"Crucifixation"

A quote from the Daily Show

Sacrilicious

In what was promised to be a class today our professor left a television with instructions to show a video in

his absence. We watched a 20/20 Special Edition about the Passion of the Christ by some woman whose name I can't remember. I swear she's Martha Stewart in disguise though. They both use the same lighting, soft pinks and yellows. Makes me feel like I'm developing cataracts, which creeps me out. And anyway, I'm not yet able to determine the difference between most newscasters or anchors anymore. They blend together like that shimmering woman on 20/20. All have the same facial expressions, inflection and stress on words. It’s terrible. Is there a course offered where I can learn to fake appreciation and pity as well as these people, or is it innate? I hope it’s class taught.

Regardless, the special edition was about this film, the telling, “according to the Bible”, of the story of

Christ. Now, right off the bat, I have a problem with this. Who has the right to portray Jesus Christ? Anyone? I think I'll start asking people if they could play the Profit Found of a major world religion, and I'm sure I'd get some awkward looks in return. I honestly want to know though. Who has the chops? Apparently, Mel Gibson shown his directorial and theological light on James Caviezel, a man who played Catch, whomever the hell that is, in 2001's Angel Eyes with J-Lo. He could be Jesus! Ohh! (sigh of relief) They should have included her in the film! J-Lo as the woman me loved; for that Latin flavor.

I think the biggest problem I have with this film is that it’s just like other Jesus films despite Gibson’s

saying that it wasn’t. Here we have the portrayal of a historical figure and, more importantly, the founder of the largest religion on the globe (currently) by a guy who's last contribution to film making was playing Fletcher in The Final Cut with Robin Williams which will be released soon (or so the web tells me). What right do we have as human beings, far lesser than prophetic leaders of religion and beyond far lesser than God, to portray anyone/anything but human beings. Research, we can’t even fathom. This argument, of course, can be countered by filmmakers by saying that they are simply trying to provide a vision, an outlet of creativity and story-telling; which is a fair argument to be made. My counter to that is, we have a creative and story-telling based source for this tale and it’s called the Bible. Read it. Don't sit in a theater and think that you've been evoked by God and his messengers because you watched a film, and I know that people will say these things on opening the doors of the theater or on their drive home. Problems will arise due to this film because people will think that it is the truth. Which it is not.

Next to this on the list of problems I have with the film is the simple fact that the portrayal of every part

of this film, as far as I've seen, is based around the agonizing suffering of Jesus – Lover of Humanity, indeed. We see pictures in newspapers, magazines and television of him (intended lower case) drenched in blood. Is that Jesus' story? Agonizing? A death scene? Or was Jesus' story about love, respect and the revealing of the largest and most misunderstood religion on the face of the planet? Perhaps that should have been the aim of the film instead of as a historical study. In the interview, Mel Gibson explained that he was going by the Bible alone, essentially. Then where's the love Jesus had for all things? That’s important. It should be in the trailer. I think we've seen enough about the horrible atrocities and agonizing death scenes of the past brought to you by blockbuster actors, turned directors, turned self-proclaimed theocratic geniuses.

If any of that makes sense to me later…I will be impressed.

I was reading some of the posts from my old blog, and I'm beginning to wonder if I write best when I'm

supposed to be doing something else; like work, perhaps. Readdressing the fact that over the summer I sat at a computer all day "editing a book" when, instead, most of the time I sat, posted to my blog, and almost unremittingly checked email. I couldn't miss any mail after all. I was Crazy-Checkin' McEmail.

Spanish presentation tomorrow at two, sounds like someone upstairs is peeing, I'm tired, maybe I'll post

something meaningful tomorrow instead of the randomization of my thoughts...or lack there of. Fragments are my friends. BED!

Are you reading me? If so, I want to know. Please email me at dprecht@mail.millikin.edu. Thanks.

You know I'm subtle like a hammer on ants

Comin' Home

There has been little "journaling" as of late, and I wish I could remedy that. I could, of course, provide the

old excuse, "I haven't had the time," and that might be somewhat aimed in the direction of the truth yet somewhat not. Its a difficult shot. Like a yokel stumbling and feverish on his dirt crusted property, bradishing a buck-shot rifle, firing random shots in the air only to have them come crashing down as agrigant rain.

The thought, however, arises that there is no possible way to postulate when I will be able to construct a

fully fleshed out "post", but I'm trying; I think that accounts for something. Right? Even if I'm really not. Regardless, this is what I post for now.

There are only two people (other than me, obviously) who know about this journal, and one of their name's

is Jenna Elizabeth (with a 'z', right?) Roberts, and I'm pretty comfortable with that. Perhaps later I'll hang a sign in the window: "Open for business, mind the cockroaches and empty water bottles." We'll see though.

Man, I'm tired.

So, this is Jenna's room. Neato.

The streets were a battlefield

Lately, things seem like Frogger. The arcade game from the 60’s where a frog’s goal is to bob and weave

through traffic to reach the other side, but unlike the chicken (or whichever version of the joke you know), the frog can get run over and embedded in the treads of whatever vehicle hit that poor frog. It played out as such earlier in the day as I dodged traffic to rescue a box; a box that I really could care less about. A friend of mine had begged me yesterday to transport many rather large boxes from one side of Decatur to the other, and I was the logical person to call because I owned a truck. We attempted to pack the boxes in as they wouldn’t fly away or fumble off the flatbed, causing an accident in the lane next to me. One of the boxes wasn’t as buxom as the other and began to tip as I drove down Eldorado toward campus. It was shortly after this when I lost that box for the first time. I looked foolish as I waited on the side of the road, debating in my head as to when I should make the mad dash toward the inner lane for box-retrieval; timing it against the traffic.

In the end, that same, damn box which I had lost four times before flew out and I kept driving as I saw

traffic zigzag around it in my right rear-view mirror. Also, what turned out to be Frogger ended up as Anti-Frogger – the cars move to dodge the large box in the road. I suppose that’s karma for running over so many frogs.