Wow.
I have just completed watching a performance of "Wicked." It is now 11 PM, but I had to write this post anyway because I wanted the experience of the day to be fresh in my mind when I write the post. The sights, the sounds, the annoying people in the audience (more on that later)...but it all started with the most hectic of work days.
Things were going along smoothly in the morning. I had to do some research in an old laboratory notebook looking for some endocrine hormone related studies pertaining to a patent interference proceeding (the mechanics of which I will NOT bore you with at this time...maybe later). In the background, on my computer screen, I had the live ABC feed for President Obama's inauguration playing on my computer in the background. I was feeling GOOD-it was the perfect day and looked to be even better. I had my performance of "Wicked" to look forward to, and I had planned out my afternoon perfectly. All I had to do was complete that task and then do some document review (mindless discovery work) for a few hours. I was then going to walk to the Ford Theater and watch the show. Of course, work has a way of messing up our best laid plans. Exactly 1.5 hours before I left for the show, one of the partners sent down a research task that HAD to be completed tonight. There is a client meeting scheduled for tomorrow, and this research HAD to get done and would I mind doing it? Mind? Yes. Say no? Uh-uh. I set about working on it in a fevered pitch and was handed ANOTHER grenade-a copyright search for a character in the public domain. THIS was fun. I love stuff dealing with characters, and I had done some other research on Oz to prepare myself for "Wicked."
More on that later. So I finished the research task, finding cases ON POINT and CURRENT and ACING OPPOSING COUNSEL's so-called precedent (yeah, I said it) within ONE HOUR. Talk about efficient. I then took some time to familiarize myself with the state of public domain with respect to fictional characters. Now I will not share with you the name of the character in question (obviously, there is some attorney-client privilege that comes into play here), but I will share with you what I know about the characters from L. Frank Baum's "Oz" series. Did you know that for all works from Baum published before 1922, the fictional characters are in the public domain? That means ANYONE can use them without paying any copyright fees. This would explain a lot from what I saw in the show tonight (but I am getting ahead of myself yet again).
Going into the show, I had no idea about the storyline or what I would learn about the witches of Oz. I knew that the musical was acclaimed and that a lot of people that I know and trust in such matters loved it, but that was all. So I set off from work (in plenty of time) to walk to the theater where it was showing. I had purchased a will call ticket, so I wanted to get to the box office in plenty of time. Now, "Wicked" has been playing for over 4 years now, and I figured that it would not be that crowded. Boy was I wrong. When I reached the Ford Theater, I noticed a line snaking out the front door-and this was 45 minutes before showtime. It took me 10 minutes to get my ticket from the Will Call box and then another 15 minutes to wait for my seating area to open up. The Ford Theater is an old school theater, a former movie theater that has ornate gold inlays as part of its decoration. The stage is a classic proscenium stage, and I noticed an ornate border surrounding the centerpiece, a map of Oz that also served as a curtain. The Ford Theater also has the most intensely uncomfortable seats.
The theater was PACKED-waves of people and families came crashing in one after another. I started to feel a little squished (no doubt to the giant overweight woman that reeked of old person seated to my right). What IS that smell, anyway? Finally, the lights turned down, and the show began.
What can I say? I am still relatively blown away. First of all, the performances were spot on. This was not some performance of "Phantom" where people were merely going through the motions of a show they had performed several times before. No, these performers were giving it their all, and the audience appreciated it. Dee Roscioli was amazing in the role of Elphaba, the woman who would become the Wicked Witch of the West. Equally amazing was Annaleigh Ashford in the role of Galinda/Glinda. Without the performances of these two actresses, the story would have fallen flat, for so much depends on how much the audience buys into their interactions. The music and lyrics were also perfect. As with the story, both danced the fine line between comedy and drama. The audience let itself be carried away with "Popular", "I'm Not that Girl", "Defying Gravity", and especially "For Good." The musical talents of the ensemble-well, all I can say is that, having watched quite a few Broadway shows ON BROADWAY in my time, this was far and away one of the best that I have watched.
One of the more remarkable things was how the stage served the production yet never became its own distraction. I remember watching "Les Miserables" on Broadway and being distracted from the amazing music because of the centerpiece of the stage, a turntable kind of device that would noisily spin during Act and Scene changes. That took me out of the musical. When I saw "Dirty Dancing" recently, I was taken out of the story by the "gee whiz" aspects of the stage production, including the overly elaborate "bridge to the staff quarters" and the painstaking re-creation of the sets from the film. "Wicked" did it right. Of course, there were some elaborate set pieces, but they never overshadowed the show itself. Much as a special effect should serve the story, so too did the stage pieces serve the overarching need-nothing appeared to be mere window dressing. And remember what I said about the public domain? Well, I knew that the ruby slippers were actually the intellectual property (copyrighted and trademarked) by MGM, for in the original novel, the slippers were silver. Lo and behold, when the sparkly slippers made their appearance on the stage (and no, I will not tell you why they were there), they were, indeed, silver-the public domain slippers as it were. Of course, the imaginative geniuses behind the show used one key portion of the show to illuminate the stage with a reddish/purple light that, in that instant, made the silver slippers appear to be ruby in color. When that happened, I jsut shook my head in amazement, as I was impressed by the ingenuity shown by the technical staff to give the audience what they wanted while at the same time staying within the allowed intellectual property boundaries. Note to self...stop being such a huge intellectual property nerd...
What about the story? Well, I cannot discuss it because I had so much joy in watching it unfold myself (except for the second Act-more on that in a second). If you want to discover another layer to the story of Oz, a prequel and also a parallel story to the "Wizard of Oz," then you should definitely go to see this musical. Unlike George Lucas' atrocious "Star Wars" prequels, Winnie Holzman and company got it right with the denizens of Oz.
So why was I not surprised by some of the revelations in the second half? Well, during the intermission, an audience member sitting a couple of rows up from me was speaking to who I assume was her father and proceeded to recite everything THAT WAS GOING TO HAPPEN IN THE SECOND ACT. As, in mounting horror, I realized what she was doing, I quickly tried to distract myself from her piercing, irritating, high-pitched voice. I partially succeeded, but I was irritated that some of the surprises had been ruined for me. I suppose it is poetic justice, as some of you readers know of my penchant (inadvertently) to spoil TV episodes that you might not have watched (and you know who you are). Still, if you are at the freaking show, WHY WOULD YOU PROCEED TO TELL EVERYONE WITHIN LISTENING RANGE WHAT WILL HAPPEN NEXT? We GET it-you love the show and have seen it many times before. Shut the HELL UP!!
Other than that, I took in the crowds and listened to the gentle demands (seriously, no sarcasm intended) of a young girl that her father buy a "Wicked" t-shirt. The father said no, and I quietly laughed to myself, as I know that, if I have a daughter, I would be putty in her hands, and I knew that the father would cave. Sure enough, at intermission, he got up to scavenge for his little girl, who was sitting behind me and was incredibly well behaved for the entire show. She even stopped asking for a t-shirt immediately upon her father telling her to stop.
Yeah, if I have a daughter, I will be completely useless in the "telling her no to what she wants" department. I also thought it was cool that this was something they were sharing together. "Wicked" is an amazing show to attend as a family, and other than for Disney productions, these types of shows are sadly few and far between.
Bottom line-if you have yet to see this show, go and see it. You will not be disappointed.
Wow...I really did not expect to be as impressed with the show as I am.
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
Sunday, January 18, 2009
On This MLK Weekend, a True Story From the Family Files...
When my parents completed their residency training in this country, they looked around the country for a place that would be ideal to practice medicine yet also be conducive to raising children and having some sort of quality of life. The coastal areas were very attractive to them, yet they did not want to settle in a place that had severe winters. After a personal visit from the administrator of a small Virginia hospital, they settled in southeast Virginia, in the Hampton Roads area. At the time, the Artful Brother started attending school in one town before having to switch to another school prior to his 3rd grade year. The school that the Brother was to attend was founded during the 60s in an effort to avoid desegregation efforts by Congress and the Supreme Court. The Artful Brother was a typical 8 year old, a hell raiser who looked the role of the innocent, but in school, he always behaved and was a great student.
On that first day of school, he went out on the playground during recess with his new classmates and was running happily on the peanut shell-based surface (safety, don't you know). It was a crisp fall day, and he was just learning that maybe he could fit in among all of these Southern Virginians. He was unfazed by the lack of...color ...in the classroom save for himself. Because this had often been the case thus far in his childhood to date, he never gave it a second thought.
Lost in his reverie, he did not notice the trio of bullies that was watching him. Now don't worry, he was not physically attacked or humiliated. That would be a difficult story. No, what happened instead could have had more serious consequences had it occurred to anyone with less fortitude than the Artful Brother.
Artful Brother to the bullies: " Hi, my name is _____. What are your names?"
Bully (silent, then): "What are you doing here?"
Brother: "I just started school here. It's really nice. Is this your first day here too?"
Bully: "No, but we BELONG here. You don't."
Brother: "Huh?"
Bully: "Our school doesn't allow niggers."
Pause for a second, and focus on the various layers of ignorance that underlie that statement.
Artful Brother: "What's a nigger?"
Just then, the bell rang and the face off ended, with the Artful Brother never getting the answer to his question. The need for an answer dogged him, however, for to this day, the Artful Brother is a learning sponge who always wants to learn new things. The Artful Brother made his way home and was sitting down to dinner with the Artful Mom (the Artful Dad was at the hospital).
Artful Mom: "How was school today, honey?"
Artful Brother: "It was OK-the teacher is really nice and so are most of the kids."
Artful Mom (relieved): "Oh that's good!"
Artful Brother: "Mom...what's a nigger?"
Artful Mom (her heart sinking): "It is a name that people without education call people who are different from them (note how Mom put a generality into the target group being denigrated-in her teaching, any racial slurs attack all races equally). Why do you ask?"
Artful Brother (thinking): "Oh no reason. This guy named Bully called me that today, and I did not know why."
Artful Mom (hiding her sadness and her desire to cry for her boy): "Just ignore him, sweetie. He doesn't know what he is saying because he is just a small boy like you. Stay away from him, though, until he learns that what he said was wrong."
Artful Brother: "OK, Mom."
What a horrible experience for the Artful Brother-face to face with the most abhorrent racism on his first day of school. By itself, this would be a sad story, but there is a coda to it, one that would only occur 9 years later.
It is now Senior Year for the Artful Brother. He has excelled in academics throughout his entire career and he is getting ready to graduate and go on to a great college. He has so many friends in the school and the small Southern town where the Artful Parents settled. He has also achieved the singular honor of being the school's valedictorian (having also been voted Most Likely to Succeed). He is the first minority to be the school valedictorian, and he is honored and humbled. He gives an amazing speech on friendship and the importance of friends in ones life. In the crowd, the Artful Parents and I watched proudly, and I saw tears in Mom's eyes that seemed a bit bittersweet. I asked her, "Mom, are you happy?" She answered, "I could not be happier...but there is more. I will tell you later."
All of my brother's graduating class surrounded him and congratulated him after the ceremony, but Bully was missing. Of course, one would assume that Bully was still a bitter little boy blinded by racism, but there was another reason for his absence. Bully never made the grades that allowed him to graduate, and he flunked during the school year twice (making up the grades over the summer). Bully was allowed to graduate in summer school, far from the cheers and accolades that met the boy (now man) who he had mercilessly teased as a child. The Artful Brother, to this day, has never mentioned this story and has carried himself with the utmost pride.
After the ceremony, I asked Mom why she was crying.
She composed herself, then began: "When your father and I completed our residency training in this country . . . "
On that first day of school, he went out on the playground during recess with his new classmates and was running happily on the peanut shell-based surface (safety, don't you know). It was a crisp fall day, and he was just learning that maybe he could fit in among all of these Southern Virginians. He was unfazed by the lack of...color ...in the classroom save for himself. Because this had often been the case thus far in his childhood to date, he never gave it a second thought.
Lost in his reverie, he did not notice the trio of bullies that was watching him. Now don't worry, he was not physically attacked or humiliated. That would be a difficult story. No, what happened instead could have had more serious consequences had it occurred to anyone with less fortitude than the Artful Brother.
Artful Brother to the bullies: " Hi, my name is _____. What are your names?"
Bully (silent, then): "What are you doing here?"
Brother: "I just started school here. It's really nice. Is this your first day here too?"
Bully: "No, but we BELONG here. You don't."
Brother: "Huh?"
Bully: "Our school doesn't allow niggers."
Pause for a second, and focus on the various layers of ignorance that underlie that statement.
Artful Brother: "What's a nigger?"
Just then, the bell rang and the face off ended, with the Artful Brother never getting the answer to his question. The need for an answer dogged him, however, for to this day, the Artful Brother is a learning sponge who always wants to learn new things. The Artful Brother made his way home and was sitting down to dinner with the Artful Mom (the Artful Dad was at the hospital).
Artful Mom: "How was school today, honey?"
Artful Brother: "It was OK-the teacher is really nice and so are most of the kids."
Artful Mom (relieved): "Oh that's good!"
Artful Brother: "Mom...what's a nigger?"
Artful Mom (her heart sinking): "It is a name that people without education call people who are different from them (note how Mom put a generality into the target group being denigrated-in her teaching, any racial slurs attack all races equally). Why do you ask?"
Artful Brother (thinking): "Oh no reason. This guy named Bully called me that today, and I did not know why."
Artful Mom (hiding her sadness and her desire to cry for her boy): "Just ignore him, sweetie. He doesn't know what he is saying because he is just a small boy like you. Stay away from him, though, until he learns that what he said was wrong."
Artful Brother: "OK, Mom."
What a horrible experience for the Artful Brother-face to face with the most abhorrent racism on his first day of school. By itself, this would be a sad story, but there is a coda to it, one that would only occur 9 years later.
It is now Senior Year for the Artful Brother. He has excelled in academics throughout his entire career and he is getting ready to graduate and go on to a great college. He has so many friends in the school and the small Southern town where the Artful Parents settled. He has also achieved the singular honor of being the school's valedictorian (having also been voted Most Likely to Succeed). He is the first minority to be the school valedictorian, and he is honored and humbled. He gives an amazing speech on friendship and the importance of friends in ones life. In the crowd, the Artful Parents and I watched proudly, and I saw tears in Mom's eyes that seemed a bit bittersweet. I asked her, "Mom, are you happy?" She answered, "I could not be happier...but there is more. I will tell you later."
All of my brother's graduating class surrounded him and congratulated him after the ceremony, but Bully was missing. Of course, one would assume that Bully was still a bitter little boy blinded by racism, but there was another reason for his absence. Bully never made the grades that allowed him to graduate, and he flunked during the school year twice (making up the grades over the summer). Bully was allowed to graduate in summer school, far from the cheers and accolades that met the boy (now man) who he had mercilessly teased as a child. The Artful Brother, to this day, has never mentioned this story and has carried himself with the utmost pride.
After the ceremony, I asked Mom why she was crying.
