Matt W Cook

writer.former fundamentalist.christianly fellow

Month: September, 2009

September 9, 2009

On the cliff by the sea

var addthis_pub=”4a0af351783743a8″;I took Joseph out last night. We went to see Ponyo.
I was impressed. But not in the way I thought I would be.
Remember when Shrek first came out? And all the kids and adults loved it together. The kids loved it because it was a colourful, musical cartoon. The adults loved it because of its mature humor and deep content. Shrek was great – a film to bridge the gaps, you know?
Ponyo wasn’t like that at all. It think it’s thoroughly a children’s movie. There were no hidden jokes, nothing too deep under the surface. But I loved it.
It seems to me that children’s media has been turning toward the flippant and silly over the last few decades. Superfriends and Classic Disney is replaced either by shows that rest on mucas and bodily noises for their interest.
Joseph didn’t laugh much throughout Ponyo. But, boy, did he ever grin. He pointed and grinned when the hero first met Ponyo. He sighed and was sad when Ponyo was taken by the wave. He turned very serious when the hero lost his mother. He laughed and cheered when the movie ended and everything was made right. Ponyo gave him one of those ‘deep movie’ joys that you only get with a seriously well made movie. Joe doesn’t ever really get excited during Spongebob (he just kinda sits there with his mouth open). But he actually got joy from Ponyo. The same kinda of look he gets when he watches Superfriends (yes, we watch Superfriends – don’t knock it until you try it).
I wish there would be more films like Ponyo.
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September 7, 2009

Laborious Day

var addthis_pub=”4a0af351783743a8″; Have you ever thought about what it really means to believe in yourself? I’ve never been able to understand it. Is it acknowledging that you exist? Or, more likely, trusting yourself to be good and sufficient and all that jazz? I guess it must be that.

But what a suicidal thought! I tell you the truth, I don’t believe in myself. And I’m glad of that.

Some ridiculously good friends and I are trying to help each other out. And it’s working great. It’s working great because when they think what I do sucks, they tell me so. And since I don’t really believe in myself I actually listen to them. When I read a scathing review of something I wrote my first reaction is, honestly, happiness. Seriously. We’re working together to improve what skills we have. We’re not going to do that by stroking each others’ egos. We’re not going to do it by believing that whatever we do is good in the name of confidence. We’re going to do it through honest, merciless criticism (and the occasional encouraging observation).

The trouble with the application of the believe-in-yourself way of thinking is that if you believe in yourself too much or in the wrong way you will disbelieve anything that goes against you. Someone will say ‘such and such a sentence is awkward’ and you will reply ‘no, I have confidence that this sentence expresses myself perfectly and therefore I’ll never betray my faith in Self by changing it.’ And so you’ll live your life in full, unwavering belief in yourself, you’ll keep on producing whatever it is you produce, always producing it in the same way. You’ll be convinced of your own superiority, and you’ll be alone in that belief.

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September 4, 2009

TPK Diaries #3 – Walking

It started with an innocent remark. Of course, the case could be made that most evils are born out of an innocent remark. An off-handed comment, not designed to actually mean anything.

“Let’s go to the India Bazaar!” Matt jumped out of his seat, carried by his own excitement. The girls looked at him as he wandered around the living room looking for his satchel.
“Now?” Hillary asked.
“Of course! Let’s go! What else are we doing today?”
Ruth shrugged. “We should finish cleaning up this mess.” She pointed at Matt’s entire library lying on the bed and the piles of ornaments and papers on the kitchen floor, casualties in the war to re-arrange the apartment.
“Oh,” Matt said with a wave of the hand. “We’ll only be there for an hour or two. We need to try that Pani Puri Hilsy keeps talking about. Go go go!”

Ten minutes later and Matt, Ruth, Hillary and the two kid were jammed into the Plymouth Neon. They parked near the western end of the India Bazaar on Gerrard Street, right under a parking sign.
It was a good outing. The Pani Puri was excellent. As was the Lahori Chaat. Ruth picked up a pretty dress and Hillary bought some wooden spoons. Matt considered buying incense named after the venerable Sai Baba, but eventually decided to go with Sandal wood instead.

An hour or two later, and they were ready to go home. HIllary had a meeting with a friend scheduled and Matt and Ruth were supposed to see Shawn. So they walked back to where the car was.
“Dude, where’s my car?” Matt later wished he had said. In truth, he said nothing as he stared at the parking spot.
“Isn’t that where you parked?” Hillary asked. Matt still said nothing. Twiched a little.

After grilling a few shopkeepers and making a few phone calls they found out where the car was and even copied down the directions form Google. It looked fun:

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It was supposed to take only an hour and ten minutes. But with tired children and coffee breaks it was closer to three hours. Night was falling as they crossed the final bridge to the secluded car lot. $150 later they were back in the car, almost dead. The dead feeling increased just a little when Matt found the $60 parking ticket on the windshield.

The drive home was exhilarating, really. To go so fast with so little effort was like a new feeling all over again.
It was a shame that at home, instead of a soft, fluffy bed waiting, they found an apartment covered in books and scattered knickknacks. It was well past midnight by the time Matt and Ruth slept.

Way to fun in this crazy town!

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September 2, 2009

Does it ever come?

var addthis_pub=”4a0af351783743a8″; It wouldn’t come.

He tried different ways of luring it. He had read, once, that the creature was attracted by pleasant smells. So he ran down to the nearby Asian grocery store and bought fifty dollars worth of incense. He didn’t mind the cost, really. The creature was so valuable that he would have paid that price a hundred times over. The creature, those rare times it came, brought with it such incredible power and future promises of freedom, productivity and prosperous ease. So he didn’t feel bad as he handed over the fifty-dollar bill. Nor when he lit half of them at once, setting twenty-five dollars on fire.
He sat in his usual spot and waited, hands hovering above the keyboard. Silent. Anxious.
A minute passed. Five. Ten. Twenty. The incense burnt out. The creature didn’t even come close.

Depressed but undaunted, the man lit a pipe. The pipe had attracted the creature in the past, but it wasn’t 100% reliable. He smoked, leaning back in his chair and glancing at the window, admiring the regal look the pipe gave him. The pipe calmed him. Focused him. Gave him determination. But it did not attract the creature.

He shook his head and stood. Paced the apartment a little. Went out to stand on the balcony – maybe he would see the creature from there. It had happened to others, he heard. He stared at the towering apartments. Gazed at the urban skyline, garnished with the thick woods that, he imagined, set Toronto apart from other heavy urban centers. It was nice. It was peaceful. But still the creature did not come.

A walk, he said to himself. A walk to clear the head. He picked a hat and jacket and headed out the door, down the stairs and onto the street. A walk. Or maybe a hunt. Of course! The creature would never just walk into his apartment building. Why would it? It would be unnatural. As unnatural as doing the work without the creature. He had never found it on a walk before, but who was to say that he wouldn’t today? Any effort was worth it.

An hour later he was back at his desk. No luck during the hunt. It was a nice walk, yes. Good to stretch the legs and get a little sun on his pale face. But no sacred creature.
He looked at the clock. Shuddered a little. So much time had gone. So much opportunity lost. What could he have done if had found what he was looking for?

Time was gone. Nothing done. But this week that was unacceptable. He needed something. His customers wouldn’t care about his stupid creature-hunting. So he put his hands on the keyboard again.
He couldn’t dance with the keyboard. Only the creature let him do that. But he could walk. He could crawl if he had to. It wasn’t fun, like it was when the creature came by. But it was productive.

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