It's going on midnight and we're watching and listening to Emmylou Harris on a live show from Nashville, Tennessee on PBS, hosted by Gary Keillor. She sings beautifully and she is beautiful.
We're trying to make it to midnight. Not that it's all that important. Tomorrow is just another day.
There was a group earlier that I liked best: they had a banjo player who was about as unanimated as I could imagine, still as a statue, deadpan, holding the banjo in one position only -- except if you looked closely you could see that all his fingers, both on the frets and the strings, were moving rapidly and deftly -- and as for the banjo! It just talked, sang, danced!
It will be good to wake up in the morning and be able to eat breakfast. Lord willing.
Happy New Year.
Sunday, December 31, 2006
Wednesday, December 27, 2006
We're in the Wrong War!
The government prescription drug uninsurance program and I just tangled: it was a draw for now. Figuring out what Lobby-gov would cost versus what drugs from Canada would cost for 2007 was a challenge, something like doing my own income tax, and I might have made a big error, as I often have done with taxes. But if I was reasonably accurate in my calculations, I'm better off to ride with the Canadian Mounties on this one. In either case, my drug bill is now thousands of dollars annually; but if I stick with the Texas Rangers instead of the Mounties, the difference will be more than twice as much.
I left a message with the insurance agent that I am canceling the uncoverage. He soon called back, warning me of the cumulative penalty I'd incur if I left the program and decided to come back, and telling me the horror story of customs people seizing Canadian drugs at the border.
The penalty is peanuts compared with the price difference, in my case. But, true, there's a risk of having my legitimate drugs "confiscated" by "jackbooted government thugs." (Ha! Stole that inflammatory epithet from ya, NRA psychotics!)
I'm going to get Canada drugs anyway.
Here is how I calculate the risk: the crowd who brought on this giveaway to the drug-"health" insurance-government complex is on its way out.
At least the government portion of it. There is cause for a not entirely irrational belief that the government of the corporations, by the corporations and for the corporations might not always get its way on this one. The pendulum might just swing back to the people's side -- after it tipped over the whole clock on big business's side.
There has already been word from above to the customs agents to cool it on stopping drugs from Canadian pharmacies. And that was before we threw the elected rascals out! I think the new regime might make some humane adjustments to the regulations now in effect. I'm willing to bank on it.
This was just this joker's skirmish with the Big Boys, the Fat Cats. I guess we're a little like guerrillas, the underground, fighting the Wehrmacht in the war, the Class War. It's us vs. the likes of Dick Cheney and Tom DeLay and Ken Lay, way I see it.
We're going to win.
I left a message with the insurance agent that I am canceling the uncoverage. He soon called back, warning me of the cumulative penalty I'd incur if I left the program and decided to come back, and telling me the horror story of customs people seizing Canadian drugs at the border.
The penalty is peanuts compared with the price difference, in my case. But, true, there's a risk of having my legitimate drugs "confiscated" by "jackbooted government thugs." (Ha! Stole that inflammatory epithet from ya, NRA psychotics!)
I'm going to get Canada drugs anyway.
Here is how I calculate the risk: the crowd who brought on this giveaway to the drug-"health" insurance-government complex is on its way out.
At least the government portion of it. There is cause for a not entirely irrational belief that the government of the corporations, by the corporations and for the corporations might not always get its way on this one. The pendulum might just swing back to the people's side -- after it tipped over the whole clock on big business's side.
There has already been word from above to the customs agents to cool it on stopping drugs from Canadian pharmacies. And that was before we threw the elected rascals out! I think the new regime might make some humane adjustments to the regulations now in effect. I'm willing to bank on it.
This was just this joker's skirmish with the Big Boys, the Fat Cats. I guess we're a little like guerrillas, the underground, fighting the Wehrmacht in the war, the Class War. It's us vs. the likes of Dick Cheney and Tom DeLay and Ken Lay, way I see it.
We're going to win.
Sunday, December 24, 2006
Xmas Eve with Family
It's been a good day. While Rosie went to look in on her old parents I washed dishes, Hoovered the carpets, and showered and dressed in a red T-shirt, khaki slacks, and a long-sleeved green plaid shirt, consciously trying to look Yuley. Found out that Amanda was free for a few hours this afternoon and so drove to Louisville to visit her. Our reunions are always good and this one was no exception. This kid always cheers me up and makes me laugh. One thing she is good at is anthropomorphizing pets, attributing human words and behaviors to them. Parker, a neighborhood dog (got a glimpse of him dashing across his yard, guessing from his animation and white coat that he is yet a pup), had walked into a school as if he was going to put his lunchbox down and learn to spell. Mandy gave me a button which I pinned proudly to my shirt; it states "Happy Hollandaise." (That's a sauce, and it's less offensive, I hope, than "Happy Holidays," which Bill Orally and John Gobson have made fightin' words to distract people from more important things Christ would have us fight for.) We got some cheese and crackers and ginger beer and vegan "meat"-balls and went back to the apartment where we ate them and watched Christmas Vacation. I laughed harder at it than I ever have, I think. Clark, Cousin Eddie, Aunt Bethany, Uncle Lewis, the scene at the department store, the home movie in the attic, the speeches, Todd and Margo, Snots and the squirrel -- everything was better than ever. I came home and David and Karletta were here and we visited a little while and then Rosie and I watched It's a Wonderful Life. Great Xmas Eve.
A Modest Proposal: Leap Xmas
This was not my idea but it's something I think about every year at this time. By the 1970s, we had shifted several federal holidays to be observed whenever possible on Fridays or Mondays, for the convenience and pleasure of all the citizens.
Christmas was excluded. It had to be on December 25th. It had been observed on that date as early as the fourth century, and from long before the time that North America became a British colony. Independence Day had been observed on July 4th for only a few hundred years and its observation had to remain on that date. Both dates were too sacred to be messed with, I suppose you could say.
