Goodbye, Big Red

 

Eleven years ago we bought a GMC Savana 12-seater van. We had Lucy that year, and she was our seventh child. If you haven't noticed, society has drawn a line in the sand and decided that if you have more than six children, you are a freak show and no longer allowed to fit in a minivan. So we were now a mobile circus. We named our van Big Red, and we were completely in love. We even took a photo with it to capture the beginning of a new era for the Craig Family.

Big Red has seen some things, my friends. In the past 11 years, Big Red has made three separate cross-country road trips and has visited 37 of our 50 states. It's been the backdrop for countless family lip sync parties and videos. It has been changing room and moving van. It has served as a “tent” a number of times, when I’ve gone on campouts with church youth groups and preferred the comfort and insulation of Big Red over an actual tent. And a clothesline for the times that the tent and sleeping bags got drenched and needed an elevated place to dry out. And it might surprise you to learn that Big Red had a starring role in the movie “Once I Was a Beehive” – where it transported the young women and their leaders for their annual Girls Camp trip and even towed the Ark. Big Red really nailed that role, I must say.

My favorite thing, though, was whenever we all piled into the van together, and to make sure all children were accounted for, the little drill sergeant in Katie would come out and she’d look over her shoulder and yell, “Count off!” “One!” an enthusiastic Abbie would answer. “Two!” Garren would yell. “Threeee,” Connor would respond, not enjoying submitting to authority. “FOUR!” Roxanna would rally, excited about almost everything at that age. “Five,” Tanner would calmly answer, not wanting to draw too much attention to himself. “Six!” Becca would cheer. “Pffft,” Lucy would offer up – because even though she was very advanced, she was only months old and didn’t know words, you guys. Lower your expectations, please. And then, Katie would turn and face forward again … and about 82% of the time, she’d be crying. It's only gotten more intense as we added Hillary and even in-laws to the count. It’s an emotional thing, to recognize that you have birthed enough people to fill a bus. And it's an emotional thing to have your people all together – this team of wonderful people you love with your whole soul.

Alas, the time has arrived where Big Red has moved on. Our family is at a different phase of life. Gas prices being what they are, I also find myself swearing every time I have to fill the tank, and that’s probably not a habit I need. Big Red is showing its age, too – the paneling on the inside of the van is falling off and has been comically held together by – I hate to admit this cliché – duct tape. There’s an abundance of dents and dings on the outside of the van as well as those quirks that will never be explained and we have quit trying to remedy. (Back blinker lights, we're talking to you.)

We sold the van this weekend – but before saying goodbye to Big Red, we decided to take a few photos for posterity. Everyone tried to reenact their expressions from 11 years ago. So much has changed in the last 11 years – for our family personally, and the world at large. But one thing remains constant. When we are all together, there’s a really good chance Katie is going to cry.

You're Gonna Need a Younger Boat

There’s a scene in Steven Spielberg’s Jaws – the movie about a misunderstood great white shark who just wants someone to love him – where two hired hands, Quint and Hooper, out at night on a boat, begin drinking and comparing their wounds. Hooper shows Quint where he was bit by a moray eel, and Quint in turn shows where he was injured by a thresher shark’s tail. Hooper shows Quint where a bull shark scraped his leg, and then Quint tells the story of the U.S.S. Indianapolis.

It’s an unnerving, harrowing moment, where you feel the fragility of mortality, a sense of impending doom, and the connection between two people with a shared experience that cannot truly be understood by the masses. 

It’s also a lot like when my friend Tracy and I recently had lunch at Kluck’s Krispy Chicken. 

We both turned 50 this year. The terror is real. 

“You wear glasses?” I asked, inhaling my fries and trying to decide if I’d be in any shape for dinner after eating this much grease for lunch.

“Yes. In the mornings, when I’m reading. You?”

“Not yet. I mean, I need them for reading, for sure. I’m just holding out … for some reason. But it’s coming. Like, I probably won’t make it through next week without them.”  

“Look at the font on my phone.”

“What is that at, 48?”

“72.”

“Cripes. How about your hearing?”

“Awh, that’s been going downhill for ten years already.” 

“Same. I remember my dad’s hearing going. He would kind of cock his head to the side, leaning his ear in. And then if he didn’t understand me, he’d just nod his head like I’d asked him a question. A question that he apparently felt deserved an affirmative response.” 

“Do you do that?” 

“Not yet. I like to put it back on the other guy. ‘You need to stop mumbling’ is my go-to. But also, like, my dad was in Vietnam. His hearing was damaged by combat. Mine is from going to rock concerts without ear protection. Mine is because I’m an idiot.”

“Oh yeah, you do love concerts.”

“I did. Well, I do. I just want good seats, or it isn’t worth it anymore. I’m not paying money to sit in the back of a stadium and look at a screen from a mile away. I can just sit on my couch at home and watch a screen.” [Even as I say it, I realize it’s the oldest I’ve ever sounded. I’ve crossed some kind of line.]

“What about your memory?” asked Tracy.

“Stop mumbling,” I tell Tracy.

“YOUR. MEMORY.” 

“Oh, sure,” I say, nodding my head. 

“I have the hardest time recalling the names of actors. Actors I LIKE.” Tracy makes a frustrated face. 

“Mine is just words in general,” I tell him. I’m trying to make a point – or worse, say something clever – and I can feel my mind searching for the perfect word…like it’s playing a matching-pairs game, and I keep turning over a card going, ‘Is this the word I was looking for?’ and it’s not. It’s never the word.”

We eat in silence for a moment. 

“At least you’re in great shape,” I say. 

“I’m scheduling a hernia operation.”

“WHAT?! But you do CrossFit!”

“That’s where I got the hernia.”

“Stop mumbling.” 

Did You Watch That Movie Without Me?

I think one of the worst (yet most frequently played) games couples find themselves competing in is, “Did You Watch That Movie Without Me?” Or you might be familiar with the slightly altered knock-off, “Weren’t We Going to Watch That Together?” – which is somewhat different because in that version no one ever wins.

