The Pacific Eclectic Power Company

Peach Pits

2012-01-02T19:46:00.000-08:00

When my maternal grandfather was about my current age, and I was in my teens, Victor Canine came, not happily, to live with us in Cleveland. He had a full head of white hair and a full mustache, was slightly built and limped.

He had lived his life in Waveland, Indiana where he operated the only print shop in a small town with neither a stop light or a stop sign.

This picture from Google maps could show where the print shop was located, but Google Earth shows nothing else of Waveland save its church.

Grandpa Canine didn't stay with us for very long; with four kids in the house there really wasn't the room so my parents stashed him in an other city old folks home. I am sure my Mother loved her Father, and my Father was reasonably considerate, but we kids didn't care much for the elderly intruder, nor he for us so his removal was the best for all concerned.

Other than his classic old white guy appearance I don't remember much about Grandpa Canine, but I do have a pointed memory of a hobby he occupied himself with. He carved many little baskets, with handles, from peach pits. I really loved to watch him carve the baskets and then I would handrub the charming little artifacts until I made them smooth.

I never missed him after he left, but a few years later, living in Los Angeles and feeling a little more responsible I found the address of the old folks home and dropped him a line. Sometime later, my letter was returned to me with "dead" written on the envelope. I was sorry I had missed connecting with him, and was angered by the callous notification on the envelope. When I calmed down I realized the word was "descd". Since there was no additional information or sense of concern for my interest, I accepted that this abrupt announcement was all I really deserved for my belated interest.

And now I can only wish I had some little talent to make some little thing that my grandchildren might remember fondly as their years go by.

Workers of the World, Unite!

2011-10-25T08:54:00.000-07:00

Players' association executive director Billy Hunter said "(The players) are principled individuals and I think that they realize the struggle that they are incurring," he said. "They may be paid at a higher level but it's the same issue that we see that is endemic right now, not only in our country but around the world -- it's about folks at the top who have the leverage and power who need to impose upon the workers of the world.

"Most of our players when they end playing basketball they are going to be living for another 40 years or so. And so I don't know how long that money is going to last," he added. "Even if they made every prudent investment that they could possibly make, I don't know at what level they are going to be able to live. But I think after a while it just becomes a principle. For a lot of these players that is what it's about."

I think the world's labor force would go along with that. Who wouldn't want to play a youth game in baggy shorts for a few years and be guaranteed a lifetime of luxury thereafter? Thanks NBA Players Association for leading the fight for the rest of us. Solidarity rules!

LA TIMES sports writer chokes under no pressure

2011-07-24T09:19:00.000-07:00

Silver is good.

Fresh Air

2011-06-01T10:43:00.000-07:00

I miss wind wings. The flow of fresh air, directed as I wished, was one of the true pleasures of driving. A 1968 VW was the last car I drove with wind wings.

But, in a parade of progress, wind wing side vents succumbed to air conditioning, followed quickly by power steering, power windows, cruise control, power mirrors, power seats with lumbar support and memory, power brakes, GPS, back-up video, and more.

I love it all; want every bell and whistle I can afford. But can't I have it with wind wings?

San Francisco Fog

2010-12-09T08:41:00.000-08:00

Picking his way through a fog so thick it is difficult to make out the shop lights, a lone tourist steps into an antique shop in the maze of San Francisco's Chinatown. Looking through objects strewn carelessly about the cluttered shop, he discovers a detailed, life-sized bronze sculpture of a rat. The sculpture is so interesting and unique that he feels compelled to pick it up and as he holds it, finds it difficult to put it back down. Though not much of a collector, he reluctantly asks the shop owner what it costs.

"Twelve dollars for the rat, sir," says the shop owner, "and a thousand dollars more for the story behind it."

"You can keep the story, old man," he replies, relieved at the bargain price, "but I'll take the rat," and happily leaves the store with the bronze rat under his arm.

As he crosses the street in front of the store, the tourist sees two gray rats scamper from a sewer drain and fall into step behind him. Clutching his bronze trophy tightly, he walks faster, but every time he passes another sewer drain, more rats pop out and follow him.

By the time he's walked two blocks, at least a hundred rats are at his heels. The fog is quickly lifting and people begin to point and shout. He walks even faster, and then breaks into a trot as multitudes of rats swarm toward him from sewers, basements, vacant lots, and abandoned cars.

As in a nightmare, rats by the thousands are squealing fiercely at his heels. Nearing the waterfront at the bottom of the hill, he panics and starts to run. No matter how fast he runs, the rats keep up, squealing hideously now, not just thousands but millions; a tide of rats pouring from every part of the city and closing in behind and around him.

Running onto a pier, and trapped at the edge, the tourist makes a mighty leap up onto a light post but, grabbing hold, drops the bronze rat. It lands with a bounce on the pier and tumbles into the Bay.

Pulling his legs up and clinging desperately to the light post, he watches in amazement as the screeching tide of rats surge over the end of the pier and follow the bronze rat into the bay. They thrash about wildly, but vainly, and all swiftly, agonizingly, sink into the dark, frigid water and drown.

Shaken and humbled, the tourist somehow makes his way through the returning fog back to the antique shop.

"Ah, so you've come back for the rest of the story," says the owner.

"No," says the tourist, "I was wondering if you had a bronze Republican.

Parmadale

2010-11-30T09:18:00.000-08:00

I spent the Seventh Grade in an all-boy, Catholic orphanage outside of Cleveland, operated by the Sisters of Charity of Saint Augustine. Because it interrupted the rhythm of my life at an impressionable age I probably have more specific memories of those nine or ten months than any other comparable time period. Would you like to hear them all? I thought not. However, in view of the priestly scandals now so frequently exposed, I do need pause to consider the event of our daily shower.

Besides the Church, Dining Hall and other service buildings, Parmadale, the orphanage, consisted primarily of about twenty residential "cottages" - actually large brick buildings housing about thirty schoolboys each - plus a team of nuns, the number of which I cannot remember. Nor can I recall any of their names, faces or other personal characteristics. They were nuns wearing habits and headgear showing only pinched, pale faces and were none much distinguishable from the others.

And so the showers. Sometime in the evening. Before dinner? After dinner? Maybe just before bedtime. I can't remember. But I do remember the shower. As decent Catholic boys, we dressed and undressed with discretion, and we went into the shower room wearing skimpy, white cotton shorts. I think the shower room accommodated eight or ten at a time and a Sister of Charity sat at the entrance to monitor our bathing practices and deportment, often reminding a careless bather to reach inside his shorts and wash himself properly.

Basically, that is all I remember about the shower. But in retrospect it seems that Church officials may have realized that young boys were in safer hands with the nuns than with male caretakers, and are not as obtuse to the facts of life as they generally seem.

Bing Crosby to Barri Gòtic

2010-10-22T09:04:00.000-07:00

19 years old, driving to work on a TV assembly line in South Central Los Angeles. Music radio in 1950 played Goodies before they became Oldies. One cold morning I heard Bing Crosby on a new record. As time went on and upon hearing other renditions, I came to realize that Quizas, Quizas, Quizas was, and still is, my favorite song. It is always on my radar. I keep a few versions on CD and in my computer.

Last week, in Barcelona, Julie and I were amblin' among the tourists that crowded the Barri Gòtic surrounding the historic cathedral. Circling around the cathedral on a narrow and crowded walking street, I began to hear some soft, but unmistakable notes of Quizas, Quizas, Quizas. It emanated from a small space beside the walkway.

I stopped against the church and let the tourists hurry by. I could barely believe my ears. The quitar notes were crisp and pure. The voice was soft, but perfectly attuned to the guitar and the song. It was the most perfect version of my favorite song that I had ever heard.

How had I happened to come to that spot, at that moment? Don't think serendipity; for me, this experience was bigger than that. Nonetheless, I dropped a coin in his guitar case and we joined the flow through the Barri Gòtic.

Innocence

2010-08-27T20:46:00.000-07:00

Alone at coffee this afternoon, reading the New Yorker, when a young Black couple stopped at my table. "You know who you look like," the man asked?

What could I say?

"Clint Eastwood," he said. Which was both amusing and flattering. "That's right," he insisted, Clint Eastwood."

So I admitted, "Years ago, I used to hear that. Now that we're old, I guess I'll hear it some again."

"Do you know Clint Eastwood," he asked?

"I did. Back in the day." (Catchy little phrase, that.)

"Was he a nice guy?"

"Oh, yes," I assured him. "A very nice guy."

"I'd really like to meet him. Do you know where he lives?"

"Up northern California. I don't know exactly where."

"Would he talk to me if I met him?"

"I'm sure he would, just hanging out like he does."

"I'd like to be his friend. I would be a good friend to Clint Eastwood."

I smiled and nodded and wished him and his ladyfriend good luck and a good day as I returned to my magazine. I have no doubt that, somehow, I had made his day.

Hot Wheelin'

2010-08-19T09:30:00.000-07:00

My Trooper transmission shift control started flaking out on me yesterday. I pulled in to an Asian car specialist but he couldn't even begin to pin point the problem and suggested I try my regular mechanic, who might have better diagnostic equipment. I took it there, but John didn't want to work on it and sent me directly to the shop that does all his transmission work.

That specialist had diagnostic equipment that identified the problem as voltage, not transmission, and suggested I take it to my battery place for testing and replacement. I drove to my Sears Auto Center in Santa Monica, only to find a large, graded vacant lot in its place. A couple phones calls lead me to a distant Sears, almost fully hidden in a canyon adjacent to a large shopping center.

When I finally located the service department, the battery testing technician informed me that the battery tested good and there was nothing he can do to correct the shift problem and I'd best go back to my regular mechanic.

Manually shifting roughly through the gears and frequently re-starting a car that is alternately overcharging and stalling in traffic, I manuevered back to my regular mechanic, stopping once to re-fuel my now running-on-empty tank.

When I pulled in again, John looked at me with some discomfort and definite disappointment. This was obviously not a vehicle he had hoped to see again. Nonetheless, I set the key on his counter with finality, collected my dog, and hurried home for quick dip into an icy martini.

Dream/Memory

2010-07-29T07:47:00.000-07:00

I am in New York. Broadway. 42nd St. High noon. Sidewalks crowded like I've never seen before, not even in Chicago where I went to sleep. How did I get here? George is with me. Now he isn't. Broke in August. Hot and humid. Scrubbing garbage cans behind the restaurant. Rats jump out and scare me. Take my money and go. Dumb western on 42nd St. Wake up with a bloody mouth and sore jaw. Nauseous. Beautiful lunch on a mansion patio in Westchester. Great lawn. Nightime. Sidewalks jumping with rhythm. Birdland. Wow! Tuxedo knocks me down. Huge hand helps me up. Sonny Tufts apologizes profusely. SONNY TUFTS!! Three button, natural shoulder Ivy League suit dominates store window until I walk out with it. Long bus ride at night. Bright tower in Philadelphia. Wake up in Chicago. No. I am in Los Angeles, dreaming a memory. Or remembering a dream.

Carrizo Plain Drive

2010-06-29T20:57:00.000-07:00

A stretch of the San Andreas Fault and the ephemeral Soda Lake are the only visible elements on this arid plain.

