This poem by John Boyle O'Reilly has been in my head recently, although the original meaning, about appreciating kindness and generosity of spirit is something I highly, highly value - the poem sparks an internal quest for my own Real.
First, the poem:
"What is the real good?"
I ask in a musing mood.
"Order," said the law court;
"Knowledge," said the school;
"Truth," said the wise man;
"Pleasure," said the fool;
"Love," said the maiden;
"Beauty," said the page;
"Freedom," said the dreamer;
"Home," said the sage;
"Fame," said the soldier;
"Equity," said the seer.
Spake my heart fully sad:
"The answer is not here."
Then within my bosom,
Softly this I heard:
"Each heart holds the secret:
'Kindness' is the word."
So, O'Reilly and I are seeking truths. What is my Real Good? What is my Real Purpose? What is my Real Truth? I won't add any more quotations, but words from another group of Irishmen are tempting to recall here - the lyrics of U2's "I Still Haven't Found what I'm Looking For"
Besides trying (and more often then not feeling like I'm failing) to be the best parent I can, what is my purpose?
I've got a pretty strong inkling that writing is a part of it. Writing to entertain, communicate, or educate, what is my real strength? Is the world best served by reading my take on all things 24 related? If so, then that is cool. That is not a bad gig at all. But I feel there's more that I can do, I feel that there's more that's expected of me, or maybe needed from me.
And oddly, I feel that my Real Good, my Real Truth relates to what O'Reilly summarized as being important in not just his life, but all our lives - kindness. That's a worthy message to pass on as often as possible.
Tuesday, April 14, 2009
Saturday, April 04, 2009
The Dark
During the day, especially if it was a gray rainy day like today, I like to have as many lights on in the house as possible. I'm not afraid of the dark, but I need to have the lights on for other reasons. It's just a comfort, a healing thing during that winter-time light deprivation situation. And a sunny day, like yesterday is even better.
But at night, I enjoy the dark. It allows me to just be still and quiet. It allows me to appreciate the contrasting flicker of candlelight that combines with the rhythmic rain drops outside to create a meditative space in my head.
And the dark usually means that everyone else is asleep, and I can absorb and process everything that happened during the day, or during my life, whichever needs processing the most right then.
But first, I have to step into the Dark. I have to write down the worry and the worry and the worry. I have to accept the fact that there might be a seventh daily med added to the list for The Young Prince. I have to convince myself that this stupid lingering cough is just a stupid lingering cough. Sure enough the stethoscope proved clear lungs and no crackling or wheezing. But the fatigue. The lowered hemoglobin, the lowered crit, the lowered albumen. Nothing horrible, but a little lower than last time. Enough to prompt phone calls and faxes between doctor's offices.
I didnt' want this life. This ain't no fucking trip to Holland, it sure ain't fucking Italy - tell me where is this place? This world of trying to keep all the pills straight, this one has to be taken two hours after a meal, this one is only in the morning, this one is only at night, and not a full pill, not a half pill, but 3/4 of a pill. Not easy to cut up a tiny pill without turning half of it into dust. It can be done though. And cut down on the caffeine, doesn't mix well with a beta blocker. And doing the paper route, later and later every day. Hoping that the Young Prince will feel up to it this time. And he's not. Not this day.
And when we try to think ahead, to plan a vacation maybe, for the first time we realize that maybe we better not plan too far ahead. I don't want to be this fatalistic. I DON'T WANT TO BE DEBBIE DOWNER.
But the reality is that we have no fucking clue how to proceed. Oh, sure we operate on the premise that the liver function is OK. Not fantastic, but workable. There was weight gain, energy, sparkle. But slowly the jaundice showed up in early winter, again. Then the bleed in February. The ER. The two unsucessful attempts at NG intubation - and finally the third time worked. Banding procedure, ICU bed, transfusion, and another ultrasound. Then another banding procedure in March, adjusting the drugs to a tolerable level but not after losing another week of school. A bone density scan. Easy peasy, but still - one more test.
