Romancing the Stone with a Colombian in the room

I haven't written about Thanksgiving week yet, and now it seems so passe that I don't want to just write about how Thanksgiving week went, albeit it was anything but uneventful.

Plenty of things happened over Thanksgiving this year and they were all good things. For instance, my brother and his wife came out to Denver for a visit over the holiday and stayed Wednesday night through Tuesday morning... that's six days. What's so special about that? Well, for one thing this is the first time, in a very very long time that my brother has been able to come out for a period longer than three or four days. That is, of course, if you count the day when he actually has to board a plane and go back to whence he came from, ridiculously early in the morning. OK, so that's not so exciting now that I'm writing about it. I mean, if you really think about it it's not even two full days extra from the usual. But you know, it's like money-- if it's anywhere over $50, it sounds like a lot of money for you to do plenty of things with, but when you go out there and try to put that money to work it suddenly and very quickly dwindles down to mere peanuts before you even get a chance to spend it. It's psychological, obviously.

Another thing that made this Thanksgiving super special was the fact that it was my sister-in-law's first visit to Denver and stay at our humble abode. Still not very exciting to anyone but us... *damn*. BUT if you recall what I wrote at the beginning of this post, my intent isn't to write about Thanksgiving, but rather something that took place during the Thanksgiving holiday. Something that I've been mulling over in my head for a few days and now feel ready to write about.

One evening during my brother's stay we decided to watch a family favorite-- Romancing the Stone. If you're not familiar with this flick, it is total escapism and adventure that takes you from a romance novelist's apartment in New York City, to a treasure hunt in Colombia. Now, the significance of my brother and his wife's visit is the fact that my sister-in-law happens to be Colombian. Adding another first to her list, she viewed this piece of pure 80s entertainment.

I found out a long time ago that though this movie is set in Colombia, it was not shot there due to an influx of kidnappings right around the time the crew was supposed to go down there. Instead, they shot it in Mexico. OK, I thought. It may not be authentic Colombia, but it should be generally close. I have no idea what I mean by generally close, but I expected something to be accurate even though this is hardly a movie that required more than someone's fun imagination and creativity to produce.

Putting aside Michael Douglas's inability to pronounce Cartagena correctly throughout the movie by adding one of those squiggly Spanish accents to the "n", so that Cartagena (it's spelled just like it sounds, only the "g" is an "h") is Cartagenia. Or more precisely, Cartahaynia, pronounced with a deliberate twang. That's annoying and completely incompetent on the director's part, but I digress. No, I'm talking about the complete disregard for the distinct differences between Latin America and Central America... folks, they're totally different. They are two different continents with different landscapes, cultures, climates and Spanish dialects.

What bothered me the most after watching Romancing the Stone with a Colombian in the room was how much was ridiculously made up. The first thing that made my brother and his wife chuckle was a close up shot of a supposed Colombian license plate. I can't imagine replicating a country's license plate would be that difficult, even if there was no internet to make such information easily accesible. The second thing that made them burst into laughs were the gators just roaming about on pavement. The dialect spoken was Mexican and the people were Mexican. Not even the native dress of peasants or the police/military were accurate, according to my sister-in-law. "Not even close," she said. My favorite was the llama... there aren't any in Colombia, or Mexico for that matter. They really went out of their way to be wrong, I guess.

After saying all that, you're probably wondering why I'm making such a big deal about an 80s movie with a romance novelist as its main character. Well, it's mostly because I am doing research for a historical fiction story I hope to turn into a book one of these days. Fiction has always scared me more than non-fiction, because fiction is, well, fiction. You, the writer, make it up and it's all you. If you make a mistake, you really look stupid and people will roll their eyes. I know, because I roll my eyes all the time at fiction that pretends to know what my people-- Arabs and/or Muslims-- are like. I've also read and seen fiction that makes Denver look like this snow-covered place where people wear their coats all winter long over their Denver Broncos gear and go on about how cold it is with a cowboy's twangy accent. I grew up and have lived in Denver for 20 years, and I can tell you that that painting of Denver is pretty much bologne.

Finally, I am of the total belief that if you're going to go out on a limb and do something, you should do it right or don't do it at all, otherwise the Colombian in the room will laugh at you.

I went to the The Police!

I wrote this a while ago, posted it elsewhere and thought it was good material for a blog about my "uneventful life"...

