I remember the first time I jumped of a diving board. It was the most exhilarating moment of my life up to that point. I was eleven years old, in the sixth grade, and the year was about to end. I had been a member of the Safety Patrol, an organization of junior “law enforcement” officers at my school. As thanks for being a member of this volunteer group, we were all taken to a swimming pool to celebrate. I’d looked forward to the party all year. The principal even gave us each a buck to spend on snacks at the pool, and surprisingly a buck went a long way at the concession stand there. I had another buck that my mom had given me, and with two bucks I was able to get a corn dog, nachos, and a soda.

The concession stand wasn’t what I was looking forward to, though. It was the water. I loved swimming, and being in the water, it was so much fun. I had a blast in the water that day. My best friend at the time, Aaron (I’ve mentioned him in some of my other blogs), convinced me to jump off one of the diving boards. There were five diving boards. Two spring boards, and three high dive boards. I wasn’t about to jump off a high dive as it was going to be my first time jumping off a diving board, but the spring boards seemed reasonable. We went over to the diving boards, which were in a separate pool with deep water, and Aaron showed me how it was done. It was quite simple, he just jumped off and into the water. No fancy dive or anything, just a basic jump. I wanted to practice first, so I went over to the six foot deep water and jumped off the edge. No problems there. With the practice jump out of the way, I was ready for bigger things. I made the jump of the board with the least height and swam to shore. I was so proud of myself. I made two more jumps off the higher spring board. Here is my journal entry from the day:



My journal entry doesn’t do justice to how ecstatic I was. I had achieved a great accomplishment. It was one of the triumphs of my young life, because there was one other time I had attempted to jump off a diving board...

Water. I was afraid of water growing up. While I was excited about the pool party when I was eleven, there was a time before that when I feared the water. The fear probably stemmed from my birth as I came out of my mother’s womb, desperately swimming to escape the water that bound me from life. Well, probably not, but at least that sounds metaphorical. I did have a fear of drowning for a long time, though. I was even afraid to take a shower, because I thought the whole stall filled up with water. In fact, the first time I took a shower, me and my brother both went in with our swimsuits on so that he could show me that it wasn’t dangerous.

Swimming was a scary thought. I remember when I was a kid I enjoyed going boating. I wasn’t afraid of that, since I had a life-vest so I wasn’t going to drown. One time while out boating, some guy swam up to our boat to say hello. We were far from the shore by my recollection, and there was this dude, swimming out in the lake without a life-vest. I feared he would drown and asked him if he wanted to hang on to the back of our raft while we paddled him to shore. He said he would be fine and swam off. It boggled my mind, there was no way I would set foot in the water without something to keep me afloat. I always wondered if that guy had drowned. Probably not.

Growing up with a single parent, and one that worked on Saturday, meant I was put in daycare with the neighborhood ladies. Well, one of the daycare neighbors decided to have us take swimming lessons. My mom figured it was a good idea because she wanted us to be at least a little athletic. But there I was, scared to death at the prospect of swimming without a life-vest. I understood, however, that there were lifeguards, so I hesitantly agreed, not that I had much choice. I mean, I must have been a lad of seven or eight, so even three feet of water was a lot to me. I made it through the lessons, though. Scared to death the whole time. I remembered seeing littler kids with those floaties around their arms. I thought that I should have those too, because I didn’t want to drown. I even inquired about putting some on, but I was told that I was too old for that. Too old, I thought, I’m too young to drown and die! I made it through the lessons, if you could even call them lesson, as I don’t remember learning how to swim. I mean we did a few drills, but mostly we were just playing in the water, and I was staying as close to the edge as possible.

Then came graduation day, the final lesson. We were all going to jump off the diving board. I had feared this day since my first time getting in the pool. The diving board was this mystical object above the deep end of the pool. I knew it was there, and I prayed that I would never have to go near it. Deep water, the kind of water where there is nothing to do but drown, was the last place I wanted to go. Alas, our instructor led the group of us kids towards the diving board. I was shaking the whole way as I followed her. I had no intention of jumping off that board. I figured I’d tell her I didn’t want to do it and be done with it.

And so, we arrived at the edge of the deep water. A lifeguard was at the ready with a ten foot pole that had a loop on the end. (I think they call them life hooks.) All we had to do was jump off the board, find the pole, grab on, and get pulled to shore. Since I knew that if I jumped into the water I’d sink to the bottom, the ten foot pole wasn’t very reassuring. One by one every kid in my class jumped off the board, grabbed the pole and were brought back to edge of the pool. I had intentionally gotten in the back of the line. I wanted to delay the inevitable for as long as possible. I wanted to delay my display of cowardice as long as possible. Then it was my turn. I said to the instructor, “I don’t want to jump. I’m afraid.”

