The way my brother died was this:

Hiking (somewhere) along a nature preserve within the Black Hills of South Dakota, a bear swallowed him whole.

I mourned his passing for many days

And decided that (surely) I would avenge his death.

The plot to avenge my brother's death was this:

I would find the bear. I would find his brother. And I would kill it. Eye for an eye and what have you...

So.

I packed some this-and-that (Axe, bug spray)--and I Mapquest my way to South Dakota.

Using the native blood and instinct of my father's before me, I navigated the great trails that lay in my wake. I used the sun and the trees and my imminent, boiling revenge to channel me up and down and about the rivers. And somewhere, in the heart of those woodlands, I came upon an old black bear.

"You there," I said—

"It was you who took from me my brother"

(I know, for he wore my brother's sneakers).

"Yes," he said.

"I've come to avenge him," I said.

"Oh," he said.

"And though the hate in my heart that I have for you is magnificent and strong, death by my hand would not be justice enough," I said.

"Oh," he said.

"Tell me, black bear. Where can I find your brother?"

"My brother?" He said…

"Is just over the crest of that mountain, fishing for some  

Nice blue walleye".

"You should find him there," he said.

"Thank you, black bear," I said—

As I wandered up and over the mountain to take from him his brother.

At the river was my foe; bigger and blacker than a sea of a thousand dying Haitians.

"Bear," I said.

"I've come to avenge my brother"…

But then he ate me.

The innards of such a big and toothy killer are as wet and warm and repugnant as the darkest corners of any mans mind…

Mostly I would wait, but

Often the two bears would go walking.

And so it came to be that my brother and I would go walking.

We would sleep and fish and eat within their brilliant red bellies—without hesitance. With peace and calm and sincerity.

We came to love the bears for giving us something that we had lost somewhere along the quick and hurtful transition into our own separate manhoods.

We were all very close.

I didn't used to be a tree. Hell, not too long ago there was time when I just flat out wasn't. I'd wake up in the morning just the same as anyone else; take showers, wear pants, eat pitas. I had so many THINGS! Gift cards, nail trimmers—big fucking friends lists on Myspace and Facebook! I would actually DO shit. I'd take snapshots and write stories. I'd make artsy little films that had terrific moments of humor and insight. I was nice, I was liked.—I had a smile you wouldn't believe and a girl on my arm so pretty you'd double-take a few more times than two. Heck, I even got to have sex with her! And not just the sweet tender stuff, but the real porno shit too.

Sometimes, we'd just sleep. All snuggled up in that special way, where she would just cuddle up to my side and get her head all up on my chest and shit. That was nice. Not really convenient, but comfortable in the way that only lovers know.

She left me for a Rock Star.

Used to be bitter about it.—Hell, I'd even say jealous or obsessed. But that was before I was a big fucking tree.

See, back then…everything was crooked inside me. None of my parts made any sense. There was ego, paranoia, and this terrifying will to succeed and fulfill. I had this pathetic thirst for worldliness---and a silly sense that grandeur was going to make me whole. Of course…that was before I got low.

Sure, I did some dumb shit along the way—but we're talking bottoms! I mean, I had NOTHING going. Nothing but my sweet, sexy lies—my great eight stories to tell—and a knack for alienating everyone around me. Back in those days…I'd probably cheat and steal from a fucking baby.

I smoked. I drank. I put my penis in many different places.—And even that wasn't enough, because I'd masturbate too. I was in debt. I'd sponge in all sorts of useless and obscure cultural phenomena to make myself interesting or entertaining. Mercy me, I had my pretensions. And I didn't have any faith either! You should have seen me, I didn't believe in anything.

…Of course, you'd never be able to tell, because FUCK ME if I didn't have a GREAT smile! Forty year old women were nuts about me.

I had brothers and sisters—a mom and a dad. And they'd put up with me, pay my car insurance. Boy oh boy, I thought I had it made. Comfortable pillows, movie posters up on my walls…

But you know what? Didn't mean a thing. Not a goddamned thing. All my shit, my problems…my ups and downs, the good and the bad…everyone had 'em. They were just as common as gin in tonic. And sure sure it took me awhile to sicken of it…but sicken of it I did! And one day…swinging back and forth in our big back yard—I found myself fixated on a stretch of trees. Inconsequential, uncharacteristic—but grounded. Tall and strong and there.

