Memoirs of a Chinese Lady Speaking English

Memoirs of a Geisha

This is a beautifully filmed movie, first of all. It had to be. It wasn't going to have any cred otherwise. Sure the story is good and the acting is fine, but the problems with this film run very deep. It is a major Hollywood glamour film trying to pass itself off as cinematic wonder.

Memoirs of a Geisha tells the story of a young girl who is sold by her parents to a Geisha house when her father realizes that her mother is dying. The girl is raised at the Geisha house and trained to become one of the greatest Geisha ever. Geisha, which means "artist," is seen as a social tradition and respected in all societies. They do not consider themselves prostitutes, while a Geisha will, once they are older take bids for one man to pay to take her virginity. Further reading on Geisha reveals that this is not as correct or important to being a Geisha as the movie proclaims.

The look of the film is stunning and the visual awards it recieved were probably deserved. At times the viewer is left with visions reminiscant of the Asian beauty in Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon and House of Flying Daggers But, then the actors open their mouths. You see, it's not obvious and many Americans won't catch it, but there is most definitely a difference between Japanese and Chinese. I don't even think that I noticed it right away or even knew why it was that I was feeling uneasy. The fact that the movie is in English did throw me off, however. I guess after seeing enough movies in subtitles, when watching an English movie about Japanes living in Japan things seem incongruent and fake. Then add to this that many of the leads are Chinese and that they look and sound like Chinese (although I'd have never been able to tell the difference unless given the opportunity to see one trying to pass as the other)and you are left with a movie that appears to be lying to you. I've never been one to worry about authenticity in film. I believe that one should watch a movie with an open mind and accept the film you are being shown on it's own merit and not what you think the movie should be like. For instance, judge the acting and the directing and story-telling on it's own and don't say that it didn't stay true to history or that it was telling the wrong story. If I'm making a movie I'm telling the story and creating the world and can fictionalize it how I see fit. On the other hand, film is not like theatre which can more easily take liberties. Theatre audiences will accept most anything because, after all, if you are sitting in a theatre watching My Fair Lady you've already had to suspend your believe that you are in a Houston/New York/L.A. theatre and not in London, England in 1901. In a movie, if the film says the actors are in Bagdad, Iraq, you better make the audience think they are really in Bagdad, Iraq. I'm not buying into a film that says it is in Japan during World War II and yet there are Chinese actors speaking English trying to pass themselves off as Japanese. Maybe you are wondering if it's really that obvious. To an ignorant American, perhaps not. Other than it being in English, I couldn't put my finger on it, but something wasn't right about the actress. When I read that she is, indeed, Chinese I had an epiphany. By golly, they don't all look the same. There is a difference. Aside from these blunders in casting and the choice to use English instead of subtitles, the film was good. The story, while furthering an incorrect stereotype of Geisha as prostitutes, was well told and compelling and the actors do a good job. My issues with the film won't bother many people, but it was enough of a distraction for me to keep it from being something great and made it okay.