An early church father, Origen, denounced "as sinful the very idea of keeping the birthday of Jesus 'as if he were a king Pharaoh.' Thus it was important to the early Christians not to have indecorous parties on that day, but to keep it a time of devotion, reflection, and communion." (From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia, author of the article unknown)
But Christmas became a Christian feast day in the early church, and it was convenient that the date fixed upon by church authorities coincided with the "pagan" winter solstice celebration, "Yule," in cold northern Europe.
Before any fundamentalists who might read this holler -- or cluck their tongues with sanctimonious scorn, which seems to be more in keeping with their erstwhile behavior -- let me state that nowhere in the Bible, Old or New Testament, is the date of the birth of Jesus explicitly given. So it would not be "unbiblical" for the government to choose another date.
For that matter, it would be in accord with separation of church and state if the government chose another date without consulting with Christians at all. It might hurt some feelings of some church people who like to call the shots. In fact, you might say that you can make book on their raising holy hell, saying to hell with separation of church and state, if the official date were changed for the convenience and pleasure of all the citizens.
But I think it would be worth it.
Which gets me to the proposal a writer made (in The New Yorker magazine) in circa 1970-something: change the date of "Christmas" to February 29th. That date (which the Current Occupant, Yale and Harvard alum that he is, has indicated he does not know) comes once only every four years.
Before you gasp at this modest proposal, let me quickly remind you that the First Amendment protects your right to worship the birth of Jesus the Messiah (translated: Christ) on December 25th. That holiday (holy day) would do what we have been lamenting for as long as I can remember: "Put Christ back in Christmas."
Which means we would have to go through this commercial catastrofreak only one-fourth as often as we now do!
Christmas was excluded. It had to be on December 25th. It had been observed on that date as early as the fourth century, and from long before the time that North America became a British colony. Independence Day had been observed on July 4th for only a few hundred years and its observation had to remain on that date. Both dates were too sacred to be messed with, I suppose you could say.
An early church father, Origen, denounced "as sinful the very idea of keeping the birthday of Jesus 'as if he were a king Pharaoh.' Thus it was important to the early Christians not to have indecorous parties on that day, but to keep it a time of devotion, reflection, and communion." (From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia, author of the article unknown)
But Christmas became a Christian feast day in the early church, and it was convenient that the date fixed upon by church authorities coincided with the "pagan" winter solstice celebration, "Yule," in cold northern Europe.
Before any fundamentalists who might read this holler -- or cluck their tongues with sanctimonious scorn, which seems to be more in keeping with their erstwhile behavior -- let me state that nowhere in the Bible, Old or New Testament, is the date of the birth of Jesus explicitly given. So it would not be "unbiblical" for the government to choose another date.
For that matter, it would be in accord with separation of church and state if the government chose another date without consulting with Christians at all. It might hurt some feelings of some church people who like to call the shots. In fact, you might say that you can make book on their raising holy hell, saying to hell with separation of church and state, if the official date were changed for the convenience and pleasure of all the citizens.
But I think it would be worth it.
Which gets me to the proposal a writer made (in The New Yorker magazine) in circa 1970-something: change the date of "Christmas" to February 29th. That date (which the Current Occupant, Yale and Harvard alum that he is, has indicated he does not know) comes once only every four years.
Before you gasp at this modest proposal, let me quickly remind you that the First Amendment protects your right to worship the birth of Jesus the Messiah (translated: Christ) on December 25th. That holiday (holy day) would do what we have been lamenting for as long as I can remember: "Put Christ back in Christmas."
Which means we would have to go through this commercial catastrofreak only one-fourth as often as we now do!
Wednesday, December 20, 2006
That Toddlin' Town
Zipped up to Chicago to visit Natalie and Jerry in the quarter-million-mile wonder wheels. Started Monday morning, returned this (Wednesday) afternoon. From Madison you traverse the state from south to north, going through farm fields and woodlands, passing through North Vernon on Indiana Road 7, Columbus on US 31, and Indianapolis and Lafayette on I-65. I always get there as quickly as I can, then return in no hurry. The weather was drizzly starting from Madison but was fine when I got to Chicago. I defied the standing warning from N & J and came via the toll-free road, and traffic was dicey with the wall of trucks on either side but it kept moving and I was soon in town. It is always worth it.
Coming up the Dan Ryan, I never fail to marvel that there's a rapid transit system that works, serving the needs of people many of whom have sense enough to use it, running right through the median of the freeway, and I'm always wishing that I could park my crappy car somewhere outside the city and use public transportation. My children in Shy are devoted to riding their bicycles as much as they can and that is a sensible form of getting from A to B too. But even when they can't, they can walk two blocks or so, get on an el train, and go just about wherever they want.
I got off the freeway at 22nd (I think they call that Cermak Road, named after a mayor; I used to give directions to natives when I lived there at age 19, but I've begun to slip a little on remembering all the street names). I went over to Lake Shore Drive and north to Fullerton. As I say, it had become an excellent day and Lake Michigan on my right was showing off that beautiful shade of blue-green under the sun and the sky was a bluer blue above. Of course there were all the magnificent buildings on my left.
Natalie and Monty were at home and we had a sweet meeting. We chatted with Jerry on the computer and then we went to get Monty some kibbles and ourselves some tacos. Come to think of it, ate Mexican the whole time. We all talked Macs Monday evening and watched a DVD of Reno 9-1-1, a spoof on Cops and then some. I'd seen it on Comedy Central and didn't like it but this time I watched it with the kids and enjoyed it. I told J that I always get "high" when I am around them, i.e. elated. Everything we do together is more fun than doing it alone.
