“This isn’t an article so much as it is a cheap, shallow attack on BHS. You make a lot of poor points, such as you say ‘when something like a fight happens, it is never just one team’s fault. Especially against Ballard, when it’s always their fault.’ The last part basically contradicts what you said about how fights aren’t just one teams fault.

YOU WEREN’T EVEN THERE! What business do you have ranting about how much you hate BHS for something that you didn’t even see?”
–Drew Powell, Ballard, commenter on Messenger Website

“I like how it says that The Seattle Times was really biased towards Ballard and how wrong that was, but then her article was written in complete bias towards Garfield.”
–Nick Nestingen, Roosevelt

“Beat the Beaver” was placed in the op/ed portion of the Sports section, printed in the format that accompanies subjective articles. As an opinion piece, it represents only the opinion of the writer, and not the viewpoint or policies of the Garfield Messenger.

When Annie wrote: “it’s always their fault”, this was an exaggerated punchline, not a suggestion of truth. While we agree that “Beat the Beavers” was far from unbiased, the writing was done in a satirical way. See: “we are better at everything, including sportsmanship.”

That being said, many students from Ballard were offended by the content, and we would like to use this opportunity to extend a hand of cross-town brotherhood to our friends in red and black. It was glib, and the humor wasn’t worth the harm it caused.

Here are some other responses:

“It was directed towards an audience of Garfield students, to talk about the fight that took place at the football game. In the process [Annie] made fun of Ballard in an over the top way that was meant to be taken as sarcasm. I guess if you think high school rivalries are inappropriate you could argue that this isn’t okay, but you have said just as many bad things about Garfield in this thread alone.”
–Haley McFarland, Garfield

“I don’t think anyone at Garfield actually cares, and then there’s this girl.”
–Jeanne Currie, Ballard

“Nobody from Garfield took this seriously because we knew that we had lost and it was just for entertainment, and that’s why so many people are saying you need to relax and understand sarcasm.”
–John Trupin, Garfield

“You mentioned that your school is better than Ballard in every way, but just a quick question, who won the game? Ballard? Oh yeah. I guess being better means losing.”
–Jon, commenter on Messenger Website

“Was this article poorly written? Yes. Was it overly harsh and somewhat rude? Yes. Was it meant in jest? Yes. I get why you’re mad, but please remember that it was written with a Garfield audience in mind and it wasn’t meant to be offensive (although it turned out to be).”
–Grant Bronsdon, Garfield

“Wow, one Facebook message to one player, very in-depth journalism. Maybe someday you’ll become a tabloid magazine journalist.”
–Anonymous Comment on Messenger website.

Directed By: Tim Hill
Starring: Russell Brand, James Mardsen, Elizabeth Perkins
Rated: PG
Release Date: April 1, 2011

It’s an unfortunate thing that most movies give away their funniest scenes in their trailers. It’s even more unfortunate that Hop’s trailer features a cartoon rabbit excreting jellybeans from its (presumably) candied sphincter.

Hop, from the director behind 2007’s Alvin and the Chipmunks, has been the number one movie in America for the past three weeks. With its mix of live action mugging and colorful animated characters, Hop has swept the American box office off of its feet. It was released a full 3 and a half weeks before Easter, but projections expect it to stay strong all the way until the holiday.

The showcase of coming-attractions that preceded the “film” was nearly as bad as the film itself. Apparently, some strapped-for-ideas film executives have decided to produce– among others– a film version of The Smurfs, a sequel to the 2005 film Hoodwinked, a new Winnie The Pooh movie, and a sequel to Kung Fu Panda. By the eighth time I heard “smurf” being used as a verb (“eeww, who smurfed?”) I was begging for the sweet release of either death or a halfway decent movie.

I received neither.

Our protagonist, E.B. (Easter Bunny?), a computer animated rabbit voiced by almost stereotypically-British actor Russell Brand, is the son of the current Easter Bunny. Living on Easter Island (get it, Easter?), E.B. wants nothing more than to be left alone with his drum kit, but his bloodline means that he will have to assume his father’s mantle. It’s like a kid’s version of The King’s Speech where the protagonist’s initials are K.O.E (King of England).

Hop starts with a dull sight gag, and doesn’t really stop. The standard Universal Pictures opening screen of a rotating globe, viewers will note, has been replaced by a rotating egg! With a globe drawn on it! (Because it’s about Easter).

Such lazy jokes seem to be the norm in Hop, as replacement seems to stand in for wit. Many things are substituted in Hop: people in famous paintings replaced by bunnies and yellow baby birds,   oil derricks carrying the heads of rabbits, globes in the shape of eggs (yes, they pull the joke a second time later in the movie). Nothing exists in Hop that does not feel either stolen from or an uncreative twist on some separate piece of culture. It’s a comedic regurgitation akin to a November 1 post-Halloween binge.