She could have just let me walk away. She had no reason to compel me to jump. It’s not like they weren’t going to pay her if one little boy didn’t want to complete the dive. She wouldn’t have it, though. I’m not really sure how old this lady was, she was way older than me, that’s all I knew for sure. In retrospect, though, she must have been in high school or college. Young enough that she had all the dreams and aspirations of making the world a better place. Young enough that she wanted to help some scared little boy overcome his fear and turn him into a courageous young man. She was going to have me jump off that board no matter what.

I don’t know how she managed to do it, but she convinced me to jump. Or at least, she thought she had. I stepped onto the diving board, walked to the edge, and beheld the water before me. There were gentle ripples on the surface from the other swimmers playing in the distance. I didn’t notice them, though. I only noticed that, as far as I was concerned, I was standing on the edge of the world, about to sink to the end of my life. I could already imagine myself, stuck at the bottom of the pool, trying to get to the surface, watching my life pass away. I looked from the water, back at my instructor, then to the lifeguard and his ten foot pole. It still wasn’t reassuring. I wasn’t going to jump, there was no way. I knew that from the moment I stepped onto the platform. I turned around and walked back. I didn’t even care that I looked like a coward. My life was more important than any facade of bravery.

Back at the side of the pool one of the other boys in the class tried to convince me that it wasn’t so bad. In fact, he went right onto the diving board a second time and jumped. Truly a brave man, I thought, but still, I don’t have to jump, so why should I? But there was my instructor, adamant that I jump, so she asked me, “If I jump off with you, will you do it?” I don’t know what changed in me that moment, maybe her gentle sincerity convinced me that everything would be alright. Maybe knowing that I’d be in the arms of this mother-figure as I fell to my death brought me the comfort to know that, at least, I wouldn’t die alone at the bottom of that pool. I agreed to make the jump.

So, we together, stepped onto the platform and walked to the edge. I was scared as ever. I knew I was about to die, but at least I had this woman with me. And so, she grabbed me by the shoulders and, with me in her arms, made the leap. The fall lasted for an eternity. I remember every moment as the water approached our bodies. I panicked, there, in the air. My arms flailed like the wind, searching for anything to grab onto. Anything to save my life. The water was coming closer and closer, and unless the laws of physics were about to change, I was in a hopeless situation. As my arms reached uncontrollably for something to save my life, in a split second my hands finally found something to latch onto, the strap of my instructor’s bathing suit. We hit the water, and I knew that I was about to drown. Somehow, by some miracle, I found myself above the water again. I was desperately paddling, looking for that ten foot pole, and there was my instructor, half naked in the swimming pool.

I was lucky enough to get a Diablo III beta invite. Maybe it was because I have played every Blizzard game since WarCraft II, and have every game available on my Battle.net account. Or maybe it was just because they give them to everyone. I don’t know. Was I excited to get it? Sure. The chance to try out a game before it comes out, why not? Did I care that much? No, not really. To be honest I never thought Diablo III was that big of a deal. There are a lot of dungeon crawlers out there, it’s just that most people ignore them because they don’t have the name Diablo attached to them. Let me go over my history with the Diablo franchise, and then I will discuss the beta.

When Diablo came out in 1996 I was excited. I mean, I had played WarCraft II and there was a preview video for Diablo on the WarCraft II disc (a preview that basically had nothing to do with the game, there were other interesting previews on that disc as well). And I also saw advertisements in PC Gamer Magazine for it, my favorite advertisement being one with the tag, “Run like Hell, Diablo is loose.” I still remember playing the demo of the first Diablo game. It was shamelessly addicting. The demo let you explore two levels of the cathedral, and walk about Tristram. Since that time I’ve always had a fond memory of the people of Tristram. With a special fondness for the tavern owner, Ogden. I mean I just love when he says that “some of the townsfolk may yet survive” and yet, there he is, staying in that forsaken town. A truly brave man if I ever knew one. And of course, my favorite part of the game, is near the very end when Cain says, “My true name is Deckard... Cain the Elder.” And I was like, Big freakin' deal. So you’re named after the main character of Blade Runner, what does that have to do with the fate of Tristram and Diablo? I mean seriously, his name is Deckard. So what? The humor I found in that aside, I loved Diablo.