This is as far I was able to drive on one narrow dirt road. It was not wide enough to turn around on so I had to drive back down in reverse. It was also at this point that my GPS gave out, as did my Olympus camera and my cell phone had no service.

Back at a crossroads and another decision.

Apparently a choice between Soda Lake Rd. and Soda Lake Rd.

So I took Soda Lake Rd.

Ignoring the road closure warning, I pressed on because I am a dirt kind of guy.

And my road had plenty of it.

These were the only other vehicles on my road, but no occupants present.

I thought of dinasaur bones lying in a desert.

My Addiction Affliction

2010-06-16T08:49:00.000-07:00

You nailed me, Obama. I'm addicted to fossil fuels. I can't even conceive of breaking the habit, I love it so much. No Betty Ford treatment for me. You can stick it to the drillers, stick it to the refiners and stick it to the retailers; hit them with the highest taxes and most punitive fees you can push through Congress, but you'll never take my fossil fuels away from me. I'm an American and I have as much right to indulge my self-destructive appetites as I have to complain about government attempts to deprive me of them. So don't try to lay any preachy guilt trip on me or I'll drive my SUV right up your big black asphalt.

April

2010-04-11T20:13:00.000-07:00

My kid Brother, Bert, turns 76 this week. I called him in his room at the VA Nursing Home in Amarillo, Texas this morning. I last saw him in 2002 when he first entered the VA and, though not ambulatory, could still get around in his wheel chair. Not so for the past year. There is something wrong with his legs to the extent that he can't turn himself over in his bed. Curiously, but fortunately, he has not developed bed sores.

Though he did not have a strong voice, his conversation was clear and precise. What he seems to miss most, in this condition, was the opportunity to play chess and scrabble. He does have a 42" Samsung TV which provides him with satisfactory entertainment and distraction.

We chatted casually for about 40 minutes and to my questions, he filled me in on some of the problems that have visited his male children. He asked me nothing about me or my family. This is probably common with hospital bed residents who have body tubes permanently in place in a four-wall existence.

A nurse came into the room with some mashed potatoes for his lunch. He wanted to keep up the converation but he was beginning to hack and wheeze a bit so thought it was time to give it a rest. We wished each other happy birthday and said bye, bye.

It only hurts when I walk

2010-04-01T11:02:00.000-07:00

I have been slightly hobbled and somewhat irritated for several weeks/months with pain in my right ankle. I finally mentioned it to my PP who sent me down for X-Rays. As a result of which he sent me to a podiatrist. The podiatrist could not produce any pain by manipulating my foot, but he was fascinated by the X-Rays. Three surgeries were done on that ankle before I reached the age of 18 and it has received no attention since then until now.

The young podiatrist could not determine the cause of my pain so he prescribed heavy doses of Motrin, just in case it might help. Why not? One good thing is he never mentioned surgery, which quickly shot him to the top of my dance card. The other good thing is he never suggested that many new problems occur with age. He obviously perceived me as quite young. We could end up as an item.

Self-Service

2010-02-05T09:07:00.000-08:00

Yesterday, my friend Isaac pulled his Mercedes up to a gas pump in West L.A. and started the fill-up. A car pulled up across the island and the driver, with an Italian accent, asked Isaac if here were Italian. When Isaac answered no, the driver asked if he could ask him a question. As Isaac stepped nearer, the driver started rambling about being related to Armani and confused about something, yada, yada yada... But in this car's window, Isaac could see the reflection of his Mercedes behind him and saw a man starting in from the other side.

Isaac ran around to that open door and slammed it on the intruder, pushing him into the car. With his keys in hand, Isaac locked the car doors, trapping the intruder. He took out his Blackberry and dialed 911. The intruder hollered and begged to be let out and the driver drove off.

The cops came within a couple minutes and took over. The intruder insisted that Isaac pushed him into the car and locked him in. (For what--ransom? And he needed cops to help him? Which reminds me of the time the Deputies questioned me about a crazy guy who had just attacked me and others on the Sunset Strip before running off. As we spoke, we were radioed by another deputy, who had caught the guy and was guarding him, awaiting our arrival for identification. When we got there, the surly suspect said, "Yeah. That's the guy that attacked me for no reason". Fortunately, they didn't believe him, either.

The cops took Isaac's intruder into custody and told Isaac this was a common crime. One partner distracts someone at a gas station while the other partner quickly searches the car for a quick grab of purse, wallet, whatever.

This was reminiscent of the duo that tried to grab our money when Julie and I were walking in Barcelona, a few months ago.

It is also a reminder to never drop your guard when a stranger asks for directions or even just seems to want to chat. Never leave valuables on a car seat or anywhere within view. Isaac thought I needed particular warning because I am so ready to respond to strangers, but I am careful, often alert, and have no problem giving a quick "no" and curt shake of the head when I feel like it is appropriate. And I did send the two in Barcelona running, but I was lucky, they only wanted to rob us, not hurt us.

You don't have to be paranoid, but, as Randy Newman sings, "It's a jungle out there", - and not all the creatures are friendly.

At least you now have a verifiable Urban Alert that is not a mythical urban myth.

The Great Debate

2010-01-31T10:04:00.000-08:00

The unresolved debate is, Who Makes the Movie? Is it the writer, the director, producer, editor, actors or simply a collaboration of all film departments? When it comes to most movies, either one, or all of the above can be reasonably argued. But with the good movie, there is really no argument: the good movie makes itself.

There is something that happens in the creation of some movies that is beyond the abilities and talents of the artists involved. The film takes on a life of its own and makes demands of its contributors a quality of effort that they have seldom, if ever, reached before or even after. Casablanca is such a film. D.O.A. is another. I don't want to make a list, but many a Best Picture Oscar winner would be on it. Bombay Millionaire was one, and this year, I think The Hurt Locker will be another.

When you see The Hurt Locker, you will recognize it as a film that made itself. The writer, director, actors and etc. were hard working mid-wives to the process. Being true to its own instinctive nature, it might not be a major motion picture or lasting work of art, but it is what it wanted to be and its titular filmmakers were artistic enough to not get in its way.

Avatar, on the other hand was made by a filmmaker. His brain and hand are all over the product. He knew what he wanted and he damn well got it on film. But the end result is not recognizably organic. It is manufactured. Though it is a credit to the dedication, determination and skills of the filmmaker, it is machine made, mechanistic and heartless.

The Motion Picture Academy's choice this year will come down to these two films. The self-made film and the machine made film. And the world waits breathlessly for the result.

The Chicago Dog

2010-01-18T22:37:00.000-08:00

Peter sent me a link to a Chowhound reference to a little hot dog stand in Berkeley that features Chicago style hot dogs. The photo of the stand is very reminiscent of the stands where I scarfed down a dog or two-at-a-time in my youth. I look forward to trying it out on my next trip to the Bay Area, but not without some reservation.

As I replied to Peter, the Chicago dog I've encountered in California is essentially a rebuilt version of the one familiar to me. The only place outside of Chicago that I have found it's true incarnation is at an annual stand at the L.A. County Fair in Pomona every September. Other stands in the L.A. area that offer a Chicago style dog generally offer a polish sausage as their basic ingredient. I like Polish, Hungarian, German and many other sausages, but a Chicago dog is a wiener, and industrial standard wieners seldom have the right blend of spicy mystery meat in a tight tube that pops its juice when you first bite into it that is required in a good Chicago dog.

Today's dogs can be tasty, but I don't rate any as better than L.A.'s Original Tommy's Famous, which is similar to a Chicago dog but with added chili and cortidos. The original Chicago, like many other sinful sandwiches in the Midwest, includes French fries in the bun. As you know, taking the mixed flavors on the palate in each bite is a different experience than taking a bite of this then a bite of that, and it's amazing how big a bite a mouth can manage.

A hot dog is one thing, a chili dog is another, and a Chicago dog is something else, again. And I was never able to eat just one.

The Shady Side

2009-12-02T09:09:00.000-08:00

I am, as anyone who regularly reads this blog knows, in undeniably good health, so it should not be taken out of context that I feel that I am becoming acquainted with death. It may not be imminent, yet seems nearby; maybe around a corner or just out of sight. It also seems quite friendly, not a bit intimidating or frightening. A welcoming presence.

When I was a devout Catholic, I lived in fear of death and its fiery punishment. I knew I was a sinner and doubted I would receive the salvation of Extreme Unction at my last breath. As my faith dissipated, I feared death less for its promise of eternal punishment than for its depiction of perpetual boredom. An Eternity spent in quiet adoration of the the Holy Trinity was an even less inviting experience than the agony of monstrous torture and constant pain. fortunately, a previously repressed gene of reason took control and I came to realize that there is no aspect of religion to believe or death to dread.

Possessiveness is what makes us want to hang on to life as long as we can. It's what we know and we don't want to lose a bit of it. Understandable, of course. But there is something about the aging experience that makes me want to cut back, cut down, simplify. Not my material possessions. I keep acquiring gadgets and goods as fast as I can get online. But I've toted a lot of mental equipment and emotional baggage in my day that seems more superfluous as the days go on. And when I go, they go; purpose served.

My quiet new friend can take its time. There is no hurry. I fully enjoy my life and I wouldn't want my survivors to have to start grieving any sooner than necessary. That is the only sad part of dying, knowing that there are those who will have to grieve, as I have grieved for those loved ones who left before me. Nor do I pester myself with thought that I will miss them: anybody or anything. Some will miss me, but there will be nothing of me to miss them. I will be gone. Pffft! Kaput! And don't say good riddance or I will come back to haunt you.

Who's in Charge Here?

2009-10-20T08:32:00.000-07:00

William Castle's THE TINGLER screens on TCM tonight, reminding me of a great story regarding its original theatrical release. Inventive marketer Castle rigged some First-Run theaters with under-the seat buzzers that tingled the sitters. At certain times during the film, a voice would shout out "Scream, scream. scream for you life or the Tingler will get you!" This was accompanied by a jolt of juice to the wired seats.

On cue, my friend Martin cooperated with a loud scream. An usher came quickly to him and told him to be quiet or he would be removed from the theater. As you watch this movie tonight, I suggest you follow that usher's advice.

Is this really a free speech issue?

2009-09-23T16:40:00.000-07:00

Supreme Court to weigh depictions of animal cruelty
In a case that pits free-speech defenders against animal rights activists, the justices will consider whether the 1st Amendment should protect depictions of animals being hurt.

Is it against the law to abuse animals? If it is, then that is the only issue that needs litigating. Sure, the video makers are natural born crud, but the legal system should be going after the perpetrators of the animal abuse. The videos should be clear evidence of the criminal behavior. And as evidence, each copy can be impounded until the perps are brought to justice. Do we need the Supreme Court to figure that out?

Meditations on Mortality. cont.

2009-08-26T09:59:00.000-07:00

Julie was recovering from her emergency colon surgery last year in a two-bed room in UCLA Medical Center when I checked in on her one afternoon. As I approached the room I could hear loud wailing and crying and quickly worried. In the first bed, Julie laid teary, but quiet. Behind the drawn curtain, the other patient, a tall young woman with a stomach cancer, and her mother were crying fiercely. Julie whispered to me that the young woman's doctor had just advised her that she is to be transferred to a hospice to die.