Natalie and I went downtown on Tuesday. She had a meeting on research she'll be doing and showed me her building where she works then I went to the Tribune Tower and visited Jerry in his office overlooking the lake. He intro'd me to his congenial colleagues. We fooled around and shot the bull and then Natalie came back and we went to lunch at Frontera, having mucho bueno Mexican food there. Then we walked my legs off in the downtown. We went to Shedd Aquarium and decided it was kind of pricey so we came back home. I took a nap and I think Natalie had a little one too, certainly being entitled. I woke to the smell of roasting garlic. We had Mexican again. We had homemade cornbread in there somewhere. I forgot to say the night before we had white chili that was delicioso. In the evening we watched the rest of the Reno cops spoof and then most of The Last of the Mohicans. Natalie provided me with a cozy blanket, which I slept under in the cool room. Love to sleep in a cool room.
We parted as sweetly as we met. Traffic was great all the way home too. I just came directly back the way I'd gone. It was a nice little outing. I love my kids. Amen.
Coming up the Dan Ryan, I never fail to marvel that there's a rapid transit system that works, serving the needs of people many of whom have sense enough to use it, running right through the median of the freeway, and I'm always wishing that I could park my crappy car somewhere outside the city and use public transportation. My children in Shy are devoted to riding their bicycles as much as they can and that is a sensible form of getting from A to B too. But even when they can't, they can walk two blocks or so, get on an el train, and go just about wherever they want.
I got off the freeway at 22nd (I think they call that Cermak Road, named after a mayor; I used to give directions to natives when I lived there at age 19, but I've begun to slip a little on remembering all the street names). I went over to Lake Shore Drive and north to Fullerton. As I say, it had become an excellent day and Lake Michigan on my right was showing off that beautiful shade of blue-green under the sun and the sky was a bluer blue above. Of course there were all the magnificent buildings on my left.
Natalie and Monty were at home and we had a sweet meeting. We chatted with Jerry on the computer and then we went to get Monty some kibbles and ourselves some tacos. Come to think of it, ate Mexican the whole time. We all talked Macs Monday evening and watched a DVD of Reno 9-1-1, a spoof on Cops and then some. I'd seen it on Comedy Central and didn't like it but this time I watched it with the kids and enjoyed it. I told J that I always get "high" when I am around them, i.e. elated. Everything we do together is more fun than doing it alone.
Natalie and I went downtown on Tuesday. She had a meeting on research she'll be doing and showed me her building where she works then I went to the Tribune Tower and visited Jerry in his office overlooking the lake. He intro'd me to his congenial colleagues. We fooled around and shot the bull and then Natalie came back and we went to lunch at Frontera, having mucho bueno Mexican food there. Then we walked my legs off in the downtown. We went to Shedd Aquarium and decided it was kind of pricey so we came back home. I took a nap and I think Natalie had a little one too, certainly being entitled. I woke to the smell of roasting garlic. We had Mexican again. We had homemade cornbread in there somewhere. I forgot to say the night before we had white chili that was delicioso. In the evening we watched the rest of the Reno cops spoof and then most of The Last of the Mohicans. Natalie provided me with a cozy blanket, which I slept under in the cool room. Love to sleep in a cool room.
We parted as sweetly as we met. Traffic was great all the way home too. I just came directly back the way I'd gone. It was a nice little outing. I love my kids. Amen.
Sunday, December 17, 2006
Sunday, Sweet Sunday
In Flower Drum Song, a number I liked was "Sunday."
"Sunday, sweet Sunday,
With nothing to do,
Lazy and lovely,
My one day with you.
...
While all the funny papers lie or fly around the place
I will try my kisses on your funny face."
(I especially liked those lyrics for some reason.)
As I write, a musical by a duo other than Rodgers and Hammerstein, namely Lerner and Loewe, is on Turner Classic Movies. It's the big one, My Fair Lady. My brother Bill loved Alf Doolittle, as played by Stanley Holloway. He got to see Stanley live at the Schubert in Chicago in the fifties and was thrilled with his numbers "I'm Gettin' Married in the Mornin'" and "With a Little Bit o' Luck." Bill especially liked the latter because of the good-natured rascality Alfie embraces, in the tradition of his namesake as played by Michael Caine in the movie of that name, and of Andy Capp, the cartoon character (what I didn't like about Andy was that he was mean to his wife, but...). Bill loved a rogue. So do I. Have a good Sunday.
Footnote: Probably more movie trivia than you wanted to know: I wondered if "Freddie," played by Jeremy Brett in My Fair Lady, did his own singing. (I knew long ago that Marni Nixon dubbed the sainted Audrey Hepburn's songs whereas Julie Andrews, who sang quite well and who had played Eliza on Broadway, was aced out of the movie part by Audrey for petty reasons).
On Bill Shirley: Singer and actor who appeared in second-string Republic Pictures musicals during the wartime 40s. His career went nowhere and he became a better behind-the-scenes singing double.
Best remembered for providing Prince Phillip's singing voice in the animated classic "Sleeping Beauty," Bill also sang Freddy Eynsford-Hill's vocals ("On the Street Where You Live") in the film version of "My Fair Lady." Actor Jeremy Brett, who played the role of Freddy in the film, long claimed that he himself sang the role but that Bill merely "sweetened the high tones." Brett finally admitted years later in the 1994 documentary "More Loverly Than Ever: The Making of My Fair Lady Then & Now" that Bill indeed supplied the singing voice.
Born in Indianapolis, Indiana, Bill attended Shortridge High School. (Yay, Shortridge! A high school that published a daily newspaper! Alma mater of Kurt Vonnegut, Dan Wakefield, and Dick Lugar, among others.) Buried in Crown Hill Cemetery, Indianapolis.
My comment on Bill's rendition of "On the Street Where You Live": stirring, almost to tears. (It's that time of year.) When I was a pimply-faced adolescent, I liked the single-hit version by Vic Damone, the guy who sounded a lot like Sinatra but was a nice guy, unlike Sinatra. (I forgive Sinatra his sins: somebitch could sing.) I imitated Vic's version while I sang it loud as Freddy, while I was alone, out on the deserted streets of little old Forlorn River (freezing in my suede jacket with no hat on my flat-topped head).
