The Erstwhile Hawk

Movies I saw in a theater (or cinema to my Brit friends) in 2010

2011-01-01T10:59:00.000-08:00

Heh, I guess I didn't get to too many movies this past year. Aha, a resolution I can handle.

Best movie that I saw in 2010:
The Social Network

Just missed being the best:
The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo

2010 Reviews, in reverse chronological order:

Red 3.0/4 (Sandie described it as a laugh-filled bulletfest, a description that I can’t top. Comedy/suspenser, with a killer cast. Willis, Mirren, Freeman, and Malkovich look like they are having a blast as a black ops team getting together for one last time, with a holds-her-own Mary Louise Parker in tow, albeit most reluctantly at first. Don’t look for anything deep and don’t probe too far into the plot but you will have fun nevertheless.)

The Social Network 4/4 (The presumably close to the truth story about the founder of Facebook and the people he walked over. It’s a tour de force of the creation and growing pains of a modern phenomenon. Jesse Eisenberg shines as the lucky to have a friend Mark Zuckerberg and the other actors all hit the right notes too. )

Despicable Me 3.0/4 (Rival wannabe super villains try to outdo each other. However, the latent humanity of one is drawn out ever so slowly by three irresistible little girls. Stays just on the good side of too cute; even a saccharine intolerant movie watching grump like me had my heart captured by the animated little ones.)

Cyrus 3.0/4 (Quirky dark comedy about a suicidal loser (John C. Reilly) who meets a gorgeous woman (the getting lovelier every year Marisa Tomei) who has to be too good to be true. Well, guess what, she is. Slowly the romance becomes ever more endangered by the man-boy child (Jonah Hill) of the woman and competition for her love escalates in very uncomfortable ways. A little contrived but pretty true to itself. Reilly and Hill bite into their roles and chew them up with great relish; Tomei’s character just doesn’t get developed as much as I wanted it to.)

The Micmacs 3.5/4 (A French black comedy about a man who suffers physical and emotional trauma, thanks to weapons produced by a pair of archrival munitions manufacturers. After falling in with fellow misfits, each of whom has one and only one singular talent, our hero plots his revenge. Unique in every way, clever, with great twists, this movie is sparse in (subtitled) dialog, which gives it a very silent movie sensibility.)

The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo 4/4 (Slow-paced yet taut, violent but not prurient, sexual but not very sexy, this is a gripping and chilling Cold Case detective story. Set in Sweden, a soon-to-go-to-jail financial reporter is hired by the scion of a family industrial empire to find out which of the family killed his favorite niece 40-odd years ago. She so happened to have babysat the reporter right at the time of her disappearance. Meanwhile a Goth hacker has been tracking the reporter on-line for her shady company. The dragon-tattooed Goth has lots and lots of serious problems of her own. One day she makes the mistake of emailing him about a clue he's been puzzling over... and the plot takes off from there. A wonderfully different movie but definitely not for the faint of heart; some of the scenes are quite graphic.)

Avatar 3D 3/4 (Sandie and I moved from the 2% who hadn't to the 98% who had seen it. Stunning technical work; I slipped off the glasses and the movie lost a lot without the 3D. Pedestrian story with characters less developed than Star Wars. That I rate a movie with lousy plot and characters a 3 is testament to its technical greatness.)

Crazy Heart 3/4 (See review in main blog -- http://erstwhilehawk.blogspot.com/2010/03/crazy-heart.html)

Books I read in 2010

2011-01-01T10:30:00.000-08:00

Best book that I read in 2010:
April 1865:The Month That Saved America
Jay Winik

Best book that I read for the first time in 2010:
The Bridge on the Drina
Ivo Andric

Best book published in 2010 that I read:
Let Our Fame Be Great
Oliver Bullough

2010 Reviews, in reverse chronological order:
The Civil War of 1812 by Alan Taylor 3.0/4 (The author establishes the conceit that the War of 1812 was mostly a civil war, with switching loyalties, loose boundaries, tories and republicans on both sides of the border of the nascent U.S. and a rather fetal Canada. Taylor pulls off his premise with meticulous detail and concludes that this war actually established separate U.S. and Canadian identities. The book focuses on the Great Lakes/St. Lawrence border fighting, a very confusing and mostly inept set piece of fighting. Not for the faint-hearted, this is a slow but enjoyable read.)

Let Our Fame Be Great by Oliver Bullough 3.5/4 (Ever hear of the Avars? Dargins? Circassians? If you have not been in a cave in the last 15 years you HAVE heard of Chechens. This is a sweeping tale of the last 200 years of the peoples who lived in the wilds of the northern foothills of the Caucasus Mountains. By turns warm and brutal, the author chronicles the pain, suffering and horrors endured by these peoples, mostly thanks to the Russian “need” to control this sensitive area.

The Bridge on the Drina by Ivo Andric, Lovett F. Edwards (Translator) 4/4 (1961 Nobel Lit winner, a wondrously descriptive and masterful story in which a bridge is the hero, from its creation in the 16th century up into WWI. Various folk pass through the life of this bridge, be they Moslem or Christian, with a sprinkling of Jews and Gypsies – complicated by the mix of the various nationalities that make the Balkans such a confusing place for those of us who would like a more orderly distribution of peoples. The affairs of the world impact the bridge and locals, as they do their best to live their lives as they want, sheltered, mostly peaceful and resistant to change, within the strictures that the ever changing affairs of state impose. The only drawback is that it was a very slow read for me.

Thelonious Monk: The Life and Times of an America by Robin Kelley 3.5/4 (incomplete, I finished about ¾ of it) (At 500ish pages of story, it was a little bit more about TM that I needed, especially trying to read it during baseball season, when I am distracted most evenings. That said, an evocative look at a strange but not so strange musician. Monk followed his own muse and lived his life following that muse. Keeley had access to the all the family records and paints a lushly detailed account. To paraphrase one of the Amazon reviewers, you can smell the smoke in the jazz club and visualize the grand piano in Monk’s tiny bedroom. This would be for jazz fans mostly, although it might be of interest to Civil Rights Era aficionados.)

The Time Traveler's Guide to Medieval England by Ian Mortimer 3/4 (Subtitled "A Handbook for Visitors to the Fourteenth Century", a clever exploration of life, death, health, economics, religion and more religion, cleanliness, fashion, indeed everything imaginable about life in England.)

The Vikings:A History by Robert Ferguson 3/4 (Somewhat tangled but always interesting and informative tale of the the raiders and conquerors from Scandanavia. These folks ruled Greenland, Iceland, varying bits of Great Britain and Normandy through the centuries and provided the original form of Russia.)

The American Civil War: A Military History by John Keegan 3.5/4 (The pre-eminent military historian turns his Anglo vision on America's great conflagration. Very probing look at the battles, politics and especially the psychology of both sides. A great book lessened slightly by poor editing. Really, Americans refer to conscription as "the drafts"?)

Keynes: The rise, fall and return of the 20th century's most influential economist by Peter Clarke 3/4 (A nice melange of the theory and practice of Keynesian economics interwoven with a sense of the man himself. Just as the Thatcher/Reagan nexus rebelled against Keynesians, post-Keynesians are rebelling in a way against ThatcherReagans. Interesting personal tidbit, did you know that Keynes was a very close friend of Virgina Wolff?)

Once More Around the Park by Roger Angell 3/4 (Another book that I picked up from the library that I had read before but didn't realize until I was part way into it. What's silly is that I already owned the book and it was sitting about 10 feet away from me on a shelf in our family room. The book is a series of ruminations by the noted author on a variety of baseball topics, such as catchers, Bob Gibson, the '79 Pirates and others. My favorite story was about Ron, hanging on in indy ball at 30 years old and Linda, who is fine with Ron hanging on to just play ball for another year or two. The only thing that I didn't like about this book is that Angell is often too writerly, his analogies and fancy words distracted me from the flow of the story. This book is about baseball, not poets or statesmen.)