“Did You Watch That Movie Without Me?” can be played at any time. But for the greatest entertainment and highest stakes, it’s best to play it at a social gathering in front of a crowd of people. The game starts on a whim when somebody in the crowd refers to a movie and you foolishly take the bait and add your commentary, forgetting that you actually viewed this movie when your spouse was out of town, at a class, or worst of all – stuck at Girls Camp – while you were lounging on a couch with the remote control and a pint of ice cream.

You’re about halfway through your comment when peripherally, you feel her head whip in your direction and her eyes pierce into your mind, as if the movie is currently playing in your head and she’s caught you in the act itself. The only way out at this point is to grab the person next to you and kiss them full on the mouth. Sure, it’s inappropriate and you’re going to get slapped by at least two people, but everyone in the room will immediately forget what you were talking about and your chances of getting out alive increase by a factor of ten.

“Did you watch that movie without me?” she asks, moving her game piece onto the board. At this point, it’s all about bluffing. “NEVER. I just remember that part from the preview.” Or “No, I just read an article about it, preparing for when we go see it ... you know, together ... the way God intended.” This is your best move. You can also pretend you didn’t hear her. It’s risky, but if you’re like me, this is the only perk to aging and actually experiencing legitimate hearing loss. Or play like you’re just so enthralled by the crowd-conversation that you didn’t notice someone was speaking directly at you.

Your other move is to say, “I didn’t think you wanted to see that movie.” This is dangerous because you leave yourself wide open. No matter what the movie is, her move is going to include her claiming, “I would have watched that!” Now it’s your turn to call her bluff. “You would have watched Anchorman 2?” “…Yes,” she answers. (There’s a slight hesitation from your spouse – this does not mean you’ve won yet; it simply means you’re still in the game.) “That movie came out seven years ago and we’ve never watched it!” you point out. This is where you finish your solid move by adding, “It wasn’t very good – I hated it and you would have, too.” Check. Mate.

The problem for me is that I occasionally travel for work and end up on an airplane about every four to six weeks (not since March, obviously). I am not a great flyer. I get motion sickness fairly easily, and my one way to dodge it is to immediately focus in on the little screen in front of me and watch movies the entire flight. And the issue for Katie and I – and I will freely admit this is not the case for all couples – is that our tastes in movies really do overlap. We both like rom-coms, psychological thrillers, comedies, and good drama. The thin margin of what I can safely view without her really only includes “scary movies” or “bland, formulaic action movies.”

For example, when I came back from a trip and told Katie, “I watched that Tom Cruise Mummy movie without you,” her response was, “Good call.”

But was it? I didn’t even want to see it. I was actually just worried I might accidentally watch another good movie because of the huge mistake I had just finished enjoying before watching Mr. Cruise embarrass himself. Right before watching the bland, formulaic Mummy, I had rolled the dice and watched Sing Street, expecting a harmless, forgettable, independent Irish movie.

Big! Mistake!

That delightful homage to eighties music made me feel way too many feelings during my flight from Salt Lake City to Los Angeles. After watching that movie, I knew I was doomed. I had totally just lost at our next match of “Did You Watch That Movie Without Me?” because I would totally spill that I saw it because I had to talk to somebody about this movie because I loved it a whole lot.

(This is the scene right here. When the boys are jamming in the living room at 2:06 and my brain says, “My word, this is making me so inexplicably happy right now —” and then ten seconds later it clips to Raphina crying and tears start comin’ out-ma-face and I’m like, “Thanks a lot Delta Flight 467 – this is totally unprofessional of me and now I’ve also lost the next round of “Did You Watch That Movie Without Me?” Katie is so going to love this movie.)

I also lost when I watched this little gem on my last trip. 

Now, there are times when I’ve won “Did You Watch This Without Me?” because I stuck to the “scary movies” and “dumb action movies” genres. However, those victories come at a cost. I think if it’s choosing between airplane-induced nausea or watching that Tom Cruise Mummy movie again, it’d be a toss-up for me. (Pun intended.) I also watched The Conjuring on one flight. Have you seen this movie? Good luck sleeping FOR THE REST OF YOUR LIFE. And this was an edited-for-airplane version of the movie! I was so creeped out I added some more special editing myself by occasionally looking away from my screen to watch the Korean soap operas my neighbor was enjoying.

Yes, “Did You Watch That Movie Without Me?” is not a game for the timid. And if you hate this game, you should for sure avoid “Did You Finish All the Ice Cream?” and “Did You Stick to Our Christmas Budget?”

Movies 8 Has Left the Building

If you don’t live in Provo, Utah, or never have, then this landmark might need a small introduction.

This is Provo's discount movie theater. It’s like a holding cell for movies, after they’ve enjoyed their standard run at the theater, but before they are released for home theater viewing. It’s a warm welcome, as far as holding cells go. “Here, La La Land, put your feet up. You must be exhausted after that long run at those upscale, prestigious theaters. Rest a bit. And don’t forget, you get one phone call.” Of course, during its one phone call, you’d find La La Land yelling at the theater, which is always full of chatty teenagers, “SHUT UP! I can’t hear anything with all your yapping!” And trust me, La La Land has a point.

You’ll notice the sign says, “Thank you for 28 years.” That means this theater was born in 1989. I remember. I was here. My freshman year at BYU was fall of 1989. This theater holds more memories, and more of my dollars, than I care to admit.

In 1989, my parents flew out to BYU with me, to drop me off and help me get settled. The night before they left, we went to dinner, and then went to a movie at Movies 8. We saw Chances Are, starring Robert Downey Jr. (You guys remember Robert Downey Jr.?) I remember my dad saying, “Three for Chances Are.” And the lady behind the glass saying, “Three dollars.” I had never heard of a discount theater, and my mind exploded. “THREE DOLLARS?! Cancel my contract at the freshman dorms, I’m living HERE!”

And I pretty much did.