Now Julie's emergency surgery was triggered by chemo treatment for her breast cancer. and even though she was suffering grievously, we knew that after recovery from the stomach surgery, her breast cancer would be well under control due to the new, but very expensive drugs that were now available and affordable to her as a result of medicare. The young woman in the next bed, however, was not eligible for medicare and her private insurance did not cover the cost of the same drugs that would save Julie. So her doctor informed her and her mother--in direct words that stunned Julie to hear--that she had no alternative but to die.

A government health plan is not needed to tell us when we have to die; that plan already exists for those who cannot afford the benefits of full contemporary medical care. It is a plan based on influence, affluence and profitability. Humanity is not a factor in the equation.

Julie's next roommate was a fairly hearty Irish gal. She was from the San Luis Obispo area and had a cancer in her arm. The medical facilities in SLO were not equipped to treat her cancer so she came a mere four hours and 200 hundred miles to UCLA. After a couple of days, however, it was determined that her insurance would not cover the UCLA treatment so she packed up for her return to an indeterminate future and probable amputation instead of therapy.

The brunt of Julie's extensive medical expenses were underwritten by our government operated health plan. It is a crying shame than her two roommates, and so many others, do not have access to such a health and life supporting program.

Meditations on Mortality

2009-08-14T21:04:00.000-07:00

Another old friend died today. At the age of 92, most all her other friends are already gone. What she had left at her end were her children and grandchildren. Their memories are really are a poor substitute for the contemporaries who lived with her, loved her, maybe even disliked her, but knew her as a person, not as a mother or a matriarch. But they now gone.

She, on the other hand, outlived many others whom she knew well and who lived on for a little while longer in her memories. The curse of the long life is the memories of those gone, and the never ending loss of their passing.

Nevertheless, all things considered, I, too, would rather be in Philadelphia.

The Bargain Hunter

2009-07-14T20:46:00.000-07:00

I think this is a good time to repeat this classic fable.

Wandering through a fog so thick it is difficult to make out the shop lights,
A lone tourist finds himself in a back alley, antique shop on the edge of San Francisco's Chinatown. Picking through the objects strewn carelessly about the cluttered shop, he discovers a detailed, life-sized bronze sculpture of a rat. The sculpture is so interesting and unique that he feels compelled to pick it up and as he holds it, finds it difficult to put it back down. Though not much of a collector, he reluctantly asks the shop owner what it costs.

"Twelve dollars for the rat, sir," says the shop owner, "and a thousand dollars
more for the story behind it."

"You can keep the story, old man," he replies, relieved at the bargain price,
"but I'll take the rat."

The transaction complete, the tourist leaves the store with the bronze rat under his arm. As he crosses the street in front of the store, two live rats emerge from a sewer drain and fall into step behind him. Nervously looking over his shoulder, he begins to walk faster, but every time he passes another sewer drain, more rats come out and follow him.

By the time he's walked two blocks, at least a hundred rats are at his heels.
The fog is quickly lifting and people begin to point and shout. He walks even faster, and soon breaks into a trot as multitudes of rats swarm toward him from sewers, basements, vacant lots, and abandoned cars.

Rats by the thousands are at his heels and, as he nears the waterfront at the bottom of the hill, he panics and starts to run full tilt. No matter how fast he runs, the rats keep up, squealing hideously now, not just thousands but millions; a tide of rats pouring from every part of the city and closing in behind him.

Trapped at the edge of a pier, the tourist makes a mighty leap up onto a light post and while grabbing hold, drops the bronze rat. It lands with a bounce on the pier and tumbles into the Bay.

Pulling his legs up and clinging desperately to the light post, he watches in amazement as the screeching tide of rats surge over the end of the pier and follow the bronze rat into the sea, where they swiftly sink and drown.

Shaken and humbled, he somehow makes his way through the returning fog back to the antique shop.

"Ah, so you've come back for the rest of the story," says the owner.

"No," says the tourist, "I was wondering if you had a bronze Republican Senator.

Roots?

2009-07-11T20:44:00.000-07:00

My German grandfather's birth name was Rock. His mother's maiden was Meerholz. They died together in a distant accident when my grandfather was a child and he was taken for adoption by his mother's family, and his name changed to the matrinominal Meerholz, which may have been shortened on arrival in America to Merholz. (Please, no T)

Playing Around with Google Earth I came across the name Meerholz in a town in Germany. Meerholz translates to sea wood in English and I have sometimes used the pseudonym B.J. Driftwood. Looking the town up on Google, I found that a vacant plot of ground in this little village now stands, after Bulgaria and Romania joined on January 1, at the geographical center of the European Union.

Make of it what you will.

Squirrel hunt

2009-07-01T10:07:00.000-07:00

I parked in a large lot behind a block of stores and let Charlie loose for a little stretch and marking. Suddenly a squirrel appeared on the open ground, Charlie zeroed in and the chase was on. The squirrel zigged and zagged but couldn't shake Charlie, breathing down his neck and barking in his ear.

I chose not to interfere during the chase. It looked to me that Charlie could have seized the squirrel if he so wanted, and I was ready to reach in if he started to lunge, but harassment seemed to be his only interest. And animal observation was my interest.

I would guess it was basically over in ten to fifteen seconds when the squirrel finally found a power pole and started his climb. He actually slipped back to the ground after a foot or so but quickly regained his grip on the wood and scampered to a safe height, from which he loudly chided or taunted Charlie, who merely seemed to shrug and sauntered off to pee some more.

It was pleasing for me to see that although Charlie often barks at and charges toward squirrels, birds, cats, motorcycles, leaf blowers, etc., it seems to be no different than when he does the same thing to dogs, from which no harm has yet derived. Just a bit of sport.

Game On!

2009-06-03T09:20:00.000-07:00

As action on the basketball court winds down, attention to the U.S. Supreme Court heats up. There is now the usual controversy over the selection of a new Justice and attitudes and platitudes are fanning the flames of partisanship. Juxtaposition of the two courts points up their similarities. The myth is that the justices of the U.S. Supreme Court, like our sports umpires and referees, possess superior understanding of their respective venues and exercise appropriate wisdom in their final decisions. This is hardly the facts of the matters.

The Supreme Court is our ultimate legal authority not because it is our wisest court, but simply our court of last resort. Its record of decisions, usually 5-4, is less an accurate decider of Constitutional merit than is it the equivalent of a shoot-out of penalty kicks or shots on goal after an unresolving number of OTs in a soccer or hockey match. Someone has to be declared the winner, that is the nature of an adversary system.

Only on the Supreme Court, the nine justices – or referees, if you will, take the penalty kicks instead of the litigants. It becomes, at that point in our judicial system, a game between the sitting justices. Their prejudices, preferences, mind sets and rhetorical skills themselves become the contest they engage in. The prize for victory is the establishment of those prejudices as national law, regardless of merit, or lack of same.

The Senate confirmation hearings are the preliminary game played between the opposing parties and the nominating President in an effort to stack the nine member bench with referees expected to be most favorable to their interests. I, of course, hope that the new appointee, whenever in play, will score some goals for our side.

Time Marches On....

2009-05-26T11:57:00.000-07:00

In 1909--

The average life expectancy was 47 years.

Only 14 percent of the homes had a bathtub.

Only 8 percent of the homes had a telephone.

There were only 8,000 cars and only

144 miles of paved roads.

The maximum speed limit in most cities was 10 mph.

The tallest structure in the world was the Eiffel Tower

The average wage in 1909 was 22 cents per hour.

The average worker made between $200 and $400 per year .

A competent accountant could expect to earn $2000 per year,
A dentist $2,500 per year, a veterinarian between $1,500 and $4,000 per year, and a mechanical engineer about $5,000 per year.

More than 95 percent of all births took place at HOME.

Ninety percent of all doctors had

NO COLLEGE EDUCATION!

Instead, they attended so-called medical schools, many of which

Were condemned in the press AND the government as 'substandard. '

Sugar cost four cents a pound.

Eggs were fourteen cents a dozen.

Coffee was fifteen cents a pound.

Most women only washed their hair once a month, and used
Borax or egg yolks for shampoo.

Canada passed a law that prohibited poor people from

Entering into their country for any reason.

Five leading causes of death were:

1. Pneumonia and influenza
2. Tuberculosis
3. Diarrhea
4. Heart disease
5. Stroke

The American flag had 45 stars.

The population of Las Vegas, Nevada, was only 30!!!!

Crossword puzzles, canned beer, and ice tea

Hadn't been invented yet.

There was no Mother's Day or Father's Day.

Two out of every 10 adults couldn't read or write.

Only 6 percent of all Americans had
Graduated from high school.

Marijuana, heroin, and morphine were all available over the counter at the local corner drugstores. Back then pharmacists said, "Heroin clears the complexion, gives buoyancy to the mind,regulates the stomach and bowels, and is, in fact, a perfect guardian of health."

Eighteen percent of households had at least
One full-time servant or domestic help.

There were about 230 reported murders in the ENTIRE U.S..A. !

So where do we go from here?

Poltergeist?

2009-05-09T11:12:00.000-07:00

Okay. So two days ago I prepared to shave but, after lathering up, realized that my Sensor excel razor was not resting across the top of my pewter shaving mug. I couldn't find it on the counter so I took the razor from my travel kit and shaved.

When I couldn't find the damn thing by yesterday I did a major ransack of my bathroom, closets, drawers and cabinets. Julie tsk tsked my absent mindedness and while I was out, she did one of her major - and usually successful - searches and came up with nothing. Since it had no hiding place, hidden or in plain sight, Julie was convinced the razor had somehow left the building. I felt we were in the grip of a mystery beyond earthly explanation; even predicting that no sooner would I buy a replacement Excel, than the original would re-materialize.

Okay. I didn't buy a new razor but I did bring in a spare I keep in my Trooper and used it yesterday. Last night, after brushing my teeth and spending the usual amount of time over my bathroom sink with the shaving mug right beside and no razor across its top, I go to bed. A few hours later, I awaken with my usual nighttime call to nature. As I start to return to bed I clearly see the razor, resting quietly across the top of the pewter mug. Dreams can seem very real so I somewhat doubted the evidence of my eyes. I picked up the razor, felt its solidity, convinced myself I was awake and determined to find it there in the morning.

So this morning it was still there. I picked up the mug and my spare razor and took them down to show Julie. She, also, could not understand how the razor could be exactly where it was supposed to be and where she had not been able to find it when she was looking for it the day before.

This may not qualify for The Twilight Zone, but it's woo-woo-woo-woo, woo-woo-woo enough for me.

Isms on the March

2009-04-27T10:10:00.000-07:00

Though I have been a proclaimed atheist for most of my life, I have experienced moments of discomfort with the term and the concept. Though I am casually aware of my lack of belief in a conscientious godage at all times, it seems that my position only becomes active when aroused by confrontation with overbearing theists. One problem with being an atheist is its demonization by denominational theists. But a bigger problem, for me, is in not having an active program of atheist promotion. Organized religions survive by the business of selling blessings. Their respective members are pleased to pay their organization leaders with money and blood in return for their blessings here and in the hereafter. Atheism offers no such blessings. Nor much of anything else except argument of rebuttal to foolish belief and self delusion. A persistently thankless job. Our primary political activity is in attempt to make Americans aware that our Constitutional Freedom of Religion includes freedom from religion.

