esrosedotblog

I finished the novel

& Sons by David Gilbert

Yes. That is an ampersand in the title apparently because a novel written by the principle character was called Ampersand and, as it turns out, the main character has some sons who provide most of the story. One son is a failed movie guy in one or two failed relationships who devotes his career to downer documentaries. I have seen a few of these.

Another son was nothing but an addict and alcoholic (!) until he got sober and now he has a good life as a drug counsellor, evidently a good one, with a nice family. Two kids we hear a lot about and a wonderful wife.

The third son is a half brother, the product of a liaison between the father, a famed author and rotten father and an au pair who disappears pregnant then turns up dead with the Dad taking the young son on.

The narration is by a close friend of the sons, a nasty resentful failure who also is without a family or wife and whose main job for now seems to be in telling us this story.

But he is not a reliable historian. He is an unproduced film writer and, well, I don't know. It ends up being, perhaps, a novel about a novelist with some of his work included in an account by a writer who may be telling a parallel story to the truth and there is too much of it that is bizarre. The idea of cloning a son or thinking one is cloned then, well, OK, gratuitously killing him dead, struck by a bus, in the last tenth of the book. Too much. Too little.

Why did I get this book? I read the review and wonder. Certainly I read it before I bought the book. I know that I did. But the review in the Sunday Magazine is as grouchy. Ahhh, it was the New Yorker. Well, fuck them.

It did keep me busy and happy for the first half and then it got both unbelievable and tedious. Samples of the great man's writing which I could not read. Awful. Is this intentional? The narrator having some revenge or just not good writing.

In any case, I did want to finish it so I FF it as I would a film that had some good parts and then some shitty parts.

I would give that film a 2 out of 5 and I will do that here with this book.

Labels: books

Obama Asks Congress to Approve Syria Strike

He blinked.

Too much opposition.

But he has turned it around and asked Congress to carry its job out.

What do I think?

It is my blog, after all.

I think it goes back to the time when they drew the "red line" and made it clear they would not tolerate any stepping over it.

Pre-meditated policy versus pragmatic decision.

We have managed thus far in recent years to scale back the rhetoric and recognize that whatever we call it, the idea of the "war on terrorism" is dysfunctional.

Fast on feet, quick turnarounds, examination of current data are much better qualities in this day of age where there is no war front, no sides, no clearly articulated enemy.

Do I think he should bomb? I never think anyone should bomb.

Do I recognize our responsibility in cases of rogue leadership ala Syria and much of the middle east? Yes. But it is toward stability and containment.

Look, we have put up with much worse with many of these countries and regions.

If the Palestinian situation is not genocide, what is? If events within Iran are OK then we sanction the killing of innocents (gays). Whether by gas or rope, they are dead.

Stay the course.

Make the choices slowly. He is doing the right thing.

Astutely.

Labels: Administration Obama

Today's film is one of a three part miniseries about corruption and crime in North Yorkshire during the 70s.

The stories are separate with the locale and situation more or less about the lawlessness in the region.

Red Riding refers to a "riding", another name for an entity like a county. The "red" part is a tongue in cheek reference to the area as the site of the fairy tale. Wolves and little girls.

The first two episodes are very well done and worth visiting again. Hence:

Red Riding Trilogy: Part 1: 1974

with Andrew Garfield splendidly portraying a slightly sleazy reporter who investigates a series of child molestations and finds, instead of the serial killer, a web of corruption that goes from top to bottom and side to side of the North Yorkshire establishment.

He gets fuck all for his efforts and, in this film, he more or less takes the law into his own hands. Not a spoiler really to say so.

The film is exciting, sexy and has a wildly intense ending.

This is Garfield's breakout performance which no one knew at the time but you can see it all over the place. Charisma to burn and the ability to handle an extremely complex part. A tough guy with a baby face and a very hard sex drive. There is sinew under the mod clothing and those fluffy sideburns.

He is also able to handle himself amidst a gang of actors who are toughs in their own right and well known second bananas.

You will forget this entirely as the plot unfolds and you forget what I sort of told you about the outcome.

I had stayed away from the film just long enough to remember that it was a great movie but not how it unfolds or turns out.

This is a 5 out of Netflix5. On to part 2 tomorrow. I will skip Part 3 as I gave it a 2 way back and then and will not bother with it.

Labels: films

The story of the raft Kon Tiki and its crew are legendary.

Legends of the natives of the South Pacific that told how people "from the East" settled in the islands.

This, in spite of the experts that a raft without power of any kind could not float westward into the sun. Thor Heyerdahl an amateur explorer decided to try the legend out. No one accepted his theories on paper so he tried the thing out for real.

The result was the voyage of the raft that he built from Peru to the South Pacific. Against "all" odds.

I read this book when I was 10-ish.

Well, the book probably came out a bit later. He did have to write it.

This is a time when the idea of new discoveries had been crushed by war and the possibilities of finding new things in the world were considered unlikely.

The achievement of these men became "legendary" in its own time and inspired many more such adventures not only on the earth but in space.

Or that is what it says here in fine print.

For my money it is enough that these guys did the trick, proved the "experts" wrong and exhibited enormous courage in the act of doing rather than theorizing.

There was a documentary which I also saw and it won an Academy Award. I saw it long ago.

Now, this film

Kon Tiki (2012)

all dolled up in story lines, fancy music and inspiring thoughts none of which help the story along but reduce the whole thing to a thumping cliché and series of formulaic "scenes" concocted to keep our attention.

The first half hour is all buildup to the "impossibility" of Heyerdahl's project, the rejections from foundations of all kind, the pleas of his wife not to undertake the dangerous expedition and a childhood pre-story which smells of fabrication.

The second hour is mostly time on the ocean with the various experiences seemingly pasted together with scissors and a glue pot. Serially shown, dramatically composed and, while well acted, a bit too much caricature in the personnel and their reaction to the voyage and each other.

Nonetheless, the time on the sea is a vast improvement over the ploddy time on the land. Sharks? Yes. A big big whale, yes. A cowardly crewmember who finds himself? Sure. And so on.

It would have helped to mix it up a bit and challenge us by showing several story lines in parallel like real life and in better realized movies. But no. Line by line, scene by scene, they are going to show us the pieces rather than the whole.

And through it all the score, my god, the score. Swelling music and little tunes as though the natural events are not enough. The sea is silent godammit. Let it alone.

There is even a protracted scene in which we rise up above the raft vertically and it gets smaller and smaller and, soon, not soon enough, the viewpoint shifts to the parallel and we are in the clouds, then the earth and finally, thank god, the universe. Milky way.

I did not FF. But I could have and seen the scenes flip by one by one as in a flip page movie.

Sorry to spoil it if you are, as I did, looking forward to it.

A bitter lover spurned.

But I am not deterred from my admiration of this crew. We are given their history after the voyage and they contributed considerably to other explorations on the sea and land.

For his part, Heyerdahl made a lot of money on this book. Good.

It is funny that the only thing they left out was a tearful reunion with a contrite wife but we were spared that. Maybe she left his ass and went to have a happy life with the kids in the country.

I will give this a 2 out of Netflix5. No FF but no skipping gives it that. It was a disappointing film and not at all up to the book or documentary of the same name.

Irony of fate. The film is unaccountably produced in English when everyone was Scandinavian. For revenge, here is the trailer in the home language of the voyagers.

Once again, I am amused that I write longer reviews of movies that I do not like much.

Labels: films

I normally do not give a shit what "foreigners" think of the United States.

But this is really good.

The Weirdest Things About America

It is written by a young Indian male who spent the time to acculturate and not do a flyover.

It is also about every day life and not some bullshit national statistic or political nonsense.

I won't rant about "foreigner's" perception. It does piss me off but I am used to it at a personal and general level. I trained overseas for many years and every once in awhile I would hit an Americaphobe and I would just take a pass.

This kid is fun to read, well spoken and on the nose.

I knew some of these things but I found it all interesting and easy to swallow.

I do not, after all, have a knee jerk defensive response to comments which seem adverse. This is all kind of acceptable.

There is also an article linked in to this one which has a similar list about India.

My ignorance is rather complete.

I have to admit to a long term adverse bias about India and Indians, particularly the well educated male variety. This guy is cut from a different cloth. Broke the moldoo for me.

Labels: America

This is a very big deal.

IRS To Recognize All Gay Marriages Regardless of State

Big big big.

We have been able to get married tax recognition, not because we are a gay couple, but because we are in a community property state which the IRS recognizes as legitimate based, not on our marriage, but on our domestic partnership.

It is a bear to work through. We have worked in the vineyard for three to five years on this. There is always trouble as the tax returns must be filed together and "bundled" with joint ownership forms, blah blah.