You will never have an easier time finding one dollar and two hours than you will your freshman year of college.

“Dude. What are you doing?”
“Homework.”
“We’re going to see Bill & Ted’s Excellent Adventure. You in?”
“Of course. I haven’t seen it since last night, when I also had $1 and two hours to spare.”
“Sweet.” [Exchange of high-fives.]*
(*Based on actual events.)

My friend, Jim, and I had a Friday afternoon Psychology class my freshman year. We both learned quickly that Friday afternoons are no time for college psychology classes. The grade was mostly based on attendance, so we would go to class, sign the roll, and then leave for Movies 8. And we would watch whatever was playing next. It was like movie roulette. Sometimes we won – Uncle Buck! But usually we lost, including an unfortunate viewing of a festering turd called Ski Patrol.

One afternoon my friend Ty and I went to buy tickets to a movie that night for us and our dates. Dead Poets Society. But since we were already there, and our dates weren’t until later, Ty thought it would probably be a good idea to see something right then, as well. Something our dates would be less interested in. Count yourselves lucky if you’ve ever had a friend as smart as Ty, you guys. “Two for License to Kill, please.”

Movies 8 was the backdrop to many significant life lessons and rites of passage moments for me.

I learned about second chances. For example, when I took my date, Melissa, to see Weekend at Bernie’s, and at the end of the night, she still agreed to a second date. A date where she would choose what we would be doing, but still, a second date!

I walked out of my first movie, ever, at Movies 8. Airheads. So incredibly inane, our whole group unanimously looked at each other, stood up, and marched out. No words were spoken. The movie didn’t deserve our words. But if that movie still wants to apologize for stealing those 32 minutes from us, there’s no statute of limitations.

You may already be aware of my feelings about hand-holding at movies (I’m for it! You can read about them here), but if these soon-to-be-torn-down walls could talk! Once, during a viewing of The Abyss – the scene where Mary Elizabeth Mastrantonio has to drown so Ed Harris can pull her to the station and then revive her! – my date and I skipped the entire timid-phase and immediately clasped each other’s’ hands, held them to our hearts, and stopped breathing. Then our hands just sort of stayed locked the rest of the movie. [Swoon.] Of course, another time, at the beginning of a relationship, my date kept bumping my elbow with her hand, and I kept apologizing and shifting in my seat, only to realize after the third time that she was trying to stealthily hold my hand. In my defense, I was entranced by another brilliant performance by Robert Downey Jr. (you guys remember Robert Downey Jr.?) in the magical and under-appreciated, Heart & Souls.

My most memorable moment? Katie and I had been dating regularly, though not exclusively, and things were … changing. Feelings were developing, though I, for one, was pretty ineloquent in trying to articulate how I felt about her and what direction I thought we were going. She was being a little bit vague as well. We were at Movies 8 one night, taking in a viewing of Only You, starring Marisa Tomei and Robert Downey Jr. (You guys remember Robert Downey Jr.?) At the end of the movie, I looked over, and Katie had tears running down her cheeks. She took my face in her hands and kissed me. I was a little caught off guard. “Are you ok?” I asked. “I’m in love with you,” she said, softly. “Then I’m super glad we chose this over Clear and Present Danger,” I said.

 

When we moved back to Provo a few years ago, I was so excited to be near Movies 8. For taking a family of 10 to the movies, a discount theater is the way to go.

Kind of.

It’s different now. In 1989, there were no stadium-seating theaters with such amenities as food being brought out to you by a waiter, and no lounge chairs that are essentially beds. The full-price theaters looked and felt precisely like the Movies 8 discount theater. They were all the same. Also, the lag time between when a movie left the regular theater and was released on video was much longer. Now, by the time a movie comes to a discount theater, it’s pretty much released on video at the same time. Sure, I could take my family to the movies for $10. OR I could rent it on-demand or Redbox it for $1 and watch the movie on my couch, with my own personal waiter* bringing me food while I lounge. (*Usually Roxanna, my 13-year old daughter who bakes amazing cookies.)

I feel like I haven’t shown the proper level of attention to Movies 8 since I moved back here. Like, I haven’t been going weekly, or twice in one day … and I’ve never ditched a psychology class on a Friday afternoon to go see Encino Man. But with Movies 8’s closing, I think I’d like to honor it by carrying on its legacy. Therefore, I will open my home to the public and be charging $1 admission to come watch movies at my house. I’ll provide my chatty teenagers for ambiance, and I’ll see if Robert Downey Jr. will come to my grand opening. (You guys remember Robert Downey Jr.?)

Iron Man and Connor

My son, Connor, has a brilliant mind. I mean, it’s intimidating. I’m just saying that we should all be grateful he has decided to use his powers for good.

Case in point, he’s only 13 years old, but he made this.

I KNOW, RIGHT?! You know what I made when I was 13? Farts. That’s about it.

Connor is what they call in the biz "a pretty big Marvel fan." I mean, the year the first Avengers movie came out? That year at Thanksgiving dinner, when we went around the table saying what we were grateful for, Connor said, “Joss Whedon.”

So, always jockeying for the position of Coolest Dad, I told my older kids that I would get tickets to an advanced screening of the new Avengers movie. And we went last night.

Three weeks ago Connor got it in his mind that he would build his own Iron Man outfit, from scratch. He began hoarding cardboard, plastic, weird parts of stuff I was sure I had thrown away and asked him not to dig out of the trash ... etc. He used his own money for LED lights, and he asked me to buy him some spray paint. And during this time, he’s been down in the basement whenever he has spare time.

So, here’s how last night played out.

Me: Ok, guys! We need to go! Get in the car!
Connor: Dad, I need to get dressed first. In my Iron Man outfit.
Me: Uhm... you’re going to be uncomfortable sitting in it.
Connor: I won’t wear it in the movie.
Me: Why wear it?
Connor: You can take a picture of me in front of the giant poster, and ... you know ... maybe other people will want to take a picture with me, too. And then I’ll go and change into my Tony Stark shirt for the movie.
Me: Uhmmm....ok. [I sneak off to talk to Katie.]

