comes in. (What would I rant about were that taken away?) So, I approached Tropic Thunder with optimism, and I was greatly disappointed.

The film chronicles the bungled mess that is the filming of a Vietnam war movie called, shockingly, Tropic Thunder. After running into budget problems and poor camaraderie between the actors, the director, Damien Cockburn (an obvious play on words there), sets off into the jungle with his lead actors, the films special effects coordinator (played humorously by Danny McBride) and the “Vietnam Vet” Four Leaf Tayback (a dirty, drunk Nick Nolte). All manner of chaos ensues and thus the plot moves along. The plot isn’t where the movie’s issues come in, however. It is both clever and inventive how they set up the conflict, and all the actors are in their respective elements. However, Jack Black, with his buzzed blond hair and protruding belly (not to mention an insane heroine addiction) steals the show, without crossing the line.

I had heard that Tom Cruise made a striking cameo in the movie, and that was 100% true. Cruise plays Les Grossman, and to say he was foul mouthed would be a gross understatement. Cruise spews out more f-bombs than rest of the actors in the film combined (and keep in mind, this movie is Rated R for some violence and drug content, but primarily for pervasive language). He plays a hairy, balding, and disgustingly wealthy film mogul who is both ruthless and cunning, as well as foolish and superficial; but somehow he wins. I found myself both amused and annoyed by his tirades. Strangely, somehow, I was reminded of why, at one time, I actually enjoyed watching Tom Cruise. There was an element of the ridiculous about his performance that poked fun at the bizarre, controlling facade he portrays in the media. I truly, despite my greatest efforts to feel otherwise, was glad he was in the movie.

Along with Cruise, there were many other cameo’s and surprise appearances throughout the film, which did little more than show off how many friends Ben Stiller actually has in the industry. However, I did enjoy Matthew McConaughey’s appearance as the slightly dim-witted, bushy haired agent to Stiller’s character Tugg Speedman. Anytime I am surprised my Matthew McConaughey is OK with me. A lot of the movie felt contrived, however, and I found myself at times feeling like I was trying to digest stale bread. It was occasionally fresh, but mostly, it carried the trademark Stiller humor and nervous twitch which comes with it. I did an equal amount of laughing as rolling my eyes and shaking my head.

Now, to the primary reason I would have to say “No” to Tropic Thunder. All of Jack Black’s goofy, uninhibited humor,  and no amount of Matthew McConaughey or a re-vamped Tom Cruise, could remove the reproach that entered from almost the first frame of the film. Ben Stiller’s character made a movie entitled “Simple Jack” about a mentally challenged man slightly reminiscent of Lennie from Of Mice and Men. Had it just been the brief reference to the movie and a few jokes, maybe that would have been OK, but this particular storyline (accompanied by numerous insensitive references to mentally challenged individuals, and an incredibly offensive moment in which Stiller and Downey, Jr trade insults about it) threads throughout the entire movie. There’s a lot that I can ignore, or even find the humor in , that is off-color or even offensive; this is not one of those things. The theater was full and there was a noticeable tension that arose every time this particular storyline came back around. It was highly alienating, causing me to feel removed from my immersion in the movie frequently.

So, in conclusion, if you were considering seeing Tropic Thunder, think again. For the few highlights, and the humor that it does have, it carries with it a great deal of unecessary insensitivity. I would choose not to support the filmmakers decision to poke fun at that particular group of individuals, and therefore, greatly alienating a significant part of their audience that does not find that particular brand of humor amusing. So, as far as I’m concerned, this one, is a NO.

I love to see it when just one person does something out of the ordinary or with compassion, but to see an entire regiment do it is quite a sight. Here is a link to a story about a very special penguin (well, three very special penguins) and the honor bestowed on him for his service: Penguin Receives Knighthood.

The article talks about how these three penguin’s have served the elite Norwegian King’s Guard. What makes me smile most about this isn’t that it’s a sweet, fluffy story about an adorable Penguin. No, why I am smiling today when I look at that flight-less bird walking in front of a row of uniformed soldiers standing at attention, is because these guards are honoring an animal for his ability to serve and inspire them. They have acknowledged that this creature, while not human, is capable of great things.

There is something to be said for the desire to bestow prestige to something just because you can. Even though little Nils Olav cannot speak the language or communicate his gratitude, he gets the accolade just the same. Maybe he doesn’t know why, by our standards, that it’s special; but I would like to think he feels the excitment of the title regardless. Now that’s a good thing.

Since the very first comment I ever received on my site ended in a question about the difference between what was placed in the Rants and Soapbox category, I thought I may as well post a little something about the distinction between the two. At first glance the two may appear to not be so different. They both involve a great deal of passion. Both relate to making a kind of speech. However, when examined closely they connote quite different meanings.

To rant, as defined by Webster, means: a bombastic extravagant speech; to talk in a noisy, excited, or declamatory manner; to scold vehemently. When I rant, I have been set off; be it by something I saw in the media or heard in conversation. Sometimes it’s merely a reaction to a lot of pent up energy or the compulsion to have an opinion about everything. Rarely does a rant carry the weight of a social issue or a serious concern on my heart. No, that is reserved for the Soapbox.