Lost Highway by Peter Guralnick 3.5/4 (Late '70s set of stories about country, rockabilly and blues musicians, lovingly told without ignoring the warts. Well-written, with the story lines being propelled using both interviews and just plain hanging on tour. Sections include Honky Tonk Heroes, Hillbilly Boogie, Honky Tonk Masquerade (think 70's Outlaws) and the Blues Roll On.)

April 1865:The Month That Saved America by Jay Winik 4/4 (This was a reread for me -- a stunning book, with a strong premise meticulously realized while vividly written. See full review in main blog -- http://erstwhilehawk.blogspot.com/2010/01/april-1865the-month-that-saved-america.html.)

Crazy Heart

2010-03-14T18:58:00.000-07:00

I try to write my mini-review for the side panel within a day or two of seeing a movie on the big screen or finishing a book. So what has kept me from writing about Crazy Heart, which I saw more than 2 weeks ago? I had such great expectations, especially for the performance of Jeff Bridges as Bad Blake. While I surely enjoyed the movie, thought that it held together at the end in an honest way and rooted for Bad to conquer his demons, I was mildly disappointed overall. Still, it just eeks out a 3/4.

Let me list the things about the movie that I didn't like.
1. The character of Jean (Maggie Gyllenhaal) falling for Bad. There's 28 years difference in real life and the same for the characters in the movie. So a good-looking, if lonely 30ish woman is going to fall for a totally dissolute 57 year old, which is the given age of Bad in the movie? Only in a 57 year old man's fantasy. The character of Jean would have worked much better if she were considerably older; say an attractive grandmom who has care of a grandchild. Grandmom could have built up considerable gravitas through life's misfortunes to match that of Bad's mostly self-inflicted misfortunes. A character who has gone through say divorce and a widowing, daughter in jail/on the streets, scraping out a living; what a rich character that could have been.
2. Bad goes to one AA meeting and seemingly gets the cure.
3. For a woman with a part-time job on a minor newspaper, Jean lives in this nice house on several wooded acres -- far too nice for someone in her place in life. She seemingly can travel on whim as though she has money to spare.
4. Bridges' performance as Bad seemed like an easy role; maybe playing dissolute is harder than I think.

Now there were things to like about the movie:
1. The acting was generally solid overall.
2. The music was a very nice fit to the storyline.
3. I thought that relationship and interplay between Bad and Tommy Sweet (Colin Farrell) worked very well.
4. Even though the character of Wayne wasn't well developed (nor did it need to be), I love Robert Duvall as a crusty old guy, so it's always a treat to see him.
5. I loved the seediness of the joints where Bad played, especially the bowling alley. That framed the "how far he has fallen" setup nicely.

Okay, I feel better for having written this up. I will not be surprised if upon re-viewing the movie my review might improve. Some day I'll watch it on TV and see if my feeling about it changes or not.

April 1865:The Month That Saved America by Jay Winik

2010-01-19T18:21:00.000-08:00

I remember reading the review for "April 1865:The Month That Saved America" by Jay Winik when it first came out in 2001 and wanting to read the book. When I spied it on the library shelf three weeks ago, I couldn't remember whether I had read it before or not. Not remembering if I had read it is not quite as damning as it might sound since I typically read 2-3 books a year about the Civil War or its dramatis personae. As it turns out, I had read it before but that's okay -- it is a stunning book, with a strong premise meticulously realized while vividly written.

The premise is almost simple on the surface; wise decisions by 5 major players and several smaller ones set the United States on a path that allowed it stay together despite the trauma and errors of Reconstruction and its Jim Crow aftermath. These decisions laid the groundwork for the U. S. to slowly move towards its potential as the great beacon of freedom. Had some or all of the decisions not been made, the United States, if it existed at all, would be very different than it is today.

Winik does a masterful job of propelling the story linearly while delving liberally into the background of the South and the North as well as the major characters. The reader learns that the United States was hardly a country in some ways, such that when people formally talked about their country they used the plural form, "these" United States. People thought of themselves as citizens of their states first, country second, if they even indeed ever thought of the latter. This feeling was especially prevalent in the South, where the great John C. Calhoun had been a South Carolinian, thank you and South Carolina should be able to nullify any federal law if it so chose and could secede whenever it wanted. Robert E. Lee was a Virginian, so much so that even though he was against secession, he turned down the Union command 5 days before accepting the command of the Army of Northern Virginia. Even the New England states flirted with secession during the War of 1812.

Naturally the author delves into the raison d'être of the war, slavery, which was the major failure¹ of our otherwise farseeing Founding Fathers. Wise as they were, they had no solution for the great question of slavery. They left that for another "day", which came approximately "four score and seven years ago" later.

The great players as seen by the author are first and foremost, Abraham Lincoln, whose unerring belief in the Union and the need to preserve and restore it, was the foundation upon which he based all his actions, including the slow pace which he took to end slavery. His belief in a peaceful peace, without retribution, without vengeance, without labeling even Confederate President Jefferson Davis a traitor, set in motion a quick joining of North and South, that while tenuous, was cemented enough to hold once the real problems of the post-war set in. Lincoln was careful to instill this spirit in his 2 mighty warriors, Grant and Sherman. And as brutal as they were in war, no matter how Hun-like as they were viewed by Southerners, neither wanted any more carnage. Their treatment of their vanquished foes set the tone of a peaceful surrender and feelings of mutual good will between the fighters on both sides.

Jefferson Davis is not one of the great five. Davis was also a complex man and was the one man who came the closest to causing the war to drag on for years after it did. Davis only gave up after his armies had all done so, spending the month after Lee's surrender as a president on the run. He commanded Lee and General Joseph Johnston, head of the Confederate Army of the East, to take to the hills and fight a guerilla war. Lee disobeyed first, primarily driven by starvation (his men were already dying and his last ditch effort to get supplies was botched) but also understanding that enough was enough. If he continued fighting, Lee could only see deprivation for little real gain. He no longer had the heart to ask his men to do any more. It was time to return to family.

Lee's surrender to Grant at Appomattox was hardly the end of the war. Joseph Johnston still commanded the Army of the East and was ordered by Davis to head west and take to the hills. He decided to meet with his opposite, Sherman, and when given the most generous terms, decided to surrender. It took a number of days, mainly due to some modifications required by the Union Senate and during the second subsequent meeting, Johnston agreed to the still generous Sherman terms. Johnston saw the same issues as Lee, minus the starvation in Johnston's case, but since Lee had laid down his sword, Johnston could take comfort from emulating the lead of the great hero of the South.

Several other characters had somewhat more minor roles but played against form for a brief moment helping the return to union. The dreaded guerilla Nathaniel Bedford Forrest also capitulated to generous terms; his army could have survived indefinitely in the hills or in Texas. Those terms however did not mellow Forrest, and while he abided by the surrender, he reached even greater infamy by starting the Ku Klux Klan. And the new President of the United States, Andrew Johnson, had his one brief shining moment when he stood up to Congress, which wanted to impose onerous penalties on the South.

The final chapter, Reconciliation, discusses the immediate aftermath of the war. Stunningly, with all the hatred burning red hot, people North and South begin to use the word "nation" as though they were lurched into a new world where country trumped state. "The" United States replaced "these" United States in everyday usage. Touchingly, the last few paragraphs of that chapter tell the tale of a first stirring of the possibility of a southern white accepting a black person with a level of equality. "The black man slowly lowered his body, kneeling, while the rest of the congregation tensed in their pews" is the evocative introduction to a story that will move you. This vignette closes the narrative and only then, knowing that I had been so moved before, was I 100% confident that I had indeed read the book before.

The book closes with an Epilogue of two parts: rapid fire comments about the end-of-war status of the movers and shakers of the last third of 19th century America, followed by a "true" epilogue, a summation of the author's conclusions. While understanding where Carnegie, Rockefeller, Henry Ford, et al stood in April, 1865 is interesting, it doesn't add to the conclusion. That is my sole quibble with the book -- it has an extraneous interesting half chapter. Not too shabby.

While I would suggest a rudimentary knowledge of the American Civil War before tackling this book, if you know nothing about the war I think that Winik gives you enough background to allow you to enjoy the book and understand the author's intent.