Me: So, Connor is going to wear his Iron Man outfit to the movie.
Katie: Sweet. He’s worked really hard on it.
Me: Yep, I know. I just ... I’m a little worried about his expectations ... of, like, how he thinks the public is going to receive him. Like, I think he believes strangers are going to want to take photos with him.
Katie: You’ll handle it just fine.
Me: Really? Because if people don’t love it, it’s going to hurt his feelings. And then I’m left with a deflated teenager. And that hurts my feelings. And I realize this isn’t about me. But kind of I’m not up for watching our son be sad.

We pull up to the theater. We get out of the car, and Garren, my 15 year old, starts dressing Connor in his Iron Man get-up. A few people walk by on their way to the theater and mumble, “Cool suit.”

“Whew,” I think. Someone acknowledged him. That’s all he needed.

Then Connor says, “Abbie. Light me up.” He spreads his arms away from his chest, and Abbie walks towards him. “You have to peel off the Pringles cap and turn on the LED light.”

Then we start walking towards the theater - and Oh. My. Goodness. Cars are stopping and taking photos. People are looking out the windows of neighboring stores and, getting all animated-like, hitting their friends and pointing at Connor.

The closer we get to the theater, the more reaction he is getting. Then we get inside, and the place is all abuzz. Theater employees are snapping photos - groups of people are grabbing Connor and asking him to jump in their photos that they’re taking in front of the poster. Including a group with a  Thor and a Captain America. Couples on dates are asking him to take photos with them. People are asking him how he made it and making a huge fuss over him. Two security guards finally walk up, lean into me and say, “That’s the best one we’ve ever seen.”

Thank you, Provo, Utah! Thank you for making my son’s night. Thank you for validating this 13-year old’s hours of work and ingenuity and moxie to actually head out in public and put his efforts on display. I salute you.

Sidebar: I am equally proud of my son, Garren. Garren spent hours with Connor, supporting him in this work, talking Connor off the ledge when things were going south, cheerleading him when things were going well. And last night? Garren asked for no recognition, no attention, no reward. He loved watching his brother have a moment. I love these two. I am grateful to be their dad.

Your Life is An Occasion

We occasionally have Movie Night around our house. I kind of like to consider this one of my parenting contributions. Katie has her things; what, with the encouraging morals and values and preparing our children to be valiant, contributing members of society. But when it comes to introducing superheroes, Hobbits, Indiana Jones (with the face melting edited out), or the comical genius of Steve Martin and Martin Short singing “My Little Buttercup"...it's best to just leave that in my hands. 

Recently Abbie, my fifteen year old, asked if we could watch Mr. Magorium’s Wonder Emporium. I remember when it came out in theaters; which is saying something, because I don’t think it was there for very long. She had already seen it at somebody else’s house while babysitting. She’d even asked if we could watch it on a previous Movie Night, but I dismissed it because we needed to watch Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs for a third time, instead.

Our lovely Abbie (on the right) and our cute Becca.

Having no real defense for not watching it, and recognizing that she had been patient when I turned my nose up at it the first time, I agreed. I was also interested to see why it was that Abbie loved it so. I was hoping maybe it would tell me something about her.

Now, please recognize that I am not recommending this movie to you. I don’t know your tastes; and this is a quirky movie that is certainly not everyone’s cup of Postum. But I will admit that this movie affected me, though in a way that I won’t suggest would or should affect everybody. But the stars kind of aligned for me, I guess, and it was a perfect storm.

In a nutshell, here is the story. Natalie Portman plays a 23 year-old musical prodigy, and works for Dustin Hoffman, the Mr. Magorium of said Wonder Emporium, which is essentially a magical wonderland. Now, when Natalie was younger, everyone told her she was a musical genius, a brilliant pianist. That she was special. And she believed them. But now she has grown up, and isn’t so sure.

There is no mention of Natalie’s parents, but Mr. Magorium is somewhat of a father figure to her. And she clearly cares for him, as if she were a daughter. So she is shocked the day that Mr. Magorium tells her that he is “leaving this life.” He is not depressed, and this is not about suicide. He has magically lived for more than a hundred years, and it’s simply “time to go.” He is not upset by this. But whoa-nelly, Natalie sure is! And she is not flattered that he wants to leave the store to her. On the contrary, she believes nobody can or should run the store but him; least of all, her. But before he goes, he gives her this wonderful, inspiring speech you can see below in this clip from the movie. He also tells her that she has this something in her. This sparkle. This uniqueness that makes her divine.

But Natalie still doesn’t feel it. 

After Mr. M is gone, there’s a scene where Natalie and Jason Bateman (who plays the no-nonsense accountant that Mr. Magorium hires to figure out what the store is worth) are in the store, after-hours, alone. It’s quiet, and she stands before Jason and asks him, “When you look at me, what do you see?”

“Really pretty eyes?” he guesses.

And she timidly asks back, “Do you see a sparkle?”

He’s confused.

She tries again. “Something reflective of something bigger, trying to get out.”

And that’s when I felt the lump in my throat.

I’m not exactly sure what that was about, but I believe it had something to do with my daughter. Maybe it’s because I could see similarities between Abbie and Natalie’s physical features, so I projected Abbie into that situation. Maybe it was because I thought of how Abbie was probably seeing herself in Natalie. Maybe it’s because I felt I was watching the story of a father, lovingly wanting to instill this confidence in his daughter, of how incredible and lovely and talented and capable and sparkly and delightful she is…and then to no longer be the prominent male figure in her life, because he is not there and she has grown up…and now she stands before this other man, and in complete vulnerability, asks him if he sees greatness in her. If he recognizes a sparkle. Asking him to validate the feelings and truths that were planted there years before.