Me—I was sad and weak and flabby; inconsistent, with too many cares. So…as you can imagine, sitting there, moping,…it was quite a thing indeed to see them towering above the grass and houses—settled and complacent with their bark and leaves. Fucking surreal.

Now, anyone else might call it a revelation. But to me, it was less a moment of clarity and more a moment of sense…I was going to be a tree.

So. I grabbed a shovel, picked out a nice little spot on the bump of a hill not too far from home. And I began to dig.

Boy did I dig! I bitched that shovel into the ground with such focus and precision. Had my father been watching, he would have been proud. I just dug and dug and dug—scraping the earth up and before me for hours. And when I got good and deep, I stripped out of my clothes and climbed right on in.

I buried myself right to the starts of my nipples and began to wait.

It wasn't easy at first. After all, these things take time…but wouldn't you know it, after a few hard days and nights—I began to take root. My flesh hardened and my trunk grew wonderful and thick. Rain sweat down my new and perfect singularity. And I began to bark and bud all over! Days and days and days and I was natural and calm…all my notions became leaves—beautiful greens that would brown and fall. I had terrific, predictable cycles. I became majestic and tall! People stood under my branches and marveled at my size, relaxed in my shade. I was comfortable…dependable. No more cell phones. No more credit hours. No more DVDs. Only the want to grow and be.

My roots twisted and tangled and gripped into all that was around me. I tore into the sky and watched at those who loved me. I was stoic and wise. I had no need for answers.

Children climbed and leaned against me, fell asleep to my gentle rustles. Surely, one day they'd come back to the places they had once lived and feel thoughtful and nostalgic to see me here.

And this is how I am.

A few days back I was kicked out of my house, for reasons that will go unmentioned. I stayed with friends for the first few nights, but then decided to begin sleeping in my car for a number of reasons. Firstly, because to me it seemed romantic--and secondly, to spite my mother.

It was a Saturday night and I knew my family would be going to the first service of church in the morning. The idea of them showing up and finding me huddled up in the back of my car, blanketed by my possessions just seemed so...delectable.

So, I found a nice spot under a tree---cracked the windows a bit, kicked off the 'ol shoes and climbed into the back where I struggled into an uncomfortable sleep..

At 5:30 in the morning, I waken to a hand feeling around in my back pocket. Instinctively, I grab at it. And there I am squinting into the darkness, holding the arm of some man. A number of other things have changed as well; for example, it is now raining; my dash is open and there is shit all over my car; my cell phone isn't in my pocket--

Whoever I'm holding, breaks free and begins to jog off into the night. He has an umbrella. All I can manage is a "What the fuck?"--as I lunge myself into the front seat and try to unlock my passenger door. I finally manage to escape---and begin running after him in my socks, totally sick with the morning. I come up to the next street and look around,  he isn't anywhere.

I stand and soak in the rain for a good long while, trying to ponder all my amazing misfortune as of late--and for the first time in a long time feel very low. I walk slowly back to my car and survey the damage...

My cell phone, work apron, and some cigars.

I drive around half-heartedly looking for him and then give up. I have to piss, so I go to Burger King. And as I'm washing my hands, looking at myself in the mirror---I notice the bare black feet of a man in the stall behind me. He's changing his clothes--and it suddenly occurs to me that Burger King is only a back alley away from my car--and the only place that is open.

So, I get a coffee and wait. I wait for a good 20 minutes and finally he comes out. He looks right at me and then walks to and behind the counter. He works there. And he doesn't have an umbrella.

I'm almost upset that it's not him, because I had sat there romancing our confrontation in my head--going over it again and again; He walks out with his head down, playing with my phone...comes forward and there I am. He looks at me shocked, turns his head around quickly to see who else is in the room. He doesn't know what to do, but decides to try and play it cool--just says, "What's going on, man?" But I'm fucking ice--and just take the phone from him. Then, real badass like, I turn and say..."what kind of bitch uses an umbrella anyways?"...and walk into the rain.

I get up and toss what's left of my coffee. And as I'm turning to leave, I see my friend from the bathroom gathering his things in the back. He goes out the rear door, opening up his umbrella on the way out...that same umbrella that ran me out into the rain at 5:30 in the morning.

I walk to the back of the Burger King and catch him at the beginning of a smoke. He looks up and says nothing.

