Actually I Blame Myself...Not Loving the Film, Hating the Audience An Aging Filmgoer Grumbles

I'm really annoyed with the cinematic experience these days.

Sunday the missus and I went to see Jane Eyre. The theater is a historic one which has  been showing films since 1917. Of course well enough couldn't be left alone and following a national trend the conversation was made some time ago from a movie palace to cinemaplex. In other words the balcony was sealed off, cut in two and screens were wedged into each.

Jane Eyre was playing in one of the closets, rather than downstairs in what is still a nice place to watch a film.

It was crowded. The person sitting in front of me was approximately eight feet tall. I had to stand perfectly erect to see over the tip top of his head. Thank God he didn't sport an Afro.

I've mentioned before that I'm getting increasingly annoyed by people who treat a bag of pop corn as the first meal they've had in three days or those who chomp their snacks rather than chew or rifle through the treats bag brought from home, ripping and tearing open bags of goodies. They were out in full force.

The movie itself was, from my perspective, the very embodiment of a mediocrity. I found it generally diverting but forget about it once the closing credits had at long last closed. Speaking of closing credits, why so long? I think it should have been a clue that they were getting excessive when a second song needed to be tacked on to them. I understand why we should be shown who the casting director and key grip and make up artist was, but the caterer? The driver? The on set medic? How about the aroma therapist and the dog whisperer?

I met a a friend for coffee the next day and we shared our increasing displeasure with going to films as we approach dotage. We swapped stories of rude audience members and ways to avoid crowds. He goes to the very last showing on a weeknight. I try to go to midweek early matinees.

I went to a matinee yesterday to see In a Better World. Just as I hoped, I walked into the theater to find I was the only one there. This continued through the ads (there's another indignity, we must suffer through ads before enjoying a film, without benefit of the mute button) and the previews. Then just as the film started a couple walked in and preceded to argue about where they were going to sit. I took out a gun and shot them. (Okay I made the part about the gun up.)

My experience is that people who arrive late to a film are far more likely to be inconsiderate yakking morons than those of us who are prompt. These yokels were a case in point. When someone talks during a film, they not only take you out of the moment but the next few moments as well. Particularly if you find yourself contemplating a course of action such as moving to another seat or sushing them.

After some initial whispers the couple was mostly silent the rest of the way. Mostly can be good in some circumstances but when it comes to being quiet in a movie theater only totally and completely will do.

In a Better World is a Danish film that won the Oscar for Best Foreign Language Film two months ago. I feel confident in saying that this could no more have been the best foreign film of 2010 than A King's Speech was best English language film. I suppose its nice to see that the academy has taken to opting for lesser efforts in foreign films as well. Why get all snooty about films from other countries when you don't give a toss what Americans or Brits are making? If only I had read this from the Village Voice's Ella Taylor before deciding to see In a Better World:

If The King’s Speech was a comfy middlebrow choice for Best Picture of 2010, how much more depressing was the Academy’s squandering of Best Foreign Language Film on Susanne Bier’s In a Better World? Displaced tykes and bullies both macro and micro abound in this relentlessly pandering drama about a saintly Danish doctor (Mikael Persbrandt) who ministers to feuding Africans in a refugee camp while failing to notice that the suffering child (Markus Rygaard) of his broken marriage courts danger back home. Slick moralizing grows exponentially as the plot, wrapped in travelogue photography, transparently expository dialogue, and cheap thrills, drives home spurious parallels between the first and third worlds. Can’t we all get along? Bier surely means well, but the road to compassion porn is paved with noble intentions, laced with a nakedly commercial appeal that flatters moviegoers with a vision of the West as Africa’s savior from itself. 

But I didn't and I was out eight bucks when I could have stayed at home and enjoyed something from my DVD collection.

I am not quite ready to give up going to movies in theaters. The Pacific Film Archives is a perfectly wonderful place to see a movie. No food allowed. No ads. The sort of film goers who don't spoil the experience for others. With other theaters I will just have to be more careful and more selective. I'm generally a lot better at picking movies. The worst I usually endure is something mediocre, rarely subjecting myself to something I genuinely dislike (last Summer's The Kids Are All Right was an exception). My increasing annoyance with fellow film goers will necessitate being especially careful that the movie will be enough to offset boorish audience behavior.

This afternoon I will enjoy a film from the comfort of my own sofa. If an earthquake or bombing raid interrupt I can always hit the pause button and resume when given the all clear signal. This evening oldest daughter and I are off to the ballpark. There I will be perfectly happy for people to make all those noise they want and eat to their hearts content at full volume even. (Plus, when the game ends I don't have to sit through closing credits.)

Ramblings After Drinking a Double Latte

Completed my five film tour of Darren Aronofsky's directorial efforts today with The Wrestler (2008). Using the IMDb 1-10 scale, this is how I'd rate his films: Requiem for A Dream (2000) 10; Black Swan (2010) 9; The Wrestler 8, Pi (1998) 7, Fountain (2006) 4. That's one stinker mixed in with some real gems. Next up he's directing one of those Wolverine films with Hugh Jackman. According to Aronofsky it's not a sequel but a stand alone piece. Can't say that I'm excited that he's doing something based on a comic book. Moreover I can say that I'm decidedly undecided. But then I'm quite the old curmudgeon. (Here's my recent post on Requiem and a post from last December on Black Swan.)

Before The Wrestler, I'd watched two real stinkers. Always disappointing when I find that I've wasted a couple of hours on a dud. Usually I have the sense to cut my losses and hit the stop button before too many precious moments from my life have been wasted. But I stuck with the aforementioned Fountain until the end and also gutted out A Bullet For Joey (1955). I watched the former because I was curious to see all of Aronofsky's films, the latter because it starred Edward G. Robinson, one of my faves. Robinson couldn't have saved this film with a naked Kim Novak (shame on me).

I thought I had a sure thing recently with a film called Buffalo Bill (1944). The great William Wellman directed and it starred Joe McCrea with a supporting cast featuring Thomas Mitchell and Linda Darnell. I stuck it out for 40 minutes before seeing the error of my ways. Recommend Buffalo Bill to someone you secretly despise.

Speaking of despising....How about all the guff those chowderheads at Fox are giving teachers these days. Of all the professions to demonize. They portray us as greedy. Most of my colleagues own a modest home (if they have a working spouse, preferably one with a better paying job) and a car, maybe two. Teachers make enough to help support a family but must plan on continuing to work to put the kiddies through university. Vacations are usually of the backpacking, or Disneyland variety although every few years a major production number involving flying across the proverbial pond is possible. The health benefits help make the job tolerable. Most people who enter the profession do not last three years. I can tell you from 20 years experience, its a grind. No we do not, as one conservative dimwit (oxymoron?) said, end our days at 2:30 -- what school gets out that early anyway? There are papers to grade, lessons to plan, parents to call or email, meetings to attend, paper work to fill out, research to be done, etc. What's exhausting is how much one spends thinking about work. You have five classes, maybe 130 students and a whole school to contemplate. You're constantly reviewing the day you just had the day you have coming up. It's a helluva sacrifice to go into teaching because, unlike many of your friends, you're not going to get rich or even close to it. You do it out of dedication, love, a belief -- and now it teacher's who have to sacrifice. I thought it was a sacrifice just going into the profession. And at a time when resources to schools are shrinking and class sizes are expanding. Good luck finding the next generation of teachers after you're done defecating on today's.