Even the central concept of the film– that the Easter Bunny travels around the world delivering eggs– is stolen from a little holiday you may have heard of: CHRISTMAS. Instead of a north pole toy factory, there is an Easter Island candy factory. Instead of subservient elves, there are subservient baby birds. For gods’ sakes, there’s even an Easter Sleigh driven by flying creatures.

E.B shirks the responsibilities of his duty by running away to Hollywood. There he is run over by the human Fred O’Hare (James Marsden), an unemployed lazybones driving to a house-sitting job. Thinking the rabbit is dead, Fred lifts a rock over his head to put the wounded animal out of its misery. E.B makes some sort of comical noise and runs off. Yes, that’s correct; Hop is a movie that manages to play mercy killing for laughs.

Fred takes the Easter Bunny to be into his house and together they make an odd-couple of sorts. Fred is the goofy loser who just can’t catch a break, and E.B. is the accidentally malevolent force of unceasing destruction, who through all of his actions tears at the very fabric of Fred’s life and well-being.

It’s a formula that Hollywood desperately needs to kill: a fish-out-of water person/ anthropomorphic animal who is both zany and wacky refuses to listen to a human, in the process ruining their job prospects, family life, and sanity. We’ve seen it too many times in far too many incarnations (Alvin and the Chipmunks, the upcoming Smurfs atrocity, etc.). The vast majority of scenes in Hop serve no discernible purpose besides madcap antics. In one such scene with a completely unnecessary cameo, E.B. decides to audition for David Hasselhoff’s talent search Hoff Knows Talent that’s coming to town. Unlike the real-life America’s Got Talent, there is no audience here. It’s just The Hoff alone in a theater as scores of talented young people have their hopes crushed (don’t worry, he believed in E.B. and somehow was not phased when he started to speak English). Because apparently movie Hasselhoff has enough clout to rent out an entire concert venue on a whim. A strange departure from real life Hasselhoff, whose only mystical power seems to be the inability to locate a plate to eat his burgers over.

Yet this is a movie, and movies need conflict… is the thought that surely went through the screenwriter’s mind halfway through production. The real plot of the movie does not show up until about an hour in and while some movies make this choice in the name of character development but Hop has no real characters to speak of.

In the third act of the movie, the mistreated Easter Island worker chicks (bird chicks) stage a coup d’etat, the most adorable little yellow revolution the world has ever seen. Fred is kidnapped and E.B. must return to Easter Island in order to save him from the violent Tweety Junta. It’s a token plot point that seems to be resolved as quickly as it is brought up. The rebellion is crushed under an iron paw, and control reverts back to the bunnies. Or something. I wasn’t really sure what went on because it all happened so fast.

The team behind Universal Studios’ Hop must have been in a sugar coma to allow this saccharine, aimless production to pass inspection. It possesses no coherent plot, no humor, and no characters worth remembering. Even as kid’s fare it fails; Hop is little more than 95 minutes of bland, inoffensive nothing.

The only positive thing that can be said about Hop is that it didn’t overstay its blessedly brief welcome. It’s a crassly commercial film that serves only to add a crassly commercial air to Easter. Though it’s true that it is a kids film, this fact does not necessarily spare it from criticism. There is no youthful sense of wonder here. The only trait Hop shares with a child is a soiled diaper, though Hop’s diaper is filled with jellybeans.

Just hours later , Columbia City Cinema sent out a plea for help, explaining its own financial woes. To fund the installation of a new required sprinkler system, the theater announced a last-ditch plan to sell $1 stocks to the community.

In the public announcement, the cinema’s owner Paul Doyle said that closure would come “as early as January” if the stock plan didn’t work. It’s now April, and the state of local cinema seems to be—although not better than ever—better than it was six months ago.

As it turned out, selling stocks wasn’t a viable endeavor, but somehow the theater is still limping on. Doyle credits the cinema’s survival to a few changes they’ve made in the recent past. The stock idea was abandoned but they’re selling chair-back name plaques to the community in its place. They’re now showing films until 11:30 pm, and began holding Portlandia viewing parties.

In a partnership with the Rainier Valley Cultural Center, the theater is presenting a series of monthly benefit performances. Last month: Vagina Monologues; this month: an evening with Seattle writer and film director Garth Stein. April will bring a night of comedy with Almost Live! cast member John Keister.

Yet as Columbia City survives paycheck to paycheck, other independent theaters seem to be going strong.

Packed houses are no stranger to visitors of the Central District’s Central Cinema. Or at the very least the raucous energy people put out makes them seem packed. Central Cinema serves up beer and pizza alongside cult classics and Monty Python quote-alongs.

“2009 was in the toilet,” Central Cinema owner Kevin Spitzer says, “but 2010 was solid.” It’s a trend found across the city; the stormy seas that made themselves apparent last year seem to have calmed for the moment. Local theater owners are now breathing a tentative sigh of relief.