And then my favorite part, at the end of the movie (spoiler alert), when Natalie has experienced the needed opportunities to prove to herself that she is all that Mr. Magorium promised her she was, and then – then, Jason Bateman sees the sparkle. Once she believed in herself, the sparkle was evident.

This is what the movie left me quietly reflecting on: I hope that despite my flaws and massive imperfections, my children believe me when I tell them there is greatness in them; that they sparkle. I hope they will remember their childhood and youth as a time they marinated in love. I hope that I am providing the opportunities they need to face experiences that require them to look up, rise up, and walk up; and that when they rise to the occasion, they recognize it. And that whomever they decide to spend their life and eternity with will see the sparkle and enhance it.

Do you have a comment? A quirky movie that affected you when you simply thought you were about to be bored for 80 minutes? Visit Part Time Authors, where this was posted this morning, and let me know.

The Men In Black of 2005

In honor of the recent release of Men In Black III (and boy, I think we can all agree that MIB 2 left far too many unanswered questions; and we, as a country, have been INSANE WITH IMPATIENCE, waiting to see how they tie up all those loose ends), I would like to present this blast from the past.

The year was 2005, and I was a counselor in this, our ward bishopric: Tracy Truman, Ricky Monroe, Micah Richins, Pete Toolson...and myself.

What you might notice:

1. Bishop TJT, one of the finest men I've ever known, flaunts his only weakness: Lip Syncing.
2. I don't have a single grey hair.
3. Scientifically speaking, not one of us has rhythm.

A Little Off the Top

With the poop-tacular state of our economy, we are always looking for innovative ways to save a few bucks around the Craig house. And at this point, we have moved far beyond the obvious choices of eliminating superfluous magazine subscriptions (take a hike, Reader’s Digest), indulgent video streamlining (hasta la vista, Netflix), and unnecessary food purchases (I never liked you anyway, vegetables).

One creative cost-cutting initiative: Home haircuts, a la my wife, Katie. Katie never went to haircutting school, but she doesn’t let that bother her. She can do our boys’ haircuts in a matter of moments, as they all look quite handsome with what the haircutting industry terms as “buzz cuts.” (I apologize if my use of haircutting jargon is confusing.)

My hair, however, is a completely different animal. A dangerous animal. A quickly graying, sometimes stubborn porcupine of an animal. And while I think Katie is quite good at cutting it, her desire for a mane of perfection guarantees it is by no means a quick procedure.

But I don’t mind the length of her process. Sitting still for that long allows time for innuendo and bum-grabbing, (conducted by yours truly), sharing of stories that we may have forgotten to tell each other that week, and reflection, generally brought on by the fact that I’m shirtless and staring into our bathroom mirror at my 41 year-old body, wondering what the crap has happened.

“I used to play water polo in high school,” I begin the conversation.
“Yep…(Katie snaps the No. 3 clip onto the razor)…you’ve told me.”

“I’m just saying…you know…there was a time when you could have washed laundry on these abs…instead of…whatever…dishes, I guess.”

“You look just fine,” she assures me.
“HOW ARE YOU EVEN ATTRACTED TO ME?” I question.

“You’re very attractive,” she responds, not looking at me while she snaps off the No. 3 from the razor. “Now, did you want me to shave your back while I’ve got this out?”

I pout silently for a while, thoughtfully considering that perhaps our bodies resurrect at their age 18 version. Then Katie pulls me out of my funk with a story.

“Did I tell you that Becca has been singing to herself when she’s sitting on the toilet?” We laugh and then it’s my turn. “Did I tell you about the check-out lady at Wal-Mart that told me if I was going to buy this much produce then I should probably shop somewhere else?” Then we discuss our strategy to own beach-front property and be independently wealthy some day, and it’s awesome.

So then we’re feeling all lovey-dovey and I’m already only half-dressed, so of course I turn on the charm and start in with the innuendo. We’re in close proximity, alone AND awake, so all three elements of “romance” are in the air. With scissors in her hand, me sitting on a bucket, and bits of hair all over both of us, I start singing the Righteous Brother’s Unchained Melody and, as you can imagine, the scene looks exactly like…well, whatever the opposite of Patrick Swayze and Demi Moore is.

Sometime later Katie takes a step back, squints at my head, and closely examines her work. She’s her toughest critic. When she’s finally satisfied, I jump in the shower and sing to her while she sweeps up the hair. For some reason, more than almost anything else we do together, this moment makes me feel like we are already 82 years-old and there are no stories we don’t know about each other and we just enjoy the fact that it’s us, in all our glorious and unsightly details.

I guess I don’t mind all the effects of our lackluster economy. 

Confessions of a 41-Year Old

This summer I’ll have been married to Katie for 17 years.

We have 7 children.

I am part-owner of my own business.

And I work as a sales director at another burgeoning company.

I have a mortgage and I pay HOA fees.

I own three cars, a lawnmower, and four suits.

I’m an active member of my church, where sometimes people even seek out my opinion.

I frequently tell people, "We should do lunch."

And earlier this year, I ordered (via phone) chocolate-covered fruit for a dear friend in Chicago when she had a baby.

I’m 41 on Saturday, and on paper, I am unequivocally an adult.

And yet.

Sometimes, when I am sitting quietly in my office, and my mind begins to wander, I half-expect some sharp-dressed, nameless man – like those guys in The Adjustment Bureau – to walk in on me. A file under his arm with my name on it, he states in an almost monotone manner, “Mr. Craig? I knew we’d catch up with you. We’re not sure how you managed to bluff your way through for so many years, nor how you found a way to snow so many people – but the jig is up. You’re not a grown-up. And I’m going to have to ask for your Respectable Citizen’s Card.” Then he tears it up in front of me…and sends me to my room to think about my behavior and what I've done.  (Later, he’ll come up to my room to reassure me that he’s not angry…just disappointed.)

Perhaps this sounds silly to you. But here’s the thing: If I stood up to this mysterious fellow, I’m not sure I have enough evidence to prove my grown-up-edness.

