Let us scratch: Cameron's missed opportunity in Avatar

In response to a reporter James Cameron agreed that Avatar was based on Dances with Wolves amongst other moves and then added, "It's almost comfortable for the audience – 'I know what kind of tale this is.' They're not just sitting there scratching their heads, they're enjoying it and being taken along." If only he had allowed more scratching of heads and less taking along, this would have been one of the best movies of all time.

I thoroughly enjoyed the first two-thirds of the movie. An amazingly new world and context never written about or filmed before. I could say much about the imaginative beauty of these "alien" creatures--the flying is superb, the native's cosmogony intriguing. But then the movie gives into the inevitable story arch pressure to produce purely good and evil characters battling out to the bitter end. So pathetic given the amount of money, time, and talent spent on this film. I thought up five better endings while driving the 10 minutes home from the theater--and, yes, I shared each one to my children's chagrin.

I'm still glad I saw the film because I like the questions I've been wrestling with even as the film was winding down. And ultimately I'm more interested in these big questions, than with any final evaluation of the film. Why do smart, talented people insist that a movie end in a battle to the end between the arch enemy and hero? Are these archetypal surges coursing through our veins? Or is it just laziness? Or, as the liberal conspiracy theorist wants to believe, is it the false consciousness of the masses which demand such easily digested endings?

Whatever it is, I will--hope against hope--continue to demand better. Cameron could easily have done better and still connected with the deep psyche of his audience. What a lost opportunity to truly engage the complexities of our current wars in Iraq and Afghanistan. There were several allusions--shock and awe, pre-emptive war--but these are thin critiques of war because they are cast in an arena where our hero is pure goodness, our villain--the rampaging, hard-ass military commander--pure evil. It's impossible to compare the characters in Avatar to the characters playing out our own wars; real life always has an element of ambiguity, no one is pure evil.

I find it supremely ironic that those (many I think) who would disagree with my critiques of the movie would be the same who supported the war in Iraq. How can this be? I believe it is because the content--fighting native people's in their country or world--is not the real issue. The issue is seeing war as THE way to find peace. In this story arc war is the only possible option to defuse the tension and tip the scales back. Certainly there can't be any other options.

But wait. Maybe if we took a few minutes, slowed down the pace for a second, checked the escalating emotions. We have many good examples: Miyazaki's Princess Mononoke comes to mind. A similarly themed story in many ways--the native animals are under attack by the westernized and militarized industrial complex--yet the the conclusion is so different. Instead of two-dimensional evil doers we get Lady Eboshi, a woman who hires prostitutes and lepers to work in Irontown. She is not pure evil; she cares about her workers even as she works to denude the land. And our heroes are even more complex: Ashitaka, the boy-warrior, is infested with an evil curse; San, the supposed "princess mononoke," is a vicious, bloody faced girl. The traditional action ends as the "evil" men shoot the spirit of the forest--a huge elk--and take its head. Later, the head is returned in order to avoid total destruction. In the end there is both destruction and rebirth; there are no clear winners or losers, no one is demonized. And Ashitaka chooses to remain in Irontown to help rebuild it. The "answers" are complex, multilayered, human.

If only Cameron had enough confidence in his audience, enough confidence to lose a few viewers along the way. If only we, as an audience, were willing to reject simplified revisions of past injustices. I'm all for rewriting (rerighting) the past but it doesn't take much imagination to realize that a revitalized, re-envisioned, remetaphorized past requires new rules, not merely a reversal of the winners. The natives lost the battle in American history and in Cameron's world they win; yet both narrative arcs require extreme hatred, caricature, and violence in order to bring the story to a close. To steal a phrase from Donna Haraway's "Cyborg Manifesto," Avatar's ending (opposed to its compelling explorations of the embodied Avatar, the Cyborgian mix of human and alien) "generates antagonistic dualism without end (or until the world ends)," relying yet again on our Apocalyptic mythology which refuses partial/hybrid/faulty integration and paradox--all big words for the human condition.

To my students (or grading avoidance skill #123)

If only I could communicate this to more of my students. At least one student got it who wrote this line in his self-assessment essay:

"Unlike my other English classes I feel that what I’ve learned in this class will stick with me outside of college classes. Prior English classes had only taught me situational writing skills where a teacher told me what I had to do."