For about half my life I've wished and wished I could find some way to travel back in time and see Sting (aka Gordon Sumner and the Milkman's son), Stewart Copeland and Andy Summers; as The Police. Together again.

I always felt like I was gypped out of ever hearing the greatest songs and the greatest band live, because they broke up before I knew their greatness. All I had to comfort me and assure me that I've heard their genius form-- live-- was their two-disc live album... appropriately called LIVE!

Sunday, June 10, 2007, became the day I would right the wrong; the injustice.

I traveled back in time, and a gold Ford Freestyle was the time machine. We drove the time machine past the ticket scalpers and desperate fans holding up signs, and into the already almost full parking lot. An old man wearing a staff vest greeted us and we showed him our VIP parking pass.

"It's gonna be a great show... it sure was last night!" he told us.

We thanked him and found tailgaters all over the parking lot. Stepping out of the time machine, sounds of The Police permeated the downtown air.

We walked the walk of people about to see something revolutionary; past a few grills, lawn chairs and endless radio station booths.

The reunion of The Police. Sting (aka Gordon Summoner), Stewart Copeland and Andy Summers. Together. Again.

When I heard the news of these musical geniuses' summer reunion tour, I felt like I'd died and gone to heaven. The Police. In Denver. The Police were coming to Denver. And after much trouble and depression, I used my connections and acquired a free ticket.

The day had finally come.

People in summer attire were walking toward the same destination as us. Once inside, synchronicity colors were blinking on tiny buttons, and were being flashed in my face, for $5/each. A guy with a vendor box tied around his Police-clad torso showed us keychains and other things that would take away from my t-shirt budget. We declined and went up the escalators.

All I wanted was to get my hands on a t-shirt to prove to myself later that this wasn't just a dream; that the ticket I held in my hand was for a realistic event, and not just some replica of one past. That I hadn't died, but that I had in fact, gone to heaven, if only for a few hours.

There were so many t-shirts, and I wanted them all. I made my decision fairly quickly and it was the blue Regatta de Blanc t-shirt. When the guy behind the counter spread it out on the glass, and I felt its blue cotton and its white screen print of The Police, I knew that this was it. This t-shirt was going to be the reality check-point when this colossal experience was over. I paid the man an insane amount of money for a t-shirt and walked away, feeling like a kid with candy.

We took our seats, and they were perfect enough. I waited impatiently for what in my opinion is the greatest band since the Beatles. A small-time band called Fictionplane opened, and they were good... good enough to open for The Police, but I just wanted them to finish and start the real show.

When the lights finally came on to signify the entrance of The Police on the stage, I was on cloud nine.

Message in a Bottle was the first song, and it rocked even more than on the recorded live versions I'd heard. Synchronicity, So Lonely, Driven to Tears, Don't Stand So Close to me, I can't stand losing you, The bed's too big without you, Roxanne, Truth hits everybody, Invisible Sun (with a montage of the war in Iraq), King of Pain, Every Breath you Take, Every little thing she does... I heard all these live and very very well.

Sting looked great and sounded great. His guitar looked more worn than he was, and his lean muscled arms bulged as he played and wowed the audience. Not that I was close enough to see such details, but thanks to large screens at concert venues, it was possible.

Andy Summers was completely engrossed with his guitar and he too, rocked.

Stewart Copeland blew everybody away with his awesome drums and percussion. This man is a genius when it comes to sound. Kudos to the guy I saw with a t-shirt that read "Stewart Copeland for President".

Throughout the night, I didn't forget for a moment that this was a colossal event. The Police, reunited and together again after many years. Sting's solo voice mixed with the early days of punk rock. It was fresh, yet classic and familiar. I felt like I had traveled back in time, yet witnessed something new... to a time when music rocked, and The Police were still intact, only this time they knew what a good thing they had.

As we neared the end of the night, whenever the lights would go out and they would go offstage, I'd panic. But I would soon be comforted by it being a false alarm.

They tried to end the evening several times-- four to be exact-- but the crowd wouldn't let them. When it was actually over, the audience just stood there, amazed at what they had just witnessed; this colossal event.

The Police came to Denver. They came and they conquered the top of concert charts. This is the reunion of the century, and if it comes to your town, make sure you go if you know what's good for you-- musically.

It is the greatest show on earth.