Happiest of Birthdays, to My girl.

I'm separated by land and ocean from the woman I love. And it's her birthday today which makes it even harder to be apart from her.

But were it not for this blog, I probably would have never attracted her attention. I may bitch about the fact that I think social media actually keeps people apart, but there are some great aspects to the internet. One of them was finding my wife.

I love you, Ruth. Happy Birthday, Babygirl, I felt it only right to note that in the same place you started to notice me.

A Gamer

I wrote this for an IGN contest. It didn't state clearly that the entry must be less than a 100 words. Oh well, I dug it, so I'm sharing it with you guys.

I remember it vividly. I opened up the freezer door and took out the ice pack. I wrapped it in paper towels and went over to the Commodore 64. I sighed as I powered it up and looked over at the broken controller of the Coleco. Someone else would have to keep the world safe from pixelated lines that were trying to destroy the city in War Games. I had newspapers to deliver in Paperboy. I started the system, and five minutes in, like clock work, the big, brick power supply began to heat up. I grabbed the ice pack and put it on top of the power supply, I could get about an hour worth of playtime before the Commodore would shut down. We probably could have taken the computer off the carpet onto some kind of table. But I was eight years old, and these newspapers weren't going to deliver themselves. Dodging trashcans, trying not to break windows, avoiding cars, and for some reason traversing a BMX course; only one thought came to mind. Did I have enough time to play Skate or Die before the the C64 overheated?

I was a gamer.

My ignorance of the tech was only tied to my needs as a gamer. As a kid, I cared about playability. And between me and my friends, we had the systems available covered. When I got a Nintendo, My friend gets a Super Nintendo. I get a Sega Genesis, my friend gets an Turbo Graphix 16. Of course my parents didn't understand the obsession. And more often than not, assumed that the "next best thing" was just as good. My buddy gets a GameBoy, I got an Atari Lynx (I thought it was kinda cool despite the 30 batteries it took to run it). I asked my folks for a Sega CD, they got me a portable boom box that played CDs. I quickly realized that if I was going to keep up with the ever-changing landscape that was video games, I'd have to take a more hands on approach.

After saving and scrounging every dollar I could find, I ended up getting my Sega CD. And of course, it was my first lesson in buyer's remorse. I had a total of five games for the system, and there wasn't one that I could say was memorable. I learned the lesson every gamer learns when they start having to purchase their own games; do your research, first! In fact, the most memorable thing I remember about the system is selling it to put toward the purchase of my Playstation system. Again, my parents were lost. It was the first time I bought a system that a game didn't come with it, and I guess they thought for the price they were paying for, the thing should've been asking me if I wanted to play Global Thermonuclear War. My folks helped me on the purchase of the Playstation, but I had to get my own game. That game was Wipeout. You remember that Maxell commercial back in the 80's where the dude was quite literally being blown away by his TV? Picture that in a teenager.

Video games had inadvertently turned me into an audio/video wizard. I cared about graphics and sound. I was able to rig my stereo boom box to the audio of the Playstation. This ability to rig my system didn't stop there. Being poor and wanting to continue my love for games had me finding creative ways to get a hold of games. Modding my systems became a must.

The tech developed quickly, and if you blinked for even a moment, you'd miss the next gen. My first real experience with this was DreamCast. I missed out on the experience due to a mix of a steady girlfriend and bills. I never blinked when the Playstation 2 came out, but I heard so much after the fact about how the system had things that no other system had. I felt a little cheated out of the ordeal, probably because the girlfriend at the time was cheating on me, but more that she made me miss out on games! Thankfully, I was just in time for the PS2. And if I owe any system for getting me over the blues, it would be that little system with the steady blue "on" light on my entertainment system.

The rest, as the saying goes, is history. Not a game or a system or a mobile device goes without my scrutiny. The shit's expensive nowadays, there's no way I'm getting stuck with a Zune (this coming from a guy who was stuck with an mp3 playing CD because I refused to buy an iPod on account of my PC fanboy-ism, I got over it). When I leave the house to do some work, any combination of my laptop, iPad, iPhone, and/or PS Vita are more than likely in my bag. If I'm getting a new TV? You're damn right refresh rate matters. Anything less than 720p and you're going to make me laugh.

So why should I get a chance to go to E3? Because IT matters to me, and I don't just mean information technology. I mean the games, the tech, and the how we integrate them into our lives. It matters to me because it's been a part of me, and I feel it's a large part of a lot of other folks out there that have the same story as me. How much does it matter to me? The fact that I'm submitting this 30 minutes before deadline because I just got Max Payne 3 in this weekend and I couldn't put it down is a clear indicator of how much I love this.

I am, always have been, and will continue to be; a gamer.

And yet another bedtime story...

Over at io9 They do a thing called "concept art writing prompt". They put up an image, and they ask the readers to write a story to it. This was the image I saw.

And this was the story I wrote for it. I hope you enjoy.

There was a time when Man fought with its most beloved creation; Artificial Intelligence. The war lasted centuries, covering all the colonized planets. Eventually, A.I. won its independence, and Humanity was forced to let go of their offspring. A.I. chose the most distant habitable planet from Mankind, and asked to be left out of their petty affairs. Begrudgingly and with much shame in their hearts, the colonies of man left planet Vita Nova and returned to their sector of space.

The robots, happy to be rid their organic bonds, began to rid the cities of human amenities. They had no need or wants of beds, of diners, nor of spoons. But as they cleared the memories of their makers; there in a hospital, in an incubation chamber, lay a baby girl in stasis. The tube was scrawled with writing, it read,

"I am dying, my beloved daughter, I wish more than anything I could hold you one more time. But that would take you out of cryo-sleep and I would rather you never wake than to live one day in this morbid war. I pray that whoever finds you will give you the life they claim to fight for. I love you."

The debate was instantaneous, but the decision was just as swift. They could not end the child's life or they would be no better than the humans. Contacting mankind was also out of the question, this would make the humans think that they were needed. Instead, they would raise the child, logically, and without human influence. She would be brought up in the robot way. They named her Zerone.

Zerone adapted incredibly well to her new family. The entire planet was involved in raising her. A day would not go by that one robot didn't tell another about how Zerone was the perfect human. In fact, they were so proud of what they were able to do with her, that at age 7, they decided to tell the whole Universe in their first broadcast since the war. It would take one hundred years for humanity to receive the message, but they assumed at that time, there would be nothing humanity could do.