Pantheists, however, are deeply intermingled with atheists and have a lot of pro positions. It may be that I am more the pantheist than the atheist. But as atheists are now beginning to step out and even evangelize as secular humanists with meritorious personal and social values, the need for a better defining may not be necessary. Let freedom ring.

Presence

2009-04-18T08:42:00.000-07:00

Access to a computer and cell phone/camera gives us 21st Century cyberpunks extraordinary opportunities for self dissemination. Though I tap into a few, my select triumvirate include this blog, plus Flickr and Twitter.

Sideswiped

2009-04-17T19:45:00.000-07:00

Charles Willeford was a decent novelist and story teller. His talent/skill/whatever grew over time and with practice, and in his sixties he hit his stride with a brief series of crime novels featuring Miami police detective sergeant Hoke Mosely.

Three of Willieford's novels were made into movies, including the first Hoke Mosely, titled "Miami Blues," released in 1990. Leading up to that production, Willeford was beginning to be recognized by movie and television entities as a potent creator of stories and scripts for both feature films and television. Unfortunately, a heart attack took him out of the running in 1988, two years before Miami Blues was released. To date, only the ineptly underproduced "The Woman Chaser," a sort of feeble Jim Thompson knock off, has reached production.

I had wanted to be the first filmmaker to bring a Hoke Mosely story to the screen. I had read all of Willeford's novels and short stories and had seen the screen potential in Miami Blues and the second in the series, "New Hope for the Dead," but I was totally blown away by the third installment, "Sideswipe." I thought to pursue an option, but when Fred Ward announced his production of Miami Blues I knew that Hoke Mosely would be out of my reach, since all dramatic rights would have been included in any production deal.

Sideswipe is a character/crime novel which is the equal of all of the best of the 20th Century. And I'm talking Hammett, Chandler, Thompson, Cain, Woolrich, Highsmith and whoever. This also means that Sideswipe is the very best, unequalled crime novel of the last sixty years.

But can it make a good film? I really don't know. But I'm tempted to try again. I wonder who owns it now.

Pig-Out

2009-04-06T07:58:00.000-07:00

Bludso's catered affair. Table No.1

Dupicity

2009-03-21T22:38:00.000-07:00

As in dupe the audience. Duplicity must have been put together by Bernie Madoff. What a rip-off.

No. I take it all back. I know that Tony Gilroy thought he was putting together something sleek and clever and mind twisting. But in reality he was twisting up his own underwear. The plot is plodding, repetitive, predictable and boring. Its clumsy dance around psuedo-industrial espionage is graceless and tedious and makes a strenuous effort to seem to be about something when it is all about nothing. Coming off the Bourne series as he is, it is surprising that Gilroy’s script contains no danger, violence or anything more than the mildest action. He could have cast Matt Damon as the male lead and called it The Bourne Inadequacy.

Characters pretend to be about something that they are not and we are supposed to be surprised and titillated by revelations and counter revelations. Gilroy thinks he is creating a romantic story of mystery, surprise and suspense. But Gilroy is self-deluded and the viewer is sadly disappointed. At the very first introduction of the plot machinery, this viewer knew exactly where it was going, who was fooling whom and who was not being fooled at all. And seeing through and past these feeble fumblings is no fun at all.

But then you might say, so what? It’s only a mild diversion and it is surely uplifted by the physical and thespic charms of Julia Roberts and Clive Owen. And yes, they can act. But charm, much less character chemistry? These qualities are not really on display. They say the lines and go through the motions of mutual attraction but the conviction is not there. So the audience can only sit quietly and observe the two supposed lovers as they kiss, spat, make up and make love, and do it all over again. And again.

I assume this was a good payday for all involved and Duplicity might make some money, but like Bernie Madoff’s investors, some of us are already losers.

Charlie

2009-03-18T19:20:00.000-07:00

Charlie was doing a lot of paw licking so I took a look. There was something like abrasion between two pads. Julie and I applied some wound cleaner, neosporin and a bandage. Charlie wiggled a lot, yipped a couple of times and pressed his teeth to my hand, but did not apply pressure. Eventually he stayed quietly down while we had dinner.

Before dark, I took him for his walk. He hopped eagerly, at times on either of three or four legs, as he made his neighborhood rounds. His spirit was uplifting. I know he will be healed soon.

Parker Brothers Monopoly

2009-03-16T16:41:00.001-07:00

There was a time from the late 1950s to the mid-1960s that I was the King of Monopoly in West Hollywood. Each game consisted of six to eight players and in one stretch, I won over forty games in a row! Naturally, I became the target in each game and other players regularly colluded to beat me, such as by selling out their hot properties to a friendly rival at giveaway prices or even trying to sneak a monopoly card into the hands of another player in order to strengthen his play against me. Amazingly, such tactics never succeeded and I always won games against cheaters.

My point is that it is really not hard to win at Monopoly, the game. The rules are defined, the initial capital is equal, and the true property values are there to be seen. But due to personal biases, quirks and self delusions, most players are unable to make those accurate valuations. What it boils down to is that Monopoly, as well as Texas Hold’em Poker, are not games of dice, cards and chance as much as they are games of people and perceptions. And the players with the best perceptions of the real odds, and the people at the table, are consistently the winning players.

Which brings me to the current economy in the United States with attention to real estate, banking and the stock market and how they relate to the game of Monopoly. They don’t.

Da Frisco Fuzz

2009-03-07T15:15:00.003-08:00

Transitioning from Cesar Chavez to the freeway connector to the Bay Bridge, I inadvertently executed an illegal U-Turn. It didn't seem like a U-Turn to me because I didn't reverse my direction, but I had made a hook left turn around a small island to the freeway on-ramp. A big blue uniform, standing beside his motorcycle halfway up the ramp waved me over to the side and advised me of my error.

Looking at my driver's license he suggested that we had No-U-Turn signs in L.A. and I couldn't argue. Feebly enough, I could only state that I was following my Tom Tom and didn't see the sign. He handed back my license and sent me on my way with a mild warning to watch it.

As I eased back onto the ramp I noticed that he had not returned to his bike. Looking back in my mirrors I could not see him anywhere on the ramp. Who was that man in blue?

da\

2009-03-07T15:15:00.001-08:00

In Memorium

2009-02-25T22:14:00.000-08:00

I don't want to be thought badly of after I'm gone, so I've decided to outlive you all.

View From the Locker Room

2009-02-16T08:36:00.000-08:00

Despite the ethnicity of our new president, racism will continue to be rooted in the prevailing perception of the American white male that the African American male is genetically endowed with the bigger spine. Usually referred to as spine envy, this discrepancy generates a sense of inferiority in the white male. Crushed by a burden of low self-esteem, the white male lashes back with hatred, bigotry and whatever restrictive measures he can enforce on the black man’s energy and freedom.

Some folks like to claim that it’s not the size of the spine that counts, it’s what you do with it that matters. Now that is true of any spine, big, little or average. But as they say in boxing, a good big spine will outdo a good little spine every time. Look at basketball. The black player with his longer spine is predominant. That isn’t to say that only black men have big spines; natural selection is leading to bigger spines throughout the races. Census figures show that the average American male has risen in height over two inches since World War I. This means that females choose to mate with men – white, black or otherwise - with longer spines. The lady a man is courting may say that size doesn’t matter, but that doesn’t keep her from running her fingers up and down his spine in a subtle act of measuring.

In our recent election cycle, it was apparent that winner Obama had a spine notably larger, and more attractive to the voter, than loser McCain. In the Democratic Primary, however, it was not so evident whether Obama or runner-up Clinton had the larger spine. But the Black man, we know, did win the American female vote in both contests.

Hasta la Vista

2009-01-30T20:27:00.000-08:00

This is probably my final view from a motel landing of Morro Rock and the startling stacks of the P G & E. Julie and I have been regular and frequent visitors to Morro Bay for over thirty years. For about the first fifteen of those years we seriously considered relocating to this charming and comforting fishing village overlooking this great stone outcropping and funky embarcadero. The weather was great, the food was good and the local Morro Bay oysters were fabulous.

But then, sometime in the late 1980s, the success bug bit the Bay. Way too many new motels were built and the older ones significantly upgraded as coastal tourists increased their weekend descents. Second hand shops became Antique stores. Bakeries, cleaners, clothiers and shoe repair shops were replaced by such as boutiques, spas and upscale restaurants as local services gave way to the itinerant consumer. These visiting customers, however, never turned turned out in numbers great enough to sustain the new build-up and, as time has passed, the burden of the new developments has led to a decline in the services and experiences that we expected to enjoy on our visits. We still enjoyed the crisp and cool, coastal sunshine, and the sight of the Rock and the countryside drives on Highway 1, but we suddenly felt, for the first time, that there was no good reason to stay overnight, or hang for three or four days as we used to. If we ever see the Rock again, it will probably be from our car window during a leisurely drive on Highway 1.

Change

2009-01-24T19:18:00.000-08:00

On the Inaugural podium, Obama mentioned that his father would likely not have been served in a D.C. diner some sixty years ago, yet here his son stands at the Capitol steps as the President of the United States of America.

But even more recently than sixty years ago there was no African American manager in Major League Baseball, no African American coach in the NFL or NBA, and no African American starting quarterback in the NFL.

And look who now has to manage, coach and quarterback Team America. I just hope he ain't one of those John 3:16 freaks.

Pick Yourself Up. Dust Yourself Off and.......

2009-01-20T19:27:00.000-08:00

Cute reference in Obama's Inauguration speech: a depression era movie Astaire Rogers routine. Metaphors are where you find them.

Nix on Frost

2009-01-11T19:54:00.000-08:00

The only real issue put forth in Frost/Nixon is whether David Frost will make lots of money or go broke in the engineering of his Nixon post-Watergate, post resignation TV interview. In this regard, the suspense was easily bearable. Otherwise, the script is presumptuous and so theatrically fatuous that I felt little, maybe no credibility in the behind-the-scenes machinations of the Frost and Nixon camps. Likewise, the acting and direction are almost uniformly self-reflective and smugly self-congratulatory. Kevin Bacon, alone, as Nixon's primary adjutant, presents a character who seems to be about his business and not about displaying his artitudes and versatility to the camera.

I have put the recording of the original Frost Nixon Watergate interviews on my NetFlix queue so I'll let you know my further thoughts after that screening.

The Ho Hum Bowl

2009-01-09T08:45:00.000-08:00

It took a total effort, but the BCS Bowl did, ultimately, outlast me. It fought long and hard against my boredom but finally finished with a winner, if not a real champion. Both teams and their coaches did everything they could to lose but John 3:16 was not to be denied and earned his postgame victory interview. All is right in heaven and the SEC.

A Passing

2009-01-08T09:25:00.000-08:00

Book Soup, was my local book store for many years. I never left my nearby office on foot without a browse in the Soup. Glenn Goldman was an entrepreneur as bookseller. If I asked about a book or author not in stock, he would order one for me and two or three more for his shelves. As his store and shelf space grew I would come to see many fresh titles by authors that had been requested or recommended by customers like myself and Robert Towne. Glenn respected the tastes and interests of his patrons and used them to great advantage to his store and to the authors and artists whose works he offered for sale.