Then more sparkle, paper route on schedule, mall time with friends, homework, family... And then a cold that just won't quit. Fatigue...again.
And really, how can I handle the Crown Prince? I don't know how to even get my head around this one. OK, we got a grip on diabetes, meter, strips, lancets, Metformin - but, but...the Crown Prince does not take change very well at all. He knows that these changes are imperative. He understands it all on paper, I think. But the truth is that there cannot be a casual relationship with soda any longer. Either it's diet or it's out. There cannot be ice cream runs - just cuz. And your friends are probably not going to be very impressed by your news and just might want to eat those chips and slurp that soda in your face. And this stuff has to change very soon or there'll be a daily injection.
It's exhausting, is what it is.
So tonight I did carve out that little respite, the oaisis of Just Me and Tom watching a movie together because he didn't feel well enough to see South Pacific at the High School. I lit a bunch of candles and we had the dark, but we had the light too.
But at night, I enjoy the dark. It allows me to just be still and quiet. It allows me to appreciate the contrasting flicker of candlelight that combines with the rhythmic rain drops outside to create a meditative space in my head.
And the dark usually means that everyone else is asleep, and I can absorb and process everything that happened during the day, or during my life, whichever needs processing the most right then.
This has been a tough week. And I don't see a respite coming yet. Only what I can create myself, only what I can forcefully hold onto, or just snatch away from the powers that deny me peace of mind.
But first, I have to step into the Dark. I have to write down the worry and the worry and the worry. I have to accept the fact that there might be a seventh daily med added to the list for The Young Prince. I have to convince myself that this stupid lingering cough is just a stupid lingering cough. Sure enough the stethoscope proved clear lungs and no crackling or wheezing. But the fatigue. The lowered hemoglobin, the lowered crit, the lowered albumen. Nothing horrible, but a little lower than last time. Enough to prompt phone calls and faxes between doctor's offices.
I didnt' want this life. This ain't no fucking trip to Holland, it sure ain't fucking Italy - tell me where is this place? This world of trying to keep all the pills straight, this one has to be taken two hours after a meal, this one is only in the morning, this one is only at night, and not a full pill, not a half pill, but 3/4 of a pill. Not easy to cut up a tiny pill without turning half of it into dust. It can be done though. And cut down on the caffeine, doesn't mix well with a beta blocker. And doing the paper route, later and later every day. Hoping that the Young Prince will feel up to it this time. And he's not. Not this day.
And when we try to think ahead, to plan a vacation maybe, for the first time we realize that maybe we better not plan too far ahead. I don't want to be this fatalistic. I DON'T WANT TO BE DEBBIE DOWNER.
But the reality is that we have no fucking clue how to proceed. Oh, sure we operate on the premise that the liver function is OK. Not fantastic, but workable. There was weight gain, energy, sparkle. But slowly the jaundice showed up in early winter, again. Then the bleed in February. The ER. The two unsucessful attempts at NG intubation - and finally the third time worked. Banding procedure, ICU bed, transfusion, and another ultrasound. Then another banding procedure in March, adjusting the drugs to a tolerable level but not after losing another week of school. A bone density scan. Easy peasy, but still - one more test.
Then more sparkle, paper route on schedule, mall time with friends, homework, family... And then a cold that just won't quit. Fatigue...again.
And really, how can I handle the Crown Prince? I don't know how to even get my head around this one. OK, we got a grip on diabetes, meter, strips, lancets, Metformin - but, but...the Crown Prince does not take change very well at all. He knows that these changes are imperative. He understands it all on paper, I think. But the truth is that there cannot be a casual relationship with soda any longer. Either it's diet or it's out. There cannot be ice cream runs - just cuz. And your friends are probably not going to be very impressed by your news and just might want to eat those chips and slurp that soda in your face. And this stuff has to change very soon or there'll be a daily injection.