She composed herself, then began: "When your father and I completed our residency training in this country . . . "
Thursday, January 15, 2009
Fantasy Films, or Khan Noonien Singh v. Henry Higgins
Fantasy films come in all shapes and sizes, and most of them are easily broken down into subcategories. First, there are the hardcore true fantasy films, such as "Lord of the Rings", "Conan the Barbarian", and "The Chronicles of Narnia"-sword and sorcery epics where there are heroes, monsters, magic, and forests...lots and lots of forests. Next, you have the science fiction films, those that begin with "Star"-"Star Wars", "Star Trek", "Stargate"-all about exciting adventures from the future or from a long time ago in a galaxy far, far away. These films are marked by alien creatures, ray guns, space ships, and clear cut heroes and villains. Third, you have horror films, those films with creatures from the great beyond, devils, demons, Freddies, Jasons, and Michael Myers (no, not "Austin Powers"-the OTHER Michael Myers). These films are marked by nubile young people in abandoned cabins or home alone with no parents being stalked by bogeymen who hate misbehaving kids...unstoppable killing machines whose every kill shows imagination and ingenuity that would be more at place in an ad agency than in a home with a machete. Finally, you have the animated films, those Disney, Pixar, Dreamworks candy-coated confections filled with songs and dance where the animals help you out of jams and where there is always a happy ending-safe for kids (most of the time), and fun for the whole family.
When I was a child, I gravitated towards these types of films (well, except for horror films-remind me to tell you one day of my first screening of "Jaws"...in a theater . . .at the age of 7), and I used to love superheroes, comics, toys, and fantasy (ok, ok...I admit it...I am still a huge nerd who loves his superheroes-no surprise to longtime readers of this site). I used to spend a lot of time by myself creating new adventures, playing with my action figures, and just crafting stories. My parents used to worry...they would tell me "Artful, you are living in a fantasy world. Those movies are not realistic in any way. Why do you like them so much?"
Ahhh....but my parents loved fantasy films even more than I did. True, they hated cartoons (well, except for "Lady and the Tramp"-my Dad always got a kick out the Italian chefs calling Lady a "cocker Spanish-girl"), fantasy, horror, and ESPECIALLY science fiction. My brother had to fight tooth and nail to see the original "Star Wars" in the theater (during its initial run-limited engagement my ass...). But to all of their protests and hatred of all things sci-fi, I blissfully said nothing in defense, for I knew that my parents loved fantasy films in their own way.
My parents LOVED classic musicals.
Musicals are the ultimate in fantasy films. Love stories in far off places or far off times, where everyone is dressed impeccably and can dance with abandon through the streets of Paris, where the daughter of a dustman could become a duchess in a flower shop, where a governess could teach a crusty old Captain to love again with the spectre of Nazi Germany hovering over them...where New York street gangs could have been companies in the Bolshoi . . .and where a sailor On the Town could dance with Jerry Mouse. Yes, my parents loved musicals, and through their love of musicals, I found an appreciation for them as well. I remember that my folks would not let my brother and I watch Lerner and Lowe's "My Fair Lady" because Henry Higgins yelled "damn" several times near the end of the film. They also thought the street gangs of "West Side Story" and the violent deaths of Riff and 'Nardo were way too violent for kids (nevermind that I had already been traumatized by Quint's grisly death-by-shark in "Jaws" ). My memories from childhood are of family movie nights revisiting a more innocent time when we could believe that people just might start dancing down the streets, where even Brando could sing (OK, maybe not, but "Guys and Dolls" is a LOT of fun to watch).
What I love about musicals is that, like some of the very best animated cartoons of the Warner Brothers era, they could be enjoyed on several levels by young and old alike. There are many themes that I never picked up on while growing up, yet they became apparent to me as I matured. Take "Fiddler on the Roof" for example. I always found Tevye to be a bit whiny-I mean, how bad could he have it? A loving wife, 5 lovely daughters, lots of friends in the village-why did he seem so sad? And yet...as I grew older, I understood his struggle to the changes in tradition, the things that he knew, the way things are-his struggle against change itself. The first suitor sought both his blessing and his permission. The suitor for his second daughter did not seek his permission, but he only sought his blessing. The suitor for his third daughter Hava...the apple of his eye, his favorite...well, he sought neither as their marriage went against all tradition (I can still see Topol in the role yelling at the sky in futility "TRADITION!!!"). Such a great film.
Out of all of the the great musicals, the one that has been a true revelation to me as I have aged has been "Gigi", Vincente Minnelli's adaptation of the Collete short story about a young girl coming of age in turn of the century Paris. Leslie Caron is amazing in the title role, and Maurice Chevalier is in his element as Louis Jourdan's uncle, scheming and advising his nephew to just enjoy his bachelor life (who cares who he harms?). The songs are amazing, and Minnelli knew how to shoot Paris. The only thing that saddens me is that I could never see Paris as it was. With the advent of letterboxing, I was finally able to see the film as it was meant to be seen, and all I could think was "wow!" Now, most of you know of my love of film, and this love can tend towards the maudlin and the sentimental at times. but Minnelli framed one of the most beautiful shots I have ever seen on film (and those of you who have been fortunate enough to witness the shot understand). The scene is near the end of the film. Jourdan's character is in a hansom cab and is take to a giant park. We see this gorgeous fountain (all lit up at night as most Parisian fountains are) and we see the silhouette of the cab pull up in front of the fountain. We then see the cab pull away, and on the left side of the screen, in silhouette, we see Gaston (Jourdan's character), top hat on, his head down, thinking things over.
My God, what an amazing shot. I wish I had that shot framed.
Mind you, this was not a shot of a duel between Darth Vader and Luke Skywalker. This was not Gandalf's face-off with the Balrog on the Bridge at Khazad-dum. This was not even gorgeous waltz of the robots from "Wall-E"-no, this shot is from a 1950s musical about a young girl coming of age in Paris. This shot is probably my favorite film shot of all (with a close second being Will Kane alone on the deserted city streets in "High Noon").
Since those early days, my love of musicals has continued unabated. When I lived in Baltimore for grad school (round 1), I sometimes made day trips to New York to catch shows on Broadway. This was how I was able to see "Phantom of the Opera" (with and without Michael Crawford and Sarah Brightman), "Cats", "Cabaret", "Beauty and the Beast", "Miss Saigon", "Rent" with the original cast, "The Lion King", and, before he died, Rex Harrison in a revival of "My Fair Lady." Living in Chicago, I have been fortunate enough to see even more musicals, as the theater district in Chicago has so many great shows.
I am writing all of this because, in less than 2 weeks, "Wicked" is having its final curtain in Chicago. After assuming that it would be here forever, I was taken by surprise, for I never had a chance to see it and was worried that I would miss it. Thankfully, I now have my ticket and will be seeing it next Tuesday night. All I know about it is that it has something to do with the origins of the witches of Oz. That is all. Well, that and the fact that everyone who has ever seen the show has fallen in love with it. The anticipation is there, and I am looking forward to yet another wonderful experience.
Now, over the years, my male brethren have given me a lot of grief for my love of musicals, and I really do not care. I feel sad for them because their own insecurities and small mindedness are causing them to miss out on some amazing performances.
I leave you with this little bit of trivia. Ricardo Montalban passed away this week. To most people, he was best known as the mysterious Mr. Roarke of "Fantasy Island" or KHHHAAAAAN! from "Star Trek: the Wrath of Khan." Few people know that Mr. Montalban, after becoming a star in Mexican cinema, starred on Broadway opposite Lena Horne in the musical "Jamaica." Khan as a calypso singer? Believe it!
When I was a child, I gravitated towards these types of films (well, except for horror films-remind me to tell you one day of my first screening of "Jaws"...in a theater . . .at the age of 7), and I used to love superheroes, comics, toys, and fantasy (ok, ok...I admit it...I am still a huge nerd who loves his superheroes-no surprise to longtime readers of this site). I used to spend a lot of time by myself creating new adventures, playing with my action figures, and just crafting stories. My parents used to worry...they would tell me "Artful, you are living in a fantasy world. Those movies are not realistic in any way. Why do you like them so much?"
Ahhh....but my parents loved fantasy films even more than I did. True, they hated cartoons (well, except for "Lady and the Tramp"-my Dad always got a kick out the Italian chefs calling Lady a "cocker Spanish-girl"), fantasy, horror, and ESPECIALLY science fiction. My brother had to fight tooth and nail to see the original "Star Wars" in the theater (during its initial run-limited engagement my ass...). But to all of their protests and hatred of all things sci-fi, I blissfully said nothing in defense, for I knew that my parents loved fantasy films in their own way.
My parents LOVED classic musicals.
Musicals are the ultimate in fantasy films. Love stories in far off places or far off times, where everyone is dressed impeccably and can dance with abandon through the streets of Paris, where the daughter of a dustman could become a duchess in a flower shop, where a governess could teach a crusty old Captain to love again with the spectre of Nazi Germany hovering over them...where New York street gangs could have been companies in the Bolshoi . . .and where a sailor On the Town could dance with Jerry Mouse. Yes, my parents loved musicals, and through their love of musicals, I found an appreciation for them as well. I remember that my folks would not let my brother and I watch Lerner and Lowe's "My Fair Lady" because Henry Higgins yelled "damn" several times near the end of the film. They also thought the street gangs of "West Side Story" and the violent deaths of Riff and 'Nardo were way too violent for kids (nevermind that I had already been traumatized by Quint's grisly death-by-shark in "Jaws" ). My memories from childhood are of family movie nights revisiting a more innocent time when we could believe that people just might start dancing down the streets, where even Brando could sing (OK, maybe not, but "Guys and Dolls" is a LOT of fun to watch).
What I love about musicals is that, like some of the very best animated cartoons of the Warner Brothers era, they could be enjoyed on several levels by young and old alike. There are many themes that I never picked up on while growing up, yet they became apparent to me as I matured. Take "Fiddler on the Roof" for example. I always found Tevye to be a bit whiny-I mean, how bad could he have it? A loving wife, 5 lovely daughters, lots of friends in the village-why did he seem so sad? And yet...as I grew older, I understood his struggle to the changes in tradition, the things that he knew, the way things are-his struggle against change itself. The first suitor sought both his blessing and his permission. The suitor for his second daughter did not seek his permission, but he only sought his blessing. The suitor for his third daughter Hava...the apple of his eye, his favorite...well, he sought neither as their marriage went against all tradition (I can still see Topol in the role yelling at the sky in futility "TRADITION!!!"). Such a great film.
Out of all of the the great musicals, the one that has been a true revelation to me as I have aged has been "Gigi", Vincente Minnelli's adaptation of the Collete short story about a young girl coming of age in turn of the century Paris. Leslie Caron is amazing in the title role, and Maurice Chevalier is in his element as Louis Jourdan's uncle, scheming and advising his nephew to just enjoy his bachelor life (who cares who he harms?). The songs are amazing, and Minnelli knew how to shoot Paris. The only thing that saddens me is that I could never see Paris as it was. With the advent of letterboxing, I was finally able to see the film as it was meant to be seen, and all I could think was "wow!" Now, most of you know of my love of film, and this love can tend towards the maudlin and the sentimental at times. but Minnelli framed one of the most beautiful shots I have ever seen on film (and those of you who have been fortunate enough to witness the shot understand). The scene is near the end of the film. Jourdan's character is in a hansom cab and is take to a giant park. We see this gorgeous fountain (all lit up at night as most Parisian fountains are) and we see the silhouette of the cab pull up in front of the fountain. We then see the cab pull away, and on the left side of the screen, in silhouette, we see Gaston (Jourdan's character), top hat on, his head down, thinking things over.
My God, what an amazing shot. I wish I had that shot framed.
Mind you, this was not a shot of a duel between Darth Vader and Luke Skywalker. This was not Gandalf's face-off with the Balrog on the Bridge at Khazad-dum. This was not even gorgeous waltz of the robots from "Wall-E"-no, this shot is from a 1950s musical about a young girl coming of age in Paris. This shot is probably my favorite film shot of all (with a close second being Will Kane alone on the deserted city streets in "High Noon").
Since those early days, my love of musicals has continued unabated. When I lived in Baltimore for grad school (round 1), I sometimes made day trips to New York to catch shows on Broadway. This was how I was able to see "Phantom of the Opera" (with and without Michael Crawford and Sarah Brightman), "Cats", "Cabaret", "Beauty and the Beast", "Miss Saigon", "Rent" with the original cast, "The Lion King", and, before he died, Rex Harrison in a revival of "My Fair Lady." Living in Chicago, I have been fortunate enough to see even more musicals, as the theater district in Chicago has so many great shows.
I am writing all of this because, in less than 2 weeks, "Wicked" is having its final curtain in Chicago. After assuming that it would be here forever, I was taken by surprise, for I never had a chance to see it and was worried that I would miss it. Thankfully, I now have my ticket and will be seeing it next Tuesday night. All I know about it is that it has something to do with the origins of the witches of Oz. That is all. Well, that and the fact that everyone who has ever seen the show has fallen in love with it. The anticipation is there, and I am looking forward to yet another wonderful experience.
Now, over the years, my male brethren have given me a lot of grief for my love of musicals, and I really do not care. I feel sad for them because their own insecurities and small mindedness are causing them to miss out on some amazing performances.
I leave you with this little bit of trivia. Ricardo Montalban passed away this week. To most people, he was best known as the mysterious Mr. Roarke of "Fantasy Island" or KHHHAAAAAN! from "Star Trek: the Wrath of Khan." Few people know that Mr. Montalban, after becoming a star in Mexican cinema, starred on Broadway opposite Lena Horne in the musical "Jamaica." Khan as a calypso singer? Believe it!
Tuesday, January 13, 2009
Regression, or the Artful Parents and the TiVo
This Christmas, I purchased an HD TiVo for my parents. My parents are in their late sixties and early 70s, but they tend to be rather technically savvy. My mom surfs the web like a pro and considers any day that does not include time with her Wii and Wii Fit to have been a wasted day. She is also obsessed with Tetris. My dad set up the entire home entertainment system-and this was after he turned 70, mind you. I remember having conversations with him about HDMI versions (we agreed that 1.3a was the way to go) and whether his receiver should be merely pass-through or decoding.
Yeah, I know.
Anyway, the one constant in all of their purchases is that my Mom's first response to any electronics purchase is "No!" My father and I, however, have realized that Mom usually comes around once we show her how the technology can benefit them. This was the case with DVR. Ever since I learned the joys of the DVR so many years ago, I knew that it would be something both of my parents could enjoy. Beyond the benefit of easy recording and convenience, there was that whole thing of "being able to pause live TV while you go to pee" that makes DVR wonderful. My dad had long been sold on it, but my mom...well, "No!"
Now, this Christmas was the first Christmas in a few years that I could afford to purchase something nice for them. I chose TiVo, much to my father's delight. The newer TiVos not only record in HD but also allow one to stream video from Netflix straight to the TV without the hassle of bothering with DVDs, the mail, and such. I had been streaming Netflix through my Xbox for a while, and I was amazed at how easy it was to set up. I also get a couple of the DVDs every month through the mail, but I was never getting the full benefit of my Netflix membership. I figured that once I set up the TiVo and showed Mom and Dad how to use it, I could set them up with my Netflix account, thereby making it a family account that I would pay for and that they could use.