The Northwest Film Forum is another such theater. The cinema, located in the Pike/Pine area of Capitol Hill, is known for exhibiting classic films as well as more independent fare. Upcoming films at NWFF include a four-and-a-half hour documentary of Allende’s 1973 overthrow from power in Chile and  a series showing the films of Stanley Kubrick. Although the two-screen movie house was going through some trouble, communications director Ryan Davis tells me they’ve bounced back to business as usual.

“We don’t have a fraternal organization or corporate sponsor keeping us open,” Davis says, “we don’t have to worry about Bank of America or anyone closing down. The way other theaters are [surviving] now is by relying on small donations […]that’s the way we’ve always been.”

Central Cinema and Northwest Film Forum share one crucial distinction from cinemas like Columbia City Cinema and The Neptune; while the latter theaters were/are in direct competition with larger companies like AMC and Regal, Seattle theaters thrive when theyare able to carve out a niche for themselves.

“You see, the big chains make it impossible [for a small theater] to do first runs,” Kevin Spitzer tells me, explaining part of Columbia City Cinema’s problem. “A distribution company might make five copies of a film for showing in Seattle… A larger company like Landmark can use its staying power to get all five of those copies, which means Columbia City has to wait a few weeks.”

“The whole film business is tough,” Spitzer adds.

Paul Doyle of Columbia City Cinema remains optimistic about the future of his theater. “I’m sure we’ll find a way to stay open. I don’t have money, but I have faith.”

Well, more precisely, it started with sadness, as Garfield’s crushing 53–66 loss to Gonzaga Prep shattered my Saturday night playoff plans. I was in the throes of my basketball depression when my friend Miles called me up.

“I have a bunch of tickets to a preview showing of the new Rainn Wilson movie Super tonight,” he said, “want to come?”

The film’s Superhero, Rainn Wilson himself, would be there answering questions. Finally, my chance to see the Office star and Lake Forest Park, WA native in the flesh. “Alright, let’s do this.”

Super, written for the screen and directed by James Gunn, is the story of Frank D’Arbo (Wilson), who becomes the bumbling no-powers superhero Crimson Bolt after a vision of God tells him to avenge the drug dealer (Kevin Bacon) who stole his wife. In other words, it’s Kick-Ass for the artcat set.

As I said, the movie starts out with promise. The Crimson Bolt’s origin story is one of the funnier movie beginnings that I’ve seen in a while. The humor is fresh and the cast plays well off Wilson’s straight-faced wackiness. Kevin Bacon, here playing the womanizing cocaine tycoon Jacques, deserves special mention for a styled, funny performance. Interestingly, the Q&A revealed that the role of Jacques was originally supposed to be filled by Charlie Sheen.

However, once Frank dons his patchy red mask, the movie takes a bizarre, needlessly-violent turn. It was about when the Crimson Bolt bashes a man’s head in for cutting in line at a movie theater that I realized something was a little bit off.

Despite what its opening act may portray, Super is at its core a film ravaged by schizophrenia, so completely unable and unwilling to decide what it is about that it has lost all measure of internal sanity. It jumps from earnest lighthearted satire to miscued attempts at quirky sentimentality; from brutal murder to a just-for-laughs, awkward flight from the scene of the crime.

There is a disconcerting execution to Super’s violence; gunshots and wrench slams come down upon their victims with pitch-perfect comic timing. An apparent note from the James Gunn handbook: there is nothing intrinsically funny about a man’s head being slammed against a marble floor until his brains spill out, but if he’s a) a villain, and b) you execute it just right, you can elicit laughter from your audience.

And laugh the audience did. Hell, even I let out an involuntary chuckle or two. However by the end I wised up to what the film was doing while the rest of the people in the theater seemed to think it was “radical” (as one questioner called it).

“You can leave it to yourself to decide: was [Frank] a hero or was he a psychopath?” explained Rainn Wilson at the Q&A session. Yet this false pretense of ambiguity is offensive. Super carries a jarring contrast between the evil of its protagonist’s actions and the way that the score, script, and acting seem to work together to portray him as a valiant figure.

Let there be no mistake, I have no issue with violence in movies. Violence can be used as a tool to make people think about human nature. Violence can even be used to entertain (see: 300, Rambo, et. al).

2010’s Kick-Ass shares more than just a plot with Super. Both films involve scenes where horrific violence is played for laughs. Yet I wrote a positive review of the former, and am decrying the latter. Why is this?

Kick-Ass made a real critique of society and of the violence inherent in American media, and when I see a movie, all I ask is that it has a point. This is not to say that it must teach me a moral about the human condition, just that a decent movie needs to have a reason to exist, something to justify its use of perfectly good celluloid.

Simply put, Super is a movie without a point to make. I won’t say that it utilizes violence for violence’s sake, because I have no problem with that. My objection is that Super employs violence for no discernible sake at all.

Swedish Cultural Center

On the first Sunday of every month, the Swedish Cultural Center in East Queen Anne hosts a Swedish pancake breakfast. Costing $9 for non-members, the meal is open to the general public.

