...cuz I've got a golden ticket!

Yes, little Charlie Bucket can be seen holding his ticket in much the same way that I was holding mine -- my traffic ticket, that is.

I only mention good ol' Willy Wonka and company as a half-hearted plug for the new Charlie and the Chocolate Factory due to be released in theaters soon. I am excited, and yet, it's half-hearted because the trailer and promo material has given me doubts. The visuals with Burton are always stunning, but I wonder how far this re-envisioning has travelled toward children's entertainment. Of course, maybe it needed to go there, but it's a tough sell.

Anyhow, this is another offing (the fourth, I believe) in what has been a fruitful collaboration between Tim Burton and Johnny Depp. (A fifth in the vein of stop-motion animation features like A Nightmare Before Christmas and James and the Giant Peach, this one entitled Corpse Bride, is also in the pipeline.) This is also the second collaboration between Tim Burton and screenwriter John August (Big Fish, Go). John August's blog is featured in the "Random Links" section for his insight into the life a working screenwriter, and he will be attached to Corpse Bride as well.

While I may have misgivings about the Tim Burton of late, the Tim Burton of yesteryear never failed to amaze. For that, he is afforded another day in court (just like me for my traffic ticket!). And I will definitely be watching to see if he in any way shamed, sullied, or bastardized the legacy of the original, which, even with all the amusing midget musical interludes sprinkled throughout, is still a classic to me.

Johnny Depp, on the other hand, is a wonderful chameleon. He is quite simply one of the most versatile and talented actors of any generation, right up the in the pantheon of the greats, in my humble opinion. He so rarely missteps or miscalculates. He can often be the saving grace of otherwise standard fare. Even he, however, has admitted that it will be difficult to fill Gene Wilder's shoes. Well said.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Now on to my golden ticket:

I am reminded of an episode of "The Simpsons" in which Bart, while skateboarding around town, was struck by Mr. Burns' limo. In a very humorous take on just how malleable the truth can be, the court case that ensues pits Bart's testimony and his version of the events against Mr. Burns'.

Bart paints a picture of himself playing in an "innocent childlike way" when, out of nowhere, Mr. Burns, with Smithers in tow, comes barrelling down the street in their black limo of death. They crash and careen while literally steering toward their helpless victim with devilish intent. At which point, they plow into him. Bart ends with a tearful reminder that, though he hadn't been killed that day, sometimes he wished he had.

Mr. Burns does a complete about face when he testifies in his own defense. He begins by coloring a rosy portrait of a beautiful, picturesque day. Flowers blooming, birds singing, the works. He can be seen driving a brightly-painted convertible VW Beetle down the lane "to the orphanage to pass out toys". All of the sudden, Bart appears and, in a maniacal, inexplicable game of chicken, proceeds to aim directly for the on-coming vehicle. He connects and is left unconscious of the road. At which point, Mr. Burns exists the Beetle and, in shameless, down-on-his-knees fashion, beseeches God to "Take me! I'm old!"

Everyone should probably bare that in mind when I state that:

[court testimony mode on]

It was a gorgeous summer Sunday afternoon in Houston. I was just returning from Beaumont, where I was visiting and dining with my lovely grandmother, father, and an assortment of relatives. I was now on my way to see my mother briefly before returning home to my apartment. I had plans that evening to research more about local charities and community service programs that I could become involved in.

I exited the freeway and merged onto the feeder road, all the while signaling at every opportunity and waving to the children in passing cars. As I approached an intersection, I began to slow so as to yield for a red light. I applied pressure to the break in a smooth, even motion and allowed for a more than adequate distance to slow properly.

I was to turn right, and as I could see that no one was coming from under the freeway to my left, I allowed only the most minimal of pauses before increasing speed through the turn, so minimal, in fact, that a malicious-minded ne'er-do-well with a badge and a gun determined inaccurately that I had not stopped at all.

He came out of nowhere and proceeded to make a mockery of my absolute willingness to pull over and have a friendly chat and spread the good cheer of the day by engaging in cat and mouse tactics of pursuit, no doubt ready at a moment's notice to respond with deadly force to any attempt by me to act surprised by his sudden and utter attachment to my bumper. Sirens blared and lights annouced that I was a criminal of the highest order, wanted for the most egregious, treasonous crime of all: rolling through a right-turn at a red light.

Did I mention that because of my ample charity work and good deeds,
I had failed to update my inspection sticker? It was three weeks passed due. I waited while he verified that he could not arrest me or shoot me and then arrest me for any other infractions that day. His computers must have revealed a clean record, and he did not sense any illicit substances fueling my death-defying antics (haha, gotcha! I was caffeinated at the time!). Therefore, he was inclined to release me but not before he handed me, tada!, my golden ticket. (Actually, it was white, but stick with me here).

Before I drove away, I inquired about the courthouse in question that I would need to visit (Houston is a large city, after all). To this, he instructed me that I could pick up my lifetime supply of chocolate at the Jersey Village courthouse. Drive safely and goodbye.

[court testimony mode off]

It's the truth. I swear ;)

For those not in the know, Jersey Village is just an unsubjugated indigeneous tribe on Houston's northwestern frontier. It's merely an autonomous barbarian village we allow to exist out of kindness, I suppose. (Thanks, Willie) The natives must have been restless that day.

This incident happened, if I recall correctly, on June 20th. I check my ticket to determine the court date so as not to incite any more saber-rattling from the local population. Gotta be two weeks or so, right? ...October 20th! This year or next year? This year!? Well, I'll never make it! I don't have anything to wear! Do I need to bring a gift?

Suffice to say, I took it upon myself go in 15 weeks early and request defensive driving. I had an inspection as well to appease the local magistrates. But with a court date that far from present, they must lay and wait and wallet-scalp ever jay-walker and seatbelt shirker that has the audacity to stroll into their web.

I wanted to tell them that they could post trolls under their bridges to collect tolls in exchange for safe passage if they needed other sources of revenue for their little one-horse town. I decided I'd better not.

Walking into the "courthouse" only validated that assumption though. The place is nestled in a residential neighborhood in spitting distance of some random citizen's front porch. I enter and go straight to the front of the line. No waiting at all. "No," the lady says. "The other line." (Yes, they had two lines... because they're moving on up).

Paperwork. More paperwork. Uh, words... words... sign here... sign there... initial here... recite the Gettysburg Address... stand on one foot...

"So, let's see. You ran a red light?" To which I reply, "Yes, ma'am. But I was planning on stopping twice at the next one." (hat-tip to Cheech & Chong)

Upon leaving the "courthouse" $105 dollars lighter, I begin to negotiate the suburban streets that lead me back home. I know the major roads in the vicinity, but these neighborhoods are new to me. So, I drive in the direction that I know will get me there. Unfortunately, though, that street curves around and dumps me off on a feeder road of a major highway.

I drive to the closest intersection and get a sense of deja vu. Wait a sec! It's the intersection I got the ticket at. But proving God has a sense of humor, since there probably was no cop around this time to catch me, the light was green. :)