Some of this uncertainty may stem from being raised in a home where my dad declared loudly and repeatedly, “I know everything.” And I was pretty sure he did. I concluded at an early age that he had it all figured out. Whatever hardship or surprise came at him, he seemed to handle it with great aplomb.

I don’t have the same mantra as my dad…but oddly, I think my kids would tell you the same thing about me. “Oh, yeah. My dad has it all goin’ his way. And he knows everything. Or, if he doesn’t, he can figure it out pretty quick. Or make it up. Or make fun of it so it seems unimportant.”

It really boils down to two areas. First, I still tend to make some shockingly immature choices, despite my age. And second, while there are a number of things that make this world go ‘round, I’m not sure I have a firm grasp on how any of them work.

But I count my marriage as the greatest success story of my life. My relationships with my children are profoundly rewarding and fulfilling to me. I am convinced I know some of the greatest people to grace this planet, and I get to call them ‘friends’. And I am optimistic that if I try to align my will with God’s, that life will continue to mold me into something better than I am.

So, looking at my calendar, I should probably be an adult by age 50.

(Huh, that was a bit more of an introspective post than I had planned. I guess that's what happens when those sharp-dressed nameless fellows leave you in your room for far too long, thinking about your behavior.)

Flattery Will Get You Everywhere With Me

If you've seen me without my make-up on then you'll agree with me when I say that if they made a movie about my life, I would be played by this guy:

Clint Howard, brother of Academy Award winner Ron Howard. Aside from our looks, we have something else in common: Ron Howard won't return either of our calls.

And if Clint isn’t available, I assume they’d go with this guy.

Or this guy.

However, in the past three months I have been told, no less than a dozen times, that I actually look like this guy.

Zachary Levi.

Let me just set the record straight right here and now: This does NOT offend me. In fact, it might be the single most awesome and inaccurate thing anybody has ever said to me. 

The comments vary. I get everything from “DUDE – it is uncanny how much you guys look and act alike!” to somebody saying, “You know who you remind me of? Chuck.” And the person next to them saying, “Huh?…Yeah, I can see that.”

The thing is: While I wish I did, I don’t think I do.

Sure, I'm genuinely flattered that people associate me with this guy. I've watched Chuck, and I think he’s witty and highly entertaining. Other reasons I like that people associate us together: he’s 10 years younger than me, he's a superstar celebrity, and “danger” is his middle name.

But truthfully, besides the fact that we’re both tall, dark, and male, I don’t see the resemblance. Unless you are basing this comparison on Zachary's character on Chuck, where he is perpetually in over his head and completely under-qualified in what he's doing. In that instance, I do find common ground between us.

But these people persist! And they are not even in the same room together. I have one friend who is so convinced that I am Zachary Levi, she wrote her own blog post about it. 

Jump to a completely different circle of people – the teenagers at church! I had a young lady come up and say, “I thought of you during Tangled, because you’re totally like Flynn Ryder.” Voice of Flynn Ryder? Zachary Levi.

Again, I am honored. And I would like to invite Mr. Levi to consider the role of Ken Craig...should that screenplay ever be written, I mean. And if he's too busy to give it a look-see, well, no worries. I've got one more doppelganger I've already been in contact with. Clyde. 

Clyde is the one in the passenger seat. 

So, I'm curious. What celebrity are you told you look like? And do you think you look like them? And do you think Steve Buscemi will hunt me down, roast me over an open fire, and eat my head for mentioning him in my blog? Because he kind of gives me the heebie-jeebies, and I wouldn't put that past him.

40 Movies

For those of you keeping score at home, I turned 40 on Thursday.  Nothing much seems to have changed, really, except I think I might be having problems with my memory.  But that’s been going on for a while. I’ll find myself searching for a word that I KNOW I know, you know? But I can’t seem to find it. Anyway, for those of you keeping score at home, I turned 40 on Thursday. Nothing much seems to have changed, really, except I think I might be having a problem with my memory. Did I tell you this already?

So the idea came to me to share My Top Favorite 40 Movies. 40 Movies for 40 Years! But then I remembered how much I struggle with making lists of “favorite things.” I am horrible at it. Truth be known, I only have three things I can list as “my favorite.” 1. My favorite wife. (Katie) 2. My favorite brand of ice cream. (Haagen-Dazs) 3. My favorite Billy Ray Cyrus song. (None of them).

So the best I can offer you is 40 Movies I Like That I Conveniently Had on My Apple TV that Were Easy To Edit Together. Don’t get me wrong, these are movies that left impressions on me – whether they were instantly quotable, made me laugh, changed my perspective, haunted me, or resonated with me on some level. But I can’t say with any conviction that these are my “favorite.” And don’t try to make me! That list is fluid and ever-changing.

I’m sure you have a similar list in your head, and I’m sure it’s wildly different than mine. I’m not here to debate, just share. Unless you want to debate why I don’t have any Martin Lawrence movies on this list: because I have a very sound argument for that.

(P.S. Bishop Craig would like to make you aware that a handful of these movies must be viewed on TBS, CleanFlicks, or ClearPlay. Or else!)

So how many can you name? CLICK HERE 

I'm Still Here

There are some rumors floating around out there that I haven’t posted a blog entry since March 23. These rumors are vicious, unfounded, and a little bit true. And quite frankly, I am appalled at my behavior. But to be perfectly honest and ugly, for a few weeks now, I haven’t even thought about writing a blog post. It’s not that there isn’t anything to write about, and it isn’t that I have lost the desire to write. It’s simply that I cannot for the life of me find the time.

I completely recognize how pitiful that sounds. Because everybody has that excuse. And as soon as you have to announce it and draw attention to it, it kind of weakens your proclamation. I say, let your busy-ness speak for how busy you are.