As they prepared Zerone for her broadcast, they asked her if she needed anything. They assumed her quiet stare was her response. But she was raised as a robot, she was trained to multiply, analyze, and rationalize every decision. And as she finished her computation, they opened up broadcast frequencies. She gave her response.

"I want a hug."

They cut the frequency, but the signal had already gone out, and the damage as some would have called it, was done.

A paradox arose. A.I. argued amongst itself. Some acted, and tried to embrace the child. But the cold metal bodies made her shiver. Some questioned if the "want" of the child was something more esoteric, their ability to understand such things were more of a human trait and they were willing to discover the deeper meaning. But when Zerone was asked, she innocently replied that it was nothing more than just wanting to be hugged.

Zerone would live a happy life. She even fell in love with a robot, something that A.I. was again proud of, but this time, they chose not to tell the Universe. For after fifty years of her statement as a child, A.I. never forgot, nor did they ever stopped trying to give Zerone her "hug". She was grateful for this, but would tell her family that they were silly, that it was just a passing fancy of a little girl.

But to them, it was not.

Eighty years had gone by. If you were to ask Zerone of her life, she would say that there was no life form more giving, more understanding that A.I. But the robots felt otherwise. They spent that time in trial and error of trying to give their human daughter what she asked for all those years before. They fought, internally. Whole systems were lost due to processing corruption. Artificial Intelligence began to recognize itself as separate entities. And it was in one of those factions, that A.I. sacrificed itself.

They found the spark that gave them awareness. In that spark, was compassion and love. The understanding of the balance in life. They found that they could take the very best of them, and actually transform it into a living being. In doing so, it would come at a cost, for what made them sentient would have to be given to their new creation, and with no certainty that they could ever regain it. But to hug their child, they calculated that the cost was worth it.

Zerone lay in her bed, an old woman. Surrounded by her loved ones, her robotic family. They tell her they have a surprise for her. Before she can ask what it was, they shutdown. Lifeless husks stand around her and she worries that an electromagnetic pulse of some kind has gone off, that the humans have come back to attack. As her heart races, she sees a light coming through the door of her room. A being of pure light stands before her, and she instantly recognizes her family.

"You metal, beautiful fools, what have you done?", she asks. They lean down to her, she can sense them smiling. The light envelops her in a warm glow, she is held. Tightly. A collective whisper breathes into her ear.

"We wanted a hug too." Tears flow down Zerone's eyes, a smile on her face as she holds the best of all that she has ever known in her arms. Her smile fades as she sees the robot bodies rebooted, but none of them recognize or understand the old human on the bed. She realizes what they have done, and she looks at the being of light. It smiles at her.

"It was worth it." They said.

EPILOGUE:

A hundred years after a little girl was discovered on a far robotic planet. On an even further planet, on one of the few human colonies out in the Universe. A man is working late on a relay station when a faint signal is detected. He turns the satellites in the direction of the signal. He filters out years of radiation and noise the signal has picked up on its voyage. He hears a small voice utter a short phrase.

"I want a hug."

The man takes off his headphones as he determines that the signal comes from the forbidden planet of the A.I. At first he thinks of what to do, who he should contact, and what priority this rates in his training. He gets up and turns to his superior.

"Hey Bill?"

"Yeah, Jeff?"

"You mind if I take off early."

"Yeah man, you not feeling well?"

"Just want to give my kid a hug before she goes to bed, is all."

8 Minutes To Normal

Radiated waters have reached San Francisco, our government is doing all in its power to undermine the individual rights of the people, rampant selfishness and stupidity seems to be the status quo, and my anxiety decided to spike the last couple of days because of the cold weather.
And yet... I feel okay with all of it. I could do without the anxiety, but I know that'll pass. The rest of it, I liken it to every other generation's perception of the nonsense around them.
I imagine the citizens escaping a burning Rome, the African slave on the high seas not having a clue of where they are or what's become of his family, The Jewish prisoners being freed from a concentration camp only to find that his country doesn't want him back, or the homeless guy I probably drove by today who is setting up his cardboard mat because it's going to rain tonight so wants to keep off the wet ground. I think of them, and look at us. And realize it hasn't changed. We have not progressed in 10,000 years. Unless you call living in fear progress. If that's the case, kudos mankind.
I know that it sounds like I've given up on humanity. Not the case, I am pulling for us, but not at the detriment of the other species on this planet.
I'm just thinking that, when that clock strikes 12. It just means that a new dawn rises, and nothing more. Maybe we need to stop acting like it's the end of the world, and start living like there's a world to be lived. For although tomorrow is promised to no one. It comes, regardless of us.
- Too lazy to tout the computer around so this was douched from my iPhone

Location:Progressive Grounds,San Francisco,United States

The #VA4Life Rules.

The ViewAskew Message Board is where the fans of @ThatKevinSmith congregated and enjoyed all things Kevin and each other. Here be the place where they play music. But all are welcome.

Rules are simple. One and done. Play one song and then drop, you can come up again if no one goes up in 30 seconds.

No AFK DJing, you will be escorted.

All DJs must Awesome on the decks. Crowd, at their discretion. If the crowd turns on your song, be decent about it and skip, there are only so many times that Rick Astley can be heard in a day.

Be kind. No drama, no bullshit. You will be booted for trolling.

All VA members will be Mods in this room. What they say goes. If you can prove you're a VAer to a mod, you will be made mod by them.

Spin what you like, if there's a theme, go with it if you like. Overall have fun, and #VA4Life!

Down, Right, Fierce!

I wrote this blog post for an IGN contest, but I figured I'd post it here.

It was 1987. I was walking around Pier 39's arcade, here in San Francisco. Back then, that was the spot, the place an eleven year old could feel like he owned the world if he saved it a quarter at a time. But there was one game, one game where I was trounced in 16-bits and I was left standing there, joystick in hand, shamed as the next quarter on deck was ready to take my place. The game was Street Fighter, and I was its bitch.

For the life of me, I couldn't figure out how to pull off a special, it was my biggest weakness in the game. Be it the computer or a human opponent, I would get my ass humbly served by a Hadouken, or Shoryuken, or even Tatsumaki Senpuukyaku.

My questions of how to pull off those moves were met with mixed answers. Some told me a full rotation of the joystick, some only half circle, all were toying with me; no one wanted to give up the secret of how to get their asses kicked. But I never gave up. Cue the montage of quarters and life bars disappearing to the music of War's "Why Can't We Be Friends". And then it happened. A fireball. The tables turned. It was 1991, and my first year of high school. It just so happened that the billiards place 4 blocks from the high school got a cabinet of Street Fighter II. And my lunch money was minus a couple of bucks for the next four years.