2.5 Bulls

Kyle v. 27.0

I've been teaching for three years now. I moved back to Baytown three years ago. My nephew is three years old. I've been married almost four year and I'm having my five year college reunion this year. The seniors graduating high school this year were in jr. high when I graduated college and next year at this time I'll be going to my 10 year high school reunion. In three years I'll be 30 and when I take into account what's gone on in the last three I freak out a little. Not because I'm scared of growing old, but just because I never expected to feel the rush of time hit me so fast. I've always been a little bit of an enemy of time. I've written songs and plays about time and it has always seemed to play an integral role in major events of my life. Either not having enough time or being somewhere at the right time/wrong time, etc. I imagine that this is a common element in anyone's life who has a plate full of ambitions and dreams and not enough time to get it all done. A kid asked me today if I was one of those people who made a list of things I wanted to get done before I was 30. The answer to that is yes and no. No, I've never sat down and made a physical list. If I ever have, I certainly have not adhered to the list or worried whether any of those things have been accomplished. The student who asked the question astutely commented that in making such a list people are often setting themselves up for failure. I remarked that it depended on one's own attitude about the list. Are you going to be devistated if the list isn't accomplished or is the list more of a "wish list" of things that would be nice to have accomplished by 30. I told her that in a sense I have a list because I definitely have things that I wanted to accomplish by a certain time in my life. By 30 I wanted to be married, at some point I may have thought I would have wanted kids before then, as well, but right now I'm comfortable without that. By now I would have expected to have my degree and know what I wanted to do for the rest of my life. The degree part I've got down and sometimes I waver on the rest of my life part but I think I'm going in the right direction. The point is that what I wanted three years ago for 27 is not necessarily what I want now and what I want now is bound to change somewhat by the time I'm thirty. While time may fly it is certainly making layover stops in various places and the destination alters. Sometimes slightly and sometimes drastically. So, in three years, which will invaribly come as soon as I publish this post, what do I want to accomplish? The answer to that would be "whatever will make me happy." I'm happy now, or at least I can't complain. Rephrase: I shouldn't complain. My wife is happy. Maybe if nothing has changed in three years I'll be less happy, but things are on the horizon, I'm always moving and that's really what makes me happy. Thanks to all of you lovely people out there.

Now, I've got a meeting.

Sordid Pictures

I just posted photos from Sordid Lives on my Flickr site. Click right here to be taken there and bask in their wonderfulness.

What a Cute Kid! Huh?!

Changed the old profile pic. Photo courtesy of one Mary Lou Martin, aka, Mama Lou, aka ML, aka my mom. Thank you mother.

The Apocalypse...I Mean, End of School is Nigh

The End* is near and there are signs all over the place. In an effort to help my readers better understand when their own end is near I've compiled a list of occurrences and observations of my own, and you can compare these items with what's going on in your life:

(*The end of school, not the apocalypse)

You accidentally hurt yourself and you secretly hope it requires immediate, medical attention.

After three o'clock is not for anything other than what I call "Summer Practice" as in practicing for summer, not practice that happens during the summer.

High gas prices notwithstanding, weekends are spent driving far distances.

Dinging bells send you into convulsions.

Time out is for you, not them.

Much of your time is spent meditating on a certain small central Texas town and the service which they provide.

More time is spent making use of said service

Work is a misnomer

You see the Four Horsemen of the apocalypse and just laugh (Again, still talking about the end of school.)

You find yourself saying things like, "Go tell your principal what I called you. See if I care."

You watch The Office and think, "Office jobs sound like fun."

Review week is more like two.

And last but not least

You reconsider your position on capital punishment.

Fraggled Rock

Dance your cares away.
Worries for another day.
Let the music play
Down at Fraggle Rock.

Just another thinly veiled allusion to PCP brought to you by Jim Henson.

Oh, Yeah, This Goofball Makes Movies

Mission: Impossible III

While I was resistant to seeing Mission: Impossible III because I thought the last one lacked any kind of heart or interest in the least, I also dislike being the only person who hasn't seen a movie. Everytime I wait for too long to see a movie I over hear so many people talking about it that I lose any interest to see the movie. So, my brother and wife had the idea of seeing a movie and the only thing that appealed to any of us was M:I-III. I have been avoiding action movies as of late based on the the tendency for action movies to rely on a lot of stuff blowing and up and the use of cool gadgets and catch phrases to get audiences to say "Oooh!" and "Aaah!" Despite this many movie critics that I respect have been touting it's credibility and reliability on the character and motivations thereof. For instance, instead of a random love interest for Ethan Hunt (Tom Cruise) that may or may not be based on a previous relationship, the movie begins with the knowledge that Hunt has a fiance/wife. Okay, so now that we know that Hunt has a motivation that we can get on board with (save his new wife) now we can start to blow stuff up. Lucky, we forgo any cheesy catch phrases that might detract from any logical sane viewers enjoyment of the dialogue, and the gadgets in the movie are pretty cool. At the end of the day though, it was exactly what I expected it to be. It was flashy, expensive and at times hard to follow because of all the camera movement. The plot was based entirely on this non-discript "rabbit's foot" which we can only assume is a nuclear devise with the purpose of global domination. They never really explain because it's inconsequential. What's important is that the bad guy wants it and it's Ethan Hunt's job to make sure he doesn't get it. The bad guy in question being the amazing Phillip Seymor Hoffman. In my favorite part of the movie Ethan's character dons a disguise to make him look like the bad guy. The transformation that took place right in front of the camera was stunning enough but then the audience is given the pleasure of of watching Hoffman pull off a superb version of Tom Cruise as Ethan Hunt. This alone made the ticket price worth it. Granted, I went to the Hollywood movie theater on Beltway 8 and Pasadena Blvd. where the tickets are $3.00.

