You Made Yourself A Bed At The Bottom, Of The Blackest Hole, And Convinced Yourself, That It's Not The Reason You Don't See The Sun Anymore

--"When It Rains (live)", Paramore

I watched The Watchmen today. After all the hype and after all the attention the adaptation has drawn, I still think the story holds up. Not only is it as every bit exciting and mature of a plot as it was in the graphic novel, but I think seeing it up on the big screen only adds to the action sequences. I don't know about most people, but when I read the graphic novel I always pictured the fights and the stunt sequences shorter than they were in the film. Maybe they just expanded upon them to flesh out the movie, but they really enhance the violent nature of the main characters and the people they come across. In that regard I think the film comes out ahead of the print medium.

What also struck me was how the story's message of it taking violence to end violence still seems prevalent in culture today. 1985 isn't that long ago, I know, but I'm amazed at how little the world has change in those almost fifteen years. Here we are, almost two decades later, and the world is still seemingly on the brink of collapsing under the weight of its differences. There still isn't a lasting measure of peace in the majority of the world and we're still seemingly distrustful of what the other side of the globe is up to. There's still this mentality that we have to prepare ourselves for the worst because that's exactly what is looming on the horizon.

Granted, both the graphic novel and movie go to the extreme to exploit this idea. However, the thought that it's going to take something cataclysmic to unite us still resonates with a lot of people. A lot of people believe things have to get much worse in a hurry, something has to go horribly wrong all at once, before everyone will see what a dark path we're headed down. It doesn't take men in tights fighting in Antarctica, nuclear missiles destroying the Eastern Seaboard, or, yes, giant squids, to know that. And maybe the movie has it right. Maybe it's going to take an engineered catastrophe to provide the solution. At the very least the film seems to say that it's going to take people of conviction to accomplish this task, people willing to sacrifice their ideals, their philosophies, and even their own lives to get the job done.

Conflict is in our nature and it takes a lot to fight against our nature.

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I remember our family used to take these family trips down to Knott's Berry Farm. It would be my parents, my brother, and my two cousins. We used to like going to Knott's because the lines were usually shorter than the other parks and the fact they had a huge arcade in the middle of the park where seemingly all the newest video games would come out before anywhere else close by. I don't remember how many times exactly we went during our elementary school days, but it felt like a lot.

I also remember we liked going because they had this one ride there, the Soap Box Derby. It was this roller coaster that had some great turns and banks, sharp inclines and descents, and plenty of noise. What it also had going for it was the fact that it was actually four roller coasters set up side-by-side by one another so that, whenever one car went out on one track, the other three went with it. It was like a roller coaster race. We loved it. We loved the competition aspect of it. We loved pretending that aerodynamics and weight distribution could affect the outcome of the race, much like a bobsled, when the truth probably was each "race" had a predetermined winner. We also liked the fact that each time through took possibly two minutes and that the lines were short enough to get back on again rather quickly.

There were times where we must have rode that thing ten to twelve times in a row.

Yet the time I remember the most is when another family caught onto the fact that the lines were short and the thrills were big, and started looping the lines like we were. Fairly soon it became apparent that a small rivalry was being formed as every time we rode, they would ride. Before long on that day, one group would wait for the other so that we could compete together. At first, the posturing was fun in nature. I remember while we were both ascending the first hill one of them leaned over to our car and shouted, "May the best man win!" My cousin's reply? "We intend to! We intend to!" It was stuff like that that marked our first forays into racing each other.

Eventually, though--possibly on our eighth time through--it became apparent that we seemed to be winning more than they were. Again, at the time, we thought it was because we had set our line-up correctly or that we were leaning into the turns better. Eventually, while we were in line together, one of us or one of them started trash talking again. The only difference this time was that the tension was no longer good-natured. I may have been just a kid at the time--not more than ten or eleven--but I could tell the difference between two groups of people who were having a friendly rivalry and two groups of people who were slowly forming a strong hatred of one another.

That ride, that last ride we raced together, there was no friendly ribbing. Instead of light-hearted jests being exchanged between the cars, full-blown swearing and middle fingers were being flung far and wide. The whole race I wondered exactly what would happen once we stepped out of the car if we won again. I wouldn't say I was scared because between my older cousin and myself I thought we had a good shot at beating them in a fight. I think it was just the fact that things could escalate that far over a roller coaster that I was trying to piece together. Sure, I wanted to win and, if anything, it would be the other group would be provoking us into defending ourselves. Yet I was struck with the absurdity of getting that worked up over something that, in the end, was so inconsequential. So we could beat you at the Soap Box Derby, what does that prove. My family and I basically had bragging rights that would last maybe to the end of the day, if that long. I didn't see the point in either of our parties getting that overheated over something that was just plain silly.

In the end they walked away from racing us. Maybe one of their party saw the futility in attempting that vigilantly to win something that carried no lasting reward or maybe they really were called away towards something else in the park--lunch, another ride, or what have you. I just remember the feeling of relief that nothing major come of our diatribes against one another because a part of me thinks that had we talked that bravely and acted that smugly with another party of the wrong people the results could have much different.

I also remember having the thought, as young as I was, that if people can get this upset over something that doesn't matter then I can only imagine how far people would go for something they really care about.

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take these chances
we'll make it somehow

Part of me thinks that if the shoe had been on the other foot, if we had been the aggrieved party we would have done something more stupid than what ended up happening. At the very least we would have been kicked out of the park again, at the worst somebody could have gotten really hurt. I'm kind of thankful that they had the good sense to walk away before steps were taken in the wrong direction. I'm glad somebody had the common sense just to let it go.

Just like the story says.

War never ends until people end them. Conflict never dies until we kill it.

Yours Swimmingly,
mojo shivers