I Am At A Loss

Something strange happened to me yesterday and I haven’t been able to wrap my arms around it.

Last year, my little Brain Tail friend and I met in Pennsylvania to watch the new X-Files movie together. We don’t get to see each other very often, since eight hours separates us, and Brain Tail suggested we meet in the middle this past Sunday to catch up. We found a picnic table, and set to have a very enjoyable 2.5 hours chatting. It was a gorgeous day in PA ~ the sun was bright but not overwarm, the birds were trilling, the scenery spectacular, and the company was as enjoyable as ever without a hitch in the conversation. We had a lovely time. We’ve decided to try to make this an annual event.

At 2:30 pm, we cleaned up our picnic and parted ways; Lacie to attempt to mow her lawn, and I to have dinner with family. I plunged back into the gaping maw of perpetual construction that IS I-81.

A moment: one of these days, I need to write solely on I-81 and the construction it has undergone in the state of Pennsylvania for the last 235 years. Seriously, I remember my Aunt bemoaning Pennsylvania road construction 40 years ago. I’ve been driving I-81 to visit family for 25 years, and there has always been construction in this state. I DO NOT UNDERSTAND. I’m convinced that Organized Crime must be lining their pockets SOMEHOW and I’m bitter. One lane back ups for no apparent reason other than to give the United Orange Cone Makers of America extra coin to put bling on the necks of their trophy wives.

Thank you for the indulgence. I continue.

A mere half hour into my trip home, I noted a green van on the side of the road under a shade of trees. As I sped by at 65 mph, I saw the hood was open and a white man, slightly balding, wearing a blue short sleeved shirt and brown pants, standing in front of the vehicle with his hands gripping the open hood. His body language conveyed gloom, like “How am I going to get home now?”

My heart went out to him; I’ve had my share of breakdowns on the road. Not being a manly man with a tool kit in my trunk, but a single woman with few automotive resources, I did not stop. I wondered if he had a cell phone, and then spent some time pondering on the plight of today’s drivers versus vehicular predicaments in days past. What did we do before cell phones? I continued on that line of thinking for a bit before I RAN INTO STUPID ONE LANE TRAFFIC FOR AN HOUR.

As I said, I’m still bitter.

After breaking free from the bondage of that particular corridor of construction, I drove on listening to Christmas in July on Radio Classics. Jack Benny’s “A Christmas Tree Cactus” was great fun. Traffic had picked up to a normal pace. The trip was going well and I had no need to stop to use any of the rest area facilities or to get gasoline.

Two and a half hours into my trip home, I noted another green van on the side of the road under another shade of trees. As I sped by, I saw the hood was open and standing in front of the car was THE SAME WHITE MAN, SLIGHTLY BALDING, WEARING A BLUE SHORT SLEEVED SHIRT AND BROWN PANTS, WITH HIS HANDS GRIPPING THE OPEN HOOD. HIS BODY AGAIN CONVEYED GLOOM, LIKE “HOW AM I GOING TO GET HOME NOW?”.

Now, please understand. I am not given to visual hysterics of this nature. I’ve never seen a Cheetoh shaped like the Blessed Virgin, I’ve never seen a ghost and I have never met a psychic I considered really worth her $75 an hour fee. I love to hear the stories and I’m completely open to paranormal oddities, but I do not receive them. My kids do, a couple of my sisters do, some cousins, and even tiny little Brain Tail gets them. Not me. Though I get the occasional tingle when I need to pray for someone, I am mostly bereft of psychic ability. I’ve accepted this with equanimity.

For a second I was messed up. Had I somehow gotten turned around and was back in the same location? That couldn’t be right. I bounced back into character and said a “Hail Mary”, quickly and with fervor. I called Lacie. Surely, the brain tail would tingle if there was a psychic disturbance. There was apparently no hint of anything pawing at the cosmic continuum. I called Guest Blogger Who Hasn’t Blogged since 2007. Other than asking me if I was compelled to help him (which I was not), and considering a variety of urban legends, nothing solid was postulated.

I said a few more prayers but continued to feel a sort of unreality settle on me. An hour and a half later I picked up my daughter, went to Guest Blogger’s house, enjoyed a wonderful meal and put forth the mystery to my friends gathered around the table. All agreed the incident was creepy, and their responses were indicative of their personal character:

Guest Blogger – (curious, open to phenomena but not a medium to same, highly analytical with a psychological bent) - “I have no idea, but I immediately googled blue shirted, brown panted men on I-81. I found nothing. It’s strange.”