Predictably, my parents loved the TiVo. I mean, who wouldn't? Mom became enamoured with this puzzle game that came with the system, and Dad immediately set about trying to set up the system to record his beloved "Saturday Night Live." I showed them how to add films to the instant queue and how to search for movies and then returned to Chicago. After a couple of days, I noticed that they had watched...a LOT of movies on Netflix. I mean...a LOT. My instant queue was filled with so many films that I myself would never dream of watching. I also started getting "Netflix recommendations for Artful" that were...well, they were not even close. After my initial bemusement, I started to add some titles to my own instant queue and then stopped. At 37, I realized that I had allowed my parents to have full access to my movie viewing habits. Now, I am not someone who likes abnormal films or anything, and Netflix does not deal in porn or stuff like that, but I have had to struggle a bit with this little loss of privacy. Have I really regressed back to the point in childhood where Mom and Dad can monitor fully an aspect of my life?
The point really hit home when I wanted to add a film to my queue but refrained from doing so based on the title of the film and the inevitable questions that the Artful Mom and Dad would ask if it showed up in my queue. It is a Canadian film, a comedy about the struggles in relationships that people go through, a story told through a series of vignettes (5, to be precise). The film received excellent reviews and is SO MUCH better than the title. In fact, there is supposedly very little in the way of risque subject matter other than some salty language. It has been described as similar to "The 40 Year Old Virgin" and "American Pie", riotous sex comedies that have a heart. It sounds like a great film...but I refuse to put it in my Netflix queue based solely on my concern over my parents' response if they saw it in there.
The title?
Umm...Young People F****ing.
Yeah, try explaining THAT title to the Artful Parents...
Yeah, I know.
Anyway, the one constant in all of their purchases is that my Mom's first response to any electronics purchase is "No!" My father and I, however, have realized that Mom usually comes around once we show her how the technology can benefit them. This was the case with DVR. Ever since I learned the joys of the DVR so many years ago, I knew that it would be something both of my parents could enjoy. Beyond the benefit of easy recording and convenience, there was that whole thing of "being able to pause live TV while you go to pee" that makes DVR wonderful. My dad had long been sold on it, but my mom...well, "No!"
Now, this Christmas was the first Christmas in a few years that I could afford to purchase something nice for them. I chose TiVo, much to my father's delight. The newer TiVos not only record in HD but also allow one to stream video from Netflix straight to the TV without the hassle of bothering with DVDs, the mail, and such. I had been streaming Netflix through my Xbox for a while, and I was amazed at how easy it was to set up. I also get a couple of the DVDs every month through the mail, but I was never getting the full benefit of my Netflix membership. I figured that once I set up the TiVo and showed Mom and Dad how to use it, I could set them up with my Netflix account, thereby making it a family account that I would pay for and that they could use.
Predictably, my parents loved the TiVo. I mean, who wouldn't? Mom became enamoured with this puzzle game that came with the system, and Dad immediately set about trying to set up the system to record his beloved "Saturday Night Live." I showed them how to add films to the instant queue and how to search for movies and then returned to Chicago. After a couple of days, I noticed that they had watched...a LOT of movies on Netflix. I mean...a LOT. My instant queue was filled with so many films that I myself would never dream of watching. I also started getting "Netflix recommendations for Artful" that were...well, they were not even close. After my initial bemusement, I started to add some titles to my own instant queue and then stopped. At 37, I realized that I had allowed my parents to have full access to my movie viewing habits. Now, I am not someone who likes abnormal films or anything, and Netflix does not deal in porn or stuff like that, but I have had to struggle a bit with this little loss of privacy. Have I really regressed back to the point in childhood where Mom and Dad can monitor fully an aspect of my life?
The point really hit home when I wanted to add a film to my queue but refrained from doing so based on the title of the film and the inevitable questions that the Artful Mom and Dad would ask if it showed up in my queue. It is a Canadian film, a comedy about the struggles in relationships that people go through, a story told through a series of vignettes (5, to be precise). The film received excellent reviews and is SO MUCH better than the title. In fact, there is supposedly very little in the way of risque subject matter other than some salty language. It has been described as similar to "The 40 Year Old Virgin" and "American Pie", riotous sex comedies that have a heart. It sounds like a great film...but I refuse to put it in my Netflix queue based solely on my concern over my parents' response if they saw it in there.
The title?
Umm...Young People F****ing.
Yeah, try explaining THAT title to the Artful Parents...
Wednesday, January 07, 2009
The Story of Troy
During an on-line chat with Eddie one day, I made a comment that was a bit out of character for me (and said completely in jest). This was the chat dialogue that followed:
Eddie: "This is not Artful! Who is this?"
Artful: "Troy."
Eddie: " hahahaa (sidenote-Eddie abhors shorthand such as 'lol' while on-line chatting)-Troy McClure?"
Artful: "No, just Troy...no last name. Troy."
With that exchange, Troy has become my alter ego. We have since filled in Troy's background. He is from East London (as that is the only sort of "English from the UK" that I can speak). He is a bruiser, but he is always good for a larf. Soon enough, whenever Eddie and Missy were around, they would invariably start referring to me as Troy, a funny in-joke that had to be explained to anyone standing around why they were calling an Indian guy by the name of Troy.
Flash forward to Monday. I left the office briefly around midday to grab a takeout lunch from a place close to work. Now, I have a typically hard to pronounce Indian name (at least, for people NOT from India), and I usually have to explain to various cashiers, hosts and hostesses exactly how to pronounce it and how to spell it. On this occasion, I felt inspired:
Cashier: "And what is your name for the order?"
Artful (confidently): "Troy...yup, that's my name."
Cashier: "Oooh! Troy. That is a very strong sounding name!"
Seriously, you can't make this stuff up.
Artful (not expecting this reaction): "Really? Ummm...why do you say that?"
Cashier: "It just is-it is a lot stronger sounding than Jasmine at least (which turned out to be her name)."
Upon returning to the office, I immediately shared the experience with Eddie, who "hahahaa'd" (lol'd) and seemed extremely pleased. He also confirmed my suspicions that the cashier was, in fact, hitting on me.
As that has never occurred in instances where I gave my real name, I can only assume that her interest was due to the power of Troy.
So if you are out and about in Chicago and see an Indian guy in his 30s who answers to the name of Troy, you might just have met me!
Eddie: "This is not Artful! Who is this?"
Artful: "Troy."
Eddie: " hahahaa (sidenote-Eddie abhors shorthand such as 'lol' while on-line chatting)-Troy McClure?"
Artful: "No, just Troy...no last name. Troy."
With that exchange, Troy has become my alter ego. We have since filled in Troy's background. He is from East London (as that is the only sort of "English from the UK" that I can speak). He is a bruiser, but he is always good for a larf. Soon enough, whenever Eddie and Missy were around, they would invariably start referring to me as Troy, a funny in-joke that had to be explained to anyone standing around why they were calling an Indian guy by the name of Troy.
Flash forward to Monday. I left the office briefly around midday to grab a takeout lunch from a place close to work. Now, I have a typically hard to pronounce Indian name (at least, for people NOT from India), and I usually have to explain to various cashiers, hosts and hostesses exactly how to pronounce it and how to spell it. On this occasion, I felt inspired:
Cashier: "And what is your name for the order?"
Artful (confidently): "Troy...yup, that's my name."
Cashier: "Oooh! Troy. That is a very strong sounding name!"
Seriously, you can't make this stuff up.
Artful (not expecting this reaction): "Really? Ummm...why do you say that?"
Cashier: "It just is-it is a lot stronger sounding than Jasmine at least (which turned out to be her name)."
Upon returning to the office, I immediately shared the experience with Eddie, who "hahahaa'd" (lol'd) and seemed extremely pleased. He also confirmed my suspicions that the cashier was, in fact, hitting on me.
As that has never occurred in instances where I gave my real name, I can only assume that her interest was due to the power of Troy.
So if you are out and about in Chicago and see an Indian guy in his 30s who answers to the name of Troy, you might just have met me!
Monday, January 05, 2009
Stolen Lines #1
I tried to think of the right answer. Unable to think of that, I spoke anyway.
As my mouth opened and I formed the words, my mind went back to the first moment I saw her. I was a grad student, and I had just come out of a long term, bad relationship. At the time I was in the relationship, I did not think it was necessarily bad. After all, when one is in a relationship, we are often blind to the bad stuff. It is only with time and distance can we see the toxicity of certain relationships. My previous girlfriend had been my polar opposite. Where I was passive, she was aggressive. Where I tended to be mellow, she tended to be...well, MEAN. It took the observation of my best friend at the time for me to actually focus on what the heck I was doing in the relationship. I was driven to succeed in school, and I had a clear notion of what I wanted to do with my life. She was haunted by the demons of her childhood, and the manic-depression that haunted her mother was, in retrospect, rearing its ugly head in her. The break-up was not pleasant, and as she was my first long-term girlfriend, it was hard on me. Of course, it is easy now to see that it would never have worked out. At the time, however, I was wondering if I would ever find someone ever again.
But then I noticed K. Now, K was also a graduate student studying in a lab a few floors above me. She was attractive, quiet, and intelligent. She seemed to also have a direction to her life, a purpose. I was very shy and, having just emerged from a bad relationship. was reluctant to embark on dating once again. Luckily, one of my lab mates took it upon herself to set things in motion by finding out K's situation. She was single and had come out of a bad co-dependent relationship herself. She was not looking, but one of her requirements would be a guy who was not so needy. I appeared to fit the bill.
Our first date was a movie, the Ethan Hawke version of "Great Expectations." I think that both K and I were expecting a classic romance, but it was a little more risque than we would have liked. We went for coffee afterward, and we discussed the rigors of being grad students, bits and pieces about our research, and aspects about our interests. I found out that K fancied herself an actress and had even taken part in a few productions in town. I discovered that she owned her home in a trendy area of town. I also discovered that she was very close to her recently widowed mother. She loved to cook and entertain. Everything should have worked, right?
Over time, however, cracks appeared in the veneer of our relationship. What had once started out so promising ended with with a tearful farewell.
Lost in my reverie, and attempting to think of the right answer to her question: "Why do you want to break up?", I was distracted by figuring out what I SHOULD say rather than what the right answer was. I mean, I was unable to come up with the right answer because there was no SINGLE right answer-just a conglomeration of issues that told me that she wasn't the one. Sometimes, the truth in break ups can hurt a lot more than non sequitur reasons.
The right answer? Well...first, there was the fact that, once again, I had followed my pattern of being the rescuer-the person who comes in and takes care of a bird with a wing down. K was the bird in this case, an amazing person who, when we met, thought she was nothing special who had been used and abused by her previous boyfriend (mentally and not physically). I set about to disavow her of this notion, and I succeeded to a certain extent. The unwelcome side effect of this was that K started clinging to me in the most suffocating way. Every second of every day, she wanted to know what I was doing, who I was with, and when we would see each other next. Actually, to call it suffocating would be understating the situation. She would pop into my lab and visit me at all times, even where I was trying to work. That, in itself was not sooo bad, but it got to the point where I could hardly get any work done. She was ALWAYS hovering nearby or calling me on the phone.
There were also the father figure issues-her father had passed away 2 years before, and she still felt the void. However, she often put me in the position of her father. Ummm......yuck?
And, of course, there were superficial things. I must admit that, in retrospect, I could have handle the break up better. After all, maybe I could have helped her change things. However, there are some things that are just SO fundamental that a passing comment is just not enough.
She had awful personal hygiene.
There, I said it. Now, you might say: "But Artful, how bad could it be? I mean, you would have keyed in on it early on, right?"
Umm...no, sometimes the judicious and strategic application of perfume and hand lotion can cover up big defects. The eye-opening moment for me was during the first weekend we spent together, 2 months into our relationship. We had gone hiking in the summer heat, and upon returning to the hotel, I immediately made a beeline to the bathroom to shower. After I had dressed and emerged, she stated that she wanted to go to dinner.
"OK," I thought, "she obviously did not sweat as much as I did. I mean, maybe those pits under her arms are from water that she splashed up there when I was not looking. Maybe she is just really hungry and will shower after dinner."
We went to dinner and returned to our room. I brushed my teeth because I wanted to give her the bathroom. She....did not need it. After I left the bathroom, she entered to use the toilet. I heard the flush but then no running water afterwards-SHE HAD NOT WASHED HER HANDS!!! As it turned out, she had also not bothered to shower or brush her teeth. We went to sleep (and I was completely grossed out by that point). The next morning, I showered, shaved, and brushed my teeth. She did none of those things (and yes, some of them were DEFINITELY required). Mind you, this was day 2 . . . in the summer. . . umm, yeah.
On day 4, we left. She had not bathed or brushed her teeth during this time. In retrospect, maybe she was trying to get rid of me? But no...then what was up with the clingyness and the entreaties for intimacy (yeah-as if THAT would happen after what I witnessed)?
At the time of the break-up (shortly after this weekend), the right answer would have been "you are too clingy and unhygienic, and my germophobic ass just cannot handle that!". Instead, I trotted out the old tried and true "this is just a bad time in my life."
OK, I KNOW that that is SUCH a guy line, but keep in mind that a) my last break up was still fresh in my mind AND b) I was SO immature (barely in my 20s at the time and not ready for ANY relationship. At least I deserve credit for telling her directly and not complaining to my friends about it, playing the a-hole guy card by being mean and forcing her to break-up first, or ignoring her and hoping that she would break up with me. I followed up that line with something that was, actually, true: "it's not you, its me." It WAS me. I was the one who was feeling claustrophobic. I was the one who had germ issues. I was the coward who could not tell her these things. In my mind, she was better off. Would it have been better to stay in the relationship for the sake of the relationship? I think not. I had made that mistake previously. It would also not be fair to her. Honesty would have devastated her. I have had friends tell me that I should have informed her of the hygiene thing, but whenever they told me that, I countered with "HOW?"
In retrospect, there are a lot of things I could have said that would have been better. Hindsight is, after all, 20/20. Unable to think of the right answer that summer evening, I spoke anyway, and thankfully, I was able to end the relationship with a minimum of tears. I hope that K has found happiness with someone else-I really do.
Postscript-since that time, my best friend has referred to girlfriend #1 as "the mean one" and K as "the stinky one." Thanks, Aaron.
Note: I stole the first two sentences from Night of the Avenging Blowfish, by John Welter, as part of Grace's experiment.
As my mouth opened and I formed the words, my mind went back to the first moment I saw her. I was a grad student, and I had just come out of a long term, bad relationship. At the time I was in the relationship, I did not think it was necessarily bad. After all, when one is in a relationship, we are often blind to the bad stuff. It is only with time and distance can we see the toxicity of certain relationships. My previous girlfriend had been my polar opposite. Where I was passive, she was aggressive. Where I tended to be mellow, she tended to be...well, MEAN. It took the observation of my best friend at the time for me to actually focus on what the heck I was doing in the relationship. I was driven to succeed in school, and I had a clear notion of what I wanted to do with my life. She was haunted by the demons of her childhood, and the manic-depression that haunted her mother was, in retrospect, rearing its ugly head in her. The break-up was not pleasant, and as she was my first long-term girlfriend, it was hard on me. Of course, it is easy now to see that it would never have worked out. At the time, however, I was wondering if I would ever find someone ever again.
But then I noticed K. Now, K was also a graduate student studying in a lab a few floors above me. She was attractive, quiet, and intelligent. She seemed to also have a direction to her life, a purpose. I was very shy and, having just emerged from a bad relationship. was reluctant to embark on dating once again. Luckily, one of my lab mates took it upon herself to set things in motion by finding out K's situation. She was single and had come out of a bad co-dependent relationship herself. She was not looking, but one of her requirements would be a guy who was not so needy. I appeared to fit the bill.
