misAdventures of Workmonkey 3.0

What was once a casual habit of mine -- misrepresenting the truth -- has become so much a part of me that I'm often unaware I'm even doing it. It always comes out in response to a question in which I (subconsciously) think the honest answer is either boring or insufficient, so I impulsively misrepresent the truth. I use the term "misrepresent" intentionally. I'm not exactly lying, per se, as my answer is usually grounded in some sort of truth. But neither am I being fully forthcoming. Essentially, I distort the truth in a direct attempt to make myself appear more interesting than I, in fact, am.

Example 1: A few weeks back at a wedding (disclosure: I was a few beers in), someone asked me what I did for a living. The direct/honest answer to that question would be "I'm a copywriter." However, I hold the opinion that being a copywriter for an advertising agency isn't decidedly impressive, or at least in comparison to some other potential occupations, so I conveniently (and somewhat unconsciously) left off the "copy" part. So, in turn, my answer to his question was "I'm a writer." Which is highly misleading, as that implies I'm a real writer, as in a journalist or novelist or screenwriter, all of which I would actually like to be. Instead I am a fake writer, writing things like "buy now" and "don't miss this event" all day. But, the bait had been taken, which then lead me to another problem. In it's own, my answer was neither a direct lie or a direct truth. Unfortunately though, once I actually get someone interested with my misrepresentation, I then have to continue the charade as they ask successive questions (which is when my consciousness kicks in and asks my subconscious "how the fuck did you get yourself in this situation, you dick!" but then it is too late and the consciousness need to take control and create more mistruths to cover for my subconscious). The person's next question, "Do you write for the Times or Post?" was easy to answer "no" to, as by saying no, I am still confirming I am a writer, but just not for the Times or Post, which leaves more mystery, as there are lots of other things I could be writing, while simultaneously allowing me to technically tell the truth. As was my next answer to his question "So then what kinds of things do you write?" to which I was able to reply "I freelance write lots of different things." which again isn't exactly untrue. Fortunately, I was able to redirect the conversation by asking him what he, in fact, did. Seemingly not sharing my same desire to impress, he made it clear he was a waiter.

Example 2: A few days later, on a chartered bus ride to our annual summer picnic at the New York Athletic Club in Westchester, a co-worker was telling me about his upcoming honeymoon to Australia, to which I commented, "That's a great part of the world," to which he commented, "You've been?" to which I commented "I've been to New Zealand." Now it is important to point out that up to this point, I have told nothing but truths. It is a great part of the world, and I have been to New Zealand, so I'm not sure what impulsed me to next answer "A month" in response to his question, "How long were you there for." In fact, I was there for about nine or ten days in 2001. But ten days is not interesting enough. In my mind, a month is quite a bit more impressive. So thus when he asked me "Why so long?" I had to spontaneously generate some on-the-spot exaggeration to the note of "I took a leave of absence from work cause I wanted to see the world" which, again, is somewhat true but highly misleading.

The self-analysis here is that as I don't find my life generally interesting enough to tell the truth about it, whether that is the real case or I'm just being insecure, I need to stretch the truth so that, for that brief time in conversation, I am in fact a very interesting person. And perhaps, if I continue this trend, one day I'll actually get off my ass to make my life every bit as interesting as I lie about it being.