All in all, most people will love this movie, and I liked it. It had been awhile since I made it out to a shoot 'em up picture and it may be awhile until my next one. I've had my fill.

3 Bulls

I Ran Again

New post over at Run, Fat Man! Run

Run over and check it out!

More Colbert Stuff (because I just can't let some things go)

This is more on the Colbert speech at the White House Corespondence Dinner by my predecessor here at Sterling.

Colbert is a comedian, which in my book makes him an artist. That he unflinchingly went for the jugular in this way automatically makes him one of the great Real Artists of our time. I only hope I can bat in his league some day.

I tend to agree with his sentiment even if I don't agree 100% with his view on Real Art, which can be read in full by clicking the link within the quote. Basically,(and I do agree with the most general aspects of this) art and artists in it's pure form shouldn't be censored or pull punches. Real art should also exsist to inspire change from a less desirable state to a more desirable state according to the artist. You can think of it as a persuasive essay, if you like. Don't forget to read my Shotgun blog, below. I have two today.

Shotgun

From the Official Shotgun Rules Website:

You must say the word "Shotgun" to stake your claim on Shotgun. This must be done clearly and loud enough so that at least one other to-be occupant of the vehicle can hear you. No variations of this word are acceptable. After you have rightfully called Shotgun, you have exclusive rights to Shotgun for that ride. However, if no one hears you call Shotgun it is still fair game for everyone.

The website goes on to list the "official" rules as to when and where one can call shotgun and under which circumstances the rules do or don't apply. This little handbook (which can be purchased online in print form) would have been very helpful growing up. As a middle child in a family of three boys my mother often devised some fairly intricate systems for determining shotgun. The most memorable being a magnet letter of each of our initials that she would rotate on the metallic dash. I think that her methods were often fair, however easily disputable. Calling shotgun came into fashion in my teenage years (at least to my knowledge). This preferrable method, ensuring that, at any time, anyone could get the covetted position, was not without problems. When it is equatable to call shotgun, how to settle disputes, when is shotgun relinquished: all of these issues are discussed on the website linked above.

The primary place this would have been helpful would have been in high school. Luckily I was always the driver, as I had my own car and my two best friends, Eric and Brad, did not. The three of us would often travel places together and the position of shotgun, while officially determined by calling shotgun, was constantly in dispute and would result in Brad and Eric participating in a multitude of red-faced pushing matches. I can't deny that I usually enjoyed watching the two equally matched guys come close to blowing and o-ring over who sat in the front we were often late to things because of it. This website could have been very useful. Someday when I have kids I highly intend to get the glovebox version of the rules and abide by them. I encourage everyone else to do the same, thus spreading the universality of these rules and making car riding safe again. Well, as safe as you can be with a teenager behind the wheel of a car.

Baseball vs. American Idol

Last night the American Idol contestants spent 28 minutes standing or sitting on a stage in front of a few hundred people, TV cameras, pseudo celebrity judges, and through TV, a few million people. This thirty minute episode of American Idol makes these poor saps sit through several commercial breaks worth of Ryan "The Girl-Boy" Seacrest teasing with "This week the contestant going home will be....announced after the break." Ahhh! You fooled us! As if we really thought you were going to blow it in the first 10 minutes of the show when you so clearly have to fill another 20 minutes worth of stale, faux entertainment. Don't get me wrong. I get pulled into the whole thing as much as your average person. I watch the beginning of the season so that I can laugh at the idiots who think they can sing and then I pay attention at the end and make my predictions. But, this extra episode is so ridiculously pointless that the sheer inane nature of it makes it unwatchable for me. So, last night, as my wife is asking me to spend time with her, I say, "Amanda, I love you. I would love to spend all my time with you. Please come join me as I watch the Astros play the Cardinals in their first meeting since the NLCS last year." To which my lovely wife replies, "But I want to see who gets kicked off this week." See, here's the problem. To forgo an Astros game to watch some pointless thirty minutes of corporate shlock, existing soley to hauk whatever Ford model the American Idol contestants are climbing out of this week while singing some god-awful pop song would be detrimental to my sanity. I can't imagine a universe where this would be a reasonable move.