Our first date was a movie, the Ethan Hawke version of "Great Expectations." I think that both K and I were expecting a classic romance, but it was a little more risque than we would have liked. We went for coffee afterward, and we discussed the rigors of being grad students, bits and pieces about our research, and aspects about our interests. I found out that K fancied herself an actress and had even taken part in a few productions in town. I discovered that she owned her home in a trendy area of town. I also discovered that she was very close to her recently widowed mother. She loved to cook and entertain. Everything should have worked, right?
Over time, however, cracks appeared in the veneer of our relationship. What had once started out so promising ended with with a tearful farewell.
Lost in my reverie, and attempting to think of the right answer to her question: "Why do you want to break up?", I was distracted by figuring out what I SHOULD say rather than what the right answer was. I mean, I was unable to come up with the right answer because there was no SINGLE right answer-just a conglomeration of issues that told me that she wasn't the one. Sometimes, the truth in break ups can hurt a lot more than non sequitur reasons.
The right answer? Well...first, there was the fact that, once again, I had followed my pattern of being the rescuer-the person who comes in and takes care of a bird with a wing down. K was the bird in this case, an amazing person who, when we met, thought she was nothing special who had been used and abused by her previous boyfriend (mentally and not physically). I set about to disavow her of this notion, and I succeeded to a certain extent. The unwelcome side effect of this was that K started clinging to me in the most suffocating way. Every second of every day, she wanted to know what I was doing, who I was with, and when we would see each other next. Actually, to call it suffocating would be understating the situation. She would pop into my lab and visit me at all times, even where I was trying to work. That, in itself was not sooo bad, but it got to the point where I could hardly get any work done. She was ALWAYS hovering nearby or calling me on the phone.
There were also the father figure issues-her father had passed away 2 years before, and she still felt the void. However, she often put me in the position of her father. Ummm......yuck?
And, of course, there were superficial things. I must admit that, in retrospect, I could have handle the break up better. After all, maybe I could have helped her change things. However, there are some things that are just SO fundamental that a passing comment is just not enough.
She had awful personal hygiene.
There, I said it. Now, you might say: "But Artful, how bad could it be? I mean, you would have keyed in on it early on, right?"
Umm...no, sometimes the judicious and strategic application of perfume and hand lotion can cover up big defects. The eye-opening moment for me was during the first weekend we spent together, 2 months into our relationship. We had gone hiking in the summer heat, and upon returning to the hotel, I immediately made a beeline to the bathroom to shower. After I had dressed and emerged, she stated that she wanted to go to dinner.
"OK," I thought, "she obviously did not sweat as much as I did. I mean, maybe those pits under her arms are from water that she splashed up there when I was not looking. Maybe she is just really hungry and will shower after dinner."
We went to dinner and returned to our room. I brushed my teeth because I wanted to give her the bathroom. She....did not need it. After I left the bathroom, she entered to use the toilet. I heard the flush but then no running water afterwards-SHE HAD NOT WASHED HER HANDS!!! As it turned out, she had also not bothered to shower or brush her teeth. We went to sleep (and I was completely grossed out by that point). The next morning, I showered, shaved, and brushed my teeth. She did none of those things (and yes, some of them were DEFINITELY required). Mind you, this was day 2 . . . in the summer. . . umm, yeah.
On day 4, we left. She had not bathed or brushed her teeth during this time. In retrospect, maybe she was trying to get rid of me? But no...then what was up with the clingyness and the entreaties for intimacy (yeah-as if THAT would happen after what I witnessed)?
At the time of the break-up (shortly after this weekend), the right answer would have been "you are too clingy and unhygienic, and my germophobic ass just cannot handle that!". Instead, I trotted out the old tried and true "this is just a bad time in my life."
OK, I KNOW that that is SUCH a guy line, but keep in mind that a) my last break up was still fresh in my mind AND b) I was SO immature (barely in my 20s at the time and not ready for ANY relationship. At least I deserve credit for telling her directly and not complaining to my friends about it, playing the a-hole guy card by being mean and forcing her to break-up first, or ignoring her and hoping that she would break up with me. I followed up that line with something that was, actually, true: "it's not you, its me." It WAS me. I was the one who was feeling claustrophobic. I was the one who had germ issues. I was the coward who could not tell her these things. In my mind, she was better off. Would it have been better to stay in the relationship for the sake of the relationship? I think not. I had made that mistake previously. It would also not be fair to her. Honesty would have devastated her. I have had friends tell me that I should have informed her of the hygiene thing, but whenever they told me that, I countered with "HOW?"
In retrospect, there are a lot of things I could have said that would have been better. Hindsight is, after all, 20/20. Unable to think of the right answer that summer evening, I spoke anyway, and thankfully, I was able to end the relationship with a minimum of tears. I hope that K has found happiness with someone else-I really do.
Postscript-since that time, my best friend has referred to girlfriend #1 as "the mean one" and K as "the stinky one." Thanks, Aaron.
Note: I stole the first two sentences from Night of the Avenging Blowfish, by John Welter, as part of Grace's experiment.
Random Thought of the Day
I was reading how President-Elect Barack Obama was flying around in one of the presidential planes when I came to the following passage:
Although the airplane was not called Air Force One because Obama is not yet president, it had all the trappings of the real thing: the presidential seal at the front of the plane, name cards with the presidential seal and cups and plates emblazoned with "Air Force One."
I then got to thinking: "wouldn't it be great if there was really a presidential SEAL?" I mean, imagine a marine mammal sitting at the front of the plane barking at the Commander in Chief.
Strange I know, but this is how my brain works.
The next Presidential Seal?
Although the airplane was not called Air Force One because Obama is not yet president, it had all the trappings of the real thing: the presidential seal at the front of the plane, name cards with the presidential seal and cups and plates emblazoned with "Air Force One."
I then got to thinking: "wouldn't it be great if there was really a presidential SEAL?" I mean, imagine a marine mammal sitting at the front of the plane barking at the Commander in Chief.
Strange I know, but this is how my brain works.
The next Presidential Seal?Saturday, January 03, 2009
How I Intend to Be a Better Person in 2009
Resolutions are interesting things. Most of the time, we look at short term goals that we might have and write those into the resolutions. Very few of us, however, take the coming of a new year as an opportunity to truly do some soul searching to discover what we should inherently change about ourselves. The problem is that the older we get, the more ingrained our bad habits seem to be and the more we struggle to keep up with the changes we want to make. After all, it is so much easier to sit in front of a warm fire than go outside into the bitter Chicago cold and take a long walk. It is so much easier to sit in front of the TV rather than finding activities to do outside the home or to do things around the house. When one lives, as I do, by himself, it can be even harder, as there is no other person to whom you must hold yourself accountable. There is no one there to say "it is time to mop the floors, do the laundry, pay the bills, get up, make breakfast, go to work, go grocery shopping, go to the gym, make appointments, fill the tank, talk to the management company, call the cable company about the service, call your mom, call you dad, call your brother, make travel plans for next year, remember student loan payments, etc." I tend to keep a lot of my tasks in my head, and I have noticed a decrease in my memory pertaining to tasks as I have grown older. Hence, one of the first fundamental changes I would like to make is to keep a planner that outlines my responsibilities on a week-to-week basis, factoring in hard times for grocery shopping, chores, and going to the gym. If I can do anything for 3 weeks without interruption, I have noticed that such things become habits. Organization is the key to success in my book.
The other thing that I want to do in the new year is to be a better friend. This fundamental change comes from my own bad habit of not calling my friends enough. Months can go by before I realize that I have not spoken to 2 of my best friends in the entire world. Now, one might say that they should call me as well, but conversations are a 2 way street. I need to make more of an effort to speak to them on a regular basis (or at least until they tell me to stop) and to be a good friend in other ways. Oftentimes, I struggle with the problem of not wanting to point out issues for fear of antagonizing my friends. I believe the best approach to this issue would be to focus on myself and try to address my own individual issues. After all, who am I to criticize where I have so much to work on?
Hand in hand with this is something that I have been doing for years. For the most part, I do not speak to friends about friends unless EVERYONE knows what is going on. For example, if I have a problem with friend 1, I will NOT complain about friend 1 to friend 2 unless I have already discussed the issue with friend 1 to begin with. Granted, we all need to vent to a third party, but it seems unfair to vent where one party has not had an opportunity to air grievances first. At the same time, I want to refrain to talking to ANYONE but that individual if I am having issues with them. Trust is one of the primary cornerstones for any good relationship, and it can crumble where we speak to others (complain/talk smack/bitch) about issues we may have with friends without being upfront and honest with them. In order to be a better person, I refuse to speak ill of my friends in any way, shape or form. While they may frustrate me at times, I am sure that I frustrate the heck out of them as well, and I know that I would not like it if they were complaining about me without confronting me directly. That is not friendship, is it? So I need to be a better friend in this regard.
Fundamental changes are not easy tp make, but I think that I am headed in the right direction, 2008 was hard on a lot of my friends, but all in all, it treated me pretty well on balance. I hope that I will continue to learn and grow in 2009. I look forward to having all of you along for the ride!
The other thing that I want to do in the new year is to be a better friend. This fundamental change comes from my own bad habit of not calling my friends enough. Months can go by before I realize that I have not spoken to 2 of my best friends in the entire world. Now, one might say that they should call me as well, but conversations are a 2 way street. I need to make more of an effort to speak to them on a regular basis (or at least until they tell me to stop) and to be a good friend in other ways. Oftentimes, I struggle with the problem of not wanting to point out issues for fear of antagonizing my friends. I believe the best approach to this issue would be to focus on myself and try to address my own individual issues. After all, who am I to criticize where I have so much to work on?
Hand in hand with this is something that I have been doing for years. For the most part, I do not speak to friends about friends unless EVERYONE knows what is going on. For example, if I have a problem with friend 1, I will NOT complain about friend 1 to friend 2 unless I have already discussed the issue with friend 1 to begin with. Granted, we all need to vent to a third party, but it seems unfair to vent where one party has not had an opportunity to air grievances first. At the same time, I want to refrain to talking to ANYONE but that individual if I am having issues with them. Trust is one of the primary cornerstones for any good relationship, and it can crumble where we speak to others (complain/talk smack/bitch) about issues we may have with friends without being upfront and honest with them. In order to be a better person, I refuse to speak ill of my friends in any way, shape or form. While they may frustrate me at times, I am sure that I frustrate the heck out of them as well, and I know that I would not like it if they were complaining about me without confronting me directly. That is not friendship, is it? So I need to be a better friend in this regard.
Fundamental changes are not easy tp make, but I think that I am headed in the right direction, 2008 was hard on a lot of my friends, but all in all, it treated me pretty well on balance. I hope that I will continue to learn and grow in 2009. I look forward to having all of you along for the ride!
Wednesday, December 17, 2008
The Struggles of an Optimist in the Second City
Many of you probably have never heard of Robert Evans. He was a B-movie actor of the 1950s who went on to form Evan-Picone with his brother Charles and was then selected by Charles Bluhdorn, the chairman of Gulf + Western, to run Paramount Pictures in the late 1960s and into the 1970s. Under Evan's watch, the studio went from last place to first with hits such as "Rosemary's Baby," "The Godfather", "The Godfather Part II", "Love Story", "Chinatown", and "Goodbye, Columbus." His memoir, "The Kid Stays in the Picture" is an amazing and insightful read, and is filled with all sorts of great lines.
For example, Evans was personally selected by Norma Shearer, the wife of the late great Irving Thalberg, to play Thalberg in a film about the life of Lon Chaney, "The Man of a Thousand Faces." Being a neophyte, Evans loved watching the dailies, those pieces of film that had just been shot. He noticed, however, that his co-star, James Cagney (who was the star of the picture) never had any interest in watching the dailies.
Evans asked Cagney: "Mr. Cagney, I noticed that you never watch the dailies. How come?"
Cagney replied: "Kid, the dailies don't mean anything. You can shoot a great shot, but it has to cut together in order to make a great movie. Why do you think there are so many beautiful brides and so many ugly wives?"
Very sexist comment, to be sure, but one could just as easily substitute "groom" and "husband" into the equation above to make the same point. We always hope for the best and try our best to succeed, but it takes hard work to get to where we need to go. Cagney's point was simply that just because you shot a great scene does not mean the hard work is over; rather, it means that the hard work is just beginning. One has to believe, however, that the payoff is worth it.
I am surrounded by friends who are in varying stages of their law careers. Many have yet to find a job, and this sort of difficulty can be maddening when one considers that they put in so much time and money to get their degrees. The economy, the corrupt politicians of Chicago, and the lack of a credible career services office at my alma mater have a lot to do with it. One of my friends has departed to become a scuba instructor in the Bahamas. Another works at Macy's trying to make ends meet. Yet another was THE reason (yes, I believe that she was the SOLE reason) that North Carolina turned from red to blue in the last election, but even SHE has been denied a job.
I am also surrounded by friends who actually have their dream jobs, yet are unhappy with them. It is almost as if they struggled to attain the goal, climbing the mountain carefully and dodging all of the hazards-only to find that view from the top looked out onto 3 brick walls and a Denny's. To be sure, some have their dream jobs and LOVE them, but at the same time, where is their fairness when their dream jobs involve the most beneficial of public services yet does not pay them enough to pay off their education loans?
It is difficult for me to feel happy about my own situation when I know that people I care about are struggling. I am 37 and had a long "career" as a student before I finally attained my goal. I do love my job, and I am well compensated for it. However, this success did not come overnight and had MORE than its share of paycheck-to-paycheck struggles and debt. I wore the same wardrobe until the shirts and pants became tattered and frayed. I lived on a student budget for over 14 years of my adult life hoping that it would all pay off. I could tell by virtue of smell alone the type of Ramen noodles someone might be cooking. I would stock up on pasta sauce when the cheap stuff hit $1.00 a jar because I knew that that would be several meals. I could not afford to eat out at all and did not have cable TV. I had a car, but I hardly drove it because I was scared about possible repair costs. During all of those dark times, I never gave up hope. I was an optimist of the worst kind, but it paid off. Many of my friends only came to know me once I arrived at law school, but the person I am is a direct result of the struggles I experienced during graduate school in Baltimore.
I am still an optimist, but with so many friends unhappy during this holiday season, my optimism is being tested. I know that I did not want to see such things when I was a student. Such things only served as stark reminders of my own lack of accomplishments at that time.
The only thing I can do is remind my friends that they have at least a decade on me. They already have their degrees and can go back and get more degrees and STILL end up ahead of where I am at 37. The 1990s for me were one long blur of laboratory work and scientific writing. I would hate to think what would have happened if I gave up hope and just accepted my situation.
Success does not happen overnight, but when it does happen, the struggles that one has had to endure will make the experience that much sweeter. With the friends that I have, I am confident that they will find their success sooner rather than later because they are incredible people.
For example, Evans was personally selected by Norma Shearer, the wife of the late great Irving Thalberg, to play Thalberg in a film about the life of Lon Chaney, "The Man of a Thousand Faces." Being a neophyte, Evans loved watching the dailies, those pieces of film that had just been shot. He noticed, however, that his co-star, James Cagney (who was the star of the picture) never had any interest in watching the dailies.
