“Come out to the coast, we’ll get together, have a few laughs…”

Friends:

I am nervous.  In the next few weeks something epic will take place, an occurrence which could have a long-lasting impact on my life and could shatter everything I ever knew or hope to know.  I, of course, am speaking of the release of the fifth Die Hard movie, “A Good Day to Die Hard.”  What did you think I was talking about?

I am not a comic book geek.  I’m not someone who is devoted to Star Wars or The Lord of the Rings and who watches and re-watches those movies to explore the “lessons” that can be learned from the walking and talking trees or to finally answer the age old question of whether Han Solo shot first.  No, I am far more practical than that—fantasy stories and comic books are things of adolescence—John McClane and his heroism at the Nakatomi Building or at Dulles Airport; now those are practically guidebooks for survival.

For example:  Lesson number 1: Never take off your shoes, just in case terrorists attack, you don’t want to be running around barefoot.  Lesson number 2:  Always have a cigarette lighter in your pocket, whether it is to illuminate an airshaft you happen to be crawling through or to set an airplane’s leaking gasoline trail on fire.  Lesson number 3:  Tying a brick of C-4 plastic explosives to a computer monitor (not a flat screen) and a secretary’s chair and dropping them down an elevator shaft will explode the first floors of a high-rise, but it won’t destroy the entire building.  Lesson number 4:  An icicle in the eye is better than a gun in your pocket.

At the ripe old age of 12 I saw the first “Die Hard” movie and I was hooked.  Never before had pop culture seen a movie like this and for the next decade, movies were being made with the premise of being: “Die Hard” on a boat (“Under Siege); or “Die Hard” on a bus (“Speed”); or “Die Hard” in an airport (“Die Hard 2”).

But aside from the explosions and the action, the key ingredient that made Die Hard such a successful movie, was the character of John McClane played by Bruce Willis, then only known as Cybil Shepherd’s partner from “Moonlighting.”  The thing that made Bruce (as I like to call him) such a successful hero in Die Hard was the fact that he was such an unlikely hero.  He wasn’t Arnold Schwarzenegger or Sylvester Stallone, those larger than life men amongst men with bulging biceps and a third grade vocabulary.  Instead, John McClane was a guy’s guy- a smart-ass of medium build with a will to do what’s right.  Weren’t you curious as to why Bruce spent the entire film in a white tank-top?  To highlight the fact that he was a regular guy with regular muscles; it could have been anyone of us, which made his success so exciting and easy to root for.

Two years later, in 1990, Bruce and McClane were back in “Die Hard 2: Die Harder” and the formula was repeated.  It was only a few years later from the events in the first movie and once again McClane is the “wrong man, in the wrong place, at the wrong time.”  Which made his success, yet again, so improbable, but so exciting.

But then there was a break; there was time off from the John McClane adventures; and things somehow got off track.  Because John McClane would not appear on screen again for another five years and by that time, Bruce Willis was a bona fide star, an action hero no less, and someone who had risen to be considered amongst the ranks of a Stallone or Schwarzenegger. 

Between 1990 and 1995, Bruce starred in 13 movies, amongst them were:  “Hudson Hawk,” “The Last Boyscout,” and “Striking Distance.”  And what was the formula for all of those films?  The underdog, most unlikely of heroes, saves the day.  “The Last Boyscout” especially was a knock off of the Die Hard movies—“Die Hard” on a football field, maybe? 

So by the time the third McClane installment was released in 1995, “Die Hard With A Vengeance,” Bruce had already solidified himself not only as a blockbuster star, but a star with a pattern; his films, while not interchangeable, had become formulaic.  And “DHWAV” proved to be no different.  Somehow, someway, John McClane changed from 1990 to 1995 so as to be nearly unidentifiable.  Instead of it being John McClane in the movie, it was Joe Hallenbeck from “The Last Boyscout,” a drunk with a disastrous home life.  In fact, the first appearance of McClane in “DHWAV” is him nursing a hangover, looking like crap, and pounding aspirin dry.  This is not the John McClane from “Die Hard” and “Die Hard 2.”  Was this a function of the writing, the screenwriter seeing the success of Bruce’s previous films and trying to emulate the formula but changing the names?  Or was this a function of Bruce simply forgetting how to act like McClane and instead slipping into a character that he had duplicated many times in the previous 5 years?  Whatever the answer, the film, while enjoyable, had nowhere near the magic or excitement of its two predecessors.