Starbuck - (a child of the universe, willing to believe the fantastic) - “You need to be more open to possibilities.”

Pamplona - (a devout Catholic Naval Officer) - “Did you pray? I’d have prayed.”

My Daughter - (scarred by years of my rigorous attempts to keep her from being victimized by teaching self sufficient situational awareness) - “Obviously, he wasn’t able to net any victims at his first location so he got back in his vehicle, sped ahead of you, pulled over to the side again hoping to lure someone into his green van of death and dismemberment.”

Guest Blogger’s Husband - (a solid thinking, no nonsense guy) - “Everyone in Pennsylvania looks the same.”

Additional theories:

It was the ghost of a soul trapped in purgatory who needed my prayers.

I was abducted by aliens, probed and didn’t notice I had a period of lost time.

It was a man driven insane by the never ending construction of Pennsylvania roadways who ended his misery by self-decapitating via his van hood. I was witnessing the paranormal re-enactment of the bloody event.

Now, in all seriousness, the only plausible explanation is that Creepy McBlueshirt got his van running after I first spied him, sped ahead of me and his engine broke down again. I simply happened upon him a second time as he peered curiously under his hood. It was all coincidence.

I’m not buying it. I don’t get it, I may never get it. I’ve looked on line for creepy stories, but none of these descriptions sound like my story.

You know what I’d love - I’d love to hear from someone who has seen “The Man in the Breakdown Lane”. And if you told me that I-81 is actually hell and Satan is the Head of the Pennsylvania DOT – I’d believe you.

I Want to Believe

I invested a lot of years into the characters of Mulder and Scully. I came in during season four and it took me some time to catch up. I was a bigger fan of the MotW (monster of the week) episodes than I was of the government conspiracy arc. I loved CGB Spender and Walter Skinner. I had a very soft spot for the Lone Gunmen and Krycek. I adored the snarky Morris Fletcher. I despised Bill Scully and Diana Fowley. I can tell you which episodes Darin Morgan wrote and/or starred in. I even participated in a gregarious group of religious on-line Scully-enthusiasts just so I could get spoilers every week.

I was a shipper - someone who thought that Mulder and Scully loved each other and should be together romantically. The chemistry between Duchovny and Anderson was electric. It was what kept me coming back each week. Don't get me wrong; the writing was excellent and the creepy feel was fun. But it was the characters and my investment in them that brought me back to the screen last month.



Abductions, a psychic X-pedophilic X-priest ("Stupendous Yappi, tell me what I'm thinking now." "So's your old man!"), Russians (Poor Krycek, he SO could have helped Mulder what with his Russian-as-a- second-language thing and his fake arm and all) a non-believing FBI agent and one who wants to believe. Hospitals and doctors and incurable diseases, O MY! Pictures of aliens, flying saucers, fluke-men, and Samantha.

"I Want to Believe" was a monster-of-the-week episode. An FBI agent goes missing, our X-priest has visions and a flailing FBI calls on a hermetically sealed Mulder for help. To be precise, they call on Scully who calls on Mulder for help.

Our Dr. Scully works at a Catholic Hospital; "Our Lady of Sorrows" (HA!) and she's trying desperately to save a little boy's life (Christian! HA!) through radical treatments that no Catholic Hospital worth the name would condone.

We learn that Mulder and Scully are shacking up in a messed up...uhm...shack...somewhere in West Virginia. Mulder is obviously depressed yet still obsessed, given the wallpaper in his office and the growth of beard on his face. Scully has her own obsession going on trying to save little William…whoops, I mean Christian from his brain disease. Let's face it; Dr. Scully should probably go back and take the course on clinical detachment while Mulder oughta shave, shower, clean up, something, I don't know. In an effort to get him off his ass and out of that filthy hole they live in, Scully tells him about the FBI's request and urges him to action. Off they go.

Scully, to the detriment of the poor abducted FBI agent, clearly doesn't have the stomach for the fibbie chase anymore leaping down the throat of X-Father Joe for his past horrific crimes. Mulder (with his "distinguished profile" season 6, episode 8) smells a real psychic and is on the job. He even shaves. Scully can't stomach being in the same room with X-Father.

