Matt W Cook

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.

This is second-hand unless you’re reading it at http://www.theilliteratescribe.com

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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.

This is second-hand unless you’re reading it at http://www.theilliteratescribe.com

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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:

View Larger Map

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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!

This is second-hand unless you’re reading it at http://www.theilliteratescribe.com

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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.

This is second-hand unless you’re reading it at http://www.theilliteratescribe.com

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August 31, 2009

Analytical

var addthis_pub=”4a0af351783743a8″;I recently lost Google Analytics.

I was playing around with new-looking blog templates and all of a sudden it was gone. Google Analytics is a super-slick way of keeping track of how your traffic is doing, where it’s coming from and how it’s getting to your site. I suppose I could re-load it…

But suddenly I don’t really want to.

Do I really care how many people read this? Yes. I honestly do. I wish this was a super-popular blog that had visitors from all over the planet scrambling up the bandwidth pipe to bask in my cyber-wisdom.

But I don’t know if my handy-dandy counter is helping with that. So I’m not going to put it back on.

And I’m not going to get one of those flashy, pretty templates for the blog. I don’t want you to come here just because it’s pretty. I want this blog to stand or fall with words. Are the words good? Are the sentences valuable? Do you, the reader, get something from the time you spend here? Then it stands.

Otherwise it falls.

Either way, I’m not going to be analytical about it anymore.

This is second-hand unless you’re reading it at http://www.theilliteratescribe.com

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August 28, 2009

Bits of Flesh

var addthis_pub=”4a0af351783743a8″; It was the bits of flesh I noticed first.

The DVP was jammed almost as soon as we got on it. Sirens wailed in the distance behind us, coming quickly closer. Two police cars passed us on either shoulder.
“Car accident,” I muttered to Ruth and Jodi. We were taking Jodi to the Greyhound station downtown. She was going back to Quebec after staying with us for about a week and a half.
The traffic started to move and funnel into the left lane. I saw the police cars and looked for a sign of accident. The police were moving around quickly, putting up that yellow DO NOT CROSS tape and talking on radios. A couple cars had been pulled over to the side, but they didn’t seem damaged at all. There was no broken glass. No tire marks. I didn’t notice anything.

Until I noticed the bits of flesh.

Then it all came in quick. There was a body lying under a white sheet, bare feet exposed. I turned away quickly and felt sick. The girls gasped. It was then that I noticed where we were. Right under the Millwood bridge. Suicide.

I can’t find anything on the Internet about it. Who jumped? Why? Anyone care? What pushes someone so far? What makes a man think that non-life is better than life?

Ruth wondered aloud about what the jumper’s relatives must think now. Had they cared about him during life? Would they feel any guilt now that he was gone?

Depression is a dangerous thing. It’s too strong to fight with simple words. “Cheer up!” does nothing.

Toronto is a strange place. The highest and the lowest. The richest and the poorest. The happiest and the jumpers. What potential a large city has! What opportunity lies in dense population! What if we loved? What if we cared? What if we treated each other in a way that made it so there were no jumpers? What if we lived like Jesus told us to? What if we followed him?

Are we more than bits of flesh?

The next bridge down had a suicide net on it. I heard it cost about $2.5 million. Someone once commented that the money would be better spent on social services and suicide support lines. I doubt that would help. You know what would help? You know what would bring the suicide rate down? You know what would have stopped that nameless man from jumping?

Love. If someone loved him and knew his name. If we would just love people – all people – wouldn’t the world be better? What would it be like if Christ-love infected us all? What would it be like if we were all willing to love the unloved?

Paradise on earth?

This is second-hand unless you’re reading it at http://www.theilliteratescribe.com

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August 26, 2009

Ingloriously

So my brother and I were both very excited for Tarantino’s new film, Inglorious Basterds. We have both always loved his movies so this new one looked great.

It was.

I know, I know. I’m not supposed to hype thing up too much just in case my reader(s) gets disappointed. But we watched the film last night and we were impressed. The plot was great, filled with twists you didn’t see coming and void of the twists you thought you did see coming. The photography was amazing. The dialogue was hilarious. Brad Pitt completely secured himself in my mind as a top notch actor, not just a pretty face.

Good stuff. On the way out of the theatre an oldish lady asked me if the movie was good, because she’d been thinking of watching it. I told her it was. But as I got to the car I wondered if that was the best thing to tell her. While there was not much killing in the movie (at least, compared to some of Tarantino’s other films) the killing that was there was very raw. I’m not sure if it was her kind of movie.

So leave the kids at home and go see Inglorious Basterds. Not for the weak stomach. Good for the filmy eye.

This is second-hand unless you’re reading it at http://www.theilliteratescribe.com

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August 24, 2009

Books books books

var addthis_pub=”4a0af351783743a8″;I like books.

While I was in Pakistan I was reading about a book a week. It was glorious. Then I moved to Canada. From February to June I think I read two books. Made me sad. Things are moving quicker in TPK, but never quick enough, it seems.

I just finished Dreams from My Father by the President all Christians hate. It was exceptionally good, actually. Whatever else you can say about Obama, he’s an amazing author. And he wrote it back in 1995, before his political career had even begun. Smooth narrative. Reads like a novel even though it’s more of a memoir.

Next I picked up G.K. Cesterton’s Orthodoxy. Stole it form the Inglis family, I think. I’m only on page 25 but I’m already enthralled by it. I cant vouch for everything he claims but his reasoning is profound and his narrative is humorous, which is important in such a deep book.

After that I’m hoping to move on to finish Brandon Sanderson’s Mistborn series. I picked it up when I heard that he was finishing the Wheel of Time. At first I was worried, because when has the backup dancer ever rocked the stage as good as the star? But after reading the first book in the series, I’m not worried anymore. It’s a solid, complex little fantasy. Yay for Sanderson.

After that I don’t know what’s on my reading list. Anyone have any suggestions?

This is second-hand unless you’re reading it at http://www.theilliteratescribe.com

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August 21, 2009

Up @ Night #9 – Naiveté

var addthis_pub=”4a0af351783743a8″;Did you hear about how NASA had a computer that proved Joshua’s missing day?
Or what about the story about how Einstein proved there was a God?
And, of course, how Barak Obama is really a Muslim and probably a terrorist.
Did you know some airlines make sure a non-Christian is flying their plane, in case of Rapture?

I’ve often wondered where this strange, permeating sort of Christian Naiveté comes from. What make intelligent Christians believe in and stand up for things that have never actually happened?

Part of it is probably just because these urban myths promote our worldview. If they promote our worldview, they must be right. Unfortunately, they don’t really help at all because non-Christians quickly recognize them as falsehoods.

We all have a tendency to believe things if they sound nice and toss things out that we’d rather not be true. This is why we don’t require Bible dictionaries to cite their sources and at the same time refuse to believe a science article unless it provides a pile of primary data and statistics.

Discernment is good. Let’s use some.

But in the meantime, make sure you sign this petition to stop the upcoming movie that portrays him and his disciples as gay!

This is second-hand unless you’re reading it at http://www.theilliteratescribe.com

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August 21, 2009

Up @ Night #9 – Naiveté

I’ve often wondered where this strange, permeating sort of Christian Naiveté comes from. What make intelligent Christians believe in and stand up for things that have never actually happened?

Discernment is good. Let’s use some.

But in the meantime, make sure you sign this petition to stop the upcoming movie that portrays him and his disciples as gay!

This is second-hand unless you’re reading it at http://www.theilliteratescribe.com

Leave a comment