Thoughts On 5 Fan Theories from 2015

Fan theories run rampant online, this we know. But for every thousand random rants or way-too-forced connections, a few gems pop up that blow your mind, open your eyes or at the very least make you think for a minute.

So much happens during the creative process, decisions must be made, and often really great ideas are cut, leading to loose ends that eagle-eyed viewers might be able to detect and conclude. Other times, bread crumbs are left intentionally by a writer or filmmaker — not even for the viewer to find, necessarily, but more as a storytelling frame or tonal touchstone, so they don’t lose their way throughout production.

So with a solid understanding of the process, when fan theories come out, I like to take the time really examine them and take everything into consideration. Buzzfeed recently put out the Top Fan Theories of 2015. Here are five of them, along with my humble (but thoroughly educated!) opinion.

1.The Peddler is the Genie in Aladdin.

How do I say this? Ummm…. Duh? Sorry, it’s just I thought we already knew this. Robin Williams voiced the Peddler. He also has Robin’s/The Genie’s quick-paced delivery. Who else would know the story AND have the lamp? To see this even labeled as a “fan theory” feels a little false. Not to mention since it’s been confirmed, that it is no longer classified as a theory so much as an actual element of the story.

2. The Joker is the Real Hero.

I kinda love this theory, as posted on Reddit. While we’re emotionally and psychologically set up to root for Batman, when you look at the chain of events, and the cause and effect… it’s clear that the Joker was actually the one to clean up Gotham, albeit in his own twisted way. Yes, Batman is all about ethics, but the Joker pushed Batman so far past his own beliefs, he turned Batman against himself. The Joker was just the ultimate infiltrator. This is really more of a philosophical question – what do you consider to be the greater good? That’s deep. And I appreciate it.

3. Jar Jar Binks was a Sith Genius.

Cory brought this one to my attention and though initially, I thought it was ridiculous. But damn are these arguments convincing. Is it really possible that Jar Jar was essentially too smart for his own good? Would Lucas really wimp out and choose to ditch Jar Jar’s original path? That’s the part of this theory that bothers me most, I suppose. Wouldn’t it have been the ultimate answer to the backlash if Jar Jar turned out to be the badass Sith Lord he was supposed to be? Once the negative feedback started to rumble, Lucas should’ve been out there fighting for him. As much as I would love if this were true, more realistically, I’m still on the fence.

4. Lime Green Represents Evil in the Disney Universe.

I’m not sure why this is really a theory, so much as a detail astutely brought to our attention. But Disney isn’t the only one to do this. In live action films, this can go back as far as 1939 with The Wizard of Oz. Determined to make the most of new Technicolor technology, the production team made The Wicked Witch and the Wizard (at his scariest) both sickeningly green, indicating evil.

While I am not a verified source here, I can make an educated guess that lime green is favorable on the evil artistry palette, particularly in animation. Think about the traditional colors of evil – black and red. Black, while often used as accents for evil characters, can be tough to differentiate in animation. Red is also tricky — too deep, it’s gory. Too bright, it’s jarring and difficult to look at for long. If you need a color to drench your evil scene, lime green is it. It’s not pleasant, especially when accented with black or purple. And when used to envelop a character, it projects an uneasy feeling, making the viewers instinctively understand that character is evil.

5. Pigeon Man killed himself in front of Arnold.

This…. I can get behind. 100%. Someday, I may finally finish my thesis on the dark depths of Hey, Arnold!, from Grandma’s perpetual state of denial over the loss of her child to Helga’s brutal upbringing with an abusive father and alcoholic mother. But let’s save that for another time. The theory says that when Arnold sees Pigeon Man carried away into the sunset by pigeons, this is a replaced memory and Pigeon Man actually jumped off the roof and died in front of Arnold. It’s a spin-off of an earlier theory, where the scene was literally created where Pigeon Man jumped to his death, but Nickelodeon wouldn’t allow it to air, so it was changed. Craig Bartlett is on record denying this theory in all its forms. But I’m not convinced. I fully believe Hey, Arnold! is riddled with grim clues that things aren’t exactly as we see them, so to me, this theory is totally plausible.

What do you guys think? About the Jar Jar one, really… I need to know where everybody stands on that.