On Jeremy Brett: played Sherlock Holmes in a TV series on, I seem to recall, HBO, when I had that luxury. I thought he was the quintessential Holmes, equal to Basil Rathbone. He was a decent chap, born and died in England, schooled at Eton, did Shakespeare. Concerned that kids who watched the TV series might be misled by Holmes' coke habit, got the writers to have Sherlock kick in one episode. And according to IMDB, "he was dubbed [as I said above], in spite of the fact that his singing was actually remarkably good."
"Sunday, sweet Sunday,
With nothing to do,
Lazy and lovely,
My one day with you.
...
While all the funny papers lie or fly around the place
I will try my kisses on your funny face."
(I especially liked those lyrics for some reason.)
As I write, a musical by a duo other than Rodgers and Hammerstein, namely Lerner and Loewe, is on Turner Classic Movies. It's the big one, My Fair Lady. My brother Bill loved Alf Doolittle, as played by Stanley Holloway. He got to see Stanley live at the Schubert in Chicago in the fifties and was thrilled with his numbers "I'm Gettin' Married in the Mornin'" and "With a Little Bit o' Luck." Bill especially liked the latter because of the good-natured rascality Alfie embraces, in the tradition of his namesake as played by Michael Caine in the movie of that name, and of Andy Capp, the cartoon character (what I didn't like about Andy was that he was mean to his wife, but...). Bill loved a rogue. So do I. Have a good Sunday.
Footnote: Probably more movie trivia than you wanted to know: I wondered if "Freddie," played by Jeremy Brett in My Fair Lady, did his own singing. (I knew long ago that Marni Nixon dubbed the sainted Audrey Hepburn's songs whereas Julie Andrews, who sang quite well and who had played Eliza on Broadway, was aced out of the movie part by Audrey for petty reasons).
On Bill Shirley: Singer and actor who appeared in second-string Republic Pictures musicals during the wartime 40s. His career went nowhere and he became a better behind-the-scenes singing double.
Best remembered for providing Prince Phillip's singing voice in the animated classic "Sleeping Beauty," Bill also sang Freddy Eynsford-Hill's vocals ("On the Street Where You Live") in the film version of "My Fair Lady." Actor Jeremy Brett, who played the role of Freddy in the film, long claimed that he himself sang the role but that Bill merely "sweetened the high tones." Brett finally admitted years later in the 1994 documentary "More Loverly Than Ever: The Making of My Fair Lady Then & Now" that Bill indeed supplied the singing voice.
Born in Indianapolis, Indiana, Bill attended Shortridge High School. (Yay, Shortridge! A high school that published a daily newspaper! Alma mater of Kurt Vonnegut, Dan Wakefield, and Dick Lugar, among others.) Buried in Crown Hill Cemetery, Indianapolis.
My comment on Bill's rendition of "On the Street Where You Live": stirring, almost to tears. (It's that time of year.) When I was a pimply-faced adolescent, I liked the single-hit version by Vic Damone, the guy who sounded a lot like Sinatra but was a nice guy, unlike Sinatra. (I forgive Sinatra his sins: somebitch could sing.) I imitated Vic's version while I sang it loud as Freddy, while I was alone, out on the deserted streets of little old Forlorn River (freezing in my suede jacket with no hat on my flat-topped head).
On Jeremy Brett: played Sherlock Holmes in a TV series on, I seem to recall, HBO, when I had that luxury. I thought he was the quintessential Holmes, equal to Basil Rathbone. He was a decent chap, born and died in England, schooled at Eton, did Shakespeare. Concerned that kids who watched the TV series might be misled by Holmes' coke habit, got the writers to have Sherlock kick in one episode. And according to IMDB, "he was dubbed [as I said above], in spite of the fact that his singing was actually remarkably good."
Saturday, December 16, 2006
Saturday Sermon
I’m perturbed by the goings-on of today. There's a domestic situation close to me that is a disaster slowly dragging itself out and it will happen as sure as the earth will turn on its axis. And I have to just stand by. I have to watch this played out.
There’s a parallel between the man in question and his family, and between Little George Bush and his administration. Absolute disaster must occur to the villains in each case, taking every innocent person in their universe down with them. I have to watch the Bush catastrophe play out, just as I have to watch the other catastrophe play out. In each case, to the bitter, god, damned, end.
After the first of the year, Bush will send 50,000 troops to Baghdad to try to occupy it. Many of them will die. Many Iraqis will die. It's all about this little Texas frat-boy's ego. He doesn't want to "lose."
And we can't do a damned thing about it. We have a military dictator who is not a bit better than Kim Jong Il. This man is a monster. His vice president is a monster.
Lord? Will You please do something? But why should I ask you to do something on our behalf? On my behalf? You are God -- which means “good” -- and yet You let evil triumph over good every day, all over this tear-stained, grief-stricken, atrocity-laden ball.
What do You have to say for Yourself? How can the evil not come from You? Preachers say that evil comes from people -- or from Satan -- "the evil one," as Jesus calls him in the modern translations. Jesus says that only God is good.
But You, God, are the author of all, aren’t You? So didn’t You create evil? Whether in the form of people -- a more “parsimonious” explanation -- or Satan? You let Idi Amin and Josef Stalin and Adolf Hitler and the butchers of the Sudan and Papa Doc Duvalier and Slobodan Milosevich and yes, Saddam Hussein, and God knows how many other monsters come to power: why then should I be surprised that You have let George W. Bush and Dick Cheney come to power?
As Bob of God, the Devil and Bob cries out, looking up into the sky from a rainy, rubble-filled field in Detroit, “What kind of God are You? You’re a deadbeat dad!” Why do You allow all the misery and injustice and murder and mayhem to just go on and on and on and ON?