I have heard the term soapbox used throughout my life primarily by my mother. Or by my father clearing off the kitchen table for my mom to stand on when she went into one of her orations. For me, this was a term associated with great passion and emotion about a certain issue or problem in the world. Good ol’ Webster defines it as: an improvised platform used by a self-appointed, spontaneous, or informal orator; broadly: something that provides an outlet for delivering opinions. Where at one time we needed a box (table, chair, voice loud enough to be heard over everyone else), now we have the Internet.

So, since you were wondering, there it is, the difference between two things very close to my heart.

I’d like to begin by saying that I am truly blowing smoke right now. No, I’m throwing a temper tantrum. I just found out that the upcoming, highly-anticipated release of Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince has now been pushed back to July 2009. Yeah, JULY-2009.

The release of the next Harry Potter film was a beacon of light on the horizon of the barren landscape that has been the 2008 production year. I had hope, that, if nothing else, I would at least enjoy one movie other than WALL-E. I would at least see one thing that brought excitement, sentiment, and fun back into an otherwise relatively dull year of cinema. And, if I can be frank, I have grown incredibly weary of how the entertainment industry seems concerned with very little other than profit.

In the article I read,  Alan Horn, President and Chief Operating Officer for Warner Brother’s had this to say:

 ”Our reasons for shifting ‘Half-Blood Prince’ to summer are twofold: we know the summer season is an ideal window for a family tent pole release, as proven by the success of our last Harry Potter film, which is the second-highest grossing film in the franchise, behind only the first installment. Additionally, like every other studio, we are still feeling the repercussions of the writers’ strike, which impacted the readiness of scripts for other films–changing the competitive landscape for 2009 and offering new windows of opportunity that we wanted to take advantage of. We agreed the best strategy was to move ‘Half-Blood Prince’ to July, where it perfectly fills the gap for a major tent pole release for mid-summer.”

OK, so it really is just about money. Were Mr. Horn an animated character in a Loony Toon he’d have dollar signs scrolling through his eyeballs right now. I think it’s great how he tries to make a plea for their case by bringing up the writers strike. Sorry, but wasn’t the writers strike brought on by greedy execs like Mr. Horn?  Which brings me to my main issue: If everything really is about revenue and money, is there any room anymore for the JOY of film?

I am someone who loves movies. I love sitting in a darkened, cool theater with my phone on silent and my eyes glued to the screen. I love the escape. I love being educated or enraged by a movie. I love laughing. I love how sometimes I cry so much I am embarrassed. I always find myself hoping that somewhere in the process of making a film I have enjoyed, someone involved enjoyed it as well. Then I read a quote like that of Mr. Horn’s and I realize, for a lot, it is just a job; just a cash cow. Jimmy Stewart once said, “Never treat your audience as customers, always as partners.” So, I ask you, where have all the true filmmakers gone?

I love Jimmy’s quote. Sure, he was already paid before the films he acted in even went into production(and, yes, times have changed), but that shouldn’t invalidate his statement. There was a time when filmmakers felt passionate about the relationship between themselves and us (the audience). Which makes me wonder: did the philosophy of making films for the joy of it go the way of the classics, left back in black and white, replaced by mass-appeal moneymakers with flash, green-screens, and shock value?       

I’ll leave you with this quote from director Francis Ford Coppola: ”The professional world was much more unpleasant than I thought.” And, as far as I can tell, I would probably agree with him. So even though Mr. Horn will likely never read this, I’d like to say, from me an avid film-goer and someone who recognizes it’s power: I wish that you would remember there is more to movies than money and the pursuit of a greater market share.

      I love animals. Okay, that’s the understatement of the year. Sometimes when I think about dogs in a shelter, I actually feel physical pain. When I read an inspirational story about a heroic dog, horse; parrot even (yes, I’ve read some), my face will certainly be stained with tears.

      So a while ago, when my mom quoted a Rolling Stone article about the treatment of pigs in one of the nations largest pork producers (Pork’s Dirty Secret), I was not only appalled, but I had to see for myself.

      As a normal woman in America I have a sort of love hate relationship with food. I love to sit down to a home cooked meal, feasting not only my taste buds, but my sight and smell senses as well. However, I hate the affect that same full-sensory experience has on my thighs. Nonetheless, other than that minor setback in my relationship with food, I pretty much existed in blissful ignorance. Until I Googled that article, that is.

      The article does not mince words about the living conditions of millions of pigs that reside(if you can use that word) in the Smithfield facilities. Not only do they live in squalor and filth, but that filth is then filtered into the surrounding area by waste disposal. The pigs are not living for the time that they are alive. They reside by the hundreds, sometimes thousands in barn like buildings, often times being trampled to death. They are kept living merely by the administration of countless antibiotics. As the article says (“There is no sunlight, straw, fresh air or earth.”) this is not a life. 