Yes, yes, yes!!! That's why I don't tell you exactly what to do. It's not to frustrate you, it's not because I don't know how to make detailed scripted assignments, it's not because I'm lazy: it's because I want you to learn something so we can engage in something real. That's all.

Getting to the skin

We end my SF course with presentations about how SF works to engage issues of diversity. One students did a most daring change of apparel, especially given he had never openly discussed his sexual orientation up to this point. See the video below (watch from 1:30; video taping not so hot). In the process the student makes a pointed criticism of diversity classes and seminars: they often create only skin-deep categories of human beings.

I have to say this is one of the best classes I've ever had. We had tough, open, dangerous conversations about gay rights, the LDS church, religion, and gender with a very mixed group of students. On the last day three students just stayed in the class even though we'd already gone over; I don't think they could quite pull themselves away from what they had created.

A better life?

I wrote this last week, then forgot about it. Since I'm still trying to figure out the holidays, I thought I'd throw it out there. Maybe there are others who have similar struggles or maybe I'm alone in both longing for and yet also hating my long xmas break. Also, it's high time for a long, depressing, trying to "say something deep" post on CI--that's what I'm known for and I wouldn't dream of disappointing.

***

What does it mean to live a better life? Often when this idea is invoked it seems to me people mean "to do more." Do more stuff, be better, give more, engage more. I have my doubts about this construction of a better life. Even beyond the level of the rationalization, "Well, I must take time for me so that I will be better engaged with my kids when I'm home." To me this still says more is better. The "stuff for you" is merely a means to being more, doing more. Why can't that stuff for you be an end in itself?

I'm probably thinking about these kinds of issues because yet again I am facing another christmas break. Generally I have not faired so well on these breaks. I give lip service, "Yeah, it's great being a teacher; lots of time to read, get together with my kids..." But in reality, and this is increasing with age, a part of me dreads the break, is afraid of the inescapable struggles I have.

I generally start off a break with a zillion little goals--more hiking, more reading, more studying, more creativity, much more of the most difficult of tasks (reading theory, catching up on academic journals, difficult novels). No surprise, then, that after a few days of NOT meeting these goals, I begin to feel heavy, lethargic, miserable.

How does one short circuit such a process? I've tried many things--pretend I have no goals, but this is lie to myself; be more active; wake up early each morning maintaining a schedule; healthy winter projects like hiking and photographing the local canyons; make goals about reaching out to others.....All of these have offered some semblance of hope but have often been short-lived.

I've noticed that I often do not feel at ease with a break until I've been on break for a couple of weeks. Then I finally can settle in and enjoy it. But this is after depression, frustration, and erratic desire.

Should I do something different this break? It seems I must consider it but what and will I even follow through with it? I don't know. I've thought of the following:

*meditation each morning

*exercise daily

*at least a couple of one on one dates with each child

*retreat, maybe to the monastery in Huntsville

*do something different as a family for christmas, like a show in vegas (we are seriously considering the Fab 4 Beatles tribute vegas show for a family trip the week before christmas)

But is this merely another reiteration of the "more" cycle? Maybe it is better to do nothing, to have zero goals, no expectations--live the break one day at a time and allow myself to do whatever it is I want to fill my day. One day I might read all day; another I might watch several films; another I might do absolutely nothing. But even this list can easily become a matter of more. More reading, more films checked off my list, more of nothing which is a goal in my mediation class. Freakin goals. Stupid goals. If only I could focus on doing "differently" instead of doing "more."

Yet...god I have no idea but I know that already I suffer in advance for the "wonderful" vacation I will start in a few weeks. I might be better off working at the local maverick or the mall selling something in one of those kiosks--maybe some lotion or beanies. Wait, I hate malls. But while I might hate it, at least I'd keep busy and have some extra money in the end. Reasoning: I will probably get down no matter what I do so why not do something that I can measure with dollars? Oh hell, I'm back to more.

One day on the wagon

Yesterday I took a break from the Internet and learned the following:

1. I got much more reading done--reading by the fire sans laptop was peaceful, even idyllic.

2. Much harder than I imagined: many times I caught myself, without explicitly thinking about it, wandering in my office to check email or the Netflix queue or....

3. How much I miss having 4 or 5 books out all at once, reading some from one, then another: intertextual connection equals paper-textual bliss.