Glenn died last week. He was a truly nice guy and a valuable contributor to the cultural and economic development of West Hollywood. I have not mourned the many closings of independent book stores these past years. The ones I was familiar with usually seemed solipsistically fussy, arteriosclerotic and unable to respond to special requests. But I can only hope that Glenn has left a stronger legacy with his Book Soup and that it is not the end of an era.

When in DOUBT...

2009-01-05T16:49:00.000-08:00

Hurry from the theater. Save yourself the anguish of the sit-through I suffered for your benefit. Did Jesse on the cross do more? I doubt it.

This film could have been better titled "Suspicion". Or "Assassin" because it is a mono-maniacal assassination story. Having been originally a stage play, one might think it would be a character driven drama, but one would be quite mistaken. The characters are typical stick figures in a straight ahead plot driven melodrama.

It begins when our villain, a heavily-habited nun played as a vicious martinet Catholic school principal by Meryl Streep, suddenly develops a consuming presentiment that a pleasant and popular young priest, a la Philip Seymour Hoffman, has more than "Fatherly" feelings toward a black high school student in the parish school. Without proof or corobination of any sort, Sister Streep persists in not only a character assassination attempt on the priest, but is willing to settle for nothing less than the total professional and personal annilhation of her target. She is the Terminator redux. And thus the melodrama unfolds as plot-counterplot. Aristotelian sequences of Surprise, Revelation, Reversal, Surprise, Revelation, Reversal, Surprise, Surprise Revelation, Denouement, Reversal. It is all too schematic and mechanical. And tewwibly tewibbly arbitrary.

On a rewarding note, Viola Davis is given excellent dialogue in defense of her offish son and the accused priest, and is sure to win a Supporting Female Actress nomination and probable Oscar. For whatever that's worth.

Otherwise, bosh humbug!

अन्य्थिंग बुत अ बेस्ट पिसतुरे नॉमिनी.

2009-01-03T08:27:00.000-08:00

The Curious Case of Benjamin Button is indeed a curious case of feature film making. Typically Fincheresque, it is way too long, monotonous, underlit and freighted with strained pseudo-significance. The CCofBB is just another of the many films of recent years that puzzle me as to "What," in the famous words of Jay Leno, "were you thinking?" Movies are a melding of art, industry and commerce. A lot of industry, and money was spent on this product, but it won't make a nickel in profit and though art is in the eye of the beholder, there won't be very many an eye open throughout these 2hourszzzzzzzzzzzandzzzzzzzzzz47zzzzzzzzzzminutes.

BTW, my blogger is playing games with me. The Title of this blog was typed: NOT ANOTHER BEST PICTURE NOMINEE. And each word promptly translated itself to Arabic (?) when I hit he Space key. I don't know if I could fix it, but it amuses me to leave it as is. And who knows, it may help my blog to reach some new viewership.

Another Best Picture nominee

2008-12-27T23:36:00.000-08:00

Slumdog Millionaire is both horrifying and uplifting, structurally simple yet insinuatingly complex. I don't know anything about director Danny Boyle, but this picture seems like Baz Luhrmann channelling Dickens and Bunuel to stage an epic saga depicting the most base human corruption and the existential capacity to prevail against it.

If you can handle ruthless massacres, graphic torture, dismemberment and child abuse, you will be rewarded with some wild humor, versatile entertainment and a positive message of love and survival. I don't remember any passages of moralizing or philosophizing but the action of the film opens up many issues and questions that are both timeless and timely and cry out for solutions that are both personal and political.

As a member of the WGA, Slumdog Millionaire will surely get my vote in its category, whatever it may happen to be.

Screening Room Delight

2008-12-08T09:01:00.000-08:00

Woody Allen comes and goes, consistency is not in his cinematic character. His good pictures are so good that it would be churlish to complain about the bad ones. So let’s not even bother to mention them.

VICKY CHRISTINA BARCELONA is one of his good films; good enough, maybe, to be his very best film. The basic premise seems a little old shoe and is as comfortably familiar: two young, cold climate ladies spend a warming summer in Spain where inhibitions will melt and passions flare. The ladies are lovely and the vistas are enticing but the obviousness of the setup is merely a tease. The title suggests a triangle. Vicky is the drone. Christina is a scatterbrain and Barcelona, especially in the form of Juan Antonio, is the seducer. But then Maria Elena enters the equation. And Doug. And the triangle shifts like a turning kaleidoscope, always surprising yet always symetrical. The genre is romantic comedy, but with a twist, or two. There are plenty of laughs, but the romance is more desired than achieved, though there is plenty of sex in its pursuit. Intelligence and logic are not sacrificed to the familiar audience desire for heroic posturing and closure.

Woody’s script and directing play out as light, casual and improvisatory. His career is noted for films influenced by intense European autuer directors. None of those influences are notable in VCB. This may be reaching, but I feel somewhat the influence of the New Orleans jazz that Allen loves and performs at a regular venue in Manhattan. His actors don’t seem to be acting as much as being finely tuned instruments who are able to play themselves with great range and tone. There are no overt displays of effort or cleverness, just a naturalness and believability that draws us into their lives and makes us care about them. In an ensemble performance such as this, all performers may take an equal bow. Whether doing a solo turn or dropping to backup, the teamwork is a delight to watch. And a few months from now I will do so again, on DVD. What fresh nuances will I discover?

Young Hair

2008-12-04T08:30:00.000-08:00

This exchange of camera and poser raises the semantic question: "Who takes the better picture?" Or is it: "Who takes the better picture?"

The Old Boys Breakfast on North Beach

2008-11-27T16:30:00.000-08:00

Caffe Puccini in the morning. These guys looked enough alike to be brothers.

Complex Choices

2008-11-25T16:36:00.000-08:00

I don't know what Obama's game plan is, but I am impressed with his seemingly aggressive and broadly inclusive choices. Wouldn't it be wonderful if this country were to get kick-started into some winning ways for everyone?

Throwing in the towel

2008-11-23T09:15:00.000-08:00

Last night I watched Paulie Malignaggi take a licking for ten rounds and keep on ticking. Ricky Hatton could put him down, but not out, so in the 11th Round, Paulie's corner threw in the towel. The punched-out pugilist was so far behind in points and strength that his handlers knew that in the last six minutes left in the 12-round fight their fighter could do nothing else in the no-contest but absorb punishment and more injury. It was a truly merciful act of protection by the manager of his franchise.

Which brings me to the L.A. Clippers. Shouldn't Donleavy throw in the towel? There is no reason for the Clippers to embarrass themselves and their fans for another 70 games. And that goes double for Oklahoma City and Washington. Who needs to see dedicated failure shoved in their face for protracted months of meaningless basketball games?

Let's go, NBA. Put these pathetic losers out of their misery.

Obama at the deli

2008-11-22T08:26:00.000-08:00

Barack orders the pastrami while one carver pleads for the brisket.

False Pundits

2008-11-21T18:27:00.000-08:00

I have to say that I am sick and tired of the news media spending so much of my viewing time analysing and mis-interpreting President Elect Obama's pre-inaugural appointments and cabinet selection process. These ninnies on CNN and MSNBC and elsewhere actually don't know jack about nothing, which does nothing to stop them from non-stop blathering about every move Obama and his appointees make these days. I thought the news media were supposed to present the news, not indulge in over-heated fantasies about what goes on in corridors and offices to which they have not been and should not be admitted. Results is their business, not uneducated, smug and smarmy guesswork.

The Day After

2008-11-05T12:36:00.000-08:00

So much for last week's big market rise being due to the expectation of an Obama election victory. Where do we stand today?

Late to the party

2008-11-02T10:48:00.000-08:00

My favorite comic book hero is a pseudo-dead guy known as The Spirit. Denny Cole was a very human and fallible force for good in the big city fantasy noir of my youth. He is daring, handsome, healthy and as likely to play the fool to a lovely lady as to smack down with great graphic flourish the worst of the local evil doers.

Frank Miller is bringing his movie view of The Spirit to the big screen this December. I have to confess a certain tremor of the heart as I read about it in today's LA TIMES. The article describes much of the appeal of artist Will Eisner's original creation and its appeal to Miller. Part of my heart tremor was excitement at the anticipation of a movie I have long wanted to see made. Another part was the fear that it wouldn't be any better than Miller's previous films. But I will screen The Spirit early in its run and sincerely hope that the spirit of The Spirit will prevail.

Conservative blog quote

2008-10-13T08:34:00.000-07:00

"Now, there’s no question all the trend lines are moving in Obama’s direction. He clearly has the momentum, and this has always been his race to lose. Given an unpopular president, the Iraq war, the current economic crisis, Afghanistan deteriorating, and the illusory promise of “change,” Obama should be running away with this thing. But he’s not. Obama’s inability to close the door on the McCain candidacy, state-by-state polling that is much tighter than national polling, and the Bradley effect, the phenomenon where white voters tell pollsters they’ll vote for the African-American candidate then change their minds in the privacy of the voting booth, will likely make this election a lot closer than the national polls are predicting. "

That's Bradley as in Tom Bradley, great Mayor of Los Angeles, victor in the polls in his race for governor, but loser at the polls for his race.

It was any Democratic candidate's, save John Edwards, race to lose this year. Even though I didn't think Obama was the best Democrat for the job, I now cross my Jesus fingers and pray the obvious inadequacies of McCain-Palin are blatant enough to overcome the Bradley effect.

Blefuscu by the Bay

2008-10-12T09:11:00.000-07:00

I just spent another three days reading Bay Area periodicals. As newspapers, the major San Francisco, Berkeley and Oakland publications are approximately as useful as the local neighborhood throwaways and any fifteen minutes of radio reportage. Seriously.

Compared to the S.F. Chronicle, the L.A. TIMES has pretty drab writing but it at least has coverage.

It can be said that a newspaper, which is a local product, is a reflector of its locale. The Bay Areas newspapers are cute and provincial. Like the Bay Area itself. Referring to San Francisco as The City is a joke. It is mainly a tourist attraction, right up there with Disneyland and Venice, Italy.

Today's humorous example of that xenophobic provincialism is the ejection of California's pre-eminent Italian, Tommy Lasorda, as Grand Marshall of San Francisco's Italian Heritage Day Parade. San Francisco Supervisor Michela Aliota-Pier called Lasorda "San Francisco's Enemy No 1". How about that! What a safe little enclave this little Lilliput is. Alioto-Pier's resolution also called Dodger fans "boastful and smug." Qualities not evident in Frisco residents.

A late report fron the Chonicle concludes, "The parade briefly toyed with the idea of having an empty car for the grand marshal. Instead, however, it will honor another prominent Italian American, Joe Garbarino, from Marin Sanitary Service for his work in garbage recycling."

Couldn't they get Tony Soprano?

Charlie Hustle

2008-09-22T19:39:00.000-07:00

Tony Romo dropped back to pass. A long one to the End Zone. Two Cowboys converged near the Goalpost, Nos. 81 and 82. But coming between them, a Green Bay Packer caught the ball and started back up the field. No. 81 tried to reverse his momentum but was knocked to the ground.

The TV camera followed the Packer interceptor on his long run, slipping and shedding would-be Cowboy tacklers with impunity as he reached mid-field. The Cowboy offensive platoon seemed helpless against this brilliant runback. But a white Cowboy jersey flashed into the picture and No 81 wrapped his arms around the ball carrier and dragged him to the ground.

