A typical disaster movie with some great special effects.

Think [[Titanic]] on a global scale, and you’ll get the idea.
Instead of a ship that’s doomed, it’s the entire planet. Will humanity
survive? Will Tea Leoni be able to act? How far in the future is this
(there’s a black president played beautifully by Morgan Freeman, and surely
it’ll be several years before our country can get past the stupidity of
racism, but I digress). Will there be an explaination as to why everyone
remains so calm until finally they’re dead?

##So why see this movie, anyway?

The only real reason to see this movie is for the special effects.
Unfortunately, there’s not enough of them. The big new effect was the
disaster after the comet hit, but that only lasted about a minute. The
rest of the effects were pretty much standard space shots of ships zooming
through the debris in the tail of a comet (for a much more interesting
jaunt through that sort of thing, see the big chase scene in “The Empire
Strikes Back”, filmed some 17 years earlier!!!).

##The irony was palpable

The most interesting thing that happened at the screening I saw was that 30
minutes from the end of the movie, the theatre lights came up and a voice
intoned on the loud speaker “Please exit to the front of the theatre.” It
wasn’t a joke. They had to evacuate the theatre for some (still) unknown
reason. Was there really a comet headed towards Earth? At least I got a
free movie ticket out of the deal.

In this corner: [[Do I dare to eat a peach?]]

In this corner: [[Do I dare to eat a peach?]]

Some random thoughts on the anniversary of my dad’s passing.

##Random thoughts

This is just some random ramblings that jumped into my head today. Don’t
try and understand it all. It’s more just for me to clear my head.

It’s now been two years since my father, [[Charles Francis Carney]], died. I
still hear him in my inner voice constantly.

##He was a golfer

My dad grew up helping out at his family’s lake resort and golf course. He
played golf all the time with his uncle John who ran the golf course. He
loved the game. He imparted that love to me. I had forgotten that until he
died.

As my own personal remembrance of him, I played golf at “The Shattuck” today
(see “Score — 5/15/98”). It was gorgeous. The weather cleared almost as
if I was meant to have a wonderful day. The only complaint I have on the
day is that I got eaten alive by bugs during the round. Oh well, some
things are worth a few bug bites. They let me go out as a single, which was
nice. It was just me, my thoughts, and the golf course for several hours.
I needed that time alone.

##Huh?

I don’t know why, but “The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock” kept popping
into my head for the last week or so. I haven’t read it since I did a
report on it in college. It’s a poem about missed opportunities, love, and
life. Maybe I need to take another look.

I wish I had had more opportunities to spend time with my father (but don’t
we all wish that after it’s too late?). Maybe that’s why I couldn’t get
Prufrock out of my head.

And the afternoon, the evening, sleeps so peacefully!
Smoothed by long fingers,
Asleep . . . tired . . . or it malingers
Stretched on the floor, here beside you and me.
Should I, after tea and cakes and ices,
Have the strength to force the moment to its crisis?
But though I have wept and fasted, wept and prayed,
Though I have seen my head (grown slightly bald) brought in upon a platter
I am no prophet-and here’s no great matter;
I have seen the moment of my greatness flicker,
And I have seen the eternal Footman hold my coat, and snicker,
And in short, I was afraid.

##What happened that day

I remember vividly the moment of my father’s death. I was in his room in
the intensive care unit with my mother and brother. She was to my left
hovering over my father’s face on his right, and my brother was across from
her. We were all crying and saying our goodbye’s. Part of me felt like I
was watching an episode of “ER” or something. That part was detached from
what was going on and recording the events. I watch as his monitors went
flat line.

Not long after, my brother took my mother home. My wife wasn’t there yet,
but was on her way. I waited for her in my dad’s room, watching him, hoping
he’d blink or smile, or say something. He didn’t. I held his hand as it
became cool, still in shock. Here was my father, dead. We’d never play golf
again, never go wine tasting again, never laugh together again. He’d never
play with his grandchildren again, and they probably wouldn’t remember him.
That was the most tragic part of it all. I’d had the priviledge of knowing
this wonderful man for 30 years. His two granddaughters, although the knew
him and had fun with him, wouldn’t really remember him.

##Since then I’ve tried

Since then, I’ve tried hard to be someone he’d be proud of today
(hopefully, there’s a place where he can see what I’ve become and he is
proud). Am I as wonderful a father as he was? My children will have to let
me know someday.