4. How much I miss reading BOOKS with pages I feel and turn with my hand, books I write in, books I caress

5. Felt strangely disconnected from all my Internet friends--what if someone emailed me? what if someone posted a comment on my recent FB update? (which many people did, which I saw on my sister's laptop at Thanksgiving because she had posted a comment on my update, at which point I had to tear myself away so as to not check FB) what if someone made a nifty Thanksgiving post I should be paying attention to? what if my Netflix queque is out of order and they send me some movie I don't want? what about this thing I'm reading about (like the reference to Sir Gawain and the loathely lady in Kabat-Zinn's book on parenting) that I need to Google?

6. How my ideas for blog posts, FB updates soars, and ideas I want to email to others when I know I am forbidden from being online

7. That make-up online-connection is almost as good as make-up sex--I've had an orgasmic flow of online energy all morning.

8. That even with a day off and the euphoria of make-up connection this morning, I still feel a wee bit guilty about the two hours lost with my electronic mistress.

The happiest man in the world

In articulating his sense of what happiness Matthieu Ricard (a French scientist who become a monk), a renowned Buddhist monk, says:

"And also, [mere pleasure is] something that basically doesn't radiate to others, you can experience pleasure at the cost of other's suffering. So it's very vulnerable to the change of other circumstances. It doesn't help you to face the other circumstances better. Now, if we think of happiness as a way of being, a way of being that give (sic) you the resources to deal with the ups and downs of life, that pervades all the emotional state (sic), including sadness."

I was struck by his notion of happiness as a way of being and a resource, one that pervades all emotional states. From this perspective our traditional ideas of happiness are turned on their head. Instead it's the overriding emotion of well-being which supports and allows most other emotions and actions; it's not a fleeting state we strive for, a bliss we hope to keep a hold of as long as possible.

A further discussion of this can be found on NPR's Speaking of Faith, "The 'happiest' man in the world."

Coetzee Serrendipity

I'm reading a compelling novel, Slow Man, by J.M. Coetzee: how is it that I missed this genius of writer, who won the Nobel Prize for lit in 2003, until now? No idea.

Disturbingly enough, I had Elizabeth Costello, another one of his novels (side note: the character of Elizabeth plays a major role in his novel Slow Man) sitting on my shelf for several years until my father-in-law picked it off the shelf while passing through to Alpine, read it in two days, returned it, and proclaimed he was going to read all of Coetzee's stuff. How many times did I hunt for a good book and not even give a second glance to this novel? Further I do not have any recollection where I got the book from.

I'm also going to read everything he has. And, for those who are lucky enough to be English college teachers, his books are Penguins which means you can get them for free.

Hell House

Finally I'd gotten around to updating the many podcasts (TAL, Fresh, TBK, TOF) I have not been listening to over the last two months and amazingly enough I was actually listening to a recent episode of This American Life (TAL) when I heard this:

It's fun to make hell on earth...

A Columbine reenactment with real guns....

At the tryout: "I want to play the abortion girl." (turns out everyone wants to play the "bad" guys)...

In one scene:

"Do you believe in God?"

"Yes."

"Do you believe in God?"

"Yes," she says screaming for her life as he points a gun at her head.

"Why?" and then he shoots her...

At the awards ceremony for Hell House actors: "I want to thank my rapists."

***

As the documentary film makers ask, who are the good church going adults who sponsor this event?

To steal a phrase from HighTouch's recent blog post and put it in a much darker context, a little piece of me died hearing this story. I was stunned at the inanity of it all, stunned that people would create such "theater" for young teenagers in order to convert them, stunned they didn't see how they were inviting the very things they say they are against, stunned that humanity could stoop so very low.

Even now, writing/reflecting/re-listening to the episode, I'm incredulous--surely well-meaning adults did not subject their teens to this in the name of a God? Unfortunately it seems to they did.

Old man

Finally my oldest son and I met toe to toe in the only arena open to such a meeting: The unofficial Adam's Canyon sprint to the waterfall.

We warmed up, we stretched, we checked out the competition (that would be each other), and we were off. After the long stretch of steep switchbacks I had a slight lead because said son was too proud to speed walk the steepest hills instead of running them, "Efficiency the old man cried."

About half way up (it's about 2.5 miles) I remembered I hadn't stretch my back so I stopped briefly, son passed me a got a lead. When I caught back up to him, after much suffering given the stretching caused my back to seize up, he said:

"Old man you're killing me."

And that made all the pain worth it, even pleasurable.

