Dear Steve Spielberg: Please Don't Sodomize My Childhood

Dear Mr. Spielberg:

Let me start by saying what a huge fan I am of your work. I’ve enjoyed watching your movies immensely over the years and many of your films are among my all time favorites. Your movies are always highly entertaining and nearly impossible not to enjoy.

Well, ok, Jurassic Park 2: Lost World was a serious misstep. Who knew dinosaurs could be so lifeless and boring? AI was a complete snooze-fest. And really, War of the Worlds, while being visually fantastic, was pretty much a load of crap. But we can go ahead and blame Tom Cruise for that one, mainly because I’ve never been much of a fan of his. And Dakota Fanning… that little girl seriously creeps me out. She’s got a real Village of the Damned vibe going.

But I’m getting off track here. The purpose of my letter is to talk to you about the upcoming release of the newest Indiana Jones movie. I have to say that when I was growing up, Raiders of the Lost Ark was (and is) one of my favorite movies EVER. My brother and I must have seen Temple of Doom two dozens times in the theater the summer it came out. I still recall my mother shrieking out loud in a crowded theater when that guy’s heart got ripped out of his chest. Thanks for one of the funniest memories from my childhood!

So you would think I’d be looking forward to the next Indiana Jones movie. And I am, but not as much as I probably should be. I’m cautiously excited about Indy’s return to the big screen. “Why cautiously?” you might be asking yourself.

Cautiously because I was once really looking forward to the continuation of a beloved childhood movie series. Once waited overnight in line to see the movie on opening night. Once sat in a movie theater on that opening night and watched in abject horror as some of my most cherished movie memories were raped and destroyed. I’m of course speaking of Star Wars: The Phantom Menace, aka Episode 1.

Now I know you and George Lucas are close friends, but I have to say that he really made a mess of things with the Prequels. All three of them were horrible and for the most part entirely unwatchable. Even if you take out Jar Jar Binks.

Some will say Episode 3/Revenge of the Sith was at least “better than Episodes 1 and 2.” True. But that’s like saying “getting punched in the stomach is better than getting kicked in balls.” While that’s technically accurate, nobody enjoys a punch to the stomach. Or even thinks to themselves (while doubled over in pain trying not to throw up) “I’m sure glad it was a punch to the stomach and not a kick in the balls.”

So I make this plea to you Mr. Spielberg. On behalf of myself and everyone else of my generation that grew up thrilling to the adventures of Indiana Jones. Who begged (BEGGED!) their parents to buy them a bull whip. (And had their parents refuse even though you promised never to use the bull whip on your little brother. How is that fair?!?!) Who have enjoyed watching Raiders, Temple of Doom and Last Crusade over and over. Who now want to enjoy the next Indy movie with their own children.

So I implore you Mr. Spielberg. On behalf of all of us. Please, please, PLEASE… don’t sodomize my childhood.

Sincerely,

Mike

How I Learned to Stop Living In Fear and Start Shredding My Junk Mail

America is a Culture of Fear. The role of the government, of the media, of society seems to be to make us afraid of something. Of Anything. Of EVERYTHING.

We’re afraid of terrorism. We’re afraid of global warming. We’re afraid of a recession, of getting cancer, of going sterile because we always keep our cell phone in our pocket. We’re afraid that a casual sexual encounter while in Atlanta may result in our penis falling off.

We’re afraid of eating a cheeseburger from McDonald’s because of the cholesterol and fat. Fear of Heart Disease, Fear of Obesity, Fear of Diabetes all lead to a whole litany of food fears. Fear of Beef. Fear of Cinnabon. Fear of Real Sour Cream. Fear of Eating a Box of 18 Donut Holes for Breakfast.

We’re afraid of drugs, both illegal and prescription. Fear of Becoming Addicted. Fear of Certain Sexual Side Effects. Fear of Erections Lasting More Than Four Hours.

We’re afraid of the weather because we see StormWatch on the local news (and I’m sure it’s the same on every news program in every market). Even if we don’t watch the news, StormWatch will break into regular programming to let us know a storm is coming and we’re ALL GOING TO DIE! So we end up thinking that every raindrop or every snowflake is falling with a taste for human blood, hell bent on killing us all. “Up to 3 inches by morning people! HIDE THE CHILDREN!!!”

But I don’t need to be afraid any more. Because I’ve purchased a junk mail shredder. No more Fear of Identity Theft for me, a fear brought to light by that leather bustier Citi commercial a few years ago.

I used to be safe from identity theft, because mine was not an identity worth stealing. But over the years, my defaulted student loans have faded to obscurity and my FICO score has steadily risen. My debt to income ratio has never looked better and the credit limit on my cards has climbed. And being an improved credit risk has led, more than anything, to a drastic increase in the junk mail I receive.

Usually I would throw my junk mail in the Giant Useless (Not Food Safe For Decorative Purposes ONLY) Bowl that sat on my dining table. My thinking was this gave the Giant Useless (Not Food Safe For Decorative Purposes ONLY) Bowl a use. When if was full to overflowing after a couple/few weeks, I’d gather up the junk mail, sit down on the couch, and start going through it. I’d tear the credit card statements and offers, the convenience checks from my existing accounts into a few pieces in a surely ineffectual attempt to destroy the pages. Truth be told I was a little uneasy of this.

Dig through my trash, retrieve these torn pages, apply a few pieces of scotch tape and there you have it, my bank statement complete with account number! My idea of securely disposing of these items was to put it in the same trash bag as rotting fruits and vegetables. My logic being that one whiff upon opening the bag sitting in the dumpster and the would be identity thief would move on to the next victim. One with better smelling garbage.

But now, all I have to do is jam that potentially dangerous piece of mail into my shredder. Unopened! Then the shredder makes the most satisfying grinding noise as it “maximum security confetti cuts” that unopened junk mail into tiny little pieces than no amount of scotch tape is going to put back together again.

The thing is heavy too. Which makes it seem even more dangerous. Like a weapon. If I’m reading the symbols on the top of the shredder correctly, little encircled pictograms with a line through them, the shredder could potentially kill me. I shouldn’t wear a tie while operating the shredder. Or use it if I have long hair. And it’s not for use to properly dispose of a baby. Or that symbol could mean that babies shouldn’t use the shredder. Which seems like a silly warning. After all, how many credit card offers do you think the average baby gets in the mail? Not many.

Anyway, with my new junk mail shredder I can finally feel safe. Feel like I’ve done something to take control of my life. Feel, for the first time in a long time, be unafraid.

There’s only one big problem…

Now I have no idea what I should do with my Giant Useless (Not Food Safe For Decorative Purposes ONLY) Bowl on the dining table. I don’t want to put food in it… because if I put food in the bowl and then I eat it, I might ingest some chemical used to glaze the bowl that I shouldn’t have ingested and I’m afraid that chemical might give me cancer.