A few years later Diablo II came out. I was 16 at the time, and I went to the store to buy it, and the guy at the register wouldn’t sell it to me because it was an M rated game, and I didn’t turn 17 for another three months. Yeah, I hate that guy. So I went home empty-handed, got my brother to go with me to the store, and grabbed a copy of the game. Well, it so happened that the guy that wouldn’t sell it to me only moments before was gone and the person at the register didn’t even seem to know that the store had a policy on not selling M rated games to people under 17, and so I didn’t even need my brother after all.

Naturally Diablo II blew my mind. One of the things I was most excited about was the fact that armor actually made a difference in what your character looked like (in Diablo your character only had three appearances based on armor), even your head looked different depending on if you had a helmet on or not. Of course it had other great features such as the fact that you could run, and move in more than eight directions. A lot of other things were really cool about Diablo II such as the lighting, and the outdoor environments and so forth.

In the end, I actually had a really bad experience with Diablo II. I played as a Paladin, and that was a big mistake. He isn’t very fun to play as, he’s weak, I must have died a thousand times when I got to Baal. And it is very difficult to deal with ranged monsters as a Paladin. I actually gave Diablo II a negative review on Amazon. I later replayed the game as a Sorceress, and it was a lot more fun that time around.

What really interested me about Diablo though, was the lore. I have always loved tales of demons invading from Hell. I was first introduced to this theme in the game Doom and since then I have always been fascinated by the topic. Angels are equally interesting to me. I suppose, really, it’s a cheesy plotline, but it works in games. I mean, Diablo used the term, The Sin War. How freaking cool does that sound? Very freaking cool. I probably read the Diablo manual more than I played the game. There was this drawing of a rogue in it, and she looked so freaking hot... but I digress. The lore goes deep, and is very interesting. In-game much of the lore is spoken by that guy that did the voice of some of the Protoss in StarCraft and he sounds all reverent and intense, very awesome. I can still quote a lot of the manual, or as it is properly called the Librarius Ex Horadrim, “Seven is the number of of the powers of Hell, and Seven is the number of the Great Evils.” That sentence in particular is my favorite. Those familiar with Christian number symbolism know that seven is actually the number of perfection, and here Blizzard was, saying we don’t need to stick with any kind of traditional symbolism, we can create our own lore. After all, their main bad guy was Diablo, not Satan. I even had a friend that was convinced the game was pure evil because of the imagery of pentagrams. I told that friend he was an idiot. The game wasn’t pure evil it was pure fun.

So, now comes Diablo III and what do I have to say about it? Not much really. Before I even played the beta I had heard some PC Gamer editors say that the beta was little more than a demo to get people excited about the game. I can certainly say I agree that it’s a demo. As for getting people excited about the game, I don’t know. I’m really not that excited about the game based on the beta.

First of all, it was not nearly as graphically pleasing as I expected. One huge thing that seems to be lacking is the dynamic lighting that Diablo II had. One of my fond memories of the second game was running through the corridors of some underground catacomb, and watching the shadows dance around as I ran past pillars. Diablo III is lacking any such ambiance. It felt stale and lame. The ground looks like a flat texture. They should have done some kind of bump-mapping to make it look more interesting and 3D, they didn’t. The technology exists, and computers can certainly handle it, but Diablo III falls short. Overall the graphics look very flat. I wasn’t impressed.

To be honest that alone really turned me off to the game, and the graphics are the first thing you see. But I have argued that graphics aren’t everything. What really matters is if the game is fun or not.

I mentioned that I had a bad experience in Diablo II with the Paladin, so the last thing I wanted was to fight hand to hand again. So I picked the Wizard. That was a terrible experience. My character was weak, my spells were stupid. I didn’t have any fun. I gave up pretty quickly. I tried again as a Monk. This time I did have a good experience. It was quite fun to play as the Monk, and based on my experience so far this is probably what I’ll play as my first time going through the game. The Barbarian was equally fun. The Witch Doctor and Demon Hunter were alright, but not as fun as the Monk and Barbarian. From what Blizzard says, and from what the few that have played with higher level characters have said, the Wizard is much more powerful at higher levels, so I won’t discount it immediately, but as for immediate gratification, no such luck with that class.

My early thoughts are, that if the exact same game came out without the Diablo or Blizzard name attached to it, people wouldn’t be that excited about it. Torchlight was more fun than the Diablo III Beta by far. Will I bet getting Diablo III? Of course. Will I play through it? Yeah. Do I really think that people are overly excited for something that they could find more fun in another Diablo-style-game-but-doesn’t-have-the-Diablo-name-so-they’ll-never-even-try-it? Yes. The fact is that Diablo III will have one thing to offer that similar games don’t: Your friends will be playing it. So you won’t even have to try to convince them to get some game they never heard of that you know is cool, but they don’t. Keep in mind, it was the beta I played, so who knows how things will play out in the actual game. And I do know that being that there are so many Blizzard fan-boys out there, I will be criticized for having anything negative to say at all.