It's exhausting, is what it is.
So tonight I did carve out that little respite, the oaisis of Just Me and Tom watching a movie together because he didn't feel well enough to see South Pacific at the High School. I lit a bunch of candles and we had the dark, but we had the light too.
Tuesday, March 31, 2009
My Boys and My Boys: In the House
I wrote a blurb for tonight's My Boys season three opener here. But now I can talk about what I really thought. I can release how it was gratifying and sweet to see PJ come out of left field and open up to Bobby. And then the kiss! Here's the thing though, I'm no body language expert, but there was too much distance between them. They sounded convincing if you just saw their faces, heard their words, looked into their eyes...it was a nice moment. But panning out, they lost me a little. Over all it was a great episode. Stephanie still regrets her fling with Kenny. The boys and the mustaches were funny, and King Baby Jim Gaffigan's Andy and wife Meredith just had their second baby, little Oliver. So it's off to a good start.
And then there's my boys. They've been going through stuff, draining and all that. I've been seeing way more of the inside of doctor's offices than I'd like. But what are ya gonna do. And on a side note, watching House last night with Tom was pretty interesting, Kutner (I think?) was trying to follow the clues from a paralyzed Mos Def. Figured out that the patient's foot was itchy. And then House says (paraphrasing), "itchy feet is a sign of liver failure". Tom and I stared at each other. Weird that we actually understood what they were talking about 'sclerosing cholangitis' and the like.
And then there's my boys. They've been going through stuff, draining and all that. I've been seeing way more of the inside of doctor's offices than I'd like. But what are ya gonna do. And on a side note, watching House last night with Tom was pretty interesting, Kutner (I think?) was trying to follow the clues from a paralyzed Mos Def. Figured out that the patient's foot was itchy. And then House says (paraphrasing), "itchy feet is a sign of liver failure". Tom and I stared at each other. Weird that we actually understood what they were talking about 'sclerosing cholangitis' and the like.
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
Old Idea, New Words
It's amazing, really, how many different ways there are to promise a man (or woman) of making a better, thicker, stronger schlong. Or the promise of more wild times in the bedroom, "make her shriek with pleasure", that sort of thing.
As you might have guessed, I was cleaning the spam lint out of my filter. That's really all spam is - just fuzzy harmless emails that - if not cleaned - tend to gum things up.
And I never realized, apparently there is a huge market for fake watches. How freakin' silly. Kind of dumb enough to go the fake purse route - why do people have to worry that much about impressing someone with a fake watch?
Does it tell fake time?
"It's time to tell yourself how damn beautiful you are."
"It's time to uncork another bottle of champagne to celebrate YOU."
"It's time to go make someone shriek with pleasure!"
Oy!
As you might have guessed, I was cleaning the spam lint out of my filter. That's really all spam is - just fuzzy harmless emails that - if not cleaned - tend to gum things up.
And I never realized, apparently there is a huge market for fake watches. How freakin' silly. Kind of dumb enough to go the fake purse route - why do people have to worry that much about impressing someone with a fake watch?
Does it tell fake time?
"It's time to tell yourself how damn beautiful you are."
"It's time to uncork another bottle of champagne to celebrate YOU."
"It's time to go make someone shriek with pleasure!"
Oy!
Thursday, February 19, 2009
Love and Loss
I read something today that was sublime. The most rational yet dreamy treatise on love and loss and acceptance - by horror author Dean Koontz.