In reading that, I began to think about what I was doing by purchasing their products, by consuming the meat from those animals. I considered that if Smithfield was doing it, likely, most others were as well. I could not, in good conscience, contribute to their revenue any longer. But beyond my desire to withdraw my own consumership of their products, I thought about the bigger issue. Rarely had I considered that the slab of meat I ate for dinner(or the savory bacon I fried up to put on my sandwich or eat with my toast) was a creature that had not only been killed inhumanely, but had not been given a chance to live at all. 

This was not something I could accept, and it set off for me a spiral effect of re-examination at the foods I ate and the companies I supported. When we say we value life, we often mean human life, but why is the life of an animal so different than our own? I am not a New Ager. I do not believe in Reincarnation. When I die, I will go to the Father, I will not be back as a fuzzy chick or fluffy cat. So, because I believe that, I must wonder what God meant when he said for us to be the ruler over the creatures of the earth. And, I really don’t think he meant for us to torture them for our own food.

      I am not a celebrity. I do not have unlimited resources at my disposal. I have a mortgage, bills, and the rise in gas prices is definitely putting a dent in my budget. So, when my husband and I decided to green our life, I found there wasn’t exactly a road map for the middle-classer with an Eco mission.

      Not shocking, most celebs have gone green; driving their hybrids and talking about the Eco renovations they have made to their palatial Hollywood estates (which I find to be an oxymoron). So where does that leave us, the average consumer? The ones still driving the old model car that guzzles gas like it’s going out of style, and who, not long ago, bought Windex and Tilex with good conscience. Well, hopefully, not too far behind.

      I recently read an article on MSN (Celebrity Eco-Friendly Tips), featuring some info about Julia Roberts’ turn to the green life. She hooked up with a yoga instructor/environmentalist named Sophie Uliano and was given the cheat sheet to go from Wasteful Consumer to Green Goddess. Presto, done! Oh yeah, and it was probably super economical and simple. The article goes on to talk about other celebrities and their tried and true tips.

      Now, yes, it says you don’t have to break the bank. But I would bet one of my Eco-grocery bags that this reporter (and most reporting on the subject) hasn’t actually made the switch. Because if she had, she would know really going green requires a mental shift, not just a recycle bin and some canvas bags. And mental shifts can be pricey.

    Why are we listening to Celebrities anyway? Just because they are more attractive than most of us, and have more money and notoriety, doesn’t mean they in any way are authorities on living life responsibly. And they definitely don’t know much about making gradual, long-term changes to their lives. Not when most wear clothing only once, buy a new car every time they feel the itch, and dispose of their marriages like Kleenex.

      Now, don’t get me wrong. I enjoy watching E! as much as most women my age. I like to read magazines and look at pictures of famous faces. I certainly love movies. And sure, if I had the same amount of capital as most of them, I’d probably evaluate my spending choices as well. But when it comes to being told how to live my life, I’d rather they stayed out of it.

      So, this category is dedicated to average folk without an inflated expendable income. You, me, and most, looking to leave a greener stamp on the world. After all, we have been commissioned as stewards of this planet, not just to consume it, but to cultivate it.

I should really begin by telling you that I abhor blogs. Not long ago I had a heated discussion with my husband about how bloggers were not real writers. (Which he promptly brought up to me, when I decided to make this blog. Yeah, it’s great being married to someone who listens to you.) I fought for the voice of all unheard writers trying to legitimately make it in this world. I believed that since anyone can blog, it took away the beauty, the uniqueness, of being chosen to write, to share fact or opinion, creativity or fantasy, with the world.

To blog is not to write, not really, because being a writer is more than just putting words together into sentences. Sure we write for ourselves, if not for ourselves the vast majority of writers would have no audience. However, hardwired into the make-up of almost every writer is the need for validation. That need for someone to read our words and make them mean something by printing them onto paper and distributing them to the world. Isn’t that right?

Well, maybe at one time that was the only way. Now, in a society where most research is done via the Internet rather than a library; most newspapers are lining boxes and wrapping produce rather than sharing Sunday morning breakfast with the family, blogging has somehow become an accepted form of reporting on the world. And, on one hand, I find it tragic. Technological progress has created for us a way of mass-producing opinions. Everyone has one, so everyone gets a voice.

It reminds me of that saying “Everyone is unique”. I like to better say, “Everyone has a unique gift”. I believe we are all gifted in one way or another, but the very nature of being a human, a part of society or culture, is that we are constantly trying to relate, to connect. While we all desperately hope to be different and seen as exceptional, we also desperately try to find common ground with others.

That brings me back to bloggers. Maybe the reason it is so prolific and abundant goes to the heart of our need as humans to connect. We need to know, out there, somewhere, there are others who see life through the same lens. Some bloggers will always just be people who want there voice to be heard where otherwise no one would listen (and maybe I’ll find I actually fall into that category, who knows?), which isn’t so bad as I may have previously thought. But others will inevitably be real writers, with real views or real talents for word-smithing. Those may find that angle hidden in the shadow waiting earnestly to be brought into the light, that one idea that will truly change someone or something. So, hey, blog all you want, and so will I, there’s no harm I suppose in trying.