P. S. For those of you who still subscribe to the Sunday paper, AND whose paper carries the Parade Magazine, AND the name "Winik" looks vaguely familiar, it's because the author's wife contributes to the magazine under her unique appelation, "Lyric Wallwork Winik".

¹ I would also posit that a more clearly written 2nd amendment would have been helpful, but its legacy pales when compared to perpetuating, nay, encouraging slavery.

Movies I saw in theaters in 2009

2010-01-01T11:43:00.000-08:00

Best movie that I saw in 2009:
Adventureland
The characters ring true in this warm-hearted look at young folks whose lives are not quite meeting their expectations.

2009 Reviews, in reverse chronological order:

Up in the Air 3/4
Interesting mix of comedy juxtaposed against a backdrop of a very depressing corporate downsizing environment. Clooney, with his Cary Grant ease, is fine as a man facing up to the emptiness of his life.

Sherlock Holmes 3/4
I was pleasantly surprised by this film's Holmes-iness, compared to the mayhem emphasized in the trailers. Downey works as a bi-polar Holmes, Law is terrific as a competent Watson, McAdams is a lovely femme fatale (or is she?); the rest of the cast works as well.

The 400 Blows 3.5/4
Truffaut's breakout film. Semi-autobiographical story of a troubled adolescent with uncaring parents and hateful teachers. First time in 30 years that I saw it, I was slightly less moved this time as it seemed a bit dated to me.

The Fantastic Mr. Fox 3/4
Fun, clever and quirky bit of animation. I'm not quite getting the 4 star love from the critics but a joy regardless.

Men Who Stare at Goats 2.5/4
Amusing, wacky with a couple of LOL moments but ultimately a mildly unsatisfying redemption movie.

Moon 3.5/4
Unusual and unsettling sci-fi about a man working alone on the moon. Is he really alone and how much of his existence is real?

A Day at the Races 3.0/4
Top of the second tier of the Marx Bros. movies, good anarchy but a very dated extended song and dance number that is very racist by today's standards.

Girls Town 1.5/4
But 4/4 for sheer fun 1959 style. Wanna see Paul Anka punch out Mel Torme? Elinor Donahue as Mamie Van Doren's sister?

Star Trek 3/4
A few too many impossible mini-cliff hangers -- like most current adventure movies -- but well presented with nice tie-ins to the original TV series.

Sugar 3.5/4
One of the best movies ever dealing with a baseball theme. Ultimately it's the story of a stranger in a strange land finding a second home.

Adventureland 4/4
The characters ring true in this warm-hearted look at young folks whose lives are not quite meeting their expectations.

Sunshine Cleaning 3/4
No capsule.

Frost/Nixon 3/4
No capsule.

The Curious Case of Benjamin Button 3/4
No capsule.

Milk 3.5/4 (Can you say Best Actor Oscar?)
No capsule.

Books I read in 2009

2009-12-24T17:54:00.000-08:00

Best book that I read in 2009:
Parting the Waters: America in the King Years 1954-1963
Taylor Branch

Narrowly beating out:
Crabgrass Frontier: The Suburbanization of the United States 4/4
Kenneth T. Jackson

Best book published in 2009 that I read:
Fifty Miles from Tomorrow: A Memoir of Alaska and the Real People
William L. Iggiagruk Hensley

2009 Reviews, in reverse chronological order:
Thomas Cromwell: The Rise and Fall of Henry VIII's most Notorious Minister 3/4
Robert Hutchinson
Straightforward biography of the brutal Henry VIII's also brutal but loyal minister. Cromwell and Henry would not have had too many difficulties governing in the Stalinist Soviet Union.

Juliet, Naked 3/4
Nick Hornby
Cusp-of-40 women faces her life -- 15 year live-in arrangement with music obsessive man. Woman gets into email exchange with singer/songwriter object of obsession. All 3 face truths about themselves. Very easy and fun read in spite of somewhat depressing characters.

Eureka Man: The Life and Legacy of Archimedes 3.5/4
Alan Hirshfeld
Both a biography of the lightly documented Archimedes and a detective story of a first copy of some of his writings that have been uncovered only in the last 100 years. Told somewhat non-linearly, with occasional snappy phrases. And lots of cool Greek words like palimpsest and Euchologion; mini-histories of writing media such as papyrus, parchment and paper. Like Sesame Street, you'll learn in spite of the fun.

The Hawk and the Dove: Paul Nitze, George Kennan and the History of the Cold War 3.5/4
Nicholas Thompson
Nitze's grandson writes a compelling dual biography of friends and politcal opposites. Somewhat "Bomb"-centric perhaps, but a well researched and enlightening story.

Lonesome Dove 3.5/4
Larry McMurtry
It's been sitting on our shelf for at least 15 years unread by me, after several partial viewings of the mini-series, I decided to finally dive in. Lusty (in many ways), moving, epochal and a just plain good read. As soon as I was finished, I started plotting how I would handle the characters in a sequel.

Lost to the West 3/4
Lars Brownworth
Covering a millenium in less than 400 pages necessitates leaving out some details, as the author steps through the uh, byzantine paths of the emperors, usurpers, regents, evil brothers that somehow held the Eastern Roman Empire together, preserving the Greek and Roman culture until the West was civilized enough to take over stewardship of these ancient cultures.

The Silence and the Scorpion 3.5/4
Brian A. Nelson
Well structured and even-handed look at the coup vs. Chavez in 2002. Interleaving stories as told by dozens of participants is a very effective techique for telling the story.

Why Popcorn Costs So Much at the Movies 3/4
Richard B. McKenzie
Interesting collection of "pricing puzzles", written for Economics "civilians", as Prof. Salvucci calls us. Topics such as the title, planned "After Christmas Sales", "Free" printers and why men will always earn more than women are posited, among others.

The Corporal Was A Pitcher: The Courage of Lou Brissie 3/4
Ira Berkow
Inspiring story of a hard-throwing lefty, who after taking near fatal damage to his left leg in WWII, convinces the doctors not to amputate and becomes an all-star.

The Age of the Unthinkable: Why the New World Disorder Constantly Surprises Us and What We Can Do About It 3?/4
Joshua Cooper Ramo
Kissinger Associate Managing Director takes aim at the too single minded approach of US foreign policy and then kinda/sorta encourages us to virally do something. I may need to reread this and see what I missed about the call to action.

Tear Down This Myth 3.0/4
Will Bunch
A 2009 book that explores the Far Right's Myth Making machine about the Reagan legacy. While the Fox propagandists would howl over this book, the myth of the Warrior, NoTax 40th president is exploded. The author does give Reagan credit for his negotiations with Gorbachev and for being pragmatic and letting taxes rise 13 times after he got his original tax cut in 1981. A bit too repetitive at times.

Parting the Waters: America in the King Years 1954-1963 4.0/4
Taylor Branch
922 pages of densely packed narrative about the early days of what we call the Civil Rights era. It's a compelling story of bravery, fear, anger, politcal infighting and official cowardice, including the cowardice of the sainted Kennedys. Stunning book.

The Planets 3.0/4
Dava Sobel
Short, fun, quirky look at our solar system. The chapter on Mars is narrated by a Martian rock that was found in Anarctica!

Body Copy 2.5/4
Michael Craven
Pleasant enough mystery with some good plot twists and a plausible conclusion. The PI is stereotypical, however.

A Colossal HOAX: The Giant From Cardiff that Fooled America 3/4
Scott Tribble
Slightly long but enjoyable story of the Cardiff Giant, a hoax from 1869 that is symbolic of its times -- an America that was just starting to move to modernity.

Fifty Miles from Tomorrow: A Memoir of Alaska and the Real People 4/4
William L. Iggiagruk Hensley
Fascinating autobiography of a man helping his fellow natives navigate the changes brought on by Alaskan statehood. He also has to navigate through his own life.

Crabgrass Frontier: The Suburbanization of the United States 4/4
Kenneth T. Jackson
Well-researched and well-written analysis of why suburbanization, while not unique to the U.S., reached its most extreme levels in the U.S. The author shows how suburbanization goes back to the early 19th century and is just not a 1950s phenomenom.