The first dog that my family had was a little brown mutt named Daisy. I don’t know exactly what he was a mix of. My mom says he was part chihuahua, but he also looked part dachshund. I don’t really have a lot of memories of Daisy, since we had her when I was so young, but I do remember one particularly interesting story which occurred near the end of her life.

My brother and I had a habit of going to the bathroom outside. I believe that this is perfectly natural for little boys, and I have no regrets or shame in doing so. Our backyard was fairly private, not completely, but fairly, so I’d take a pee against the fence, or around the side of the house on occasion. I’d also go to the bathroom in the front yard from time to time. I’d just hide behind one of the trees we had so that any cars driving by wouldn’t notice. Usually, though, if I was going to go to the bathroom outside, it was in the backyard.

In general, going to the bathroom outside consisted only of urination. A number two was almost unheard of, almost. I always figured it would take too long, there wouldn’t be any toilet paper, and there would be more of a risk of being seen. Plus I’d be completely defenseless while squatting. Imagine if someone came by and asked me what I was doing. How would I answer?

I mention the possibility of being seen because my brother was seen by a neighbor, once, while he was taking a pee in our backyard. The neighbor lady called my mom to complain about it. Ironically, my mom later caught one of her kids taking a pee in our backyard. My mom considered calling the neighbor lady to complain about that, but thought better of it.

Well, as I was saying, usually I’d only urinate outside, but one time, I just had to take a dump. Sure, I could have gone inside, but I was a little kid, and I didn’t want to go inside. So I did the only natural thing to do, I stacked up a bunch of old tires, and used them as a toilet. I know, technically it would have been faster to go inside and use the bathroom instead of building a toilet in my backyard, but I wanted to go outside. I wanted to be a wild man.

Well, I had my toilet set up high enough that I could actually sort of bend my body into it, that way no one would see my bum while I was taking care of business. I then did the deed. Since there was nothing to wipe with out there, I went inside to the bathroom to clean up.

With business taken care of, it was time to disassemble my toilet. So I took the tires and rolled them out into the yard. And, of course, there was my fecal matter sitting in the grass. It was a solid log with cookie dough consistency. It was kind of artistic, the brown matter clashing pleasantly with the green grass. I almost wanted to leave it there for the aesthetic. (Okay, I’m going a little overboard, but I wanted to address my tiff with the claim that everything is art.) Realistically, I couldn’t just leave it there, it was gross. I decided to get a shovel and bury it, but before I had the chance Daisy ran up to it, and started eating it.

She was chewing away at it like it was canned dog food. I kept trying to brush her away from it, so I’d have a chance to get a shovel, but as soon as I let go of her, she was back at it. Eventually I gave up and just ran for the shovel. I figured she wouldn’t be able to eat much of it if I hurried. By the time I got back with shovel there was a solid chunk eaten of it. I scooped it up in the shovel none-the-less and started carrying it toward the garden. Daisy just followed me along, all to eager to get more of her meal.

When I set the poo down to dig a little hole, Daisy was right back at it. Chomping the stuff down like it was ice-cream. I mean, you really have to picture how exited my dog was. It was like how when you give a dog human food and they get really excited. Daisy wasn’t starving or anything, we fed her every day. This wasn’t just a meal for Daisy, it was a treat.

I never had the chance to bury it, by the time I had shoveled out a little hole, there wasn’t enough left to bother burying it. Just a brown smear. The meal was eaten. I was worried there was something wrong with Daisy, that she would eat that. I’d never seen her do anything like that before. She was getting kind of old, I thought maybe she was senile, maybe she didn’t know any better. Maybe it just tasted that good.

After that experience I was done taking dumps in the backyard. Never again. Urinating, sure, but a dump, no way. Not outside. Not unless I’m on a camping trip, where the only animals to eat my waste are chipmunks or some other animal that I don’t know, and will never see. Even then, I have a trowel with me so I can bury it right away.

Some recent business took me to downtown Boston, and while I know Boston has some important history, nothing interested me more than going to Cheers. For those unfamiliar, Cheers was a sitcom that ran from 1982 to 1993. The show was set in a bar in Boston named, as you might guess, Cheers. Well, I was familiar with the show while it was running, but I never really watched more than the occasional episode. That is until a few months ago when I caught a few episodes on the Hallmark Channel, at which time I found that I really liked the show. I started watching the series from the first episode on Netflix. (I’m at about episode 200 as of this writing.) Even though I wasn’t an original fan of the show, I would say that I like it enough now to call myself a fan. Fan enough that Cheers was my top priority in downtown Boston.

