I don't remember a single word ever said to me by a bully, but I can clearly recall their faces and every single one of their names and the feeling of dread that I got every time one approached me and the anger I still feel at the thought of each and every single one of them. I have no doubt they don't remember me at all. It's been 30 years. They thought only barely enough of me back then to ridicule me and ride me for three years of Jr. High, after which I'm sure they went home, did their homework, played with their friends, and never once thought about the consequences of their actions. Guilt is reserved for those who know they're doing something wrong. If you're taught that you are superior to others, you can't have guilt when you put those others in their place.
This, ultimately, is my point. The words and the taunts and the bullying behavior ends, but the effects of that bullying live on forever. Once a person has been told that they are worthless and those words are followed up with actions and the world does nothing to counter those claims, the victim will take those words to heart and will own them. There is no amount of self-esteem that can be taught that will overcome that kind of painful belief system. It becomes part of a person's psyche.
I don't think I ever saw it before - or at least not this clearly - and I don't mean to look at it as an excuse for my life. As I pointed out in the first part of this story, the seeds of my bullying were set in grade school. I was already well on my own path to confrontation with the "normal" world before I ever became bullied. But after being bullied, I can see how my psyche changed and how my decisions became flavored by that.
I loved to write in grade school. In Jr. High, I began to tell stories in other ways. In High School, I wrote again with a renewed passion - some prompted by teachers and friends reading my work, and some prompted by embracing a skill that I thought would take me places. But here is where that flavoring kicked in... I was certain that in some cosmic way, I was destined to be great. It was like I just expected a realignment of the world that would put me on top of all those that had ever put me down. I was waiting for cosmic retribution.
It wasn't that I expected I would win the proverbial lottery. I wrote. I worked hard at my craft. But I just assumed that sooner or later my talent would be discovered and that I would naturally assume my place as a great writer and a person beloved in all the world. That would show them.
That was the gist of it. That would show them! At my core, I was driven by a desire to prove that I wasn't that worthless person, that utter failure that everyone claimed to see when they looked at me in Jr. High. I was consumed by this desire. I threw everything good I ever had onto its altar and set the flames rocking.
Success wasn't going to be enough for me. I needed MEGA-SUCCESS! I needed Spielberg, Lucas, Disney success! Anything short of that was failure.
At some level, I still feel that way. Its something I struggle with even now. I can't enjoy even a minor victory because it only proves that I got lucky or that I managed to achieve something, but so what... there are others that do it so much better.
I don't want their wealth. I don't want their power. I want them to know that I have made something of myself and that I am not a loser. But I know that nothing I ever do or say will ever be enough to rid myself of these inferior feelings. I will be driven like this for the rest of my life.
So there is no BETTER for people that have been bullied. They have been taught that they are inferior and they have taken that feeling to heart. The only way forward in peace is to accept that feeling and somehow set it aside.
If there is any hope in this, it is this. I would never have put this together in my mind had I not a) made a horrible movie, and b) gone to Kenya. The movie made me question whether I really was talented and Kenya made me question whether anything I did or said really mattered in the grand scheme of things. My suffering is infinitesimal compared to the suffering in Kenya. That sort of perspective made me reevaluate my entire world view, starting with, as Michael Jackson once said, The Man in The Mirror. Maybe now that I know at least some of the wounds that I harbor deep inside, I can finally start to heal them.
Wednesday, September 28, 2011
Tuesday, September 27, 2011
It Doesn't Get Any Better... A Square Peg Into A Round Hole Part Three
I'd like to say that my high school years were vastly different, that I was well liked, and that I excelled, but that wasn't entirely the case. While I did excel in some things and I did have a lot of friends and acquaintances, in hindsight I can clearly see how the bullying of Jr. High kept me from developing even more. In fact, had it not been for one event, its safe to say that I might not ever have pulled out of the tailspin of Jr. High.
When I think back on those high school years, I like to remember my Senior Year where I knew everyone in school and everyone liked me - but that would be glossing over somethings to the point of rewriting history. While it was true that I went to Lincoln High School primarily because all of the kids I hated in Jr. High were going to a different high school that doesn't mean the bullying stopped immediately.
In my Freshman year, I was still a freshman. And Freshman get hazed. I was no different. But seen from the lens of Jr. High it really felt as if it was more of the same. I was really depressed because I thought that I was going to face another four years of misery and I was prepared to go it alone again. I can clearly remember starting to disappear into that fantasy world yet again, but three things radically altered my life in somewhat quick succession.