Palestine Inside Out: An Everyday Occupation 3/4
Saree Makdisi
Somewhat repetitive look at the horror that is the day to day life of Palestinians. You should be moved.

The wink of the zenith : the shaping of a writer's life 3.5/4
Floyd Skloot
Fascinating memoir based on the fragmented memories of the author, who suffered viral brain damage but managed to look at these fragmented memories and gain understanding into what made him what he is today.

Twilight Teams 2.5/4
Jeffrey SJ Stuart
Good idea, tracking last year of baseball franchises prior to their moves but not terribly well written or edited.

Scorsese 4/4
Roger Ebert
Ebert's a terrific writer and Scorsese is our great living director. Great expectations; expectations realized.

House of Morgan Incomplete/4 (Probably a 3.0/4)
Ron Chernow
I was exhausted by the time I got to Jack Morgan's death -- well written enough but 700+ pages of banking, politics and the personalities of bankers. I ran out of gas on this one and didn't read the last 100 pages or so.

Movies I saw in theaters in 2008

2009-08-17T18:59:00.000-07:00

I decided to move these off the sidebar to help clean things up a bit.

Slumdog Millionaire 3.5/4
Bollywood meets Regis (sort of)! A cleverly crafted boy meets girl story with the Bollywood touch.

Taxi Driver 4/4
Still holds up, even if I saw a crappy print. "You lookin' at me?"

The Big Lebowski 4/4
Crazed fun. The 2 Busby Berkeley dream sequences just knocked me out, dude.

Vicki Christina Barcelona 3/4
Beautiful people, well-crafted, but I don't buy that artists are so special that they should live by different rules

Lawrence of Arabia 4/4
The first half is the best first half of any movie; the post-intermission part is merely great

Encounters at the End of the World 3.5/4
Werner Herzog visits McMurdo Bay, Antarctica -- what more do you need?

Mongol 3.5/4
Another stunner, about the rise of Genghis Khan. Not a life for the faint hearted, that's for sure

The Fall 3.5/4
Visually stunning, trippy period piece about a suicidal actor at the end of the silent movie era

The Visitor 3.5/4
College prof disengaged from life finds squatters in his in-town apartment; they slowly warm to each other. Very warm.

Iron Man 3/4
Well done superhero stuff

Young@Heart 4/4
See my separate post

The Band's Visit 3/4
Egyptian police band gets off at wrong stop in Israel; warm-hearted look at the universality of people being people

In Bruges 4/4
Honor code amongst hit men extraordinarily well done and acted. True to itself through and through. I came away learning that there are two kinds of people in the world, those who think Bruges is a fockin' fairyland and those for whom hell is fockin' Bruges. Uh, don't bring the kiddies.

Persepolis 4/4
Wonderful, wonderful animated film about a young lady's life during and after the Iranian revolution of the 70s and her eventual escape to study in France.

There Will Be Blood 4/4
Strong, violent study of an oilman's rise to wealth and how his unchecked ambition builds an empire and destroys his soul.

Books read in 2008

2009-08-17T18:46:00.000-07:00

I figure that moving the books I read less recently off the sidebar would improve the look of the blog.

President Lincoln: The Duty of a Statesman 4/4
William Lee Miller
Fascinating look at the moral underpinnings of Lincoln's decisions

The Power Broker: Robert Moses and the Fall of New York 3.5/4.0
Robert A. Caro
Prepare for a long hard but worthwhile read

The Catcher Was a Spy: The Mysterious Life of Moe Berg 3/4
Nicholas Dawidoff

Winning the Peace, the Marshall Plan & America's Coming of Age as a Superpower 2/4
Nicolaus Mills

Taking on the Trust, The Epic Battle of Ida Tarbell and John D. Rockefeller 3/4
Steve Weinberg

The Jedburghs 2.5/4
Lt. Col. Will Irwin (Ret.)
Higher if you are a big WWII buff

The Visual Display of Quantitative Information 4/4
Edward Tufte

Now, Discover Your Strengths 3/4

Baseball Prospectus 2008 3.5/4
Hate the font

The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford 3/4

Could Fr. Senye Really Have Said Something Funny?

2009-08-15T13:51:00.000-07:00

Fr. Senye was the intimidating Headmaster at Devon Prep in the late 1960s. With his pitch-perfect Bela Lugosi as Count Dracula Hungarian Accent™, his most formidable proboscis, and his hawk-like stare, a fired up Fr. Senye was a indomitable opponent to any student who rebelled against the 19th century mindset of the Piarist Fathers.

One day in my sophomore or junior year, I stayed after school to hang around and watch the school team play basketball in the evening. A number of other guys were doing the same thing. Some of us decided that we needed to play some poker, as we missed the afternoon version of our rolling poker game that took place daily on our school bus rides. We went to the back of the gym, in one of the side rooms alongside the stage. It was a pretty out of the way place.

After a few hands we drew quite a crowd of observers. One game, Jacks or Better, went on for a number of deals. Finally, we were down to two players, Billy Wilson and me, and a monstrous 7 bucks in the pot. Sitting with my back to the door, suddenly the atmosphere in the little room changed, as a voice rang out, "Waaal, I see we have a DO-nay-tion for the MEEE-tions". Of course I almost jumped out of my skin, but had the sense to gather in my money as Fr. Senye grabbed the pot for his favorite mission. We got a tongue-lashing up in the Headmasters office in which we were informed that our parents would get a letter. For me, all I got was a second tongue-lashing from my Dad for being stupid enough to get caught.

Years later when remembering the incident, it dawned on me just how funny the line was that the good Father laid on us.

Long versions

2008-06-04T09:58:00.000-07:00

I heard the long version of "Suzie Q" by Creedence Clearwater Revival today. It had been so long since I had heard this version that I forgot that it even existed. Of all the long/short version songs that I grew up with, this is the only one that comes to mind that I like better in its shortened form.

Short versions were created for Top-40 or AM radio stations, trying to keep the song's length under what I'd presume was 3 minutes. Sometimes late at night, they would play the long version, preceded by a lot of hype.

Here are the long/short version songs that I can think of off the top of my head:
"Light My Fire" -- The Doors. It's the first one of this ilk as I remember it. The cutover to the short version is so abrupt. Our local oldies station, which plays almost all 70s music these days, still plays the short version. Grrr, I always feel cheated. Our Classic Rock station plays the long version.
"25 or 6 to 4" -- Chicago. Also played in truncated style on the oldies station and long version on the Classic Rock. By this time the engineers had figured out a much smoother transition in the short version.
"We Won't Get Fooled Again" -- The Who. Hard to believe? This version didn't last long on AM when it came out. It's been a really long time since I heard the short version. IIRC, it was a very abrupt cutover.
I may be misremembering, but I thought "Layla" came out in a short version. Even if it did, who would want to hear it? It was bad enough that Clapton did it "Unplugged". (Indulge me a little hyperbole, please.)

If anyone happens by and can comment on other songs, I'd appreciate it. I'm sure there are others -- candidates would have been "You Keep Me Hangin' On" by Vanilla Fudge and "In-a-gadda-da-vida" (sp?) by Iron Butterfly but I can't recall a short version of those.

Update 11-Nov-2008:
I recently heard 2 songs that had long and short versions but I only remember one of them. In this case, the long version is worse than the short version. It's Marvin Gaye's "What's Goin' On?".

Family Diner:Miriam

2008-05-05T18:40:00.001-07:00

I was talking to Marian at work today and found out that she went to Norristown High. That got me thinking about the girls I knew from Norristown with whom I worked at the Family Diner. I worked at the Diner from 1966-1969 from my sophomore through senior years of high school. Other than Lorraine, the girl for whom I had big time crush, the Norristown High girls weren't as significant to me as the older waitresses and hostesses.

I didn't much get along with my folks at this stage of my life, especially my dad. I would go out of my way to avoid him so I didn't have to talk to him. I would hang around the Diner on Sunday nights after finishing my shift and cadge a dinner there rather than eat with my family.