Now I'm going to get really controversial. Miley Cyrus hosted Saturday Night Live last week (I believe it was on Saturday) and did a really good job and I rather like her (as a performer, you twit!). I now await a deluge of outraged emails, letters, faxes, telegrams and inner office memos. Bring 'em on.

Speaking of women I like...Dorothy Parker. A tad last famous then Ms. Cyrus and considerably less alive. I've been reading The Portable Dorothy Parker and loving it. She never wrote the great American novel she dreamed of (gee, I wonder what that's like) but she produced a boatload of wonderful short stories, poems and articles. She was, of course, a founding member of the famous Algonquin Round Table. May I be so bold as you recommend her works, particularly if you are unfamiliar with them.

I'm also reading yet another book that has to do with Nazi Germany. The Nazis are both endlessly fascinating and increasingly repellent to me. I keep wanting to go back and time and reason with them. But how would that work? Hey Adolph, that's racist! Yeah, what's your point? I firmly believe that any understanding of humanity and history will be immeasurably enhanced by a study of the Third Reich. You do realize that they just eked into power and came to enjoy widespread support? It's amazing how many willing accomplices they had to their dirty work. Quite frightening, actually.

On a lighter note: A hamburger and a french fry walk into a bar. The bartender says, "I'm sorry we don't serve food here."

Here's something that I might also make you laugh, then again it could make you cry. My good friend's at the website Listserve recently offered a list of Lesser Known Jimmy Stewart Movies. You'll see that the list includes The Naked Spur (1953), You Can't Take it With You (1938) and The Shop Around the Corner (1940). What exactly are theses films supposed to be less known than? Abraham Lincoln? But sadder still are the comments at the end of the list. I invite you check them out. Here's a sampling: "uummm yeah, i don’t know the guy. The guy seems to have had a lot of talent. I’m not a fan of classics or people who where famous before i was born" and "I don’t really know Jimmy Stewart, but the list was entertaining nonetheless." and finally "jimmy who?"

My latest get-rich-quick-scheme: rotary cell phones. It can't miss!

What's This? Another Edition of Riku Writes Odds and Ends? Already?

I don't think of myself as old, I in fact feel pretty much as I did whilst in my early 20s, sans hangovers. But I remember pay phones, rotary phones and a world without mobile phones. I remember when watching a movie on TV meant watching what was being shown on TV and in real time and with commercial interruptions. I can even vaguely recall shorts and travelogues before movies in theaters and not a single commercial before the film.

Yesterday was a holiday in honor of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. For the life of me I can't figure out why we pretend to honor the man's legacy. He's become nothing more than an icon for the Civil Rights movement. This one day off in January is a way of acknowledging  America's terrible legacy of slavery and de facto apartheid. But the United States in no way recognizes Dr. King's salient message of non violence. Since his death nearly 43 years ago the U.S. has continued to export warfare across the globe, inflicting death and destruction to such far flung places as Vietnam, Iraq and Somalia. The country's military budget swells like the belly of a gluttonous pig. Within the country, gun violence continues and efforts to stem the tide are fought tooth and nail by the NRA which places a higher value on gun ownership than human life.  The African American communities which Dr. King strove to better are particularly riddled by violence and it's brother, poverty. According to the Kaiser Family Foundation, the poverty level among Blacks is 35% nationwide, compared to 14% for whites. And according to the Brady Campaign to End Gun Violence African-American children and teens are almost five times as likely as their white peers to be killed by firearms (11.30 per 100,000 African-American youth vs. 2.31 per 100,000 white youth). Yes the U.S. has its first African American president. Some victory.

The wife and I watched the full five hour version of Ingmar Bergman's Fanny and Alexander (1982) this past weekend. It was like bathing in milk. Actually I don't know that I'd particularly care for bathing in milk. Let's just say that if you've enjoyed the theatrical release you'll love the whole shebang. If you loved the theatrical version, well you're in for an orgasmic experience. Five hours with this film practically flies by. It's so rich in its characters, colors, images and imagination. Add this to the growing list of films I need to devote a full post to.

Not without some justification many people think I'm three-quarters nuts. Particularly on days such as this when it is unseasonably warm, the sun is out and the sky is almost totally cloudless. While you normal people are veritably dancing in the streets I'm miserably awaiting the next cold snap or storm. I really should be living in Northern England. A good mate of mine (hello, Phil) lives there and complains of endless strings of cold, wet, cloudy days. I'd love it. My favorite activities are best or exclusively done indoors: reading, listening to music, watching films, working out, and one other that I shan't mention here as this is a family blog. Anyway I find sunny days boring. Give me clouds, give me sleet, give me high winds. My idea of hell would be living in Arizona year end. This leads to awkward social situations when everyone else is either celebrating the sun or bemoaning the overcast and I'm stubbornly stating the opposite view. Clearly a lot of people just wish I'd go with the flow and follow the weather comments script.

Anyone check out my top ten films for 2010? I presented it, as I've done in the past, without comment. Had I provided a preface or epilogue I'd have railed about what a sub par year it was in films. Usually I have six honorable mentions but this year could barely muster four. And it to have a decent top ten I included two movies that technically were not 2010 releases (The White Ribbon and A Prophet). A small part of the problem was that I wasn't gaga over some of the films that most of you lot loved. I thought The Social Network a fine film but nothing to set off fireworks over. The The King's Speech was, in my mind, flamingly mediocre. The Kids Are All Right was not at all right, in fact I thought it stunk. Almost as bad was Inception, a picture that captured the imaginations of seemingly every 18 year old male in the country. Still I'm not complaining about the off year. Hollywood has had a good run of late and was due for a bit of slump. I've got enough films from the past to catch up with or re-watch anyway.

Thought I should let everyone know that my latest business venture has gone belly up. It seems my idea for non alcoholic whiskey just didn't have a market. I'm now working on the prototype for a home colonoscopy kit. I tell ya, it can't miss!

Wanna get depressed? (Silly question, who doesn't want to feel that life is meaningless and horrid?) Just read the comments that attach themselves like so many barnacles to virtually any news story on the internet. For that matter to many sports or entertainment stories. It's bad enough that people spew such hateful and vile things, but they also carry on nasty arguments with one another. Never mind the total lack of civility, think of the wasted time and energy. It's clear that a lot of folks get in a real lather over what some anonymous bloke living who-knows-where has to say. That same bloke will later return to the article, see the comment on his comment and fire back. It's so bloody easy to be cruel, nasty or viciously sarcastic behind the cloak of anonymity. And such a damn waste of time.

Speaking of waste of times, I hope you enjoyed this latest version of Odds and Ends....

My Frustrations With Film Goers, My Love of a Film Character

Some people think I'm a bit of a grump. In my defense...I am. But yesterday's experience would have tested anyone's patience. It left me to conclude that I should only go the cinema when there's something playing I really, really, really really want to see.