Finally, after a lot of us did it over and over again and appealed over and over again, the IRS in Fresno got used to the fact that we should be handled together and not to tear the forms apart and sent on their separate ways for action.

Now, apparently, none of that.

We are married, married in all the State and that is that.

It seems to me that this is administrative action which seals the fate of DOMA and other anti-equality measures.

If the IRS recognizes you then you are in. That is it. Period. End of paragraph.

It will be interesting to see how many unmarried gay couples will marry now to enjoy this feature. I would predict all.

Well, the ones who decide, faced with this new reality, that they really really are like a married couple (which a lot of people say along with "we don't need to be married".

Watch out bigots. The spigot is open.

Interesting. Spigots is rhyme for bigots.

Labels: gay rights, marriage equality

Today's film is one of a four set "tetrology" by Alexander Sokurov. A NYTimes Critics' Pick, this is the third to be completed.

A tetralogy is a compound work that is made up of four distinct works. The name comes from the Attic theater, in which a tetralogy was a group of three tragedies followed by a satyr play, all by one ... Wikipedia

Today's film is a close in character study of the Japanese Emperor in the days immediately after defeat in WWII.

The Sun (2005)

The realization of defeat, the meetings with Douglas Macarthur, the Allied Commander and the eventual denunciation of the Emperor's status as a deity are observed through the private moments of the man himself.

I have seen this before and it is extremely moving.

A simple man caught in a complex role with only a partial understanding of the War and how it happened as well as how it evolved, he is faced with major decisions in just a few days' time.

This is all imaginary of course but there are a few facts available, some from the man who was Emperor himself. He went on to become a beloved figure for his people, as a man, and was responsible for the pacification of the crazy passions of the military and religious leaders who had used him.

Since I lived during this era and remember the episodes pretty clearly (I was 8 but a smart kid) it is of even greater importance to my own experience. My Dad ended up in Japan as the War concluded. I grew up with a lot of opinions about the people there and their leaders. I wonder what he would think of this film. Probably would have contempt for it.

So, it is very much worth watching for me.

It is and was a 5 out of Netflix5.

Labels: films

The unimaginable, The New York Times website was down for over 12 hours.

Some Syrian supporters or something.

It did get my attention but not in a good way for them. They are minor characters and will stay that way when their methods are so trivial, really.

I am sure the Times people didn't think it was trivial.

And neither did I until I realized that I had gone without the Times for four days when I was in San Diego and never thought a thing about it.

I am spoiled.

So I went through a little withdrawal as I am just resuming my crossword puzzle activity.

They are back on line and so am I.

No harm done and fuck you Syrian anonymous.

We live in a weird age but then maybe not. There have always been assholes.

So what else is new?

If this passes for terrorism, it is a nicer kind. I would prefer it to kneecapping.

Labels: news, terrorism

Alexandra goes to visit her grandson in Chechnya, an endless expanse of occupation and guerilla war.

In Alexander Sakurov's film, there is so little happening that you can see everything happening.

Alexandra (2007)

It is very quiet in this film.

It is not easy for her to get to the front. She rides in a troop train in the rough.

She squeezes into a troop carrier to get to the grandson Denis' base.

She sleeps in a tent. She eats the food.

Denis has to go on a patrol. She is on her own.

She walks around. The men watch her, a woman. An old woman. Someone from home. "We don't see people like you here anymore".

They feel abandoned on a useless police action. There is little hope.

Left on her own, she wanders into the occupied town. She meets a local woman. Goes to her house, has tea. They talk.

She comes back spends time with Denis. He braids her hair. They argue. Not once but a couple of times. Family feud. Little storms. Squalls.

He has to leave again for a longer period of time. She has to go home. She sees her friend from the village one more time. They say goodbye. Denis is off.

The whole world is in this little masterwork. Alexandra is Galina Vishnevskaya, an opera singer and actress of some renown. She is wonderful.

So are the young soldiers who stare at her, yearning. Home in one package.

The futility and frustration, the powerlessness is so evident in every frame.

Alexandra is a power to be reckoned with. In short, she takes no shit from anyone and we can see that in her entire demeanor.

This is a gem of a film. Very Russian in a way but universal in its appeal. The same useless wars of impotent men.

I saw this before and am less interested in it as an anti-war peace, which it is, but as a character study. The generations. Family love. The failure of even a disciplined armed force to defend itself against plain every day love.

This is a 5 and I will probably see it again. Just to see Vishnevskaya do her magic.

Labels: films

Today's film would be just an audacious stunt if it were not so successful a production at every level.

Russian Ark (2002)

Alexander Sakurov takes only 90 minutes, a continuous shot, a record time, to explore The Hermitage using over 2000 actors and a host of production personnel to say nothing of months of logistical preparation for the single day they have to make this unprecedented film.

Most of the film is in various periods of Hermitage history. The golden time of Peter the Great, the Catherines, some of the time just before the end of the Tzar's rule, the revolution.

Some people are in modern dress in certain galleries and a small "committee" of former directors of the museum are seen talking about what to do with and about government interference.

There is a narrator, a European who has contempt for the culture because he knows it is largely appropriated, not native, and that it will die out. Not destroyed but the Russias represented will not last.

It is actually quite dark in that respect and in the last scenes as the large, large crowd of ball attendees leave, there is overwhelming sadness. I always cry.

This is the third or fourth time I have seen it. It is timeless. The "making of" feature is interesting for five minutes but the magic quickly dissipates and so I quit watching it.

This is an automatic 5 out of Netflix5 because I have seen it over and over and it will still be a 5 because I will see it again.

Labels: films, history

Our weather this week is very much like being in Boston.

It is cloudy and a bit humid and the evening temps are in the low 70s. The day almost balmy in the low 90s.

There is humidity in the air but not a whole lot and there are showers on and off.

Everyone agrees this has been a mild summer and this is another example. The first humidity of any consequence that we have had (forecast for all week) and nothing truly uncomfortable.

Weather here is very unreliable in the sense that almost anything can happen any time.

I am sure that we are going to be affected by climate change as everyone else is but here it will be harder to detect.

It was only several years ago when I went to San Diego a bit later than normal and when I came home over the mountains, it was so cold I craved the warmth of my descent into Palm Desert.

This time, two weeks away and nothing special.

Those of us from the east welcome these respites from the sun and clear skies all the time. A little weather never hurt anyone.

Labels: Boston, desert, weather

The "final" agreement in the Ireland difficulties is imminent.

Well, two years away but the pressures are on the extremists to pull it in and the cops to wind it down.

In this tight little thriller, a cop, Clive Owen, recruits a young mother and member of a key family in the IRA to turncoat.

Actually, he entraps her, arrests her and then intimidates her into playing his game.

A nice little surprising film. Tense and difficult.

No wonder they called them "The Troubles".

Shadow Dancer (2012)

is the name of another agent also under pressure. The two are set against each other by Owen's superiors without his knowledge.

How all this works out is the subject of the film's latter half.

As usual, it is hard for an outsider to pick up on who is who. Subtitles became essential.

No wonder it took years to work through all the bullshit and come to an understanding that peace was, at least temporarily, the best outcome for all sides.

I am glad I saw it. It is a 3 out of Netflix5 for me.

As a feature film, it came and went without hardly a notice. The case with lots of good smaller films. Too bad. The state of movies today.

It was good to see Clive Owen in a good small picture. I used to like him a lot. Then he went with the money or whatever guys like him do and he became a pawn in the great Hollywood game.

Now, a bit beefier and more focused, he shows his chops in this utterly convincing performance of a cop in a quandary.

Welcome back Clive. I might watch you again on a regular basis.

Labels: films

I watched aging love die triumphantly today and learned a lot to say nothing of the emotional wallop.

The marvellous and hard hitting Michael Haneke's masterpiece

Amour (2012)

with JEan Louis Trintignant and Emmanuelle Riva with the great Isabelle Huppert who I bet would have paid them to let her into the film.

I won't go into the story but what we all fear happens to the rather chic older couple, a stroke for her. Deterioration.

We watch how even close friends cannot bear to see and participate. The daughter who lives in London tries to take charge near the end and is handled nicely.

Eventually, he takes care of their situation triumphantly with dignity and grace.

It is a 5 although I may not ever watch it again. Too close to the bone.

Labels: films

I am doing crossword puzzles and shit because I have more free time.

Or, a better use of my time.

What was I doing with the time for x-words? I was using it up on political blogs.

Since the election I have been tapering off the usual stops on my URL circuit.

I find that I have little interest in the continued games in DC and I seem to be indifferent to the kinds of issues that seem to exercise others all to hell.