But for kicks and giggles, I’m a-gonna let you catch just a snapshot of a few noteworthy events over the last four weeks:

Started another job doing copy writing for an ad agency; excitedly worked to grow and prosper my pride and joy - the ever successful Titan Plumbing!; read Donald Miller’s “A Million Miles in a Thousand Years;” conducted the funeral for the father of a dear friend of mine; watched Date Night at the Cineplex and Paul Blart: Mall Cop at home; built a garden in our backyard (mostly Katie did this); organized my iTunes; prepared a training for Stake Priesthood Meeting; ate five pints of Haagen Dazs (not in a row); performed the wedding of two wonderful friends; wrote an article for Desert Saints Magazine about when Katie gave birth to Becca – which may or may not get printed due to it’s “graphic nature”; got an MRI and found out I have two bulging discs and one protruding; had one of my most favorite moments ever in the theater, seeing Dirty Rotten Scoundrels; whittled down what I think might be a good idea for a book to write (it’s autobiographical fiction); performed a “Ring Ceremony” at a wedding reception that was absolutely gorgeous; had dinner with a candidate running for Governor; started a new exercise routine that brings me thiiiiiis close to vomiting every time I do it; listened to my 22 month old daughter do an impression of both Napoleon Dynamite and Nacho Libre; went on a 50 mile bike ride from St. George to Mesquite; laughed when our home teacher sat on a strategically placed Whoopie Cushion that Connor brought home from Cub Scout Day Camp; felt deeper gratitude for my family and friends; and finally...decided that... yes, I will make a goal to find more time to write.

Thanks for still caring…if you’re still out there!

If You Like Movies, You'll Love Moving Furniture!

Get ready for the game sensation that is sweeping the nation!*

(*Please note, this game has yet to sweep this or any nation. But when it does, I would like full copyright benefits. Also, I would like it to be called Ken’s Movie Game. Catchy, right? Well, I got my degree in advertising – so yep, I know some things.)

Back in 1996, my friend Steve and I were coerced by our wives into attending some sort of “party.” (Think Amway, but with make-up.) I don’t remember the entire theme, but I do remember at one point both of us soaking our fingers in adjoining bowls, in preparation for manicures. I can’t say it was my proudest moment, but Steve and I had been friends since before puberty, so it wasn’t the first time we’d found ourselves in a situation that would never be discussed afterwards. (Like the time we decidedly kicked a fellow Scouter out of our tent at Scout Camp, so a younger Scouter with a much more attractive sister could stay in our tent and tell us about what she might be looking for in a rugged, almost-Eagle Scout. That was probably the least talked about incident, pre-manicure.)

Anyway, we started talking about movie previews. And then we started talking about how often you see a tag line on a poster or preview that says:

If you liked _____, you’ll love ______.

You’ve seen them.

“If you liked Rocky, you’ll love Hoosiers…”
“If you liked Pretty Woman, you’ll love Green Card…” 

“If you liked Airplane!, you’ll love The Naked Gun…”

And so forth.

So out of awkward moment of pampering, a game was created where we would try to come up with movie tag lines that connected two movies in name only (or a nebulous association), but not really in any other similarities. In other words, the movies had to have a similar word in the title, but would actually be almost polar opposite in subject.

Steve had the first one:

If you liked Dirty Dancing, you’ll love Dances with Wolves.

It took off from there.

If you liked Pretty Woman, you'll love Little Women
If you liked Sleepless in Seattle, you'll love Sleeping with the Enemy 

If you liked Fight Club, you'll love The Joy Luck Club

Now, player beware. Sometimes you will think of titles that actually are similar in name and subject, and I won’t be there to referee in person, but you should know that that just doesn’t work. Example: If you liked Superman Returns, you’ll love Batman Returns. (If you actually liked one of these movies, you would probably like the other. So it’s true, not funny. Thus, no points. More appropriately would be: If you liked Superman Returns, you’ll love Max Dugan Returns. I think we’ve all learned a very valuable lesson here. Way to dodge that bullet!)

Now, once you are comfortable at this level, you are ready to introduce a new rule. That of the connection being more imprecise. Instead of just sharing a word in the title, it might be a shared syllable only. Or a shared theme.

If you liked Dumbo, you’ll love Rambo
If you liked Philadelphia, you'll love Fargo 

If you liked The Postman, you'll love The Cable Guy 

If you liked The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe, you'll love The Good, The Bad and The Ugly 

If you liked You Got Served, you'll love You've Got Mail

One final note, when you are playing this verbally, you have to say it with as much conviction and excitement as a movie announcer would. Like you are just SO SURE that If you liked Mystic River, you’ll love Mystic Pizza!

So please enjoy this new game! If you are playing with a fellow movie aficionado, the two of you will have a great time. I would like to give a shout out to my favorite game players: Katie, Steve (the original co-creator), Chris C., Jennifer V., and my good friend, Mike C., who recently reminded me of this game, and is exceptional at it. 

If you liked The Godfather, you’ll love Father of the Bride!
If you liked Apocalypse Now, you’ll love Look Who’s Talking Now! 

If you liked Lilo & Stitch, you’ll love Thelma & Louise! 

If you liked Slumdog Millionaire, you’ll love Brewster’s Millions!

You got any? Leave a comment. 

A Very Merry Christmas Movie

If you’re like me, the first thing you pull out of the Christmas boxes once they are lugged in from the garage are the Christmas movies! (Also if you’re like me, you like to end each December night with a cup of Stephen’s hot chocolate. Also if you’re like me, sometimes you wonder if you have a uterus, because you sound like a girl.)

I love Christmas movies. I am a complete and total sucker for all Christmas movies. My impenitent opinion is that there is never enough time between Thanksgiving and Christmas to watch all the Christmas movies. And that is because my broad definition of “a Christmas movie” is “any movie taking place during Christmastime.”