I saw a terrific film yesterday, Winter's Bone, more on that later. Sadly my ability to truly appreciate the film was hindered by some of my fellow audience members. First there was the couple who brought a five course meal. It seemed that every morsel was tightly wrapped in the most crinkly paper ever made. When they weren't rifling through and undoing the bags, they were loudly unscrewing bottle caps and doing what sounded like tearing down a load bearing wall. Finally and simultaneously me and some other patrons expressed our outrage and they put a stop to the cacophony.

Meanwhile and throughout the film, there was a gentleman seated towards the back of the theater who on occasion let loose gargantuan yawns (if they reflected his feeling about the film I'm sure he was brain damaged). I'm equally certain that it is possible to, if not totally suppress a yawn, at least not exaggerate it.

Not to be outdone, one patron's cell phone started ringing and, wouldn't you know it, she had trouble finding it and then turning the bloody thing off. Here's a tip: turn of your cell phone before the movie starts.

The last straw, and yes the very one that fractured the camel's back, came during the climactic scene of the film. Two ladies thought it a good time start discussing the movie. Here's another tip: wait until a film is over before talking about it.

It would have been a really good occasion to see a terrible film, but darn the luck I saw a real corker. I just can't justify spending nearly ten bucks to sit where my fellow man or woman are liable to ruin my experience. At the same time I can't yet give up the big screen experience nor can I stand to wait for the DVD to see certain films. Maybe I should start packing a taser....

As for the film I'll just say I fell in love with the heroine and the actress who played her (and I don't mean in some icky romantic way, she's a 19 year old playing a 17 year old). The character of Ree Dolly and the actress who played her, Jennifer Lawrence, should rightfully be among the iconic screen personas of all time. She was that good. Her creation was that good. That's what I fell in love with. The performance.

Ree is tough times ten. She's in a seemingly impossible situation but doesn't give an inch, or for that matter a millimeter. The setting is the Ozarks, Ree's a high schooler who must raise her younger siblings as her father is physically absent and her mother mentally so. They will lose the house, which was put up for bond, if dad doesn't show up in court and he's nowhere to be found. Ree must find him, dead or alive. People who might help are more than just a little reluctant to do so. Dad and others are, after all, in the business of cooking meth.

It's a bleak landscape full of ignorance, danger and hard simple truths. Ree navigates with an unrelenting purposefulness. She will not back down or be intimidated. So she's a young girl among mean tough men, what of it? She'll look 'em square in the eye then go back home, skin a squirrel and teach her brother and sister how to use a rifle.

Hardscrabble existence? Damn near apocalyptic.

Lawrence will be in a film called The Beaver, directed by Jodie Foster starring...oh my goodness...Mel Gibson, to be released later this year. She has two other films in pre production. If she doesn't become a major star then I'm an even bigger idiot than you originally thought. But at least I don't make noise in movie theaters.

Experience the Sixties Through Contemporary Music, Films and Novels -- Power to the People!

I was there. And I still have the cloth I used to cover my mouth from tear gas. Growing up in Berkeley during the 1960's did not make for a typical childhood. After all, for a short time we had the National Guard bivouacked across from Berkeley High School. Drugs of all variety where readily available and cheap ($1 for a tab of LSD). Attitudes and mores were changing as fast as our teenaged hormones.

There were no pep rallies, even though we had the number one basketball team in the state. The prom was sparsely attended (I assume so anyway, I didn't know anyone who went). Instead of social events we were concerned about social issues. The times were a changin' and doing so in our very midst.

I made frequent trips up the street to the University of California campus for demonstrations.  There were the People's Park demonstrations and anti war and anti draft demonstrations. I saw young people literally thrown into paddy wagons and struck over the head with billy clubs. I also saw a helicopter overhead with streams of tear gas pouring out of it flying directly above me. "My God, my own government is attacking me!" I said aloud. At that moment I became a radical forever. (Some of that tear gas wafted down the road to the junior high school where some years later I would teach.)

The Sixties represented a cultural revolution, the reverberations from which are still felt today. Its roots ran deep and included the Beat Generation of the 1950's and the Civil Rights Movement. It's catalysts were the Kennedy Assassination, the Beatles and outrage over U.S. involvement in the Vietnam War. (In terms of the "spirit of the Sixties" I consider the decade to have been from 1964-1973, as will be reflected throughout this writing). So of course it was also a time of, as the cliche goes, political unrest. Never before have politics and culture been so inextricably intertwined.



Protest songs that were birthed in folk music became integral to the ever changing strains of rock and roll. Young people's music became less about puppy love and more about the times they lived in. Long hair was in and it, along with fashions, became a personal expression not just of individual style but of political leanings. It was a time of free love, hippies, be-ins, open drug experimentation, liberation movements and peace signs.

I was in the heart of it. Living in Berkeley and across the bay from San Francisco where hippies were so prevalent and the Summer of Love took place in 1967.

I remember the time fondly because of the incredible sense of hope and purpose so many of us enjoyed. We believed that we were part of positive change, that mountains could be moved and we could some day live in a world of love not war. While its true that today the world is as violent as ever, significant progress has been made in many areas. Out of the Sixties came an acceptance of humans in all variety. Witness the changing roles not just of women and African Americans but other ethnic minorities, gays, the handicapped and both the young and old. The Sixties forever put a dent into the monolithic power held by older, straight, white Christian males.

The impact the Sixties had on our culture is incalculable. As with politics, everything felt new and important. However we did not have an LBJ or a Nixon in opposition to us, just our hopelessly square parents.

Absent a time machine there's no way to truly experience what a time was like but one can certainly get a sense of a bygone era. It can be fun too. You need not read non fiction books, watch documentaries or visit museums (although those are all wonderful ideas). You can sit back and watch movies, listen to music and read novels.

I have provided 12 movies, songs and books to choose from, all contemporary to the period. Disclaimer: this is not meant to be a comprehensive list. Especially in the case of music where I could have offered five, six, even ten times as many choices.

The problem with films is that the movie industry didn't really catch up to the Sixties until a few years into the next decade. This is mostly a reflection on the nature of film production. The first film on the list is the definitive Sixties movie, the Strawberry Statement. Sadly it is not available on DVD and TCM rarely airs it. However you can watch it on Amazon On Demand and I highly recommend you do so. It is the story of a young college student who finds love and a social conscience though the protest movements then taking place on his campus. I watched it recently for the first time since it its initial release and was amazed at how well it holds up and how accurately it captures the time period. It also features one of the best soundtracks in film history. Other than Getting Straight, a rather weak entry I admit but one that does concern itself with campus protests, none of the films I've listed deal with Sixties per se. However they were all popular then and emboldened our counter cultural beliefs. Especially If..., M*A*S*H and Harold and Maude.

For the songs I've for the most part selected music that not only is of the time but speaks to it. I've included some lyrics in a few cases to illustrate that point. The books start off with two by Jack Kerouac that were written in the Fifties but they certainly were important to the Sixties and popular then. The other books were released in the Sixties and had particular popularity among the young and disaffected.

At the end of included some photos from protests. Mostly from ones I attended, though I know of no picture of me at a demonstration. Perhaps I should check out the FBI files.

It may seem presumptuous of me to dedicate a blog post but in this case I'm going to go ahead: This is dedicated to James Rector, an innocent bystander killed during the People's Park Demonstrations in Berkeley on May 15, 1969. The last photo shows that tragedy.