The first thing I notice after walking through the front door of the SCC is the number of cultural mementos filling the lobby. It’s my first non-IKEA introduction to Swedish culture; glass cases filled with blonde-haired dolls and other tchotchkes furnish the room, paired with white wicker chairs. A blue clock decorated with flowers sits next to a painting of the current queen and king of  Sweden. The second thing I notice after walking through the front door of the SCC is that I entered the wrong way, and must use the side entrance to access my pancakes.

Next to the parking lot, the basement door is held open for me. There stands a man dressed in traditional Swedish attire; high socks climb his legs where they meet khaki shorts and a long, navy blue coat. Visitors queue in a room advertising authentic Swedish wool sweaters and extolling the value of purchasing a membership in the Center. Once I reach the front of the line and pay my toll, I am given a red ticket and a blue ticket for a meal. The blue ticket, they’ll tell you, is for seconds, but it’s unnecessary you’ll need to use it.

The plate I trade for my ticket contains a piece of ham (a word of warning, there’s no seconds on meat) and three flat, folded thin pancakes served with whipped cream and lingonberry jam. The meat is decent—much like bacon or pizza, it is indeed difficult to mess up ham. The pancakes themselves have a taste and consistency almost like bread pudding. The whipped cream that tops them is appropriately sweet, and finds a good counterpart in the tartness of the jam.

The air is filled with the sounds of Swedish festival music, played by a band made up of  old members of the community and backed up on guitar by who I assume is one of their sons. It’s a bright, lively atmosphere; the slightly hospital-reminiscent aura created by the checkered tablecloths and bright fluorescent bulbs is overshadowed by the Nordic decorations and a clear view across Lake Union.

Circular tables force minimal interaction among patrons, however most of the people filling them arrived in large groups and carry on their own conversations. I certainly came away from the experience fullfilled. Even when folded the pancakes are only a half-inch tall, but they are so ludicrously dense that I abandoned the pretense of seconds and left my blue ticket on the table for another patron. 1920 E Dexter Avenue N. First Sunday of each month. $9.

Dom Polski

Unlike the Swedish Cultural Center, supper at the Capitol Hill Dom Polski (“Polish Home” for those readers without access to Google Translate) is not available to non-members. Fortunately, anyone who wants to access the delicious Central European food served within can do so by paying a small $1 one-day membership fee.

I’ve heard that dining at the Polish Home is a community event. Lines reach out the door and children run around unattended as old Poles sit at the bar yelling about their beer choice. These stories, however, are of the Dom’s Friday dinners. I went there on a Sunday afternoon, and saw significantly fewer people. It was pretty much just my family and another group halfway across the room.

Like the SCC, the room in which the Dom Polski’s restaurant is located walks a strange line between clinical and cultural. Table decorations and lighting suggest a cafeteria setting, but the interior construction is all dark wood, covered with paintings and other memorabilia.

One photograph, taken at what I assume was the Dom Polski’s inception in 1920, is a group portrait of members. Strips of paper litter the glass frame; upon closer examination it is revealed that on the strips are scrawled names of people depicted in the picture. Even more numerous than the strips of paper are adhesive remnants covering tokens of memory were sloughed off years ago.

I got a chance to try two items at Dom Polski. However one of them was the multi-dish Polish Platter, so I really got a chance to try seven items at Dom Polski. The opening course was a dill pickle soup ($4.50), a delicious concoction of pickles, potato, carrots, and a lot of dill. It is a sort of cross between cream of pickle soup and pickle chowder: it’s hearty but still has the delicate spices present in a good pickle.

The Polish Platter ($12.00) is a sampling of Dom Polski’s most prominent offerings, and from the platter it’s possible to deduce the central theme of the restaurant’s cuisine. Dom Polski is a place mostly of simple, binary flavors. Sauerkraut has a flavor of both sugar and vinegar. Shredded beets carry a slight tint of horseradish. The Pierogies are delicious, filled with sweet cheese.

I highly recommend Dom Polski. The flavors are authentic, and it’s easy to tell what parts of traditional Polish cuisine influence American cooking. 1714 18th Ave. Fridays 6pm-11pm Sundays 1pm-4pm. $5–13

Leif Erikson Lodge

An elderly woman with glasses searches through the guest list for tonight’s dinner at the Leif Erikson Lodge, searching for my name.

“I don’t see a Sam on here,” she tells me. After a few moments she eventually finds a transliteration of my name, a “Sam Heifzel”. Dinner at the Leif Erikson Lodge is served once per month, and non-members wishing to go must leave a message on the center’s voicemail stating their intentions.

During the woman’s searching, a man walks up to the check-in booth and jokes, “maybe if your name was Sven or Jan she’d be able to find it.” I find out that the man is Doug Warne, president of the Lodge—a chapter of the national Norwegian cultural organization Sons of Norway. The century old chapter currently has 1500 members, 200 of whom are now seated in the banquet hall in front of me.

The tables are packed, so I separate from my photographer companion and sit near the end of one of the long tables. Soon the first course of the meal is served to us, a light, creamy fish and shrimp soup.