Cyclist on freeway: This really happened

As we were driving on I-15 into SLC last night to see Jim Gaffigan, we saw a cyclist riding on the side of the freeway. In of itself this is strange and crazy and, actually, illegal but not worthy of a CI blog post.

Thankfully there were other details which made this experience post-worthy: he was only riding on his back tire (doing a wheelie) AND, holy shit I still can't believe this, adjusting something on his front wheel while riding down said freeway, while riding a continuous wheelie, while riding about a foot away from cars passing at 85mph.

I did a triple take as we passed him. I'm still stunned, still wondering if we didn't enter some sort of carnavalesque imaginary world for a few seconds. Now I have a small inkling of what it must have felt like to look up in 1974 and see Phillipe Petit crossing that thin wire between the Twin Towers. Must have been magical, hilarious, incredible.

The written language

Attempting to help my son switch his new watch from military to regular time, I found these very clear and concise instructions concerning the 12/24 hour reversal option:

"You have the possibility to change from 12 to 24 hour system, when adjusting the hours of the normal time one after the other the hours are displayed in the 12 hour system, then in the 24 hour system and then again the 12 hour system, i.e., please push S2 so many times, that the hour is displayed in the required system."

Well, it is now absolutely crystal clear what I need to do.

Thing 1 and Thing 2

I have this Thing and this other Thing—Thing 1 and Thing 2. Thing 1 is absolutely necessary but Thing 2 merely costs lots of money.

What should I feel toward Thing 3? I’ve had it since I was 14; it was my grandfather’s but I never knew my grandfather and would gladly give up Thing 3 to speak with him for a few minutes. Thing 4 has passed from one office move to the other since my very first teaching job—that’s six moves—yet I’m unsure I’ve ever used Thing 4.

Fuck Thing 2; I don’t care how much it cost—to the garbage it goes.

All my Things are just Things. They don’t breathe or think but it seems I hope many of them will remind me of my own breathing and living. Thing 5 I got during our family trip to San Francisco; what a lousy reminder of that amazing trip.

Why so many goddamn Things? I can’t keep track of my Things. When I want to use Thing 6, it’s never around; instead I make do with Thing 23 but it’s not really my size. I start to fill suffocated by Things, things over here, in there, on the cabinet, in the garage—too too many Things!

But I do like Things; in fact I like my neighbors’ Things and Things in stores much more than my Things; unfortunately even when I adore a Thing someone else owns, its glimmer wanes as soon as it nestles amongst my Things.

I just got a new office and decided to fill it with a few Things as a commemoration of my window and my commitment to this office. I saw the Things colleagues had in their offices; many smart things. Andrea had pretty, rich matching Things but I’d never figure out such a complex layout of Things; another had intellectual old Things but he also has a degree from Yale. I want those Things, I said, so when I happened to be in Walmart (a very rare thing indeed) I decided to hunt for some Things. But before I made it through the front door I was tired and hot; I pushed on but once inside the King of Things, I was overwhelmed by Things. Why would people by such stupid freakin’ Things? I look at lamp Things but I think I want a lamp Thing from Ikea—not the king of Things but much better to say I bought an office Thing from Ikea than Walmart. But soon the new Things I buy will seem old a wary, Things I no longer want.

What is left when we have no Things? We are alone in a thing, yet alone without our things. Are we a thing or something more? I want Things to mean.

A Thing goes up, a Thing goes down. I pick a Thing up and save it; I throw another Thing away, yet that other Thing I caress and save never to revisit the Thing again. Things will haunt me till death and then my children will fight and scream over my Things. Sometimes I wish I owned no Things at all.

Guess who finally got into Cs?

That'd be ME with my two wonderful colleagues: Antistrophe and Signifying nothing. I have been part of a proposal for 4Cs (a major composition conference) every year for the last 6 years.

I tried many combinations: submitted with two new SLCC colleagues, Middlebrow and The cold cold north; submitted again with Middlebrow but brought in the experieinced 4C's ringer, Hightoughmegastore; submitted alone with little collegial feedback; several times had experienced colleagues read over and help rewrite proposal.

Finally this one stuck. And amazingly a fellow greeny (Antistrophe), as they say in the Mormon mission field, and I planned it out and I headed up the actual writing. Also thanks goes to Signifying nothing who, very last minute, allowed us to use his star-studded writing center presence to round out our panel and hooked me up with solid writing center research.