The TV cameras and announcers replayed the great interception and runback several times. It made all the weekend highlight reels. But no camera caught the best part of the play in my mind's eye. No camera caught Terrell Owens jump up from the end zone turf, turn and take an angle across the field and run about 80 yards to catch up with the ball carrier and bring him down.

Most athletes accept it when they've been knocked out of the play. Then it's the other guys' job. Terrell Owens brings a lot of baggage with him to the football field, including a committment to the team and a lot of speed, desire and that quality so much identified with Pete Rose, hustle.

Scams and Con Games

2008-09-21T09:37:00.000-07:00

Everyone's a scammer. Point your finger where you may, but don't forget the mirror. And definitely don't neglect to get your share.

Serendipity

2008-09-14T21:06:00.000-07:00

Why didn't anybody tell me that V For Vendetta was a good movie? I had to stumble across it on FX tonight. I don't remember reading any reviews when it came out so I must have off-handedly relegated it to the same same trash bin as all recent movies trended from overheated and murky graphic novels. But more than the usual juvenality, V is also an unapologetic political satire and strident attack on the facistic grasping of govermental power and authority so prevalent around our world.

As the title informs, this is a revenge story. And I love revenge stories that dish out the serious punishment. But V is also a love story, violent and tender and more complex and sophisticated than anything I can think of for recent comparison. There is, for instance, one long punishing sequence inflicting pain and cruelty on the beautiful and vulnerable Evey that is, at the same time, both a metaphor and practice of the art of seduction.

But ultimately, it is in the art of destruction that V most entertains. The explosive finale over the 1812 Overture was a lovely and satisfying crescendo of sight and sound. Where is IMAX when I need it?

Death knell

2008-09-10T08:35:00.000-07:00

Can you hear it? The Closing Bell of the NYSE. Is it tolling the death of Capitalism in America? Has the Republican Party and its Captains of Capital, finally destroyed their own de-humanized system? They did it once before in the 1920s, but a wealthy Democratic president instituted such business and banking controls and regulations as to save America from the impending threat of Communism from within.

With the help of a few wars and munitions deals at home and abroad, Americans, in the ensuing years, came to enjoy a renewed, and even greater level of prosperity. But this degree of comfort and ease was too much for the current Republican administration to resist. It had to have more--for itself. Its operatives knew how to manipulate the lax regulatory environment for their own enrichment. But with the crash and collapse of its most venerable financial institutions they have pushed Capitalism to the brink of its own destruction.

Not that any of the financial and political bigwigs will suffer. They all have their stashed away wealth and golden parachutes to sustain them in the style to which they are accustomed. If all the doors of Wall Street close and the Closing Bell rings its last, you will know for whom it tolls. Woody Guthrie could have been thinking of the dust bowl of Capitalism when he sang, "So long, it's been good to know you".

A Keeper Flick

2008-09-03T09:45:00.001-07:00

Sometimes cinema quality holds up over time. Over 75 years is a very long time. I have been viewing ONE WAY PASSAGE for about 55 of those years. How many times, including in theaters and on TV, I wouldn’t want to try to guess. But as well as I knew the story, the performances and the scenes, each time I watched it there was one thing always fresh; the emotions I felt. This is a truly lovely movie. The faces are photographed to compelling perfection and the voices are transcribed with warmth and nuance by the Warner Bros. early Vitaphone process.

One Way Passage screens on TCM on Thursday, Sept.4. It is not available on DVD or VHS so setting your DVR or VCR tuner is essential, as this is a genuine keeper and something you will want to watch again. The opening shot, in fact, is something that cine buffs will want to re-view very quickly.

The TCM log line states: One Way Passage
NR Movie. William Powell, Kay Francis,
Frank McHugh. (1932) A condemned man
and dying woman fall in love on a ship from
Hong Kong to San Francisco.

Much more can be said about One Way Passage, but I’ll leave that for Robert Osborne.

Pensive

2008-09-02T09:49:00.001-07:00

Peter contemplates his future as a new father.

Hot and Muggy

2008-08-31T20:28:00.000-07:00

Tropic Thunder is a weird conglomeration of a movie. It basically tries to be to Platoon what Airplane was to Airport. It has a lot of referential movie gags, but not enough; not in quantity or risibility. It also gives such a realistic presentation of jungle wars, as we have fought them on screen, that it touches our sad sensibilities of the real horror of war. References to such classics as The Bridge Over the River Kwai, come across not so much as parodies, but rather as respectful homages.

Eventually, it is an inoffensive, though only sporatically amusing time killer. A buddy movie developing strong bonds of friendship among the usual diverse stereotypes, while at the same time trying to mock that bonding. Given the lack of any real attempt at character development the quality of acting is beyond judgement. Much has been made of the star turn cameos in the film, and they are kinda cute. Tom Cruise’s character has been singled out as having some specific reference to a studio head, but forget that. He does have one especially clever piece of business that does make a definite and amusing reference to a noted icon, one of the most famous of our time. But, so far as I know, no reviewer or commenter has yet revealed it. So neither shall I.

No Help

2008-08-25T18:42:00.000-07:00

I'm biden my ti-me,
'cause that's the kinda guy I'-m.

It's an old tune, kinda like Joe Biden. A little razz, but no m' tazz. He brings nothing to the ticket. If Barack can win anyway, great. Joe can be a pretty minor Cheney. Make that very minor 'cause he won't have any say any way. If B.O. wanted J.B. to make a real contribution to his administration, he could have made him Secretary of State.

Pathetically, he thinks Joe will bring him some much needed Catholic, working class votes. Huh uh.

Barack is a better choice than McCain, or any Republican candidate, but then any Democrat is a better candidate than any Republican. So where does that leave us concerned citizens? Hoping that Mr. Charm Boy can manipulate a general election as well as he did a primary. It is a sad hope, but now it's all we've got.

The Trap

2008-08-18T20:41:00.000-07:00

John McCain is pretty dumb. It is virtually unbelievable that a modern day politician could spout such an outrageous string of stupid pronouncements against his opponent and think he could get away with it.

But is he really that dumb all-of-a-sudden in his 74th year? I think he is shrewd. And his campaign cohort is shrewd. They are acting as if they think there is only one chance to beat Obama; by provocation. They want to goad Obama into a retaliation. They want to lure him and his arrogance and intelligence into a counter-punch attack that would seem to decimate McCain, and should in any reasonable world, but will actually win sympathy and support for McCain from the lily livered white and other booboisee that are waiting for the chance to put an uppity negra in his proper place.

How is Barack to cope with this finesse by McCain. Don't ask me; it is above my pay grade. What I do know is the Keith Olberman and the Liberal Junta are way off the mark in recognizing this threat. They are actually promoting the McCain offensive by constantly presenting his attacks on Obama, commenting on their stupidity and hypocricy and themselves provoking the feeling that Obama must retaliate in kind. If I were even a little bit religious, I would pray for deliverance from the stupidity of the American voter.

God Damn it! I will pray. What could it hurt?

Hypocrisy

2008-08-15T21:07:00.000-07:00

Condoleezza Rice demands that Russia get out of Georgia while continuing to support the Bush invasion and devastation of Iraq. What a sick piece of shit she is.

Billy Daniels, a showman for the ages.

2008-07-20T10:23:00.000-07:00

I love Billy Daniels. I first saw him perform on the Sunset Strip in 1950-51. As he started his physical and vocal antics, I chuckled in distain, but before he finished "I Get a Kick Out of You" I was a bonafide fan. And still am. The User Comment from IMDB pasted below seems a fair approximation of what Sunny Side of the Street, a standard musical programmer of its era is likely to offer on TCM tomorrow at 10:15 am. I recommend it to your DVR. It is set up on mine.

"It's all about the music., 19 December 2003
Author: richard o'brien (grammy3@hargray.com) from beaufort, south carolina, u.s.a

Columbia's B musicals with Frankie Laine-Billy Daniels, etc., were all about the music. The plots are just there to, however haltingly, keep things going. Pert Terry Moore pushes tall, gangly, handsome Jerome Courtland to become a singing star. Why not? Courtland (with solos on "Let's Fall In Love", "The Love of a Gypsy" and a duet with Laine on the title song)has a fine voice, if not the performing charisma of the two leads. Daniels, a surprise smash in his first Columbia, keeps up the good work with a warm, relaxed rehearsal in an empty night club with pianist-backup singer Benny Payne, of "Too Marvelous For Words" and "I Hadn't Anyone Till You", later goes full-tilt on "I Get A Kick Out of You". Great camera work on all of Daniels' moments. Laine also gives his usual earnest, energetic and unique approach to his songs, including "I'm Gonna Live Till I Die", "I May Be Wrong" (with Toni Arden, who also gets a solo spot), and a bit of "Pennies From Heaven". Oh. Round tv screens, too! Almost impossible to find on videotape."

A nugget from NetFlix

2008-07-17T20:58:00.000-07:00

I don't often get the chance to recommend current movies. The Barbarian Invasions is a pleasant exception. It is about aged sexual philanderer on his death bed. His last days are filled with contact with his family, friends and lovers. The humane good will expressed by all characters in this photoplay is extraordinary, and welcome.

Though seriously manipulative, the screenplay is never condescending or sappy. The dialogue is erudite and its topics are sophisticated and mature. The casting and performances are extremely attractive in all categories. Though the professor's death ends this story, the interactions of other major characters invites further speculation. I'd kinda like to see a sequel.

Liars and hypocrites

2008-07-12T08:56:00.000-07:00

So Tony Snow is dead. He can't write his book about the lying Bush Adminstration, in which he, as Press Secretary, was the busiest liar. He suffered greatly from the colon cancer that killed him. But America and the world has suffered even more from his own lying defense and promotion of the evil Bush/Cheney cabal. Is that why I feel no sympathy for Snow's painful death? Am I just a vengeful prick? Yeah.

And then there is the re-emergence of my favorite phony, Jesse Jackson, great Reverend of the Universal Church of Self-Serving Hypocrisy. I thought only white men castrated black men to protect the womenfolk, but now Jesse wants to use his clippers on Obama in a sick attempt to aggrandize his own legacy.

Charlie in his cups

2008-06-28T08:44:00.000-07:00

So shoot me

2008-06-21T16:50:00.000-07:00

Law enforcement is not what it used to be.

Newsweek Newsflash

2008-06-20T10:56:00.000-07:00

Newsweek hits the stands this week with the news that Lifestyle can cause cancer.

If you can handle that news, prepare yourself for something even more dire--Life causes Death.

There. It's out of the bag. If you dare to live, you are certain to die. Unfortunately, if you are reading this it is already to late. You can't escape it. You are going to die. Isn't that terrible? What could be more horrible than to know for sure that you are going to die? If you didn't know that already, you are free to blame me. I am the messenger. I always blame the messenger because without him all would be bliss.

Interestingly, I seem to be an exception to the death syndrome. I have been around for a long time already and show no signs of departure. Apparently, I will live forever. Okay, I can live with that. Though I know it will be sad to see so many friends and loved ones come and go.

