When I Grow Up, I Want To Be . . .

(NOTE: It's good to be back. I've had a lot of things change personally that demanded I take some time for personal reflection, and actually a little bit of maintenance. During that time, I realized some thoughts and concerns have been living rent-free in the back of my mind for a while. It's eviction time. This won't be the last thing I write like this, but it won't exactly become a site theme, either. This is me not being entertaining, but just being real . . . for me. In all honesty, this isn't "Sleepless Colin" writing. This is Sean.)

This isn’t about jobs. It isn’t about careers.

It’s not about being astronauts, Super Bowl-winning quarterbacks, cowboys or President of the United States. Those are big things, granted. This is bigger.

What you do doesn’t define you. It speaks volumes about you. It can hint at your values, it can describe your paradigms and can even change you for better or worse. But it never defines you. That definition lies somewhere beneath, supporting everything.

What do I want to be? What I am never really changes. It can be hidden, obscured by battle scars, wounds, dents, dust and debris. But what we are never leaves once we define it and place our faith in it.

Do I want to be . . . “extraordinary”? Hm. Extra . . . ordinary. “Beyond ordinary.” Why should I care what defines ordinary? That’s far too subjective. It’s too fluid. That’s defining myself by someone else’s level. Screw that.

When I perform a dead-lift, does it have some material impact on me what the next guy at the rack lifts? Never. It never does. What he lifts won’t make me stronger. What I lift won’t make him stronger. It’s inconsequential. Odds are, we train differently, eat differently and maybe even have completely different builds. Sure, I can lift double my bodyweight on just about any given day. But I’m not a big man (5’9”, anywhere between 170 and 185 pounds, usually), so that may not seem like much to some. Likewise, I know guys with my height and weight who could probably lift about 50 percent more than I.

I respect that. But it ultimately doesn’t define who I am, what I achieve or how I approach what I do.

How about . . . “phenomenal”? Well, what is phenomenal, exactly? That’s somehow even more vague. That, to me, speaks to impressing somebody. That’s a path to misplaced priorities. I speak from experience.

Why care who I impress? I’ve many times steered myself off of good road trying too hard to impress people that I couldn’t see were inconsequential until I had the blinders off. The people I long hoped my blogs would eventually end up impressing, I’ve come to realize I probably should want nothing to do with because I ultimately can’t respect them. In the last year, I’ve learned some things about an early influence to how I write and my desire to generate an Internet media brand that frankly make me despise him. I wouldn’t have anything to do with him now, personally or professionally. The only thing left that I can respect is his talent. And ultimately, we can’t change to any significant degree how much talent for anything we all possess.

I will be . . . “electrifying.”

It’s a word often associated with one of my greatest personal influences, Dwayne Johnson. That’s right, snicker. The Rock.

It was always a phrase he associated with his character. “The most electrifying man in sports entertainment!” That’s because it’s active. It’s dynamic. It screams “change” and “impact.” It’s rooted in something that is really neither subjective nor deniable: causality.

“Electrifying” causes an effect. In any given sold-out arena since, oh, 1999 or so, when those throngs of fans heard “IF YA SAH-MELLLLLL . . .” the atmosphere became . . . electrified. The roar became deafening. I have been to professional sports events that haven’t even approached the explosion of excitement when Dwayne Johnson steps through a curtain and becomes The Rock. He changes the atmosphere when he enters any given arena at any given time.

That is electrifying. That is impact. But it goes beyond the reaction. He carved a niche for himself bigger than professional wrestling that few ever have, and none have on the level he’s achieved. He’s a Make A Wish Foundation legend and helps promote healthier lifestyle choices for parents and children through his The Rock Foundation charity – quite possibly the most electrifying things the former University of Miami All-American defensive end, multi-time WWE Champion and future WWE Hall of Famer has ever achieved. The world has been his spark’s conductor, and it’s carried the charge amazingly.

I want the things that I do to have a definite, undeniable impact. I want to be a game-changer. That doesn’t mean talking a big game. I can do that, and I often do. But it means I always want my actions to speak vastly louder than anything I could say. Being electrifying might be among the most liberating things one could be, because it's ceiling will never be talent-based, genetically-based, gender-based, creed-based, race-based, culture-based or based in anything else but the limits you give your desires. If you have the audacity to want something and make no bones about what you want, you can be truly electrifying. When I write a blog, I want it to generate views. I want it to generate buzz. I want comments. If you love it or you hate, either way, I have caused a reaction. I made you think for a moment.