First, and most importantly, I discovered that my Grandmother had terminal cancer. Unfortunately, because I wasn't supposed to know and my Grandmother wanted to go out on her own terms, I wasn't allowed to share this information with anyone. I had to bear the knowledge of her impending death on my own. I'm not saying that I would have suddenly become chatty about it, but at least I could have shared my grief with my siblings had they known as well. This furthered my depression and not being a particularly motivated student before, I became an even worse student as a result.
Second, having come from an honor's program in Jr. High, I was slotted into advanced algebra in high school. My depression combined with never being a really huge fan of math (its a left brain / right brain kind of thing) meant that I fell extremely far behind the rest of the students. My brain was just not getting into gear. Then, I went to a doctor and discovered that I needed glasses. The day after I got my glasses, I went into class and suddenly everything clicked into place. I hadn't realized that I was squinting and not making out the math problems on the board before. I ACED the mid-term, but ultimately it wasn't enough to save my grade and I flunked out at the end of the semester.
Third, in the midst of my depression, I came to English class unprepared for anything and my teacher asked us to turn in our writing assignments. In desperation, I flipped through my notebook and found a story I had written over the summer. I handed it in to my teacher feeling that I had just saved my grade for the time being, but not really thinking any more about it. A few weeks later, my grades having slipped even further, my teacher approached me and said, "Why don't you try writing my stories like the one you turned in a few weeks ago?" I was stunned. My teacher had not only read but remembered something I wrote. Truth be told, this was the true start of my writing career.
A month or so later my Grandmother died. I was devastated. I flunked out of my first semester of high school. I had to drop out of the swim team. And I was dumped into remedial math. (How you can go from Advanced Algebra to Remedial Math, I have never understood) But rather than becoming even more depressed, I became angry with myself. I knew that I had let myself down. I decided then and there to turn my life around.
By the following semester I was on the honor roll. I excelled in every class. I retook and aced advanced algebra. I became an editor on the school paper. I ran cross country and won the most improved award. And so on, and so forth. I had switched from being a Them to being an Us.
But lest you think that I became a member of the bullying Us, I still remembered the lessons I had learned in Jr. High and from that point forward, I made it a point to try and include everyone equally in everything I did. This, more than anything else I did to improve my image, was the reason I had so many friends in High School. I saw no point in elevating myself at the expense of others.
While that trait served me well in High School, it would have serious ramifications for the rest of my life. But that's a story for the conclusion tomorrow...
When I think back on those high school years, I like to remember my Senior Year where I knew everyone in school and everyone liked me - but that would be glossing over somethings to the point of rewriting history. While it was true that I went to Lincoln High School primarily because all of the kids I hated in Jr. High were going to a different high school that doesn't mean the bullying stopped immediately.
In my Freshman year, I was still a freshman. And Freshman get hazed. I was no different. But seen from the lens of Jr. High it really felt as if it was more of the same. I was really depressed because I thought that I was going to face another four years of misery and I was prepared to go it alone again. I can clearly remember starting to disappear into that fantasy world yet again, but three things radically altered my life in somewhat quick succession.
First, and most importantly, I discovered that my Grandmother had terminal cancer. Unfortunately, because I wasn't supposed to know and my Grandmother wanted to go out on her own terms, I wasn't allowed to share this information with anyone. I had to bear the knowledge of her impending death on my own. I'm not saying that I would have suddenly become chatty about it, but at least I could have shared my grief with my siblings had they known as well. This furthered my depression and not being a particularly motivated student before, I became an even worse student as a result.
Second, having come from an honor's program in Jr. High, I was slotted into advanced algebra in high school. My depression combined with never being a really huge fan of math (its a left brain / right brain kind of thing) meant that I fell extremely far behind the rest of the students. My brain was just not getting into gear. Then, I went to a doctor and discovered that I needed glasses. The day after I got my glasses, I went into class and suddenly everything clicked into place. I hadn't realized that I was squinting and not making out the math problems on the board before. I ACED the mid-term, but ultimately it wasn't enough to save my grade and I flunked out at the end of the semester.
Third, in the midst of my depression, I came to English class unprepared for anything and my teacher asked us to turn in our writing assignments. In desperation, I flipped through my notebook and found a story I had written over the summer. I handed it in to my teacher feeling that I had just saved my grade for the time being, but not really thinking any more about it. A few weeks later, my grades having slipped even further, my teacher approached me and said, "Why don't you try writing my stories like the one you turned in a few weeks ago?" I was stunned. My teacher had not only read but remembered something I wrote. Truth be told, this was the true start of my writing career.