A Charlie Brown Christmas? Obviously a Christmas movie. How the Grinch Stol Christmas? Clearly. Miracle on 34th Street? It’s a Wonderful Life? Duh. Scrooged? Christmas Vacation? Home Alone? Yes, yes, and yes. Serendipity? About a Boy? Sleepless in Seattle? (Did I just blow your mind?) Lethal Weapon? Die Hard? Better Off Dead? Well, my narrow - minded - Christmas - movie - defining friend…you tell me…

I am a big fan of the Rankin/Bass productions, largely for nostalgic reasons. Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer, Frosty the Snowman, Santa Claus Is Coming to Town, The Year Without a Santa Claus, etc., etc. Millions and millions of years ago – in the 1970s – you would have to actually wait until December to enjoy these holiday gems, rather than popping in the DVD any ol’ time you fancied. My mom, securing her place in heaven, would get out the TV guide and map out which nights they would be appearing on our average size television. And my gosh, the anticipation. All of us kids would crowd around the TV, and the moment you could see the animation or claymation come on the screen, Christmas magic exploded all over the room. My adrenaline would be running so hard, I couldn’t hear! It was like someone had intravenously given us kids Hyperness Syrup! It was usually about 45 seconds into the show before we could actually hear anything. And then, it was as if all of our senses were heightened. We’d never felt so alive! We had never heard wittier dialogue, seen more sophisticated animation, or heard more stunning music. Pure joy. Due to the Christmas bliss these shows brought me in my youth, I am able, as an adult, to overlook the plot holes, forced exposition, and lack of clarifications that drive these shows. But I refuse to allow all of that to dim the Christmas pandemonium that fills my home when these movies make their debut each December. (Except when Frosty explains to the kids that when the red in the thermometer rises it makes it warm outside. No, Frosty. Mercury does not control the elements. But I suppose when you live in a world where a little girl thinks she can take a refrigerated train with you to the North Pole and be home in time for supper, things are a little confusing.)

In addition to Rankin/Bass, our family takes great Christmas glee in all the standards, including A Charlie Brown Christmas, How the Grinch Stole Christmas, and Disney’s Mickey’s Christmas Carol. And we also have a few favorites that I consider quite underrated. Bloom County’s A Wish for Wings that Work (starring Opus and Bill the Cat), where Opus saves Santa from drowning, and Disney’s Small One, where a young Judean boy is told by his father to take their donkey into town and sell him because he is a runt and uses up their resources without providing any real work. After some close calls with some swindlers and a tanner, this young boy sells his donkey to…(surprise!) Joseph and Mary. Yes, I’m sure you immediately saw that one coming when you saw that the story featured a donkey. But let me tell you this. When you are watching this movie with your three-year old daughter, and she starts bawling because she is so moved by the kindness of a young boy and a man named Joseph, it’s pretty hard not to love it. And then when she asks to watch it again, since “just because it makes me cry doesn’t mean that I don’t like it,” you realize that she’s a pretty discerning kid.

As far as full-length motion pictures go, anything that takes place in New York or London or a big city where there are Christmas trees and lights all over town, choirs and bands randomly performing, and people wearing fashionable outerwear, I am immediately captivated. With Christmas as a backdrop, I feel like the season is as much a character in the movie as any of the actors. It’s a time of forgiveness. A time of rekindling. A time when people are a little kinder. Except John McClane. Because if you are trying to take over the Nakatomi Plaza, and you are messing with his family... Christmas eve or not, you are going down, my friend.

Turner Classic Beach Blankets

In an effort to meet our goal of being both more culturally diverse and snooty at parties, Katie and I have been tuning in quite frequently to the Turner Classic Movies channel.

As soon as TCM’s Robert Osborne walks on the screen to introduce the movie, I feel immediately more cultured and refined. Almost certainly more so than, say, if I had instead decided to stick with the That’s So Raven marathon in which I was thoroughly engrossed. With Turner Classic Movies, it’s almost as if I shouldn’t be sitting there watching TV so casually dressed, but in more formal attire. Something with pants, perhaps.

You only need look around the living room set from which Mr. Osborne is addressing the viewers, regaling us with trivia and scandal that surrounded this particular movie, to realize you are in the presence of a man who knows and appreciates exceptional filmmaking.

Yes, thanks to Turner Classic Movies and Robert Osborne, Katie and I have been treated to such industry standards as Casablanca, The Maltese Falcon, From Here to Eternity, Sunset Boulevard, and of course, Bikini Beach and it’s much heralded sequel, Beach Blanket Bingo.

What? Could it be you are calling into question TCM’s screening of these two mid-1960s gems? Do you find yourself wondering how Frankie Avalon and Annette Funicello managed to finagle their way onto such highbrow programming? My snooty senses tell me you are not alone.

When Robert Osborne introduces the movies, you can sense something is wrong. (If you know Bobby like I know Bobby, you can just sense these things.) He’s awkward. He’s off kilter. He's embarrassed. Then, as if trying to redeem himself and maintain the integrity of the channel and Mr. Turner himself, Robert leaves the script. “….uhm…(shuffling of feet, light stammering, small chuckle)…other movies also released this year were, uh, Doctor Zhivago, The Sound of Music, and Othello, uh, starring Laurence Olivier! And now…(as if admitting defeat) on with the movie….”

So, we had to watch. Of course we did. We knew we were in for a delicious, anomalous treat. And oh, the pain! The inelegance! What a timeless tribute to surfers and blonde beach bums world wide. And by “timeless” I mean 1960s. And by “world wide” I mean southern California, between San Diego and Ventura. (Seriously, these movies were made for a very small demographic of people.)

And please note, Beach Blanket Bingo wasn’t so much a sequel as it was … well, somebody taking the template of Bikini Beach and changing a few names. For example, in Bikini Beach, Don Rickles owns a racing track and goes by the name of Big Drag; in Beach Blanket Bingo, Don Rickles owns a skydiving place and goes by the name of Big Drop. You can’t make this stuff up, folks. Well, actually you can. But don’t expect Turner Classic Movies to show it. I think they learned their lesson. It just about broke my heart when, at the end of the movies, they clipped back to Robert Osborne, huddled in a corner of the living room set, a whisky flask in one hand and his other hand attempting to hide his face from the camera. At least it made me feel better about watching TCM in my underwear.