I do watch the Obamas to see them do their thing and note that they are able to administrate rather creatively in the face of a legislative branch that does not want to govern. Old news but refreshing to watch. I don't much read the letters from The White House. They have my support on everything. Why write a letter.

I finally unsubscribed to the shadow Obama campaign. Not interested in them particularly and I don't think there is much for them to do anyway.

I don't read polls. About what?

Here is another thing.

Name the issues. The NSA thing? I pretty much support their effort. The traitors and their pseudo journalistic apologists? I figure the less said about them the better as it is mostly about attention.

Immigration? Yes. I like the proposals. But the effort is going to be sunk in the House.

College loans? They will work it out.

Guantanamo? He is going to starve them to death and I don't mean the ones on strike. Do I worry about the injustice there? Some. But I figure that most of the "mistakes" are rectified. And if they are not then the cops know something that I do not.

I am not paranoid about secrets. I do not worry about the financial predators. I am an investor. I should watch out for myself.

And so on.

I am totally not interested in the campaign for 2016. Nada. Hillary? They are already doing the Clinton conniving thing and I am still not interested in being a part of their support. God bless her work at State. I try not to be cynical and see it as the best campaign decision she could make. If that is what was going on, she fooled me and we got the benefit. No cost.

I sound like a republican don't I?

Sorry. No way. But there isn't anything that I am in a sweat about.

So why take up a lot of time with it?

So most of it is internet time.

I haven't slighted my other activities. In fact, the MIT thing is starting up now. Any day.

I gotta go now. I need to finish today's puzzle which is actually Wednesdays. I am going slow. A startup.

Labels: life, politics

I have had to cut back on the cups of coffee I drink and what time I drink them.

"Aha"! I can hear you say. "That didn't take long, did it?"

No, it did not.

I had not had any coffee for about five years. Then I decided to try it again and to do a good job at it I got a new beans grinder and bought some beans. I also drug out my old Krups maker.

All is well now except the "need" to have too many cups in a day.

I have had to, first of all, stop drinking any coffee after 9AM. The caffeine effect lasts 12 hours and I was having funny repetitive short cycle dreams early in the night. See? I quit at 9AM today and I am yawning. But I will have a coke. Diet. One third of a cup.

OK. Adjustment made.

I would like to say that I am drinking less in the AM but I am not. The period from 3AM to 9AM, 6 hours uses up six cups. I get high. It is OK so far. What the hell. I will taper though, I think. I get a bit giddy by the time I go to a Meeting or have an 8AM visitor, my standard. Maybe someone should drape a wet blanket over me so I can get settled. No one has yet.

Now, on the equipment. Also an increasing "need". Progression.

The Krups machine just sucks.

It is a clunk. It works fine but it over heats the coffee so I turn the hot plate off and we drink the coffee cool to cold or out of the micro-wave, a short burst.

It also gets very dirty fast, somehow. It is white. Maybe that is it. And a matte finish which holds the stain.

And the pots. The handles come apart. In your hands. The tops are held on by these teeny tiny tits which break as you can't really keep the top open all the way. Or maybe they are supposed to do that. I doubt it.

So to the coffee sites. So many. Surveys of best makers.

Divided opinions here but it turns out that three machines keep emerging from the scrum. One is one or another of the KitchenAid brand. Another is the company that started out making cookware, Calphalon.

The third, and the one I went with, is made by the Japanese company that made my rice cooker. Zojirushi. Specifically the Zojirushi EC-BD15BA Fresh Brew Thermal Carafe Coffee Maker.

This little baby has no hot plate. You put in water and coffee grounds. That works the conventional way. But the coffee flows into a thermal pot which is said to hold the coffee hot all day long. Well, I only need it until 9AM.

It is on its way. It does have a shiny stainless steel finish. Which I do not like. But I am good at wiping that down. I would rather have brushed or enamel but no dice.

It will match the grinder. Black, shiny stainless with fingerprints.

Labels: appliances, food

I have slowly drifted into being sick of all the greens and salads we have.

Well, mostly the dressings. Leaves are leaves.

For a long time, we have used the Paul Newman line of dressings, convinced, I suppose, that Paul himself had something to do with each bottle or, perhaps, that his charity for kids was worth some dressing for.

It isn't bad stuff. Middle of the road.

But suddenly they were not OK.

I was in the store the other day and was exploring "toppings" for dressings. Dry toppings.

This had started when I was inspired to make a Cobb salad. I had bought one when I was in San Diego. I had forgotten how good they were. A little on the too much fat side but what the hell.

So, when I went to gather the ingredients I found an old item "bacon bits" which can be real bacon or not or even turkey. But there are also other dry toppings!

McCormick makes one that has pumpkin seeds and stuff. Another had taco pieces and other crisp mexican things. Blue corn chips. Then another had some kind of cranberry mix. OK. I got them all.

Then right on the shelf below there was a line of dressings (the bacon bits were in the salad dressing section, not meat or spice or whatever). A line of the Kroger quality house brand Private Selection.

My gods they had everything. Well, a lot of things. I got this one and the balsamic vinagrette and the mexican ranch and, well you get the idea. Nine bottles.

Now I am working through them a day at a time. I also got "the original" caesar dressing in the produce department.

One more thing. I recently read that "chopped salad" was all the rage. You know, like Cobb salad only a bunch of other mixes.

It doesn't take long for corporate america to get the drift on something like this so I bought a few "prechopped' salads in bags. Not because I can't chop my own salad but because they put a lot of stuff in the mix (small leaves, parsley and so on) that I wouldn't bother with.

So. I came home and just dumped all of Paul Newman's products. When I am done I am done.

I made the new new new ceasar with the old old original first dressing. Pretty good. Tonight is cole slaw mix with a creamy poppy seed dressing.Tomorrow? I don't know. I am working arbitrarily from left to right on the dressings and winging it on the choice of greens.

If you shop at Kroger (ours is Ralphs) try out the Private Selection brands. They are very good.

Labels: food

As a matter of "policy", I watch every Danny Boyle film that comes on the market.

Today, DB came up with a complicated mind fucker called

Trance (2013)

There is a lot of action and some scenes that had me grabbing onto my chair. One gasper. Out loud. Sort of GOL. Like LOL only a gasp, well you get it.

If you watch this see if you find the one that got to me.

There is a stolen painting, there is a head injury where a critical party to the heist is knocked into amnesia and so on.

One question is whether any of this or part of this or just some of this or something else really happened or is it a memory triggered by a clever hypnotist.

He does keep us guessing and, as it turns out, the clues are there for the finding.

The real question is whether it adds up to anything.

I am not going to stop watching every Danny Boyle film, no matter what, even though this is one of those "no matter whats".

The action is so fast I am not sure but what I got put into a trance too.

But it deserves a 3 out of Netflix5.

Oh. It has Vincent Cassel in it, one of my favorite bad guys who isn't. He doesn't really get to do his stuff, too much going on. Or not.

Labels: films

Today's hero is a guy who was gay "before his time" and did some amazing things over the years.

Jose Sarria Gay Advocate and Performer Dies at 90.

It doesn't take too much to be a hero here. Just live to 90 or more and be admired by me during your life.

Jose Serra was a drag queen and he reigned over the Imperial Court which is a society of drag queens.

He was a perennial performer where he worked, The Black Cat, and he ran for Supervisor of San Francisco. The first gay man to run as a gay man. He got over 5000 votes and Sarria said that after that there was no politician who ran who could ignore the gay vote.

I have not always been comfortable around drag queens. It took me some years to see that they and I are the same. I just am not into wearing a dress. There is no way that I could be a member of the Imperial Court.

But I know that, perhaps because they were the most obvious of "the gays", it was the dragsters that gave us Stonewall and many many other breakthroughs.

They would not pass.

And, neither will I.

Today, I have personal friends who are into the dress up and I find they are a lot of fun and take life in a way that I wish I could more of the time.

Labels: gay heroes, heroes

They are all coming around to see the truth and justice of equal rights.

It will take a while for the rest of them but in the meantime

Conservative Catholic Now Backs Same Sex Marriage

I know, it is sort of about all that St. Thomas Aquinas stuff but I am sure that someone somewhere in this man's life has come out to him. He has found actual gay men and women outside their closets. And he may, in fact, love some of them as brothers and sisters.

He can do all the philosophical gyrations and of course, as a philosopher, he has to.

But, where this all happened is in his warm heart. Humanity, compassion and a desire to do the right thing. Injustice is, for most people, unacceptable when they can see it in human terms.

Labels: marriage equality

I used to think of myself as a star at the NYTimes Crossword Puzzle.

I loved them. I was in love. Living on the road made them a way to stay "at home". Unrequited love sometimes but still.