Somehow I feel like I've arrived. I know it's silly but indulge me. So many revisions of the proposal and it was our (Antistrophe's and mine) writing, not writing majorily tweaked by my more experienced, mentoring colleagues. Of course without said mentoring, I would never have arrived at such great heights. After the presentation I will be ready to die and go to heaven; my work will be done on earth.

p.s. if you have inside information that the committee accepted the proposal because they somehow found out Signifying nothing, the world leader of student writing centers, was on the proposal OR because our issue--student retention and writing--is a hot issue this year, keep it to yourself. I want to believe I've arrived.

Summer Vacations

We spent this week in Colorado Springs. Certainly satisfying to pull off this trip as the idea came to us in 2004 while in CS when I ran the Pikes Peak Ascent, a gruelling 13 mile jaunt up to 14k elevation. The surrounding area seemed a perfect spot for a family vacation.

Here are the highlights:

• Thrilling drive on the highest highway in the US up over the Rockies and across the continental divide
• Amazing rock formations at Garden of the Gods (and it's free!)
• Amusement park-like experience of a waterfall at 7 Falls
• Great variety of eating experiences: local mexican place in Craig where the whole family ate fajitas for 25 bucks; old-style Italian in CS where the decour had certainly not changed in 50 yrs; grass-fed beef at Conway's Redtop burger joint--a step back into the 70s; and finally a little Hunan Chinese place in Evanston.
• A hike to Barr Camp--actually a mile past it--on the famous Barr Trail up Pike's Peak with oldest son: 16 miles round trip. The only negative is that running several miles downhill has totally trashed my legs.
• Lots of talk time with the kids--I love how trips create close-quarter situations which switch up the normal family relationships. We laughed at all kinds of things and enjoyed each of child's unique personality, something that seems to come out more on a trip like this.

Near catastrophes:

• Lost brakes just outside of Craig, CO but it worked out--no crash and a local guy in a tiny station fixed it the next morning (note: Craig is a rather ugly town, almost impossible to walk anywhere)

Vacations with older kids have several advantages (and some disadvantages I won't mention): less fighting, more willingness to try new foods, easier to do difficult hikes, and when tired of them you can send them to the pool for some alone time.

Next year's trip: Grand Canyon or Highway 101 to see coastal redwoods

Born to run

Thanks to Middlebrow and Dr. Write I started reading Born to run in earnest over the weekend. What an amazing book. So many things to like--exploration of the strangely exotic Tarahumara Indians, splendid little bios with juicy details on my ultramarathon heroes [a rush to hear details about events that I witnessed--the three Tarahumara Indians I saw racing the Wasatch 100 while helping at an aid station, Ann Trason who I saw while pacing someone at Wasatch) great writing, AND some kick ass passages, the kind you read and then kind of sit up, "Did he really just say that?"

For example McDougall describes the contrast between Scott Jurek (multi winner of the Western States 100--most popular/lucrative 100 in the states) and Mike Sweeney (a Badwater top runner--a 135 mile race in Death Valley) who are currently, in the story, running the Badwater race:

"Mike Sweeny was leading the field...Sweeney's crew was operating beautifully. As pacers, he had three elite ultrarunners, including a fellow H.U.R.T. 100 champion, Luis Escobar. As nutritionist, he had the perfectly named Sunny Blende, a beautiful endurance-sports specialist who not only monitored his calories, but hoisted her top and flashed her breasts whenever she felt Sweeney needed perking up."

I had to stop right there and share this passage with my wife. It's just too good to be true--Sunny Blende the nutritionist--and it's filled with the little details that make a story interesting. OR I merely liked it because the thought of a beautiful woman flashing her breasts at me at the end of a race sounded amazingly appealing.

Not to be beat, the next paragraph was another doozy:

"Team Jerker [they called Scott Jurek Jerker as a kid in part because he was so slow--he certainly got the last laugh] wasn't quite as well oiled. One of Scott's pacers was fanning him with a sweatshirt, unaware that Scott was too exhausted to complain that the zipper was slashing his back. Scott's wife and his best friend, meanwhile, were at each other's throats. Dusty was annoyed by the way Leah kept trying to motivate Scott by giving him fake pacing splits, while Leah wasn't too pleased with Dusty's habit of calling her husband a fucking pussy."