"Hey guy," I say, "There's a couple of phone calls I've been needing to
 make--and  I was wondering if you might have a cell phone that I could use".

He just shakes his head and says "No".

I ask him if he's sure and he tells me he is. So I walk off.

In the morning, church isn't nearly as fun as I had imagined it would be. My parents show up late--and freak out when they find out what happened. They insist that I fill out a police report--even though the whole thing seems futile to me.

So, there I am standing on the steps outside with a few Elders--waiting for some cop to show up.

One of the guys waiting with me says,

"I hate to sound discriminatory, but was he black?'

And all I could do was hate that he WAS black. I had just been mugged--and here I was wanting to punch THIS asshole in the face, asking irrelevant asshole questions.

The cops came, I filled out my report, and they seemed very concerned about my missing cigars. I said thank you and went to work.

EPILOUGE:

Life went on.

And I moved back home.

He dropped off my apron and cigars at the church.

And some friends and I were able to reach him on the phone.

His name is George--and he said that he would like to return the phone, but is worried that we might have a gun. George is going to call us back from a pay phone and tell us where we can pick up the cell.

Moral aptitude. That's what makes this a good story.

I gave a prostitute a ride the other night. It was late, I had just gotten off work--and was picking up some tonic water from the liquor store before meeting with friends. As I'm trotting back out to my car, I hear a voice behind me; "excuse me...excuse me". So I turn around. Her name was Misty and she was probably in her late 20s, but looked older. She was wearing 'laundry day' clothes and carrying a garbage bag full of god knows what. She asked if she could use my phone. I told her she could and began to light her cigarette.

So we sit there smoking and waiting, but whoever she's trying to call isn't answering. She bounces around up and down the sidewalk and comes up very close to me, asks if I'm looking for a good time. Unbelievably, I don't make the connection (it's the plight of my good nature). So, I say; "Hey, I'm ALWAYS looking for a good time!" (in the dope-ish way that only I could achieve). So she asks how much money I have---and then I do make the connection. "Ohhhh, you mean THAT kind of good time. I thought you meant the REGULAR type of good time. I'm just looking for the regular type of good time..."

She just brushes it off and smiles---tells me that she had to at least try--and then dials her phone number again. Finally, she gives up and asks what way I'm going. "Well, which way do you need to be?" I ask.
It's not far, so I tell her she can ride with me. We begin to drive along in an awkward silence--and I resist turning on the radio, because I don't know what it is a prostitute wants to listen to.

The questions you might typically ask someone in such a situation, you can't ask a sex worker. "So, what brings you to this side of town," "Where you headed?" "You work around here?"--It's not as if these conversational staples would go over well, so mostly we drive in silence.

She asks if I have any gum and I don't, but right about then I need gas to put in my car's tummy. So, I find some pumps and pull over. As I'm getting out, she asks if she can just sit and listen to the radio and I say that's fine. But as I'm walking into the station I realize that I just left my car running with a woman who sleeps with men for sex. I become completely paranoid and worried about my kindness being taken advantage of---but can't possibly imagine a scenario where I trot back to the car, grab my keys and say, "Sorry, but I just don't trust you". So instead I just obsessively crane my head in the direction of my car the entire time I'm in line to buy gas (and wouldn't you know it, a pack of gum for Misty).

Misty is now out of the car, having a smoke (right at the pump), and giving her phone number out to a few shirtless men. As I approach them, one of them says; "Hey man, anyone ever tell you that you look like Elvis?" And I say, "No"--because I don't. Misty tells me that she's going to catch a ride with these guys and I say that's fine and give her some gum. She smiles and asks if I want her phone number. I say no thank you--and still somehow manage to feel guilty, as if somehow I'm putting this prostitute down, rejecting her--why can't she just catch a break? But she seems fine enough, bounces off into an old Lincoln with two men and drives off into the night forever.

The first time I shaved,
My brother laughed at me.

He said
I wasn't old enough.

He said
I had peach fuzz, not whiskers.

I said,
"Fuck you—you don't even
 Have peach fuzz".

Whenever you take
A bitch out—
You usually tell her
A lot about
Yourself.

And
When you hear
Yourself saying
This shit
--you hate it.

Why do you
Fucking love
Yourself
So much?

You're a prick.

You probably hang out
With people who are
Generally like you.

Most people do.

It just makes sense.
You share many of
The same interests.

It's easy to get along.