I know there are people, good people -- some of whom believe in You and some of whom do not -- and they keep on trying to do the good and decent and just and merciful thing at every turn and with every person they come in touch with, and I admire them, and sometimes I even try to emulate them to the best of my sorry ability. It is enough to try to emulate good people -- there are many good ones in this world; even some who are not born-again, Bible-bopping, church-chained Christians.
I am not amoral. I believe in doing always the good, just, kind, loving action. Even if I don't always do it myself. I believe in love.
But what of You, God? What of You?
There’s a parallel between the man in question and his family, and between Little George Bush and his administration. Absolute disaster must occur to the villains in each case, taking every innocent person in their universe down with them. I have to watch the Bush catastrophe play out, just as I have to watch the other catastrophe play out. In each case, to the bitter, god, damned, end.
After the first of the year, Bush will send 50,000 troops to Baghdad to try to occupy it. Many of them will die. Many Iraqis will die. It's all about this little Texas frat-boy's ego. He doesn't want to "lose."
And we can't do a damned thing about it. We have a military dictator who is not a bit better than Kim Jong Il. This man is a monster. His vice president is a monster.
Lord? Will You please do something? But why should I ask you to do something on our behalf? On my behalf? You are God -- which means “good” -- and yet You let evil triumph over good every day, all over this tear-stained, grief-stricken, atrocity-laden ball.
What do You have to say for Yourself? How can the evil not come from You? Preachers say that evil comes from people -- or from Satan -- "the evil one," as Jesus calls him in the modern translations. Jesus says that only God is good.
But You, God, are the author of all, aren’t You? So didn’t You create evil? Whether in the form of people -- a more “parsimonious” explanation -- or Satan? You let Idi Amin and Josef Stalin and Adolf Hitler and the butchers of the Sudan and Papa Doc Duvalier and Slobodan Milosevich and yes, Saddam Hussein, and God knows how many other monsters come to power: why then should I be surprised that You have let George W. Bush and Dick Cheney come to power?
As Bob of God, the Devil and Bob cries out, looking up into the sky from a rainy, rubble-filled field in Detroit, “What kind of God are You? You’re a deadbeat dad!” Why do You allow all the misery and injustice and murder and mayhem to just go on and on and on and ON?
I know there are people, good people -- some of whom believe in You and some of whom do not -- and they keep on trying to do the good and decent and just and merciful thing at every turn and with every person they come in touch with, and I admire them, and sometimes I even try to emulate them to the best of my sorry ability. It is enough to try to emulate good people -- there are many good ones in this world; even some who are not born-again, Bible-bopping, church-chained Christians.
I am not amoral. I believe in doing always the good, just, kind, loving action. Even if I don't always do it myself. I believe in love.
But what of You, God? What of You?
Saturday, December 09, 2006
The Straight Story: Beautiful Film
Watched the story of Alvin Straight (1920-1996), who as a poor-sighted, lame old man, goes to visit his brother Lyle (Harry Dean Stanton) who has had a stroke. His mode of transportation is an old riding lawnmower, which he uses to pull a trailer with his camping needs. "Alvin" is one of my favorite actors, Richard Farnsworth. (You girls will remember him as Matthew Cuthbert of Anne of Green Gables. We had the pleasure of seeing that wonderful movie set on Prince Edward Island, surely one of the most enchanted places on this earth. I loved it all over again. Rosie loved it: who wouldn't?)
The Straight Story couldn't have a simpler "plot." An old man wants to make up with his brother before they die and goes on a heroic odyssey to meet him. Does he make it? It's a bittersweet, poignant movie. I can hardly believe that the director is David Lynch, he of Blue Velvet and Twin Peaks. Nothing surreal or outre about this movie that I could detect. Lynch teamed up with composer Angelo Badalamenti; they'd collaborated on Twin Peaks. Angelo included a song by Jo Stafford, a favorite artist of mine, an apropos jukebox tune while Alvin and another WWII vet reminisce over a beer.
Everything in this movie pleases. I'll have to file Alvin and Lyle along with Amarante Cordova and the Senile Brigade of The Milagro Beanfield War, Garth and Hub of The Secondhand Lions, and Burt Munro of The World's Fastest Indian in my pholder of all-time phavorites of phellow olde pharts!
The Straight Story couldn't have a simpler "plot." An old man wants to make up with his brother before they die and goes on a heroic odyssey to meet him. Does he make it? It's a bittersweet, poignant movie. I can hardly believe that the director is David Lynch, he of Blue Velvet and Twin Peaks. Nothing surreal or outre about this movie that I could detect. Lynch teamed up with composer Angelo Badalamenti; they'd collaborated on Twin Peaks. Angelo included a song by Jo Stafford, a favorite artist of mine, an apropos jukebox tune while Alvin and another WWII vet reminisce over a beer.
Everything in this movie pleases. I'll have to file Alvin and Lyle along with Amarante Cordova and the Senile Brigade of The Milagro Beanfield War, Garth and Hub of The Secondhand Lions, and Burt Munro of The World's Fastest Indian in my pholder of all-time phavorites of phellow olde pharts!
Thursday, December 07, 2006
Countdown
You really must see Countdown with Keith Olbermann, kids. It's on MSNBC at 8 p.m. Even if you don't care for the more or less serious political stuff -- lefty Keith is wicked in his scathing criticism of Bush and the more vicious elements of the radical right -- his "Oddball" and "Worst Person in the World" are fun. He starts out at the beginning of the hour with gravity or outrage over the political or military developments of the day and the levity gradually rises to the top over the hour, ending with a spoof, usually with Mo Rocca or Michael Mesto. On Oddball, Keith's always recounting the capers of people committing crimes and getting caught for their incredible stupidity; their fiascoes are told while a cartoon guy in prison stripes, a ball and chain on his leg, and a glum emoticon face :-( is displayed on the screen. "COPS 1, DOPES 0." Strong recommend: George Clooney makes sure to TiVo (sp?) the program every day.