Shortly after this Scott starts to shake and vomit; he even takes time out to bathe in a giant cooler of ice. Still he winds up winning the race.

Lesson learned: A carrot, in this case breasts, is actually not nearly as effective motivation as a big stick in the form of crude playground taunting.

Mission accomplished: HP I thru HP VII

Today we finished the entired HP series. I can't exactly remember when we started reading but it I believe it was either last summer or at the beginning of the school year 08-09. By the numbers:

• 4224 pages
• 7 books
• 6 AR tests--Andrew passed them all and surpassed his AR goal every term (he already asked if he should take a test on book #7 next yr)
• countless hours reading
• 203 threats exactly: "if you don't hurry and get your teeth brushed, no Harry Potter" (How ever will I replace this threat?)
• several reading marathons when we hit exciting sections
• Many favorite memories: explaining snogging, various discussions attempting to figure out Snape's allegiance, talking about how much we loved the series

Reward for reading to the end: the much anticipated photo of my left ear (unfortunately it's not a great photo, but hey you get what you get). BTW I'm open to suggestions on what type of earring I should put in after my stud wearing time is over--stud! see I told everyone earrings were for men.

Going to Satan II: Responses to my earring

Youngest son: Why did you do that? You are a boy.

Me: You do know lots of men have earrings.

Youngest son: I know but that doesn't mean you had to get one.

Sister: Are you going through a midlife crisis?

Mom: Why would you go and do something like that? You fool!

Wife: Shit, he actually did it (after she saw the piercing solution and earrings on the counter I'd intentionally left out so she could work through any issues before I got home from work--she'd been out of town)

Oldest son: Reaching up to pull it out, "You didn't. Come on. That's not real."

Daughter: What's that in your ear?

Me: an earring

Daughter: Why did you do that?

Me: I like the look.

Daughter: No you didn't.

Just about everyboy else: silence and nervous eye twitches looking away from ear

Going to Satan

I stayed home from church yesterday so I could hit the grocery store and cook some lunch (ok, and so I could watch the Tour de France). As it is hard to prepare a mostly vegetarian meal, I was still preparing when the family got home. Immediately Andrew, our 8 year old, started in on me:

"Dad I'm worried about you. Didn't you used to teach that class in church?"

"Yeah."

"Well, you don't go to church very much anymore."

"Nope I don't."

"We talked about it today. If you don't go to church you will go to Satan."

"Oh, really. Where did you learn that?"

"In primary."

"Hmm."

"Yeah, you need to go to church so you don't go to Satan."

"Do you think I'm a good person?"

"Sure dad. I love you more than anything."

"Thanks. I think I will be all right then."

Biking the Legacy Parkway

This year I bought my then 7 year old a $250 bike, something many think crazy. But I knew I'd want him on a good bike this year. Why? Because I knew he was willing to do what he did yesterday: wake up at 6am and pound out near 20 miles on the Legacy bike trail.



Here's take off at the Frontrunner Lagoon station:

Here's our first little break after about 7 miles:


And here's my cool looking self:

And here's a strange sight--cowboys and cyclists chattin it up:

Andrew liked the tunnels:

All and all a great little Friday morning ride. Only one tiny struggle in the last mile or so when Andrew's butt started to hurt him a bit, but he pushed it to the very end.

Our next cycling challenge? I'm not sure. He's in that in-between stage where he needs quite a bit for a challenge (maybe we will come back here and do the entire trail which would be about 25 miles) but where he can't really do true mt biking quite yet. We did a few miles on Antelope island which was a bit frustrating for him (the sand and long hills); still a good experience.

Soon, maybe this summer, I will take him on a short slightly downhill single track by Snowbasin. Probably should wait till next yr as I always tend to overestimate skill level--just ask my oldest son.

Two bits for magpie heads

I love birds but I'm speedily going back to my childhood hatred of magpies. For whatever reason it seems our cul de sac has been invaded by these loud, ugly birds. I understand they are smart; I understand they are one of God's creature, but good hell could they shut up? And talk about agressiveness--I've seen them taking on our cats on several occasions. Magpies 3, Cats 0.

I find myself pining for the good ole days my dad has often described to me when the farmers would pay them two bits (that's a quarter for you unschooled in rural money talk) for every magpie shot.

Just for today, let me forget all that environmental, nature loving rhetoric--give me a gun and bless me with good aim.