From Odd Hours:
"Grief can destroy you - or focus you. You can decide a relationship was all for nothing if it had to end in death, and you alone. Or you can realize that every moment of it had more meaning that you dared to recognize at the time, so much meaning it scared you, and you just lived, just took for granted the love and laughter of
each day, and didn't allow yourself to consider the sacredness of it. But when it's over, and you're alone, you begin to see it wasn't just a movie and a dinner together, not just watching sunsets together, not just scrubbing a floor or worrying over a high electric bill. It was everything, it was the why of life, every event and precious moment of it. The answer to the mystery of existence is the love you shared sometimes so imperfectly, and when the loss wakes you to the deeper beauty of it, to the sanctity of it, you can't get off your knees for a long time, you're driven to your knees not by the weight of the loss but by gratitude for what preceded the loss. And the ache is always there, but one day not the emptiness, because to nurture the emptiness, to take solace in it, is to disrespect the gift of life."
From Odd Hours:
"Grief can destroy you - or focus you. You can decide a relationship was all for nothing if it had to end in death, and you alone. Or you can realize that every moment of it had more meaning that you dared to recognize at the time, so much meaning it scared you, and you just lived, just took for granted the love and laughter of
each day, and didn't allow yourself to consider the sacredness of it. But when it's over, and you're alone, you begin to see it wasn't just a movie and a dinner together, not just watching sunsets together, not just scrubbing a floor or worrying over a high electric bill. It was everything, it was the why of life, every event and precious moment of it. The answer to the mystery of existence is the love you shared sometimes so imperfectly, and when the loss wakes you to the deeper beauty of it, to the sanctity of it, you can't get off your knees for a long time, you're driven to your knees not by the weight of the loss but by gratitude for what preceded the loss. And the ache is always there, but one day not the emptiness, because to nurture the emptiness, to take solace in it, is to disrespect the gift of life."
An Exercise in Navel Gazing - My "Wordls"
Click on the image and you'll be connected to the original site (easier to see)
Tuesday, February 03, 2009
Speed of Thought
I used to go to libraries pretty frequently. Some of the time the motives were purely social, but I also used the resources there for lots of school work.
Then I used to work in one. A library, that is. It was a bit heady to have all those resources, the reference listings, the microfilm, the Mil-Specs, and all the ACM and IEEE goodness any person with an IQ of 155 could possibly want, all that...information really, really close by. You want the GNP of Algeria? CIA World Fact Book is ready with your info. How about the President's secretary's phone number? Exectutive Yellow Book -- here ya go. The ABCs and 123s of a Russian SCUD missle? Please - step this way.
Those were the easy requests. The harder ones sometimes involved me leaving the comfort of my carpeted cubicle (when I wasn't taking my shift at the Reference Desk), and hoofing it to Kendall Square, Cambridge - to one of MIT's fine libraries. Granted that only happened a few times, and no - I didn't actually "hoof" it. I drove to the subway station and then rode the line to Cambridge. But still, a bit of an unwieldy way to retrieve documents. And as you might have guessed, I worked in a tech library. No story time or quilter's corner here.
This was about 15 years ago, maybe more.
In a way, what I saw, what I dealt with, was cutting edge. Back then, the average consumer did not have or even understand what HDTV was, nor GPS, nor PDA. But these were terms I saw pretty frequently in the research that I pulled together for our staff of scientists and engineers. Much of the jargon and the nuts and bolts technologywas over my head. I didn't know an array from an alogorithm. (well OK I kinda did), but I understood the basic concepts of what HD and the rest meant.
So like, that's all cool and stuff. Right?
But our methods of getting the info, though sophisticated for our time, in retrospect seems so - so --
slow?
Yes, slow, that's the word.
Today, anyone with a computer and a decent connection can get nearly the same information all by themselves - if they know were to look. Of course, tons of erroneous stuff comes up as well, it takes a seasoned surfer to discern the difference. Yeah, like I'm all that.
My mother would have loved this stuff.
Fringe Thoughts
I've been watching this show nearly every week, and you know something...it's pretty damn good. I'm glad I don't blog on it regularly. I'd get too lost, too caught up in the mythology. Not that there's anything wrong with that. I just think I could get lost in it, and I don't have time for lost!