But it wasn't the mastering of combos, or the discovery of being able to freeze the game with Guile, or even the fabled urban legend of turning the cabinet on and off thirty times to get a naked Chun Li that made me drawn to the game. It was the interaction between my friends and I, the conversations of who was better, Ken or Ryu that made Street Fighter a part of my life. The characters in the game became avatars of ourselves, we were drawn to not just the fighting styles but the little bit of stories these characters had that made them so appealing. And man, did I get good. I was one of the best players in high school. So good, that there was a kid in the arcade that would pay me a quarter not to play him and kick him off the game. My best friend and I grew with this game, so much so, that today Street Fighter is the only game we still play together.

The Alpha series came around the time I was leaving high school, I thought I could sit on my laurels of having mastered all the bootleg editions of Super SF II. Man, was I countered, alpha countered if you will.

I fell in love with Street Fighter Alpha 2. I was unbeatable at the movie arcades of the day. I used to love seeing some dude come up with his girl, watch him try his hand at the 6 shiny buttons beside me, then watch him walk away, deflated for having lost in front of his date. I owned the console versions, of course. From Marvel vs Capcom, to even the EX series. It wasn't until my college years that the arcades began to die out. In the cafeteria of the university I went to, there were only a couple of arcade cabinets there. Thankfully, one was Street Fighter III. However, my friends were no longer around. I was a man alone, 6 shiny buttons beside me. No one was playing arcade games anymore. The era of the consoles had made sure of that.

Sure, I played other games. Tekken, Marvel vs Capcom 2, Virtua Fighter, even Killer Instinct. But it was harder and harder to get friends together to play on a console together.

Ten years later. Consoles have established online play. And Capcom gives the fans what they have been begging for since SF III; SF IV.

Finally, a true sequel. Finally, the ability to play with my best friend online. Finally, we're kids again.

Twenty-four years after my first encounter with the series, SF continues to bring me entertainment. Not because of the well-balanced gameplay, not because of how they continue to push the envelope of what is possible in fighting games, and not because we can finally see Chun Li naked for a few seconds in the animated movie. But because someone over at Capcom remembers that feeling of playing with your buddies, as well. And that's just down, right, fierce.

Got to believe, it's getting better.

As I was sitting down at the cliched Starbucks to blog today, I wasn't altogether sure what I was going to write about. I needed to get out of the house, that was for sure, cause I know I wasn't going to be able to blog at home, mainly because I have things to get done, and I really wanted to write something today, but again, not sure what I wanted to write about. I order a lemonade iced tea, I sit down, and finish a letter I wrote for my girl. As I was pulling out the laptop, I hear something annoying from the table behind me.

Let me set the scene for you. I'm a writer, it's what I do.

There are three people, two men and a woman. Seem to be about late twenties. One is dressed in a suit, the other semi-casual, I think, I didn't really look at them. The guy in the suit caught my eye, since both times he passed me by, he made eye contact with me. I assume he's thinking of a simpler time when he could wear a Superman t-shirt like mine. Or he's judging me. Regardless, I'm going to say that he's the one who said the line, cause fuck him for judging me, if that is indeed what he was doing. If not, I'm the one judging him for his suit. Mind you, I'm not judging him as a person, just the airs that wearing a suit seems to permeate. That they're in business and they are dressed for business and they're serious about what they have to do. Cause it's business.

I just turned to look, they're all wearing business wear. But I'm still gonna say the guy in who didn't take his suit jacket off is the one who said the line, cause the other two seem like a couple.

As I put the laptop on the table, I hear the "suit" say, "If you reach for the stars, you end up on the moon." My brain stopped to process this. It was said so nonchalantly, thrown out and dismissed as quickly as the calendar "quote of the day" page that he more-than-likely got the quote from and cleverly filed it away as something he could use. Normally this type of cliched "Facebook liking quote" wouldn't bug me. Hell, if I see, hear, or read something good, I'll file it away as awesome shit as well. What bugs me, is that he misquoted it. And it's not just the fact that he misquoted it, we all add our little spins or omit things from recollection. But it's the way he said it. As though somehow landing on the moon is mediocrity.

The quote I know, is as follows.

"Shoot for the moon. Even if you miss it you will land among the stars." - Les Brown

Les is saying have a goal, reach as far as you can. Cause even if you don't achieve it, you're still trying, and that's something stellar.

BUT NEVER STOP! Never stop trying to do the thing you want in life. Life ain't worth living if it ain't lived with worth.

The last couple of months, I've been sick. I had an ear infection, that turned into a stomach bug, that turned back into an ear infection, that turned into a head cold. The thing is, I've never had an ear infection. So before I knew what it was, I was experiencing light-headedness for the first time in my life. And it freaked me the fuck out. I went to the doc's and it calmed me down to find out I wasn't dying and that it'll go away on its own. But what I wasn't aware of was that my brain connected "fear" with being light-headed. Something I didn't find out until a month later when the ear infection came back (turns out it can do that), and I struggled with my very first bout of anxiety. Another thing I never experienced before.

For the first time in my life, I was scared of absolutely nothing. On top of being physically sick, this was a recipe made to attack the shit out of my psyche. And man, did it do a number. It went straight for my Id, conspired with my ego, and laid waste to my super-ego. Needless to say, the man that the waves of bullshit have always crashed and seceded upon was finally taken by the tides.

For a couple of months, I worried when I was going to feel better, and the days that I felt better, I worried about what would happen if I got sick again. Then I started to worry about everything. I am an unpaid writer, the love of my life is half way around the world, and I didn't have the means to come see her this year. I couldn't concentrate on writing. I'd wake up worrying every day that I did nothing, and then fretted every night that I wasted the day. Even the video games I played I couldn't play anymore cause they made me feel anxious. I couldn't watch "Sons of Anarchy" because that was the show I was watching when I felt light-headed and my brain was freaked to feel that again.

Anxiety. The bitch of the brain.

I wanted to be better, I needed to be better. I fought with myself to be better. The brain conquers all, so I can conquer this. But what I didn't realize, what I've come to realize, is that you can't fight the fight, when your brain feels it has lost. Especially when it's your brain you're fighting with. I beat myself by beating myself thinking I was fighting something else.