I looked up Cheers on the internet before heading over there. There are two Cheers restaurants in Boston. There is the “The Original” at 85 Beacon Street, and “The Replica” in South Boston. Naturally, I wanted nothing but the original, so I was going to Beacon Street. I narrate my experience in present tense:

I recognize the outside of bar. It looks just like the show. It’s exactly like I’d seen it in the opening credits of the show. The familiar stairs lead down to the bar. The business next door that has an awning stretched out to the street. The awning is a different color, but the feel of the outside is the same. I’m across the street, by the park. As I approach, I see a group of tourists try to go into the building next door. The greeters there tell the group that Cheers is downstairs. These tourists have obviously never seen the show.

I cross Beacon Street, another group of tourists is outside taking pictures. They know that the stairs lead down to the bar. An older gentleman stands by the steps while his wife takes a picture. I’m ready to head down the steps. One of the tourists says, “We better get out of the way, since we’re blocking the stairs.” I tell them, “It’s no problem.”

I head down the steps. The stairs seem to go a lot deeper than the show makes them look. I’m deep underground. There’s a door in front of me. It doesn’t say “Cheers” on it, so I wonder if I’m in the right place. I open the door and walk into the restaurant. It clearly doesn’t look like Cheers. I didn’t expect it to. When I looked it up on the internet I found out that the restaurant is downstairs and the “set” bar is upstairs. I see a shelf full of “Cheers” souvenirs, so I know I’m in the right place.

I’m greeted by a bouncer. He asks me what I want to do. I say, “I want to eat at the bar.” He tells me that they have three bars. One right in the main restaurant, I can see this bar from the entrance, another one on the lower floor as well, and one upstairs. I knew from the website that I want the bar that is upstairs. He asks me for ID. I’m taken aback for a second, but then I realize that it’s a bar, and I look a lot younger than I actually am. I whip out my drivers license. He looks at it, and nods his head a bit. He seems surprised by my age. He hands me back my license, then stamps my hand. I ask him for directions to the bar upstairs. He points in the opposite direction, and says, “Head out into that hallway, then go through the furthest door on the right.”

“Furthest on the right," I confirm, then head in the direction he pointed.

I have some trouble finding my way. I’m so excited that I confuse right and left. I almost go into another part of the restaurant, but then I realize my mistake and take the right doorway. I see the stairs going up.

At the top of the stairs I see a life sized cardboard cutout of the character Norm. Well, I’m not actually sure it is life size since he seems a little short. This makes me feel comfortable, however. It makes me feel like this really is Cheers. I walk into the room and sit at the bar.

It’s Friday evening, but the bar isn’t crowded. There are maybe eight people around the bar. I had wanted to sit where Norm and Cliff usually sit on the show, but that area of the bar is occupied. I ultimately sit next to where Frazier and Lilith are often seated. The counter actually has a little plaque on it that says, “Frazier”. Not a very nice touch, in my opinion. Tacky. Fans of the show know where the characters sit. I elect not to sit exactly where Frazier sat because I didn’t want to look like too much of a tourist. I look like a tourist. Everything about my demeanor say’s I’m a tourist.

The bar resembles the show, certainly. It looks like it. Hundreds of bottles. Red and white wine glasses. High-grade Naugahyde stool covers. And a brass rail. And a big-city bartender with a joke at the ready. Well, I don’t know if the bartender actually has a joke at the ready. He doesn’t crack one as I sit down. The bar is also smaller than the one on the show, I guess this is okay, since the room is a lot smaller than the one of the show. Other than the bar, nothing really looks or feels like Cheers. There is a television on the wall, in the approximate location where the TV set on the show is located, but it’s an HDTV, and there are two more TVs in opposite corners of the bar. The bar uses it’s own custom mugs, as opposed to the standard beer mug seen on the show, as well.

I’m greeted by a bartender. He’s wearing a uniform. Clearly this guy is no Sam Malone or Woody Boyd. He asks what I want. I ask for a menu. After a few minutes he gets around to getting me one. I’m not particularly picky about what I want. It’s my dinner, sure, but the excitement of being in Cheers is all I really care about. I had read on the internet about the “Norm Burger Hall of Fame” and had thought that if I was feeling the spirit of the moment I would ask about that, but I’m not feeling any kind of vibe. I decide on the Cheeseburger.

