I am eight-years old and am sitting on the edge of my seat in a packed to the brim movie theater. This is the moment I have been waiting for since six months ago when I found out my favorite hero, Indiana Jones, would be in a new movie. I saw all his other movies on our TV set, so seeing him on the big screen with giant speakers blasting is going to be awesome. I can’t wait to see what great adventure he will get into this time.
The first scene is already filled with plot holes and bad action. Indiana Jones survives a nuclear test bomb blast by hiding inside of a refrigerator? Then he doesn’t get nuclear radiation poisoning when he gets out? Even I know that doesn’t make sense. But it’s still early. It’s bound to get better soon right?
I am in the middle of the movie and it’s not getting any better! A sudden and dreadful realization hits me like a brick wall. This movie is awful. NOOOO!!!! Oh My God! How is my favorite director, Steven Spielberg, doing this to me? I was wrong, Harrison Ford IS too old to still play this part. Should someone his age be getting into fist fights and knocking out people thirty years younger than him? Or jumping off moving vehicles? No. And don’t get me started on Shia LeBeouf being his son. That stupid motorcycle punk could never be related to my Indiana Jones.
Instead of paying attention to the dumb plot, my mind starts to wander and I start blaming George Lucas. Why does anyone let him write anything ever! This is the same man that wrote the Star Wars prequels, filled with crappy dialogue like “Love won’t save you Padme, only my new powers can do that”, “I don’t like sand. It’s rough and coarse and irritating and it gets everywhere” and worst of all, “I’m haunted by the kiss you never should have given me”. Ugh! Who talks like that?!? Spielberg, one of the biggest names in Hollywood, should be above this ridiculousness.
Since I’m stuck here for another hour I try to find something, anything positive to cling to. There could still be some cool action sequences or a killer ending. A great ending can make any movie way better. Even The Phantom Menace had that cool fight with Darth Maul at the end. I finally reach what is clearly meant to be the climactic action sequence. And what do I get? Shia LaBeouf swinging like a crappy tarzan through the jungle with an army of ridiculous CGI monkeys mixed with some of the most ridiculous and improbable action sequences known to man. I catch myself laughing multiple times at how bad this looks. Then, for the iceing on this most disheartening cake, aliens show up out of nowhere, and the movie ends. And my heart breaks. So much potential, wasted. I’m deflated. Left in shock. My chance to see a great Indiana Jones’ movie in theaters, gone. My favorite hero has been turned into a joke.
My First Day on the Job
Once I got a job working at a day camp. I am assigned to the five and six year old kids. We play a name game.
“I’m Matt the Moose.”
The kids giggle.
“Hi Matt the Moose! I’m Sally the ….. Squirrel”
“Matt the Moose, Sally the Squirrel and I’m Tom the Tarantula!”
We start going to different program activities, like archery.
“Matt, can you carry me?”
“It’s my turn next!”
We walk down the steep hill to the pool.
“Do I have to go in the water?” “Yes, non negotiable. Go in.”
“MATT I’M SWIMMING!” “I can see that. Great job! Keep it up!”
“I need to go to the bathroom!” “Does anyone else need to go?” Silence.
I tell my co-counselor, take Aidan from the pool, across camp to the bathroom and back to the pool.
“Matt I need to go to the bathroom!”
“I need to go too.”
“Why didn’t you tell me before?”
“I forgot to tell you.”
I swear, these kids have bladders the size of marbles.
I finally sit down.
All of the kids start getting out of the pool. I walk around the pool deck, making sure everyone is drying off. Sally and Laura are braiding each others hair. Will and Adrian are throwing a beach ball back and forth. Gosh these kids are cute.
Most people call me Matt. My mother calls me Matthew. It means gift from God, which is ironic because I am an atheist. In Spanish class I was Mateo. Some people still call me that. I was originally going to be Mitchell, but my parents said I didn’t look like a Mitch, so they decided to name me Matthew instead.
Another reason I was supposed to be named Mitchell is that I am named after my grandfather who died before I was born. My being named Matthew is still me being named after him. Also, we both share the same hebrew name. I am like him because he was tall and I am tall and the rest of my family is very short. I wish I could have met my grandfather. I have been told he was an amazing skier. As I zip through the trails I imagine him skiing beside me as I blaze down the mountain. When I fall down, I know he would want me to get up. I wonder if he were alive what stories he would be able to tell me about his childhood in Brookline, the time he met Ted Williams and what my mother was like growing up.
My middle name is much more unconventional than my first and last names. It is Halperin and most people have never heard that name before. It was my mother’s maiden name. My initials are MHC. I kind of wish I had my dad’s middle name, Andrew, because then my initials would be MAC and I know that would really annoy my friend Nathaniel because he vastly prefers using PC computers over MAC computers.
Though I love my name, it is very average. Sometimes I wish I had a cool tennis name like Novak or Rafa or Bjorn. Bjorn is like the sound the ball makes on the strings when you hit it just right. Novak is like hitting an overhead and Rafa sounds like a beautiful finesse shot.