A month or so later my Grandmother died. I was devastated. I flunked out of my first semester of high school. I had to drop out of the swim team. And I was dumped into remedial math. (How you can go from Advanced Algebra to Remedial Math, I have never understood) But rather than becoming even more depressed, I became angry with myself. I knew that I had let myself down. I decided then and there to turn my life around.
By the following semester I was on the honor roll. I excelled in every class. I retook and aced advanced algebra. I became an editor on the school paper. I ran cross country and won the most improved award. And so on, and so forth. I had switched from being a Them to being an Us.
But lest you think that I became a member of the bullying Us, I still remembered the lessons I had learned in Jr. High and from that point forward, I made it a point to try and include everyone equally in everything I did. This, more than anything else I did to improve my image, was the reason I had so many friends in High School. I saw no point in elevating myself at the expense of others.
While that trait served me well in High School, it would have serious ramifications for the rest of my life. But that's a story for the conclusion tomorrow...
Monday, September 26, 2011
It Doesn't Get Any Better... A Square Peg Into A Round Hole Part Two
I really hated Jr. High. I attended a school far outside my "price range" starting in 1980. This was the time when fashion began to make an appearance in a child's dialog and I was never going to afford being one of the cool kids. But besides appearance as a dividing factor, social skills became increasingly important, and I didn't have the kind of cutthroat social skill set that makes all those cliche teenage TV shows so popular. I was the loner kid and after getting a taste of the "in-crowd" I discovered that I wanted nothing to do with them.
Its funny because Jr. High was such a productive time for me almost precisely because I wasn't part of any social group. I was able to develop my own unique story telling ability and voice because I wasn't being influenced by pop culture nor by peer pressure. But despite these productive gains in creativity, those three years were the years that I was tormented and bullied.
For the most part I was left alone, but that was because I preferred it that way. However, every time I was forced to interact with the rest of the class or with the teaching staff, I was mocked and ridiculed. I maintained my aloofness mostly because being part of the crowd was the fastest way to social destruction.
Three instances really stand out for me.
I was at lunch once bouncing my baseball into my Dad's baseball glove on the wall - a perfectly normal activity that can be done by oneself. Some kids came over and started messing with me and once they'd drawn me away from my baseball glove, they filled it with mustard. The next day, I found the same kids playing handball. I waited until the ball got loose, ran after it, picked it up and chucked it as far as I possibly could out of the school grounds. Instead of gaining respect, I got sent to detention.
Another time, we had a substitute teacher in English class and this guy saw that the other students didn't like me, so he started mocking me at the board. I didn't take this lying down either - I mocked him right back. Of course, the students wouldn't back me up, but I think I got in some pretty good licks on the "substitute teacher". Needless to say, I ended up in trouble.
On the final day of Jr. High, my teacher took the entire class to a local pizza parlor. Everyone was supposed to have a partner to split the cost of the pizza. None of my classmates wanted to be my partner. The teacher allowed them to form groups of three or four or five just to avoid being partners with me. SO, I went to the pizza parlor, ordered the extra large with everything on it, and ate the entire thing in front of my class. My Dad wasn't pleased when I didn't bring home any change, but it was so worth it to get my just desserts. I should add that I was skinny as a rail back then, so no, I wasn't being irresponsible with my diet.
I, of course, focus on the bullying moments where I fought back - but there were many moments where I either couldn't fight back nor where I had the energy to fight back. I couldn't stay out of the crosshairs of an entire student body for too long. I felt their bullying constantly and there was nothing I could do to change it.
The main effect of all this is that if ever there had been a moment where I could have come out of my awkward inner phase and become one of the Us's of the World, I would have had to join those very people that were making my life a living hell. Those kids were all the driven world beaters whose parents could afford to give them whatever the hell they wanted to have. Though I was every bit their intellectual and creative equals, I could never match their lifestyle and, as a result, I was never going to be accepted into their world.
I ended up coming out of Jr. High not only hating every single student that had tormented me, but also the entire system of education that had allowed such bullying to occur. The only thing I had learned for the three years of Jr. High that I had been forced to attend was how to endure and survive on my own. While useful as a skill, as a social building exercise, this tended to make my default setting - retreat to the bunker of my mind. I had been forced to live in my own mind for so long, I preferred it to real life.
But then, I got to High School and something dramatically changed all that... in Part Three.
