Midnight_Special_(film)_poster

Midnight Special is a new movie from Jeff Nichols (director of Mud). Following is a synopsis:

A father (Michael Shannon) goes on the run to protect his young son, Alton (Jaeden Lieberher), and uncover the truth behind the boy’s special powers. What starts as a race from religious extremists and local law enforcement quickly escalates to a nationwide manhunt involving the highest levels of the Federal Government. Ultimately his father risks everything to protect Alton and help fulfill a destiny that could change the world forever.

It opens in select markets tomorrow, March 18th, and goes into wide release beginning April 1st. It sounds to be very much a character-driven sci-fi flick (in the vein of Inception), exploring the nature of life, love, and faith. It’s sitting currently at a very respectable 84% on Rotten Tomatoes. With a score that high, who wouldn’t want to see it?

That’s where you come in!

Grace Hill Media has graciously given me two Movie Money certificates to give away here on the blog. We’re going to make this easy. No Rafflecopter this time; just comment below, and using Random.Org I’ll randomly select a winner (we’re all about random here).

ms movie money

The certificates are good through April 21st; who doesn’t like a free movie?

Cheers!

I’m not one for lists, formulas, ten steps to this, ten steps to that. But there is one secret to success that, in our quest for shortcuts, glory, viral fame, we overlook.
 
 Why?
 
 Because it’s not sexy. It doesn’t sell books, promise riches, cure cancer, or even make life easier.
 
 What is this secret?
 
 Sure you’re ready?
 
 Here it is:
 
 Show up, and do the work.
 
 Told you it wasn’t sexy. It’s not what itching ears want to hear. Let me put it this way: if even the Bible says “work out your own salvation with fear and trembling,” what does that say about the rest of life, and the things that are worth doing?
 
 They’re not going to come easy. There are no shortcuts.
 
 I don’t care if you’re a writer, a bodybuilder, a homemaker, a husband, a wife, a student, an employee. The secret to success in any of those things is: show up, and do the work. Whoever said that love isn’t work, that doing what we love isn’t work, lied. Nothing ever worth doing comes easily.
 
 We know this. We all know this, but we want instant success. Conversations are the currency of any relationship; show up, and listen. Extend mercy, grace, and forgiveness. Do the hard work of humbling yourself when you’re wrong.
 
 Words are the currency of the writer; continue putting them down on the page–even if no one will ever see them. Show up; don’t give up.
 
 Iron is the currency of the bodybuilder; to grow, one must lift–and continue lifting.
 
 What do these all have in common? Grit.
 
 Grit, determination, and self-discipline.
 
 See? I told you it wasn’t sexy. But it’s true. And hard truths always and everywhere trump sexy lies. I don’t need to tell you that this requires sacrifice, a giving up of the things we like to pursue what we love.
 
 So show up, and do the work.
 
 
 

Let’s say you’re husband out for your monthly dinner date night with your wife. Monthly, because that’s what you can afford within your household budget. Because it’s a popular, well-known place you made your reservations far in advance. You and wife arranged childcare; you’ve been looking forward to this for a long time.

You get there, availing yourselves of valet parking. You don’t do this often, so you want the full experience. You get inside, get seated, order drinks and appetizers. You unwind, relax, enjoy one another’s company like you haven’t in some time.

Your meals come. You switch with your wife, because it wasn’t quite what she expected. You don’t mind, you love her, and hey! It’s food!

You talk, holding hands, looking lovingly into one another’s eyes. You order dessert. Chocolate mousse cheesecake. It disappears.

The check comes; your jaw hits the floor. It’s far higher than you budgeted for. Turns out the restaurant has a policy of randomly assigning the bills, distributing them arbitrarily. And you got the check for a large party. You’re stuck.

It’s the restaurant’s policy. Nothing you can do.

AND THAT, MY FRIENDS, IS BERNIE SANDERS.

O, Canada!

randomlychad  —  January 28, 2016 — 4 Comments

Canada. Land of maple syrup and poutine. America’s hat. You are home to some of the gosh darn nicest folks in this, or any other, galaxy. Lo, it has been many years since I visited your fair shores. But visit you I did one summer in my youth.

Here’s how it happened:

My bother and I were summering with the grandparents in the cool pines of Western Pennsylvania, when one say grandma decided we needed to see the falls. Niagara, that is. So she hustled us into her Oldsmolbuick, and off we were on a road trip. Over the river, and through the woods, with grandmother we went… to Buffalo. Home of wings, Bills, and freezing temperatures. And not a lot else.

In any case, grandma decided that experiencing the falls from the U.S. side, well, was falling a bit short. So crossed the border (“What’s your purpose in visiting Canada, eh?” “Coming to see the falls, sir.” “Well, have a lovely day, and don’t forget the syrup”), and headed for the view.

It was water. It was wet, moist, and misty. I’m not gonna lie, Marge, the surge of that powerful stream is pretty impressive. But it didn’t leave as much of an impression as the Canadian bread shop did. You see, grandma wanted to buy some bread. So why not buy it from a friendly Canadian shop keeper, eh?

So we did. And there, in amongst the loaves, was a special surprise.

“Grandma, what’s this?” I asked, holding up this unknown Canadian prize.

Turning to me, shrieked she, “Here now! Put. That. Down!” You have to understand, I was about eleven at the time. I goggled back at grandma, wondering what it was I held in my outstretched hand.

“Put that dirty thing down now! Where did you find that?”

You see, what I didn’t know at the time, what I held in front of poor grandma’s shocked visage, found there with the Wonderbread, was a Canadian wonder then unknown to my young mind:

An unrolled condom.
(It was probably maple-flavored, but we’ll never know).

O, Canada!