A different bartender comes around. He asks me if I decided what I want. I tell him I want the Cheeseburger and a root beer. He takes the menu and gets me my drink right away. I figure it will be a while before I get my burger, so I sit, hunched over the bar, and look around. There is a group of what look like business men to my right (where Norm and Cliff sit). I wonder what they are doing here. They look local, and this doesn’t really seem to be the kind of bar that would attract locals. It’s meant to be for tourists, at least that’s what I think. Across the bar from me are a few more people. I can’t really see them.

Behind me, at one of the tables, is the only other person that looks my age. He is with what I assume is his mother. I guess this because the lady he is with is much older than he is. There are plenty of people around, at the tables, but, like I said, the bar is mostly empty. I sit silently, waiting for my order.

Eventually my burger arrives. There’s really not much ketchup in the bottle that the bartender gave me. I wonder if I should ask him for more, but he seems busy. He’s bouncing around an awful lot. Going back and forth. I don’t really know what he’s doing since no one is really ordering anything. Just trying to make himself look busy, I guess. I have enough ketchup, and I don’t want to bother him.

The Cheeseburger isn’t great. Applebee’s Cowboy Burger is a lot better. Of course, I think this is an unfair comparison since I do consider the Cowboy Burger to be one of the greatest sandwiches ever invented. After I’m about half way through the burger, the bartender asks me how it is. I say that it’s fine. It is fine. I didn’t expect it to be great.

As I’m eating, some tourists walk in. A couple. The man, and older guy, sits down next to me, and says to his wife, “It says this is where Frazier sits!” He’s excited. He has his wife take a picture of him. I’m in the picture, at least my back is. They don’t order anything. They leave.

As I finish my burger another couple sits at the bar, around the corner from me. The bartender asks the lady if she wants a lager. He is acting somewhat flirty with her. I almost think that I might see a Sam Malone moment. I almost expect the bartender to slide over the counter and drop a cheesy pickup line. What actually happens is that she asks if he can make a certain drink. He says that he can. That’s it. That was his chance to shine, to be the Sam Malone that he was meant to be. He failed miserably. Why did he fail? I don’t know. Maybe it was because he was wearing a uniform. Maybe it was because this lady was older than him. Maybe it was because this lady was with another man. Maybe he just didn’t care.

I finish my burger. The bartender takes my plate and asks if I want anything else. I tell him I want a couple of souvenir mugs. He says that will be fine and collects some mugs out from a cardboard box under the counter and starts putting them in bubble wrap. He takes forever to do this, longer than he should have. This confirms my suspicions that he was acting busier than he really was. He prints me a bill and disappears around the bar. I’m ready to pay right then, so I don’t know why he didn’t take my credit card which I already had out.

Before getting back to me the bartender approaches the lady to my left. I’m thinking to myself, He’s got another chance to be a Sam Malone. He seems to be flirting with her, but I can’t hear a thing. So I don’t know what he’s saying for sure. The bar is too loud to hear anything. It’s nothing like the show. If someone was cracking a joke, there is no way anyone else would hear it. I couldn’t hear more than two feet away. Sill I wonder how he is talking to this woman without upsetting the man she is with. Maybe they know each other.

Eventually the bartender takes my credit card. I had to bug him a couple times to get him to take it. I tip the recommended amount on the receipt, selecting 20%. I realize that the 20% includes the cost of the souvenir mugs. I don’t care. I had my cheers experience, and a few more dollars for it is nothing to me. Anyway, I want to be generous. The bartender was friendly enough. I finish my drink and leave the barroom.

I have a little trouble finding my way out. There are a lot of stairs to follow and hallways to walk through. I almost leave through an emergency exit, but eventually find my way back to the main restaurant. As I’m leaving, the bouncer is asking another group of tourists what they want to do. I head up the stairs. As I climb up the stairs I have a genuine feeling of leaving Cheers. I find myself on Beacon Street.

It had been a long time since I’d seen a film that I truly enjoyed. Most of my experiences in the theater have been negative. I’ve seen films I didn’t want to see, but my friends wanted to. Or I’ve been disappointed by the films that I was looking forward to. A few months ago, I heard about the film The Tree of Life, Terrence Malick’s newest film. The fact that Terrence Malick was the writer and director of the film got my attention. He was the director of the 1998 film The Thin Red Line, a film about World War II.

When The Thin Red Line came out, I remember my history teacher was exited about it. He told the whole class he was going to see it the day it came out. He did so, and came back and reported to the class that he thought it was weird and artsy. He didn’t like it. The film came out at a time when I was fascinated by war, and I was trying to watch as many war films as possible. I saw a trailer for the film, and that sealed the deal. I had to see The Thin Red Line. I knew there was something special about the film, but it would be several months until I saw it. I didn’t see it in theaters. I didn’t have a job or money, and none of my friends wanted to see it, anyway.