Over soup, I start a conversation with the couple across from me. Erik and Courtney Gjesfjeld are archaeologists. Erik, who had a Norwegian upbringing in Wisconsin, tells me a story of his trip to Siberia in order to determine why people would have lived in such an inhospitable place.

“The answer, it turns out, is Sea Lions,” he explains; a group of Sea Lions lived on the Siberian coast, and a small tribe was able to use the resources to trade with other groups.

Over a plate of steamed carrots, potatoes, and a (slightly bland) dish of Cod cooked with an eggy cream sauce, I start a conversation with another man seated next to the Gjesfjelds. Scotty McDonald was a founding member of the Shorecrest High School Jazz Band.

The sense of community and cultural identity at the Lodge is much more prevalent than that seen at either the Swedish Center or the Dom Polski; whereas those places are essentially just restaurants, at the Leif Erikson Lodge I am a welcomed intruder of an established club. I make the mistake of calling what I ate at the SCC “Swedish Pancakes.”

“Norse Pancakes!” one woman corrects me playfully. “When I go out to eat, it’s hard to say ‘Swedish Pancakes’ because they taste just like ours.”

My gaze shifts around the room, eventually focusing on a painting depicting Viking ships off the North American coast with Native Americans walking in the foreground. The official stance of most members of the Leif Erikson lodge is that norsemen were the real pioneers of the New World.

As Scotty McDonald puts it, “Columbus got here using a Norweigan map.” 2245 NW 57th Street Once Per Month, Call for Reservations. $10

First, you need to understand exactly what the Internet is. In 2006, Alaska Senator Ted Stevens gave a speech calling the Internet “a series of tubes,” a metaphor for which he was widely ridiculed. Yet the Senator may have accidentally coined the best way to describe the information superhighway: a bunch of snaking connections of data that eventually make their way to every user in the world.

The success of the Internet is based on one principle: that all of these tubes are the same size. Any user can log on from any computer in the world and can get access to any websites he or she wants. It’s this freedom of transmission that allows the Internet to be the open library of information it’s known to be.

The job of an Internet Service Provider (ISP, like Comcast or AT&T) is to connect these tubes of data from all around the world into one pipe through which the user (that’s you) can get at whichever tube they choose. This principle of equal treatment for data is called Network Neutrality; the ISP Network’s job is to remain neutral and pass all data along without discrimination.

Unfortunately, these ISP corporations are completely unwilling to remain impartial in data transmission because there’s no money in it. What they want is the ability to split data up into multiple pipes, giving preferential treatment to different websites and customers.

Take this hypothetical situation: an ISP such as Comcast has a streaming video service that they want to promote. Unfortunately, a competitor—let’s say Netflix—provides a superior video service at a more affordable price. Rather than change their product or price to match that of their competitor, Comcast wants to be allowed to give Netflix a “narrower pipe,” slowing their download speeds to a crawl, effectively neutering its customers’ ability to access the competition. Or, alternatively, Comcast can hold Netflix for ransom, charging them a tax in order to not be destroyed; this would pass the cost on to the consumer in the form of higher Netflix subscription fees.

This hypothetical situation with Comcast and Netflix actually isn’t hypothetical at all: Comcast recently began charging Netflix a fee to continue existing, arguing that Netflix users comprise over 20 percent of all data transmission in the United States. Incidentally, this move came right on the heels of the announcement of Comcast’s very own XfinityTV streaming video service.

The argument over Net Neutrality exposes one of the major flaws of deregulation: corporate control. There needs to be some basic rules in place to prevent those with the biggest slice of the pie from using their pie-influence to bend the rules in order to get more pie. Net Neutrality ensures that anyone who wants to be the next eBay or Texts From Last Night starts out on an even playing field.

Net Neutrality is not yet codified into law, leaving large corporations a gaping hole through which they can exploit the open nature of the Internet for profit and personal growth. Contact Jim McDermot, Patty Murray, Maria Cantwell, anyone who represents your voice on the national scene, and let them know that you stand behind Net Neutrality.

There’s something to be said for a good buddy movie. From Rush Hour to Rain Man, from The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly to Harold and Kumar, the bromance is a familiar framework in which many great stories are told.

Of all the settings for a buddy film, The King’s Speech is an odd but magnificently successful choice; director Tom Hooper presents an oscar-calibre British period piece that depicts royal gossip and world wars as earnestly as it depicts the relationship between ruler and subject.

The title of the film holds a double meaning of both conflict and climax as King George VI must battle a debilitating speech impediment as the defining moment of his rule fast approaches: a radio address announcing the impending war with Germany.