Evans asked Cagney: "Mr. Cagney, I noticed that you never watch the dailies. How come?"
Cagney replied: "Kid, the dailies don't mean anything. You can shoot a great shot, but it has to cut together in order to make a great movie. Why do you think there are so many beautiful brides and so many ugly wives?"
Very sexist comment, to be sure, but one could just as easily substitute "groom" and "husband" into the equation above to make the same point. We always hope for the best and try our best to succeed, but it takes hard work to get to where we need to go. Cagney's point was simply that just because you shot a great scene does not mean the hard work is over; rather, it means that the hard work is just beginning. One has to believe, however, that the payoff is worth it.
I am surrounded by friends who are in varying stages of their law careers. Many have yet to find a job, and this sort of difficulty can be maddening when one considers that they put in so much time and money to get their degrees. The economy, the corrupt politicians of Chicago, and the lack of a credible career services office at my alma mater have a lot to do with it. One of my friends has departed to become a scuba instructor in the Bahamas. Another works at Macy's trying to make ends meet. Yet another was THE reason (yes, I believe that she was the SOLE reason) that North Carolina turned from red to blue in the last election, but even SHE has been denied a job.
I am also surrounded by friends who actually have their dream jobs, yet are unhappy with them. It is almost as if they struggled to attain the goal, climbing the mountain carefully and dodging all of the hazards-only to find that view from the top looked out onto 3 brick walls and a Denny's. To be sure, some have their dream jobs and LOVE them, but at the same time, where is their fairness when their dream jobs involve the most beneficial of public services yet does not pay them enough to pay off their education loans?
It is difficult for me to feel happy about my own situation when I know that people I care about are struggling. I am 37 and had a long "career" as a student before I finally attained my goal. I do love my job, and I am well compensated for it. However, this success did not come overnight and had MORE than its share of paycheck-to-paycheck struggles and debt. I wore the same wardrobe until the shirts and pants became tattered and frayed. I lived on a student budget for over 14 years of my adult life hoping that it would all pay off. I could tell by virtue of smell alone the type of Ramen noodles someone might be cooking. I would stock up on pasta sauce when the cheap stuff hit $1.00 a jar because I knew that that would be several meals. I could not afford to eat out at all and did not have cable TV. I had a car, but I hardly drove it because I was scared about possible repair costs. During all of those dark times, I never gave up hope. I was an optimist of the worst kind, but it paid off. Many of my friends only came to know me once I arrived at law school, but the person I am is a direct result of the struggles I experienced during graduate school in Baltimore.
I am still an optimist, but with so many friends unhappy during this holiday season, my optimism is being tested. I know that I did not want to see such things when I was a student. Such things only served as stark reminders of my own lack of accomplishments at that time.
The only thing I can do is remind my friends that they have at least a decade on me. They already have their degrees and can go back and get more degrees and STILL end up ahead of where I am at 37. The 1990s for me were one long blur of laboratory work and scientific writing. I would hate to think what would have happened if I gave up hope and just accepted my situation.
Success does not happen overnight, but when it does happen, the struggles that one has had to endure will make the experience that much sweeter. With the friends that I have, I am confident that they will find their success sooner rather than later because they are incredible people.
Tuesday, December 02, 2008
The Artful Mom
Imagine, if you will, a young woman from South India. She meets the man of her dreams at the tender age of 23 and is married to him at the tender age of 24. He is 28, quiet but respectful. He has dreams of escaping the provincial life that would be his as a mountain top physician in India. Raised on films from the West, he knows that his best chances for success would be time spent in either England or the United States as a physician. She is close to her family-extremely close, and the two families are at odds with one another soon after the wedding. She knows that if they stay in India, their marriage would be in jeopardy. Her husband hatches a plan to go to the United States to escape the family in-fighting. She acquiesces. In December, less than a month before they are to depart, she finds out that she is pregnant. She knows that her father, a powerful attorney for the Indian government, would not let her leave if he knew this. She confides in her mother, who keeps the secret.
The couple embark on their journey to the United States. The wife cries the entire flight, homesick for the only place she has ever known. Her husband tries in vain to comfort her, but he is worried as well. He only knows that they have temporary positions. He has no idea of where they will be living or what to expect. All he knows is that she is his responsibility.
On a snowy January day, the couple reach Friendship Airport in Baltimore, MD. All they have with them is a small suitcase with some clothes and clothes hangers as well as $40 between them. There is no one to meet them at the airport, so they have to call their employer to ask what to do. Slowly, they start to adapt to the culture. Every day, the couple fights and every night, she cries herself to sleep. She is only 24, pregnant, in a strange country with a man she has only known for less than 2 years. There is no family around to support her during her pregnancy and no friends for that matter. Furthermore, she is a working physician who is putting in many long hours. This is the 1960s, before maternity leave was a part of the lexicon. The women's lib movement was just gaining steam. The wife is oblivious to all of this, for all she knows is her husband, her job, the child that is growing in her belly, and the loneliness that is being in a strange place without the support system she grew up with.
Time goes on, and she gives birth to a beautiful baby boy. However, the wife (now mother) is worried. After all, she does not know who to trust with her most precious thing in the entire universe. She has found a lot of joy in her baby boy, but her job as a working physician in the 1960s does not allow her the luxury to stay at home with her son (something that would be a completely different story today). There are news stories about depraved babysitters drugging babies to keep them quiet, and she fears for her child's safety. With her only thought being the safety of her child, she makes a decision that will haunt her for the rest of her life. She bundles up her 6 week old child, the most precious thing she has, and sends him on a plane to the waiting arms of her parents. She cries for weeks, and her husband comforts her. The sadness brings them closer together, and now she has a reason to work. She wants to get to the point where she can bring him back as soon as possible. Two long years later, that finally happens.
Her heart is broken over and over as her little boy hardly knows her. With time, however, that changes. She still regrets the lost time. Imagine, in this time before video recorders, missing your child's first steps, first words, first EVERYTHING. Her heart aches when she thinks about this, and she finds the greatest joy in hugging her little boy. She and her husband still talk of moving back to India eventually. Another child arrives, and this time the wife can spend time with him. She has made a life in the US, with friends who care for her. During her pregnancy, however, her husband has to return to India, for his father is deathly ill. The husband struggles with his decision, for he knows that he should stay with his pregnant wife. However, she is not the helpless person she seemed to be when they arrived 3.5 years ago. She is stronger. She insists that he go to his father's bedside. Her boy becomes the man of the house, and she endures a summer without her husband and pregnant. He comes back in time for the birth of her second son, and the family is complete. She is strong, and she has so many friends. She is gratified to find that her older son is SO protective of his little brother (something that would continue well into adulthood).
While struggling with a new culture and so many challenges with a new marriage, she has found success in her career. The family decides to stay in the United States and becomes citizens. The wife and mother starts a solo family practice in a small town in Virginia in an area that needs primary care physicians. She runs the household, she runs her office, and she is always there for her kids whenever they need her.
The years roll by. Her husband has a successful career as a surgeon, working longer hours than she, but she takes care of everything (the household, the kids and her own career) without complaint. Her oldest boy graduates at the top of his high school class and goes on to a top college and medical school. He does his residency at yet another top school and becomes a successful specialist in Chicago. Her younger son also graduates from a top school and becomes, for a time, a career student before finding his calling as an attorney (also in Chicago). She is there every step of the way, supporting both kids with her time and advice. At the same time, her medical practice is thriving. Over the years she sees her patients, the kids of her patients, and then the grandkids of her patients. The baby wall in her office (that bulletin board of the pictures of babies she has treated in the womb and out) is overflowing with stories. Her husband retires and repays her by taking care of HER and letting her focus on her work while he cooks, cleans and takes care of the family finances.
Finally, after 32 years as a solo practitioner, she decides to retire and enjoy her remaining years in happy retirement with her soulmate. To her, he is still the quiet, respectful man she fell in love with 43 years ago. Her children are happy and successful, and that is what gives her the greatest contentment. She has lived her life for the three men in her life, and without her, the three men would have been nothing. She has been the most amazing role model, the perfect image of the independent woman combined with wife and mother. True, she still has regrets. She sees her older boy and visualizes him as the 6 week old that she sent away, and her heart aches still. She sees that her sons live far away, and she wishes that were not the case.
On the whole, however, looking at the life of this woman, I challenge anyone to say that she did not live the most amazing and fulfilling life. To this day, she is still full of life and smiles for all who cross her path, and I cannot believe my fortune sometimes in having her as my mom.
So as she prepares to retire this December, I thought it important to share her story. The story SO FAR, that is. Isn't it amazing? Isn't SHE amazing? I think so.
The couple embark on their journey to the United States. The wife cries the entire flight, homesick for the only place she has ever known. Her husband tries in vain to comfort her, but he is worried as well. He only knows that they have temporary positions. He has no idea of where they will be living or what to expect. All he knows is that she is his responsibility.
On a snowy January day, the couple reach Friendship Airport in Baltimore, MD. All they have with them is a small suitcase with some clothes and clothes hangers as well as $40 between them. There is no one to meet them at the airport, so they have to call their employer to ask what to do. Slowly, they start to adapt to the culture. Every day, the couple fights and every night, she cries herself to sleep. She is only 24, pregnant, in a strange country with a man she has only known for less than 2 years. There is no family around to support her during her pregnancy and no friends for that matter. Furthermore, she is a working physician who is putting in many long hours. This is the 1960s, before maternity leave was a part of the lexicon. The women's lib movement was just gaining steam. The wife is oblivious to all of this, for all she knows is her husband, her job, the child that is growing in her belly, and the loneliness that is being in a strange place without the support system she grew up with.
Time goes on, and she gives birth to a beautiful baby boy. However, the wife (now mother) is worried. After all, she does not know who to trust with her most precious thing in the entire universe. She has found a lot of joy in her baby boy, but her job as a working physician in the 1960s does not allow her the luxury to stay at home with her son (something that would be a completely different story today). There are news stories about depraved babysitters drugging babies to keep them quiet, and she fears for her child's safety. With her only thought being the safety of her child, she makes a decision that will haunt her for the rest of her life. She bundles up her 6 week old child, the most precious thing she has, and sends him on a plane to the waiting arms of her parents. She cries for weeks, and her husband comforts her. The sadness brings them closer together, and now she has a reason to work. She wants to get to the point where she can bring him back as soon as possible. Two long years later, that finally happens.
Her heart is broken over and over as her little boy hardly knows her. With time, however, that changes. She still regrets the lost time. Imagine, in this time before video recorders, missing your child's first steps, first words, first EVERYTHING. Her heart aches when she thinks about this, and she finds the greatest joy in hugging her little boy. She and her husband still talk of moving back to India eventually. Another child arrives, and this time the wife can spend time with him. She has made a life in the US, with friends who care for her. During her pregnancy, however, her husband has to return to India, for his father is deathly ill. The husband struggles with his decision, for he knows that he should stay with his pregnant wife. However, she is not the helpless person she seemed to be when they arrived 3.5 years ago. She is stronger. She insists that he go to his father's bedside. Her boy becomes the man of the house, and she endures a summer without her husband and pregnant. He comes back in time for the birth of her second son, and the family is complete. She is strong, and she has so many friends. She is gratified to find that her older son is SO protective of his little brother (something that would continue well into adulthood).
While struggling with a new culture and so many challenges with a new marriage, she has found success in her career. The family decides to stay in the United States and becomes citizens. The wife and mother starts a solo family practice in a small town in Virginia in an area that needs primary care physicians. She runs the household, she runs her office, and she is always there for her kids whenever they need her.
The years roll by. Her husband has a successful career as a surgeon, working longer hours than she, but she takes care of everything (the household, the kids and her own career) without complaint. Her oldest boy graduates at the top of his high school class and goes on to a top college and medical school. He does his residency at yet another top school and becomes a successful specialist in Chicago. Her younger son also graduates from a top school and becomes, for a time, a career student before finding his calling as an attorney (also in Chicago). She is there every step of the way, supporting both kids with her time and advice. At the same time, her medical practice is thriving. Over the years she sees her patients, the kids of her patients, and then the grandkids of her patients. The baby wall in her office (that bulletin board of the pictures of babies she has treated in the womb and out) is overflowing with stories. Her husband retires and repays her by taking care of HER and letting her focus on her work while he cooks, cleans and takes care of the family finances.
Finally, after 32 years as a solo practitioner, she decides to retire and enjoy her remaining years in happy retirement with her soulmate. To her, he is still the quiet, respectful man she fell in love with 43 years ago. Her children are happy and successful, and that is what gives her the greatest contentment. She has lived her life for the three men in her life, and without her, the three men would have been nothing. She has been the most amazing role model, the perfect image of the independent woman combined with wife and mother. True, she still has regrets. She sees her older boy and visualizes him as the 6 week old that she sent away, and her heart aches still. She sees that her sons live far away, and she wishes that were not the case.
On the whole, however, looking at the life of this woman, I challenge anyone to say that she did not live the most amazing and fulfilling life. To this day, she is still full of life and smiles for all who cross her path, and I cannot believe my fortune sometimes in having her as my mom.
So as she prepares to retire this December, I thought it important to share her story. The story SO FAR, that is. Isn't it amazing? Isn't SHE amazing? I think so.
Thursday, November 20, 2008
Dear Idiot Socializing Fat People at the Gym:
You annoy me. You piss me off. I mean, there I am, trying to get my plump ass back into shape and you are standing around right in my line of sight talking and conversing loudly for 20 FREAKING MINUTES!! Don't you know how distracting you are to someone trying to concentrate on exercise? Don't you realize that there is such a thing as personal boundaries? Don't you know how BAD YOU SMELL? Sheesh. It is not as if TALKING is any great form of exercise.
Here's a hint for you: the "club" in health club is NOT the same thing as the "club" in dance club. People are here to train and workout, NOT socialize for hours. Sure, you can socialize, but try to do it away from the workout floor where people are trying to get a workout in and stay in their zone. Here's ANOTHER hint for you: people do not like having to squeeze past your smelly selves. WHY DO YOU PLANT YOURSELVES IN THE MIDDLE OF A WEIGHT ROOM THOROUGHFARE? MOVE!!!! And, finally, hint #3: if you really wanted to get in shape, you would know that one of the goals in a workout is to maintain an elevated heart rate for a sustained period of time. TALKING DOES NOT DO THIS-well, unless the conversation makes you angry. Neither one of your smelly selves seemed to be mad.
Please take note of this, and move your smelly selves out of the way for the good of everyone around you, but especially for the well-being of my plump ass sweating oh so hotly on the machine right next to you.
Sincerely,
Artful
Here's a hint for you: the "club" in health club is NOT the same thing as the "club" in dance club. People are here to train and workout, NOT socialize for hours. Sure, you can socialize, but try to do it away from the workout floor where people are trying to get a workout in and stay in their zone. Here's ANOTHER hint for you: people do not like having to squeeze past your smelly selves. WHY DO YOU PLANT YOURSELVES IN THE MIDDLE OF A WEIGHT ROOM THOROUGHFARE? MOVE!!!! And, finally, hint #3: if you really wanted to get in shape, you would know that one of the goals in a workout is to maintain an elevated heart rate for a sustained period of time. TALKING DOES NOT DO THIS-well, unless the conversation makes you angry. Neither one of your smelly selves seemed to be mad.