I didn't get along so well at school, either. I went to Devon Prep, run by an order of priests whose ideas of education were 19th century at the latest. I was a wise-ass, late sixties style, and most of the priests had a low threshold of tolerance for that kind of silliness. I was also a duck out of water, as Devon was a prep school and the majority of the kids came from money. Our family was not poor but outside of food, clothing and shelter, there were precious few amenities. Up to age 18, we had 4 family vacations and two of those were spent visiting relatives. To further differentiate me from the well-off kids, I was paying my own tuition. I had won a half-scholarship but if I wanted to go to Devon, I had to pay the other half. Mom and Dad didn't have the dough. It seemed like the right idea at the time... I doubt there were many prep school kids paying their own way, even half.

So the Diner provided a family of sorts for me, it was my safe haven. I was generally well liked and felt respected by the older workers. Even Joe the owner treated me pretty well -- better than he treated his customers, that's for sure. The workers included some mother figures, as well as women of very dubious character, some mostly tough girls from Norristown, later a bunch of high school guys who became my running mates and a lot of negative adult male role models. As you might guess, I learned more about life at the Diner than at school.

The first woman I want to write about was a waitress named Miriam. She was my favorite of all the waitresses. She worked 7-3, M-F. That meant that I only worked with her in the summers. If I had a day off school, I would make sure that I would come in for a soda or a cup of coffee during the slow times so I could sit at her counter and talk to her.

Miriam must have been in her 50s, as crusty as anyone I've ever known. She was not married at the time and I think she had never married. She didn't take any crap from "Mothers", as she would call them. If some guy gave her some crap at the counter, she would walk away sing-songing "They're Mothers, they're all Mothers". Most of the teen-age guys I worked with were scared of her. But Miriam was my buddy and she would listen to my bitching about my family. I don't think she had much in advice to offer but she'd listen, and that was a big deal to me.

Miriam was also Jewish, which made her an oddity at this Diner. She was the first Jewish person who I really knew. Our next door neighbors were Jewish but their kids were many years younger so we didn't interact.

The coolest thing about Miriam was that she smoked cigars. Not the big stogies, just Tiparillos. When I asked her why she smoked cigars, she said that it was because she didn't want to inhale. That made sense to me.

After I went away to school, and moved on to another summer job, I didn't see Miriam for a while. After a couple of years, I stopped in one morning and happened to catch Miriam on a break. Much to my surprise, she was smoking cigarettes. I immediately asked her why she was smoking cigarettes and she responded that she started inhaling the cigars, so she thought cigarettes would be better if she was going to inhale. That made sense to me.

Well, that turned out to be the last time I saw Miriam. Shortly after that, the owner bailed out and closed up shop. Years later, I looked in the phone book but it had no listing that could have been her. Since she'd be at least 90 at this point and maybe as much as 100, I doubt that I'm going to run into her again. So a belated thank you, Miriam, for befriending a dumb kid struggling to find his way.

Young@Heart

2008-05-05T18:33:00.000-07:00

Sandie and I saw Young@Heart this weekend. It's a documentary about a chorus of senior citizens and their music director but it isn't really about that. It's about the human spirit, about people who have decided that they are going to live whatever life they have to the fullest. They are not trying to cheat death, unless it interferes with their next scheduled performance.
If you are not moved by this film, then you'd better go visit a shrink and find out why all your emotions are bottled up.

Stuck Inside Mom's Basement With the Spreadsheet Blues Again

2008-02-28T07:12:00.000-08:00

Oh, the Budman talks in circles
Up and down the block.
I'd ask him what the matter was
But I know that he don't talk.
And the reporters treat him kindly
And blindly capture words on tape,
But deep inside my heart
I know I can't escape.
Oh, Mama, can this really be the end,
To be Stuck Inside Mom's Basement With the Spreadsheet Blues Again.

Well, Prospectus, it's out of the galleys
With its pointed barbs and its stats,
As confusing as some French girls,
Who wear those beret hats.
And some don't get the message
To find out how much he's walked,
Ignore the bases stolen
And the algorithm is locked.
Oh, Mama, can this really be the end,
To be Stuck Inside Mom's Basement With the Spreadsheet Blues Again.

Mona tried to tell me
Don't buy the public funding line.
She said that all the owner men
Just drink up your tax like wine.
An' I said, "Oh, I didn't know that,
But then again, there's only one I've met
He charged 10 bucks a beer
An' 5 for the toilet."
Oh, Mama, can this really be the end,
To be Stuck Inside Mom's Basement With the Spreadsheet Blues Again.

Selig died last week
And now he's buried in the rocks,
But everybody still talks about
How badly they were shocked.
But me, I expected it to happen,
I knew he'd lost control
When he built a fire for contraction
Til the plan was shot full of holes.
Oh, Mama, can this really be the end,
To be Stuck Inside Mom's Basement With the Spreadsheet Blues Again.

Now the senators grandstanded
Showing off their acumen,
Handing out free tickets
To the grilling of Clemens.
McNamee's already busted
Roger tapdanced through the fuss
Sidestepping the inquisition
Throwing his wife under the bus.
Oh, Mama, can this really be the end,
To be Stuck Inside Mom's Basement With the Spreadsheet Blues Again.

Now Plaschke looked so baffled
When I asked him why he dressed
With twenty pounds of headlines
Stapled to his chest.
But he cursed me when I proved to him,
Then I whispered, "Not even you can hide.
LoDuca was a bad guy,
I hope you're satisfied."
Oh, Mama, can this really be the end,
To be Stuck Inside Mom's Basement With the Spreadsheet Blues Again.

Now the trainer gave me two cures,
Then he said, "Jump right in."
The one was lidocaine,
The other was just a vitamin.
An' like a fool I mixed them
The swelling was not sublime,
My butt's just getting uglier
An' I may have to do some time.
Oh, Mama, can this really be the end,
To be Stuck Inside Mom's Basement With the Spreadsheet Blues Again.

When Babe Ruth says come see him
In his Field of Dreams lagoon,
Where I can watch him play for free
'Neath a daydream moon.
An' I say, "Aw come on now,
You must know about the drag bunt."
An' he says, "Your drag bunt shows off your speed
But homers are what you want."
Oh, Mama, can this really be the end,
To be Stuck Inside Mom's Basement With the Spreadsheet Blues Again.

Now the bricks stand at Wrigley
Where the neon madmen climb.
They all fall there so perfectly,
It all seems so well timed.
An' here I sit so patiently
Waiting to find out what price
You have to pay to get out of
Going through all these things twice.
Oh, Mama, can this really be the end,
To be Stuck Inside Mom's Basement With the Spreadsheet Blues Again.

You Never Can Tell About a Song

2008-02-27T19:07:00.001-08:00

Time to shift gears and write about an old song that I never thought about much until the last couple of years. Chuck Berry wrote a number of fabulous story songs, absolute gems that I have always admired such as Johnny B. Goode, School Days and Sweet Little Sixteen. These are wonderfully crafted works, creating characters whom we care about.

You Never Can Tell was released in 1964 during the height of the British Invasion. I certainly remember it from those days. But being a full-fledged 13 year old Beatle and British Invasion fanatic, I paid little attention to the song at the time. As time passed, I gained a greater appreciation of Berry's songwriting in general but You Never Can Tell hid in the bulrushes from me.

I was reintroduced to You Never Can Tell during one of the coolest scenes in American movies, the dance contest in Pulp Fiction. While I didn’t take any special note of the song at the time, it stuck in my consciousness and I found myself occasionally singing the song to myself. At some point I downloaded it and began playing it often. One night I played it over and over, listening carefully to the words and the story contained therein. I came to the realization that You Never Can Tell is one of the great rock'n'roll story songs.

Enough background already, eh? Let’s look at those words.

Verse 1
It was a teenage wedding, and the old folks wished them well
Chuck, you have me at this first line. What an evocative scene setter. Those old folks wished them well, knowing full well how poorly teenage weddings work out. But being teenagers…

You could see that Pierre did truly love the mademoiselle
So they were kids in love…

And now the young monsieur and madame have rung the chapel bell
C`est la vie, say the old folks, it goes to show you never can tell
And did the deed and maybe it will work out; let's give 'em a chance.

Verse 2

They furnished off an apartment with a two room Roebuck sale
You can picture the furniture and that tiny apartment, can’t you?