BTW, the Astros beat the Cards, 5-4. I actually enjoy watching Pujols crank long balls as long as it doesn't produce wins. It's very satisfying.

"Truthiness!"

Could Stephen Colbert be the best thing that ever happened to America? At least the American press? It must have been really hard to come up with a show and persona that lives up to his "The Daily Show" predasessor. While I generally don't enjoy "The Colbert Report" as much as "The Daily Show", these videos may prove that no one, not even Stewart himself has a brass set like this man. Watch the whole thing. You'll be glad you did. And if you're not then you're unAmerican.

Pajiba

Those of you who don't know, my old college friend Daniel Carlson writes movie reviews for a website called Pajiba (Don't ask what it means. I don't even think they know.) Anyway, Dustin Rowles, another reviewer for the site, had an interesting opinion on American Dreamz, one of the movies I reviewed yesterday. I tended to agree with what he said, even though I found him (and usually find him) overly critical. Check it out.

Movie Reviews

These are some recent movie I've seen and my opinions of them.

American Dreamz,

As I was leaving the movie theater I heard a lady say, "We have to see another one to make up for this. This was the most ridiculous thing I ever saw!" I'm assuming that these women were on a "girl date" and they had seen the previews for American Dreamz thinking it was going to be a cute comedy poking fun at the president and American Idol. While it does do as advertised, it is much less cutsy than the trailers make it seem. What the comercials fail to imply is that the movie is dark and satirical. It reminded me a lot of Drop Dead Gorgeous in that the silliness and disturbing humor came as a surprise to me. It also kind of reminded me of Mars Attacks in the way that politics and the entertainment business come together to address a threat from a foreign entity.

Mandy Moore plays a contestant in the American Dreamz contest, an obvious knockoff of American Idol. Moore is in a good position to become the darling of dark comedy after American Dreamz and Saved from a few years back. Her performance in Dreamz as the souless teen queen hopeful who has to fain cute and bubbly for the camera is a very satisfying jab at her former self. Almost as much as her character in Saved is a self aware portrayal of the way that many people probably depicted her in her early years. Hugh Grant and the rest of the cast pull in decent performances. I'm convinced that Well-Meaning Stupid Guy is the only type of role Chris Klein is qualified to play. A few unbelievable plot points aside (doors haven't had keyholes that can be peered through since the turn of the century) American Dreamz is a pretty good yarn and if you like the ridiculous, like I do, you might enjoy it. However, if you want to see a crappy, cute movie, go watch something else.

3 bulls out of 5

The Squid and the Whale

This is the kind of movie that I'd like to own. The very fact that Wes Anderson is a producer and the writer/director is Noah Baumbach, co-writer of Anderson's A Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou seals that distinction for me alone. But, what this really means is that The Squid and the Whale is a movie that requires multiple viewings. I didn't quite "get it" the first time around. I understood the plot, the story arch, the character motivations, and all of that. That's not what I mean. I'm not even really sure what I mean, actually.

Have you ever seen a movie and you liked it, but you don't really know why? Have you ever left the theatre (or in this case the DVD) with a feeling of unsatisfaction. Not because the movie was bad but, beyond plot and character and motivation, you feel like you're missing something. That's how I felt with this movie. As much as I enjoyed the experience I needed more. I think that might frustrate some people, but I love it. Some people watch movies over and over again like The Lion King or Spiderman 2 or Steal Magnolias. I don't understand that. It's straightforward. These movies are good and fun and enjoyable, but once you've seen it, you've seen it. Story over, there's nothing more there that you are missing. To me, the best movies are like the best plays and the best books. Chalk full of content that couldn't possibly be explored in one viewing. Everytime I watch The Godfather II I discover something new to appreaciate about it. The same goes for a movie like Rushmore or Fargo or just about anything by Charlie Kaufman. The Squid and the Whale did that for me as well, and I can't wait to watch it again.