When I write something for Geek Gems, nothing ever pleases me so much as high tweets and Facebook “likes”. That’s because I’ve sparked something. I’ve entertained somebody enough, informed them enough, that they passed it along and said “Check this out.”

If I review a movie and shred it, I hope that some laugh and others disagree. I want to be persuasive enough with what I say that I can win many over to my side, but the next best consolation is to start a conversation by making a sound point and having someone disagree. I’m bringing back mass communication’s inoculation theory: that unless your views and convictions are challenged, you’ll never be strong enough to defend them.

Make no mistake: this isn’t about popularity for me. Popularity is great. Being liked is, in fact, crucial to what I do. But the most important things lie beneath. The very worst sound I could possibly hear will never be “boo.” It’ll be silence. Wherever I write, whatever I do, I want it to be electrifying by being an example. That’s something distinctive. That’s something that echoes. That’s something truly remarkable, worth aspiring to be.

That is electrifying.

(While I’m at it, I don’t exaggerate that The Rock Foundation may rank among my favorite charities. I’ve you’ve ever chatted five minutes with me and seen the fire in my eyes when discussing health and fitness, you know that nothing frightens me in this world more than the possibility that the public will increasingly fund universal healthcare, despite more and more Americans taking worse care of themselves and hiking that shared burden.

Most of the most useful life lessons that have sunk in my life have been cemented in gyms, on basketball courts, in weight rooms and on treadmills. What Johnson does truly is valuable.

Please, visit www.djrockfoundation.org to learn how you can help this cause.)

Not Quite Geek Gems: Cthulu Fish T-shirt

OK, creationists and evolutionists. Points made. You will both go further out of your way to antagonize and bait one another than anyone guessed you would. Nothing will stop either side from shouting louder than the other. Got it.

But consider this argument settled.

First, people displayed ichthys ornaments (casually, the "Jesus fish") celebrating their devotion to the Book of Genesis' creation of the Heavens, Earth and all creatures great and small including humans. Then one day, a snarky evolutionist fired a dramatic shot across the bow and drew legs beneath the fish. Then the creationists drew the enhanced ichthys dead on its back, legs pointing skyward, and labeled it "Darwin."

All the while, a certain Great Old One who has probably lived long enough that he knows what really happened was too polite to just say "You are stupid, and so is your bickering. Time to eat you now. Om nom nom."

Or, you know . . . something like that. 

You'd really do well not to test Cthulu's patience and just click here.

Not Quite Geek Gems: Dirty Harry Potter

Every so often, I find an incredible product. Something that screams "YOU MUST HAVE NOW!" until my quivering digits start keying my Visa number and I'm suddenly a few dollars poorer for my weak will.

Thankfully, Scarlett is kind enough to be OK with my posting a few unused Geek Gems write-ups right here, for your viewing/reading/purchasing enjoyment. Know this, before reading onward: some of these products indicated some fairly strong opinions that I have toward certain franchises/trends/memes/people/kittens, etc.

This one . . . . OK, won't rankle that much. But you cannot convince me this movie shouldn't happen.

******



"I know what you're thinking, Malfoy. 'Oy! What sort of stupid-looking, muggle-made wand is that? Does he even know how to use it?!' Well, to tell you the truth, in all this excitement I kind of lost track myself. But being as this is what the 'muggles' call a '.44 Magnum', the most powerful handgun known to man -- and pretty quickly, to a snotty soon-to-be-ex-wizard -- and would blow your head clean off way better than a stick with a feather inside it, you've got to ask yourself one question: Do I feel lucky enough to cast a spell faster than a speeding bullet? Well, do you, PUNK?!"

-Excerpt from Sleepless Colin's first installment of a re-imagining of J.K. Rowling's acclaimed Harry Potter saga, titled Harry Potter And The Second Amendment. Soon to be a major motion picture directed by Clint Eastwood.

Go on, get to clickin'! Get your Dirty Harry Potter T-shirt right here!

Crysis 2 A Virtually-Perfect FPS

Though I’ve played a few stand-out titles, first-person shooters don’t rank highly among my most preferred games. That prejudice alone handicaps most FPS titles (admittedly, not always fairly) and amplifies every grating minor irritation like dragging a rusty nail across a chalkboard next to a microphone plugged into a Marshall stack. That acknowledged prejudice toward what I often regard as a repetitive genre that’s ever reinventing the wheel actually amplifies my respect for what a complete, enjoyable game this really is.