Wednesday, December 06, 2006
Pet Peeves
A. Please don't take this too seriously.
B. These are in no order. Here we go.
1. Not giving turn signals. Especially when the drivers are coming at me from the opposite direction and we're at a stoplight or stop street. And then turning left, nearly colliding with me as I try to go forward.
2. Smoking in the air I breathe. (I'm a recovering alcoholic but I am a reformed smoker. Oh do I wax sanctimonious about the kind of thoughtless behavior that I indulged in all those years.)
3. Caviling about no-smoking laws as an infringement of the "right" of people to smoke in the air others breathe.
4. Yawning without covering one's mouth.
5. Drinking beer from a bottle. We've got the Europeans doing it now. (We've got the English saying "ass" instead of "arse" and the French eating Big Macs and the Germans listening to atrocious music. That last is OK just as long as they don't listen to and sing along with the "Horst Wessel Song" (atrocious and a pretext for genocide).
6. TV commercials for prescription drugs, ranging from those for ED (look it up) to urinary incontinence to the little cartoon gremlins representing foot fungus, mucus, and migraine pain. (The cartoon characters are at least an improvement upon the actors reciting side-effects of the drugs. Give me more of the elephant dancing to "Singin' in the Rain"!)
7. Talking on cell phones in cars (especially SUVs) and public buildings.
8. SUVs.
9. Blog comments full of grammatical, spelling, and typographical errors. (Nothing said about errors of fact.)
10. Buzz words and catch phrases as substitution for clear thinking, reasoned argument, and fresh speech. Here are a few (again, in no order):
a. "It's right out of ...'s playbook."
b. "...on a slippery slope"
c. "...within the parameters" (especially when the speaker means "perimeter," i.e. boundaries)
d. "arguably (the best, etc.)" (You can make a cogent argument that it's the best? Or that it's easily disputed?")
e. "That's history"
f. "That's a no-brainer"
g. "That's a slam-dunk"
h. "win in Iraq" = "stay the course" = "don't cut and run"
i. "No problem."
11. People sitting in their recliners pontificating about everything and using the internet for broadcasting their bulls.*
Have a nice day! Be adequite! (This was written with my blackbury jam while I was tird and in a hurry to meat my fans.)
This list was not meant to be exhaustive.
B. These are in no order. Here we go.
1. Not giving turn signals. Especially when the drivers are coming at me from the opposite direction and we're at a stoplight or stop street. And then turning left, nearly colliding with me as I try to go forward.
2. Smoking in the air I breathe. (I'm a recovering alcoholic but I am a reformed smoker. Oh do I wax sanctimonious about the kind of thoughtless behavior that I indulged in all those years.)
3. Caviling about no-smoking laws as an infringement of the "right" of people to smoke in the air others breathe.
4. Yawning without covering one's mouth.
5. Drinking beer from a bottle. We've got the Europeans doing it now. (We've got the English saying "ass" instead of "arse" and the French eating Big Macs and the Germans listening to atrocious music. That last is OK just as long as they don't listen to and sing along with the "Horst Wessel Song" (atrocious and a pretext for genocide).
6. TV commercials for prescription drugs, ranging from those for ED (look it up) to urinary incontinence to the little cartoon gremlins representing foot fungus, mucus, and migraine pain. (The cartoon characters are at least an improvement upon the actors reciting side-effects of the drugs. Give me more of the elephant dancing to "Singin' in the Rain"!)
7. Talking on cell phones in cars (especially SUVs) and public buildings.
8. SUVs.
9. Blog comments full of grammatical, spelling, and typographical errors. (Nothing said about errors of fact.)
10. Buzz words and catch phrases as substitution for clear thinking, reasoned argument, and fresh speech. Here are a few (again, in no order):
a. "It's right out of ...'s playbook."
b. "...on a slippery slope"
c. "...within the parameters" (especially when the speaker means "perimeter," i.e. boundaries)
d. "arguably (the best, etc.)" (You can make a cogent argument that it's the best? Or that it's easily disputed?")
e. "That's history"
f. "That's a no-brainer"
g. "That's a slam-dunk"
h. "win in Iraq" = "stay the course" = "don't cut and run"
i. "No problem."
11. People sitting in their recliners pontificating about everything and using the internet for broadcasting their bulls.*
Have a nice day! Be adequite! (This was written with my blackbury jam while I was tird and in a hurry to meat my fans.)
This list was not meant to be exhaustive.
Tuesday, December 05, 2006
J-5-8
We kinda wanted to watch some crime dramas on WAVE3-TV this evening but were frustrated because the Louisville NBC affiliate is dedicated to telecasting all University of Kentucky basketball games and tonight a UK game ruled. Go 'Cats.
It passed through my mind the other day that I might watch more basketball this year. Five minutes would do it. I'd been disillusioned with the sport since Kareem was Lew Alcindor and John Wooden was coach at UCLA. And Indiana had a single class state tournament.
I do recall a world series or whatever you call it when the Celtics (Larry Bird, Robert Parrish, Kevin McHale, Tiny Archibald) beat the Lakers (Kareem, Magic). Seems I watched that in the basement of our house at 2564 Tyler in Ogden, Utah, so that's been a while.
Basketball hasn't always been a spectator sport for me. Although I wasn't good enough to make the varsity and the varsity wasn't good enough to make it out of the sectional, I played in a lot of pickup games on outdoor courts up to when I went in the Peace Corps. The thing I did best was pass the ball to the open man.
I was pretty sneaky about it. But I wasn't very graceful. Anyone remember "Ollie" of Hoosiers who dribbled the ball off his foot and out of bounds? Ich bin Ollie, Schatze. Then there was the time I nearly croaked after playing a full-court game with a bunch of old Logansport jocks and my kids on Thanksgiving.