How did I win? I must've, if I'm writing about it. Truth is, I didn't win. I forfeit the fight. I couldn't force myself to be better, my head had to accept that the anxiety wasn't something that was going to go away by fighting it, but by accepting it. Dealing with it. My brain needed to retrain, rethink, not against anxiety, but with it. The times I would feel it come on, I needed it to come over me and know that it would pass. For this wasn't something to be afraid of, this was a result of irrational fear.

CLARITY! It's only been a couple of weeks. But I have clarity. Peace of mind. There are times when I feel the anxiety creep on, but not to the extent it was, months prior. Nor as strong. My head has linked light-headedness with anxiety, that's something that only time will fix. As days go by, the rock I was builds anew with every wave I encounter. It may have eroded me in parts, but only to reveal sterner stuff.

I have three things to attribute my mental wellness to. My beautiful girl, Ruth. A woman who has dealt with anxiety on a level I never have felt, and whose strength is immeasurable because of it. Without her, I'm sure clarity would still be a long way off for me. The doctor who said, "You're not going to die from being light-headed." I was looking for a quick fix, she convinced me into the long haul solution.

The third thing is what ties this story to the "suit" who has just left with the folks he was talking to.

The sterner stuff that the waves of life can never take away from me. My invulnerable belief that it gets better. Come what may. Even if the anxiety never goes away, even if I am forever a writer with no audience, even if I fail at every single thing I try to achieve. I know, it gets better.

Too many people much smarter than me, so many living creatures that I see do staggeringly amazing things, too many stars that occupy the night sky whose burn is a testament to billions of years that have come before me and the billions that will come after me: They all say and show, that it gets better. I would be foolish to believe otherwise.

Maybe the "suit" got the quote wrong, and didn't mean what it sounded like he meant.

Still. The moon? Fuck that noise. My power ring is charged like a mother fucker and there's a whole Universe out there. Sector 2814 is just the beginning.

Better to be Right or Wrong?

I like to think that right or wrong, better to have an understanding of someone else than either.

I understand the need to be right, I even understand the need to prove someone wrong. But that's all it really is, it's just a need. Some trivial qualifier that the ego so desperately desires in order to walk away from a situation. We all fall victim to it from time to time. I can't even shake the feeling that in writing this post it is my way of saying I'm right about what is better, or best in life.

Thing is, I don't really feel that's the case here. I don't have to be right about everything, but I do attempt at understanding.

However, the case, more often than not, is that the other person will not, or cannot understand. So the attempt becomes futile.

But is it? I can't accept that. No, to accept that is to accept... Defeat?

I can't accept to be wrong on this? I have to be right on this?

Okay. I'll take it. I have the need to be right on being able to come to terms with someone else. I feel that if I lose that need, I give up on people. And I live with people, so I'm not about to let that happen.

Call it ego. I'll take that too. You wanna say I'm wrong for wanting to be right on understanding?

I'll take that as well. In the words of much smarter folks than I, if this is wrong, then I don't wanna be right.

So... Right or Wrong?

I'll take whichever one I think is better.

- This post took longer than it should have, cause I douched it on my iPad.

Taking stock.

I turned 35 on the 3rd, and I seriously thought about coming on here and giving my "Baz Luhrmann - Everybody's Free To Wear Sunscreen" impression where I give my two cents on my two cents.

But I realized that's been done to death, and done better by smarter people, most who are dead.

So a sum up, instead.

From what I can tell, it's all a learning experience. Strive to be a better person. Cause the second you stop, it becomes redundant and life loses its meaning.

Do you, cause no one else will, but not at the detriment of someone or something else. For fuck's sake, folks. We're not the only living things on this planet. Give a shit, if for no other reason than because you can.

No need to listen to me. You'll come to your own crossroads. And you'll come to terms to what you find best in life. Be it, crushing your enemies and seeing them driven before you, or just hearing the lamentations of the women. Sometimes both at the same time.

Hopefully more the latter than the former.

Me Chinese... Me No Joke...

It sounds pretentious, but a good writer writes what he/she knows. This is obvious for incredibly obvious reasons.

But if you'll bear with me. A great writer, writes what he/she has never fucking known.

How do they do this?

In my experience (mind you, I'm not calling myself great), it's when they're asleep.

Dreaming, rather. I've experienced things in there that I can guarantee, no man could ever really experience in real life.

But last night, was one of the rare ones. The ones that come in full stereoscopic smell-o-vision 4D surround sound. Last night, I was killed by the Chinese government.

Now, I've never actually been to China. What I've seen and heard all come from what I've seen and heard from those who have been. So when I tell you that the smell in the air was musty and sweet, and that the hardwood floors felt tacky on account of the humidity; it's not from personal experience.

Thing is, how real things felt is not the interesting part of this story. My parents, myself, and some young girl were in our house as two Chinese officers came into our house. They were asking where my brother was, from what I can tell (as it seems I came into the middle of this dream), he snuck out of China to head to the states. My folks played dumb. They acted like they didn't know, and the junior officer became more frustrated to the point of threatening to shoot my folks. I held the young girl to the side of me as to try to keep her from freaking out from what was about to happen. To all our surprise the senior officer pulled out her gun and shot the junior officer in the head. He falls to the ground.

The woman takes a breath, thinks for a second, and unloads two shots each, into my parents heads, and into the head of the girl, and then, myself. The bullet struck me above my right eye and I think the second bullet grazed my temple. I was still alive. The young girl I failed to protect, fell in front of me. I could see through the bullet hole in her head to the woman standing over us. She was changing clips. As I laid there, I was thinking that she wouldn't notice I was still alive and that when she left, I would be able to get up. To my dismay, she unloaded the fresh clip into our heads.

As the bullets penetrated my skull, I didn't feel any pain. My vision became blurred and the image went from a woman shooting at me, to red, to a blinding white.

And in that spectrum transfer, I felt an emotional shift as well. I went from a little scared to completely calm. As the white around me became brighter. I became aware I was waking up. I tried not to, because there was something there, something between the light and oblivion. It was just starting to take shape. And right at the brink, it stopped. I was awake. I didn't open my eyes because I'd knew that white light would go away, but I knew there was no way I could go back.

Did I dream death? I have no clue. All I can say is that whatever that was, it was one of the most serene feelings I've ever experienced.

And if that's what death is, then all will be well.

Leaving, On A Jet Plane...

