Growing Up Toy Story: A Review

Let's get some perspective here shall we? Toy Story came out in 1995. At the time I was only nine years old. From a young age I was bred to be a quite the fan of all things Disney. Toy Story was a brought to me by Disney. The film also happened to be about a young lad most likely not much younger than myself and his relationship with his collection of play things. The idea that toys have a life of their own wasn't a foreign one to me, even at age nine. My younger brother and I often fantasized about the lives our toys had when we were not present. And toys did we have. We were the kind of kids who amassed such a variety of toys that they filled to the brim a giant wooden toybox. We must also take into consideration that I may or may not be the most sentimental human being alive. So much is my nostalgia to even the most insignificant piece of memorabilia that the majority of my childhood toys still reside somewhere packed away among the boxes and boxes of junk my family has squirreled away over the years. I'm a sentimental packrat.

So what did this all mean to me upon seeing that first delightful film about toys and their lives? Not a thing. If I am honest with myself, I just loved the movie because it was great. There was adventure and a relatable through line. Indeed, Toy Story went on to be one of the most watched VHS tapes my brother and I owned. 'Most watched' isn't an exaggerated term here either. For weeks on end, it was our habit to watch the same movie EVERY night before we went to bed. For those of you who have known me a long time and know my tendency to be late to everything; this was one of the early reasons for my oversleeping. I had the Toy Story toys from Burger King, I had the store bought versions -- I even bought the special cloth version of Woody hoping he'd be something like his movie counterpart. It never was. We played the video game on Genesis to completion and we recreated scenes from the film as best we could using our heroic proxies. The sheer impact of Toy Story on my life is understated but concrete. From that day forth the company Pixar was forever synonymous with Toy Story.

Such was my loyalty to this monumental film that I have not to this day ever seen A Bug's Life. Hearing that the company that produced such a beloved film had betrayed my trust as well as that of Buzz and Woody, I subconsciously decided I would never partake in the blasphemy of it all. And then they won me back with Toy Story 2 in 1999. I was thirteen now and, like Andy, I was starting to outgrow the need to open the toybox or melt Green Army men behind the garage at our apartment complex. Still though, times would call and I'd find myself prone to childlike whimsy. Toy Story 2 was wonderful. It made me feel guilty all over again for the gradual unuse my toys started to see, and for a long while I was terrified that the plight of the toys in the movie echoed that of my own toys. Toy Story 2 was a natural thing in my life as by this time Toy Story had already become ingrained in my subconscious. Seeing it was about as common sense as breathing. The wonderful part about this sequel was that it ended on a note of finality. Woody and Buzz have come to terms with the fact that, indeed, one day Andy will outgrow his use for them as all boys do, but all along the way they will be there for him. It was touching and it was hopeful. I think that on some level I was unaware, this is the very reason I was finally able to accept Pixar's next film Monster's Inc.. The story of Woody, Buzz and the gang was over insofar as it could be, and I could move on. I'll admit I never saw Monster's Inc. or Finding Nemo in theaters as I was still mildly uninterested in any Pixar movie that wasn't a Toy Story film, but with time I have gone back and they are both wonderful favorites of mine.

And then, like Andy undoubtedly did, I grew up. Growing up is never something you do on purpose; especially if you're a boy. You wake up every day and one morning eleven years later you look back and all of those things that were so important to you have been replaced with new things. New interests and new entertainments. High school gave way to college. I got a job. My family moved. The toy box was stored away in a garage. I made friends. I learned to drive. I got in trouble. I made mistakes. I got a job. I moved away from home. I lost friends I wish I hadn't. I started paying bills. I took on responsibilities. And suddenly that little boy who I was sure I still was was gone. This realization gave way to the melancholy that a time in my life had come and gone without me even knowing, and it was time to move on to whatever was next. This last Friday I saw Toy Story 3.