The coolerator was crammed with TV dinners and ginger ale
Okay, so the diet wasn’t so good but you sure can picture what that fridge looked like.

But when Pierre found work, the little money comin` worked out well
C`est la vie, say the old folks, it goes to show you never can tell
You want those kids to have a chance and they can’t live forever on love alone.

Verse 3

They had a hi-fi phono, boy, did they let it blast
Seven hundred little records, all rock, rhythm and jazz
That’s a lot of records. Presumably 45 RPM ones. Half that apartment was filled with those records. For you young’uns out there, you can stack about 2 CDs in the space of 1 45 RPM record.

But when the sun went down the rapid tempo of the music fell
And we all know why that is. In this one little line, he tells you the story of the couple’s romantic nights -- and there were lots of those nights.

C`est la vie, say the old folks, it goes to show you never can tell

Verse 4

They bought a souped-up jitney,`twas a cherry red `53
They drove it down New Orleans to celebrate their anniversary
It was there that Pierre was married to the lovely mademoiselle
C`est la vie, say the old folks, it goes to show you never can tell

And, in a nice little wrap-up verse, he gives us hope that Pierre and the mademoiselle are going to make it after all.

There it is, four little verses that tell you a rich story about some characters whom you can't help but root for. And it sat there for 40 years before I understood its greatness.

Don't be afraid to give an old song a fresh listen. You might find out that there has been a gem sitting right under your nose, unappreciated.

Memoria #1 -- Rick

2007-06-25T09:12:00.000-07:00

This is what I'd say to Rick's siblings, if they asked for my memories.
I got a call this past weekend that my inseparable teenage friend, Rick, had died. For 3 years from 1968 to 1971, we were constant companions, working at the same diner, usually the same shifts. With 5 sisters, I always wanted a brother and Rick was my surrogate brother. I went away to college but we would pick right back up when I came home. Eventually, Rick started letting the dark side come to the fore, was tossed out of your house and moved around quite a bit for a few years. He would appear every so often and then disappear into the void until his next surfacing.
We shared an apartment for a year in '75-'76, but we were not friends any more. The day I moved out of the apartment was the last time I spoke to him until your Mom's funeral. I got information about him a couple of times over the years from Meg, who had stayed in touch with Sue.
When your Mom died this past winter, Meg and I hemmed and hawed about going to the funeral, but we decided we would go together. Your Mom had always treated us very kindly, in spite of the pure chaos that was your household in those years (no offense intended). We wanted to pay our respects.
As Meg and I walked down the aisle of the church to view your Mom, Sue was sitting in the front row. She looked around and Meg waved and Sue acknowledged her and then I waved real casually, like I had seen her last week. Sue's jaw dropped. She was sitting next to Rick, told him to turn around, and when he realized who it was, his mouth formed the word "Wow", and a big smile came across his face. We chatted briefly before the service and Rick was really moved that I came. I was also moved by his response.
It was good to see all you "kids". I hadn't seen any of you since the early 70's, except maybe if Sue was over our house. As you "little" ones were around all the time when Rick and I hung out together, I grew fond of you and I think the feeling was reciprocated. Your Mom's funeral was a sad occasion, but it was really nice to see all of you after all these years.
Allow me to digress for a paragraph and share my feelings about your Mom. Once your Mom got a chance to breathe, i.e., you kids got out of her hair, she took hold of life and lived it fully -- travelling and painting and grandmothering. She remarried to a man who was a gem, according to all accounts. I was so happy to hear that she blossomed because in my days associated with your family, she worked a 40 hour a week job, did the "woman's" work, helped the kids with their homework, and had a difficult husband, in my opinion. I never saw her not frazzled, but I was always welcome in your house and she treated me very nicely and always treated me as an adult. I also think she was grateful that Rick was hanging out with someone more level-headed, or maybe someone just more scared about getting into trouble. (Not that I was any candidate for sainthood).
I've been thinking a lot about Rick in the last couple of days, even though I had only talked to him once in the last 30 years. I don't think anyone knew what made him tick. He certainly had the gift of gab -- as my Mom said, "You couldn't help but like Rick." Even with his "Roman" nose -- Crazy Joe at the Diner told the joke a 100 times -- "Rick, you have a Roman nose. It's roamin' all over your face" -- Rick had no problems finding girl friends. He was glib, tall and handsome even with that nose and had that air of danger that girls so liked. The Rick I got to know at 15 or 16, was a big hearted, funny, smart, nice individual. The summer of '68 he devoted to memorizing all the words of all the Simon and Garfunkel songs. I couldn't help but learn the words myself. We would sing those songs all summer. I don't know if the 1975 version of Rick would even listen to them. I don't remember hearing him play them on the stereo in our apartment.
During the second half of our 3 year inseparability, hints of a darker Rick started surfacing. Rick was always super desirous of money, even more than me. Your Mom and his and Eric's father divorced when he was little and his dad died before I even knew Rick. I'm sure money was very, very tight. Rick told me he started working at 10 in a corner store in the city before he moved out to the 'burbs and was working at the diner at 14. He may have had a gambling addiction -- he could never do anything just for the pleasure of it. We liked to shoot pool; I wasn't very good but Rick was passable by suburban pool hall standards. I loved the challenge of me vs. the table and I loved the geometry of the angles. Rick loved the betting. He would spot me x balls to 100 or some crazy 9 ball bet. We lived about 1.5 miles from the pool hall and for the longest while neither of us had a car, so we walked. Well, at some point, Rick could no longer just walk and talk like we used to, we had to race. Now Rick ran track in a pretty good program in high school; by contrast, I'm a thick legged slug. I HATE to run and always have. Didn't matter to Rick, we had to race. He'd spot me half the distance and more often than not, beat me. Racing was where I drew the line on betting. Now, I was better at basketball, ping pong and wiffle ball; we didn't bet on them because they were my things and I played them for fun.
I think that Rick had no stomach for delayed gratification. He wanted it and he wanted it NOW. He went to Community College for maybe a 1/2 year; he certainly could have gotten into a 4 year college such as Temple or Penn State if he had wanted to. But college wasn't going to happen quickly enough for him. This being 1970/1, the use of drugs was getting wide-spread and he started dabbling in dealing. He did get busted, spent some time in county jail. He pretty much went low visibility by '72 and I saw him rarely; in fact he never had a phone # that he divulged.
Well I went back to college in '72 after dropping out for a year and was away except for the summer. By March of '75, I graduated but couldn't find a job. By summer's end, I ended up working at the Sheraton where Rick was working. He had a bedroom open in his apartment; desperate to get out of the house, I took it.
This Rick was hardened; the Simon and Garfunkel Rick was long suppressed. He was a banquet manager; he worked very hard, to his credit, but was also scamming extra servings, wine bottles and champagne bottles for bigger tips. Working there, I did not want to know this stuff but could not bring myself to turn him in. He scoffed at my disapproval. He was also stringing along a couple of women, who honestly should have known better. He wasn't going out of his way to hurt them exactly but he was very callous and sometimes flaunted his "success" to them. More than once I had to tell a tearful voice on the other end of the phone that Rick "wasn't available". It was all about Rick's pleasure; 100% ego gratification, 24/7, consequences be damned.
A few months after moving in, I got a job as a computer operator on the night shift. Rick mainly worked the breakfast and lunch banquets so we hardly saw each other and we were happier for it. I moved out in Oct. '76 and didn't talk to him again until your Mom's funeral.
In '83, Sandie and I were making plans to get married. We were checking another hotel in the area and had an appointment with the guy who had been the Director of Banquets at the Sheraton, i.e., Rick's boss back then. We exchanged pleasantries and he brought in his 2 right hand men, who both had worked in Banquets with Rick. We started talking and Hans told me that he had fired Rick for stealing. All I could say was 1) I hadn't seen Rick since I had moved out 2) I wasn't shocked.
After your Mom's service, Rick told me his condensed life history in the 15 minutes that we had to talk before you took off to the grave site. He had high-tailed it to Florida in the late 70s and worked for a while dealing cards in Florida and Louisiana. He moved to New Orleans in the 80s, settling there for good. He had been working as a cook on oil rigs in the Gulf for a number of years. No marriage, no kids. He thought he knew my college friend Rollin but Rollin didn't recognize the name. Rollin manages a rig; it's quite possible Rick knew who Rollin was without Rollin really knowing Rick.
So here I sit; still sad, still grieving, and yes, a bit weepy. Rick is gone; the Rick I had loved had been devoured by the hardened Rick 35 years ago. Why did that side disappear? I don't know; Rick became more and more circumspect as time went on. I don't think your Mom or you guys had any clue what drove him. He did not keep in contact for the longest time, even with your mother. I never walked in his shoes; my folks never divorced; my dad didn't die; my mom didn't have 4 kids by another man with whom I could not get along. I'm from a family of 6 kids too; I know how attention starved we can become when our parents have so many other responsibilities. The amateur psychologist in me wonders if Rick felt abandoned in his early life, built up a wall that no one was going to penetrate to insure that no one was going to abandon him again.
Enough of the pseudo-psychology; I'll try always to remember the Simon and Garfunkel Rick. That's a nice memory. And I can always hope that that side of Rick might have resurfaced some day.