 Movies:

The Strawberry Statement (1970)
Getting Straight (1970)
Easy Rider (1969)
M*A*S*H (1970)
2001 A Space Odyssey (1968)
If.... (1968)
A Hard Day's Night (1964)
Band of Outsiders (1964)
Bonnie & Clyde (1967)
The Graduate (1967)
The Last Picture Show (1971)
Harold and Maude (1971)

(Also see the Smothers Brothers TV show on DVD. They were cutting edge and constantly embroiled with censors as they took on the war, the administration and all facets of the power structure. They were also very funny and among their guests were the hottest musical acts of the time.)

 Songs:

What's Going On, Marvin Gaye
Father, father, everybody thinks we're wrong
Oh, but who are they to judge us Simply because our hair is long
Oh, you know we've got to find a way
To bring some understanding here today
Oh Picket lines and picket signs
Don't punish me with brutality
Talk to me So you can see
What's going on

Something in the Air, Thunderclap Newman

Call out the instigators
Because there's something in the air
We've got to get together sooner or later
Because the revolution's here, and you know it's right
And you know that it's right
We have got to get it together
We have got to get it together now

Ohio, Neil Young
Tin soldiers and Nixon coming,
We're finally on our own.
This summer I hear the drumming,
Four dead in Ohio.
Gotta get down to it
Soldiers are cutting us down
Should have been done long ago.
What if you knew her
And found her dead on the ground
How can you run when you know?

For What its' Worth, Buffalo Springfield
What a field-day for the heat
A thousand people in the street
Singing songs and carrying signs
Mostly say, hooray for our side
It's time we stop, hey, what's that sound
Everybody look what's going down
Paranoia strikes deep Into your life it will creep It starts when you're always afraid
You step out of line, the man come and take you away
We better stop, hey, what's that sound
Everybody look what's going down

Vietnam Rag, Country Joe and the Fish
Come on all of you big strong men
Uncle Sam needs your help again
he's got himself in a terrible jam way down yonder in Viet Nam
so put down your books and pick up a gun we're gonna have a whole lotta fun
And it's one, two, three, what are we fighting for don't ask me I don't give a damn,
next stop is Viet Nam
And it's five, six, seven, open up the pearly gates
ain't no time to wonder why,
whoopee we're all gonna die
My Generation, The Who
White Rabbit, Jefferson Airplane
Light My Fire, The Doors
San Francisco, Scott McKenzie
Can't Find My Home, Blind Faith
American Pie, Don McLean
Purple Haze, Jimi Hendrix

(Also listen to Janis Joplin; Simon & Garfunkel; Crosby, Stills and Nash; folk singers such as Joan Baez and the Mommas and the Poppas; the British Invasion especially The Beatles as well as such bands as the Kinks and the Dave Clark 5; and soul music like The Temptations, the Four Tops and Smokey Robinson.)

Books:

On The Road, Jack Kerouac
Dharma Bums, Jack Kerouac
Slaughterhouse Five, Kurt Vonnegut
Catch 22, Joseph Heller
One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest, Ken Kesey
Stranger in a Strange Land, Robert Heinlein
A Clockwork Orange, Anthony Burgess 
The Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test, Tom Wolfe
Portnoy's Complaint, Philip Roth
Myra Breckenridge, Gore Vidal
The Graduate, Charles Webb
Cat's Cradle, Kurt Vonnegut

America's Unspeakable Tragedy-- Having to Press One For English

I've become aware over the years that a great number of Americans are upset about having to press 1 for English when dealing with an automated voice system. These objections are quite understandable. We're all acquainted with the difficulty of raising a digit to push a number. I know, I know, its the idea of it that Americans object to. Making accommodations for others is, evidently, un-American.

There seems to be an increase in these type of complaints in the wake of the controversy surrounding Arizona's decision to enact Jim Crow laws in the pursuit of illegal immigrants.

This country has never been particularly kind to newcomers despite it's invitations for anyone and everyone to drop in and stay awhile. To quote the Statue of Liberty:

Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.Send these, the homeless, tempest-tossed to me,I lift my lamp beside the golden door!"

The original illegal immigrants were, of course, those plucky European settlers of the 16th and 17th centuries who terrorized the natives, stole their land and slaughtered any one of them who proved an inconvenience. 

In the early days of the republic, indeed even in colonial times, it was the Irish who came to these fair shores only to be pushed around by the natives. They stayed and made the best of it. Then it was Germans who arrived here only to face harsh discrimination. They stayed and made the best of it. Later Italians showed up only to suffer ill treatment. They stayed and made the best of it. Finally Eastern Europeans, many of them Jews, sought a better life in America and were given a less than warm welcome. They stayed and made the best of it. Asians were next to flock to the land of the free only to be told to get lost. They stayed and made the best of it. Now it is Mexicans and others from Central and South American countries looking for a better life in the US of A. They are suffering the slings and arrows of outrageous discrimination. I venture they'll stay and make the best of it. It is as if there was a sort of unspoken hazing process for newcomers.

America is a melting pot full of xenophobes. Just as it was the home of democracy and equality and yet maintained slavery. That is to say the U.S. continues its paradoxical, contradictory utterly dumbfounding ways.

The harshest thing I can say about this country is, I believe, also one of the truest: it is a nation chock full of whiny babies. A proposed two cent tax on soda, as with any minor tax increases will get hordes of citizens off their sofas and away from their TV sets to scream "socialism!" in mass rallies. No matter who would benefit (sometimes because of) Americans will object to any raise in taxes. Indeed the very notion of any sort of self sacrifice for the greater good seems an anathema to far too many Americans. These are people who object to having to push the 1 on their telephone. It is a far cry from the US during World War II when Americans sacrificed many luxuries without complaint and gladly maintained victory gardens. And it is the polar opposite of John F. Kennedy's call for people to "ask not what their country could do for you but what you could do for your country." You could maybe press one.

I conclude with this scenario: Pedro has moved -- legally -- from Mexico to the U.S. He is gainfully employed as a carpenter. Pedro is good at his work, he's a law abiding citizen and pays his taxes. In addition to working all day he goes to ESL classes every night to improve his English. He is determined to speak and write better English. But when he calls the local cable company to inquire about a bill or a possible change in service he knows that the English voice instructions and menu will be a bit too complicated to understand. So he presses two (it's an option!) and gets all he needs to know in his native tongue. He is thus able to handle his business. Pedro hopes that someday he'll be able to push 1 for English. When that day comes, he'll be proud to do so.

A Message to My Bicycling Friends

Three cheers for our fellow citizens who commute and run errands on bicycles! They are not only helping keep their own bodies hale and hearty but they are vastly reducing their own carbon footprints. Like people who walk places and take public transportation, bicyclists are urban heroes.

But I feel compelled to address my two wheeled friends on several issues of importance. These by no means apply to all cyclists. Indeed the majority of bikers show common sense and courtesy when pedaling. This is to the others.

Small children and the riding of your bike are mutually exclusive. The safety of your child comes first. I've seen some (I'm going to go ahead and use the "i" word) idiots who ride their bikes down busy streets pulling their small tots in little carriages. For protection the child wears a helmet. Yeah, that ought keep 'em safe if a car swerves their way. One wonders if Child Protective Services shouldn't be involved in such cases.