Nerdy Triumph for a High School Introvert

I have some pretty terrible self-awareness. At least, I used to. Not only can I be overly self-conscious, but I am super adept at convincing myself of things that are simply not true — about myself. It wasn’t until I was 23 that I finally understood my body shape. I had been buying jeans 3 sizes too big, shoes 2 sizes too big, and pants that ran “long.” I’m 5’3. But I fully believed those were my sizes. To be fair, I did grow up in the ’90s…. still…

It’s also taken me this long to finally understand what it means to be an introvert. I always wondered why, even though I loved being in a large group of good friends, I always had to slip away, find my own quiet hiding spot. It’s why really loud, energetic people who aim their energy at me really piss me off.

But being introverted was a huge issue all through my education – I just didn’t know it. No one seemed to understand why it was so hard for me to participate in class, why group projects and sitting in a circle caused me to “white-out,” a term I use when I’ve been unexpectedly presented with a draining activity without any chance to prepare. It’s like my brain shuts down everything, diverting all power to getting me through the situation. Because of all this, in high school I was usually described as quiet, weird, snobby, and smart. I guess they weren’t wrong, though I wouldn’t call myself snobby so much as elitist, but minor semantics.

Being introverted and anxious meant I spent a lot of time dwelling over “embarrassing” moments that in reality, most of my classmates probably forgot about 6 minutes later. Like the time in 6th grade I couldn’t pronounce “Knickerbockers.” Or in 7th grade when a homework assignment for English class included guessing a football game score, and I said “2-3.” Or when I cried in front of the class in 1st grade. And 3rd grade. And 5th. And 9th. And freshmen year in college. And my first semester in grad school. And my last semester in grad school.

But it’s also why I remember the little triumphs so well – again, something everyone else most likely forgot in minutes.

It was junior year health class. Yes, health class. It was taught by the football coach, who was a nice enough guy as far as I knew. Gym teachers and coaches were hit or miss with me, but Coach Richards never pushed me too hard or made me feel stupid, so I had no qualms.

This particular day in class was right before a break, because Coach R decided against teaching any new material in favor of a game day. We must have been divided into teams, and the winning team would get bonus points on their test or …. something, I don’t remember. But he was asking trivia questions, going up and down the rows. This was good, since it meant I’d only have to answer 1 or 2 questions at most. It was bad because for those 1 or 2 questions, I’d be put on the spot.

Because he was the football coach, a majority of the questions revolved around sports, of which I knew nothing.  Great. He got to me, and asked a general pop culture question, which I answered correctly, but without much fanfare. He made his way through the room again. I prayed that class would end before he got back to me. It was getting close. My heart was racing, my stomach in knots. Please not another question.

“Miss Pugh,” Coach R started. Damn. He looked at his note cards which contained the trivia questions, and his big eyes got bigger. “Ooooh,” he said, wincing. WINCING. “This is a tough one.” The class, or those on my team, groaned loudly. I sat perfectly still.  He started.

“What movie — ”

A movie question. At least if I got a sports question, there’d be no expectations. Now if I get a movie question wrong, I’m humiliated because I don’t know the answer to what I actually care about.

“What movie is tied with Titanic for the most Emmy wins?”

Wait. Really? I took a moment to process the question in my head. I heard the class groan again, but I knew. Ignoring the fact that Coach R didn’t know the difference between the Emmys and the Oscars, I quietly answered.

“Ben-Hur.”

I could actually hear the confusion from my classmates, like I had just made up words. Coach R, a look of complete shock on his face, nodded. “Yes. Well done.” The class erupted into cheers.

For that moment, I felt vindicated. Like all the time I spent with my dad, Mr. IMDb himself, watching documentaries and awards shows and countdown series paid off. I DID know stuff. Maybe not sports or cool bands, but so what.

It’s hard to be super-obsessed with things that aren’t necessarily popular. Geek is chic at the moment, but it wasn’t always. Even now, at my current job, I get “NERD ALERT”-ed for openly loving theater and old TV and Disney.

And it still stings. But I don’t cry over it anymore.

 

Star Wars: My Introduction to the Force

On the heels of the new teaser trailer coming out, I just had to write about Star Wars.

First of all — that trailer, though. If I wasn’t at work, sitting at a table surrounded by co-workers, I would have freaked out. It took a whole lot of focus to contain my excitement. No controlling the goosebumps, though.

