Some things are indeed sacred – set apart. Only with the greatest degree of penitence and reverence shall such objects or artifacts be approached. And even then one ought to question their motives and intentions for approaching.
In spite of this universal reality, we again see the brazen arrogance of our society, its gatekeepers and the public manifested in the heretical handling of a pillar of contemporary American culture. And I will not apologize for standing my ground. I will draw a line in the sand – a line which you do not cross. A line that places those icons on the pedestal they deserve. You don’t draw a mustache on the Mona Lisa. You don’t defecate in Duchamp’s Fountain (unless you’re using the one at his house when he invites you over for BBQ). And you don’t adapt, adjust or alter the A-Team.
In great anticipation of Iron Man 2’s opening scene, I sat, snarfing snacks shortly after I savored supple steak and scintillating conversation with several associates. I sat, a mouthful of corn in both popped and syrup form. I sat, my captain’s chair slightly reclined, feet perched atop empty seat in front of me, and seasoned my obese tub of popcorn with the salt of my own tears as I watched the last of my childhood heroes die a humiliating death before my eyes (and by this point already greasy pores).
If you grew up in the early 1980s and were male (and possibly female), four programs were likely crucial in your childhood and adolescent development: He-Man, G.I. Joe, The Dukes of Hazzard, and The A-Team. I still remember seeing The Master of the Universe become its slave (RIP 1987), watching The Dukes become the Jesters of Hazzard (RIP 2005), and a part of me died when I finally observed a Real American Hero become (yeah, I’m going where you think I’m going) a real American Zero (RIP 2009).
But never, never did I expect the sucker punch to my bloated gut I got in that insidious trailer. I really thought we had all agreed that no other living person shall ever after speak, in any other context other than a reverential and awe-filled homage, the single greatest line ever scripted (I almost can’t even type it) “I love it when a plan comes together.” My hands are shaking jsut thnkginsg abuiut hunegjo sdfunkdsfs.
Sorry, I lost my composure for a moment there.
I like Liam Neeson as much as the next guy who is indifferent to Liam Neeson. But he is not fit for the throne in which he now sits. (Partly because his head is too round. Has anyone ever felt uber-inspired to follow a man into the depths of battle whose head was that round? I don’t think so. He looks like a gray-haired, retirement-age Charlie Brown.)
Anyway, the truth is I’ll probably end up seeing this movie. And, I’ll likely end up liking the movie. And further more, I will most certainly not like the fact that I like this movie that I would like to despise and will probably continue to say I despise and like at the same time ad infinitum. (I would like to thank post-modernism for equipping me with the skills to intellectually bear that kind of cognitive dissonance.)
So, I guess it could be said that I love or hate it when a plan does or doesn’t come together.
Rest in peace A-Team.
TagsAbortion Andrew Sullivan Atheism Barack Obama Bible Book Review Books Capitalism Catholic Church Catholicism Charles Taylor Christian Christianity Christianity Today Church Conservatism Conservatives Education Evangelicalism Evangelicals Facebook Faith Feminism God History Jesus Journalism Mark Driscoll Marriage Martin Heidegger Marvin Olasky Media New Sincerity New York Times Patheos Philosophy Politics Religion Religion and Spirituality Ross Douthat Same-sex marriage Secularism Theology United States Women
Subscribe to Patrol via Email