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I'm sitting here late on the Friday of a holiday weekend about 2.5 bottles of wine into a great night. Jill has long since gone to bed. To her defense, I've got about a hundred pounds on her at this point. The reason for the blog is simple: I was inspired upon the last twenty minutes of watching arguably my favorite movie of all time: The Predator. I remember the first time I saw this movie in 7th grade, at Steve Chaney's house in Rancho Bernardo. The beauty of this movie is how it stands the test of time, even in the day of limitless CGI technologies. This movie was made two years before the dawn of CGi, marked by Terminator 2, a James Cameron movie, which introduced morphing technology to the world, forever (and arguably regrettably) changing the face of movies forever. The reason I mention this, besides the fact that I'm partly drunk, is that The Predator may be the last genuine movie ever made in America. I think this is important, because even as I go to movie after movie (the last being "The Dark Night") in the past decade, and despite the endless advances in technology, nothing quite matches the beautiful build of tension found in "The Predator". It is arguable that after "Terminator 2", which utilized modern technology to its fullest, the advent of CGI has actually been detrimental to the art of filmmaking. I think a viewing of "The Predator" bears this out. Before CGI, you had to improvise: In a movie like "The Predator", which is based upon the battle between the world's best military soldiers and the universe's best protaganist (in this case, a seven foot two inch actor named Kevin Peter Hall, who played basketball at George Washington University, and died of AIDS in 1991, and, as any good Predator fan knows, can be seen in his real skin at the very end of the movie, when a helicopter arrives to rescue Arnold/Dutch, after the detonation of the alien nuclear bomb .. He's the black dude in the co-pilot seat of the helicopter). Ok, now that Jill's in bed and I'm about three bottles of cheap red wine in, I've lost my train of thought. No fear, i've regained it. So, in any event, the reason this movie passes the test of time in a way modern films built out of CGI technologies (last year's "Transformers" comes to mind) is because it was built out of HUMANS. I all-caps that word HUMANS because it is important to this discussion, particularly in comparison to "Transformers". Before the true advent of CGI, I movie like "Predator" had to make the most out of what was possible in the real world. In this instance, they had to make it seem realistic that a team of human soldiers, delta force in this case, was up to the challenge of defeating a monumental challenge, a huge futuristic creature that was able to see in both normal sight and infrared, and, as part of his arsenal, was able to lock in to the beating heart of a human with his automated missile system. So, because they were only able to depend upon the breadth of human talent, without the aide of a computer, they seeked out the biggest men on earth. This search led them to Arnold Schwarzenegger, who was by any measure, the largest human being on earth. He was a seven-time Mr. Olympian, unprecedented to this day. He was, literally, the biggest human being on earth, and, fortunately, he happened to act as well. After that, they went after the next biggest humans, including Jessie "The Body" Ventura (aka Blain), a professional wrestler, Carl Weathers (aka Dillon), Bill Duke (aka Mac), and Sonny Landham (aka Billy, who, incidentally, as any true fan of "The Predator" theory is aware, ran for the office of governor of Kentucky as a Republican, hoping to follow in the successful footsteps of both Arnold [governor of california] and Jessie [governor of minnesota]. He was unsuccessful). In any event, suffice to say, as anyone who has seen the movie can tell you, they were able to assemble a believable cast of humans who were, at that time, both in the movie and in the real world, the best of the best. The kinds of human beings who, if real seven-foot aliens with heart-seeking missiles ever attacked, they'd actually send out, actors or not. They were fucking big, and strong, and impressive. So what is the point? Well, compare that with now. Because of CGI, the last real action-hero movie based upon large, indestructible foreign invaders, aka "The Transformers", who did they send out to defend us? Yes, no other than 5' 9" Shia Leboeuf. Barely better than our last tangle of stars: 5' 10" Matt Damon and 5' 8" Mark Wahlberg, both of whom who at least have muscle, unlike Shia. They could cover for this obvious physical deficiency with CGI technologies, unlike the could in "The Predator". And that is why "The Predator" is the last honest movie ever made in America. No computers, no fake bullshit, no algorithms. Just a big mother fucking dude, who, to this day, I'd still select to defend me in the event of alien invasion. Feel free to offer alternatives, but, I must insist, I refuse to put the future of the human race in the hands of Shia Leboeuf. In this way, CGI has ruined the modern movie, and until the world can produce a believable world savior in the mold of the hulking, bulging, intimidating, giant, animalistic, super-human mold of Arnold, The Predator will stand the test of time as the best man movie ever made in the history of the earth.