"List of Good Games (To Music)"

Donkey Kong. Super Mario World. Duck Hunt. Bomber Man. Sonic the Hedgehog 2. Mega Man. Super Metroid. The Legend of Zelda: Ocarina of Time. Super Smash TV 2000. Lemmings. Number Munchers. Minesweeper...

Everybody has a car.
--and some even know
How to change their own
Fucking oil. 

--it cost $14.97
At Wal-Mart.

I don't want to know
Anything about my
Car.

 Wiffle balls.

Biggest fucking waste
Of time ever.

"Moms and Dads"

Moms and dads
Bought me these
Clean teeth.

They pay for
My college.

Fuck them.

Fuck them so much,
I hate them.

--Why won't they
Pay my cell phone
Bill?

Life is
So unfair.

Snakes shed skin
So they can be
A new snake.

People can't
Do that.

There are
No new people.

Paper
Should only
Be cheap
And plentiful
For idiots.

--When
You're so
Painfully brilliant,
It must be
Some sort
Of sin—

To be able
To buy
An entire
Pad of
Paper
For only
$1.49!

The brilliant
Things you
Could
Write!

It should be
100 dollars
A pad.

And we
Should punish
The
Exceptional.

DISCLAIMER:

 I would just like to start by saying, I thought this was a generally horrible year for movies. In another time and place, it's likely that many of the films in my 'Top 10' wouldn't even see the light of day—but when the pickings are slim…

THE TOP 10 FILMS OF 2006:

1. BABEL

 Everywhere "21 Grams" fails, "Babel" succeeds. An honest to goodness
 throw- back to the sporadic greatness of Iñárritu's first film, "Amores
 Perros," that is subtle, beautiful, and effective. This didn't accidentally make
 its way into my NUMBER 1 spot.

2. VOLVER

I've been thinking on it. And I've come to the decision that Pedro Almodóvar can do no wrong. I mean, honestly—can you think of a bad film that he has directed off the top of your head?—Can you even think of a mediocre one? The man makes brilliantly layered films. And while VOLVER for the most part drops all the usual sexual misadventures that are so typical in Pedro's films—it's all the better for it. Because watching this film, you might be tricked into thinking that is some sort of mainstream fare, with all sorts of comedy hijinx that ensure. But what you get is poignant, colorful portrait of what it means to live and yearn ( SEE BABEL ABOVE FOR REFENCE).

3. CASINO ROYALE

I was very honestly tempted to say that this was my favorite film of 2006. And who knows, maybe deep down in my heart of hearts, it is. It certainly did surprise me. Because from the get-go, "Casino Royale" had a lot working against it. Firstly, it had Paul Haggis co-writing (a man who rubs me almost as badly as that rat bastard Ron Howard). Secondly, it had an altogether terrible marketing run. And lastly,---despite my undying love for Daniel Craig (The Mother, Enduring Love, ….Young Indiana Jones), I just was not seeing him as James Bond. But fuck me if I'm not wrong. The film is by far the most entertaining thing I've seen all year, it works on every level as a Bond film, and Craig is so amazing—that based on his performance in one film alone, I will tell you that he is the best Bond, without question (this is coming from someone who can name the James Bond films sequentially, including the off-bonds "Casino Royale," and "Never Say Never". Go see this movie

4. 13 TZAMETI

The first film from French director Géla Babluani. I was so in love with the trailer alone, That I ordered a region 2 DVD of the film from the UK, just so I could see it before its release sometime this year in the States. The film practically drips with Polanski antics. If I didn't know any better, I might believe you if you told me he directed it. I won't say much else, aside from when the time comes…you will be called to see this film. You will feel it in your bowels and know.

5. LITTLE MISS SUNSHINE

One of those films that lives up to its hype. Silly, sad, sometimes empty, but mostly warm. My only real beef with this film is the musical chorus of Sufjan Steven's "Chicago" being the films anthem for the drive through…California. Not that I'm fretting over it. If Steve Carell is not nominated for Best Supporting Actor for his performance in this film, then man…I will hate the Academy Awards more than I already do…

6. MARIE ANTOINETTE

Sofia Coppolla knows how to make quiet movie. A sweet, sparse, visual, and affecting film—that just happens to be a period piece featuring The Cure (amongst others) in its (fan-fucking-tastic) soundtrack. The film is really just a love letter to the frantic, angst-y unhappiness that comes with being a teenage, but you know…it's cool that it just happens to have Versailles as a backdrop. Fantastic little film—and everyone's wonderful in it.