Almost as frightening is the bike-riding parent who has their wee one on a little seat right behind them. Again, the vulnerability of that child is spine tingling and not in a good watching-a-scary-movie type of way. More in the oh-my-God-what-if-there's-an- accident way.

Next we come to those cyclists who don't feel the rules of the road apply to them. Perhaps flushed with pride at their contribution to reducing greenhouse gasses, they feel entitled to flout the rules of the road. Red lights, stop signs? Those are for cars, they seem to reason. Why some even ride against traffic. Be careful, be safe and be sensible. You're to be applauded but not to be given exemption from traffic laws.

Lastly we come to my pet peeve. Those morons who ride their bikes on sidewalks. Please note the name: sideWALK. You have no more of right to ride your bike on walkways than a car does. If you're on wheels you belong on the street, can't have it both ways. Sidewalks are the sole province of people on foot. You can't imperil pedestrians by zipping along sidewalks. And the next time one of you on your bike is behind me and impatiently tries to get me out of your way, I'm going to foreswear my prohibition on violence and wallop you.

I conclude by reiterating that we all owe a debt to those who choose to bicycle rather than motor. It's a shame a few dolts give you lot a bad name.

Xmas Shopping, Silly Things, Stanwyck and Miscellaneous Too

I rather like Christmas shopping and the crowds don't bother me in the slightest. The only other time I don't mind crowds is at a sporting event...

I also don't worry about Christmas being too commercial. That concern was first expressed in the late 19th century and the buying ain't stopping anytime soon...

I further don't think there is a "War on Christmas" nor do I object to Christmas trees in office buildings. There's nothing inherently religious about a tree, they go back to pagan festivals well before late December was co-opted by the Christian church to celebrate the birth of Jesus....

While shopping today I was asked a few times if I "needed help finding anything." This question has never been posed to me at a time when I actually "needed help finding anything." If I do "need help finding anything" you can rest assured that there'll be no store employees for miles around....

I'm baffled by this question that is now asked when making a purchase: "did you find everything all right?" Thus far I've always replied that I did in fact "find everything all right." But does anyone accept the question as a cue to complain about the extreme hardships that were attendant in their search "for everything"? Does that then cause the store to shape up and make things easier to find? Or do heads roll? Just curious....

There's a word that is joining "oh my God" (that's OMG to texters) as being grossly overused. I refer to "awesome." Recently my decision at a restaurant whether to go with the soup or salad was met by the severer with an exclamation of "awesome." And today when finishing a purchase (I found everything "all right") I was asked if there'd be anything else. My response of "no, thanks" elicited an "awesome." Maybe I take the awe part of the word too seriously...

I hate to stray off topic but there's one thing that has always bothered me: why does it "take one to know one"? Never been explained to me...

And another thing, I've found many things hilarious, knee slappingly funny, and side-splittingly mirthful but never, not once has something been "so funny I forgot to laugh." Indeed I never ever need be reminded to laugh. It's always automatic. How then can some people claim that they remain straight-faced because of a memory lapse? Don't make sense to me....

Yesterday I watched Christmas in Connecticut (1945) a film I love far more than I should. I have learned to never question liking a movie beyond its artistic merits. I can get snooty and analytical enough when it comes to appreciating films. When I find something I love "just 'cause" I let it go. One reason I adore this film is because the great love of my fantasy life, Barbara Stanwyck is its star. She's as good here as she was in any movie. So sweet and sexy (that's not an easy combination to pull off) and funny and of course flat out bee-you-tee-full. It don't hurt Christmas in Conn. that it features the always likable Dennis Morgan being especially likable. There are also strong supporting players such as Reginald Gardner, Sydney Greenstreet and S.Z. Sakall. Sakall is a scene stealer here. And in a Stanwyck movie no less! Speaking of Stanwyck, that's her gorgeous puss atop this post. *Sigh* She's the cats.

More on My Cold, Childhood Reminiscences and Eventually Some Stuff About Movies

I don't know how I wrote the previous post. I was as sick as the proverbial dog and as weak as a kitten, to name two types of pets. (Hmm... did I molt like a parrot or was as as vulnerable as a goldfish?) Not only did I write it while in the throes of the bubonic plague -- that's the common cold to you non drama queens or kings -- but it was actually lucid -- at least for me.

I'm particularly amazed because I feel so much better today and yet its still a struggle to write. The great temptation every waking second, is still to slump on the sofa or bed. In moments of great strength I can lift the newspaper or a book high enough to read it. Otherwise I stare either at the TV or out a window. Unless there's a good movie or compelling sports event on the screen the window usually provides more entertainment. At least it doesn't distract the mind from the very important business of thinking. I'm a great fan of thinking and am sorry that it has been de-emphasized in modern culture. In lieu of letting our minds wander we occupy them with TVs, texting, iPhones, twitter, Internet games or blogs that are not as high toned as this one. What's especially grievous is that we've taken away idle time from our children. Bad enough they've got all manner of electronic devices to busy their minds, they tend to have their calendars filled filled faster than a CEO's. That they have calenders at all is a bad sign.

After school ballet lessons or soccer practice, piano lessons, or karate, math tutoring, school projects and the most heinous of all, play dates. I grew up in a different time (yes when dinosaurs roamed the earth, very funny, Kate G.). We used to do fine making our own "dates" and actually got together and organized our own baseball games or football games. We managed without adults "organizing" or "supervising" us. In elementary grades I had a lengthy walk to school. I went not to the neighborhood school but to the one a block from grandma's house so I could have lunch at her home everyday (most of which I fed to her golden retriever). No sane parent alive today would allow their child to walk such a distance, such is the state of paranoia that pervades our society. (For the record, I never let my daughters walk half that distance alone until they were in middle school.) Were our parents negligent? Did they not want to be bothered? Not at all. They just let us do a lot more of our growing up ourselves.

We grew up a lot more self reliant and with the benefit of years of idly thinking. I actually had time to quite regularly go into the backyard and "play." Without benefit of electronic gadgetry I was forced to rely on my imagination. Today children have imaginations provided for them by companies with huge profit margins. People don't much trust their own minds anymore which is why so many folks watch TV commentators and shows that merely re-enforce their already rigidly held beliefs. No use challenging yourself to think when some blowhard with a TV show will do it for you.

True I spent far too much time sitting in front of the TV ("yabba, dabba doo!" I've probably seen every episode of The Flintstones, God help me). But we only had five channels to choose from. If there was "nothing on" we were left to other devices.

Is this one of those blog posts in which he doesn't write anything about movies?

So am I saying that I grew up in the "good ole days?" No, it wasn't Camelot (anymore than today is Spamalot). We didn't know it at the time but for movie watching those were the dark ages.

Finally, he's mentioned movies!

You wanted to see a movie back then, you went to the theater. Or you could watch a movie being shown on the telly, riddled with commercials and if of recent make, edited so you were spared "adult situations." In other words your choices were limited. You might watch The Maltese Falcon (1941) at a revival house, otherwise you waited for it turn up on TV. You wanted to go to the ball yard that night it was on? Make a choice. No such thing as VCRs, DVRs, Tivo or DVD players. Oh and and if you did watch the movie, be prepared for a commercial to pop a long, usually when they got to a "good part."