Mulder's faith is rekindled; he wants to believe again. Scully struggles with her faith, seems that she no longer has any. But when X-Father Joe tells her not to give up, she doesn't want to allow it in, or to give it meaning. Yet in the end, we find she wants to believe too.

Our heroes come to a crossroads in their relationship. Mulder feels alive again; he's driven to get to the bottom of the case. Scully fears where the obsessions take him; she can't follow him into the dark anymore and does not want to be a party to it. But in the end, Scully, ("…stomach contents include ... pizza ...(gasp!) Chloral hydrate's in the pizza! The pizza guy! (gasp again!) Mulder!") by googling the dots between dogs, Russians and stem cells, saves Mulder's ass as usual. One abductee ("Do you prefer the term ab-duct-ee or experiencer?) is saved from the creepy dog pound and we get to see the only person with balls in the FBI: Walter Skinner swoops in to save the day.

But look; our MotW turns out

to be a dark Russian slice of a

fabulous 1962 B movie. If only it had been "The

Screaming Skull" my life would have been complete. But even so - "The Brain That Wouldn't Die" - works for me (Scully: "OK...how do I die?" Clyde Bruckman smiles, "You don't.").

What didn't I like? I thought the political commentary, panning over to the picture of President Bush and playing the XFiles music was clumsy and pretty 8^th grade. During the entire nine year run of the show they never did that to Janet "Elian Gonzales / Branch Davidian" Reno. I thought that the pedophile priest angle and Scully's subsequent angst would have worked better in 2002, which is probably when they wrote the screenplay. As a faithfully practicing Catholic I was annoyed that all of the priests in the movie looked like John Mark Carr. I mean, come on. Oh, yeah and it doesn't snow that much in Virginia; certainly not in Richmond where our pedophiles have checked in to the sex offender concentration camp.

What did I love? I loved the affection for the fans; the shout outs. The nuns, the red swim trunks that replaced the red speedo, the pencils in the ceiling, the poster, the fish tank, Mulder's cell phone with the names of X-Files writers in his contacts list, Scully's cross necklace, and beautiful beautiful Walter Skinner; Assistant Director; the Skin Man. The "I Want To Believe" poster, sunflower seeds, and references to two of my favorite characters; Luther Lee Boggs and Clyde Bruckman.

Mostly, I loved that these characters were back. I really hope that there is at least one more in the series - that one will have to be the government consipiracy to hide the truth that the end of the world is 12/12/12.

If I were them, I'd schedule a Thanksgiving release.

PS: Thank Brain Tail for the contribution: a beautiful score by Mark Snow enveloped this movie. "Home Again" is my favorite cut.

I Want to See My Friend

Brain Tail and I had been planning to meet since Chris Carter announced plans to film the second movie in the X-Files series. God Bless Brain Tail, she did all the foot work; decided upon a date, determined the half way point, found a theatre, googled showing times, and established the location of the closest Starbucks.

I offered to bring Shiner Bock.

Decisions were made, plans were finalized. We would reach our destination at 10am so we could lounge over Starbucks coffee and do some immediate catch up. We would then catch the ultra-early 11:15 am show so that we could lunch casually and then dissect the movie. After which, I would transfer all the Shiner Bock I purchased into her car and we would go our separate ways – me to Rhode Island, she home. Flawless.

Saturday dawned bright and fine. A three hour drive was nothing, a walk in the park, a jaunt, a delight ~ splendid ~ if you will. I walked my dog, checked my email, made a pot of coffee, showered, lightly packed a bag, curled up with my daughter and kissed her goodbye. The gas tank was full, I had water in the front seat, the GPS was turned on, and back up mapquest directions were at hand. I glanced at the printed directions; lo and behold, my end of the drive was 3 hours 59 minutes. The first time I looked at them, all I saw was the 3 hours part. Well, crap. That meant I wasn’t going to get there in time for coffee and a chat, I was going to get to the theatre just in time to sit down and watch the movie.

Maybe I could make up time.