Toy Story 3 finds Andy all grown up and headed for college. Woody, Buzz, and the remnants of a once glorious collection of toys sit solemnly day in and day out inside a toy chest. By all accounts they haven't been given a second glance in years. Confronted with the decision to either throw away his old toys or store them away in an attic, Andy chooses to take Woody along and store away Buzz and the rest. A mix-up causes the attic-bound toys to almost find themselves garbage-bound, when through a daring set of actions instead wind up being donated to a nearby daycare. The story is the least engrossing part of Toy Story 3. This is not to say that it lacks imagination or thrill. The sheer amount of creativity that Pixar puts into every tiny nuance of this film is mind boggling. The places and adventures the toys have in this film trump in scale and in spectacle almost everything the previous two films offered. The humor is strongly in tact throughout, and watching this movie feels just like going home. This is to say nothing in this movie feels like it's forcefully recreating the magic of the first films. Though every viewer will likely have an idea of where the chips will fall by film's end, the story is no less suspenseful or enjoyable for it.

Instead, the treasure of Toy Story 3 lies in its heart. While I know that any mildly well-adjusted child will enjoy the hijinks at play in this film, I can't help shaking the feeling that Toy Story 3 was made for boys like me. The boys who first took that adventure with Woody when they were nine and had become young men in the time since. Obviously, the experiences and growing up Andy has done are not detailed and I believe that's because all of us are Andy now. There is a very specific age group of my peers that grew up with these three movies, and this third in particular speaks to us as we look back on our long lost childhoods one last time. Toy Story 3 is a story about many things. It's a story about how important our childhood is to us. It's about growing up and what that means. It's about loyalty and how you treat those around you. It's about the crushing sadness of having to let go as well as the realization that it's okay to do so because those memories are never gone from us. Toy Story 3 tells the people like me in the audience that we haven't lost that little boy we were. It tells us that somewhere deep inside the experience of childhood guided us to where we are now, and that true friends never really leave us. Through the eyes of the toys we learn about what it means to be loyal and to never give up on those who are closest to us. We learn that friendship will get us through virtually anything, and we learn how to say goodbye.

Toy Story 3 is just a movie, but somehow to me it's meant so much more. The three Toy Story films stand as a mirror of my growing up. Toy Story 3 marks the end of my childhood in a way. It's an acknowledgment of my progress in life and a reminder of all of the new things I have ahead of me without ever compromising the importance of my past. It's hard to explain to some people what a movie like this is for me, and I imagine there is only a limited subset of people who will ever fully grasp this film in a manner similar to my own. I may not have realized it along the way, but the Toy Story franchise has taught me lessons all throughout my life. It was with a certain kind of joyful sadness that I found myself in the theater choked up to the point of tears during the final fifteen minutes of this film as I realized that Toy Story was teaching me my final lesson. I'm all grown up now and Buzz and Woody and all the rest don't mean to me what they once did, but they like the franchise itself will always be a part of me in a way. If this sounds like high praise for a movie; realize that it very much is the highest praise I can give. Toy Story 3 ended up besting even my loftiest expectations and because of that and the unique place it holds in my life it stands as not only the best Pixar film ever released, but one of the best films I have seen in a very long time. Bring a box of tissues, an attitude for a good laugh, and the little kid who's right where you left him... Toy Story 3 is worth every moment.

Why Joining A Gym Will Make Me Fat

It's a semi-little known secret that once upon a time not so many years ago I weighed just slightly over 200 pounds. At a height of five foot nine inches tall, this weight would fall under an 'obese' rating on most BMI (Body Mass Index) scales. I should disclaim that this weight was the absolute highest weight I ever weighed myself at, and it is very likely that it was not an entirely accurate measurement. Ideally, I imagine that my actual weight was somewhere in the realm of 210 to 215 pounds. Obviously this is nothing to scoff at, but I am attempting to acknowledge the discrepancy. Of course, this is not the reason that I'm writing today. The truth of the matter is that over the course of about a year and a half I was able to lose roughly eighty pounds, lowering my weight to a range of anywhere from 135 to 145 pounds. This range continues to be my average currently, and the maintenance thereof a conscious effort in my day-to-day routine.