But I liked watching the game when I was a kid. The year we won state, I had a season ticket in the Brown Gym behind the press box. The seat was in Section J, Row 5, Seat 8. I was ten, in the sixth grade. Always a fat little nerd, I made up my own spiral-bound scorebooks and kept score with a Scripto mechanical pencil. I did well for the first quarter or so but I'd get excited and forget to put down O's and X's for baskets and foul shots attempted and made. Then there were the fouls. Boy, could I have used a cam-corder!
That was a fabulous year for basketball. The MHS Cubs were a really strong team (there is no I in team, yada, yada, yada, but in this case it was really true). The teams in the sectional tournament, the first of the four competitions (sectional, regional, semifinal, final) that eliminated all but one team, were nowhere near a match for the big guys. We beat one team 103-39. The basketball was smokin'.
That sectional was spectacular. In 1950 there were 757 teams to start and most of them were in the Madison sectional. All the rural one-room schoolhouses had high schools and some kind of gym. North Madison, "Central" (Ryker's Ridge), Dupont, Deputy, Saluda, and Hanover comprised the schools of Jefferson County, and schools from other counties competed too -- Paris Crossing, Cross Plains, Lexington, Moorefield, Brooksburg, Foltz -- hell I don't know. Everybody. And what the players lacked in skill they made up for in the color of their uniforms -- one I recall had highway yellow underwear with crimson trim. And their nicknames. Well, those weren't all that inspired: Lions and Tigers and Bears and Wolves and Snakes and ... No. No snakes. Just kidding. None of the other, either. I liked the Paris Crossing Pirates. You have to go north to get some really good names: the Frankfort Hot Dogs, the Logansport Berries, the Rochester Zebras. I love that! Zebras.
The games started on Wednesday afternoon and we were out of school (!) from then through Friday. I don't remember that occurrence before or after. I think the expectation we'd win state this year was high: we'd lost in the final game last year 62-61 to Anderson and nearly all the guys from last year were back. Deadeye Dee was gone but he was well supplanted by five excellent players -- even the bench was strong. We were dismissed from school and told to go to the games to support our troops.
Freedom of speech is exciting when it's exhibited in a sweaty gym where Hoosiers are practicing the state religion. A teacher once had us imitate a crowd by half of us repeating "hubbub" over and over while the other half said "soda water bottle." That's what it sounded like there between plays and when the plays got exciting the crowd sounded like three choirs singing in round with three 32-stop organs with all stops pulled out, playing Handel's Hallelujah Chorus, Widor's Toccata, and Bach's Toccata and Fugue in d. The spectacle of all the people made it worthwhile even if you couldn't see the game. The place would get hot and they'd open the big transom windows at the tops of the bleachers. The litter of popcorn boxes and Coke cups would abuild and it was OK as long as it didn't get on the playing floor. A morose janitor with a 4' -wide fleece dustmop would go around the edges of the floor at the half.
We went on to win that year. We had another squeaker with Anderson, in the afternoon of the final four weeks after that sectional. That night we romped over Lafayette Jefferson, 67-44.
I recite these numbers from memory. My M-1 rifle's serial number (1958) was 5735825. I kid you not.
It passed through my mind the other day that I might watch more basketball this year. Five minutes would do it. I'd been disillusioned with the sport since Kareem was Lew Alcindor and John Wooden was coach at UCLA. And Indiana had a single class state tournament.
I do recall a world series or whatever you call it when the Celtics (Larry Bird, Robert Parrish, Kevin McHale, Tiny Archibald) beat the Lakers (Kareem, Magic). Seems I watched that in the basement of our house at 2564 Tyler in Ogden, Utah, so that's been a while.
Basketball hasn't always been a spectator sport for me. Although I wasn't good enough to make the varsity and the varsity wasn't good enough to make it out of the sectional, I played in a lot of pickup games on outdoor courts up to when I went in the Peace Corps. The thing I did best was pass the ball to the open man.
I was pretty sneaky about it. But I wasn't very graceful. Anyone remember "Ollie" of Hoosiers who dribbled the ball off his foot and out of bounds? Ich bin Ollie, Schatze. Then there was the time I nearly croaked after playing a full-court game with a bunch of old Logansport jocks and my kids on Thanksgiving.
But I liked watching the game when I was a kid. The year we won state, I had a season ticket in the Brown Gym behind the press box. The seat was in Section J, Row 5, Seat 8. I was ten, in the sixth grade. Always a fat little nerd, I made up my own spiral-bound scorebooks and kept score with a Scripto mechanical pencil. I did well for the first quarter or so but I'd get excited and forget to put down O's and X's for baskets and foul shots attempted and made. Then there were the fouls. Boy, could I have used a cam-corder!
That was a fabulous year for basketball. The MHS Cubs were a really strong team (there is no I in team, yada, yada, yada, but in this case it was really true). The teams in the sectional tournament, the first of the four competitions (sectional, regional, semifinal, final) that eliminated all but one team, were nowhere near a match for the big guys. We beat one team 103-39. The basketball was smokin'.
That sectional was spectacular. In 1950 there were 757 teams to start and most of them were in the Madison sectional. All the rural one-room schoolhouses had high schools and some kind of gym. North Madison, "Central" (Ryker's Ridge), Dupont, Deputy, Saluda, and Hanover comprised the schools of Jefferson County, and schools from other counties competed too -- Paris Crossing, Cross Plains, Lexington, Moorefield, Brooksburg, Foltz -- hell I don't know. Everybody. And what the players lacked in skill they made up for in the color of their uniforms -- one I recall had highway yellow underwear with crimson trim. And their nicknames. Well, those weren't all that inspired: Lions and Tigers and Bears and Wolves and Snakes and ... No. No snakes. Just kidding. None of the other, either. I liked the Paris Crossing Pirates. You have to go north to get some really good names: the Frankfort Hot Dogs, the Logansport Berries, the Rochester Zebras. I love that! Zebras.