By the time the fourth Die Hard film was released in 2007, a full 12 years after the third film, John McClane was just a name, no longer a persona or a fully developed character.  After such films as “Last Man Standing,” “The Fifth Element,” “The Whole Nine Yards,” “Mercury Rising,” “Armageddon,” and “Tears of the Sun,” Bruce was so entrenched in his standard character that John McClane was a figment of a 12-year old’s imagination; a relic that was last seen nearly 20 years before.

On February 14, 2013, the fifth Die Hard film will be released.  I am nervous.  John McClane is not only my favorite character, but he is also an icon of a time now long since passed.  The time when regular everyday guys stuck in frightening and dangerous situations could succeed and save the day despite all of the odds.  A funny and telling line from the first Die Hard movie has McClane reporting to his LAPD confidante on the ground and, in describing the arsenal the terrorists had brought with them, he adds that they had enough plastic explosives to launch Arnold Schwarzenegger.  Ironic, don’t you think?  At the time, McClane was telling the world that he was just an everyday guy stuck in this situation, doing the best he can to save the day.  And yet, just last year, Bruce shows up in the same movie with Schwarzenegger and Stallone (“The Expendables 2”) and he on even ground with them. 

John McClane needs to be John McClane.  He cannot be Harry Stamper or Joe Hollenbeck or Korben Dallas or Frank Moses.  He needs to be John McClane.  Because there is only one John McClane—and only he can get away with: “Yippee-kay-ay-mother…!”

Long live John McClane!

“I dreamed a dream in time gone by…”

Friends:

In the summer following my first year of law school, I had the unique opportunity to spend 6 weeks in London taking classes as part of the school’s Summer Abroad program. It was a true highlight of my life, the chance to immerse myself in the English culture (albeit for a month and a half), to experience aspects of the city that most tourists miss out on, and to truly be free to explore the country and the continent as a whole. The best summer of my life? Without a doubt.

I was reminded of that summer of 1998 the other night as I watched the movie version of “Les Miserables.” During the summer abroad, I was lucky enough to see countless stage productions. In fact, I would venture to estimate that I saw almost 20 shows during the 6 weeks I was there. And of course, no London theater-going experience would have been complete without a viewing of Les Mis in the city in which it first gained international prominence.

That summer the show was playing at the Palace Theater, I believe, and when I think of Les Mis I think of that summer and that theater and, more specifically, a picture of me standing in front of the theater. I’m wearing jeans and a dark green sweater, a hand in my pocket and a smile on my face. That picture was taken the very first day that I was in London, a few days before school began, and the whole summer was still ahead of me.

What makes that picture, and thus the thought of Les Mis so nostalgic for me, was the person behind the camera when the picture was taken.

From a very early age, my parents made sure that my brother and I experienced the joys of travel and seeing far off places. All across the USA and into Europe we travelled. So when I got to London, I was already somewhat of a world traveler, having been to London and Europe twice before. But I had never travelled by myself before, never flown on a plane by myself before, and never stayed in a hotel room by myself before. The idea of flying 11 hours to London by myself was daunting and I was looking for someone to go with me.

My parents couldn’t come because they were already going to be in Europe, having booked a cruise that would begin a week before I had to leave and would end in London a few days after classes began. My brother couldn’t come because he was going to a wedding in Rhode Island with a girlfriend. So I was going to have to face going alone, until I came up with a great idea.

I asked my best friend to come with me—my grandmother. At the time, she was 75 years old and going strong. A world traveler from before I was born, my grandmother and grandfather had been, seen and done it all, by plane, by train, by boat and by Concorde. When my grandfather passed away in 1997, it didn’t slow her down. Who better to come to London with me than her?

I asked her if she would come with me and of course she said yes. An 11 hour flight to spend two nights in London before I started class and she came home, alone? She didn’t give it a second thought. Who goes to London for a long weekend? She does…

So off we went and the first day we explored. The first stop was the West End theater district and the then-home of Les Mis, and the picture was taken. Of course my excitement level was skyrocketing with the promise of the summer abroad and I wanted to go and do and run and eat and see and live. My grandmother kept up with me every step of the way. We saw theater, we ate who-knows-what and we did it together. For a family as close as mine and as immersed in each other’s lives as we are, the chance to spend one-on-one time with her was indeed something special.

My grandmother is now 89 years old and will be turning 90 in October. She has definitely slowed down a bit and has had some health problems over the past year, but she still tells anyone who will listen how much she has to live for. Her great-grandchildren especially. As time has gone by her memory has suffered some lapses and she may not remember the long weekend we spent in London together, but every time I see Les Mis on stage or the film, I hear the music, or I see any publicity for it, I think back to that picture of me from 1998 in London in front of the Palace Theater, and the wonderful person who took that picture and the once in a lifetime journey the two of us took together.

