So, aside from the literary connections that I wrote about, and the many that I did not...the heaviest aspect of the film, the journey, the narrative, was that it was more than symbolic of my own, our own twenty-something journey - which was part of my avoidance of watching it for so long. Knowing that I will be thirty years old in a few months, but not knowing how excruciating it would be to hear Supertramp read and quote the same authors that were read to me by a friend in German Village, after many days of painting Craig Himes house, back in 2001 and 2002, was more than I could handle, really - keeping me up most of the night on Tuesday. And it is certainly true that Boston, MA is not Alaska - but many of you probably don't know that I lived there for four months, alone, before Kelsie was able to move there, with a full-term pregnancy of our first child. Four months is the same length that Chris was in Alaska. That became the end of Chris, unfortunately, yet beautifully - but the end of four months alone, in Boston, was the beginning of me (the birth of Travis Bickle).

Those four months I made friends with Shakespeare, Bob Dylan, Radiohead, Tori Amos, Eddie Vedder, Antje Duvekot, Richard Rohr, etc, etc...and New England was mine to explore and discover - allowing me to test, much of what I had been taught to fear, and allowing me to know the Truth, rather than assume it, or water it down.

I remember the day Johnny Cash died that summer.

I remember Guinness at Fenway Park.


While there is much more to explore and remember there, I felt like I needed to say why "Into the Wild" is a different experience that other good films with similar themes, like "Motorcycle Diaries" or "Gandhi"...(long pause).


All the sudden, you miss it. you miss it very badly.