(Incidentally - I don't have time for Lost either - which is why I made the conscious decision not to follow the show at all - no offense ABC - I'm sure I'd love it to pieces like the rest of my fellow sheeples!)
Anyway, Fringe is really something. Starting with Joshua Jackson who plays Peter Bishop. Good for him! Really, good for Pacey of Capeside. Kudos to some nice acting.
OK back in the day - when Jackson's and James Van Der Beek's mugs appeared on the screen every time - IMO they were spouting some sophisticated dialog for some dudes who were supposed to be only...what...16? Or 18? Or however they aged in Dawson's Creek. Same thing for Katie Holmes' Joey. They all looked adorable and full of earnest conviction, but really were/are kids that - darn motivated and bright?
But back to Jackson as Peter Bishop. I had my doubts but he does just fine.
John Noble, who plays his dad Walter, looks like he's have a blast. Even though his character is a bit of a whack job, and has some serious baggage, it seems to be a much more lighthearted role than that of Lord Denethor in LOTR - The Return of the King. Please - the dude set himself on fire. Not very happy and shiny there. And his role as Anatoly Markov from Day Six of 24 was memorable because Jack Bauer snipped off one of his fingers for being a nasty man, so that was sort of a drag, eh?
Anna Torv, who plays Agent Olivia Dunham is very lovely to look at, she has the kind of face like Cate Blanchett - who is more beautiful than pretty. Torv's acting pedigree is not as full as some of the others, and I'm not sure yet about her pure acting talents, but she seems to suit the role anyhow.
Any other fans?
Monday, January 26, 2009
Notes to the Universe
Or at least to my closest Internet Neighbors.
Step right up! Be the First to comment!
1. What is a Ponzi Scheme? No. Don't tell me - I KNOW that Madoff did it. But what the blue blazes is that? Money laundering through mall pizzerias? Fonzi's evil twin who wore Kevlar and an attitude? I Googled a little, and finding nothing, I grew bored and listless and move along to a Michelle OBama fashion gallery. Hey, she looks good, they all look good. Reminds me of Jack and Jackie, Caroline and John-John. Here's hoping they all live long healthy lives - but I digress.
2. SAGs - who saw 'em? (A separate post being worked up currently)
3. Most Bizarre Spit-take. Corinne would have loved it. Well, actually perhaps been grossed out - unless I was on stage taste-testing Kick-A-Poo Joy Juice.
- took a nice hot sip of coffee, got a tickle in my throat and convulsively coughed out a spray of Folger's (mixed with a little Newman's Own) not only ALL over my laptop, but reached about five feet beyond me, seriously. Caffiene dew-drops all over our year and a half old sofa, some paperwork sitting on the half-wall (The Young Prince will notice this - it was his school work). Ew. But funny.
4. The Colonoscopy. No need to really elaborate, that much. But if I were a writer - Oh Lordy, look at that, I am a writer - I'd devote a separate post to that. There was a lot of comedy gold there. And no polyps this time (and I thank God for that). So, this was the Happy Birthday procedure, and a follow up from the first time.
5. OK, all of these deserve separate posts. And THE FlOOD, that's another saga in the max-series that is my life.
Here's a brief look:
Ice Storm in December. Subpump failed because generator failed. Finished off sports bar basement with two inches of standing water. Ironically, (besides the XBox, which Tom was quick to save and the TV/Stereo thingies that I was quick to save) the only things really kept high and dry were the unwanted but un-sold household items/toys/books/crap that we tried to unload at our failure of a yard sale. (good stuff cheap but bad timing). Those treasures have been sitting on top of the air hockey table and foosball tables - safe as you please.
Fuck, right?
Step right up! Be the First to comment!
1. What is a Ponzi Scheme? No. Don't tell me - I KNOW that Madoff did it. But what the blue blazes is that? Money laundering through mall pizzerias? Fonzi's evil twin who wore Kevlar and an attitude? I Googled a little, and finding nothing, I grew bored and listless and move along to a Michelle OBama fashion gallery. Hey, she looks good, they all look good. Reminds me of Jack and Jackie, Caroline and John-John. Here's hoping they all live long healthy lives - but I digress.
