Enough of the cast recap. Needless to say, it's all-world. In hindsight, I'm surprised the first day of filming didn't culminate in a spontaneous black hole of awesomeness enveloping the solar system, leaving no trace of the civilization that spawned Point Break to be discovered by future alien expeditions to our neck of the Milky Way. Thankfully, apocalypse was somehow averted, and we can pass down the precious historical documents to all that wish to know about living to get radical.
Now, regarding Keanu: occasionally, we get movies with bad scripts but good actors (see Star Wars Episodes I-III); these movies make you feel deep sympathy for the poor souls trapped reciting egomaniacally contrived drivel at the behest of writer-directors surrounded by yes-people. (For example, I believe Leo DiCaprio cries in his beer every time he thinks about Titanic, and not because it's a sad story.) Other times, we get good scripts but lousy actors (see Starship Troopers); these tend to be more successful than the former variety, if only because we get to watch completely overmatched actors attempting to feign believability for 120 minutes. Every once in a while, though, we'll find a script that matches its cast perfectly, either with excellence or putridity. These are rare occurrences indeed. Some may argue that a better actor might have been able to pull off lines like "Zero distortion, sir!" or "I caught my first tube today, Sir," or even "Whoooaa! Whoaaaa!" with greater subtlety and craft; I, however, contend that Keanu was precisely the man for his time and place, and that no one, save Mickey Rourke, could have done more with what was given him during his time on-screen.
This is why I salute you, Keanu Reeves. You took Johnny Utah and sat him down in my living room. When you nearly had your face shredded in a lawnmower blade, I could feel the tension; when you discovered that your surfer buddy was also the ringleader of a contingent of rad bankrobbers, your inner conflict was palpable; and when you couldn't bring yourself to fire upon the Swayze as he made his escape, instead emptying your clip into the atmosphere as you rolled in busted-knee anguish, I felt your pain as if it were my own.
Speaking of busted knees...
Let's just see how much running I did over the past two weeks, eh?
Week of October 5th:
Monday: Rest
Tuesday: 6 fast miles
Wednesday: Rest
Thursday: Work late? Huh? What?
Friday: Hmmm....
Saturday: 20 miles, "Celebrity"
Sunday: Ice
Week of October 12th:
Monday: Rest
Tuesday: 6 miles
Wednesday: Rest
Thursday: Still resting?
Friday: 6 miles
Saturday: Dkorp bday
Sunday: Recovery
The good news: The marathon is 2 weeks away.
The bad news: The marathon is 2 weeks away. (!)
It's the right knee this time. I felt a little twinge near the end of the first 6-mile run listed above. I wasn't too worried, though, even when I'd feel that same twinge walking up and down steps on subsequent days. I meant to run that Thursday, but found myself in the office at 11pm for a Friday deadline. I decided to give myself until Saturday and do the last big run then. Wouldn't you know, about 6 miles in, that same twinge. Got worse. And worse.
Zoom this guy out to get a sense of the route.
I eventually finished the 20, but my knee was barking hard. Runs the following week resulted in immediate but manageable pain. Research again seems to point towards Runner's Knee (TM). I bought a brace. No change. I reversed my course. No change. I may or may not buy another pair of shoes this week. We'll see if that does, or doesn't do, anything.
As it stands, I'm in taper-down mode anyway. I can probably maintain shape doing non-impact exercises at the gym until the marathon. That's the upside. The downside is that I don't think I'm going to resolve this in two weeks. I'm certain I can gut it out; there's no way I drop out now, so don't think I'm thinking about it. The 20-mile run is supposed to be a confidence builder, and in a way, it was: with my knee telling me to hop on the subway, I was able to press on.
(channeling the reader) : Was that smart? I don't think that was smart.
(re-entering my being) : Yeah, well, you think like my mom. Next question.
(re-channeling the reader) : Ok then. You mentioned something called "Celebrity" after the 20-miler. What is that?
(re-re-entering my being) : Glad you asked!
I was invited over to my friend Blair's and her husband Kevin's apartment for... I dunno. Game night? Anyway, it was very nice, with appetizers and drinks and good company, 75% of which was female. The evening was centered around a game known as "Celebrity," which involves every player writing down "celebrities" and dropping them into a bowl. From there, it turns into modified Charades: round 1, everyone gets to talk at length to get their team to guess the names. Round 2, it's 1 word and then charades. Round 3, it's just charades. I love and hate this game. I hate it because I'm not very good at it (although it doesn't help when people mis-identify celebrities- Kimil Jung does NOT look like Kim Jung-Il on paper, Nikki.) I love it because I enjoy coming up with niche celebrities. For example this time, I wrote down 2 porn stars (1 male, 1 female, because if I'm anything, I'm equal opportunity), one former professional wrestler turned actor (The Rock), one current college football coach (Jim Tressel of The Ohio State University), and of course the Swayzenator. My beef here is that the group decided that Swayze's body of work was most memorable for his dancing, and such the Charade to identify Swayze degenerated into a fruity dance-like gyration. Dancing! As everyone knows who has seen Red Dawn, Point Break, Road House, Next of Kin, or even Black Dog, Swayze may be graceful, but only to bridge the gap between his sensitive side to his ass-whoopin' side.
Which, of course, brings me to this week's villain. From Road House: lead Brad Wesley henchman, man of few words, and recipient of the "Most Exceptionally Over-The-Top Sinister Cackle," the "Most Confounding Movie Insult," and the "Most Absurd Movie Death" Oscars, it's Marshall Teague as...
Jimmy!!!!
Jimmy: I used to (bleep) guys like you in prison.
Audience (Collectively): WHAT!?
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