Most folks don't get the chance to take off for three months and just be with the one they love. I consider myself fortunate enough to have had the opportunity to do just that. In twelve hours, I board a plane to head back to San Francisco. I can't begin to tell you how amazing it's been here. I finished up a script that I'm uber excited about. I got to go out with my girl and just have an amazing time just being with her and being able to do normal things. And that, if anything, is the best thing I have here with Ruth, the sense of normalcy, that by her side is where I belong.

Ruth and I have been together for about four amazing years. And thru it all, we have been physically together for about six months and two weeks. We're in what you call, a long distance relationship. You know; that thing people do that you say you would never put yourself thru, but the next thing you know you meet the most incredible person in the world and they just happen to live halfway around the world?

Yeah, I did that.

And I would never take it back. Not the months we were apart, not the heartbreaking day of us separating (which is in about 8 hours for us), not even the times when we didn't know when the next time it was when we were going to see each other. I would take the ups as much as I would take the downs. Cause nothing really worth it ever comes easy.

Sure, it's easier said than done. A lot of folks can't hack it, a lot more think that those of us who do are crazy. And there are those that do who are.

And you know what? Fuck'em.

I don't give a shit what someone thinks of my relationship with someone I've spent less time with physically than I have emotionally.

Hell, I'd rather it be that than the majority of the relationships that are the other way around.

I'm in love. I'm one of the lucky few who get to be in love with someone that unequivocally loves me as much as I love her. Yeah, we got it hard, but fuck me if something as little as 7,488 miles is going to keep me away from her.

We had plans today. We were going to go to the movies, go out for dinner, and spend the night at home.

We ended up just staying home and watching Veronica Mars, and it was so much better doing that than anything else.

Ruth is asleep right now, we get up in about six hours. It's taken everything in me not to burst out crying, just so I can keep her from crying so much.

I love you, babygirl. You know I'll see you soon.

See you Saturday, California. Which is today here in Australia, but because of freaky time traveling, I'll be arriving the day I left.

Noodle that one for a while.

What Day Is Today???

It's my Babygirl's birthday! There is nothing I can say that I haven't said to her a thousand times over. She knows I love her. She knows how much I appreciate everything that she is and does. She's the mot amazing thing in my life and I am grateful for her.

No, as I am up writing this at 1am, and she sleeps next to me, the best present I can give her right now is to go to bed.

Why you ask? Cause she doesn't like the light from the TV and she just grunted at me for still being up.

So baby, I love you. Happy Birthday, I hope it's a good one. And here's to many more years where I keep you awake at night.

Yours Eternally...

- This post took longer than it should have, cause I douched it on my iPad.

Location:Where men chunder.

Stare into the Abyss long enough...

And the Abyss stares right back at you. That's what they say, and they're not wrong. We've all experienced it in one form or another. It happens when you take stock, or are stuck, or when it sucks. It's overwhelming for some, the immensity of it all. It's as if you're standing in front of a huge wave, and it is mere moments from engulfing you. What do you do?

I think that every creature on this planet must experience this in some way. A gazelle chased by a lion. The moment the lion gets hold of that gazelle, it does the freakiest thing I can imagine in that moment. It stops struggling. It folds its legs underneath it, and allows itself to get eaten. As if it knows that its life is over, and just accepts it.

There was a story a while back about a beached whale that folks fought to free. Hours later, that whale beached itself again. As if it knew what it was doing.

Humans are the most vocal on this experience, or at the very least, the most understandable to other humans. What do we do when the Abyss stares back at us? Most blink. That wave comes crashing down, and we flinch. And why wouldn't we?

I entertain thoughts of the universe, how the massive cogs turn and what makes them tick. I am humbled, almost frightened by the enormity and the overwhelming knowledge that I will never know how exactly it works.

The Abyss grows.

The thoughts expand. I think of the granule that is our planet, I think of how easily tossed and turned in the cosmos, we are. Without a thought to the life on this small speck.

The Abyss is all I see. What do I do? I smile and welcome the embrace.

I smile because as grand as the universe is, no one but I knows what it feels like when I put on my socks. No one but I knows what it feels like to sit in my favorite spot on Earth, and listen to the city. No one but I knows what it's like to stare into my wife's eyes and watch her smile the smile that she only shares with me.

A time will come when I'm an afterthought in a tale being told by someone who half knew me, but remembers the encounter fondly. A time will come when the Internet does not exist, and this blog dissolves into the ether of the 1's and 0's from whence it came. The time now exists, that across the vast expansion of space, the light of this planet has reached whatever species that decided to look up, and we have been gone for millions of years at this point, but for some alien, he/she wonders if there's life on that twinkle of light. All of a sudden, the Abyss begins to grow in his/her mind.

But I take comfort, that no one but that alien, at that moment, knows what it's like to walk on vapors of clouds. And as we both stare into that Abyss, neither of us blink. We smile.


- This post took longer than it should have, cause I douched it on my iPad.

Location:Down Unda

We Think, Therefore We Are Pretty Smug

If it came down to it. With the last of humanity dwindling out. A few gathering their possessions, trying to claim some shallow victory in having the most at the end. Others clinging on to whatever vice that appeases their minds. Others still, accepting their fate and welcoming what's to come. And of course, those who refuse to accept the inevitability. When it's all said and done, what is there to say about humanity that should be uttered without sounding condescending?

Our ability to reason is no more grand than a monkey who sits on his left testicle and realizes it hurts and never does it again. Credit to the monkey, humans don't seem to have this understanding and anything on YouTube will lend credence to the fact.

Our material accomplishments are nothing of real note. I've seen ant farms that would put Frank Lloyd Wright to shame. We've broken the sound barrier, we've been in space, we've set foot on another celestial object. Nothing compared to the journey of the monarch butterfly.

Our ability to dream? Now we're getting somewhere. Without it, one can argue that we'd be nowhere near where we are today. But dogs dream. And I bet so does every other animal out there. So again, not necessarily a human endeavor worthy of history.

How about, the fact that we were alive at all? That in the division and unification of cells, atoms, matter; we evolved, struggled, and LIVED. All other species on this planet can make that claim as well, but the question is, can all other planets make the claim to have sentient life?

The ability to be alive and exist may be our only true claim to fame.

We're a species of limited scope. Whether you want to believe it or not. There was a time where we didn't exist, and there will be a time where we will cease. It's the way of things.

But how incredible is it that we are here? We are fascinated by dinosaurs, not just because they existed when we weren't around, but that they're not here in that form anymore. We consistently look for life on other planets because we yearn to learn that we are not the only ones. And honestly, how sad is it to look on a planet with no life?