I finally saw it when it came out on VHS tape. I checked it out from the local library. I was mind-boggled by how good it was. The artsy style, that had bothered my history teacher, only succeeded in drawing me into the film. The Thin Red Line was by no means a traditional war film. Sure there were soldiers and they fought, but the scenes were less solid, the film felt fragmented. There were voice-overs in the film, but they had nothing to do with the events of the film. They were about the emotions of the characters. It was like no other war film I’d seen. It was poetic in some sense. The Thin Red Line is probably one of the least violent war movies, and yet one of the most tragic.

Some time after seeing The Thin Red Line my attitude towards war changed. I didn’t care to see any more war movies, but I always liked to revisit The Thin Red Line, because to me it was about so much more than war. I often found myself quoting lines from the film. Sometimes even writing them down, to see how they looked. One of my favorite lines is when “Mad” Sergeant Eddie Welsh says to Private Witt, “There’s not some other world out there where everything’s gonna be okay. There’s just this world. Just this rock.” This was in response to a previous conversation where Private Witt had said, “I seen another world.” There are many more quotes from this film that I carry with me. They are about so much more than war.

I hadn’t heard anything about Terrence Malick since that film came out.

I first heard about The Tree of Life on NPR. It was Terrence Malick’s newest film. Of course, I recognized the name from The Thin Red Line. The commentators reported that it was looking very much like Mr. Malick’s other films, with a lot of voice-overs from a lot of different characters, and a dream-like story. They said the film was about a family in the 1950s, and it was also about the entire history of the Earth. I knew then, that what I had enjoyed so much about The Thin Red Line, was going to win me all over again with The Tree of Life.

I kept hearing more and more about the film on talk radio. In one interview a theater owner said that he had to put up a sign stating that there were, “No Refunds for The Tree of Life," because people were walking out of the film. Apparently they were bored out of their minds. I knew, then, that I had to see it. I knew that, for me, someone who hated pretty much every movie that everyone else liked, I would like this film.

The problem was that the movie wasn’t playing anywhere near where I live. It wouldn’t be playing anywhere near where I live. We used to have an art cinema in town, but it was closed due to unpopularity. I was either going to have to wait for it to come out on DVD, or I was going to have to travel over one hundred miles to see it. I couldn’t wait for it to come out on DVD. I always wished I had seen The Thin Red Line in theaters, and I didn’t want to miss out on this one. Taking the trip would be worth it. I made the trip on August 13th.

I got a ticket for a matinee show. I was surprised by how many people were in the theater. I expected only a few. The theater was maybe twenty percent full. It was a Saturday afternoon, so I guess there were plenty of people with nothing better to do. I felt kind of weird sitting there by myself. I even looked around to see if anyone else was by themselves. One other person was. I wasn’t bothered that much, though. I wanted to see this film, and if I was going to have to see it by myself, I was going to do just that. As I watched my fellow patrons come in, I wondered if any of them would be walking out. I was excited to see if they would, because that would be the ultimate indication to me that I knew how to appreciate a good film.

Before I get into my thoughts on the film, let me say this: Indeed, at least two groups of people walked out. There was a group in the row behind me, they were being noisy during the film. One girl was saying, “This movie is horrible," over and over. She was whispering this loudly, and I was about to get up and tell her that, “I didn’t travel a hundred bleeping miles to see this film, and have it interrupted by some bleeping bleeper," except I wasn’t going to use the word “bleep”. Well, as I was about to do this, the group she was with took the liberty of leaving, thus saving the ears of my fellow patrons from the vulgarity I was about to use. Another couple left a little later on. They were sitting in the row in front of me, I could tell they were getting kind of bored, so I suspected they might leave, but at least they weren’t making a fuss.

Upon seeing this film, my impression is that it is one of the greatest films that I have ever seen in my life. It is instantly one of my top four films of all time, possibly even second only to Blade Runner, but I’ll have to see it a second time to determine that for sure.

So why are people walking out of one of the best films of all time? They will tell you it is because they are bored by it. I don’t know for sure. All I really do know for sure is that I knew how to appreciate it. I enjoyed it. Maybe 'cause I knew what to expect.