Today if we I want to watch The Maltese Falcon I walk over to my shelf of DVDs and there it is, I own the damn thing. Let's say I wanna watch Bogie in Key Largo (1948). Well I don't own that but my local video rental establishment is a three minute walk from the house. Checked out? Gosh, I may actually have to wait a few days. All this of course gets back to my vicious cold, which, by the way, I'm beginning to suspect might actually be malaria.

Home bound by illness? Not a problem. I can settle on the sofa with The Marx Brothers, a Preston Sturges film, The Godfather (1972), maybe a Fred and Ginger film or a Busby Berkeley or one of my Bogie DVDs. Not in the mood for any one of them? The video rental store is a stone's throw away and of course TCM (the world's greatest TV station period exclamation point) might have aired something recently that I wisely recorded for later viewing.

All of this is to say that I have survived this recent illness with the help of Vitamin C, Tylenol, cough drops, Kleenex, a comforter and the magic of being able to watch feature length motion pictures right here in my own home. How cool is that?

Way cool, dude!

Hey italics guy, you're freaking me out. Stay the heck out of my posts.

Just trying to help, you're attitude totally --

Out, damn you!

I hope to resume regular film posts featuring my sharp wit, wry observations, insightful comments and hyperbolic adjective laden praise in the next day or so. And if you're wondering why the picture of Melanie Laurent atop this post my response is...you have to ask?

Finding the Truth Hidden Behind the Facts

In his seminal book on America in the Sixties, Nixonland, author Rick Perlstein wrote of the faith Democrats had in their presidential candidate, George McGovern on 1972's election eve. Polls had shown the incumbent Richard Nixon comfortably ahead for months. Perlstein related liberals undying faith to the film, Twelve Angry Men (1957). "It would end like (the movie) where only the jury's prejudices had blinded them from seeing that they were about to condemn an innocent man, and where the liberal's gentle, persistent force of reason had compelled the brutish conservative, by the last reel, to realize the error of his ways."

Alas, politics is rarely like the movies. Nixon won in landslide. (Twenty months later he resigned in disgrace, but that's another story.)

Twelve Angry Men is the story of possibility. How one man, unconvinced in the face of seemingly indisputable evidence, can gradually bring others around. These men must look at facts and find the truth hidden behind them. That one man (played by Henry Fonda -- who better?) does not use histrionics but reason. It is a triumph of logic and examination over bluster, over pomp over "the obvious."

Score one for the intellectual process. How often have Americans been swayed by leaders and voices who speak from the gut rather than the brain. Indeed the previous U.S. president boasted of utilizing his gut. He and his supplicants, both in government and the media, were able to marshal "facts" to convince the vast majority of Americans about the wisdom of invading Iraq. The results were of course the greatest foreign policy debacle in America's history -- which is going some, I know.

There was no Henry Fonda to reason with W. and the American people. Fonda's Juror #8 from Twelve Angry Men could have calmly encouraged a closer look at the "evidence" being presented as justification for war. Why? It's what we're supposed to do in a democratic system. We're obliged to question the obvious.

The United States is and always has been a country riddled with faults. From slavery to the genocide of native tribes to corporate greed to efforts to block health care reform to Fox News, this country has had some serious messes. But this country is full of promises too and full of potential. Much of which can be found by a close study of the country's constitution (which barely survived the Bush/Cheney's years).

A jury of ones peers can sometimes overcome its prejudices through steady deliberation and render a fair verdict. It happens. Twelve Angry Men presents a case that is a veritable miracle. There is no dramatic movement, slow motion camera work or impassioned speeches. Just folks going over the minutia, looking at at it from different angles, until the truth becomes apparent to even the most bigoted. And even he, that most bigoted of men (Lee J. Cob as Juror #3) is exposed for what he is, even to himself. It is a thoroughly compelling film, with nary a special effect and has held up these past 50 years. Kudos to director Sidney Lumet.

Mr. Smith Goes to Washington (1939) is another film which presents a miracle forged by a man using the "system." A senator being railroaded by corrupt influences holds a one-man filibuster to expose the truth hidden behind an avalanche of supposed "facts." He wins against all odds.

Those of us on the political left are often plagued by an excess of idealism. We believe in the power of truth to convert. We think that by shining a bright light on lies and hypocrisy -- look there's a man behind the curtain! --

we can help the masses see the truth about a bumbling president or a wrongly accused man.

Movies like Twelve Angry Men and Mr Smith feed our idealism. But so too does our rare success, as evidenced by W.s plummeting popularity in his last two years.

What led Juror #8 to question the obvious? It was his duty. His duty as a juror. As a citizen. He took his charge seriously. Imagine if half as many U.S. citizens took seriously their duty as Americans. To too many, patriotism is standing solemnly for the national anthem and perhaps, just perhaps, casting a vote on election day. For news and opinion they seek not divergent views but the words of those who will affirm what they already believe. They are swayed by ideologues (there's Fox News again) rather than their own study of the facts to find the truth behind them.

That's a lot of work. It's work most of us don't want to engage in. Juror #8 was willing to do the work and thus the other 11 gradually followed. Jimmy Stewart as Mr. Smith was on the verge of giving up -- always the easier course -- but was persuaded by his aide and love interest Saunders (Jean Arthur) to knuckle down and do the work that would not only vindicate him but bring down a graft ridden political machine.

Here then is the what's so wonderful about these two films. They do not rely on super heroes performing the impossible, but on regular people doing the probable. So miracles do happen. They just require good ole fashioned work. That's how you can find the truth hidden behind the facts.

It Takes All Kinds (Or So I've Been Told)

Growing up I always heard that "it takes all kinds." It was never clear to me just exactly why "all kinds" were in fact required. As I grew older I wondered just exactly why we couldn't get away without certain kinds, such as homicidal maniacs, serial rapists, child molesters and Ann Coulter.

I thus long ago concluded that, taken literally, the concept of having all kinds is undesirable.

I was reminded of this yesterday while riding the bus, a form of conveyance that indeed attracts all kinds. I was minding my own beeswax (which is my wont on buses) reading a book titled "Berlin Games: How the Nazis Stole the Olympic Dream" by Guy Walters about the 1936 Olympic Games in Nazi Germany. I've always been at once intrigued and repelled by the Third Reich. It is equal parts fascinating and horrid. Ultimately nothing good came from it save valuable lessons on the nature of evil.

The gentleman occupying the seat next to me asked what I was reading. I gave him as brief a summary as possible and returned to my reading hoping that what would do.

No such luck.

"Do you know who this is?" he asked showing me photo of man that had been printed from the Internet.

I answered honestly that he looked familiar but I couldn't quite place him.

Heidegger, he informed me adding that the German philosopher was an inspiration to Nazi thinkers.

"Doesn't look Aryan, does he?" my bus mate asked.

"No he doesn't" I allowed still unaware that he was building towards something.

Next he showed me a full page of mug shots showing various leaders of Nazi Germany, Hitler himself among them.

"Do any of them look Aryan?" he asked.

What a coincidence, I thought. Here I am reading about the Nazis and I randomly sit next to someone who has pictures of their leaders. Moreover these pics reveal that the hypocritical b*stards didn't even resemble the Aryan ideal they so extolled.