Nope, didn’t work. For the first hour, I got stuck behind someone I am convinced practiced rigid hypermiling techniques while I was determined to practice aggressive driving methods. Then I discovered that Pennsylvania is STILL making improvements to I-81N. In my 30 year experience, I-81 north and south has always been under construction. I’m told by my Uncle that for the 30 years before that it was under construction too. Whatever…it was putting me behind. I get a call from my friend who of all things left early and reached our destination at 9:30am. Well, crap again. I wasn’t going to get there much before 11am.

I got there just in time to get tickets and find seats; there really wasn’t a line at 11:00 am. We were two of about six people in the theatre. You know, if you were a diehard fan back in the day, it would really have been fun to sit in a crowd with other back-in-the-day-diehard fans. The shout outs to the fans were not too in your face and fun. Made us want to clap and shout “wooooo” which would have been ridiculous given the number of people in the theater. We left after all the credits stopped rolling.

I didn’t expect the film to overwhelm me with cinematic excellence. I was going because I had invested 9 years in the characters. I invested some amount of money in seasons 1-6 on DVD (blech – 7 – 9 – just blech). But mostly because I had invested years of friendship in the little Brain Tail friend I have.

Movie, lunch, catch-up, laughter, Starbucks, more laughter. A perfect day so far.

Next up: I Want to Believe

Splendid

Someone said the word splendid to me recently and I liked it. It's not used enough.

A splendid day today ~ slept well, I got in to work obscenely early as my attempts to hypermile continue, caffeinated coffee is brewing. I got letter #3 in the mail to Adam. Life is fine. Really fine.

A friend with whom I occasionally car pool showed me a non-trafficked back road home the other night; this delights me as it is fewer miles and avoids the foul foul traffic on 28S. I went to Guest Blogger’s for dinner; we did a crossword and finished – a night time rarity; we are rarely on point in the evening and crosswords suffer in the attempt. We are both of us morning folk.

This weekend, road trip! Going to meet up with the Brain Tail to watch the new XFiles movie “I Want to Believe”. Our plan is to meet up at 10am, find a Starbucks (nothing else will do; Starbuck was Scully’s nickname given to her by her father) chat ourselves stupid, then go to a noon showing. I'm bringing Shiner Bock up for Lacie's husband to enjoy later. Shiner Bock was consumed on an XFiles episode. I'm an obnoxious font of mindless trivia having spent a few years lounging in the OBSSE Abbey.

After that, I’m going on a solo adventure, driving to the Naval base to see my son on Sunday morning. Then, I will sob my way home, eight hours. Know what? Every mile, every tank of gasoline will be worth it. I’m going to see my incredibly brave friend who is facing still more surgery with grace and faith and courage. And then I’m going to see my boy. I’d do it twice.

Splendid. It's all splendid.

I Want To Believe

I want to believe.

I read news yesterday that there is movement in the latest X-Files project. A script is finished. There are talks that filming will start in November with a potential release of November 2008. You can read about it here.

I really want to believe.

This announcement comes five years after The X-Files ended. And my emotions are mixed. The ending was unsatisfactory. Indeed, the last three seasons of the show lacked the energy that the earlier shows had. The main story arcs – the bees, the oil, the clones, the alien abduction of Mulder's sister, super soldiers, a faceless race, the greens, the greys, – it all became sordid and convoluted and weighty.

What I loved about the series and will always love, were the character interactions. The chemistry between Duchovny and Anderson was electric. The obvious affection and rapport they shared on screen was what drew me back every week.

The writing was superb – convoluted and weighty stuff aside, that is. Darin Morgan – a genius by the way – wrote or starred in some of my favorite episodes of all time. "Clyde Bruckman's Final Repose", "Jose Chung's From Outer Space", and "Small Potatoes". Some of my other favorites include "Pusher", "One Breath", "Beyond the Sea", "Musings of a Cigarette Smoking Man", and oh oh, "Post Modern Prometheus", "Bad Blood" and "Triangle". I would be hard pressed to pick an absolute favorite out of those.

The episodes that Duchovny had a hand in, by the way, showed a remarkable sensitivity and love for the characters and a wry sense of humor that I enjoyed.

So you know what? I really WANT to believe that this movie will be good. I really WANT to believe that Chris Carter, Frank Spotnitz et al will respect the characters sufficiently and present something that will honor the show and the fans. I do NOT want to believe that this is merely a money making vehicle.

But damn if I won't be there opening day. I'm such a tool.