The film opens as Albert, Duke of York, sits preparing to give a speech before thousands at a fog-choked Wembley stadium. Albert (portrayed by Colin Firth) does not recite any “red letter yellow leather” tongue twisters; he instead sits petrified, stares into space, and prepares himself for the humiliation he knows is coming. Eventually he is called up to the box to struggle through his speech, and struggle he does. The awkwardness resonates through the air as the Duke chokes on his words and takes minutes to spit out a short sentence. The nervous, terrified energy Colin Firth brings to the performance of just this scene alone would be worthy of award recognition, but the film is just beginning.

“It used to be all a King had to do was look respectable in uniform and not fall off his horse,” the George V tells his son in reference to the development of radio technology, “Now we must invade people’s homes and ingratiate ourselves with them.”

Unfortunately, voice is one tool Duke Albert certainly doesn’t have full command of. Despite years of searching for an effective speech therapist, not one method –not cigarette prescription, not even marble gargling– Albert and his wife Elizabeth (Helena Bonham Carter) attempt works. Albert gives up in his frustration and prepares for the shame of a life out of the public eye.

It is here the viewer is introduced to the central bromance of the film. On a recommendation from a friend, Elizabeth seeks the services of one last therapist. Lionel Logue (Geoffrey Rush) does his work in an austere studio, lit in shades of London grey from which cinematographer Danny Cohen somehow captures life and vibrancy.

Lionel’s speech therapy methodology takes on many aspects of regular therapy, involving complex psychoanalysis exploring the prince’s past. It is in these scenes where Colin Firth’s acting talent is made evident. He gives a performance of a thoroughly restrained man, carrying himself like someone who knows how a royal ought to act but who can’t seem to follow through with it. As he speaks of his past, the portrayal takes on a new level of understanding. The pressures of his duty instilled a nervous manner in the child, which eventually developed into a anxious stammer. In portraying the stuttering king, Colin Firth gives what very well may be the defining role of his career.

Geoffrey Rush’s Lionel is in stark opposition to that of Firth’s Bertie. While Albert displays his demons every time he speaks, Lionel keeps them well out of view. He is an open man, unwilling to deal with formalities and insisting that in his studio, he and the prince be treated as equals. “My castle,” he says, “my rules.”

It is this insubordination, the inversion of the balance of power that lies at the heart of the film: The King’s Speech is not simply a film about speech, nor does it strictly concern itself with kings. It is primarily a film about duty, about the expectations placed upon all people by both themselves and others. Every character in the movie struggles with the impossibility of reaching their own ambitions: Lionel is a failed Shakespearean actor, King Edward VIII (Guy Pearce) wants to marry a commoner, and his poor brother Bertie just wants to be left alone.

As Edward begins to shirk his kingly responsibilities and talk more and more seriously of marrying a non-royal divorcée, Bertie’s worst fears are confirmed: his brother will abdicate without an heir and the crown will be left to him. With war against Germany all but inevitable, Albert (who is crowned King George VI) will have to be the one to issue the proclamation of war.

It’s a strange climax for a film to have, the requisite stirring orchestral music accompanying not a scene of battle or national glory but that of a man attempting to say a few words into a microphone. In a lot of ways, The King’s Speech is an unconventional film. It takes the familiar mold of the British period piece but puts an emotionally stirring humanist spin on things. David Seidler’s screenplay is in a level rivaled this year only by a few films.

However, in some ways, the film is as rigidly conventional as the royalty it depicts. Despite the strength of its message and the beauty of its 1920’s screenscapes, not a single plot point happens in the film that is not able to be predicted from the very beginning.

Deserving special mention is the cinematography work by Danny Cohen, who did camera work for  Pirate Radio, (another British period film).  The film perfectly captures the grey atmosphere of London. It’s visually striking when it wants to be, and stays out of the way when it should.

Maybe The King’s Speech is just the same old Oscar-bait, but when storytelling is done this well it’s difficult not to say that the film deserves every award it will inevitably win.

Yet next to all of these bustling storefronts is a sight that has become all too familiar in this current economic climate. A row of several businesses stands closed for good, several “For Lease” signs the only clue that the now lifeless facades were ever once occupied.

However, among the abandoned windows and signs is one tenant who is as active as ever. Although the curtains to the windows are drawn, a bright red lettering above the door proclaims “U.S. Navy Recruiting”.

This lone open storefront in a tide that is decisively turned against it is indicative of the nation as a whole – publicly released military figures show that any 1 percent increase in civilian unemployment yields a 0.6 percent increase in recruiting.

A Princeton University study shows that “Voluntary military enlistment during wartime” depends on three factors: “college aspirations, lower socioeconomic status, and living in an area with a high military presence.” Garfield parent and prominent anti-war activist Kathy Barker says that it’s her duty to influence the latter. For the past five years, Barker has led the campaign to counter the presence of military recruiters in Seattle Public Schools.

“I got involved through anti-war work during the time that the [Iraq] war was starting. That’s when I became aware of No Child Left Behind,” she tells me.

The No Child Left Behind Act of 2001 (NCLB) was one of the earliest Congressional acts supported by George W. Bush. In addition to a subtle endorsement of public school prayer and an education reform plan based on standardized test scores, the bill requires that military recruiters be given the same level of access to student information as institutes of higher education, specifically names, addresses, and phone numbers.