I did the Sunday Magazine puzzle in ink. Ostentatiously. On airplanes and in general public areas.

I would rarely fail to finish. And no peeking either.

I had friends who worked it as well and, if I wasn't careful, would call each other with unsubtle feelers to see if they had done theirs.

Then we moved west. No hard copy Times. Well, there are but we didn't want to pay that much for it.

The local paper, as many locals do, carried the NYTimes puzzles on syndication, the same days, a week late. But no Sunday.

So I did them for awhile.

Then, we hated the paper so we quit getting it and that was that.

I went on line and, in those days, it wasn't all that friendly. And it was very expensive. I think 90 plus dollars a year for the daily download.

Slowly but surely, I stopped doing them. Other things came up. End of story.

Then about 6 months ago I started doing the 7 Little Puzzles. It soon became a daily affair. This has little relation to crosswords except that the same mind's eye approach is helpful. How can I explain. Groups of letters form in the minds eye and full words are "seen". This is a fundamental almost intuitive product of crosswords. An eye for it.

There is the mind of course. I am well read. I always look the meaning of words up. I do not skip over. The Kindle, incidentally, is ideal for this because you merely touch the word and there is the dictionary definition.

Anyway, 7 Little Words got me into yearning for the NYT crossword. The big leagues.

Earlier this week there was a promotion. The puzzles for 19.95 a year because I subscribe to the Times on line edition. A real bargain.

And it is very friendly.

Easy to use. Hard to cheat. Very cleverly constructed web site.

So here I am again.

I am rusty. The puzzles increase in difficulty from Monday through Thursday with Thursday being tougher than any.

Friday is mid-level and Saturday is almost always "witty", a fun puzzle.

Then Sunday.

I am OK now up to Wednesday. Thursday killed me.

But I am taking it easy. No rush. It is fun.

Labels: fun

This film, a romance mostly but not, has everything. Luca Guadagnino's

Io sono l'amore / I am Love (2009)

The musical score, and that is what it totally is, composed by John Adams. Sometimes it seems he is directing the film, so close is the action and the musical "mood", a lousy word but you know what I mean.

It has Tilda Swinton as the star. My god. Tilda Swinton who makes every, every film she is in her own, every. And that is OK with me. That does not mean she is always Tilda Swinton, no. She is, in this case, Emma, the Russian born wife of an Italian industrialist and the mother of his sons and one daughter. She runs the household, even folds the socks. with the help of faithful servants of course but she keeps her hand in.

It has Edoardo Gabbriellini as the chef she falls in love with. Yes, a chef. Gabbriellini had not acted at this point. He was a director and friend of Gaudagnino. He got the part because they couldn't find "anyone else who could cook". I think some of this is interview hyperbole. It also has Luca Guadagnino who plays the most adored son and bromantically involved friend of the chef. Conflicts here. Slightly or more than slightly homoerotic.

But who would know. They are all buttoned up, this rich, rich family. Emotions on the back burner. Business first.

Then Swinton who was sort of aquired as a wife finds this earthy chef who works with his hands, has an intensely sexy air about him and who falls in love or lust with her and it becomes love. Intense.

There is a lot of great romantic stuff in here. Good sex whether you prefer gay or straight. It is all hetero of course but Swinton is pansexual and so is the chef Gabbriellini. This is conveyed most beautifully.

Milan in winter, the beautiful San Remo in summer. Beautiful and, I must bring it back to the music.

Very good "features" on this disc. I would almost buy this to get my hands on the interviews and the deleted scenes.

It is the third time through I think. A 5 out of Netflix5.

Labels: films

I know, inside, there is something scarily wrong about the "reality" phenomena.

Matteo Garrone puts his finger on part of this in the fine, funny, scary film

Reality (2012)

A gregarious guy who is something of a showboat gets bitten by the fame bug and tries out for a Big Brother kind of show. Well, it actually says it is Big Brother. One of those where people live together and are shown on video 24/7.

Cheap tee eve.

As he waits to be interviewed and goes through the steps toward fame and fortune we actually only see his own experience of it although we can read between the lines. He is getting way out of proportion in his expectations and his beliefs that he has a chance on the show.

His family, less so his wife, support him to a fault and reinforce his fantasy.

Too big for his boots is just the beginning of it.

He also does some really stupid things.

There are some parts of this film where awkward doesn't quit describe the extent of his denial. At times, I wanted him to be right and at others to fail so miserably that he would quit. Or they would just call him and tell him it was no dice.

The film is very well done by the director of Gommorra a film that still makes me a little shaky when I think about it.

There are some people in this film who were in the first film. There is a fine exhibition of the type of actors and extras that Fellini made such a crucial part of his work. Garrone has the same inclinations and has made some great choices.

I told my husband that this was the other side of Italy, the one he may not see on a trip there. But there are some really spectacular locations and the family lives in a house that could only be there. Old, seemingly dilapidated with modern insides and totally beautiful to see. It steals every scene it supports.

This is a 4 or 5 out of Netflix5. It is very good but I am not sure that I could watch it again.

Labels: films

Sorry because it was inappropriate for this blog. Too personal.

Sorry because some feelings were hurt. Thoughtless of me.

I often think that no one reads the blog except a few close friends. I discovered that I was wrong. That part, at least, is sort of good news.

It is one thing to go off on a public figure another to mention someone who has no intention but to do a good thing.

I apologize.

Labels: apology

California is viewed as the most over rated state in a recent poll by Business Insider.

But it is also the favorite, the hottest, the craziest as well.

People have a lot of opinions about CA. Me too.

For each category, states and how they stack up try this.

How Americans Feel About the States

Labels: California, United Sates of America

It is nice to watch a film which is, in itself, engrossing and at the same time have clues and "viewing aids" placed in our laps from the outset.

Today's film is such an experience.

El secreto de sus ojos / The Secret in their Eyes (2010)

We are told in the title, the opening dialog, the clues along the way. Watch their eyes! Dammit. The eyes.

This is a relationship and a who done it or, rather, how did they get away with it once we know who.

Argentinian director Juan Jose Campanella has put together a beautiful work with many moving pieces but never straying from its straight line to the surprising end.

I saw it once before and wanted to watch it a bit more objectively but this was in vain. I was swept away with its intensity and the stuff going on in the film and now, in retrospect, realize that the analysis of any film lies not in the technical aspect but in the experience of watching itself.

I always knew that so I could have saved myself some trouble by just watching it. With my own eyes.

Great acting from Argentinian stalwarts and an ensemble cast that always pleases and sometimes scares the shit out of us.

It is a a5 out of Netflix5 by virtue of its second or third viewing.

Labels: films

We are only rewarded with a few life long intense friendships.

This book tells about such a bond between two teen age boys with problem families. They find each other and cleave together in a way that inspires and confirms the rarest of life's treasures.

Brewster by Mark Slouka (2013)

Brewster is the lower middle class town they live in.

Jon, the serious one, lives in a family barely saved as refugees from WWII, Jews who just made it, only to have tragedy strike the family when the older son is accidentally killed. Ray is a bad boy abused by an ex-cop father who has devised the strategy of being a fighter to hide his Dad's ravaging blows.

They meet, they fuse, they live out their time together as a refuge from lives they never asked for nor deserved. Homes shaken to the core and still not recovering. Forever dysfunctional. A term inadequate to describe their situations.

But they do not meet because of that. They meet because of a spark, an ignition of what comes to be love. Affection between two teenage boys that is not only a shelter from the storm but way more than that. A gift for as long as both may live.

The both end up with girls and other close male friends that they share. The serious boy becomes a runner. He is good at it. The other applauds. Supports. Defends when need be.

The parents who cannot love their own surviving son find in the close friend, the troubled bad boy, a boy they can take on emotionally. They become a part of the healing that occurs.

This is a brave book requiring a brave reader. What happens is hard and relentless. In a way it is a thriller. Whether the races that are run or the fights that must be endured. The beatings. The shame. There is fun, funniness, great joy of life. Hanging out is an art for these two who learn, together, to work on a car and get it running. To talk into the night. To share music and reading and school. To tell one another the facts of life, sex, love, even the lust for compatible women. Young women for the most part but one experience with an experienced lady becomes a template for happy, open female relationships.

It is the sixties and Viet Nam lies just over the horizon. Also Woodstock which occurs just up the road from Brewster, NY, the title town. They don't even think about attending.

I loved it. A 5 out of 5 on the scale.

So good, I immediately ordered Slouka's other novel.

Labels: books

Every so often, those of us who are introverts get some good and helpful press.

23 Signs You are an Introvert

I do not need 23 signs to know that I am an introvert. And happy to say so. I have been "out" for maybe 15 years. Maybe more.