Please take note of this, and move your smelly selves out of the way for the good of everyone around you, but especially for the well-being of my plump ass sweating oh so hotly on the machine right next to you.
Sincerely,
Artful
Sunday, November 16, 2008
"Quantum of Solace" = Ehh....
Ever since "Casino Royale" reignited the Bond franchise with a much needed reboot of the Bond story, I looked forward to the next chapter. As a life long Bond fan, I found Daniel Craig's portrayal of the famed literary character a refreshing change to the status quo, and I loved the origin aspects that the producers brought to the table. Advanced word on the next film in the Bond series, "Quantum of Solace" suggested that this film would be the first true sequel in the franchise's history. The story would begin a mere hour after the final scenes from "Casino Royale", with the interrogation of the villainous Mr. White. The producers continued with the same screenwriting team responsible for the last film, Paul Haggis, Neal Purvis, and Robert Wade. It seemed as if this iteration of Bond would last more than one film, and I was excited for the possibilities. What sort of tortured moments for Bond would we see in the wake of his beloved Vesper's death? What kind of storyline would the writer's craft? What would acclaimed director Marc Forster ("Finding Neverland") bring to the table in his first true action film?
Unfortunately, "Quantum of Solace" is merely a collection of great moments that "might have been". The audience is, indeed thrust into the action immediately after the studio trademarks flash on the screen, and we are with Bond as he is racing in his Aston Martin DBS through a winding Italian roadway. During this first chase scene, I started to get a little concerned. It seemed that Marc Forster had decided to lift a page from the directing playbook of fellow director Paul Greengrass ("United 93", "The Bourne Supremacy". and "The Bourne Ultimatum") in that Forster used jump cuts and quick edits to convey action and intensity, with the overall result being disorientation for the movie watcher. Instead of being treated to an exciting chase, I was treated to flashes of what looked to be an exciting chase that was marred by this MTV style of movie making. I have already ranted about Greengrass' failure to utilize Moscow in the car chase scene in "Bourne", where Greengrass treated us instead to shots of Matt Damon shifting gears in his car. Here, it looked to be more of the same. I was disappointed in Forster's style as soon as the chase popped onto the screen.
The opening credit sequence itself was underwhelming. There was no opening gun barrel (it would appear in the end). Moreover, though it appeared to play with the motif of the Bolivian desert, the reintroduction of the silhouetted nudes juxtaposed with a too flashy constellation motif made me feel as if I were in a combination strip club/planetarium in the desert. This was a shame, as I rather enjoyed the theme song performed by Alicia Keys and Jack White. This seemed a step back from the opening credit sequence in the first film.
From there, the audience is treated to (SPOILER WARNING):
1) Bond's chase of a double agent through the streets and rooftops in an Italian town. I think I liked it better when I saw it in "The Bourne Ultimatum" when it was Jason Bourne and Tangiers.
2) Bond's close quarters battle with an assassin prior to his first meeting with his female "partner" for the rest of the film and the main villain."
3) A boat chase sequence every bit as disorienting as the car chase from the earlier part of the film.
4) A HORRIBLE montage sequence of a running gunbattle at an opera, with the shots of Bond's battle matched up with a soundtrack of the opera being performed. YUCK! Forster is no Coppola.
5) Two truly forgettable Bond girls who could not act their way out of a paper bag. Eva Green's Vesper really set the bar high for Bond women. The casting here was a swing and a miss.
6) The setting of the final battle. A hotel. In the middle of a desert. Run by fuel cells. What the heck????? Why make a return to the "giant explosion of the bad guy's base" cliche of earlier Bond films?
7) The lame plot of the villain itself. The villain, Dominic Greene, is attempting to extort money from governments of the different South American governments for their water supplies. The sole instance we see of the impact of his actions is a shot of a few villagers not able to get water from a spigot. Oooooo-scary! Very disappointing villainy.
To be sure, there were some aspects of the film that I enjoyed. Whenever Dame Judi Dench's M was on the screen, the scenes cracked with sharp writing and sharper acting. The homage to "Goldfinger" was affecting and powerful at the same time. I also loved the dialogue concerning how governments deal with people who would normally be considered villains during the Cold War. I particularly loved the line "If we could not deal with villains, we would have no one left to deal with." The moral ambivalence on the part of all parties save for Bond and M rang true, and I loved the emphasis on this ambiguity. One of my favorite moments of the film occurred at the opera (before the abhorrent gunbattle). Bond is attempting to discover the identities of the members of Quantum, and he sets up his post looking at the audience with a pilfered Quantum earpiece, listening in on the conference that is going on within the audience itself. After listening in, he announces his presence, and as the members of Quantum rise from their spots in the audience to make their escape, Bond photographs many of them and sends the data back to the MI6. This was a smarter Bond, not one who was a bull in a china shop. He has LEARNED from the last film the importance of surveillance and the importance of working as part of a larger team.
My other favorite sequence was the final one in the film-Bond's confrontation with Vesper's Algerian boyfriend. Personally, I thought that it should have been near the beginning of the film. The sequence also saddened me because it appeared to have been shot by Martin Campbell as a coda to "Casino Royale." Why could the rest of the film not have done the same? Instead, the audience was left with mishmash of plotlines that do not mesh well together at all.
I was disappointed in this film. Although I would not go so far as to call this "The Bond Supremacy", as so many reviewers have done, I can see where they are coming from. Filmmakers need to get away from this method of action filmmaking. The film also needed more character development sequences. Everytime there was the opportunity (with a favorite being Bond's inability to sleep on an overnight plane flight to South America), the filmmakers dropped the ball in the next scene. Here's hoping that the writers and director for the next Bond film will take a look at what worked in "Casino Royale" and bring the character back to greatness.
Craig is still Bond in my book. He just needs the stories to let him prove it.
Thursday, November 13, 2008
What The Heck is WRONG with Consumers?
Over the last few months, all of us have been battered with what seems like an endless barrage of news concerning financial meltdowns. First, it was the subprime mortgage market. Next, it was the debt market that relied on the subprime mortgage markets. As banks and financial houses continued to fold, the stock market started its tumble. As consumer confidence eroded, credit slowed to a crawl and then stopped. Small businesses can no longer get the loans required to start up. Without the small businesses, people cannot get jobs. Without jobs, people cannot purchase durable goods or invest in the future through the stock market. Unemployment is skyrocketing, and the odds are that we have not seen the worst of it. The so-called "bailout" programs being touted by the current administration and Congress promise to leave so much debt on the American ledger, with no clear cut plan as to how this debt should be paid back, that I fear our children and children's children will be paying the price for our mistakes.
Yes, I said OUR mistakes. A lot of ink has been wasted writing on how the banks are to blame for giving out mortgages to people who should not have qualified in the first place. Of COURSE they are to blame, those evil "predatory lenders" who "trapped consumers" and caused this housing crisis in the first place. At the same time, I feel that not enough attention has been paid to the duties of the individuals to take responsibility for their own actions. Many individuals no doubt knew that there were issues with their income levels and possibility of repayment, yet they took on an inordinate amount of debt without doing the necessary research required. STUPID STUPID STUPID! Don't try to tell me that "these were unsophisticated buyers" who "were waylaid into unfair terms by evil doers." Many of these buyers know exactly what they need to to to manipulate the system. Their mistakes are what we are paying for now, not just those of the banks and other financial institutions. The bailouts will allow these individuals to walk away scott free.
Now a lot of you will read this and merely think that I am spouting off about stuff I know nothing about. I mean, I am more fortunate than a lot of people. What I do know are the lessons of my youth. I know of people who could not afford food and shelter yet were working and spending their money on designer clothes. I know of college kids who rang up incredible amounts of debt on credit cards and then were "shocked" when they were unable to pay. YOU ALWAYS HAVE TO PAY MONEY BACK-SOMETIMES WITH INTEREST!!! Geez. How simple a lesson can that be? Now, I know that there are a lot of hard working people, some of whom are friends of mine, out there just trying to make ends meet. I know that they do not HAVE credit cards or have regular mortgages that they struggle to pay each month. Is it fair to them to have to pay for the mistakes of others?
I was raised in a household where the operative mantra was "save save save." My parents were relatively successful, yet you would not have known it by looking at us. We did not wear designer clothes or have designer accessories, my brother's first car was a $500 1973 Plymouth Duster with a CB radio (in 1985) that was sold later on for the exact same amount. I have had a job of some sort continuously since I was 14 years old, and I have saved every step of the way. Even today, I have some hobbies that people might consider a waste of money, but I ALWAYS put 10% of EVERY paycheck into regular old savings. Nowadays, this is a lot easier than in the past, but I did this even when money was extremely tight. At those times, I did without. Even now, however, I am trying to find ways to cut expenses (not easy in a city that has the highest taxes of any city in the country-including NY). My bills are paid off first every month and THEN the savings go in. I factor in the amount I need for food and transportation, and then I look at what is left. Starting in February, that means student loan payments. This month, I cancelled my 10 year (!) comics subscription solely because I felt that, at this point, it was a waste of my money. Through all of my struggles, from a student on through graduate school and while paying for law school, I have never had to depend on ANYONE to pay my bills. I managed on my own and took pride in that fact.
The name of this blog is "Rants and Ramblings", and this post is a little of both. Today, I saw the news that consumer groups are trying to convince Congress to allow banks to forgive CREDIT CARD DEBT. WHAT? REALLY? So pretty much, the people who are responsible for putting us in this situation get a FREE PASS? Whose fault is it that they are in so much debt? WHOSE? Not mine! Yet, I am paying for someone else's designer clothes, expensive dining out habit, or comic book habit! Is that fair to me? Is that fair to those friends of mine who are doing without credit cards and living paycheck to paycheck?
I agree that something has to be done to help the economy, but I do not support a wholesale bailout of companies nor of individuals saddled with credit card debt. Sure, give them the money to get out of their current situation, but DON'T make it a gift. Make them pay it back. Garnish wages. Garnish company profits. Make the stockholders decide whether or not a company is being fiscally responsible. Only by taking responsibility for the current crisis can companies and individuals learn the easiest fundamental truth about economics: if you spend more than what you earn, you will be in DEBT!!
Yes, I said OUR mistakes. A lot of ink has been wasted writing on how the banks are to blame for giving out mortgages to people who should not have qualified in the first place. Of COURSE they are to blame, those evil "predatory lenders" who "trapped consumers" and caused this housing crisis in the first place. At the same time, I feel that not enough attention has been paid to the duties of the individuals to take responsibility for their own actions. Many individuals no doubt knew that there were issues with their income levels and possibility of repayment, yet they took on an inordinate amount of debt without doing the necessary research required. STUPID STUPID STUPID! Don't try to tell me that "these were unsophisticated buyers" who "were waylaid into unfair terms by evil doers." Many of these buyers know exactly what they need to to to manipulate the system. Their mistakes are what we are paying for now, not just those of the banks and other financial institutions. The bailouts will allow these individuals to walk away scott free.
Now a lot of you will read this and merely think that I am spouting off about stuff I know nothing about. I mean, I am more fortunate than a lot of people. What I do know are the lessons of my youth. I know of people who could not afford food and shelter yet were working and spending their money on designer clothes. I know of college kids who rang up incredible amounts of debt on credit cards and then were "shocked" when they were unable to pay. YOU ALWAYS HAVE TO PAY MONEY BACK-SOMETIMES WITH INTEREST!!! Geez. How simple a lesson can that be? Now, I know that there are a lot of hard working people, some of whom are friends of mine, out there just trying to make ends meet. I know that they do not HAVE credit cards or have regular mortgages that they struggle to pay each month. Is it fair to them to have to pay for the mistakes of others?
I was raised in a household where the operative mantra was "save save save." My parents were relatively successful, yet you would not have known it by looking at us. We did not wear designer clothes or have designer accessories, my brother's first car was a $500 1973 Plymouth Duster with a CB radio (in 1985) that was sold later on for the exact same amount. I have had a job of some sort continuously since I was 14 years old, and I have saved every step of the way. Even today, I have some hobbies that people might consider a waste of money, but I ALWAYS put 10% of EVERY paycheck into regular old savings. Nowadays, this is a lot easier than in the past, but I did this even when money was extremely tight. At those times, I did without. Even now, however, I am trying to find ways to cut expenses (not easy in a city that has the highest taxes of any city in the country-including NY). My bills are paid off first every month and THEN the savings go in. I factor in the amount I need for food and transportation, and then I look at what is left. Starting in February, that means student loan payments. This month, I cancelled my 10 year (!) comics subscription solely because I felt that, at this point, it was a waste of my money. Through all of my struggles, from a student on through graduate school and while paying for law school, I have never had to depend on ANYONE to pay my bills. I managed on my own and took pride in that fact.
The name of this blog is "Rants and Ramblings", and this post is a little of both. Today, I saw the news that consumer groups are trying to convince Congress to allow banks to forgive CREDIT CARD DEBT. WHAT? REALLY? So pretty much, the people who are responsible for putting us in this situation get a FREE PASS? Whose fault is it that they are in so much debt? WHOSE? Not mine! Yet, I am paying for someone else's designer clothes, expensive dining out habit, or comic book habit! Is that fair to me? Is that fair to those friends of mine who are doing without credit cards and living paycheck to paycheck?
I agree that something has to be done to help the economy, but I do not support a wholesale bailout of companies nor of individuals saddled with credit card debt. Sure, give them the money to get out of their current situation, but DON'T make it a gift. Make them pay it back. Garnish wages. Garnish company profits. Make the stockholders decide whether or not a company is being fiscally responsible. Only by taking responsibility for the current crisis can companies and individuals learn the easiest fundamental truth about economics: if you spend more than what you earn, you will be in DEBT!!
Wednesday, November 12, 2008
In honor of the release of "Quantum of Solace": my previous post on "Casino Royale"
I am actually going to write a new, more in-depth review for "Casino Royale" tomorrow. Does it hold up after repeated viewing? What aspects about it particularly appealed to me? Why should you care? After that, look for my review of "Quantum of Solace" on Saturday evening. Now, here is my original post on Daniel Craig's first Bond film.
My father and I have always enjoyed movies. I credit Dad with instilling in me an appreciation for the craft and artistry involved in making movies. I don’t think that Dad knows that my lifelong appreciation for movies began the summer between 5th and 6th grade. During the school year, my father had purchased a very heavy and exotic looking device that, for all intents and purposes, looked like a giant tape recorder. My father was excited about this giant box, and my brother and I could not understand why. Our confusion lasted as long as it took for my Dad to put a tape into the box and press “play.” We found ourselves watching a movie on TV. We were able to pause it so we could go to the bathroom or get snacks. My mind was really blown away when my Dad was able to play a TV show that had been on 2 nights before. Wow. The family VCR was definitely a hit, and I think that we were among the first adopters of the new technology. Dad, in his infinite wisdom, had even chosen a VHS machine instead of Betamax. His decision was highly prescient. Our love affair with the VCR intensified upon Dad’s purchase of a video camera. Now, we were able to film all of our family’s special moments and watch them instantaneously instead of waiting weeks for Super 8 film to develop. No more setting up the projector and the screen. It was all so awesome. I know that, in a world of tiny camcorders, digital cameras, and DVRs this all might seem a bit trite, but I grew up in a time where we had 3 channels (6 after Dad set up a UHF/VHF antenna). It really seemed like magic to me.