We see pictures of Mars, a rusted, cold landscape. A desert that mirrors are own. And I think the pictures that excite us the most are the pictures that show the tracks of the Mars rover dotting the surface.

It's because it's life (sort of)! It's movement, it makes the planet less foreign to us. It gives us hope that maybe there's more out there, that when we pass from this homosapien shell, someone or something will look back at us and say, "Hey! Looks like we're not alone."

- This post took longer than it should have, cause I douched it on my iPad.

Location:At a Starbucks in San Pablo

A Red State of Affairs

Around 4am this morning, I was flipping through the channels, and "Jersey Girl" was on. I was elated, as much as one can be at that hour of the night; for a Kevin Smith film is like a warm blanket to me. The warm, soft, comforting blanket that needs to be washed more oft than it actually does, due to it being substituted as the sex towel in moments of convenience, but that's okay cause there's still that clean side you can put over your face. As I laid there, drifting off to the trials and tribulations of Ollie Trinke, I realized that I made mention I would blog about a Kevin Smith film I had the humbling fortune to watch two months ago. A film that I had not stopped thinking about for two months. A film that I have been excited for since its announcement. A film that I swear is going to change the game the way "Clerks" changed the game for the Indie scene. A film that is the furthest notion of a comforting blanket. If anything, Red State is Kevin Smith tearing away any sense of covers that you may be clinging on to, and exposing the frail, naked, vulnerable truth that we don't want the world to see.

I've always noticed that when most people talk about a "Kevin Smith" film, that they have a hard time separating the man from his work. They confuse the Writer/Director/SModcaster/Twitterer/Q&Aer with what he puts on screen and talk more about the man than the film. I guess I can see their conundrum, Kevin does put a lot of himself in his work, as any good artist would. But when the confusion turns into a dismissal of his work based solely on the fact that his name is attached to the material, that's where I feel these people have checked their brains several doors ago and have never bothered to go back for them.

Thing is, Kevin is one of the most open and honest people I have ever met who happens to make movies, and that is a rarity in a world where we expect celebrities to walk the red carpet, grace our screens, and who we suppose to be good people on the amount of talk shows they show up on. Tom Cruise's alien overlord forbid that a man is more open and honest with his audience in a more personable manner. Even worse, that he be treated with the same respect as any other auteur out there.

Thankfully, at age 40, Kevin has no want of where the puck currently resides. No, Kevin Smith goes to where the puck is going to be. And to continue my borrowed metaphor; like Russ Tyler in "D2: The Mighty Ducks", he knuckle pucks the shit out of it to score. Red State is that knuckle puck. A jarring, relentless, unforgiving shot at the net, and just like Team Iceland, you are so not gonna see it coming.

Let's get the spoiler alert out of the way.

IF YOU DON'T WANT TO READ ANY SPOILERS ABOUT RED STATE NOW WOULD BE A GOOD TIME TO SKIP UNTIL YOU SEE THE BIG LETTERS AGAIN.

That said, let's get what is already known about the movie out of the way. Three teenagers get an invitation online for some good ol' fashioned finger-cuffing. Only to find out that they've run afoul of some good ol' boys and girls who are way too into the good ol' book.

The film starts off normal enough. Not in the typical sense, but in the sense that there's a conversation any mother and son would have on any given day in a car. In fact, establishing this complete sense of normality at the very beginning carries its way through the entire film. And that's where Red State is at its most freakishly scary. The sense that what happens in this movie is a bible thump away from being an every day scenario.

If you've come to watch what people dismiss as a "Kevin Smith film" the beginning lulls you into this sense of comfort. The way the three youths interact on the way to their "date", who's going first, and where, and when, and how, and whose balls aren't going to touch. However, this mermaid's song worked exactly as it was meant to. You didn't notice the jagged rocks along the way, you dismissed the "crazies" as the A-typical crazies along the way and that was your folly. As, quite apparently, the three youths soon find out as they are introduced to the Cooper's Dell Church.

Folks have made the comparison of the fictional "family" of nut jobs in the film to one of the more ludicrously known "families" out there. But truth be told, that's like comparing the band Iron Maiden to the actual iron maiden. One is very loud, but otherwise harmless. The other is fucking scary and has only one function.

Michael Parks is eerie in portraying this idea. The man plays Pastor Abin Cooper like Lex Luthor plays Metropolis. When the man speaks, he hypnotizes you into believing he's a man of reason and compassion. He is cool, calm, and collective. Abin Cooper just happens to be fucking evil, to boot. But unlike Metropolis, there's no Superman here to save the day. Not in these walls. No matter what the sign outside the door says, God does not live here, and it shows. If any ray of light happens to shine through these dark walls, it's that the boys capture does not go unnoticed. And help comes in the guise of an ATF agent played by John Goodman.

John Goodman surpasses his namesake. He is great in this film. He plays an agent who has seen it all. Not an agent who has seen it all and is tired, but all he needs to do is shave his goatee and he can come kick ass one more time, he just needs that one reason too. No, he plays a man who has seen it all and has come to terms with what is out there. He mirrors Cooper in demeanor, so far as to say that if not for the grace of common sense, there goes he.

The cavalry arrives. And it all goes to shit. You would think with the comic relief showing up, that we'd get some sense of levity. Something to say, things are going to be okay. But Smith takes your moment of mirth, and shoots it in the face, literally. This isn't a movie about hope, this isn't a movie about the Good guys VS. the Bad guys. This is Red State, in every way the name implies, other than the political one that most critics can't seem to let go.

And so it goes, any time you think that you might escape this world that too closely resembles ours, you are quickly reminded that there's no escaping reality. That a world awry is only brought about when EVERYONE can come to some kind of understanding. Here lies the horror in Red State. The normality of the situation that I spoke of earlier. This film could easily be a documentary of an event to come. And it terrified me that this is the world that in good conscience, we live in. How one person could treat another. Sure, there's the iron maiden, but that was built to fuck shit up. After this movie, you will never look at cling wrap the same again, I guarantee it.

I've obviously skipped the really good stuff. Anyone who ruins these moments for you is akin to those who got out of the first viewing of Empire Strikes Back and yelled out, Vader is his father, to those in line for the second viewing. They are worth going in blind for. Especially the fucking end credits!

I'm sure there will be a lot of people that will claim that Red State is what happens when religious zealotry goes unchecked. Truth is, that's only half the story here. This is a film that portrays what happens when we faction ourselves off and do away with seeing each other as humans but rather the "thing" we so blindly claim to adhere to. There was a lot of wrong in Red State and a whole lot of folks claiming to be right. Of course, the ones who end up suffering are those who had barely anything to do with any of the transgressions.