Many of these items apply or used to.

I am not reforming particularly but the older I get the more I see that there are a few advantages to "coming out of my shell" (one of the items). I do enjoy being with a select few people now and can be gregarious for maybe up to ten minutes before it becomes boring and time consuming.

I do not screen calls from anyone. Period. I used to though. I found that, as a practical necessity (now listen carefully to this) that it was a lot easier to get over people and get them out of the way by answering the phone than to store up messages I did not want to answer. Get it? I have found new technology supports my introvert very nicely. I know who is calling all the time so I have a few seconds to plan my disengagement before I say hello.

Most of the rest of it is true. If anything, truer. I have reached the age where I simply do not go to parties. Period. Never. If you held one for me I would probably not be there. (There is a great movie we just saw that has this as a feature of the hero's behavior). I do not bother now, since I do not have to do it for work, to socialize with anyone that I interact with from a business point of view.

I interview kids for MIT. I do not spend any time at all with them joking around or doing the social shit that MIT wants us to do at local workshops and stuff. I do not even attend their on line workshops for the people who do this interviewing stuff. Not me. Not now. Not ever.

And so on.

I know that there is at least one reader of this blog who is into the introversion thing. He still does some training out there with real clients that he sees on the road. I bet any money that he makes himself scarce around dinner time or goes to another hotel or restaurant to avoid even one of his participants.

Well, I do not know this but I bet. I would be doing that if I still worked.

Labels: Introvert

The trick with a tricky movie is to wait long enough between viewings to forget the gimmick or ending.Try as I might, I was unable to remember the trick upon trick upon switch upon switch used on the marks and us, the viewers, in the fine Argentinian con artist/grifter film

Nueve reinas / Nine Queens (2000)

I think that it has been at least three years since I saw it. I am sure that it was in the old house.

Actually, I didn't plan this. I figured it would only work once and that I would never see it again.

But the star of this film, or one of them, Ricardo Darín is in a newer film which I will be seeing tomorrow and he was mentioned as being in this "famous" film so I ordered it. I really did not remember how it turned out then or even now as I saw it unfold. The effectiveness of the con is that good.

Great actors, having a wonderful time.

You know, of course, that something is fishy, but the mind will not work against the distraction of the business going on. You do not see the rabbit going into the hat. At least I did not.

Highly recommended especially if you like a crime among criminals film. If you are a David Mamet fan, this kind of thing was his specialty. Anything at all about con artists.

A 5 out of Netflix5.

Labels: films

I cried when I heard this.Elmore Loenard Dies at 87

This guy gets honorary status as a hero. This thing I have about people that I admire who hold on to 90 or plus years of life.

He didn't make 90 but his life was double the output of "normal".

I read everything. Everything.

The westerns, the short stories, the movie scripts the wonderful crime novels.

Master of the short sentence. He said he cut all the unimportant stuff out.

I tried to learn from his model.

I met him once in Chicago. He was doing a book signing down the street from where I was working.

I made sure to be there.

And I took the recent book he was signing for. I was half way through.

The early crowd was sparse so I got a shot at saying a few words.

He and I shared a life experience, the victory over alcohol. Transforming. We are in the same fellowship.

I told him I would be happy to buy another book, he laughed and made some comment about our tendency to excess.

He wanted to see where I had read to. Opened it there and checked it out. Laughed.

He said there was a lot to read yet. He wrote that he hoped I liked the way it turned out. To him, it was certainly the trip that counted but the destination was important too.

I remember he had on a crappy looking blue blazer and needed a shave in a way that is now fashionable. A mile wide smile and generous with his time and, I felt, laser attention.

His later work got a little thin around the edges but it was always an example of how much could be said with so little time. He had a genius for the ways you could kill someone.

You have to admire that.

Labels: books, heroes

I got my "names" of prospective applicants for the class entering MIT in the fall of 2014.

The term "prospective" means that they have shown interest and are due to submit the part one (no fee) application.

Some of them will start calling for their interview.

Last year, none until late September. Previous year I had three or four in August. So it could start anytime soon.

I will meet with them for an hour or less in the Palm Springs village over coffee chain coffee. They don't bring anything but themselves. I don't see anything else actually, ever.

They can wear what they want, I do.

I go home and write a report which takes me about an hour or more to complete. Two essay questions. Ever MIT.

I have a bigger but not the biggest list this year. 35 kids.

I notice that there are none from the one school that has supplied the last three years' acceptances. They could have two or three. Maybe some others will come in.

There will be a few who never send in their part one application and will never, therefore, interview. We will see what happens.

I will probably see 30 of them. It is not required but is highly recommended as only 5 percent of any class are accepted without an interview. I hear that soon it will be mandatory.

Nothing is standard.

Picture is of Room 10-26 (at MIT all rooms are numbered of course), vintage close to my time. Professor Kiergard, the freshman physics lecturer. The old biggest lecture hall. Blood sweat and tears.

Labels: MIT

I stopped for gas on the way home from the gym this morning, 500AM.

I always enjoy it. There is the hint of the sunrise. It is way out in the desert, next to the airport, so there is clear view forever.

Today, there was a gang of people there. Usually, not many. Two gardener's trucks kibitzing back and forth. Another guy filling up.

I know the guy in the "office", a store actually. We exchange a few words. We have a game on whether the cash I give him pre-sale will be enough, too much or just right.

Today I gave him 40 dollars "for number four", my usual pump. I had a feeling that this was my lucky day. It was. Exactamundo.

Anyway, while I was watching the scene a guy came with his trash bag and worked his way through the trash barrels. Cans.

I said "hello", he said "hello". I noticed he had gotten quite a few cans and said some dumb thing about their being enough for a coke inside and he laughed. He said he had put three boys through college on his can business. An obvious overstatement but then I mentioned equally dumb things like "every little bit counts" and so on.

I told him that I have three sons. One of his lives in Boston. He has a 2.5 year old grand-daughter.

The whole time, he is working his way through the cans although he was finishing up.

That was it. By play. A few laughs. Not one ounce of embarrassment on his part about the scavenger deal. And not one smirk in my comments really. I decided to take him dead serious after the first couple of words. It is the only way with people.

I totally accept their word. I have discovered this in the alcohol recovery business. Guys all have stories. Many lie about their sobriety, at first. I don't worry about it. I choose to believe it all and when and if it turns out not to be true, I simply adjust their story and move on. I should say that all this trust is purely conversational and relational. I wouldn't loan anyone ten bucks on it. Although in the old days I used to but mentally recorded it as a gift. Then I realized that money to a recovering drunk is pure enabling.

Back to this guy. The gas guy. Not a drunk. Not even eccentric.

I got in the car and said good bye and then I realized that he was getting into HIS car!.

A relatively new and shiny Acura. No shit. No kidding. I laughed all the way home.

He had put the bag of cans in the trunk.

Labels: life

Today's Chilean film is a surrealist wet dream. Paul Ruis'

La noche de enfrente / Night Across the Street (2012)

This is the kind of film that you either love or hate, its obscurity and complexity is almost incomprehensible.

I chose, somewhere in the first quarter, to love it as I had the choice so, why not?

A man is on his way to dying. He is not a big deal. Just a clerk. But many friends surround him and he has his memories some of which are quite real to him even though, to us, they are imaginary. Long John Silver. A youngish Beethoven. A famous author. Then real childhood friends. Later bar friends. Some current acquaintances.

It all swirls around.

This is Ruis' last film. He made a hundred or more films in many languages. One of those guys.

I am suspicious of the subtitles here but I accepted them. There is a lot of poetry and song verses and so, my experience says, the imagery is subject to interpretation.

Now listen to this. An early scene is in a classroom where the "teacher" who happens to be the famous author, now in hiding with his real name, explains that the same phrase in one language or another does not work. Only in its original language does it make sense.

Warning taken.

There is a lot of meta stuff here. The opening is of a vast landscape, we are flying along looking down. The fact that this sequence ends and then we are looking at people, a kind of landscape, and hearing a flow of words which do not seem to fit together, well, you get the picture.

The old guy in this life story that doesn't add up for us is the incredible Sergio Hernandez.

He stands and talks or reacts and there is complete understanding even if it all seems like word soup.

I know. Not to everyone's taste. In fact there were times I thought I would fall asleep only to be brought up short by something either shocking or absolutely clearly understandable. Or funny. There is a lot of "funny". You can't really take a lot of this kind of shit too seriously.

The cinematography is beautiful. Small elaborate rooms. Meticulous costumes. Serious lighting. Meaning that it wants to be serious. Then colors. A little red. More red. Even more red then blood. That red.

And so on. Great music. I have to hand it to him/them on that "score" (heh heh) a nice variable menu.

