Out of control

6 am/5:31, 73/95.
New films I want to see: Ex Machina, Tomorrowland, Love & Mercy. New film the family selected for our rare night out together last night: Jurassic World. The less said, the better. I laughed out loud when I wasn’t supposed to, behind those silly plastic 3-D spectacles.

And what a spectacle it is. Didn’t take many notes but got the message, as early conveyed by one of the many ill-starred humans who thought they could manage their genetically-modified hybrid amusement park assets before the big crash-and-burn : “the key to happiness is to realize you’re never in control.”

Never? Once again, I’d prescribe a shot of Stoic Pragmatism. Someone should have told Executive Producer Spielberg that while he couldn’t control the taste or sensibility of his mass commercial audience, he didn’t have to add his name to a project that could only mar his legacy as a sometimes-serious film maker. Does he really need the money? Will someone in control in Hollywood please divert a small fraction of your blockbuster budget to the creators and writers of scripts for grownups?

But never mind, I’ve already given this too much time and consideration.

Last night was fun, as family outings go, and it did provide at least one invaluable moment of insight (which is one more than most nights out at the movies these days): as we exited the theater and crossed the curb where I’ve dropped off and retrieved our girls countless times during their pre-license years, I realized I won’t be doing that anymore. They’re both driving now. They’ve seized temporary control of their own mobility, taken charge of their own direction. I know I should be happy about that.

I’m looking forward to this evening’s more pedestrian entertainment outing, as a colleague and I head out to the ballpark to see the Sounds host Memphis. No escaped raptors, no anomalous containment breaches, no gratuitous destruction and mayhem anticipated. But I have no control over that.

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