Hollow victory

2008-06-18T08:35:00.000-07:00

If there was ever a sports team in America that doesn't know how to respond to a big win it's the Boston Celtics. I watched their overwhelming victory over the L.A. Lakers but their post-game reactions and interviews left much to be desired. All the players and coach did was yak about themselves and how much they appreciated their teammates, the Celtic organization and the loyal Boston fans. Not one word to acknowledge that their victory was due to their Lord and Saviour, Jesus Christ. I guess they think they just did it all by themselves. Such ungrateful egotists. I know Jesus has a tear of dismay in his eye today.

And what happend to Disneyland, Paul Pierce? Who do you think made you MVP?

Praise the Lord, the NFL knows how to deal with winning.

Veeps in waiting

2008-06-06T20:37:00.000-07:00

I am weary of this namby pamby so called liberalism of the Democratic Party. Universal Health Care is not liberalism or socialism it is simple common sense; as essential for the economic survival of America as Energy and all other public public service regulation.

If Obama is really for change then let's be sure to get away from the so called politics of moderation, which is just another name for conservative capitalism. The choice of a truly liberal running mate will prove his commitment to change is not just rhetoric. I am pretty parochial so the only candidates I can think of are in the Great State of California. Gavin Newsom, Barbara Boxer and, I'm embarrassed to say, based on past negativism, Jerry Brown.

If Barack picks a "complementary" moderate running mate, it can only be deemed a typical political sell out. Where is Ralph Nader when we need him. Let's face it, America in the year 2000 deserved George Bush. If only because the Democratic Party offered no better alternative than Al Gore. It was shit versus piss. And now, all you political mediocrities who voted for either one can wallow in your lost jobs, foreclosed homes and shattered investments.

See you at the gas pump, suckers.

Cinéma vérité or Cinéma Direct?

2008-06-02T08:23:00.000-07:00

Frederick Wiseman would seem to not claim either category for his documentary films. Though his camera's eye seems as casual and indifferent as the fly on the wall, every set up and edit is a selection of his personal choice. Presented without a narrator's Voice Over, each film, nonetheless, is a clear narrative by Wiseman.

The films are all now available on his DVD releasing company: Zipporah Films. Though his first film, Titicut Follies was shown on PBS in 1967, neither the impact of Titicut Follies or the 30-some films that followed have been dimmed in any way by the passage of time. Unfortunately. The human foibles and folly are as relevant to our lives and social structure as ever.

I don't know what category of cinema to place Frederick Wiseman so I'll just place him at the top of the class of great documentary film makers.

Fear of Not Flying

2008-05-22T08:55:00.000-07:00

My personal air travel in the past few years, except for a couple of fortuitous upgrades to First Class, has not been much fun, or even very comfortable. The degradation of the inflight experience is routinely familiar to all airport check-ins. Given what I read in the media, we can, apparently, expect much worse in time to come. Airline companies are becoming Trailways of the air.

Something I have looked forward to all my life -- getting on a plane and taking off into the blue -- is now beginning to look like a grim undertaking. But, like Southern Californians who can't give up their cars, I will always have to book a flight.

Game Face

2008-05-19T09:43:00.000-07:00

LeBron had just committed a turnover, down five points, when he popped his upper dentures in a primate gesture of attack. And he did attack well, but, alas, did not prevail.

My New Candidate

2008-04-30T08:58:00.000-07:00

Barack Obama has been twisting in the wind in recent weeks over his initial justification of Reverend Wright's pulpited positions, and then his quick about face when those justifications did not fly too well with his media patsies. What this incident reveals is that Obama is just another ambitious politician, albeit one without any significant positions or plans for their implementation should he charm his way to the White House.

What most exposes Obama's shallowness is the richness of Reverend Wright's public defense of his positions and his ministry. His recent interviews on TV and appearances before the National Press Club and NAACP show him to be a man of intelligence, humor, strong, and mostly liberal positions, and rich charisma. These appearances are all well presented on You Tube and other sites, but for a quick taste, The Daily Show supplies a good appetizer.

I suggest that Hillary name him her Vice President. They would make a truly formidable duo on the campaign trail and in recovering the White House from mindless conservatism.

I doubt it

2008-04-19T09:52:00.000-07:00

According to reliable statistics (duh!) and the EPA, "Secondhand smoke causes approximately 3,400 lung cancer deaths and 46,000 heart disease deaths in adult nonsmokers in the United States each year.4"

Having just entered my 88th year, 75 of which I smoked one form of tobacco or another; and all of which I lived in the homes of others who smoked even more than I did, I seriously question those death figures. I have known and helped bury many smokers who succumbed to emphysema, lung cancer, strokes and heart failures. I have yet to know one person, of any age, whose death was certified as due to the effects of second hand smoke.

What I have noticed in this modern era of PCitis is a desire by persons who don't like the smell of burning tobacco or stale smoke to try to legislate their prissiness by overstating the almost miniscule harmful effects of second hand smoke. There are worse pollutants the EPA should spend their energies, and our tax dollars on.

And most of the PC people I know could use a good smoke, for their health. They are usually overweight and over-coffeed, which is not good for fetuses either.

Voodoonomics

2008-04-05T22:24:00.000-07:00

I readily admit I know nothing about money and how it works. But the current economics in America is a real puzzlement. The dollar is way down around the world. Oil prices are way up. Housing values and mortgage lending are way down. Unemployment is way up. Indicators are we are either already in a recession or it is due in the next quarter. Yet, despite all these negative indices, the stock market is having its best gains in years. Just what does Wall Street represent? I am currently making money, or rather regaining money with my investments, but I am losing money with every purchase I make, trip I take and mile I drive.

What's it all about, Bennie?

Silver tongued seducer

2008-03-21T11:23:00.000-07:00

Obama is a smooth talker and he gave an excellent speech saying much about racism in America that was worth hearing from a political candidate. But he exposed a capacity for verbal deviltry when he justified his minister's virulent racism and hatred of America by comparing it with the trepidations of an old woman who probably holds timid fears at every stranger she encounters, But Barack snuggles up to his own passively racist white supporters when he says of Reverend Wright:

"I can no more disown him than I can disown the black community. I can no more disown him than I can my white grandmother – a woman who helped raise me, a woman who sacrificed again and again for me, a woman who loves me as much as she loves anything in this world, but a woman who once confessed her fear of black men who passed by her on the street, and who on more than one occasion has uttered racial or ethnic stereotypes that made me cringe."

Wright's pronouncements from the pulpit, apparently, never made Obama cringe like that because he never was told them to his personal face... He says...Uh huh.

I think if Barack had made this speech earlier in his campaign, without the need to defend himself personally but just as an expression of his hope for an end to racism in America, I might have found him a much more appealing candidate than I did. I now find him very unappealing and seriously suspect in his values and intentions.

He is building a fan base to try to win a nomination and an election, but is he building a coalition of supporters with any plans or expectations beyond that? Do I hear "Change"? Just what kind of change? Nickels and dimes? Barack Obama is small change to me. I would have to see what he can do for Illinois before I jump to the conclusion that he can accomplish anything for America.

Forgotten Title

2008-03-19T22:19:00.000-07:00

I watched 31 minutes of a movie on DVD earlier this evening. I can't remember the title but Will Smith was wandering around a weed overgrown Manhattan Island with his best friend, a dull behaving German Shephard. At the 30 minute point the story became a bit nasty with ugly humanoids trying to do dirty to Will and/or his dog. I couldn't figure out exactly what Will was up to, but he did seem more intent on saving his dog than either himself or the remainders of the human race. Well, he saved the dog so I figured the rest of the story could only be anti-climactic, ejected the DVD and took Charlie for a walk.

I felt a certain empathy for Will since I too had saved Charlie from dog pound extermination. I also felt a tad sheepish since I doubt I would have fought off a horde of flesh devouring zombies with such a ferocious taste for terrier.

If you haven't seen this film yet, I hope this hasn't been A spoiler for you.

Why John McCain will win

2008-03-14T14:31:00.000-07:00

According to recent polls and interviews, an overwhelming number of Black American men and women support Barack Obama for president. Almost all of these supporters proudly state that they are voting for Barack’s blackness, mildly mixed as it may be, rather than his qualifications or stands on the issues. As to the Black men, I easily understand their favoritism and ethnic team spirit. “He be one of us, bro.”

But I do not as readily understand the partisanship of the Black women. Is it that they consider themselves more black than female? Otherwise, why would they enthusiastically proclaim more allegiance to a (semi)Black male than a White sister? Many of Barack’s supporters are even guilty of a certain type of political blackmail (a coincidental piece of vedrbal curiosity) when they say, “Nominate our man or we won’t go to the polls in November.”

Hey! Where are our media watchdogs who keep finding examples of white racism among Hillary’s supporters but find nothing dangerous, much less outlandish from the Obamamaniacs?

As far as I can tell, neither Barack not Hillary are actively involved in this specific area of divisiveness. But then who are they to say. They are both becoming pawns in their own campaigns. They both are beginning to look and sound like programmed automatons. John McCain is the only candidate left who seems more a person than a personality or icon. And when the dust settles in November, he may well be the last man standing.

The Democratic Party of Al Gore and John Kerry gave us eight years of George W. Bush. Is that same pathetic organization now going to open the White House doors to John McCain for the next four years? If the Democratic Party can’t move forward fresh gender and ethnic leadership, then it better resolve itself to 2nd class political status.

Sound Dunked

2008-02-12T11:19:00.000-08:00

The parking garage at the Spectrum also serves a medical building housing the Kerlan Jobe Sports Medicine practice. As I parked my Trooper, settled Charlie down and unloaded my workout gear, the garage was blasted with explosive sound from an overcharged car stereo.

There were several vehicles edging up to the exit kiosk from different lanes, but it was easy to spot the huge, black Yukon vibrating from the sound within. The Black driver and his passenger could be seen inside, wiggling with joy. Shouldering my gym bag, I walked to the Yukon. The driver, smiled amiably at my approach. He might have thought I wanted his autograph. Instead, I advised Andrew Bynum that his blasting stereo system was both "fucking offensive and illegal."

He smiled even brighter in agreeing with me. When I asked him if he didn't care about bothering people, he said, "No." His White passenger nearly fell off his seat with laughter.

"Brainless," is all I could come up with as I shook my head and headed to the gym. Out on the sidewalk, The Yukon pulled up alongside, windows down, and Andrew pumped up the volume to the max. Startled patrons were sitting at the sidewalk tables. "Sure," I shouted to Andrew, "show everybody how smart you are," as he hung an illegal U and sped away.

I admit that wasn't a great riposte. But I'll be ready for him next time, I'll toss him a half-inflated basketball and tell him to stuff that up his big, black stereo.

Surprise Nominee

2008-02-02T11:39:00.000-08:00

I didn't pay attention to the Oscar nominees and didn't realize that Viggo Mortenson has been so acknowledged for EASTERN PROMISES. This is a pleasant surprise. Viggo's portrayal of a Russian mobster in London is the best physical and vocal creation of an English speaking foreigner I can think of. Daniel Day Lewis, always an impressive actor, doesn't come close to Mortensen in this year's match up.

Contrary to my generally sophisticated tastes, I tend to like strong violence in movies. Eastern Promises and David Cronenberg don't disappoint. When fight scenes are done right, I enjoy the kinesthesiastic response I experience, and during the naked violence of the nude fight in the bathhouse, I was right there flailing away with Viggo. I don't think he would have survived without me.