You could watch this fucking thing ten times and see stuff. I am happy to have seen it once. I am not sure that I would be as happy seeing it again whether it revealed more or not.

I take films at face value. That is to say the writer, director, auteur has something to say and he says it. It is enough to hear it once. Period. He had his shot.

Here, it is his last shot. A good job. He got me interested in his life work. Maybe I will see more.

A 3 out of Netflix5. I have no idea what the title means.

Labels: films

I have waited a long time to see this film by Xavier Dolan.

I Killed My Mother (2009)

A big hit at Cannes, Dolan was only 19 when he made this film. For some reason, it comes to disc after his second successful film Heartbeats(2011). A third is on its way.

In this one the eternal drama between son and mother is played out with a lot of drama between Hubert and his mom Chantal.

I identify with the strong feelings of "hatred" on the part of the son for a mother who is too close and too intense. It's complicated.

And if you are a gay son all the more so especially with the pressure to be, oh well, honest. Hubert's mom is a single mom although there is a really butch Dad who does not offer enough of himself for even the slightest Oedipus play so Mom gets it all.

This film, like his later work, is funny and continuously innovative. There is a narration in black and white and a lot of stuff going on with the camera none of which detracts but is fun nonetheless.

Hubert has a great boyfriend. They are happy together. Antonin loves Hubert and is honest with him when he needs it most because Hubert must be told. He is a brat.

And, unlike Antonin, has not come out to his mother. She finds out about Antonin from his mother through a PTA acquaintance.

But, interestingly, that is not the issue so much as that he hasn't told her. The usual. Although knowing it made it worse in my case I know that is the exception. My mother never accepted me but that is another movie and another story entirely.

I liked this a lot and when Mom lets go near the end, we have a major league resolution of conflict. Antonin is there to be of comfort but nothing can fix the thing better than Mom.

This is a Netflix5 out of 5. I am getting the film for our gay library even though it is only gay-ish in content.

That said, the wall painting scene with Hubert and Antonin is famous as an out take on gay web sites all over the world. Splatter, splatter, roll on the floor, paint in the hair, clothes off. That kind of thing. He does it fast motion to take away some of the distractions of the scene but it is still sexy as hell and there is always the slo mo on the machine for getting it all down.

Labels: films

This is a great true story told by a short story writer.

That means that he has it almost exactly right.

Drama Unfolds at my Bus Stop

I have had a few brushes with anonymous or accidental death.

The part that he has right is the realization that it is not him who died. That unlike the people around, he did the right thing. That when his little part of the drama is over, he is unable to walk off the stage immediately. The "director" or "editor", a cop, tells him to leave. His job is done. Period.

He also does not get to learn the end of the story. It is more like, I guess, being told to leave the theater as well and not to come back.

A neighbor died across the road when we lived in MA. The wife called. I knew he was dead the moment I heard her voice.

He had died while on the toilet. Not unusual, actually. Be careful.

And he had fallen off.

He was on his side alongside the hopper.

Dead.

You know. Like this guy, you can do the stuff with the pulse and breathing and shit but it is futile.

Emergency people and cops and doctors who may arrive on the scene any minute will act like resuscitation is possible and do the drill but they know too. It is show. They are paid performers.

My dead man, on that occasion, stayed where he was until the doc came, then the cops. No one moved him.

As it happened, the doc was my own physician and we had a nice talk while we were waiting for the troops to arrive.

I don't know what happened next. The cops said we could go, Sam and I. We left. Sam had done his job in the middle of the night. He was a paid performer, union. His role was to declare the guy dead. Not strenuous at all but a sleep deprived night.

We didn't go to the funeral. I imagine that Sam didn't either. I am sure he sent a bill. I didn't do that either.

I didn't even know when it was, the funeral. I assume they had one. But then I generally do not go to funerals at all it not being either for or about the dead person.

But that is another story.

I like the guy's conclusion. There was an elation after at doing the right thing and, of course, not being the dead guy.

In my experience there is nothing that will have you feel more alive than being with a corpse for even a few minutes. So dead. Especially one you have no investment in one way or another.

Labels: death

I have not been reporting on books read as I have finished them.

Let me catch up.

And that is all I have to report.

Point your face at this:

Last week before my trip, Friday I think it was, I stood in front of my mirror to shave and just said "the hell with it".

I had enough. Shaving.

And I wasn't doing it every day. Just Monday, Wednesdays and Saturdays with an extra shave in if there was something going on that required it.

I don't do many things where shaving is required. Actually, it is all optional around here where facial hair fashion is as inconstant a human male variable as almost anything.

So there it was and I didn't shave.

Saturday morning, I looked at myself and decided that the stubble, here it is called scruff, didn't look bad but it did seem a bit out of synch with the mustache that I have had for many many years.

I do not remember when I did not have it.

So I did the most rational thing. I shaved the mustache off.

I went to a Meeting and people saw me and some didn't get it, others did, some thought I had a new haircut (the same long hair now for two or three years, now really really long.

Well barbered, babied almost, but long.

No one said it looked bad.

Some said it looked good.

One beloved soul said it made me look ten years younger without a smirk.

So, I decided to leave it alone.

What could I do? The mustache was gone. The beard stubble was there. I could go back to a smooth shave but what's the distinction in that?

None.

So, off I went to San Diego on the beach and figured I could work on the situation from there where no one knows my history at all.

I took the Phillips, I guess it is called a beard trimmer. It allows a varying height to the stubble. It is used for manscaping, facial stubble, whatever.

We had it around when John tried scruff. Quickly abandoned.

I tried a 2 mm height for a couple of days and it would grow in ugly. So I cut it to 1 mm.

That's the ticket.

Of course, it is now necessary to trim the lawn more often than I shaved. But it does not take as long.

I also added wet shave on the upper reaches and the neck. Neatness counts with this kind of thing.

I suppose you have been looking at the scruff more than I do or more than anyone else does while you have read this.

Now. Look away. No comments please unless they are rave reviews.

Labels: face, shaving

I do not like violent films but I love this one.

David Cronenberg's

A History of Violence (2005)

asks us to burrow inside the violence that is "necessary" here, to relish it and enjoy it.

And, at the same time, to feel and see its evil side and to realize our complicity in the process.

But that is not what goes on while I am watching this. I don't analyze. I become deeply involved in this common everyday family that must confront one member's past and another's present.

All is peace and quiet until some thugs randomly choose Tom Stall's diner for a violent heist and rape. Psychos.

Tom takes them apart.

He makes the news.

The news spreads to Philadelphia where Tom's brother is a gang kingpin. Tom's cover is blown. Years in the hiding, the bad guys come to get even with him.

Alongside Tom is his mild mannered son forced to take action when some bullies persist in harassing him. We see him respond in an appropriate way. Or is it? Or does he have no choice? Does "appropriate" have anything to do with anything? PC bullshit that ignores the realities of a world that contains evil?

Good questions.

In the meantime, a fine film with wonderful ensemble acting. Viggo Mortensen is the Dad, Maria Bello is mom, Ashton Holmes the son and young Heidi Hayes the daughter in a crucial role.

Waiting in Philadelphia is big brother John Hurt getting ready for one of the best performances we have seen from him in many years. Evil distilled.

He sends Ed Harris to retrieve Tom Stall and bring him back home. Tom had made rather a mess with Harris' eye and face. Barbed wire. Ed is still pissed off about it.

I love this film and I have to give it a decent time between viewings to simmer and for me to forget enough that it still has its edge.

But by now, I know the plot rather cold and so the edge should be gone but it is not. I admit to relishing the scenes with the thugs, the one with the son and the bullies and all the others. Reruns. I never do that.

This is a 5 out of Netflix5. We just saw Viggo yesterday. He is one heavy duty screen presence. What a great actor. And a hunk besides.

Labels: films

I am proud of my Governor.

Brown Cheered in Second Act

They have made fun of Jerry Brown all his political life which, as it turns out, has been extensive.

Never out of office, well hardly, and never unwilling to take on the most humble position in the "losing" category.

Try being Mayor of Oakland. He did and did a lot.

He ran for his second sojourn as Governor and won handily. The Republicans here are almost totally in disarray.

No one expected much, figured it was a walk in. Well, it was. But then the hard stuff.

Taxes. The burden. Faced.

The budget, cut to the bone then judiciously restored as revenue began to come on line.

A liberal record to be proud of in the face of an intransigent population.

It helped that the GOoPers helped him but they did so because he put them in a corner.

He got redistricting and used a citizens commission. The result was a friendly, mostly, legislature or at least, given they were Democrats, a legislature that he would work with.