Its funny because Jr. High was such a productive time for me almost precisely because I wasn't part of any social group. I was able to develop my own unique story telling ability and voice because I wasn't being influenced by pop culture nor by peer pressure. But despite these productive gains in creativity, those three years were the years that I was tormented and bullied.
For the most part I was left alone, but that was because I preferred it that way. However, every time I was forced to interact with the rest of the class or with the teaching staff, I was mocked and ridiculed. I maintained my aloofness mostly because being part of the crowd was the fastest way to social destruction.
Three instances really stand out for me.
I was at lunch once bouncing my baseball into my Dad's baseball glove on the wall - a perfectly normal activity that can be done by oneself. Some kids came over and started messing with me and once they'd drawn me away from my baseball glove, they filled it with mustard. The next day, I found the same kids playing handball. I waited until the ball got loose, ran after it, picked it up and chucked it as far as I possibly could out of the school grounds. Instead of gaining respect, I got sent to detention.
Another time, we had a substitute teacher in English class and this guy saw that the other students didn't like me, so he started mocking me at the board. I didn't take this lying down either - I mocked him right back. Of course, the students wouldn't back me up, but I think I got in some pretty good licks on the "substitute teacher". Needless to say, I ended up in trouble.
On the final day of Jr. High, my teacher took the entire class to a local pizza parlor. Everyone was supposed to have a partner to split the cost of the pizza. None of my classmates wanted to be my partner. The teacher allowed them to form groups of three or four or five just to avoid being partners with me. SO, I went to the pizza parlor, ordered the extra large with everything on it, and ate the entire thing in front of my class. My Dad wasn't pleased when I didn't bring home any change, but it was so worth it to get my just desserts. I should add that I was skinny as a rail back then, so no, I wasn't being irresponsible with my diet.
I, of course, focus on the bullying moments where I fought back - but there were many moments where I either couldn't fight back nor where I had the energy to fight back. I couldn't stay out of the crosshairs of an entire student body for too long. I felt their bullying constantly and there was nothing I could do to change it.
The main effect of all this is that if ever there had been a moment where I could have come out of my awkward inner phase and become one of the Us's of the World, I would have had to join those very people that were making my life a living hell. Those kids were all the driven world beaters whose parents could afford to give them whatever the hell they wanted to have. Though I was every bit their intellectual and creative equals, I could never match their lifestyle and, as a result, I was never going to be accepted into their world.
I ended up coming out of Jr. High not only hating every single student that had tormented me, but also the entire system of education that had allowed such bullying to occur. The only thing I had learned for the three years of Jr. High that I had been forced to attend was how to endure and survive on my own. While useful as a skill, as a social building exercise, this tended to make my default setting - retreat to the bunker of my mind. I had been forced to live in my own mind for so long, I preferred it to real life.
But then, I got to High School and something dramatically changed all that... in Part Three.
Friday, September 23, 2011
It Doesn't Get Any Better... A Square Peg Into A Round Hole Part One
Earlier this week I finally realized what it was that drove me nuts about all these YouTube videos proclaiming that life gets better for the victims of bullies - they're not true. It doesn't get any better. Or, at least, it might not get better for you.
Most of the reason that this is true is because people tend to fall into one of two categories throughout most of their lives - Us and Them. Depending on whether you're an Us or a Them at any particular point in your personal journey is the determining factor of whether you'll be bullied. Us's like people that belong to their category and are generally intolerant of Them's. Them's can't figure out why the Us's hate them and wouldn't know how to change to become an Us even if it were possible. Us's bully Them's. As pretty much everyone in their life goes through a Them cycle, you probably know what bullying is all about. But as you discover that you don't like being one of Them, you join Us, and the bullying stops. But not everyone joins Us. Some people remain Them no matter what. For Them, there is no end to the bullying they endure.
I have almost always been one of Them - you know, the weird kid that marches to his own set of drums. I remember in Kindergarten quickly surmising that I was pretty darn smart. I was easily ahead of the rest of the class on the learning curve - so much so that I pulled back, lest I get too far ahead. I enjoyed having friends and being the smart kid meant that I didn't have friends. But there wasn't a whole lot that I couldn't figure out on my own.
Throughout grade school I was able to associate with the smart kids in school. But unlike them, I didn't excel in my education. In turning away from education and learning as a goal in and of itself, my mind found the world of fantasy and make-believe to play around in. I often tell of the creation of my first story. We were supposed to write a paragraph about Halloween. I spent four hours and wrote ten pages. I had to be forced outside to join the rest of the kids in the Halloween parade, and I asked to take the story home so that I could finish it.