Then my new friend outed himself as a true loony. "They were all Zionists," he revealed.

Yes, I thought, that would explain their systematic annihilation of 6 million Jews, wouldn't it. (I even think like a smart ass.)

My actual verbal reply was something along the lines of "uhmpfhg."

Before I could form an actual coherent sentence like, "say buddy, ever consider making cyanide a daily part of your diet?" the whackjob showed me a picture of the White House with a Jewish menorah superimposed over it. "You know what this is?" he asked indicating the menorah. Before I could reply he said, with great satisfaction, "a menorah; everyone in the White House now is a Zionist. See, its what they do, they take over governments."

Ya know, the fact that you can photo shop an iconic Jewish image over a picture of the White House is not terribly convincing of anything other than computer skills.

I looked up and saw that we were approaching my stop. I thanked the heavens that this had been a particularly short ride.

"You see what I'm saying," he asked.

"Yes, I do." I replied, meaning, of course, that as far as I was concerned what he was saying was that he himself is a certifiable kook trapped inside a normal looking body.

I knew better than to engage my Zionist-hating friend. People in his frame of mind have switched off the reasonable, rational portion of their brains. Any new information they receive is filtered through their rigid ideology (psychosis). Offering contradictions or alternative views to them are just like lobbing a softball. They'll swing from the heels and try to smash it back at ya.

My stop came and I veritably flew off the bus.

Our culture allows all kinds to speak out. Thankfully it allows us to tune them out if we so choose.

Never Heard of Him

I am second to no one in my appreciation of the world's greatest website, the Internet Movie Database (IMDb). It is absolutely, positively the most comprehensive film website in existence. It's the first place I go after watching a movie (unless I really need to use the bathroom). Want to learn more about the director? Check IMDb. Want to figure out where you'd previously seen that the guy who played the ranch hand? Check IMDb. Looking for reviews of the movie? Check IMDb. Trivia? Alternate Versions? Release date? Awards won? Filming locations? All on IMDb.

How about TV shows? IMDb is your one stop source. Fancy a discussion on a film or TV show? Try their discussion boards. How about if you want to get out of the house? (To see a movie, of course. ) You can find showtimes for theaters near you without leaving the comfort of the good ole IMDb.

Want some news or gossip from the film world? Guess who's got it.

Why they've even got links to some really cool blog posts (occasionally from this very site).

Yes ladies and gentleman, meine Damen und Herren, naiset ja herrat, signore e signori, Mesdames et Messieurs, señoras y señores, the IMDb is practically the only surfing center you'll ever need for everything and anything cinematic.

So what's Mr. Grumpy here got to complain about, then?

A "seemingly" trivial matter. Every day IMDb presents a poll asking readers a film or TV related question such as which is your favorite Paul Newman film or how many movies do you go to a year or what was the best film of the 1980's. The answers may sometimes astound you.

I enter into evidence today's poll question: "Only three directors have won the Academy Award for Best Director three times or more. Which one of these guys is your favorite filmmaker?" The choices were, of course, these notables:

Frank Capra (pictured above) (It Happened One Night; Mr. Deeds Goes to Town; You Can’t Take It with You)
John Ford (The Informer; The Grapes of Wrath; How Green Was My Valley; The Quiet Man)
William Wyler (Mrs. Miniver; The Best Years of Our Lives; Ben-Hur)


Guess who won. No, go ahead, guess....If you said the leading answer, with an astounding 36%, was "I am not familiar with these directors" you are correct.

Not "familiar" with the directors of The Letter (1940) Mr. Smith Goes to Washington (1939) My Darling Clementine (1946), Dodsworth (1936), Meet John Doe (1941), Stagecoach (1939), Arsenic and Old Lace (1944)The Grapes of Wrath (1940), The Roman Holiday (1953) and many, many more? Sacrebleu!

This is a classic example of the abyssal ignorance you come across on the IMDb. There is a huge number of little tykes, or people with the brains of little tykes, who come on the site and vote.

Another feature of the site is that for each movie and TV show you can assign a rating from 1-10. All films thus have a composite rating and you can look up what age groups and genders particularly liked or disliked a film. IMDb also keeps track of its top 250, the ratings leaders. Of all movies ever, guess what's number one? The Shawshank Redemption. A nice enough film, but number one? Ever? The Dark Knight clocks in at number six! Of all time! Two installments of the Lord of the Rings trilogy grace the top 20. Gran Torino, which popped in and out of theaters a few months ago is somehow number 82. Who even knew it had a cult following? Another recent Clint Eastwood offering, The Changeling, appears on the list as do The Incredibles, Finding Nemo and the recently released Caroline.

The top 250 is not surprising heavy on films released in the past ten years.

I am reminded of last year when I was still toiling as a middle school history teacher. I told the class I was going to show them a movie about a mountain man, called Jeremiah Johnson (1972). One student asked if there was anyone famous in it. When I replied, Robert Redford, she smirked "who?" as if I had told her Pernwickle Pennyllcker was the star.

So what we have here is a crotchety old man complaining about all the young whippersnappers who know of nothing pre MTV. Right? Well yes but it goes a lot deeper. Not so many years ago when I was a lad (and dinosaurs roamed the Earth) us young uns knew all the old baseball players and movie stars and even many of the long deceased presidents. Despite the efforts of such teachers as yours truly, today's younger set not only doesn't have a clue, it doesn't much seem to care.

So I could now launch into a lecture on our disposable society, but I think if you've made it this far you get the point.

Anthony Hopkins in the role of John Quincy Adams in Amistad (1997) said, "who we are is who we were." Our culture is in very serious trouble if the younger generations have no awareness of what built it and no appreciation for what those building blocks were. Whether in film, music, sports or politics, to recognize and appreciate those who came before enhances the appreciation of those around today. We are moving so fast so far so recklessly that we are leaving behind some very precious memories. Thank God for DVDs and Turner Classic Movies (world's greatest TV station) and the reverence many sports institutions hold for the past. Still I fear that it is too many of us old fogies who are fondly remembering and enjoying Jimmy Cagney, Benny Goodman and Willie Mays. We need to get our young people on board. For their sakes and the sakes of future generations. We lose something of ourselves as a culture when we lose links to our past.

Now will someone help me down off this soapbox?

Anonymous Doesn't Like Me!

I had a recent post about distractions in movie theaters linked on IMDb's Hit List. As always when I have a post linked there a lot of comments were left. In this case many of the comments were in disagreement with me. That's fine, of course.

However I continue to be surprised and disappointed by how vitriolic some people are. They can't read something they disagree with and move on or just leave their contrary opinion. They get nasty. I was called an "elitist" and told to "get off" my "high horse" and accused of having the "attention span of a four-year-old."

Of course 99% of the time such comments are left by cowards who hide behind the cloak of anonymity. I suppose if a person is small enough to resort to name calling you've got to expect that they're too small to stand behind their words.

The Internet is positively teeming with blogs and message boards where people talk tough from their computers. I'd venture that a lot of them are quite nice when met in person. But when its just them and the keyboard and cyberspace they feel free to let the venom flow. It's too easy to resist, I suppose. For all a person knows the barbs directed their way could come from a 17 year old in Davenport, Iowa, or a 38 year old professor of literature in London or a 52 year old sex offender in your very own neighborhood. Your just who you say you are and if you don't say then you're anyone from anywhere. Let it fly!