ADDENDUM: 27-Feb-2008
I just found out today that the coroner ruled accidental heroin overdose. Cripes, Rick, 55 years old ODing on heroin. At least your inner turmoil is over. So sad, so sad.

Extra Early Breakfast

2006-04-17T18:33:00.000-07:00

The scene was the TV room in Ewing Hall. Rol, Gary, perhaps Rich and I were playing cards. Our resident ex-Marine Viet Nam vet was watching the truly bad Green Berets, shushing us whenever we got too loud.

I started to pack it in around 12:30, slightly on the early side for me, because I needed to study in the morning. Gary announced that he was going to get up early to go to breakfast and study, too. I asked Gary to wake me when he got up and I'd go to breakfast with him. With that, I bade them all adieu and went to bed.

The next thing I knew, I heard Gary telling me that it was time to get up. I remarked that I felt like I had only slept an hour. At that point I heard Rol, my roommate, rooting around in his closet. I usually wake up pretty quickly but I was having real problems this particular morning. I stumbled down to the bathroom, splashed some water on my face and stumbled back to the room, still trying to shake the cobwebs out of my head. I couldn't put it together but something just wasn't right. What was Rol doing up? He never got up early. And what was he doing in that closet for so long? Why was Gary smoking? He made a point of never smoking first thing in the morning.

We start walking down the hall and then down the stairs. Gary and Rol wanted me to take the underground route to the dining hall on our side but I knew that the dining room on the opposite side of the little quad was the only one open for breakfast. They tried to convince me otherwise but I was sharp witted on this one. I pushed open the outside door and it hit me -- it was pitch black outside. Those SOBs got me up in the middle of the night. I cursed them obligatorily and then burst out laughing.

It was really about 1:30 in the morning. Gary had seen me turn over in bed and softly said "time to get up". When I actually responded, he just went with it. Nothing was planned. Rol couldn't contain himself when I said that I felt like I had slept for only an hour. He buried his head in his closet and bit on a towel to keep from laughing aloud. And Gary having a cigarette at 1:30 AM was no big deal but I couldn't pick up that clue. But somehow, in my daze, I knew which cafeteria was supposed to be open.

Rich and the Earthquake

2006-04-17T17:46:00.000-07:00

Rich was part of the gang from my days at University Park and a founding (and finding!) member of the Brotherhood of the Stake. Someday I'll write a prologue on Rich, because his personality was so distinctive.

On this eve of the 100th anniversary of the San Francisco earthquake, I had to write this remembrance down.

One night we ended up playing a game in the TV room on our floor and someone had put the movie San Francisco on. It's quite a good movie, but almost all of the story concerns Clark Gable trying to seduce Jeanette MacDonald with Spencer Tracy as his boyhood chum priest trying to stop any shenanigans. This is all prelude to the earthquake. The promotions during the commercial breaks showed scenes from the earthquake and that's what we were all itching for. At one break, Rich announced that he needed to go to the bathroom and shuffled down the hall at absolute minimal speed, as only he could. As soon as he was out of earshot, the movie returned and voila, the earthquake. I remember the earthquake scene as being pretty quick.
As soon as the next commercial break came on, we heard the telltale shuffling coming back down the hall towards us. We burst out laughing before he ever re-entered the room. We gleefully announced that Rich had missed the only part of the movie that he was interested in. He accused us of conspiring to trick him into leaving and missing the still pending earthquake. Only after the movie returned to the air and he looked at the images of rubble on the screen, did he start to believe us. And he went ballistic, cursing fate for yet again conspiring against him. And he was plenty mad at us for having such a good time at his expense.

By the next day, we were all friends again. After a night's sleep, even he could laugh at his own misfortune. The quick rebound was what made Rich so endearing.

The Spoiler

2006-01-21T19:06:00.000-08:00

In May of the fourth grade we moved about 4 or 5 blocks to the other side of school. We moved next door to the Reuhlmanns. Margie was in my class, Peter was in Mary's so we already knew the family a bit. After we moved to Philly, Mr. Reuhlmann was elected mayor of Cincinnati, back when it was an position of honor in the pre-Springer days. Peter was a year ahead of me in school and we played together that summer a lot.
It was my first year of Little League and because I was pretty big and had a decent if not awesome arm, my coach taught me how to pitch. I was pretty decent as I had some modicum of control and I could drop down and throw sidearm to give a different look to the batter.
We started out the season pretty badly at 1-4 before we started to gel. We had gotten our record up to 4-5 and had the last game of the season against Peter's team. They were in first place and would clinch the title if they won. They beat us pretty soundly the first time we played. Normally we played on Sunday morning but this game was in the evening during the week for some reason. School was out by then and I thought about the game all day long. Peter and I did some trash talking but I felt like he had upper hand in that department since they were such a good team. I was quite edgy but come game time, I had just the right mix of adrenalin and composure. Once I got out of the first inning without much damage, I was really confident that I could beat them. We ended up winning 3-2, which was a low score for that level of play. I pitched the absolute best that I could and have never experienced such a high athletically since (not that I had any sort of athletic career).
Peter's family hosted a cookout for his team that night that they had figured was going to be their pennant celebration. Peter came over and invited me to join but I refused to go. I felt like I would have shown disloyalty to my team if I attended another team's party. (Go figure) I also felt very sad for their team, and felt kind of guilty for ruining their fun. I remember laying on my bed listening to the fun outside with all sorts of mixed feelings.
But boy, I was proud of how I pitched.

Sometimes it's just nothing at all

2005-12-13T17:47:00.000-08:00

My folks were very strict with my sisters and me. Even though all my grandparents and some of my great grandparents were US born, the German strictness was reinforced by generations of living in pure or mostly pure German environments. And we were Catholic to boot. We kids didn't want to get into trouble at school because we would get hit at home*** for getting hit at school.
By third grade I had the elementary school ropes down pretty well. I was a precocious learner and had a good memory. It didn't take me long to absorb my lessons in class -- when you have class sizes well into the 30s, you don't move along at a very fast pace. I started to goof off in class once in a while and got yelled at in class for the first time in my short life.
At some point well into the school year, there was a teacher-parent conference day on what I remember as a Sunday afternoon. Both my parents went and I was sweating that Mrs. Krieger (sp?) would recite all my transgressions and then I would catch hell when they came back.
When they returned, I avoided them for as long as I could. Finally, I got up the nerve and went in to face my punishment. Putting on my most innocent act, I asked what Mrs. Krieger had said. Their response was "Nothing much, you are doing very well in your school work." Relief! But I already had done appropriate penance for my misbehavior by sweating it out for an hour or two.
Epilogue: Years later, when I was relating my story to my Mom, she told me that Mrs. Krieger said I was bored in class and that she would try to give me some extra work on the side.

*** In fairness to my parents, getting hit meant several smacks with a yardstick across the bottom, pants up.

Snippets of Early Memories

2005-11-17T19:10:00.000-08:00

Staying out of the sun from noon to 3. This was an anti-polio strategy of my parents even though we had gotten the recently discovered polio vaccine.