“From both an anti-war perspective and as a parent, I found that horrendous, that they would mandate that we had to have military recruiters in schools getting access to kids.”

Although she had a child attending Garfield when she started her work (Zoe Barker-Aderem is a 2009 graduate), Barker’s campaign focused on other schools.

“There was a coalition at the time,” Barker tells me, “teachers and activists who wanted to let students know that they had the right to opt-out. That was all it was, just letting people know that they have the right not to give their name to the military” (The NCLB mandate on recruiters also includes a right to request that information not be released to military recruiters).

At first, the coalition did nothing but hand out papers; Barker and her compatriots stood (off of school grounds) and handed students the very same opt-out forms that now come in the start-of-school packets. Eventually, the group, along with several school PTSAs (including Garfield’s) worked out a compromise with Seattle Public Schools to redefine official military recruiter policy.

Seattle Schools’ official stance is fairly strict towards military recruiters on school grounds. Policy states that recruiters must stay in uniform, must identify their branch of service and the visit’s intention, and are held to strict expectations. Garfield rules allow counter-recruiters (including Kathy Barker) to be present at all recruiter meetings, as long as they do not “interfere or confront the recruiters”. The guidelines for principals state that although SPS is required under threat of loss of federal funding to give recruiters certain admissions, “equal access does not require more access.”

Yet at Garfield’s 2010–2011 homecoming assembly, three army representatives stood in the audience. After the dougie-ing and introductions finished, they walked up and called down Pierre Wright. Wright had recently been an integral player in Garfield’s 35–28 victory over Roosevelt, where he had rushed for 261 yards and passed for 104—an achievement that’s difficult even in Madden.

The three men in full uniform, along with a representative of the Seattle Seahawks, presented Wright with the “U.S. Army Player of the Week” award. According to the award’s official website, the $250 prize is awarded to the ASB of a player who displays “Army Strong” traits of “loyalty, duty, respect… honor… and personal courage.”

Though the presentation was fairly respectful, and focused mainly on Wright’s impressive achievements, the army connection felt forced. Says Junior Grant Bronsdon, “I thought it was great that Pierre was recognized, and I didn’t feel that the Army presence was a big deal — although it was a little overblown and unnecessary when they started talking about the army’s ‘core values’.”

“I was really honored to receive the award.” Wright says. “It made me want to work even harder to follow my dream.”

Garfield Principal Ted Howard explains his reasoning behind approving the presentation: “Any time a parent calls me saying that their kid’s being honored, it doesn’t really matter which organization…I would lean toward the side of ‘this kid is being honored, why take that honor away from the kid?’ And that’s the question you have to weigh between the sides: is that message going to get lost in [the Army connection]?”

Kathy Barker maintains the position that such an award is a form of recruiting just as influential as direct informational meetings. Recruiters are held to two Career Center visits per year, but community outreach events such as the U.S. Army POTW award are not subject to that limit. “This is what recruiting is,” Barker asserts.

“The Recruiter Handbook”, published by the United States Army Recruiting Command and freely available on the internet, outlines many “tools, tips, techniques, and insight” intended to help recruiters “provide a continuous supply of quality volunteers”. Among the most repeated aspects of the manual is the importance of involvement in the community. The manual implores recruiters to “participate in public events such as high school sports functions, community fundraisers, or Army-sponsored events” and says “this type of involvement will demonstrate your willingness to be a viable part of the community.”

In addition to lauding the effectiveness of being a visible member of the community, the “Handbook” also suggests finding and addressing “student influencers” by informing them about the benefits the Army can provide. It states, “Students such as class officers, newspaper and yearbook editors, and athletes can help build interest in the Army in the student body” (Italics are my own).

Yet for all of the recruiting tactics Kathy Barker fights against, there are some people who made their military decision earlier than high school.

There’s no doubt, however, that he’s a smart asshole. The author of I Hope They Serve Beer in Hell—and, recently, Assholes Finish First—graduated from the University of Chicago after three years, and got an academic scholarship to Duke Law School. Instead of using his J.D to get work as a blood-sucking lawyer, Max decided to pursue his passion: writing books about terrible things he has done.

Anyone who’s read his books knows why I Hope They Serve Beer in Hell has been on the NY Times best seller list since 2006; it features stories of debauchery that Max manages to tell in an extremely entertaining way. Just ask any Garfield guy, they’ll probably give you a glowing recommendation.

Any author who writes stories of debauchery and womanizing is bound to receive criticism for them, and Tucker Max is no stranger to criticism. He’s been accused of misogyny, being a bad role model, and being a terrible person; he only admits one of those claims. I recently got to talk to Tucker Max about such accusations, his new book, and other fascinating questions.

Unfortunately, Tucker Max is a dick. Everyone I spoke to before the interview, including myself, were under the impression that Tucker Max is somehow funny or clever in person. He is not. The tone of his voice throughout the entire interview was banal and flat. As one senior describes it, “it sounds like he forgot what words were…maybe he’s drunk.”