Crysis 2 is developed by Crytek for Electronic Arts and powered by the debuting CryEngine 3. Over-the-top bastardization of a single prefix? Perhaps. But when your game looks and plays this smoothly with nary a hitch, you’ve more than backed up the bravado. An engine producing graphics, textures and shadows this crisp, detailed and flawless comes along rarely. Only one other engine truly belongs anywhere near this one in terms of visual presentation, and it’s another engine forever bearing the name of its legendary debut appearance: Unreal.

What sets EA's latest superb shooter head-and-shoulders above nearly every other I've played? Find out right here, right now.

From GamerXChange.net: "Unremarkable coda" or "effective bridge"?

What praise could I possibly heap upon Mass Effect 2 that wouldn’t be redundant at this point?

I’ve heard even critical gamers who consider the presentation too dialogue-heavy and the story too slow-developing and even “boring” concede it’s put together unquestionably well and an exceptional game overall – just not necessarily one they particularly enjoy.

Flip the coin, and the gamers who love BioWare’s opus revere it among gaming’s greatest total-package titles that hits every possible high note a single game can hit, from captivating visuals and practically flawless gameply, to its sweeping-epic story and virtually bottomless replay value. That goes doubly so for PC gamers, who have had far longer to foster and grow their love affair than the console crowd.

But even the greatest of all great things reach an end. Shenmue fans will tell you that. So it goes now that before Mass Effect 3 emerges and likely propels Commander Shepard’s saga full-circle, BioWare resolves the last chord in Mass Effect 2’s movement in this starry symphony with the final downloadable chapter before Mass Effect 3’s late-2011 release,Arrival.

And for all BioWare’s promotional focus on Arrival as a must-have finale to Mass Effect 2, it makes an enjoyable but unremarkable and anti-climactic coda.

Mass Effect 2's developers made precious few overall mistakes . . . . but Arrival continued one of them. Click right here to find out what went wrong, and for more from GamerXChange, my Home Away From The Diner

Let Wrestlemania Weekend Begin Again...

As a wrestling fan, there just is no weekend of the year for me quite like Wrestlemania Weekend.


This year is particularly bittersweet, though. This marks 20 years almost exactly from the time I fell in love with the wrestling business not long right after seeing Hulk Hogan vs. Sgt. Slaughter for the (then-WWF) Championship and the Ultimate Warrior vs. "Macho King" Randy Savage in the company's first "Career-Ending Match" at Wrestlemania VII. 


In that intervening two decades, I've watched the evolution of both professional wrestling and its popularity. I was a loyal fan throughout the early-'90s transitional period when the business was finding its new way. I shook my head in puzzlement with the meteoric, unprecedented, and never-equaled explosion of wrestling's popularity when WCW Monday Nitro and WW(F) Monday Night Raw engaged in mortal combat during the "Monday Night Wars" when every Monday night really was wrestling night. But when that boom ended, there I remained during a time when I'd say that I'm a wrestling fan and like Pavlov's most annoying dogs, those bandwagon fans that jumped on board in the late '90s said that they stopped watching when the careers of Goldberg, Stone Cold Steve Austin and The Rock came to an end.


Which, to this day, always makes me think one thing: "No, you're not a wrestling fan. You're a Rock/Austin/Goldberg fan. There IS a difference."


But through every high and low wrestling has endured, Vince McMahon and Co. bring the A-game in the three months leading up to this one weekend. And almost every year, there's one storyline -- two, if we're really lucky -- into which the now-WWE production teams pours their every drop of creativity to build the drama that reminds fans like me why we're fans: because every great, memorable moment I've witnessed was one that I never saw coming. And I never know when that next one will hit that will change the business like some bald Texan telling an opponent that "Austin 3:16 says (he) just whipped your ass" or maybe just a match so good, it lives forever in my memory (there's a Shawn Michaels-Chris Benoit match from Raw that fits that latter description which, sadly, will probably never again see the light of day.)


When I think about those moments, I think of three great promo videos that aired leading up to marquee Wrestlemania match-ups. Whether you're a fan or not, you cannot deny that these three are more like trailers to grand epics with music and footage paired as perfectly as any combination of those two could be paired to generate goose-bump drama.


So if you're a fan, please enjoy these. On these three occasions, WWE reminded me why I'm a wrestling fan and probably will be for life. If you're a bit of a noob, watch 'em anyway. Maybe they'll get you just curious enough to dip a toe on Sunday and maybe enjoy this form of entertainment as much as I do.


******


"In time, your time will be no more . . ."


Those unexpected moments I mentioned? Behold Exhibit A.


