Can a person be unmasked by his DVD collection? What to think of someone who owns some disgracefully atrocious movies? of someone with nothing above PG-13? of someone who buys every Hollywood blockbuster crap-a-thon imaginable? of someone whose collection of independent movies seems disingenuous, as though he bought them to impress people with his superior knowledge and passion for the quality flick?

I know my DVD collection is not one to be amazed by; there are some duds, not many Academy Award winners, and an overrepresented mafia theme. I don't know myself any better by looking at the titles of my movies, but maybe I should:

American Pie
American Pie 2
Any Given Sunday
A Bronx Tale
Carlito's Way
Casino
Cast Away
Crouching Tiger Hidden Dragon
Detroit Rock City
Dude, Where's my Car?
Eight Millimeter
The Exorcist
Forrest Gump
Freddy Got Fingered
The Godfather
The Godfather, Part II
The Godfather, Part III
Goodfellas
Heat
Jaws the Revenge
Lethal Weapon 4
Life is Beautiful
Planet of the Apes
Platoon
Rebel Without a Cause
Shrek
The Simpsons: The Complete First Season
The Simpsons: The Complete Second Season
Snatch
The Sopranos: The Complete Second Season
The Sopranos: The Complete Third Season
South Park: Bigger, Longer, and Uncut
Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles
Traffic

Snippets

I got done with all my reading assignments early tonight but drank a 24 oz chai tea, so I have plenty of excess energy. With that said, I was genuinely happy to get an e-mail from you, and since I have never written you an exclusive e-mail, I figure now is as good a time as ever... I am perfectly content with my relationship status. I vaguely recall telling you while in South Africa that after four years of knowing her and just two weeks of dating, I sensed that my relationship with Haley would blossom into love. And you know, it did. She is the first girl I ever said those three magic words to, because I wanted to have no doubt in my mind when I first said them. Haley and I genuinely loved each other. Never in my talk with you, though, did I say that I had a feeling she was my soul mate, the woman who would share the rest of my natural life. Deep down, I knew she was not that girl. I did not know why, especially since I knew I would fall in love with her, but I just knew... I am not the type to scope a club for chicks or ask for the phone number of a girl whose face I think is gorgeous but whose name is hazy to me. Rather, when my next love comes into my life--- it may not be my true love, as I know I still have some learning to do--- God will let me know, and the situation will work out the way it is intended to be. From this knowledge I hold peace and content in no longer being in a relationship... even in that brief message in your e-mail, I could feel that sincerity you always showed me in South Africa. I do wish that we had been able to talk more one-to-one in South Africa, as I was always interested in what you had to say... I hope these twilight months of your college career are incredible. I know it's cliche, but you deserve nothing but the best, and I hope you achieve this. Good luck creating that path into a new life, with relocation, career, and wife. Best wishes, Anthony

The best purchase I made--- purely based on bang for buck, not purchases of sentiment or significance--- came a few summers ago, when at the Pensacola Interstate Fair Outlet fair I exchanged a twenty and a ten dollar bill for a flatbed scanner. With one single USB port connection I could transform flimsy strips of photo paper into pixelated graphic displays on my computer and the internet. If not for the scanner, that photo of Mike sucking on my walking stick would be confined to my photo album, shackled from the rest of the internet world.

Today I received a surprise e-mail from a girl I met in South Africa, asking me to send her the picture of us during our final night of that indescribable trip. I'm able to grant such requests after a click on the scanner and a trip to outlook express... but this be no longer so. A retrieval of the scanner from my closet, an openning of the front latch, a crooked laser sliding dealy (whatever actually goes through the motion of scanning the picture), a broken piece of black plastic swimming around the base, a scanner which can no longer serve its purpose. How this happened? I do not know. What I do know is this: my best purchase sits lifeless, without a purpose, reaping no more rewards.

Dad takes his son to the book store and sips on coffee while the little boy grimmaces at the steaming cup in front of him. They reveal to each other answers from the book dad bought for his son, among them:

If you could find the personal diary of one person from history, with all the juicy details, whose would you want to find? (Son's brief answer: John F. Kennedy)
If God were to appear before you in any form, what form would you want Him to take? (A glowing light with outreached hands)
If you were reincarnated into a musical instrument, what instrument would best suit you? (Piano)
If you could, in retrospect, thank one teacher you had in school for what they taught you, who would it be, and what would you thank them for? (Mrs. Kellum of fourth grade, for condemning a walk through life without applying effort to talent)
If one part of your body was to become a religious relic, which part would you like it to be? (Big toe)
If you could gain the courage to do one thing, what would you do? (Walk up and talk to people I'm interested in)

Lots of stories pass through the question and answer session, until the dad, in response to one particular question, feels the urge for pizza. He takes his son to the local pizzeria, the one with the real Italian pizza, where you fold the large drooping triangle of mozzarella, dough, and gravy in half and take a bite out of the crispy crust before beginning to consume the actual pizza part. Dad doesn't fill the day with lengthy activites to consume the time he will spend with his little boy. Instead, he walks through everyday life with his son by his side, doing nothing glamourous to impress his son, doing the trivial things to talk with his son. Even the little boy can sense when that happens, and he skips along and grabs tightly to dad's leg, appreciating the motionless time they have together while the rest of the world keeps moving.

---Excerpt from a boy's trip home for Thanksgiving