The film is about a family in the 1950s. The film is also about the entire history of the Earth. I just gave away the entire plot of the film. Honestly, I did. There is nothing more to it than that. It is about a completely ordinary family in the 1950s. It is about the history of the Earth. Yes, there are dinosaurs involved in the history of the Earth. Yes, nothing particularly noteworthy happens to the family. Well, I take that back, the family experiences a few life-changing events, but the plot isn’t one that an editor would look at and say, “This plot will be a best-seller.” It is simply about a family living their lives, and that is what makes it so good. This family could be anyone’s family, anyone could have the experience that they have, and yet here they are, the centerpiece of the entire history of the Earth. They are the most significant thing to happen on Earth. In a few short years they are more important than the dinosaurs that walked the Earth for millions of years. Their problems, are the problems of the entire world. Their passions are the passions of the entire world. Their failures are those of all mankind.

Of course, everything I’ve just said is me reading into the film. If you sat down and watched it for what it is. All it is, is a family living in the 1950s, with scenes of the history of the world interspersed.

I mentioned that this family could be anyone’s family, and along with that idea, the film is shot as if it were a memory. At least that’s how I saw it. There are no solid scenes in the film. Characters don’t have conversations. You don’t see the whole narrative of everything they do. Most of the dialog is voice-overs. Most of the arguments that the characters have are partial, the volume is often low, and the scenes are cut short. In one of the very first scenes of the film, the mother of the family receives a telegram with some bad news, upon reading it she cries out, but the scene suddenly cuts away, right in the middle of her cry. You don’t see her agonizing, you know she does. The events in the movie are not chronological by any means. That is what I mean when I say the film is like a memory. It is partial, fragmented, and in no particular order. The way one might recall their own life.

This doesn’t mean the story is incomplete. It is complete. The plot concerning the family makes sense. The whole story is told, and that’s part of the beauty of the film. As fragmented as it seems, it isn’t going to leave you with unanswered questions. Though not presented in order, the history of the family is clear, but also, like a memory, not every event is imperative to the overall narrative. Many of the scenes are more about personality and emotion than they are about events.

This is how I perceived it, anyway. Clearly those that walked out on it, thought that it made no sense, and that it was boring. I’m not about to presume what Terrence Malick’s intents with the film were, but I don’t need to know his intent in order to appreciate the film. I just need to know that I could sit back and enjoy it. That was my attitude going in.

I can sympathize with those who walked out, though. 2001: A Space Odyssey has been touted by some as one of the greatest films of all time, and I walked out of it. I was bored out of my mind with that film. I didn’t find any meaning in it whatsoever. Admittedly that’s because I never gave it a chance. I’m not even sure what 2001 is about. I don’t hold anything against those that didn’t like The Tree of Life. I just feel sorry that they’ll never be able to appreciate it.

I was once told by a film professor that, with few exceptions, films are not art. A lot of people, including critics, disagree with this sentiment. Of course, in my experience, most people think pretty much everything is art. For example, you chop some wood and throw the axe on the lawn. The axe lying among the blades of grass is art. The very act of chopping wood is art. Sun Tzu seemed to think that war is art. It seems pretty much everything is art. According to collegiate programs, everything is either art or science, and, in fact, pretty much every Bachelor of Science degree can also be earned as a Bachelor of Art degree. (I know mine could.) I personally think that the word “art” is used too liberally. It has become a meaningless word, so I can’t use that word to describe The Tree of Life. What I can say, is that The Tree of Life is visually, audibly, and emotionally stimulating. It can be thought provoking, if you want it to be. One of my favorite lines from the film is when the oldest boy in the family says to his father, “It’s your house. You can kick me out whenever you want.” Then after a pause he says, “You’d like to kill me.” The father doesn’t even know how to respond. There isn’t some perfectly thought out dialog between father and son. It is simply awkward, realistic communication. When I view this film a few more times, there will be more lines that I will quote and think about, as I did with The Thin Red Line.

I think there will be plenty of people that will analyze this film. They’ll explain that the film is an allegory of God’s relationship to mankind. How the parents in this family represent the duality of God’s nature. That’s fine. That may have been Mr. Malick’s intent. I personally don’t plan on reading that much into the film. I plan on enjoying the film for how I perceive it. If any existential thoughts come into my mind based upon the film, so bit it, but I’m not going to go out of my way to deeply analyze the film.

During my 11th grade English class I was required to write an analysis of a poem. I did so. My teacher told me that my analysis was wrong. I didn’t care. I’ve always had the philosophy that whatever a director, writer, or artist intends, doesn’t matter. What matters to me is if I enjoy what they produce, and my own interpretation their creation. I have the same attitude towards this film. The Tree of Life is about a lot of things. The film is about a family in the 1950s. The film is about the entire history of the Earth. The one thing I’m sure of, is that I want to see it again and again. I would like to make the hundred mile trip to see it again, I probably won’t. I’ll have to wait for it to come out on Blu-ray.