photo from my friend Ty Carlson

          Recently I watched another Morgan Spurlock work. It was called Confessions of a Superhero. This documentary has to have been one of the best documentaries I think I have ever seen. I’m going to warn you unless you into documentaries or are in the mood to explore your humanity I don’t recommend you watch this.

          When the movie started, I was hoping for something far more halarious. Something along the line of cops, ridiculous white trash, some dude that is so intoxicated his already slurred speech becomes its own swedish dialect. Now that we have established my love for humanity, what I saw was something so pure, I wanted fluffy pancakes to drizzle it over. The stories that these people told were so authentic, the purity of their emotion was something that broke through my cynicism. As I watched these people tell their stories, I thought to myself how refreshing it would be to hear someone whose story was as unrehearsed.

          I left my friends house and started the trip back to Weatherford from Thomas, and before I even made it to the highway a man runs into the middle of the road. Coincidentally enough he needed a ride to the police station or Weatherford. He assured me he didn’t have a knife and had no mal intent, I asked him what made him so sure I didn’t have a knife. Since I’m already on my way there I offer him a ride. He rambled on and on repeating how he had just said a pray and how he was just trying to get back on his feet. I did my best to not say much and just listen. I don’t know wether it was the excessive  use of the phrase, “my baby’s momma,” or that his story sounded rehearsed, but I was very unmoved by his plight.

          After about 10 minutes of driving and him being done with his life story there was a moment of silence. From that point out conversation digressed to chicken flavored crackers and Ramen noodles. What happened in that small moment? Was I supposed to say something profound? Was it my job to facilistate a religious experience? Or, did I let things play out the way they should? It is a thought that has plagued me for a couple days. I don’t feel I was really capable of doing things differently, nor do I feel I would have changed things. I guess I will continue you to seek wisdom in the wrinkles of Nick Nolte’s face