I’m not sure what I liked better — the crashed Star Destroyer in the background of the first shot or Han and Chewie in the last shot. (BTW, has someone determined a Wookiee lifespan? Is that Chewie or like, Chewie Jr.?)
(Update: Found out a Wookiee lifespan is 400 years. All good, then.)

Eventually, someone in the office asked me today, “Are you a Star Wars fan?” She barely finished asking before I answered, “Yes.” My Star Wars appreciation has really grown over the years, for sure.

But what about the first time?

I know exactly when I saw Star Wars for the first time. Okay, not exactly. Couldn’t tell you the year (1996?) or the season (winter? It was dark…) but I know this — it was AN EVENT.

An Event in my household most often meant a viewing event – a movie or TV show or special we all wanted to watch. Surprisingly, these events were few and far between. Scheduled events, anyway. Usually, if one of us made a big deal about a show, the rest would eventually gather around and watch along. Or sometimes, if I walked in while my dad was watching something he felt was incredibly important and I stopped in the living room just long enough to watch, he would say, “This is a good movie,” which was dad-speak for, “sit your ass down and watch this.”

But the Star Wars event was fully scheduled over the course of 3 weekends. Pretty certain this happened because we had just gone to Florida and rode Star Tours, got our picture taken in front of the giant AT-AT, and admitted to Dad we had never seen the movies. In fact, the most James and I knew of franchise was probably learned from clips in the Muppet Babies.
Screen shot 2015-04-16 at 10.02.15 PM

We could *identify* Star Wars, but we’d never seen it.  Obviously, this needed to change.

The first Saturday was good. I loved 3PO and Leia. I recognized elements from the ride. I was definitely looking forward to next week.

The second Saturday was when young Sarah’s mind was blown away. I loved every second of it. The Han and Leia romance made my little heart race. Han actually going into the carbonite and not being saved at the last minute? Unexpected. Yoda was great, and I was so proud I could identify Frank Oz. But when Luke was revealed to be Darth Vader’s son? I damn near lost it. How? How could this be?

It was probably the last truly innocent and genuine cinematic shock I will ever experience. I couldn’t get over it. While in my state of disbelief, I inquired to my father incredulously , “Darth Vader is Luke’s father? Really? Really?! What next, Leia’s his sister?”

Dad, always eager to spoil, even back then, looked at me with raised eyebrows and side smirk – the sign I was dead on.

“No way. No!!”

He made some “hmmm” noises, refusing to verbalize that I was exactly right. But he didn’t have to. I knew it.

So the third Saturday, I watched my prediction come true. Also, I was a huge fan of Return of the Jedi. The Ewoks get a lot of heat, but they really were adorable, so if it was a kid-ploy, it worked and helped stoke my fandom. I even loved the little song and dance scene at the end. So there.

As a side note, my mom, who sat with us all three Saturdays, hates Star Wars and sci-fi in general. She doesn’t do well with aliens, so she has particular disdain for Jabba and Admiral Ackbar. Yet, she does love E.T.

Anyway, I watched all three movies pretty regularly after that. When the prequels came out, I was beyond excited, but that’s a story for another day.

I forever love Star Wars, thanks in no small part to how I was introduced to it.

If you remember when you first saw the original trilogy, share with me!

Yes, I Love Award Shows

Yes, the Academy Awards are tomorrow. So, of course I could write a big, long thinkpiece about the lack of diversity in Hollywood, the disconnect between audiences and Academy members, the over-inflated pomp of an industry in love with itself….

I could also give you my Oscar picks, list who I think will win, who should win, and what kind of drinking game I’ll be playing (that’s actually a good one, but I’ll explain in another post).

I won’t be doing any of those things, not this time, anyway. It’s all been said already, so I’m not sure I can bring anything new to the crowded table.

Instead, I’m going to explain why I love award shows. I love them unconditionally. Without shame or guilt.

And it all goes back to the same thing: family tradition.

We didn’t watch sports in my house. My dad loves football, but if he dared watch a game, it was usually in his bedroom, door shut tight. That’s mostly because my mom does not like sports. At all. Growing up with four super-athletic, competitive brothers might do that to a person. You’re either with them or against them, and my mom was the latter. So no sports.

Honestly, this didn’t turn out to be a big deal. James and I were far more interested in movies and TV shows and theater and music, so it all worked out. Though it did make for some highly embarrassing gym classes, but that’s a post for another day.