I've also noticed a general increase in the nastiness of public dialogue. I used to disagree but respect the voices on the political right. Then along came the likes of Rush Limbaugh and Ann Coulter who make attacks personal. This was brought to the Oval office with the ascension of Karl Rove and the politics of division. Suddenly people who disagreed with the government's actions were accused of being anti-American. I hope that as the Republicans re-tool themselves in the wake of the ass kicking they took last November they decide to drop their more bellicose elements. Hopefully the Limbaughs can become as marginalized as hate groups have been and we can have civil dialogue based on the issues. I though John McCain took a step in that direction with his concession speech.

Meanwhile maybe we can have more civil dialogue on the Internet too, though in this case I know now I'm guilty of wishful thinking.

I welcome anyone to leave dissenting opinions from those expressed on this blog. But if you're going to blast away, be proud and do it from behind your name. And save the name calling for the playground.

Have a Nice Trip!

Next week the the wife, youngest daughter and I are going to Paris for two weeks. Oldest daughter, who's doing her junior year at a university in Finland, will meet us there. Inevitably with this trip, as with any other vacation, I'll mention it in conversation. Ninety per cent of all people will say something along the lines of "sounds like fun have a great time," or will ask a question or pass on a recommendation. But among the other ten per cent are the less gracious responses. Like these:

1) "You know it's real cold/hot there this time of year." Or "it's really crowded/no one is there this time of year." This is a person who's really saying that since they're stuck at home they want to spoil your trip in some small way. They hate for other people to be enjoying themselves or be excited. They're happy to be the rain on your parade. If you root for a sports team in a league or sport that has no connection to them, they'll always point out when your team loses. I root for an English soccer team and I can't tell you how many times people have who've not the slightest interest in the sport will remind me when my team loses. I can tell you exactly how many times theses people have congratulated me on the team's victories. Zero.

2) "Oh yeah, we've been there." Translated: What, you think you're special? As if you thought you were the only person ever to go somewhere fun or exciting. In elementary school this is the person who would ask, "am I supposed to be impressed?" If you were about to be crowned King of England they'd point out how many other kings England has had -- what, you thought you were the first?

3) "We were there ten years ago and blah, blah, blah, yak, yak, yak....." Anything you ever say to this person is just an opportunity for him or her to ramble on with their own story. "You just climbed Mount Everest? Yeah, well let me tell you about the hike we took last weekend."

4) Last, worst and most baffling of all is this: "it must be rough." A few years ago when I told my boss that I was going to miss a few days of work because of a trip to London, that was his initial response. What the hell does it even mean other than that the speaker is totally lacking in grace or charm? Many years ago I told a co worker I was leaving work early. She came back with the "it must be rough." Yeah it was, I was leaving early to have a root canal.

Thankfully the vast majority of people are quite nice. Dealing with all these pleasant folks in the world -- it must be rough.

Mean Streets

I'm subbing at in East Oakland high school today. Many people would refer to it as a ghetto school. I've got no statistics at my finger tips but I'm quite sure that the dropout here roughly equals the graduation rate.

It's a pleasant enough building with well supplied rooms replete with a lot of updated materials, computers included. The neighborhood is one I'd avoid at night and I've never been one to scare easily.

No one I've encountered among the staff or students has been especially unpleasant but neither has anyone been particularly welcoming. Students are quite clearly not academically inclined. The teacher in this room has grades posted (no names ID numbers instead) in each class Fs outnumber all other grades combined.

Judging by appearance most of the students come from lower middle class or downright poor families. Two students were taken out of this classroom and word is they were arrested. No one felt this was an extraordinary occurrence, likely because it wasn't.

In the course of a conversation one girl said, and this is nearly verbatim: "If I get jumped I get jumped, if I get shot I get shot. Don't people know what I've been through already in my life? Don't people know what my home life is like? I'm not scared of nothing." Sadly I believe this 10th grader was speaking honestly.

These young people are lost. They live for the day and perhaps a party or holiday in the near future. Life after high school is an unknown to them. They'll take it when it comes, if it comes. They don't seem depressed. There is a sorrow about them, along with varying degrees of anger but they're too young to sink into depression. Many doubtless have hope, whether realistic or not.

By my estimate 90% of this school is either African American or Hispanic. That doesn't surprise you, does it? The achievement gap has grown, and not just by a little bit, since I was in school. Even with the ascendancy of the country's first African American president this is a topic rarely brought up in public discourse.

Poverty, crime, drug use and high school drop out rates are way out of proportion among people of color. Some people, some schools, some programs are making a difference. But all of these, as worthy and important as they may be, are not part of a systemic or widespread change.

Clearly there are huge issues in education, jobs, drug treatment and other areas that need to be addressed. Otherwise we will continue to have young girls accepting the possibility of their own murders.

Raise Your Hands if You Remember Walking

This was really embarrassing. Earlier this evening I was walking in the crosswalk and found a car stopped in the middle of it, parallel. I had to walk around the car and outside the crosswalk to continue on my way. The passenger door opened as I walked by nearly striking me. I immediately apologized to the driver and passenger, “I’m sorry, I thought this was a crosswalk,” was my smart ass bon mot.

So it seems crosswalks are to be taken over by cars now. I’ll have to stay away from them in the same way I avoid sidewalks. Pedestrians used to be able to stroll on sidewalks before they became the sole preserve of cyclists, joggers and the odd skateboarder (is there any other kind?).

I guess the only place to “walk” is across parked cars or by leaping from rooftop to rooftop. I’m just worried about a whole vertigo deal. I’ve got a friend in San Francisco -- Scotty I calls him -- who’s got a deuce of a vertigo problem. He used to be on the SFPD until he let a uniformed cop fall to his death. Last I heard Scotty was dating some blonde dish. Hope it works out.

Walking is so passe anyway. It’s going the way of the rotary phone. I miss the rotary phone in a purely nostalgic I-don’t-really-mean-it-way. Among the greatest improvements of my lifetime is phones. The whole touch tone business is a time saver and don’t you just love speed dial?

Caller ID is a real gift. Answering the phone used to be russian roulette. It could be your best girl or a telemarketer -- who knew for sure? You’d excitedly pick up the phone thinking it was a job offer only to hear a creditor prophesize your doom unless you paid up but quick. Sometimes with caller ID all you can see is a number and you get into the whole “who the hell is that” business. Thankfully that quandary can be handled by good old voice mail, another thing we didn’t have when I was growing up (around the Bronze Age if you must know).

Best of all is the cell phone. You can call from anywhere. At the grocery store and not sure if you’re out of limburger cheese? Call the better half and ask her to check the fridge.

We live in age of miracles, ladies and gentleman. Phones in our pockets. Phones that can take pictures, even record sight and sound. The missus has an iphone so she can check the internet on her phone and listen to tunes. I’m fine for now with a phone and ipod that are sold separately. I’m such a dinosaur.

Which brings me back to this whole walking thing. The car in the crosswalk might have been the clincher for me. I gotta get me a jet pack.