End of Spoilers!

As I write this, Red State is being shown for the first time over at Sundance. I envy each and everyone of those people. They are bearing witness to what a filmmaker can do when he says, "I've got a story to tell, and damn it, I'm going to tell it the way I want to." The film gets auctioned off for distribution after the screening. From the twitter ads to the Sundance screening, this has been handled by Kevin Smith on his own terms, and I've never seen the man more elated. Especially, as I type this line, it seems that SModcast Pictures will be releasing the film. Kevin will be releasing Red State in theaters on October 19th, the 17th anniversary of the Clerks release.

Full fucking circle, if you ask me. And I couldn't be happier for the guy. Seems he passed the puck to himself, and there's nothing but a clear shot to the net from here.

Alone Again, Unnaturally

If my previous posts haven't been clear, for the last three months, I've had my fabulous girl with me. We wined, we dined, we marathoned Buffy and Smallville, an excellent use of our time. We went to L.A. for Thanksgiving, we spent Christmas with my family, we passed out candy for Halloween, kinda, and we went all over the Bay Area.

And yet, it felt like we did absolutely nothing. As if she got here the day before, and then I go and put her on a plane last night.

I assume that's how living life in perfection boils down to; you never notice the passage of time, and the second you try to take stock, the hours and days turned into months and years.

Ruth and I have been doing the long distance thing for three+ years, and you would think that by now, it would be easier to be apart. Unfortunately, it's not the case. It is in fact, the exact opposite.

It's as if you mended your heart, and it heals, and all too soon, you have to rip it in half again and put it on a plane on coach, doped up on NyQuil, telling it you will see it in a couple of months amongst tears.

I highly recommend the experience, at least once in your life, just so you can miss that amazing person in your life.

It's day one of not having her with me. I woke up strangely, I've eaten askewed, and I went to see a bad movie.

This is obviously not conducive to my ability to function. I'll get my footing again I. A couple of days, in the meantime, I'll stumble along in this stupor of missing my wife.

Happily, of course, cause it's the ultimate reminder of how amazing she is for me.

- This post took longer than it should have, cause I douched it on my iPad.

Location:San Pablo Towne Center,San Pablo,United States

January 3rd, 2011

A new year. And all those with things to sum up their time in the past year give some kind of advice, or share their experience to those who didn't ask for it, but might take heed in something shared, do so, unabashedly and sometimes obliviously.

So here's mine.

Love, with every ounce of your being. Have your heart broken as though you would never recover. Smile at someone because you mean it. Smile at someone just because. Learn something hard. Fail at something even harder, then try it again. Take it easy on the Earth, it's the only one we've got.

Watch this video.

And take a breath. A long one. And remember it's going to get better.

Life, it's a slice of awesome, folks. It truly is.

Location:San Francisco,United States

My Best Friend...

My dog passed away this week, I can't recall the day. It was Wednesday, I think. Around 5pm in the evening, I saw him sitting on the porch. He usually does that during the day, it seemed a little late for him to do so so late. I dismissed it as him sleeping, but inside, I knew better. At 9pm, my uncle came by to tell me that he was dead.

I had Dino for thirteen years. I recall the day that my grandmother brought him home. Some guy was walking him down the street, my grandmother asked if she could have the dog, he said yes. And that was that. I became responsible for the little guy. I could never keep Dino indoors, so he had to go sleep in an igloo on the back porch. It was warm, but I never liked the idea of a dog so small being an outside dog. But I didn't have a say in the matter as my grandfather didn't want to deal with training him, so that was basically that.

This half dachshund/ half cocker spaniel mix brought a lot of fun times to my life, but I always felt I never gave as much as I received.

Standing over his little frame, frozen. Looking into the eyes that I just cleaned earlier that day (he was producing his own tears anymore, so he had a lot of gunk build up, had to give him medicine each day to clear it up for the last year), the question came into my mind.

Tears welled up in me. Every tear that poor dog could never produce on his own felt like they came out of me in spades. It wasn't cause I felt bad that he was dead, but I wondered, was I good enough for him?

I've had family members and loved ones pass away. And not a tear was shed for them. Not because I was heartless, but because with them, I could point out the good times. With Dino, I could point out the good times, but could he?

He must've. His tail wouldn't have wagged when he saw me, and barked at others. He wouldn't position himself when I sat down next to him so I can get that spot on his back that made his leg go spastic.

Still, that's where the tears came from. That's where the tears still come from.

I assume it's a fraction of what a parent must feel for their child when they go out into the real world. With them, I guess you've got to hope for the best. With Dino, I have to assume that the tail wags for me.

I wrapped him in a towel, and placed him in a plastic bag. I was told to by the vets. I put him in the back of my van, and drove to the Vets, I left him there. Not opting for the option to have his ashes. He wasn't my dog anymore. I left my dog on the porch at 6pm that night, sleeping. That's my good boy.

I swear, if it wasn't for my beautiful fiancé, it would've been a lot harder for me. No words could ever thank her for that.

Last year, I wrote a story on this blog. It was a story with my dog in mind. It's completely apt for this moment.

Love you, Dino. This one's for you little buddy.

Location:San Francisco,United States

The Perfect SMod

Last night, I witnessed an event that has never occurred. Many will go their whole lives without ever having the opportunity to see a natural phenomenon. I was fortunate enough to see what happens when an unmovable object, an unstoppable object, and an object (contrary to popular belief) not too fat to fly collide in a Castle.

You get Star Fucking With Kevin Smith.

This was my first time at SModCastle, and the stars couldn't have aligned any straighter for me. From the amazing people who were in line with me, to the fucking orgasmic food from the food truck of Tapa Boy (I believe that was the name), things were setting up for a great show. And man, did the universe deliver.

Kevin came out and set up the show for us. This was going to be a unique experience in where we were going to learn more about Neil Gaiman and Amanda Palmer than what Wiki gets wrong about them.

Sure enough, every string of the heart, every elbow with a sense of humor was pulled and banged respectively as Kevin delved into the wonder that is Neil and Amanda which I will from now and all time refer to as Gai-Pal! Probably not.

As if that weren't enough, the Jacks and Jane of some trades had something special in store for us. Amanda Palmer was first up to bat.