(The following interview has been slightly edited for clarity)

Sam Heft-Luthy: Have you no sense of decency, sir?

Tucker Max:[solid 15 second pause] Are you done? [pause] Are you gonna ask me a question?

SHL: What was your high school experience like?

TM: Like most high school experiences. It was…[bitter sigh] High school was annoying and tedious, and filled with stupid people who aren’t in my life anymore. High school for me was just something to get through, to get done so that I could go on to do stuff that I like.

SHL:What is the most recklessly illegal thing you’ve ever done?

TM: [pauses] I..don’t know, I mean it’s hard to pick just one out of the things I’ve ever done to be the most recklessly illegal thing. [cleverly] I mean I’ve written two books about stuff that I’ve done, so I’d say just go and take your pick.

SHL: In five words, how do you respond to claims that you hate women?

TM: It’s stupid…. [takes a second]It’s just stupid and wrong. That’s five words right there.

SHL: Assholes Finish First is divided into two sections, pre-fame and post fame. Are you running out of pre-fame stories?

TM: Yeah, what’s already happened has happened. I can’t make up stuff that was supposed to have happened in 2005. At some point there’s no more stories to tell.

SHL: What books or authors have inspired your writing?

TM: The big ones are John Kennedy Toole – I love Confederacy of Dunces – and probably Chuck Palahniuk who wrote Fight Club.

SHL: In other interviews, you’ve mentioned that you’re not always “on”, that most of the time you just have a normal life. How often do you party like in your books?

TM: I can do anything I want any time I want; the question is when or if something happens that is funny that I can write about, that other people want to hear about. I pretty much party any time I want to.

SHL: Has anyone that was in one of your stories ever contacted you to talk about the fact that you wrote about them?

TM: Actually, I wrote about that in the second book. Yeah, a bunch of people have. Especially now that the book’s more popular.

SHL: One of your stories details your exploits using a bullhorn to mess with people while camping out to enter a lottery for Duke Basketball tickets. Did you end up getting the tickets?

TM: My group did. The way you do it is like 10 of you pool your tickets, you know pool your chances to get tickets, and some of you will win and you’ll split them up. There were 12 people in our group and like seven got tickets. So yeah I got to see pretty much whatever games I wanted.

SHL: What is your spirit animal?

TM: What? I mean, are you f*cking serious?

SHL: Alright, what animal do you most closely identify with?

TM: I don’t. They’re animals, that’s stupid. Humans, how about that?

SHL: So new book’s out. What’s next?

TM: The next book. Hilarity Ensues out in 2011.

So there you have it, folks. Buy his books—they’re hilarious. But if I were you, I wouldn’t try to be his best friend.

Surf Frogs($29.99)

A diorama habitat for the cooler amphibians in your life, Surf Frogs is a plastic diorama complete with plastic wave, surfboard, and beach umbrella. The toy was intended to teach young children about the lives of frogs, a fact that seems weird given the product’s name-Surf Frogs. Unfortunately, you won’t be able to experience the magic yourself; the product is currently out of stock.

Swedish Fish, 5lbs. ($29.51)

Some may ask the question, “What can I do with five pounds of Swedish Fish?” I however, ask the question, “What can’t I do with five pounds of Swedish Fish?” Great for a party of seven year olds or a gathering of old people, 1000 Swedish Fish can sweeten any occasion. It’s also worth noting that Amazon suggests the Panasonic ER421KC Nose and Ear Hair Trimmer as a related item. Go figure.

Sour Cream Powder, 1lb. ($6.79)

This is the flagship product of Berry Farms, whose other offerings include Pretzel Salt and Vital Gluten Flour. Little information is given about thesubstance other than that it is formed by adding warm water. From what I can gather, it seems like Sour Cream Powder is excellent for those days when you want that great sour cream taste without that reassuring sour cream texture or temperature.

JL421 Badonkadonk Land Cruiser/Tank ($19,999.99)

The Badonkadonk Land Cruiser is probably modeled off of Jabba The Hutt’s sand skiff in The Return of The Jedi; the similarities are too numerous to be accidental. Although it gets excellent mileage for a civilian class 1300 pound death machine, the 8mm armor just plain doesn’t stand up to the small arms fire so common on today’s battlefield. The item also gives a new, terrifying meaning to the phrase “she got a donk.”

Uranium Ore ($39.95)

Yes, uranium ore. Along with almost no real description, Uranium Ore’s page has possibly the best user review ever: “I purchased this product 4.47 Billion Years ago and when I opened it today, it was half empty.”

Tuscan Whole Milk, 1 Gallon, 128 fl oz ($160.00)

Just search it, trust me.

After doing the research necessary to write this article, I noticed that my “Suggested For You” items had gone from excellent music and helpful electronic gadgets to wolf urine and a home drug test. So worth it.