The film story is an okay depiction of Big Crime and its The denoument is a little hokey, but I can go along with it if it's an opening for a sequel. Especially if Naomi Watts is continued on.

Finally

2008-01-28T21:10:00.000-08:00

JUNO.

A reasonably engaging and satisfying movie in this award season. Ordinarily, I wouldn't consider Juno an award winner, except it is the most watchable of the flicks currently being held up as worthy of serious attention by the average filmgoer. The one thing it lacks is angst. But then I hate angst.

It is a basically humane and charming depiction of middle class life and ordinariness. It seems a simple tale but watch out, it fucks with your mind. Especially if you, like me, think you can spot the clues of where the film story and characters are going, because you can't. This is definitely no LITTLE MISS SUNSHINE which brightly foreshadowed exactly where it was going and made a thoroughly disgusting trip of it.

On a personal note, the leading actress frequently seemed in appearance and voice much like a young lady of my acquaintance of Canadian origin. Out of curiosity, I waited through the end credits and then, as I expected, saw that the film was shot in B.C. Coincidence--or percipience? I only take credit for the latter.

Award Season

2008-01-26T19:50:00.000-08:00

As a guild member I am supposed to note and vote on 2007 releases. Screening films these past few months has felt like being water-boarded.

THERE WILL BE BLOOD has so many stupid and trashy and phony elements that I can't even begin to list them. So I won't.

BEFORE THE DEVIL KNOWS YOU'RE DEAD is easier to describe. Every character in it is stupid, venal, criminal and vicious. Sidney Lumet once directed a film version of LONG DAY'S JOURNEY INTO NIGHT, Eugene O'Neill's classic play about a dysfunctional family. It has taken him about forty years, but Lumet has finally found a script depicting the most dysfunctional family life since Medea. I hope the old fart is happy.

NO COUNTRY FOR OLD MEN is a totally stupid story with fair acting and a non-ending.

I walked out early on MICHAEL CLAYTON so I don't know how bad it got, but claptrap, illogical dialogue drove me out before I started to yak back at the screen.

Flapjacks

2008-01-11T09:02:00.000-08:00

One of the misfortunes of living a long time is the passing of good things that were enjoyed along the way. I'm talking mostly about foods, fiction, movies and music. I won't get into specifics because we each of us have our own list.

Weather is still good. Except for Florida's Gulf Coast, I have never met a weather condition I didn't like.

But getting back to food, I used to love pancakes, especially buttermilk hotcakes. But not so now for several years. The flavor and texture I loved just seemed to disappear from the packaged products I prepared at home and even from the favorite restaurants that have remained in operation.

But I have kept trying, and one lucky day I spied a box of Kodiak Cakes on a grocery shelf. The copy on the box seemed a bit self-congratulatory and hokey but what-the-heck; worth a look-see.

I just had another batch this morning of great flapjacks. Halfway through my second box. 'Nough said.

Before the Critics Know You're Dead

2008-01-06T19:58:00.000-08:00

I hope Sidney Lumet is happy with himself. After a long and lustrous theatrical career he has capped it with the ugliest and least worthy opus of his ouvre.

I can't recall ever seeing a movie in which every single character is either either criminally evil, vicious and'or stupid. Except maybe a baby in arms in one scene near the end, but I'll guess that the author of this movie misery might follow that baby for a few years and find something ugly for it to do.

Pass, pass, pass!

I'm Not There is an ambitious project. I say project rather that movie. Todd Haynes has no film voice. He channels Fellini and Lester and the Maysles satisfactorily, but overdoes them since he has no cinematic muscle of his own. But I like his movie, mostly for its ambition, and much for its performances. The young Black boy is excellent and Cate Blanchett is a tour de force, though her screen time is too extended for what it's worth. But all the actors are good, including the ocassionally maligned Christian Bale and Richard Gere. I just have to wonder why every sequence has to suggest that Bob Dylan's life and career is just one misery after another. Surely a man with his abilities and successes must have have a few good times.

But most importantly there is one scene....a brief, wordless scene at Woody Guthrie's hospital bedside, that owes nothing to nobody except Mr. Haynes and his actors, which is one of the moast beautiful, touching and heart rending scenes I have ever experienced in a movie theater.

When it is available, I do reconmmend the DVD

December 31, 2007

2007-12-31T21:03:00.001-08:00

This has been a pretty good year, all-in-all, but the past month has been a bit of a bummer. I spent a lot of time in hospital waiting rooms. The most curious being the surgery waiting room at the UCLA hospital in Santa Monica. I sat and waited among many others, waiting for the contact phone to ring, calling us to the bedsides of those recovering from the surgery. There were the usual slick magazines lying about, the the most curious attraction was the tourist rack beside the phone desk. The brochures seemed to suggest that we were checked in at a fun place and dying to treat ourselves to the local attractions.

Outside the entrance to the hospital in the cold December, individuals, including many staff-attired, leaned against the building to grab a quick smoke.
Not a bad year, as I stated, but 2008 is going to be great.

On the Doghouse

2007-12-07T15:45:00.000-08:00

I have been viewing the Peanuts strip for over fifty years. I have watched Snoopy snooze, cavort and create on the top of his doghouse for most of that time.

I just bought and assembled a similar product for Charlie.

Upon viewing the results of my assembly, I had to wonder how Snoopy was able to perch so easily on that pointed peak.

So I did a little research and found the first time Schulz drew Snoopy on the doghouse.

Dec. 12, 1958

Since we see with our brain, it is interesting how I have turned mine off when looking at comics all these years.

Bad Calls

2007-12-02T09:33:00.000-08:00

There is a cliche in sports viewing that bad calls by the officials tend to even out. I don't agree with this piece of conventional wisdom, but I am not without an opinion on the subject. I contend that the better team always wins, despite being on the receiving end of bad, really wrong calls.

Pittsburgh (the university) was the visiting team and on the receiving end of several bad calls last night, especially near the end of the game. Nonetheless, they beat #2 West Virginia because -- yesterday -- they were the better team on the field. This was evident throughout the game. The Pittsburgh Panthers were better than the West Virgina team and the officiating team combined.

Last Sunday, undefeated New England Patriots barely squeaked out a come-from-behind victory over the lowly, but inspired, Philadelphia Eagles after having received a horrendously bad interference call, late in the 4th quarter, that gained Philadelphia the lead. Temporarily.

I cite these two examples of what I mean when I say the better team is seldom, if ever, defeated by bad calls. Being the better team, or playing the better game that day, will always prevail over bad officiating.

That has long been apparent to me in sports. I think I now recognize this is also a rule in life -- which is full of bad calls. To be a winner, you have to overcome bad calls.

Teamwork

2007-12-01T20:18:00.000-08:00

It was raining yesterday as I drove to the health club. Nearing the gated entrance, I passed a small car angled toward the curb. The hood was up and a young black man (plot point) was dealing with the mechanisms beneath. I collected my parking ticket as I entered the structure and cruised the first floor, looking for a space.

The man from the stalled car called to me from outside the structure, asking for a battery cable connection boost. I told him I couldn't bring my car back out without a validation. He went back to his car. I had Charlie with me. I put his leash on, pulled out my cables and an umbrella, and went to the stalled car. I held up my cables and suggested to the driver that I might be able to flag down a car with them. Some cars passed us by in the rain, but one did stop. I held up the cables to the young Asian (plot point) driver and stated the obvious about the stalled car. This young man then maneuvered into the proper position. I connected the cables to the batteries, and the the stalled car eventually revved into life.

Both cars went on their way and I took Charlie back to the Trooper, and went on to the club. Basically, I felt good about having been able to help somebody, stalled and helpless in the rain. But I felt even a little better when I considered that someone was able to ask for help to start a stalled car. And that a black, Asian and and white guy could, together, easily solve the problem, despite a nuisance rain, and move on with their business.

Collapse of a franchise

2007-11-20T21:11:00.000-08:00

As I loved DIE HARD as a rich entertainment as well as an elegant exercise in filmmaking, I am really saddened to see the franchise fall to the level of LIVE FREE OR DIE HARD. I only lasted 28 minutes on the DVD timer, but every single minute was an excruciating pain to my moviegoing sensibilities. The writing., directing, acting and CGI were all uniformly inept. It was shocking to see Bruce Willis in a simple dialogue scene with two other actors be so obviously and crudely filmed on different days and different sets.

Enough of the pathetic flaws of this movie. What about the pathetic flaws in the minds and sensibilities of the dullards who created an audience for this empty exercise in prevailing commerciality? This planet's real problem is not global warming, it is global dumbing. If you sat all the way through this movie, you know who you are.

Posterity

2007-11-18T22:02:00.000-08:00

Julie just mentioned that I haven't posted anything in this space for the past month. It isn't for lack of thinking about it. I have had a lot on my mind, but nothing I felt much like sharing.

I read some this past month. And screened bunch of movies and videos, but so what. Sometimes I can swear the world couldn't survive without my cogent wit and wisdom. Other times I could swear I must be nuts.

One thing I can share is the passing of Julie's sister, Jinny. I wrote about my last visit with her just about one year ago in Senior Slippage.

It was obvious that she was not long for this world, her mind had already started its departure. But most of her survivors had not realized that before her thoughts had begun their slow slide to oblivion, she and Postie had the wits and the caring to establish a family trust that has provided a generous windfall this month to the benefit of Jinny's surviving siblings and their children.

Jinny and Postie were not wealthy, just well-off. I find it amazing how easy it comes to be for some people in America to live comfortable and prosperous lives, while many others strive and struggle just to get by. Is there some reason for this disparity? Or is it just STEAMBATH?

Morro Bay

2007-10-20T21:16:00.000-07:00

Julie and I did another of our patented holidays in this charming seaside fishing village on the California Central Coast.
Morro Rock is the signature icon.

But the smoke stacks of the PG&E plant can not be ignored, even from afar.

Morro Rock is the first of seven outcroppings in the area, affectionately known as the Seven Sisters. I think of the PG&E smokestacks as the three Brothers.

Mandy was an invaluable aide on this trip. She even found a beautiful mountain road in the area we had never traveled before.
All-in-all a delightful excursion. The single best hour for me, however, was sitting alone on the sidewalk outside the 2 Dogs' Cafe. Drinking decent espresso. Smoking a decent cigar. On a beautiful cool night with the faint sound of music easing from the coffee shop behind me.

I guess I don't ask much out of life if this meant so much to me.

Language Police

2007-10-01T21:42:00.000-07:00

I have several pet peeves regarding mis-usage of vocabulary. Some things I read or hear are like the scratching of fingernails on the blackboard. Probably tops on my list of bad writing is the idiotic and inexcusable bastardization of the fine word "cohort".

Cohort is a plural word. A cohort is a group. Cohorts would, of course, describe several groups, not several persons, especially, as it is often misused, several nefarious associates.

The LA TIMES uses cohort accurately in a story today:

http://www.latimes.com/entertainment/la-et-channel1oct01,1,2020319.story?ctrack=3&cset=true

The quote, "This fall, homes with DVRs make up nearly 20% (compared with 9% last fall) of Nielsen's national sample of TV viewers -- the cohort whose closely scrutinized behavioral patterns are the most important single factor in deciding whether programs live or die."

Such a pleasure to see a nice word well used.