5 out of 5 bulls

Mrs. Henderson Presents

Historical films aren't my favorite genre of movie, but when it's done as well as Mrs. Henderson Presents they can be some of the most enjoyable movie watching experieces. I really appreciate when filmakers can take history and find the comedic spin that it put on a very dreary time. Some of the best examples of this come out of the World War 2 era. A League of Their Own and Life is Beautiful are notable examples of a film portraying, not only how the war affected everyday funny people that we forget lived during hard times as well, but how they coped with the war and helped others cope with it. These other movies probably recieved much more notoriety than Mrs. Henderson Presents, which is a shame, because I think this movie is equally as good and important.

Judy Dench and Bob Hoskins both turn out beautiful performances as the owner and manager, respectively, of a burlesque style review house in the West End of London during the end of World War 2 while the Germans were bombing the city on a daily basis. They are the first in England to do fully nude actors on stage and are met with criticism by the stuffy aristocrats of England, but with enthusiasm by the businessmen and soldiers. When defending the need for nudes in this time of struggle Dench gives one of the most convincing and surprisingly moving speaches on the subject I've ever heard. It may have been the only moving speech on nudes I'd ever heard.

4 bulls out of 5

Can I Get a Grip-ness?!

To the Good People at Tresme (ooh, la, la. Yeah, them):

Your huge bottle of shampoo is heavy and without any rubber grips. It's sleak aerodynamic design may be inexpensive to produce or perhaps it is a matter of style, but my toes request that you find some manner in which to better hold on to your product container while in a wet, slippery, soapy environment. An appeal has been made to my wife to buy different, easier to handle brands of shampoo, but she likes yours, for some reason. Sure I could go get my own, but, this notwithstanding, I believe that this is a reasonable request. If the BIC Company can put rubber grips on their pens I think that you can follow suit with an item that actually needs one.

Many thanks,
Kyle "Tender Toes" Martin

Bunny Wars

Sometimes just putting bunny-ears on something makes it funny.

I Love Hamlet

I really do love Hamlet. I think it is one of the best plays ever written. I am currently in the process of watching Kenneth Branaugh's 1996 film version. I think that it is important to tell you that I am watching it as it is a freaking mammoth of a film at over 4 hours. While I like the movie, I must note that Hamlet, and most Shakespeare, for that matter, is almost never performed in it's entirety for a reason. It's too long. Many Shakespearean scholars explain this away with the patience level of Elizabethan audiences, and the fact that the theatre was a completely different experience back then. Supposedly, the actors spoke faster and the audience was able to mill around and come multiple times. Further, the audience expected to stay for awhile and make an afternoon of it. My personal theory is that the plays weren't actually performed in their entirety, even back then. It is well known that audience members would react with the players, and even sit on the stage and throw things at the villans. I don't care how fast you are speaking this is going to make it even more difficult to get through a play and therefore a four hour play that with fast talking actors might be 3 and a half is going to be 5 or six hours long with the groundlings throwing mutton at you.

For this reason I say to Mr. Branaugh. I appreciate your dedication to the Bard and that you wanted to be bold and make a full-text version of this masterpiece. But, not even diamond-sitters in 1600 London could handle speaches that take ten minutes to say that which could be said in one. I love the imagery as much as anyone, but we get the drift, man.

Jr. High Was Tough

Sticking with the theme of violent aggression I want to tell a couple of stories.

The Kickball Incident

When I was a kid my brothers and I would hold a lot of kickball games at our house. We had a big back yard, but for some reason we played kick ball in our front yard. I guess because that way we could kick the ball down the street instead of over fences. I normally would have preferred baseball, but it took more athleticism of which many in my neighborhood had little.