Lucky for us, Topper was on during that time and I watched it with my older sisters every afternoon.

Playing house with my older sisters and always being sent out to work.

Playing Mass with Necco Wafers as Communion. Since I was the only boy, I assumed the priestly duties most of the time.

Running around giggling as we shouted "They're attacking from the rear" after hearing that phrase from a Zorro episode.

Our skinny, 3 level back yard. It was level at the back of the house, then there was a steep rock garden area, followed by another flat area with a giant cottonwood tree, followed by a steep hill of maybe 4-5' and another flat area with wild berries and honeysuckle growing along the fence.

My American Flyer train set, with its beautiful smoking engine and in true Cold War fashion, a rocket launching car. As C. K. Dexter Haven would say, "It was yar."

Being surprised when my Dad painted a box the size of a strike zone on the cinder block basement wall so I could practice pitching all winter long. This violated the "No ball playing in the house rule".

The one and only baseball game that my Dad took me to. It was a night game and I thought it was cool that the "Sun Deck" that I saw during the Sunday day games on TV became the "Moon Deck" at night. I remember nothing other than Roy McMillan hitting a fly to medium center field that I thought was way out of the ballpark.

About that same time, my Dad got me a crystal radio tuned to the Reds station. I would lie in bed listening to Waite Hoyt announce the games.

Hearing Waite Hoyt recreate West Coast games from the telegraph ticker. I was turning 6 the year that the Dodgers and Giants went West and I recall that the radio broadcasts for the first couple of years were re-creations. I've done a quick scan of the 'net and the bits of information that I found say that re-creations disappeared by 1950. But these first couple of years might have been exceptional cases.

It's not what you say

2005-11-16T20:15:00.000-08:00

Back in the mid-60s, when I was in my early teens and my sister Paula was approaching her adolescence, we would spent idle hours in the summer playing our own "home version" of the many game shows that were on TV. Our mutual favorite at the time was You Don't Say with Tom Kennedy. I can still hear the tag line "It's not what you say, it's what you don't say".
I can picture the summer morning that Paula and I were out on the front porch playing You Don't Say. She stumped me one round and declared the answer to be Rita Shaw. Well, I had never heard of Ms. Shaw and Paula, who hated to lose worse than any of her uber-competitive siblings, got all indignant that she was indeed real and that Paula had seen her name in some TV show credits. Well, that was not good enough for me, and I took great pleasure in mocking my poor sister over a made-up name. I got tremendous mileage out of that error of my sister's. I used "Oh yeah, just like Rita Shaw" as a winning counter-argument against her for a number of years.
Well, sometime in the last 10 years, I was watching a Dick Van Dyke show, and lo and behold, there in the credits was Reta Shaw! 30 years later, my sister was vindicated.
I called Paula that weekend and she was quite magnanimous. As hard as I had tried, I left no permanent scars on her psyche.

Lame to try even on an 8 year old

2005-11-15T19:26:00.000-08:00

46 years ago this very early morning, my 3 sisters and I (age 8) were awakened and herded downstairs, while my Mom was giving birth to a baby. The baby was delivered by my Dad as my oldest sister (12) listened on phone to the doctor and relayed the instructions to Dad. Keep in mind that this was 1959 -- we had the typical 1 wall phone mounted on the kitchen wall with maybe a 3 foot cord, so my sister had to run up the stairs with the instructions. Now I don't remember her doing that and I only heard the phone bit a few years ago from my Dad.
I had no idea what was going on as it was 12:30 in the morning and Dad didn't really have much time to let us know what was happening. At some point, my Dad came down the steps with a shoe box and inside was a baby sister, all 3lb 2oz of her.
Sometime in the madness, my Dad's sister, who was a nurse, came over and the ambulance came too. At that point, we found out that there was another baby inside Mom and she and Dad were off to the hospital. My 3 sisters and I were transported over to my aunt's house. We had some milk and graham crackers and were fitted up with some sleeping arrangements. My aunt and uncle had 3 of their own kids at that time but they found spots for all of us to sleep. I ended up in the attic with an uncovered window to stare out. I laid awake for a very long time and saw the most wondrous show of shooting stars.
I was desperate for a brother, with 3 sisters already plus a new sister. Growing up Catholic in an area with a lot of Catholics, many of the families had a lot of kids. Dickie F's older brother was a batboy for the Reds and had a basement full of bats from the Reds and other major leaguers. There were Bobby, Davy and Stevy G. 3 houses up, one year apart from each other. Billy and Bobby L. were up the street, 1 year apart. And me, I had 3, now 4 sisters.
In the morning at breakfast, my aunt announced that there was another baby. I asked if it was a boy, and she said that it was another girl. 5 sisters! She then said that one of them was going to be called Jo, so that's almost like another boy. This was the only time that I didn't like this very sweet aunt.

Can a 6 year old be too literal?

2005-11-12T19:19:00.000-08:00

I have been accused of taking things too literally. The first time that I can remember was the first day of first grade.
I had gone to kindergarten, so I had a year of school under my belt. That was public school and now I was going to St. Teresa of Avila for grade school. This particular school had first grade in a separate facility from grades 2-8. It was about 3 blocks from home -- down our street for two blocks, make a left for a block and there the school was, across Glenway Ave., a busy city street.
My Mom and my little sister had walked me down in the morning with no trouble.
As I left school and came up to Glenway with the other kids, I was faced with a dilemma. I was not allowed to cross a street without Mom or Dad looking. So I stopped even though all the other kids were crossing with the crossing guard. I refused to cross, even when the guard called over one of the nuns, I still refused. Finally, they had to call my mom and she and my sister came down to get me. Mom was mad but laughed after I explained that I followed the rules. The "no crossing the street rules" were then modified to include people in authority.
Looking back, I was as worried about Mom figuring out that I had crossed without her or Dad as I was about being disobedient.

Rama is (no) punk rocker

2005-11-11T21:58:00.000-08:00

In honor of the man who inspired me to give this a try, my first story will be about Rama. Rama is Indian (duh), who has a PhD in chemistry. He is married, with 2 boys and his parents recently came over from India to live with them in their townhouse. Rama has been in this country for a number of years. He seldom talks about himself since he always prods me to talk. He's a heck of a good listener. I should prod him more for his stories.
I listen to a lot of music at work. Recently Rama came over with a CD of Carnatic music. This is music that he had heard in his childhood at his grandfather's house. Live. He says that he can go into a trance listening to the improvised bits. As I was putting the CD in my computer, Rama kept telling me that I would hate it, that my Western ears wouldn't like it. It caught me off guard, because Rama and I are both very inquisitive and open-minded. He has wanted for so long to find someone to share this music that I think he was trying to minimize his anticipated disappointment. I have never been drawn to Indian music, although I am not afraid of non-Western music. I have bought a Tibetan chant CD and had a Gamelan LP way back when. (Oh my, how brave of me! Two whole non-Western albums.)
The singing parts were dense; Rama referenced the Mozart "too many notes" story. There was a singer, sometimes two, a violin-like string instrument and percussion. The singer was singing only the note names, similar to do-re-mi, and kind of gutteral . There were prescribed singing sections and improvised sections. The singing didn't draw me in that much but the strings and percussion were riveting. Rama came over every 5 minutes astonished that I was still listening.
Meanwhile, I had lent the great Rhino punk box set to our local Scotsman, Steve. Steve was handing it back to me as Rama passed by. Rama started asking about the music, and we threw out adjectives like loud, fast, angry, rebellious. We knew Rama would not like it and we were joking about the over/under on how many songs he would last. I thought that a nice mathematical progression would be 4 songs on disc 1, 3 on disc 2, etc. It turns out that our man listened to one whole side. He commented that he thought he was connecting to the music on one or two songs but then the connection faded very quickly.
I had a visual image of Rama driving down the road listening to "California Uber Alles" and doing the chicken thing with his head a la Wayne's World. Steve gave him Pink Floyd's "Wish You Were Here" and by the end of the day, Rama was on his third listen.
East is East and West is West and the twain shall meet sometimes.