The games started on Wednesday afternoon and we were out of school (!) from then through Friday. I don't remember that occurrence before or after. I think the expectation we'd win state this year was high: we'd lost in the final game last year 62-61 to Anderson and nearly all the guys from last year were back. Deadeye Dee was gone but he was well supplanted by five excellent players -- even the bench was strong. We were dismissed from school and told to go to the games to support our troops.
Freedom of speech is exciting when it's exhibited in a sweaty gym where Hoosiers are practicing the state religion. A teacher once had us imitate a crowd by half of us repeating "hubbub" over and over while the other half said "soda water bottle." That's what it sounded like there between plays and when the plays got exciting the crowd sounded like three choirs singing in round with three 32-stop organs with all stops pulled out, playing Handel's Hallelujah Chorus, Widor's Toccata, and Bach's Toccata and Fugue in d. The spectacle of all the people made it worthwhile even if you couldn't see the game. The place would get hot and they'd open the big transom windows at the tops of the bleachers. The litter of popcorn boxes and Coke cups would abuild and it was OK as long as it didn't get on the playing floor. A morose janitor with a 4' -wide fleece dustmop would go around the edges of the floor at the half.
We went on to win that year. We had another squeaker with Anderson, in the afternoon of the final four weeks after that sectional. That night we romped over Lafayette Jefferson, 67-44.
I recite these numbers from memory. My M-1 rifle's serial number (1958) was 5735825. I kid you not.
Monday, December 04, 2006
Max Clooney R.I.P.
George Clooney's pet potbellied pig, Max, passed away. As Kurt Vonnegut used to say, So it goes.
Sunday, December 03, 2006
Noah Wyle and Reminiscing
Sort of watching The Librarian: Return to King Solomon's Mines on TNT, starring Noah Wyle, Gabrielle Anwar, Jane Curtin, Bob Newhart, and Olympia Dukakis. It's a kind of Indiana Jones adventure on Xanax. Wyle is pronounced "wily," as in coyote. Noah was born in 1971 -- a glorious year for people to be born. His month is June, so he's just a little older than my two fine offspring born on that blessed unseasonably warm November night in Columbus, Indiana -- the night I felt lightheaded when David Ryan, M.D. said, "Get the other warmer ready. There's another one coming." Earlier we'd heard Doc Ryan on the floor underneath us practicing "Would You Like to Fly in My Beautiful Balloon?" on his clarinet. Best Xmas presents I ever had.
Friday, December 01, 2006
The Alcoholic Card -- It Worked for Mel G. and Mark F.
A friend who happens to be a member of AA called this to my attention:
News Item: Lindsay Lohan [movie star] has been attending Alcoholics Anonymous meetings, HER PUBLICIST SAID Friday... She said Lohan, 20, made the decision on her own to attend meetings, although Sloane [the publicist] added: "And, by the way, she's not saying ... she'll STOP DRINKING TOMORROW." [my screaming letters!]
"It's a place to go and feel safe," she said. "No one judges her, and it's going to be a slow process. But, to me, the fact that she's seeing that there's something not right makes her smarter than the next person." ...
Sloane said she thinks the press was unfair to Lohan by ridiculing a statement the actress wrote following last week's death of Robert Altman, who directed her in "A Prairie Home Companion."
A sad Lohan wrote the rambling letter "on the fly" on her Blackberry, Sloane said.
The letter, in which Lohan signs off with "BE ADEQUITE," has been criticized by a number of media observers for its grammatical errors and misspellings, among other things — including exploiting Altman's death for her own publicity purposes.
"I want everyone to leave her the hell alone," Sloane said. "I'm so bored of this with her. No matter what she does, it's never good enough for everybody."
[Her publicist tells the media that Miss Lohan is attending Alcoholics Anonymous so people will leave her the hell alone?]
My friend says the approach to a drinking problem in AA is generally to try to abstain -- NOT drink -- TODAY. "Tomorrow" never comes.
Tradition 12 of AA: "Anonymity is the spiritual foundation of all our traditions, ever reminding us to place principles before personalities."
(Come to think of it, I'm bored of this with her too.)
News Item: Lindsay Lohan [movie star] has been attending Alcoholics Anonymous meetings, HER PUBLICIST SAID Friday... She said Lohan, 20, made the decision on her own to attend meetings, although Sloane [the publicist] added: "And, by the way, she's not saying ... she'll STOP DRINKING TOMORROW." [my screaming letters!]
"It's a place to go and feel safe," she said. "No one judges her, and it's going to be a slow process. But, to me, the fact that she's seeing that there's something not right makes her smarter than the next person." ...
Sloane said she thinks the press was unfair to Lohan by ridiculing a statement the actress wrote following last week's death of Robert Altman, who directed her in "A Prairie Home Companion."
A sad Lohan wrote the rambling letter "on the fly" on her Blackberry, Sloane said.
The letter, in which Lohan signs off with "BE ADEQUITE," has been criticized by a number of media observers for its grammatical errors and misspellings, among other things — including exploiting Altman's death for her own publicity purposes.
"I want everyone to leave her the hell alone," Sloane said. "I'm so bored of this with her. No matter what she does, it's never good enough for everybody."
[Her publicist tells the media that Miss Lohan is attending Alcoholics Anonymous so people will leave her the hell alone?]
My friend says the approach to a drinking problem in AA is generally to try to abstain -- NOT drink -- TODAY. "Tomorrow" never comes.
Tradition 12 of AA: "Anonymity is the spiritual foundation of all our traditions, ever reminding us to place principles before personalities."
(Come to think of it, I'm bored of this with her too.)
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