We are not out of the woods yet. People wait his downfall. The reports of his political demise have been largely exaggerated. He has not only a political pulse but a strong hand on the wheel.

Many short short videos. Stay tuned. Until you fall asleep. Oddly, Jerry is not a charismatic speaker. He is himself. He gives people credit for having intelligence. He does not talk down.

Labels: California, jerry brown

I violated my rule about never seeing a film of something I have read or book I have seen in a film.

But in this case, I was curious enough to see what "they" did and I am glad that I did.

On the Road (2012)

written by Jose Rivera from the book and directed by Walter Salles.

What they have done is anchored the film in the relationship between the two men around whom all the action is then hung like a christmas tree.

It does work but there are long stretches where one wonders if it will. On the road is, eventually, a boring experience as more than one person in the film blurts out.

On the other hand it reflects a time and a place which we cannot even see today let understand.

A challenge for actors with an audience like me is that I do remember a lot and I can testify that the film is beautifully rendered and as accurate as it can be given the decades since its time.

The actor problem is centered on the fact that men today do not look or act like the men then. First of course, not foremost, is that all men had lousy teeth then. Now, all white choppers that defy ones ability to suspend disbelief.

Also, they are more well fed. They radiate health. Kerouac was an alcoholic already in his cups and Neal Cassady was a crazy man although quite sexual and charismatic. Ginsberg and others who appear here were grungier and not at all good looking.

Anyway, that passed as a concern. Garrett Hedlund is charismatic and quite good. He is the center and the center holds. Sam Riley as the Kerouac character is just holding on. But he has to. Someone has to have their head on straight throughout the orgies and parties. A solid job. No flash. Probably a necessity.

The homo erotic quotient is pretty high and while Cassady was just a polyamourous horn dog the others stepped into his sphere and took part whenever they could. Threesomes. Foursomes. Sometimesomes. Good job without being sensational.

The film takes off with a walk on by Steve Buscemi as a faggot salesman who takes them half way across the US on one of the many cross country jaunts. He lights up the screen with subtle and hilarious moves.

If anything, what the film lacks is a sense of humor about its time, its people and itself.

The payoff is in the end which some people have complained about.

I was delighted to see Sam Riley put the long scroll of paper into the typewriter (the actual scroll which still exists, I have read the book made directly from it, was a teletype roll, yellow and cheap.

As he writes it all down (he has been taking notes the whole time, a little off-putting) they make a sound montage that will give you the goosebumps. Voices, sounds, jazz, traffic, the characters voices in small chunks. Just like the manuscript and finally we get the idea of the writing itself. Why it was so hard to tame as a story. Here, they have done a great job wrestling the story to the ground, getting it somewhat organized and then, at the end, jumbling it all up again as it reads.

By now, I have had enough of On the Road but my life experience is that just when I begin to forget about it and feel it slip away I want to read it again. Take it out. Get the feel.

Today, the movie which I would watch again I suppose making it a 4 out of Netflix5.

Garrett Hedlund is one handsome motherfucker and if he can handle his success in carrying this film he will have a great career but, today, there are no stars and he will probably be put on the shelf for the next good looking magical actor with good teeth who will work for less money. That is the washup story of our times.

Labels: films

I mention the guy from Anza on my drive back home.

What did happen to me at the beach was that for the first time I seem to be attracting guys who want to chat.

Nothing big. Not gay stuff. Just guys.

One was a bit of a drunk, a little hung over, but I get those frequently. Nothing new. Drunks attract drunks even when sober for a long time. One of those mysteries of alcoholism that straight people don't get. Nor should they.

But the others were just passing the time of day. I was at the ice cream machine and a guy told me his adventures with the same machine, not working. A long, amusing saga of expectations gone awry. The betrayal by technology. He was good at imitating the whir that occurs in the modern vending machine as it "thinks" about the combination you put in. Funny.

Another guy was all about some people on the ramp who simply could not get their boat into the trailer slots. This happens sometimes. New people? New boat? Bad luck? A stiff wind?

They tried and tried and tried to no avail. I finally, and the guy I was watching with, had to leave it was so fucking excruciating. At first it was a mutual chuckle, then we were disaster witnesses. My friend knew something about doing the job and explained to me what was going wrong. Made sense. It did help to watch it.

He may have gone down to "help" but I didn't want to see that either.

There were others. One every hour by the average count.

Nothing heavy or serious but nice. Something new. Maybe I look more friendly.

Labels: life

Today's film is one of the great homoerotic epics yet never really hailed as such.

Y Tu Mama También (2001)

Alfonso Cuarón's great road movie with Diego Luna, Gael García Bernal and Maribel Verdú.

The queerness of the film pervades every foot of the film with the actual payoff in only about 20 seconds near the end.

Fear of the reality leads to, well, go see it. Rent it.

At one level the film is very funny. Two adolescents work out their stuff through the girl who, deliciously, is leaving one of their hated cousins. An asshole.

A lot of funny lines.

Parts are sad. Or tragic. A running commentary outlines history and future about the people, places and situations we are seeing.

Glimpses of the two tier society, the police state, intrude at various points during the trip reminding us that this fantasy come true visit to a fantasy beach which turns out to be real exists in the middle of great suffering.

This one is a five. I have seen it four times or more. Always fresh and new. I swear that they add new parts between the times I see it. Could that be? No. It is just that rich as it reveals its layers to us.

Labels: films

I drove over the mountain this morning from San Diego.

It was beautiful. The sky was very clear and, for the first time this "fall", I saw Orion rising in the east.

It was about 5AM.

I had left at about 3AM. No matter what I do or how I do it, the drive takes three full hours.

Today, I stopped once to get a coffee at a Jack (the new name of Jack in the Box) for an iced coffee then once more in Anza at a K to take a pee. I should have done both at one spot but I didn't have to pee when I wanted the iced coffee.

Fast Food iced coffee is pre-made with a whitener and sweetener. Take it or leave it. I asked to take the whitener shit out (nicer than that) and they did. She told me it was very strong that way. She had that right. I was flying over the hills to Anza where I dumped it and made my own at the K. Where, incidentally, they have no public toilet but I used my charm to get into the employees lousy, dirty facility. Some employee relations. Some public relations. But it was Anza. Population 1000 and maybe that is big.

There was a guy in there who qualified as the resident geezer and we talked a little about life and the coffee and Anza. He was pretty good to bs with for a few minutes. Like a lot of older guys when I grew up. Resident wits in a half wit town. Didn't get out, had to stay, ironic and funny in a healthy way. I could be that guy.

I had a very good time at San Diego. Shelter Island. BayClub Hotel.

I got a room sort of over the pool so I could ogle nicely and still have a good balcony with some sun. If I really craned out to the right I could see the city skyline.

The place is the same under new ownership. Some corners have been cut. Nothing serious. Portion control at the buffet breakfast which used to be included with the room. It is a big layout. Now, I notice that it has become "complimentary". Next year I may have to pay. I now pay for the parking. Five bucks not bad.

The seal and the pelicans were still there along with the guys putting their boats in the water. A lot of lookers.

I also discovered the ice cream machine at the boat ramp. They have the old "nutty buddy" for two dollars. If you put in five dollars you get dollar coins out. They are small now. Worth the fun.

I got up and walked to one end of the island every day by 5AM, back for the "complimentary breakfast" by 630, a shower, into my room until the early makeup when I went for a walk up the other side of the island. It is a lot more walking than I am used to and I take it at a good clip. I have the shin splints some by the third day of it. Back to the bike tomorrow.

The show next door at the outside concert place was The Monkees on Monday. Keerist. The Monkees. I know for a fact that one of them is dead. The seventies.

I am in bed before the concerts start and the place is great for it. Pull the slider, pull the heavy curtains and I use ear plugs anyway and I never hear it.

I do listen to the sound check in the afternoon which is very interesting. In the Monkees case, the band running through the arrangements, one or two, without the singers. It is quite something. Stirring in a way. "Last train to Clarksville" with a really jazzy arrrangment. The pauses for the verses are there and so it goes and then stops and goes again. I first heard this with the band for Hall and Oates years ago and learned to listen closely. It is very good stuff, this music. And these musicians.

Wednesday night was Lyle Lovett who has a big band with him this year and has switched to a kind of straight on jazz band kind of pieces. The band was really great with a hot trumpeter. Lyle himself tried the stage out later and he was pretty good. He is so weird looking that somehow his artistry gets diverted. For me.

It was a good trip. I am really glad that I do this and I am glad that it is over.

Labels: travel, vacation

But, I hope, not forgotten.

I am off to my five days in San Diego.

Somewhere down below it tells all about it.

I plan to return on Thursday.

Labels: vacation

Is it a ship or a boat?