I grant that this isn't even a week old, having aired just this past Monday. But a feud has been built between these two last remaining giants of wrestling's last boom period. With Kurt Angle now wrestling elsewhere, Steve Austin and The Rock retired, Mick Foley a nostalgia act, Shawn Michaels entering the Hall of Fame this year and Eddie Guerrero and Chris Benoit tragically dead, Triple H and the Undertaker are the last two titans standing -- each wanting to be "the last outlaw." They are WWE's two John Marstons -- the last two cowboys at the end of a dying, lawless, wild age.


I've enjoyed this match's build-up, particularly since they met at arguably the greatest Wrestlemania ever produced exactly 10 years ago in Houston. It's a sense of history, and of a full circle. But then I watched this promo and heard Mark Collie's eerie, tense, whispered vocals and the hair stood on the back of my neck.


If you've ever seen the Thomas Jane version of The Punisher and read the sub-head, you have a pretty good idea what's coming.









"There ain't no grave, can hold my body down . . ."


In a very, very short time, this two-year saga of the two greatest performers wrestling has ever known or may ever know has become already the stuff of immortal legend.


Heading into Wrestlemania 25, the Undertaker was 16-0 at Wrestlemania. Shawn Michaels had already cemented his reputation as reaching a different performance level that one time per year. But he had one thing he hadn't yet achieved: he wanted to end what has become known in reverent terms simply as The Streak.


At Wrestlemania 25, he almost did what 14 others before him hadn't. But where fans thought this great feud had reached a climax, the people writing it knew that was only the penultimate chapter. For the next year, Michaels would plant seeds for the true climax by acknowledging that he'd wrestling a "near-perfect" match and only made "one mistake." He started telling the world he believed -- no, he knew -- that he could beat the Undertaker on the one stage where no other had.


Finally, after months of goading, the Undertaker laid down one final challenge: Streak Versus Career.


In twenty years, I've never seen long-term booking and story-planning quite like this. And it will probably never happen again. But in the meantime, I witness the second greatest Wrestlemania-hype video in 20 years following this business.


And I never expected who would provide the soundtrack . . .









The Best. Period.


I saved the best for last. 


Sadly, this video also puts me into a tough position. If you didn't come of age as a fan during the late '90s, you just can't fully appreciate what Steve Austin and Dwayne Johnson shared as performers. The two greatest, most popular, entertaining performers of their era, who each helped launch wrestling to unprecedented and yet unequaled heights and became almost bigger than the business itself, actually wrestled comparatively few times but every single time was magic. Their charisma and ability told a story every time the two locked eyes. This was Joker and Batman. This was Michael Jordan and Isiah Thomas. This was Muhammad Ali and Joe Frazier.


Austin was returning to Wrestlemania after taking off nearly a full year to finally repair a legitimately long-broken neck. In the meantime, The Rock had become arguably -- depending on who you asked and the day -- either the company's most popular star or a damn-close second. One more spark to light the fire? Austin would main-event Wrestlemania in his home state of Texas. It was a moment at a time in the wrestling business that words just don't do justice. You can't define it with verbiage to someone who's never seen it. And those who are seeing it just now, can't really appreciate its full context because it was the end of an era they never experienced from its rise, to its fall.


But few will ever forget this one video. It may be the only truly awesome contribution to humanity Limp Bizkit have ever made. Top to bottom -- pacing, footage, cuts -- it is promotional, hype-building genius.


But it speaks for itself better than I ever could for it. Enjoy.







This year won't be without its sad moments, though. For the first time since Wrestlemania 22, I won't be watching with some combination of my best friends, whom I've affectionately dubbed The Horsemen -- Chris Faughn, Jeremy "J-King" Hulshof and John Inman. Finances and circumstances just put a bullet in a once-a-year tradition that always involves home-cooking, watching both the annual Hall of Fame induction ceremony on USA and tons of past wrestling matches on DVD, and a yearly four-handed poker game in tribute to our departed friend, fellow wrestling fan and tournament poker player Steve Black, who passed away between seeing Wrestlemania 23 live in his hometown of Detroit with Jeremy and I and being able to see Ric Flair's *ahem* "retirement" match at Wrestlemania 24. I'm unemployed and cash-strapped, Chris has a baby on the way and John will be watching on pay-per-view with Jeremy. For the time being, I must hit the pause button on a tradition about coming together with my band of brothers over something we've all loved for years.


But what this weekend is about won't change. At 6 p.m. Sunday night, I know where I'll be. That's because I know where The Miz, C.M. Punk, Randy Orton, Edge, Alberto del Rio, Triple H and the Undertaker will be. Once a year, everything culminates. And once a year, I might witness that next great memory's birth. You never know.
I'm Sleepless Colin. You're not. And that's the bottom line.