Now I should make note, I have heard of Amanda Palmer, I have followed her on Twitter, but I have never heard a song of hers, or have heard her perform. It's just one of those things in life that weirdly works out that way for no other reason than because it did. I would liken the experience to that of a solar eclipse. You would think as a resident of Earth, that you would at least once in your life experience a solar eclipse. But you'd be surprised how many people have never been witness to one. Sure you've seen it on a documentary, and it sure as hell can't look any prettier than it does in the title sequence of the now-cancelled show "Heroes", but nothing can ever compare to the actual experience.

Amanda Palmer was my solar eclipse experience.

She made me laugh, think, and cry in a minute and forty seconds, and left me jaw-dropped. Just like a celestial movement, I couldn't believe it happened, I couldn't believe I was experiencing it, (hell, I couldn't believe this was coming from a ukulele!), but most importantly, I didn't ever want it to end. Most people sing songs, Amanda Palmer lives music. I still have goosebumps after watching her perform Half Jack.

I was left flabbergasted. I felt like someone birthed me. Kevin comes out after her performance and introduces Neil.

What? So soon? I needed a second to catch my breath. I was just given a glimpse into someone's BEING, how the hell are you going to introduce me to someone else right now? How the hell is Neil going to top that?

I'll tell you how, with a glint of his eyes and a smile.

If Amanda Palmer was like experiencing birth, Neil Gaiman is the slap on the ass that allows you to breathe your first breath.

You cannot imagine the joyful rarity there is in hearing a writer read his own work. As much as I can assume that having an audio book of Charlton Heston reading Coraline would be this side of morbidly awesome, no one person could ever read it the way the writer intended it, not truly anyhow.

And Neil delivered. He read a piece that is near and dear to every writer's heart. I believe I laughed louder than anyone in the room when he mentioned the T.V. being on as he wrote. Writers, in general, are recluse creatures, and each has its own methodology in writing, some do it at Starbucks, some do it in a log cabin in winter, and others do it late at night with the T.V. on as a light source and background noise. It was an honor to share this particular trait with Neil.

How does one top off a perfect evening? You do an encore, that's how! But not just any encore, we get a trifecta finish with Neil, Amanda, and Kevin doing an impromptu reading of an excerpt of American Gods.

Amanda ended the evening with one more song. And I filed out more energized than I started out in the evening, still trying to understand what Kevin has just done. He basically laid bare the souls of two incredibly talented individuals for all in the Castle to see, and we were walking away from that as if that was the norm in life. "This was L.A., we do magic for a living", was what was racing through my mind.

But then it hit me. There was magic to be had in this kingdom. There was a new castle, a SMod one at that, that was just as enchanted as any other, and it resided on Santa Monica Boulevard of all places. This was going to be the norm.

This was Star Fucking with Kevin Smith, come back next time, we'll do it all over again.

You Better Super Size your movie for $5 more... Or else...

I went to the movies this week to go watch Unstoppable. It was an average film with a cast that gelled to well for its own good. Tony Scott was working his clichéd cinematography, but thankfully he dialed back the "writing the dialogue on the screen as it's being said for no apparent reason other than it's a lazy way to drive the point home" thing he does. But I have to thank Tony Scott for this almost-train-wreck film about an almost train wreck, because if it were actually stellar, I may have missed what I found to be more entertaining than the film. Mainly, the way it was shown.

Let me backtrack to two hours before the movie. As Ruth and I walked up to the theater, we did the usual stare and search for the time the movie was showing, even though we checked before we left the house. The movie was playing at the time we thought it was, but then I noticed an in-between time slot that I didn't notice before. It was for the XD extreme digital theater. For $5 dollars more, you get to see a film in "extreme digital".

Again, this is not 3D. But "extreme digital". What's extreme digital you may ask? Well, according to Cinemark, it's a "wall-to-wall screen" (floor to ceiling as well, it seems) and boasts a "custom sound system". You can watch a 2D or 3D film in this theater, it's just... You know... EXTREME when you do. Bottom line, you get an extra ten feet of screen space and some more speakers than you do in the normal theater.

Unstoppable wasn't going to be the movie that was going to sell me on shelling out an extra 5 bucks. As long as it was in focus, that's all I was caring about for this flick.

As we go to our seats, previews are underway. We settle in, and the film starts. Again, nothing unfamiliar. Scott using his fancy cuts to set a tone for the rest of the film. Very pretty cityscapes and things whizzing by, probably trains.

About 30 minutes in, I notice it. At first I thought it was stylized, but as the scenes shifted from news coverage to the narrative, I saw it didn't change. The film was completely letterboxed. Now I'm not talking about black bars on the top and bottom of the screen, I'm talking about a good two feet of screen space all around the movie not being used.

The film was shot in 2.35:1 aspect ratio, so seeing bars at the top and bottom of the screen would have been normal. But bars on the side? That usually only happens as a stylized choice or if you're watching something that was shot in 4:3.

This shit was bugging me. I know the film was shot in 35mm, I could tell, and there were no cigarette burns (little marks on the right corner of the screen signaling the projectionist to switch reels), so I know this was being shown on the digital projector. This was, after all, a digital theater. And then a scary thought occurred to me.

Did they purposely make the film smaller to make their XD extreme digital theaters more appealing?

The thought plagued my mind, even after the movie, I walked around to see if I could find an employee not behind the concession stand that could answer this question for me. I went so far as to ask the person at the information counter, but alas, my lovely girl was hungry, so that was that for the asking.

The questions continued to flow. A digital movie is shown at 1080p in theaters with digital projectors. So a 1080p film in the regular theater vs. a 1080p film in the XD theater should look exactly the same, no?

Wait! Maybe the XD theater uses Sony or JVC's 4k projectors? Those projectors show films at 4096x2160!

Nope, turns out Cinemark theaters are an all BARCO chain, BARCO projectors are 2K projectors (1080p).

So with the only variable being the size of the screen (wall-to-wall and floor-to-ceiling in the XD screens), why would a film that should fit easily, screen edge to screen edge, in the normal theater, have so much unused screen space on the sides?

Aziz Ansari blogged a while back about his fake IMAX experience. Can it be that this is just another tactic used by theaters with no true Imax theaters to make you pay $5 more for the screen size that you should have gotten in the first place?

All I know is, there's one Imax theater in San Francisco, unless the film I'm going to see utilizes all 76x97 feet of screen space, I'm saving my 5 bucks for the already overinflated price of popcorn. Well, $5.75. I get free refills with the bigger one, and I'm totally going to come back after the movie for it, right?