So, one day some people were in my front yard playing kickball. At least I assume that there were other peole there. For some reason I only remember this guy Nick from down the street and no one else being there. I don't know why it would just be the two of us unless we weren't playing kickball, like I think. Anyway, somehow Nicka and I get into an arguement. As you could imagine the fight resorted to name calling and onward to insulting my mom. I never really cared that much about stuff like that but I guess I was being particularly sensative this day. And he wasn't just saying things like "Your momma is so..." to be funny, he was actually being offensive. After telling him to stop a number of times and advancing on him threatening his safety he would not stop the taunting and so I hit him in the face. At this he fell to the ground and started crying. I immediately felt horrible. I had never hurt anyone so deliberatly before and suddenly I felt like I had just entered into a new stage in life where I was to be held responsible for my stregth and use of force. I felt a huge sense of power and knew right away that one could either abuse or control this power. I decided that I had done the wrong thing. On top of this I had been told all my life not to hid a guy with glasses and this guy had glasses. I helped him up and handed him his glasses. I reminded him that he had been warned but I appologized. I wasn't exactly the fighting type. Nick went home and I don't remember ever hanging out with him again. That is the only time I've ever hit a guy in the face.

The Football Incident

It's no wonder to me that both of these stories take place surrounding sports competitions. Not only can competition arouse anger and selfishness, it is physical and it is naturally penciant upon solving problems physically.

This story takes place when I was in 7th grade. I played football for my Jr. High and was on the B team. This means that I wasn't as good as the kids on the A team, but I was a starter for our team, so I wasn't horrible, either. That was the story of my sports career. Always quite middle of the road. While I wasn't a bad player and there were infact many good players on the team (we came in first place while the A team came in 4th) there was still an air of prestige associated with being on the A team. Being popular in jr. high was way too important and being on the A team was important to being popular. Those who were on the A team, even if they were the nicest guy in the world the year before, had a huge chip on their shoulder. They were inherently better and more important than the B. (The next year we switched to Orange and White with the idea that both teams were equal, but in practice the coaches cheated a little and it wasn't quite equal.)

When we practiced both teams wore plain white football jerseys and if you lost yours you had to wear a large white t-shirt. Not surprisingly I lost mine, but had no clue where it was. I was possitive that it had actually been stolen. My jersey had a tag on it that hung down from one corner and I was sure I would recognize it if I saw. Sure enough one day I noticed that Chris, who was on the A team was wearing a jersey with the tag hanging down in the corner. I'd known Chris since 4th grade where we were on the same Pee-Wee football team for two years in a row. I knew Chris had a major temper. In fact, later on he was convicted of murder, cutting short the high school football career of a very talented athelete.

I was never one to bow to pressure or be cowered by bigger kids. That's usually how I got into trouble, in fact. So I approached Chris, determined to get my jersey back. I first told him that I knew that he had my shirt and demanded it back. He denied taking my jersey and so I tried taking it. Chris was stronger than I even imagined him being. Before I knew it I had pushed him back to try and get the shirt and he decked me in jaw. I jumped back, stunned. Chris was bobbing up and down, fist up, in typical boxing stance.

"That's right, I hit you. Come on! You want some more?"

I couldn't believe he had hit me in the face. It was a really good hit, too. Solid, with perfect form and accuracy. I imagine that it looked like every round house punch that you see in the movies. Except I didn't fight back. I wasn't crying or yelling or anything. I just stood there and stared. I couldn't believe I'd just been hit! I asked him, "Why'd you hit me?"

"You pushed me, and I don't take that!" he told me.

That's right! I had pushed him. I didn't mean to push him, but I did. I don't remember if I said anything after that but I made a deliberate decision. I wouldn't try to continue this fight I turned my back on Chris. I was scared to death that he would pounce on me from behind and really beat me up, but I decided that I wanted to make sure he knew that I didn't respect him. When I reached the exit door, my old friend Joel was standing there picking up towels. I told him what happened and without any further prodding, I began to cry. Not out of pain, or even embarassment. I still am not quite sure why I cried but I want to think it was because of a realization that people were mean and I was going to have to deal with people just like this the rest of my life. At this point I was still quite sure that Chris had stolen my jersey. He may have even said something to the effect that even if it was my jersey I wasn't getting back. So far, I've been right. I know how to deal with people like this a little better now, but they're still around. Mean people. I remember seeing about 4 or 5 jerseys like the one I thought Chris had stolen from me over the next week and I felt like a jerk. I think I might have even tried to appologize to Chris. Who knows if Chris remembers this as he's sitting in his prison cell today.