I have said it many times before and if you have been religiously following my posts these past few years, you know that I am a strong advocate for making life about experiences. Life would not be worth living if it weren’t for the experiences that we have. The people we know, the trips we take, the events we witness; whatever it is that brings you joy and happiness, the goal must be to fill your life with these experiences. My summer in London was amongst the best experiences in my life and the chance to travel with my grandmother, who had by then already lived a full and wonderful life, was an experience that has made my life so very fulfilling.

Interestingly enough, one of my daughter’s favorite experiences (granted she is only 7) involves my grandmother, her great-grandmother. Even up to a few years ago, grandma was still doing a little bit of travelling. A family trip to Las Vegas was in the “cards” (pun intended) and off we went. By that time, grandma was 86 or 87, I would expect, and the thrill for her was sharing the room with her great-granddaughter. I know that grandma doesn’t remember that trip very well, or that she spent the weekend in the same room with her oldest great-grandchild, but if you ask Brooklyn, she will tell you about the foul smell in the room caused by a leaking toilet and that when she and GG had to move rooms, GG left her nightgown on the hook in the bathroom. Brooklyn was probably only 4 or 5 at the time, but this was one of the highlights of her life.

You never know when a life enriching moment is going to happen; best to take advantage of them. They make life worth living.

If you have an experience that is memorable and special to you, I would love to hear about it. Please put a comment to the blog post and tell me about it. I would really appreciate it.

“Why I’m… I’m Mrs. Voorhees, an old friend of the Christys’.”

Friends:

I apologize for not doing this sooner, but I wish you a very Happy New Year. May this year be healthy, happy and successful for you and your loved ones.

I know that some of you may be counting the days until the year is over, the brutal triskaidekaphobia rearing its ugly head. Don’t worry—make it through 2013 and you won’t have to worry about it for another 99 years. I know you’re out there…
For those of you who aren’t familiar with the term, triskaidekaphobia is the fear of the number 13 and those of you who have it will have to deal with it every time you write a check (does anyone do that anymore?) or open your calendar. As you can no doubt tell by the heading for this post, triskaidekaphobia is something I surely do not suffer from. As far as I am concerned, it can be the 13th of the month every day, the 13th year of the millennium each year, and you better believe I am begging to stay on the 13th floor at the hotel and sit in the 13th row of the airplane.

Because for me, number 13 is my favorite number, it is my lucky number. It has treated me well over the past 30 years since I started wearing it. In fact, my wife’s and my first date was a Friday the 13th.  Talk about good luck!!

How did it come about? Well, it was back in t-ball and the coach was handing out uniforms. Not knowing much about the numbers, and not pining for number 6 like my brother because of Steve Garvey, I asked my dad what number he wore, and he said 13—that was good enough for me. Interestingly enough, when Brooklyn began t-ball, she wore number 13 as well, just because her dad did too.

Which is why it seemed that this year was the perfect time to take a large leap professionally. I mean, seriously, what better year than ’13? And to further demonstrate the stars aligning, December 1, 2012 was the 12th anniversary of my swearing in as an attorney; thus, my legal career has just begun its 13th year. With all of these 13s about, it seemed like there would be no better time than the present to take this next step.

So I made the leap and, with great sadness and anxiety, I left my former law firm to begin a new firm with my wife. It was truly the hardest thing I ever had to do. I had been with that firm for… yep, 13 ½ years. Starting as a law clerk with no legal experience to speak of and turning it into a partnership with two tremendous partners was a wonderful, life-changing and maturing experience. But I knew that if I didn’t do it now, I might never do it. It felt like “The Twilight Zone” at times—a dark screen with all of these number “13s” slowly bouncing around. But there was nothing more comforting that all of those 13s. A number which has served me so well all these years; maybe there is something to this idea of superstitions…

So the firm is now open, providing services in the areas of small and medium sized business transactions and maintenance, civil litigation, probate and trust litigation, and copyright and trademark. Known as Cohen Law, A PLC, Amy and I are the only people in the office, so our clients get nothing short of full hands-on attention and expertise. And, a few hiccups and obstacles aside, we are on our way and moving towards a successful first year. As I have said many times throughout these posts, anything I can do to help you be successful, all you need to do is ask.

And as for our new firm, how could it not be successful? It’s 2013!