I loved to spend time in that fantasy world battling aliens and monsters, ghosts, spies, etc... But, as you can imagine, this made me the weird kid. I was aware of other kids at the school, but after third grade when all of my friends moved on to private schools, I was stuck in a classroom with nothing to interest me and no friends to keep me grounded in what was cool. I went off on tangents and became less and less connected to education and the things that all other grade school kids were interested in.
I wasn't quite bullied yet, unless you count loneliness as a form of bullying. I had "friends" but I didn't really have anyone to talk to. They were all going off into things like cars or girls or comics and I was lost in my fantasy world. I began to run not only as a form of exercise but also because it was the one sport I could do where I got to spend all of this time just thinking up things.
Of course, that all changed when I got to Jr. High... but that's up for discussion next time.
Most of the reason that this is true is because people tend to fall into one of two categories throughout most of their lives - Us and Them. Depending on whether you're an Us or a Them at any particular point in your personal journey is the determining factor of whether you'll be bullied. Us's like people that belong to their category and are generally intolerant of Them's. Them's can't figure out why the Us's hate them and wouldn't know how to change to become an Us even if it were possible. Us's bully Them's. As pretty much everyone in their life goes through a Them cycle, you probably know what bullying is all about. But as you discover that you don't like being one of Them, you join Us, and the bullying stops. But not everyone joins Us. Some people remain Them no matter what. For Them, there is no end to the bullying they endure.
I have almost always been one of Them - you know, the weird kid that marches to his own set of drums. I remember in Kindergarten quickly surmising that I was pretty darn smart. I was easily ahead of the rest of the class on the learning curve - so much so that I pulled back, lest I get too far ahead. I enjoyed having friends and being the smart kid meant that I didn't have friends. But there wasn't a whole lot that I couldn't figure out on my own.
Throughout grade school I was able to associate with the smart kids in school. But unlike them, I didn't excel in my education. In turning away from education and learning as a goal in and of itself, my mind found the world of fantasy and make-believe to play around in. I often tell of the creation of my first story. We were supposed to write a paragraph about Halloween. I spent four hours and wrote ten pages. I had to be forced outside to join the rest of the kids in the Halloween parade, and I asked to take the story home so that I could finish it.
I loved to spend time in that fantasy world battling aliens and monsters, ghosts, spies, etc... But, as you can imagine, this made me the weird kid. I was aware of other kids at the school, but after third grade when all of my friends moved on to private schools, I was stuck in a classroom with nothing to interest me and no friends to keep me grounded in what was cool. I went off on tangents and became less and less connected to education and the things that all other grade school kids were interested in.
I wasn't quite bullied yet, unless you count loneliness as a form of bullying. I had "friends" but I didn't really have anyone to talk to. They were all going off into things like cars or girls or comics and I was lost in my fantasy world. I began to run not only as a form of exercise but also because it was the one sport I could do where I got to spend all of this time just thinking up things.
Of course, that all changed when I got to Jr. High... but that's up for discussion next time.
Tuesday, September 13, 2011
Thoughts in search of a well-thought out essay...
I am not a crackpot, but this is definitely a crackpot idea... unless, I'm on to something here.
These thoughts were prompted by two things. 1) During an excellent 9/11 sermon given at my church by First Responder Chaplain, Toby Nelson, who worked at Ground Zero, Katrina, and other places, he mentioned one thing that I'd never put my finger on but that definitely had the ring of truth about it. He said, "While I watched the planes crashing into the buildings again and again and again, I found that I was getting more agitated every time I watched." And 2) I just saw a headline for a "News" video that said, "WATCH: A man gets naked before breaking into a store." And I really had to wonder, "Who would want to watch something like that?"
So, here, in a nutshell, is my crackpot idea...
Is the Internet, Satan?
I offer these points of comparison. 1) Both lie. Incessantly. Or tell the truth in such a shade of lie as to mislead and misrepresent. 2) Both show us things we want to have and want to believe and makes it easy for us to obtain these things - none of which bring us happiness. 3) Both, by their very existence, stir up trouble. 4) Both tempt us to do and say things we'd never have done before. 5) The world is definitely more agitated because of their existence.
Now, normally I'd argue that the same could be said about any form of mass-communication. But can it? Certainly books, when they were introduced, caused a stir - but not nearly to the level that the internet has and in such a quick and dangerous way.