7. THE FOUNTAIN

I've been waiting 5 years for this movie. Through its up and downs, its rewrites, it's abandonment, through Brad Pitt—and Blanchett too. When the graphic novel came out, I ran out and bought it too. I've been waiting 5 years for this film. And while it is certainly pretty good the way it stands. I can't help but wish that it were a silent film. It's so light on dialogue as it is, that I can't help but this it would have been able to transcend itself and reach the golden heights of magnificence…if it would just let the score take over. Because the film isn't about words or people, it's about unrelenting, uniform plague/gift of life. And I know it's just a thought. But when you watch it…keep that in mind. (NOTE: The graphic novel is amazing, you should defiantly peel through it and look at all the pretty picture next time you're wandering around at Borders).

8. APOCALYPTO

The most visually jarring film since I can remember. And in more ways than one, it reminds me of Malick's "The New World". I feel like this film could be its spiritual younger brother—less subtext, but more straightforward. Whereas "The New Word" is internal, "APOCALYPTO" is external in every sense of the word. And it treacherously violent and certainly not for everyone. But how often can you say a film that is pretty much one long chase, is fucking poetry? Because I'm saying it kids. Damn it all, this is a good movie.

9. CHILDREN OF MEN

I loved Alfonso Cuarón's "Y tu mamá también". I wasn't too fond of his Potter flick. And have very mixed feelings about pretty much anything he directed before 2001. And that's where I'm at with "Children of Men". I have some very mixed feelings about it. While I find it thematically engaging, I don't think it ever really achieves any emotional resonance. It' characters are unwavering, static, and not too terrible interesting. You know where the film is going throughout and then it's over. BUT. It somehow manages to still be 80% great. It has the most fantastic production design—and the camera never stops moving. The last half hour of the film feels like you're watching someone play "Gears of War"—and I mean that in a good way. Despite the things that bother me about it, I would recommend that you check this bad-boy out, because it will defiantly weigh on your mind for some time after.

10.PAN'S LABYRINTH

I love Guillermo del Toro. I adore "The Devil's Backbone," but I like "Blade 2" and "Hellboy" as well (fuck you, if you laugh). And the only thing that I didn't like about "Pan's Labyrinth"—is that I didn't enjoy it as much as the aforementioned "The Devil's Backbone". I had rather high expectations for this one. And while it is still a delightful movie in every sense of the word—the only reason it isn't higher up on my list, is because I would recommend "Backbone" before it.

LESSON LEARNED:

To get onto my TOP 10 this year, you pretty much had to have some sort of Spanish/Mexican heritage.

JUST BARELY OFF THE LIST:

HARD CANDY
A PRARIE HOME COMPANION
THE DESCENT
THE PROPOSITION
MONSTER HOUSE
MIAMI VICE

TOO MUCH A SPECTACLE FOR ITS OWN GOOD:

THE DEPARTED

(Scorsese on auto-pilot. Such a weak-ass plot twist there towards the end. The "Oh, I'm an agent too" moment).

THE ONE FILM THAT SHOULD HAVE BEEN GOOD NO MATTER WHAT, WITH ALL THINGS CONSIDERED--BUT ENDED UP BEING PRETTY FUCKING TERRIBLE:

LITTE CHILDREN

(I can see what Mr. Field was trying to do—he just didn't. The film wanders so goddamned much that it never achieves anything. It's films like this that make people go out and become editors).

RUNNER UP: SHORTBUS

(Same story here).

MOVIES THAT MAKE ME WANT TO GUN MYSELF DOWN IN THE MIDDLE OF THE THEATRE:

V FOR VENDETTA
THANK YOU FOR SMOKING
ART SCHOOL CONFIDENTIAL
X-MEN: THE LAST STAND
PIRATES OF THE CARRIBEAN: DEAD MAN'S CHEST
BLOOD DIAMOND

AND A SHAMELESS PLUG FOR THE ONE NEW ACTOR WHO CAUGHT MY EYE THIS YEAR AND I SEE GOING PLACES:

Patrick Wilson ("Hard Candy," "Little Children"). The guy has chops.

AND THE ONE ACTRESS:

 Rinko Kikuchi. She's the best thing about "BABEL".