For the first time in almost five years I find that delicate struggle to maintain a healthy weight and healthy practices in jeopardy and tonight while I mercilessly packed away sugary snack after sugary snack, I deduced precisely the culprit -- joining a gym. Let it be clear that for the better part of four years, exercise has been a key facet of my lifestyle. Whenever possible, I have made an effort to run at least two miles a day. Additionally, I throw in a moderate number of push-ups and sit-ups whenever and wherever possible. The important thing to note in this is that while running is important to keeping my weight low, diet and portion sizes have been tantamount not only to the initial loss of weight but the sustained maintenance over time. The reason portion size and the particulars of my diet are so essential lies within the admission that while I now have what many would consider a slender build, at heart food is an overriding passion. Whereas a normal human being will eat that which they find tasty and subsequently stop when they feel full, I find myself eating for the pleasure derived from the flavors and diversity available at any given time. In simpler terms; I'm a fat kid at heart.

As many former "fat kids" can attest, the paranoia that one day they could return to their robust glory is almost enough to stem all the bad habits and tendencies towards excess they may otherwise indulge. I would happily count myself among this demographic, and while I will not claim that my life is any happier than it was when I was overweight, I will admit a powerful urge to not revert to such a state. This past January, I took it upon myself to enroll at the local YMCA in an attempt to continue running and exercising regularly in the usually dormant winter months. Having never been a proper member of a legitimate fitness center since my newfound embracing of a healthier lifestyle, I assumed that having easy access to a fitness establishment would push my exercise routine to untold heights. The truth, as it were, is a much more complicated affair.

I refer now back to the idea that one of the motivating factors in remaining in shape after years of being otherwise is a fear of going back. Regularly going to a gym is a unique experience. The rush and satisfaction of pushing your body's limits and getting stronger and more fit is second to almost none in the list of life's personal accomplishments. The more time and effort put into a gym, though, the more you begin to feel impervious. Thus was the case as far as I am concerned. As the first months of increased physical exercise came to a close, a new feeling of security washed over me. I must be clear that 'security' as I use it here is not meant in a safe and comforting manner equal to the security felt surrounded by loved ones. Instead, this 'security' was one in which the idea that I could ever return to being out of shape seemed an impossibility to me. Truthfully, with the amount of exercise I do on a normal trip to the gym the idea is almost justified. Almost any amount of regular food intake should plausibly be burned away under the rigors of a strenuous workout. The problem of course is twofold. Firstly, it would be unwise to assume that a moderate amount of exercise is excuse enough to stop avoiding sugary snacks or foods containing loads of empty calories that the body cannot properly utilize. Secondly, it would seem I had forgotten the fact that without the focus of concern of the things I ate, I subconcsiously began eating whatever I felt like. Essentially, the gym became my excuse to eat whatever, whenever I wanted.

And so I find myself at a crossroads. I am nowhere near what any rational mind would consider "out of shape", yet I have a weary mind towards the prospect I'm slowly losing the temperance with myself necessary to keep my less desirable habits in check. I do acknowledge the fact that since joining the gym my own fitness level has steadily risen, but it is at the cost of judicious eating habits. And so I find myself wondering if there are others out there with the same predicament. Every day I see people at the gym who are slightly on the heavier side, who seem to push themselves even harder than I do and yet week after week I observe no differences in them. Of course, this is complete conjecture on my part and for all I know the differences are vast yet imperceptible to me due to frequent exposure. Regardless, for the first time in four years I find myself asking if heightened physical activity is the best course of action. Is it possible that memberships to fitness establishments in general carry an air of freedom to ignore otherwise unhealthy habits? Does the knowledge that one belongs to an overwhelmingly identifiable bastion of health cast a blind gaze towards the fact all other outlets of one's life are the opposite? I am personally puzzled by the thought and while I do not yet have the answer, I hope that somehow the mere fact I can rationalize the thought is a sign that I am that much closer to an answer.

Consider for a moment instances in your own life in which you purposefully do something that should represent something overwhelmingly positive in order to justify a much more damaging and negative behavior? Personally I think it's a sign of the human condition and our ability to sabotage ourselves without even knowing it. It goes a long way towards informing personal insight, regardless of how it manifests in your life.

28 x 28: February Eight

YMCA Sociology

About half a month ago, I finally cracked and signed up for my local YMCA. The nice thing about the Y I've chosen to go to is that it's not only located very close to my apartment downtown, but it's attached to my place of work. This means that either after work and before class, or after class late at night I can easily get in a quick workout. Since I've more or less been going every day for the last two and a half weeks, I let my mind muse a little while I was running tonight.