The VCR was also the way that Dad and I bonded. My parents were very good about choosing appropriate films for my brother and me (resulting in me not seeing “My Fair Lady”, a “G” rated film, mind you, for a few years because Henry Higgins yells the word “Damn” several times). The real fun came during the aforementioned summer when Dad took my brother and me to the video store, the Video Discount Warehouse, located in Portsmouth, VA. This was a time before the ubiquitous Blockbuster Video, Hollywood Video, Erol’s, Movie Gallery, and Family Video. Every Wednesday, Dad would take us there and let my brother and me choose movies. I still remember how the films had stickers on the spines (red “As” for new releases, blue “Bs” for slightly older releases, and green “Cs” for old releases and kid films). Dad would always let my brother and me choose the maximum 6 movies, and he did not limit us to the most inexpensive lists. Sometimes, he would gently make suggestions if we could not decide. I used to look forward to my Wednesdays with Dad because they were true bonding times. Neither of us was into baseball as many fathers and sons are, so we bonded over films. I think that, except for my love of science fiction films, we have a pretty similar taste in movies to this very day.
One of the films that we rented that summer was a recent blockbuster, “Octopussy.” Up to that point, I had only watched part of a James Bond film, and it had bored me to tears. The film was “From Russia, With Love,” and I remember when it was broadcast on ABC falling asleep while watching it. I also remember my parents’ amusement at my comment upon viewing the moment when Bond, fresh from the shower with a towel around his waist, finds Tatiana Romanova in his bedroom, sits down on the bed, and starts his seduction. My comment? “Wouldn’t he be embarrassed if his towel fell off.” Hey, I was pretty young, so I didn’t quite get the sexual overtones of Bond. I think that my parents were both amused and comforted by my naivety. Anyway, “Octopussy” was available, and we rented it. I was mesmerized from the first moments of the film. Roger Moore became the Bond of my childhood the moment he flew out of Cuba using the tiny jet in the pre-credit sequence. The next time we went to the video store, Dad let me rent the max number of Bond films. I devoured them over the next few days. My favorite Bond when I was a youngster was Roger Moore; I think that a lot of this had to do with the foppishness of his performance. As a kid, you never want to fell as if the hero is really in any danger, and I never felt that Moore was ever in any danger.
Time went on. As I reached my teen-aged years, Moore gave way to Dalton, and my appreciation for the performances of Dalton and Connery grew. My appreciation was born both out of a more mature appreciation for how the character was portrayed (with me wanting more realism from my action heroes) and out of my appreciation for Ian Fleming's original James Bond novels. Connery came closest to Fleming’s description of Bond, and and I later learned that Fleming, impressed with Connery’s portrayal of his creation, introduced a Scottish background into Bond’s backstory during the writing of "On Her Majesty's Secret Service," which coincided with the filming of "Goldfinger". Dalton took his cue from the Fleming novels, but subpar screenplays and having the role of the follow-up to the popular Moore (not to mention a long drawn-out lawsuit concerning the character of Bond), proved to be Dalton’s undoing. I always felt that Dalton received short shrift for his portrayal, and it is not deserved. He did the Fleming Bond proud. Between the last Dalton film, 1989’s “License to Kill” and 1995, there were no Bond films as the lawsuit was litigated.
In 1995, however, Pierce Brosnan was given the role and was superb in the film “Goldeneye.” Brosnan proved to be a worthy successor to the Bond mantle, and the story also gave the audience an all too rare glimpse into the psyche of Bond. There were not a lot of gadgets in the film, and Brosnan gave a subtly nuanced performance as Bond, finding middle ground between the intensity of Dalton and the foppishness of Moore. Still, I never thought that Brosnan could compare to Connery from the first 3 Bond films. Sadly, the quality of the films deteriorated rapidly shortly after that (a remote control BMW in “Tomorrow Never Dies,” Denise Richards as a nuclear scientist in “The World is Not Enough,” and an INVISIBLE CAR and a diamond-satellite refuge from “Diamond are Forever” in “Die Another Day”). The future looked bleak. Brosnan was starting to look a little too old for the role (a role that was originally offered to him in 1986 before NBC screwed that up). The screenplays by Purvis and Wade were ludicrous, and I started to wonder about the viability of the franchise. I found myself reading the books, and I wondered why the filmmakers couldn’t just make a straight translation of Fleming’s novels. The thing that every single Bond film has missed was Fleming’s character. The movie Bond (with the noted exceptions of Dalton, Connery’s first 3 films, and George Lazenby’s single film portrayal in “On Her Majesty’s Secret Service”) all missed the boat when it came to understanding the character of Bond. Bond is an assassin, a cold, calculating, cruel weapon of the MI6.
Word then started coming about a NEW Bond. This Bond would be Daniel Craig, Paul Newman’s weak son in “The Road to Perdition.” I was a bit nervous about this until I saw his performance in Steven Spielberg’s “Munich”; his performance in that film convinced me that Craig might be a good Bond, but I was skeptical as to whether the producers would actually take advantage of Craig’s talent by providing a good screenplay. When the trailers for the new film started to play, I started getting more excited. This was a different kind of Bond, one who seemed to have sprung from the pages of Fleming’s novel. “Casino Royale” opened yesterday. I saw it today.
Wow.
The origin of Bond proved to be every bit as satisfying as that of Batman in “Batman Begins.” The screenwriters (the much maligned Purvis and Wade, with an assist from "Crash" writer/director Paul Haggis) crafted an excellent story, using Fleming’s novel as the template and FAITHFULLY ADAPTING it, changing some minor aspects that had to be changed due to the post-Cold War world we live in. We see the 2 kills that made Bond 007 (2 kills, 2 “0s”, hence 00…and this is straight from Fleming's 1952 novel). Daniel Craig IS James Bond to the point who…dare I say it…not only challenges Connery’s portrayal but actually SURPASSED it in many ways. The plotline is timely and not far fetched, the stunts were not ridiculous, and there were no gadgets. The wonderful thing is that we get to see what made Bond BOND. I cannot recommend this film enough. Halfway through the film, I reflected on what a good film it was, not just what a good “James Bond” film it was. Several things made me smile…retaining Rene Mathis and Felix Leiter as characters from the novel, the creation (lifted straight from Fleming’s novel) of the James Bond martini, the total lack of slapstick and ridiculous science, the acting of Daniel Craig, the soundtrack (both Chris Cornell's throwback of an opening song, AND the string-heavy instrumental soundtrack that was a throwback to the great Bond soundtracks of the 1960s), and the overall “feel” of the film. This film felt like a classic 1960s Bond film sans rocket packs and bulletproof cars. Much of the dialogue was lifted straight from the novel, and I was pleased. This is a great film. I cannot recommend it enough. I was also impressed with the pacing. In most action films, the character scenes are too often viewed as filler for the action sequences, but the scenes had true import in this movie. In the end, when Bond (excuse me, Daniel Craig) delivers the famous introduction, I was smiling. When the original arrangement of Monty Norman’s James Bond theme played over the final credits, I was smiling even more broadly. Even the theme was as it was in the early Connery films. This was a great Bond film. This was a great spy movie. This is one of my favorite films of the year. Wow. Congratulations, Daniel Craig. May the producers continue to provide good screenplays for you to use, and may we continue to see you as Bond for years to come.
For those of you interested in watching the films in chronological order:
1) Dr. No
2) From Russia, With Love
3) Goldfinger
4) Thunderball
5) You Only Live Twice
6) On Her Majesty's Secret Service
7) Diamonds Are Forever
8) Live and Let Die
9) The Man With the Golden Gun
10) The Spy Who Loved Me
11) Moonraker
12) For Your Eyes Only
13) Octopussy
14) A View to a Kill
15) The Living Daylights
16) License to Kill
17) Goldeneye
18) Tomorrow Never Dies
19) The World is Not Enough
20) Die Another Day
21) Casino Royale
22) Quantum of Solace (to be released on 11/14/08 in the United States)
Note..I realize that there was an earlier version of Casino Royale, and I know that Connery was in the Thunderball remake, Never Say Never Again, but the only authentic Bond films (in my opinion) are the ones from Eon Productions.
My father and I have always enjoyed movies. I credit Dad with instilling in me an appreciation for the craft and artistry involved in making movies. I don’t think that Dad knows that my lifelong appreciation for movies began the summer between 5th and 6th grade. During the school year, my father had purchased a very heavy and exotic looking device that, for all intents and purposes, looked like a giant tape recorder. My father was excited about this giant box, and my brother and I could not understand why. Our confusion lasted as long as it took for my Dad to put a tape into the box and press “play.” We found ourselves watching a movie on TV. We were able to pause it so we could go to the bathroom or get snacks. My mind was really blown away when my Dad was able to play a TV show that had been on 2 nights before. Wow. The family VCR was definitely a hit, and I think that we were among the first adopters of the new technology. Dad, in his infinite wisdom, had even chosen a VHS machine instead of Betamax. His decision was highly prescient. Our love affair with the VCR intensified upon Dad’s purchase of a video camera. Now, we were able to film all of our family’s special moments and watch them instantaneously instead of waiting weeks for Super 8 film to develop. No more setting up the projector and the screen. It was all so awesome. I know that, in a world of tiny camcorders, digital cameras, and DVRs this all might seem a bit trite, but I grew up in a time where we had 3 channels (6 after Dad set up a UHF/VHF antenna). It really seemed like magic to me.
The VCR was also the way that Dad and I bonded. My parents were very good about choosing appropriate films for my brother and me (resulting in me not seeing “My Fair Lady”, a “G” rated film, mind you, for a few years because Henry Higgins yells the word “Damn” several times). The real fun came during the aforementioned summer when Dad took my brother and me to the video store, the Video Discount Warehouse, located in Portsmouth, VA. This was a time before the ubiquitous Blockbuster Video, Hollywood Video, Erol’s, Movie Gallery, and Family Video. Every Wednesday, Dad would take us there and let my brother and me choose movies. I still remember how the films had stickers on the spines (red “As” for new releases, blue “Bs” for slightly older releases, and green “Cs” for old releases and kid films). Dad would always let my brother and me choose the maximum 6 movies, and he did not limit us to the most inexpensive lists. Sometimes, he would gently make suggestions if we could not decide. I used to look forward to my Wednesdays with Dad because they were true bonding times. Neither of us was into baseball as many fathers and sons are, so we bonded over films. I think that, except for my love of science fiction films, we have a pretty similar taste in movies to this very day.
One of the films that we rented that summer was a recent blockbuster, “Octopussy.” Up to that point, I had only watched part of a James Bond film, and it had bored me to tears. The film was “From Russia, With Love,” and I remember when it was broadcast on ABC falling asleep while watching it. I also remember my parents’ amusement at my comment upon viewing the moment when Bond, fresh from the shower with a towel around his waist, finds Tatiana Romanova in his bedroom, sits down on the bed, and starts his seduction. My comment? “Wouldn’t he be embarrassed if his towel fell off.” Hey, I was pretty young, so I didn’t quite get the sexual overtones of Bond. I think that my parents were both amused and comforted by my naivety. Anyway, “Octopussy” was available, and we rented it. I was mesmerized from the first moments of the film. Roger Moore became the Bond of my childhood the moment he flew out of Cuba using the tiny jet in the pre-credit sequence. The next time we went to the video store, Dad let me rent the max number of Bond films. I devoured them over the next few days. My favorite Bond when I was a youngster was Roger Moore; I think that a lot of this had to do with the foppishness of his performance. As a kid, you never want to fell as if the hero is really in any danger, and I never felt that Moore was ever in any danger.
Time went on. As I reached my teen-aged years, Moore gave way to Dalton, and my appreciation for the performances of Dalton and Connery grew. My appreciation was born both out of a more mature appreciation for how the character was portrayed (with me wanting more realism from my action heroes) and out of my appreciation for Ian Fleming's original James Bond novels. Connery came closest to Fleming’s description of Bond, and and I later learned that Fleming, impressed with Connery’s portrayal of his creation, introduced a Scottish background into Bond’s backstory during the writing of "On Her Majesty's Secret Service," which coincided with the filming of "Goldfinger". Dalton took his cue from the Fleming novels, but subpar screenplays and having the role of the follow-up to the popular Moore (not to mention a long drawn-out lawsuit concerning the character of Bond), proved to be Dalton’s undoing. I always felt that Dalton received short shrift for his portrayal, and it is not deserved. He did the Fleming Bond proud. Between the last Dalton film, 1989’s “License to Kill” and 1995, there were no Bond films as the lawsuit was litigated.
In 1995, however, Pierce Brosnan was given the role and was superb in the film “Goldeneye.” Brosnan proved to be a worthy successor to the Bond mantle, and the story also gave the audience an all too rare glimpse into the psyche of Bond. There were not a lot of gadgets in the film, and Brosnan gave a subtly nuanced performance as Bond, finding middle ground between the intensity of Dalton and the foppishness of Moore. Still, I never thought that Brosnan could compare to Connery from the first 3 Bond films. Sadly, the quality of the films deteriorated rapidly shortly after that (a remote control BMW in “Tomorrow Never Dies,” Denise Richards as a nuclear scientist in “The World is Not Enough,” and an INVISIBLE CAR and a diamond-satellite refuge from “Diamond are Forever” in “Die Another Day”). The future looked bleak. Brosnan was starting to look a little too old for the role (a role that was originally offered to him in 1986 before NBC screwed that up). The screenplays by Purvis and Wade were ludicrous, and I started to wonder about the viability of the franchise. I found myself reading the books, and I wondered why the filmmakers couldn’t just make a straight translation of Fleming’s novels. The thing that every single Bond film has missed was Fleming’s character. The movie Bond (with the noted exceptions of Dalton, Connery’s first 3 films, and George Lazenby’s single film portrayal in “On Her Majesty’s Secret Service”) all missed the boat when it came to understanding the character of Bond. Bond is an assassin, a cold, calculating, cruel weapon of the MI6.
Word then started coming about a NEW Bond. This Bond would be Daniel Craig, Paul Newman’s weak son in “The Road to Perdition.” I was a bit nervous about this until I saw his performance in Steven Spielberg’s “Munich”; his performance in that film convinced me that Craig might be a good Bond, but I was skeptical as to whether the producers would actually take advantage of Craig’s talent by providing a good screenplay. When the trailers for the new film started to play, I started getting more excited. This was a different kind of Bond, one who seemed to have sprung from the pages of Fleming’s novel. “Casino Royale” opened yesterday. I saw it today.
Wow.