In our house, it was not about the Super Bowl or the World Series. It was the Oscars. The Emmys. The Tonys. The Golden Globes. The SAGs. The DGAS. All the Guild awards, really. When we were younger, it was the Kids’ Choice Awards and the MTV Movie Awards.

But it didn’t start out to be a family event.

I’m not sure when, but from a really, really young age, I became fascinated with whatever my parents would watch after I went to bed. Probably because I would usually sleep with my bedroom door open slightly, and I would hear them cracking up. And it killed me. What was so damn funny? What are they talking about? (Side note: Neither my brother or I grew up with a TV in our bedrooms. I was in college when I finally got one. This played a HUGE part in my love for TV, but again, another post.)

They always watched award shows, so I wanted to watching along with them. I was so young, I rarely knew any of the celebrities by name, except maybe Robin Williams, but I recognized faces and voices. My dad yelled at the TV when there was a shocking win or loss. My mom would comment on the ladies’ dresses, questioning trendy colors and jewelry choices. Dad would (and still does) spout off facts and tidbits from the back of the room like a Pop-Up Video you couldn’t turn off.

When an award show would start, I was always allowed to watch the first hour or so. But come 9 or 9:30, I’d be sent to bed, forced with the decision to either hide behind the wall near the steps to LISTEN to the rest of the broadcast, or wait til morning when my mom would fill me in on the winners.

Typically, I’d be sent up during a commercial break. At each break, I would beg, “One more commercial! Just one more!” My dad would relent, and I’d pull the same thing until he said no. This worked for a few years, but when I got a little older, I learned a phenomenal trick.

I wouldn’t make a peep.

Once it started to get late,  I’d curl up tight in the corner of the couch and stay perfectly still. If I didn’t budge, nobody said anything. It was the weirdest thing.

I mean, okay, I knew my parents knew what I was doing, at least eventually. But it just worked so well, and it was thrilling. As the show would cut to commercial, my heart would race and I’d hold my breath, seeing if I could make it one more round.  It’s how I finally got to see an Oscar broadcast in its entirety.

Over the years, we developed little traditions, like mini parties and legendary drinking games.  It was always an affair.

So bring on the dreadful red carpet interviews, the stiff presenters, and the ceaseless commercial breaks – I will not be sent to bed.

(Well, I’m on PST now, so it’s still way too early for bed. But you get it.)

 

PS – Do you have a favorite Award Show host of all time? From ANY Award Show? Vote Here!

Singin’ in the Rain: Some Things Never Change

Since the Oscar nominations were announced, I’ve been reading a few of the trillions of lists put together by various entertainment outlets. 24 of the Most Unforgivable Oscar Snubs, 10 Oscars That Were Whiter Than White. 33 Reasons The Lego Movie Is This Year’s Best Picture. Et cetera. But one list that was truly fascinating was EW’s 51 Performances Oscar Never Recogonized.

Typically, any list over 25 is questionable. But, I gave it a look anyway. First of all, it was greatly aided by having a video clip of each performance — no easy feat, and extraordinarily helpful in a list like this. Now, when watching awards shows, my dad is known for spouting tidbits and facts like a living, breathing, iMDb. So I’m kinda used to hearing things like, “You know, he was nominated for this film, but won for a different film eight years later,” or “This film lost to that film in 1976.” But seeing a cohesive list of performances that didn’t just lose an Oscar, but were never even considered is kind of startling.

They listed some incredible performances, many of which weren’t appreciated when released, or seem to have held up better over time, or were simply overshadowed. One of those many performances was Gene Kelly as Don Lockwood in Singin’ in the Rain.

And that, of course, got me thinking about Singin’ in the Rain. This was a film I discovered “later in life,” maybe when I was 17 or 18, but I fell for it immediately. I mean, it shouldn’t be a surprise, really. It’s a musical and a movie about making movies. That’s pretty much gold for me.

What strikes me about Singin’ in the Rain is how the general representation of celebrity, stardom, and Hollywood, is still ALL true. The movie was made in 1952 about 1929, yet here we are in 2015, and nearly everything is still exactly the same.