In today's world, it's hard not to be a little cynical. It would be false to think that many of the interactions we have with people both stranger and familiar are not motivated by self-gain. How often do you find yourself walking down the street these days and exchanging friendly greetings with passers-by? Granted, that kind of behavior in today's society is just as likely to get you branded a lonely, desperate lunatic as it is a kindly citizen of the world. Still, the point stands. The world for better or worse in most cursory encounters is a tad on the guarded side, if not sometimes hostile. With that in mind, I was a little stunned to observe that in a gym setting most people are far more inclined to be cordial if not downright nice. People hold doors, respectfully yield machines, make an effort to help others out, and sometimes even start up a casual conversation. It's an odd thing, to a certain degree, and I imagine it has a lot to do with the idea of a gym in the first place. A gym finds a large group of strangers all gathered in one building under a common purpose; doing silly things to get or stay in shape. The fact that everyone is united under a common ideal is the easy part. A singular purpose can be one of the most unifying forces in human society. The real lynch pin of the oddity though can be found in the second action: doing silly things.

Now, I am not at all trying to posit that working out to stay in shape is a bad or even weird thing. Instead, in the most basic sense of it, the actions involved in exercising are downright strange when you take a step back. Running in circles for miles? Lifting heavy metal objects over your head over and over? Riding a stationary bike for hours at a time? Watching yourself stretch in a variety of poses in front of a wall-sized mirror? All of these things are fairly common, but if you were to take away all sense of leisure in an average human life these things would be absurd. In the Darwinian sense, exercise is hard to classify. On the one hand, exercise enables you to be a more fit and therefore more desirable candidate for natural selection. On the other, running around in a loop for three miles serves absolutely no purpose in furthering the survival of your day or the propagating of your life. It is because society as a whole has evolved to a point where the option to exercise has become a commodity as opposed to a necessity that something like a gym even exists. This is where the argument comes back around. Essentially, in this day and age, going to the gym is a choice. No one's forcing you to go and do 20 crunches, just like no one is forcing you to eat 4000 calories of delicious candy a day.

The concept of choice is crucial in my understanding of the unity that happens in a gym. Everyone there has chosen to come and do the silly things needed to exercise otherwise neglected aspects of the body. Now, because these acts require an individual to not only do said silly action, but forces them to be vulnerable in doing so to a wide selection of people that really causes the togetherness. No one likes to feel singled out for being different. As stressed and important as it is to embrace your own individuality, on a fundamental level humans strive to be uniform. This fear of being mocked further drives what would otherwise be disparate groups of people into a necessary homogeneous unification. And so we have people who would otherwise pass just as soon as look at you suddenly holding doors for you, or asking you how a machine works. Just like that the group has a reason to be civilized to one another again.

On top of everything else, going to the gym breeds a certain kind of communal desire. Working out at a gym, particularly running on a track for a few miles, can be one of the most isolating things a person can do. Such exercise depends almost entirely on the personal drive of the individual. This is also most likely what makes it so hard for so many when it comes to getting some exercise. At the end of the day, the only person you have to deal with is yourself. So as is natural in almost all human experience, we reach out for that connection with others. Our desire to no longer be isolated causes us to actively include others in ways that would not happen under different stimuli. Running with a partner, having someone spot you while you lift, even silently competing with another gym patron to push your own limits are all tantamount to a deeper and baser human instinct to group.

In the end, the gym is a very interesting societal happening to observe. On the surface it may seem like common sense to be civil to a fellow human being, but in a heightened and logically unusual situation such as this the subtleties are so much more profound. The gym is kind of like the new age version of nomads migrating for a lifestyle or hunters working as a group. It all starts with a choice and is shaped by things so intrinsic to being alive as a human being that were we to not stop and ponder, we would likely miss entirely.

To All My Friends and Readers, a Video: Turkey Day Love

I don't know how many of you who read this are people I don't personally know, but I welcome you all the same. Heck, let's go ahead and say I'm thankful for you. And to all my friends whom I know in person, may your Turkey Day be good and may it remind you what in all the world you have to be thankful for however minuscule that may be.

Thinking of you, and thankful all the same. Happy Thanksgiving! This is for you:



Here's a YouTube Version too: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=U-WgzvwUVX8#watch-main-area