The origin of Bond proved to be every bit as satisfying as that of Batman in “Batman Begins.” The screenwriters (the much maligned Purvis and Wade, with an assist from "Crash" writer/director Paul Haggis) crafted an excellent story, using Fleming’s novel as the template and FAITHFULLY ADAPTING it, changing some minor aspects that had to be changed due to the post-Cold War world we live in. We see the 2 kills that made Bond 007 (2 kills, 2 “0s”, hence 00…and this is straight from Fleming's 1952 novel). Daniel Craig IS James Bond to the point who…dare I say it…not only challenges Connery’s portrayal but actually SURPASSED it in many ways. The plotline is timely and not far fetched, the stunts were not ridiculous, and there were no gadgets. The wonderful thing is that we get to see what made Bond BOND. I cannot recommend this film enough. Halfway through the film, I reflected on what a good film it was, not just what a good “James Bond” film it was. Several things made me smile…retaining Rene Mathis and Felix Leiter as characters from the novel, the creation (lifted straight from Fleming’s novel) of the James Bond martini, the total lack of slapstick and ridiculous science, the acting of Daniel Craig, the soundtrack (both Chris Cornell's throwback of an opening song, AND the string-heavy instrumental soundtrack that was a throwback to the great Bond soundtracks of the 1960s), and the overall “feel” of the film. This film felt like a classic 1960s Bond film sans rocket packs and bulletproof cars. Much of the dialogue was lifted straight from the novel, and I was pleased. This is a great film. I cannot recommend it enough. I was also impressed with the pacing. In most action films, the character scenes are too often viewed as filler for the action sequences, but the scenes had true import in this movie. In the end, when Bond (excuse me, Daniel Craig) delivers the famous introduction, I was smiling. When the original arrangement of Monty Norman’s James Bond theme played over the final credits, I was smiling even more broadly. Even the theme was as it was in the early Connery films. This was a great Bond film. This was a great spy movie. This is one of my favorite films of the year. Wow. Congratulations, Daniel Craig. May the producers continue to provide good screenplays for you to use, and may we continue to see you as Bond for years to come.
For those of you interested in watching the films in chronological order:
1) Dr. No
2) From Russia, With Love
3) Goldfinger
4) Thunderball
5) You Only Live Twice
6) On Her Majesty's Secret Service
7) Diamonds Are Forever
8) Live and Let Die
9) The Man With the Golden Gun
10) The Spy Who Loved Me
11) Moonraker
12) For Your Eyes Only
13) Octopussy
14) A View to a Kill
15) The Living Daylights
16) License to Kill
17) Goldeneye
18) Tomorrow Never Dies
19) The World is Not Enough
20) Die Another Day
21) Casino Royale
22) Quantum of Solace (to be released on 11/14/08 in the United States)
Note..I realize that there was an earlier version of Casino Royale, and I know that Connery was in the Thunderball remake, Never Say Never Again, but the only authentic Bond films (in my opinion) are the ones from Eon Productions.
Wednesday, November 05, 2008
Yet ANOTHER Take on the Election-a personal perspective
My parents are unabashed Republicans. I grew up during the era of Reagan and George H.W. Bush, during the Cold War, before the 24 hour news and internet of today. While the Democrats were bumbling their way through numerous presidential defeats, Reagan presided over one of the most prosperous times in American history. While his policies would, ultimately, lead to the recession that denied George H.W. Bush a second term in office, Reagan was the standard bearer for Republican presidents (warts and all). He and Gorbachev developed a rapport that resulted n the destruction of the Berlin Wall and the end of the Cold War. His back door dealings, as illegal as they were, resulted in the freeing of the American hostages held for almost a full year in Iran (and one of the kidnappers was the current Iranian president!). Having been weaned on Reagan's America and the careful lessons of my parents, I registered as a Republican when I turned 18. I voted for Bush in the first Clinton campaign, but I attended the Clinton inauguration. There was a sense of change in the air, a sense of hopefulness. Hand in hand with a Republican Congress, Clinton's administration presided over the most prosperous economy the country had ever experienced. After the first four years of William Jefferson Clinton, I cast my first ballot for a Democrat and felt justified in my decision. Dole did not represent progress the way that Clinton did. Clinton produced results (except for the universal health care initiative spearheaded by the First Lady).
Right around the time of Clinton's second term, when the first allegations about Clinton's marital infidelities started to make their rounds, the first cracks in the leadership and ideology of the Republican Party started to make their presence known. In their kowtowing to the ideologies of the far right, they forgot about their more moderate party members. Now, I am not in any way, shape, or form condoning adultery. However, Clinton's success both on the world stage and for this country should have been the focus and not what he did on his private time. Many of you would disagree, and say that the President is a symbol. I agree. However, the symbolic "purity" of the American President likely went out the door with my beloved Thomas Jefferson and his dalliance with Sally Hemings, a woman who was NOT his wife. The office is just that...an office. Placing the man on some sort of moral pedestal is rather asinine.
But I digress. This alliance of the Republican Party with the far right slowly started to make its presence know during Dole's campaign. Rather than focusing on the issues at hand that were concerning most Americans (growing unrest overseas, the unregulated financial markets, etc.). they chose instead to focus on Clinton's private life. This did not improve during the contest between George W. Bush and Al Gore, as the election debacle of 2000 showed. Through cunning and subterfuge, the Republicans stole the election. What the heck? This was not the party that I signed up for! This was a party who was looking for power at ANY cost-even where that cost would be the welfare of the American people.
And then 9/11 happened, and Bush rose to the occasion. He and fellow Republican Rudolph Guliani, the outgoing mayor of New York City, symbolized leadership when the country most needed it. Bush calmed our fears, told us everything would be all right, and took some action to calm the world. He was our president. The only problem was that he was just not smart enough to recognize that all of his own actions were being carefully controlled and orchestrated by the Republican leadership. After 9/11, Bush failed as a leader, using the attacks as an excuse to invade a sovereign nation without any provocation other than a bit of name calling. He ignored the growing financial problems at home and discarded Clinton's budgetary means for eliminating the national debt within our lifetime. At the same time, in the back of my mind, I could not ignore my own misgivings about the fact that he had STOLEN the election. As young men and women died in the mountains of Afghanistan and the deserts of Iraq, the pockets of the Vice President (a Haliburton board member) and many of Bush's oil cronies were being lined with money made possible by the war-blood money.
The issue with Kerry in the election of 2004 was not the "stupidity of the American people" but, for me, was one of the devil you know versus the devil that you don't. The American people were faced with two choices for President who, on paper, looked a lot alike. Older white men, Yale grads and fellow Skull and Bones members. If you have seen one, you have seen them all. The images of Bush's leadership during 9/11 and the constant beating of the drum for consistent leadership during the military actions in Afghanistan and Iraq cost Kerry the election. However, my enduring memory of that election was the "Swift Boat Veterans" advertisements orchestrated by the Republican Party. At that moment, I knew that the "Party of Lincoln" had lost its way. However, there was one bright spot during the dark days of 2004. During the Democratic National Convention, a young junior senator from Illinois was chosen to give the keynote address. Most people outside of his home state did not know who he was, but those of us lucky enough to have him represent us in the Senate knew of his oratory skills and his amazing credentials. Columbia undergrad and Harvard Law School. Head of Harvard Law Review. Professor of Constitutional Law at the prestigious University of Chicago School of Law. A self-made man in every sense of the word who was NOT born with a silver spoon in his mouth but who had an amazing brain.
That night, Barack Obama was introduced to the world, and the world took notice. Using that speech as a springboard, Obama catapulted himself into the national consciousness and with one fell swoop, was placed on the short list of viable presidential candidates for the Democratic Party. When the time came to select the Democratic candidate, the list consisted of Senator Hilary Clinton, John Edwards, and, trailing both, Barack Obama. Obama, undaunted, carefully mapped out a campaign strategy that would give him the candidacy. The heated rhetoric that flew between the Obama and Clinton camps looked for a time to be just as suicidal as the actions of the Republican Party over the previous 8 years. Meanwhile, Senator John McCain, with no true challengers, sat back and watched. If anything, the lack of any real challengers for McCain was an albatross around his neck, for the contentiousness of the campaigns between Clinton and Obama overshadowed McCain's easy victories in the primaries. McCain should have used the extra time to come up with a message, a platform, and to vet a proper vice-presidential candidate. He failed miserably on all counts.
Now, up until the primaries, I was still hopeful for the Republican Party. I believed that if McCain separated himself from the current Republican leadership, he could bring the party back in a way that would resonate around the world. All he needed to do was denounce the alliance with the far right in favor of the more moderate Republicans. Bipartisanism at its best starts in the middle. McCain, however, did not do that. He embraced the Republican machine and used it to his advantage. He surrounded himself with the same right wing syncophants, those emboldened by their campaigns against Clinton, Gore, and Kerry. There was a smugness about the Republican Party, a disdain for the intelligence of the American people, including some of their own party members.
Obama's campaign was run like a perfectly-oiled machine. He surrounded himself with good people, people who KNEW what they were doing and believed in HIS message. This was not a case where there was a puppet master and a puppet. Obama was also not surrounded by "party people." Just from watching how well his campaign was run, I learned two things: 1) Obama would make a hell of a president and 2) he KNOWS how to surround himself with people who succeed at their jobs. In contrast, McCain surrounded himself with party people who, in their underestimation of the intelligence of the American people (and American women in particular), honestly thought that they could do anything and still win. The minute Sarah Palin was chosen as the Vice-Presidential Candidate, the minute chance that I might vote for McCain evaporated. You see, that was the signal to me that voting for McCain would be a continuation of the worst presidential administration in my lifetime. It would be run by the same puppetmasters in control of Bush. Sure, I would pay higher taxes, but "what does it profit a man to gain the world, yet lose his soul"?
In the end, I believe in Barack Obama. His victory tells me that it is possible for ANYONE born in this country to become president, even someone like me, the child of immigrants from South India. His victory also signals to the world that they should not give up on the United States. For the first time in a long time, I am looking forward to a new administration.
Disclaimer: these are my own views of the events that occurred over the last 20 years. I am sure that people will disagree with my take, but I don't care. That is what makes a blog a wonderful thing!!
Right around the time of Clinton's second term, when the first allegations about Clinton's marital infidelities started to make their rounds, the first cracks in the leadership and ideology of the Republican Party started to make their presence known. In their kowtowing to the ideologies of the far right, they forgot about their more moderate party members. Now, I am not in any way, shape, or form condoning adultery. However, Clinton's success both on the world stage and for this country should have been the focus and not what he did on his private time. Many of you would disagree, and say that the President is a symbol. I agree. However, the symbolic "purity" of the American President likely went out the door with my beloved Thomas Jefferson and his dalliance with Sally Hemings, a woman who was NOT his wife. The office is just that...an office. Placing the man on some sort of moral pedestal is rather asinine.
But I digress. This alliance of the Republican Party with the far right slowly started to make its presence know during Dole's campaign. Rather than focusing on the issues at hand that were concerning most Americans (growing unrest overseas, the unregulated financial markets, etc.). they chose instead to focus on Clinton's private life. This did not improve during the contest between George W. Bush and Al Gore, as the election debacle of 2000 showed. Through cunning and subterfuge, the Republicans stole the election. What the heck? This was not the party that I signed up for! This was a party who was looking for power at ANY cost-even where that cost would be the welfare of the American people.
And then 9/11 happened, and Bush rose to the occasion. He and fellow Republican Rudolph Guliani, the outgoing mayor of New York City, symbolized leadership when the country most needed it. Bush calmed our fears, told us everything would be all right, and took some action to calm the world. He was our president. The only problem was that he was just not smart enough to recognize that all of his own actions were being carefully controlled and orchestrated by the Republican leadership. After 9/11, Bush failed as a leader, using the attacks as an excuse to invade a sovereign nation without any provocation other than a bit of name calling. He ignored the growing financial problems at home and discarded Clinton's budgetary means for eliminating the national debt within our lifetime. At the same time, in the back of my mind, I could not ignore my own misgivings about the fact that he had STOLEN the election. As young men and women died in the mountains of Afghanistan and the deserts of Iraq, the pockets of the Vice President (a Haliburton board member) and many of Bush's oil cronies were being lined with money made possible by the war-blood money.
The issue with Kerry in the election of 2004 was not the "stupidity of the American people" but, for me, was one of the devil you know versus the devil that you don't. The American people were faced with two choices for President who, on paper, looked a lot alike. Older white men, Yale grads and fellow Skull and Bones members. If you have seen one, you have seen them all. The images of Bush's leadership during 9/11 and the constant beating of the drum for consistent leadership during the military actions in Afghanistan and Iraq cost Kerry the election. However, my enduring memory of that election was the "Swift Boat Veterans" advertisements orchestrated by the Republican Party. At that moment, I knew that the "Party of Lincoln" had lost its way. However, there was one bright spot during the dark days of 2004. During the Democratic National Convention, a young junior senator from Illinois was chosen to give the keynote address. Most people outside of his home state did not know who he was, but those of us lucky enough to have him represent us in the Senate knew of his oratory skills and his amazing credentials. Columbia undergrad and Harvard Law School. Head of Harvard Law Review. Professor of Constitutional Law at the prestigious University of Chicago School of Law. A self-made man in every sense of the word who was NOT born with a silver spoon in his mouth but who had an amazing brain.
That night, Barack Obama was introduced to the world, and the world took notice. Using that speech as a springboard, Obama catapulted himself into the national consciousness and with one fell swoop, was placed on the short list of viable presidential candidates for the Democratic Party. When the time came to select the Democratic candidate, the list consisted of Senator Hilary Clinton, John Edwards, and, trailing both, Barack Obama. Obama, undaunted, carefully mapped out a campaign strategy that would give him the candidacy. The heated rhetoric that flew between the Obama and Clinton camps looked for a time to be just as suicidal as the actions of the Republican Party over the previous 8 years. Meanwhile, Senator John McCain, with no true challengers, sat back and watched. If anything, the lack of any real challengers for McCain was an albatross around his neck, for the contentiousness of the campaigns between Clinton and Obama overshadowed McCain's easy victories in the primaries. McCain should have used the extra time to come up with a message, a platform, and to vet a proper vice-presidential candidate. He failed miserably on all counts.
Now, up until the primaries, I was still hopeful for the Republican Party. I believed that if McCain separated himself from the current Republican leadership, he could bring the party back in a way that would resonate around the world. All he needed to do was denounce the alliance with the far right in favor of the more moderate Republicans. Bipartisanism at its best starts in the middle. McCain, however, did not do that. He embraced the Republican machine and used it to his advantage. He surrounded himself with the same right wing syncophants, those emboldened by their campaigns against Clinton, Gore, and Kerry. There was a smugness about the Republican Party, a disdain for the intelligence of the American people, including some of their own party members.
Obama's campaign was run like a perfectly-oiled machine. He surrounded himself with good people, people who KNEW what they were doing and believed in HIS message. This was not a case where there was a puppet master and a puppet. Obama was also not surrounded by "party people." Just from watching how well his campaign was run, I learned two things: 1) Obama would make a hell of a president and 2) he KNOWS how to surround himself with people who succeed at their jobs. In contrast, McCain surrounded himself with party people who, in their underestimation of the intelligence of the American people (and American women in particular), honestly thought that they could do anything and still win. The minute Sarah Palin was chosen as the Vice-Presidential Candidate, the minute chance that I might vote for McCain evaporated. You see, that was the signal to me that voting for McCain would be a continuation of the worst presidential administration in my lifetime. It would be run by the same puppetmasters in control of Bush. Sure, I would pay higher taxes, but "what does it profit a man to gain the world, yet lose his soul"?
In the end, I believe in Barack Obama. His victory tells me that it is possible for ANYONE born in this country to become president, even someone like me, the child of immigrants from South India. His victory also signals to the world that they should not give up on the United States. For the first time in a long time, I am looking forward to a new administration.
Disclaimer: these are my own views of the events that occurred over the last 20 years. I am sure that people will disagree with my take, but I don't care. That is what makes a blog a wonderful thing!!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