I'm often curious about who might think of me and the good and bad experiences. Who did I hurt? Who is sorry they hurt me? Does anyone remember hurting me and are glad they did it? Or, who did I hurt in my life and thinks of me and what they would say to me if they had the chance?

This is Neal. I'd Never Punch Him

When Do I Punch a Guy?

Lately I've been contemplating this question. Some instances where I've been met with this delima:

1. Guy hitting on my wife.

I'll be the first to admit that my wife is gorgeous on a completely different level of good-looking than I am. I don't have a self-esteem problem, but lets face the truth, I'm not gracing the cover of any magazines for Men's Health. Not just yet, anyway. Somehow, though, my charm won out.

This causes a problem, however, when you are out together. I have, since Amanda and I've been married, diverted more than a few gentlemen's intentions elsewhere, either by, again, my charm, or in one instance, a verbal...I wouldn't say threat, but more like harsh words. It is my nature to not be offended or jealous, because essentially these guys are saying,"your wife is hot." I agree, but can't these idiots see they are making her uncomfortable? So, when do I punch a guy? I've never felt like it got that far, because I usually buddy up with the guy and make Amanda and my relationship obvious. The guy either goes away or warms up to me. One time I did physically push a guy back, but it was in a somewhat friendly manner if it's possible, and he backed off.

But, when, if ever, does the guy deserve to be decked?

2. Guy is a racist/bigot and offending you on many levels

Occasionally, I get roped into a situation where I am engaged in conversation with someone who is intolerant of other races and or types of people. I'm not just talking about the occasional white guy saying to another white guy that he does, in fact, get nervous when he's in an all-black neighborhood at night, or that he hates rap music, or those who might subconsciously quip that blacks are "looting" while whites are "surviving." To me these things are subconscious and need to be dealt with, but I don't want to punch those people. I want to punch the people who said these things to me: "My daughter can't wait to move to [insert white-flight community here] where it's all white people" "What was wrong with the Nazis?" "Black's skulls are thicker and therefore have smaller brains." "Now, I don't think that we should go back to slavery, but..." Oh, aren't you benevolent!

The guy who commented on the brains of blacks haunted me for a long time. He was a nice looking older man that I struck up a conversation with in an airport one time while waiting for a flight. I can't remember how the conversation steered toward race, but this guy scared me. He said he was a college professor in upstate New York and knew all of these facts about blacks because of scientific evidence. I kept coming back to all the really intelligent black people that I know and he would find a way to refute it. I eventually just got disgusted and walked away.

The guy who mentioned his daughter also offended me, personally, when he told of an instance in New York when he was arrested for killing a wild deer. (To be fair the deer was already dying because of an accidental car encounter, he claims.) He claimed that he couldn't stand "liberal c**ks**kers" that lived up there. I just laughed at that, but his daughter's comment stuck with me. As an educator who deals with igorant students on a daily basis (note the "Nazi" statement), who break everything down into "white people do this, and Mexicans are this way" mentality I really wanted to punch the guy. Or, at least, strike up a debate. Based on the way that all of this guy's stories ended with "...then I beat his ass!" I assumed that he wouldn't really be up for a scholarly debate and it would soon resort to the physical.

I decided with both instances that the best thing to do is to not punch the person in question but deal with the situation diplomatically. I have more success with that anyway.

I decided that the guys hitting on my wife need to be punched out of principle, but was never really angry enough and it wouldn't do any good, anyway. As far as the bigots/racists/idiots of the world, they like to fight and use their fists instead of their brains and that's what makes them a good candidate for an interview with my fist to begin with. Violence perpetuates violence and an eye for an eye just leaves a room full of blind men.

Or at least men with black eyes.