Would you agree that since the internet first appeared on the scene back in the early 90's, that the world has gotten steadily worse?
Anyway, I will leave this thought at this stage of its development. If any wish to take up my lance and attack this particular windmill, I shall be happy to join your quest.
These thoughts were prompted by two things. 1) During an excellent 9/11 sermon given at my church by First Responder Chaplain, Toby Nelson, who worked at Ground Zero, Katrina, and other places, he mentioned one thing that I'd never put my finger on but that definitely had the ring of truth about it. He said, "While I watched the planes crashing into the buildings again and again and again, I found that I was getting more agitated every time I watched." And 2) I just saw a headline for a "News" video that said, "WATCH: A man gets naked before breaking into a store." And I really had to wonder, "Who would want to watch something like that?"
So, here, in a nutshell, is my crackpot idea...
Is the Internet, Satan?
I offer these points of comparison. 1) Both lie. Incessantly. Or tell the truth in such a shade of lie as to mislead and misrepresent. 2) Both show us things we want to have and want to believe and makes it easy for us to obtain these things - none of which bring us happiness. 3) Both, by their very existence, stir up trouble. 4) Both tempt us to do and say things we'd never have done before. 5) The world is definitely more agitated because of their existence.
Now, normally I'd argue that the same could be said about any form of mass-communication. But can it? Certainly books, when they were introduced, caused a stir - but not nearly to the level that the internet has and in such a quick and dangerous way.
Would you agree that since the internet first appeared on the scene back in the early 90's, that the world has gotten steadily worse?
Anyway, I will leave this thought at this stage of its development. If any wish to take up my lance and attack this particular windmill, I shall be happy to join your quest.
Thursday, September 01, 2011
The Eighth Samurai
We join our story halfway through the first act...
We have just seen the seven samurai graduating from samurai college. They are a happy bunch - before the inevitable downfalls that will lead them to the beginning of the story that we know as Akira Kurosawa's Seven Samurai. But in this blockbuster prequel with the explosions and heavy special effects all shot in 3-D and tons of extra bonus features on the Blu Ray DVD (plus don't forget the teaser for the sequel to be found at the end of the 30 minute long credits) our master director has decided to add an edgy twist - Chris Tucker is The Eighth Samurai.
And it doesn't matter that he's black... and that he's spouting off stupid American ghetto hip-hop slang... this is 18th century Thailand (it was cheaper to film the prequel there, so they changed the story too) and anything goes in 18th Century Thailand. So as our 8 samurai warriors prepare the school for battle with environmentally unfriendly and immigration hating corporate Thai bad guys with thick Russian accents who all look like rejects from the WWE for some reason, we get to hear the montage accompanied by the latest Rap Star combo pack - P-Nut Enima and Slo-Slice.
But here is where it gets bad... the director couldn't leave well-enough alone. No, he had to dub in a few words that completely changed the meaning of the scene. And he had the samurai fire first. Stupid bad director.
I'm going to complain about this, but to be a completist, I will have to pre-order my DVD/BluRay combo pack with the extra toy inside.
I just wish that Hollywood knew how to run their business. They're going to go bankrupt at this rate.
We have just seen the seven samurai graduating from samurai college. They are a happy bunch - before the inevitable downfalls that will lead them to the beginning of the story that we know as Akira Kurosawa's Seven Samurai. But in this blockbuster prequel with the explosions and heavy special effects all shot in 3-D and tons of extra bonus features on the Blu Ray DVD (plus don't forget the teaser for the sequel to be found at the end of the 30 minute long credits) our master director has decided to add an edgy twist - Chris Tucker is The Eighth Samurai.
And it doesn't matter that he's black... and that he's spouting off stupid American ghetto hip-hop slang... this is 18th century Thailand (it was cheaper to film the prequel there, so they changed the story too) and anything goes in 18th Century Thailand. So as our 8 samurai warriors prepare the school for battle with environmentally unfriendly and immigration hating corporate Thai bad guys with thick Russian accents who all look like rejects from the WWE for some reason, we get to hear the montage accompanied by the latest Rap Star combo pack - P-Nut Enima and Slo-Slice.
But here is where it gets bad... the director couldn't leave well-enough alone. No, he had to dub in a few words that completely changed the meaning of the scene. And he had the samurai fire first. Stupid bad director.
I'm going to complain about this, but to be a completist, I will have to pre-order my DVD/BluRay combo pack with the extra toy inside.
I just wish that Hollywood knew how to run their business. They're going to go bankrupt at this rate.
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