My case:

– The Red Carpet Interview

In the film’s opening scene, we’re brought into a red carpet premiere of the new Lockwood-Lamont picture. A crowd is anxiously awaiting each celebrity arrival, screaming names and begging for autographs. This scene is narrated by Dora Bailey (played by Madge Blake), who is essentially Ryan Seacrest. She oohs and aahhs to her radio listeners as different celebrities exit their vehicles and prance down the carpet….. speaking of…

– The Celebs

You may not know the actors being caricatured  in this opening scene, but it almost doesn’t matter. The It girl, the attention seeking drama queen, the perfect Hollywood couple. We can fill in our current celebrities to match the labels.

– The Actor’s Interview

When Don finally arrives, he gladly conducts his red carpet interview. When asked about his beginnings, he weaves an elaborate tale, full of fancy schooling, serious roles and heaps of luck, while we see the truth — his low-class upbringing, his less-than-high-brow work in vaudeville,  his desperation trying to make it in LA. It’s  a tale celebrities still spin today, if not quite to that extreme. Oh sure, today it’s a lot easier to dig up old yearbook photos and embarrassing commercials, but we still have to do the digging. We always take what celebrities say with a grain of salt, knowing they rarely ever tell the whole truth.

– Studios Scrambling Over the Next Big Thing

The real challenge in Singin’ in the Rain is when this new technology arrives allowing movies to record audio, bringing in the Talkie Era. Shown at the premiere after-party, almost everyone believes it’s a fad. But when studios start buying into it, it doesn’t take long for Colossal Pictures to jump on board. The studio head halts production so the new technology could be installed.

Studios are so insane about being on top of the “the next big thing.” The same thing happened with Technicolor, HD, 3D — you get it. Nobody wants to be the last one, so when they rush into the new technology, there are always…. let’s call them growing pains. And they’re hilarious.

Probably my favorite scene in the entire film is when they start filming with the microphone and eventually screen an early version with sound. Anyone who has ever tried seriously filming a movie on your own will understand that scene. It feels all too real.

Ultimately, I think my argument here is trying to prove that we tend to dismiss “old” movies (be they made earlier than the year we were born, a musical, or –gasp– black & white), yet most of them are still completely relevant and totally entertaining. They may not be filled with lightning-speed editing or quick-and-punchy dialogue. Yes, Singin’ in the Rain has some cheesy moments. (Between you and me, I always skip the final dance sequence.) But overall, it’s a phenomenal film that holds up so well.

Give it a chance, people.

#LearnfromtheClassics

 

The Importance Of Home Alone… 2

One of my recurring blog topics will be “The Importance of…” These posts will cover things that have significance in the grand scheme of things, not just personally. And since it’s the Christmas season, though since moving to San Diego, I have no freaking clue what season it is, I think it’s time to look at a holiday classic: Home Alone 2.

That’s right. Lost in New York.

Home Alone, the original 1990 John Hughes film, is officially a classic. There’s no argument. It’s funny, charming, heart-warming, and a great time. I really do love it.

Here’s the thing – among Millennials (a term I’ve grown to despise, so when I come up with a new one, you’ll know), Home Alone 2 is not only as loved as the original, but often preferred. Older or snobby film critics might not get it. And, speaking on behalf of my generation, I’d like to point out that yes, Home Alone is the better film, critically-speaking. BUT — Home Alone 2: Lost in New York is damn hilarious. Tim Curry’s quivering lip, Marv turning into a skeleton when he’s electrocuted. Come on.

Home Alone 2 follows every basic joke structure in the book. Triples (paint can expectations), slow burns (Katherine O’Hara’s realization that Kevin wasn’t on the plane), and call-backs galore:

Marv’s remark: “Kids are a-scared of the park.”

Kevin’s mom & dad missing their alarm: “We did it again. AAAAAHHHHH!”

Angels with Even Filthier Souls, and the repeated usage.

Just to name a few.

This works in its favor. It uses these set-ups brilliantly, defying not only Harry and Marv’s expectations from their last encounter with Kevin, but ours. We simultaneously feel like we’re in on the joke and completely fooled. It’s a perfect equation to keep the movie fun without getting off track or trying too hard.

And of course, I have my own personal bias. Home Alone 2 is a family favorite. When my cousin, Kimmie, was maybe 4, she would watch Home Alone 2 over and over. Her dad, to this day, uses the term “Crowbars up,” before getting started on work. The best thing was Kimmie actually mimicked Marv after he gets hit by the bricks: “Harry? Haaaarrrrrryyyy?” in her high, little voice; it was the cutest thing I’d ever seen.