Norwegian Coast Guardsmen risk, well, who knows?

Pretty fucking outrageous though.

Funny and, well, pretty sexy too.

Too bad, they took it down. I figure the guys wouldn't get away with it. Or, they discovered they had a ton of sudden gay fans. Or recruits to the Norwegian Coast Guard.

Labels: fun, music

I love this kind of story.

Mystery From the Grave Beside Oswald’s, Solved

Dan Barry runs down yet another Oswald conspiracy theory. Or theories. Or no theory at all.

The grave next to Oswald was empty for some time, then it was bought and a marker identical to Oswald's was placed next to him.

Nick Beef.

It turns out that a guy whose life was deeply affected by the Kennedy assassination and who also happens to have turned out to be a kind of performance artist discovered the grave site still for sale. One of his nom de performance is Nick Beef.

It has never gained big notoriety but more than a few of the conspiracy nuts tried to run down just who this guy was and where he came from.

As usual with the rabid and star eyed conspiracists they could not see the forest for the trees.

Dan Barry had no trouble tracking the guy down although I think the guy actually came to him. Then he ran it down.

Many of us remember those days. We know where we were when it happened. I was on an illicit coffee break with my friend John, going back to the office on 15th Street in Philadelphia. There was a day bar with a big window and the news was on the teevee. I suppose there were people yowling and upset or I don't think we could have noticed it.

I remember that we got back to the office and we both decided it might be inappropriate to tell people what we saw as they would correctly infer we were out doing what we were forbidden to do (It was that kind of place). Certainly we were not the only ones who disobeyed the rules. I flouted all of them. I was that kind of corporate player but I somehow escaped deep censure for it. Others were not so lucky.

Anyway, the news started to come in from wives and workers who were outside the monastery in which we worked. It was a sad day.

I saw Oswald getting shot. We were home, there was to be a church dedication in a little while. One of our sons had been in the hospital with a hernia. And we were sitting catching our breath.

Here comes Oswald. Here comes Jack Ruby. Bang.

It was one of those moments when it is hard to believe we are seeing what we are seeing. It was that way for the commentators as well.

Total confusion.

I remember getting it together and going to the service. I was debuting a specially composed "overture" for the opening of the church. A big deal.

I think things went well.

I never much bought into the stories and rumors. It was over. I did watch the funeral but it was hard to take.

While I am at it, I was in a car riding to western NY State to visit an apple processing plant when Robert Kennedy was killed. It had already happened but we had been on the road, stayed at a motel late, got up and hit the road. Then heard.

I didn't much like Bobby. It was awful but it didn't touch me. Jack? I also was not a fan. I was never surprised at the stuff that came out after about him. I don't think we had him long enough to see his mark. It would be hypocritical of me to say that it broke my heart. The President part did. Not the Jack part.

Labels: history

I am a sucker for this kind of movie.

The Sapphires (2012)

the semi true story of a group of singing Aborigine girls in Australia. Sisters and a cousin.

They try out for an amateur contest and are seen by a down and out white musician and fan of soul music. Now running cheap contests in cheaper barrooms.

It is the sixties and racial hatred is still on the front burner. Nevertheless the singers connect with the promoter and he takes them over when they agree that country and western is not their thing. He sees them as soul sisters.

This introduces a racial reality and sets up a parallel theme of racial justice.

But the main thing is the making of the group which goes to Viet Nam to play for troops and manage to hone their act to a fine, rocking and souling group with great covers of black hits.

Some drama ensues from the battleground background, the girls work out their shit with each other, the manager and the group's hard ass sister fall in love and the girls become successful performing women. They grow up.

It is a familiar kind of musical bio-pic but with special spins which make it quite a lot of fun and also kinda sort of sad here and there.

At times, the racial picture seems to take over but then we do not know the harshness of these kids' experience. When it emerges, it is easy to get the importance of this singing thing to their life and the life of their family.

The music is top notch of course and there is a lot of it. Not only the performances of the group but the sides put in for atmosphere throughout.

I enjoyed it a great deal. It is one of those films that would never win an award but would be sure to win our hearts. An easy 4 out of Netflix5. I would be glad to see it again just to listen to the music.

Labels: films, music

This is one of those all in one films that you can't really put down at all.

Mud (2012)

Parts kid picture, buddy film, coming of age saga, bad boy with a heart of gold, culture clash and revenge picture. At least.

Matthew McConaughey switches gears, well not entirely, to be the congenital liar wise guy on the run from the family of a man he killed because he had messed with Reese Witherspoon and put her in a bad way.

The two boys who are the stars, actually, Tye Sheridan and Jacob Lofland encounter the scalawag at their "secret" island.

He cons them into helping get together the resources to escape.

The story gets rather involved and we enjoy the ensemble acting of a great cast. Sarah Paulson is one of the moms, Ray McKinnon is a Dad, Michael Shannon a guardian uncle for one of the boys, Paul Sparks and as a senior scallawag himself, the craggy remains of Sam Shepard, never to be underestimated. He is still the charisma king.

This is a great movie and very much worth seeing again.

A NYTimes Critics' Pick it is a definite 5.

And, yes, just once, it is a tradition, Matthew takes of his shirt and waves his aging still beautiful upper body to the breeze. Also, I know this is not important but I am impressed to report that McConaughey has not had his teeth fixed. The front two are a little craggy, charming, and he has not opted for the stupid looking pearly white thing that most male stars now exhibit in roles where they look totally incongruous.

Just to register a mild complaint.

Labels: films

I just finished reading a time capsule left of the days of un-American activities and the scouring of homosexual men out of their establishment hiding places.

American Studies (1994) by Mark Merlis.

This is Merlis' first novel and while it covers a heavy, sad, repressed, pre-Stonewall time, it is funny, blithe and great to read.

Reeve finds himself in the hospital after being beaten up by a trick he brought home. Not a unique experience, bringing a trick home, but a first as far as getting beat up.

In his recovery, he reminisces about his life and, in particular, the time spent with his mentor Tom a "famous" professor who was the opposite of Reeve. Closeted in the extreme with a fondness for G-rated relationships with handsome boys he was teaching. "Wheaties" boys, Reeve says.

Tom is a full professor and expert on "American Studies", the excavation of late 19th century American literature. He reminds me of my own gay professors, one a drama guy with an interest in in 20th century works and another who ran a senior invitation only seminar on American authors of the post WWI period. Dead ringers for the kind of arch transparent interest in young men that stopped short of anything untoward. Very attractive to a younger gay man. Gaydar was working on all cylinders even then.

Tom has the bad fortune to also be a fellow traveler with more than a slight history of membership in Communist party fronts at a time when such memberships are suddenly thrust into the spotlight.

Congressional investigations.

Tom is discovered and made to resign. When he is reluctant to do so, his friendship with young men, one young man, the first love ever, the first consummated love, is uncovered and used against him. At Yale!

The book moves quite quickly and is funny because it has the fifties queens way of talking, the voice.

I knew a lot of men like this. They were one generation ahead of me. I am post Stonewall.

Very entertaining and sad at the same time. A perfect blend.

Merlis went on to write a book called The Arrow's Flight which is now a kind of classic. It concerns a modern retelling of the story of Pyrrhus, Achilles' gay 21-year-old son and how he comes to embrace a destiny that takes him far beyond the urban gay ghetto--and the half-hearted ""job"" of dancing nude and hustling--that he's resigned himself to.

I will be re-reading it.

It is great to find the older book and put the more successful book in context. There is another Merlis book which I will read soon, Man About Town. It is on my Kindle.

Labels: books

Today's film is a true story and it is also the prince and the pauper told once again in a totally different setting.

Gwanghae, Wangyidoen namja / Masquerade (2012)

a Korean film.

Byung-hun Lee plays the prince and the commoner look alike who is chosen to stand in for him at a critical life and death time. The film is carefully structured to give us plenty of time to see the king's normal role and then to watch the same actor, totally different personality, step into the royal boots.

Much of this is comedy and then somewhere they sneak up on us and the film becomes inspirational and deeply emotional.

The "pauper" finds that his power can be used wisely and in such a way that he does get away with some major changes.

Enough people have become loyal to him and, whether they are in on the deception or not, decide to help him achieve what he sets out to do.

In this respect, because of his goodness, it is easy to accept the even those who are his enemies are stymied enough to give him space.

The fact remains that the king is the king and as he revives from a drugging we worry that the stand in will be done in.

The ending here is quite satisfying as is the entire film.

It is sumptuous.

It is also deeply traditional, it is the court after all, but from the beginning the music, the visual style, the psychology is modern. And not.

This is a wonderful movie and I want to see it again sometime.

A 5 out of Netflix5.

Labels: films