She also referred to them as Harry and Marf, which is what we still call them today.

But it’s more than just family. This is a connection point with Cory and most friends who are my age. We get it.

My only real issue with the second one is the pigeon lady. She’s most definitely a carbon copy (call-back?) of the scary neighbor in 1, and though I do like the Turtle Doves story, that whole arch kind of slows down the rest of the movie. Because, let’s face it, we wanna see more of Kevin screwing with Tim Curry and Rob Schneider and Harry and Marv getting destroyed.

Ultimately, Home Alone 2 never tries to be something it’s not, and that’s why it wins as a sequel. I’m a firm believer in taking things as they are — kind of like the Jules Dessert theory. You can’t expect Jell-O to be creme brulee and there’s nothing wrong with liking Jell-O as long as you know what it is: Jell-O.

And it works.

Lost in NY is not a critical darling. But if you don’t laugh as Marv and Harry lean against the door, wondering what the sound is…. then maybe you’re a little less Mr. Duncan and a little more Buzz.

Honestly, which one do you HAVE to stop and watch?

 

 

Why Are You the Way That You Are?

A valid question, indeed. After all, when people first discover my extensive knowledge of NBC’s schedule from 1985-1990, my passion for Nickelodeon’s meteoric rise, and my ability to ruin “reality” shows by calling winners based on editing cuts, they seem very, very surprised.

I guess it’s surprising. I’m quiet and have an air of serious intelligence, I make no secret of my high standards.

So… where did this obsession with the god-forsaken entertainment industry come from?

As with most grown-up issues, my childhood home life is to blame. It really started with my dad:

Right around the time I was 2, my dad found a new hobby – recording movies off TV onto VHS tapes. Being the OCD personality he is, he quickly devised the most efficient system, recording 3 full-length features per VHS tape. Each tape was the numbered and tallied into a green binder. This green binder was my dad’s holy grail. He had covered the front of it with those tiny stamps from movie club mailers. Films were broken down by genre, as determined by my father. (Drama encompassed almost everything, but he had a whole section for The Beatles…?) He registered what network he recorded it from (so he knew if it was a desperate move, recording off a broadcast network with…. COMMERCIALS), what year it was made, and what number tape it was on.

Those hundreds of tapes were all over the house – in cubbies under the living room end table, stacked behind the sound system speakers, squirreled away in cabinets in my brother James’s room. It would be a few years before he had massive bookshelves built, which eventually housed most of the collection, albeit temporarily.

While James and I had our own store-bought video collection of Disney movies, in their squeaky plastic cases, most of our favorite movies were found on one of Dad’s tapes.  He made it a point to record great films he thought we should see; he just happened to record them between Dirty Harry and Scarface.  By 6, I was an expert at fast-forwarding  – trucking through one movie to land perfectly on the the middle one, coasting through commercials. Because, of course, we had to stop the tape and fast-forward blindly. “It was better for the tape” than hitting play THEN fast-forward. And it was all about the health of the tape. I also became an expert  at tracking — you know, when you watched a tape too much and it began to get those gray lines. We called it “flippy.” “Daaaaaad, The Wizard of Oz is getting flippy!!!!” I remember sitting in front of the VCR while a movie played, slowly twisting the tiny knob hidden beneath a panel on the front of the VCR, making the flippiness stop as best as I could.

Speaking of lecturing, we were also taught the rules of recording — if the red light was on, we could not use the VCR. Don’t touch it. Don’t look at it. Don’t put the silverware in it. (Funny story: James once put a spoon in the VCR. He couldn’t have been more than 3. I’ll never forget my dad, who is not particularly great at taking things apart or putting them together, hovered over the VCR inards, muttering to himself. But James’s reasoning was sound – he wanted to know if whatever you put in the VCR would show up on the TV.)

The whole point is, from birth, I was surrounded by a library of cinematic history. My dad’s collection was the prize of the household. I was 12 when I finally grasped the concept of “renting” movies. It was an additional activity, along with puzzles, coloring, and imaginary games. We watched movies after a day of swimming, on sick days and rainy days, before we went to bed.

I know this isn’t necessarily about TV, but it definitely set the tone for how and why we consumed media. My dad’s hobby, his passion, was instilled into me and my brother. It’s a family thing.