2. SAGs - who saw 'em? (A separate post being worked up currently)
3. Most Bizarre Spit-take. Corinne would have loved it. Well, actually perhaps been grossed out - unless I was on stage taste-testing Kick-A-Poo Joy Juice.
- took a nice hot sip of coffee, got a tickle in my throat and convulsively coughed out a spray of Folger's (mixed with a little Newman's Own) not only ALL over my laptop, but reached about five feet beyond me, seriously. Caffiene dew-drops all over our year and a half old sofa, some paperwork sitting on the half-wall (The Young Prince will notice this - it was his school work). Ew. But funny.
4. The Colonoscopy. No need to really elaborate, that much. But if I were a writer - Oh Lordy, look at that, I am a writer - I'd devote a separate post to that. There was a lot of comedy gold there. And no polyps this time (and I thank God for that). So, this was the Happy Birthday procedure, and a follow up from the first time.
5. OK, all of these deserve separate posts. And THE FlOOD, that's another saga in the max-series that is my life.
Here's a brief look:
Ice Storm in December. Subpump failed because generator failed. Finished off sports bar basement with two inches of standing water. Ironically, (besides the XBox, which Tom was quick to save and the TV/Stereo thingies that I was quick to save) the only things really kept high and dry were the unwanted but un-sold household items/toys/books/crap that we tried to unload at our failure of a yard sale. (good stuff cheap but bad timing). Those treasures have been sitting on top of the air hockey table and foosball tables - safe as you please.
Fuck, right?
Notes on the 15 Annual SAG AWARDS
I did not watch the show from the very start, and probably missed the first award or so. But I watched the rest, as I do love these award shows.
And before continuing, I know that award shows in general are often denigrated as fixed, boring, or not a true representation of talent. And that's fine, to me part of the appeal is when you get these glimpses inside the star of the moment, unscripted joy or disbelief, admiration, and the odd flash of jealousy now and then. And I'm a sucker for the glamor and fashion too.
Just a few reactions to last night's two hours of honors:
As Kate Winslet won for Outstanding Performance in a Supporting Role for The Reader, she made a touching and most gracious speech. Golly I'd forgotten what she said but it was sweet and humbling.
Hugh Laurie, winning for his work in House, was the anti-House, yet was full of snarky (albeit lighthearted) quips as he accepted his Actor award.
For the second time this season, Heath Ledger won
posthumous honors in the supporting role of The Dark Knight's Joker. (He has also been nominated for an Academy Award). Gary Oldman accepted the award on Ledger's behalf, in a quick, restrained, but classy speech.
One of the funniest speeches was from Meryl Streep, winning for her role as a strong-willed and suspicious nun in Doubt. She admitted she didn't expect to win, she hadn't even worn a dress. Streep was utterly charming in her honesty, and expressed her deep thanks and admiration for the not only the other women in her category, but for all the female actors who have done such good work in the last year.
And before continuing, I know that award shows in general are often denigrated as fixed, boring, or not a true representation of talent. And that's fine, to me part of the appeal is when you get these glimpses inside the star of the moment, unscripted joy or disbelief, admiration, and the odd flash of jealousy now and then. And I'm a sucker for the glamor and fashion too.
Just a few reactions to last night's two hours of honors:
As Kate Winslet won for Outstanding Performance in a Supporting Role for The Reader, she made a touching and most gracious speech. Golly I'd forgotten what she said but it was sweet and humbling.
Hugh Laurie, winning for his work in House, was the anti-House, yet was full of snarky (albeit lighthearted) quips as he accepted his Actor award.
For the second time this season, Heath Ledger won
posthumous honors in the supporting role of The Dark Knight's Joker. (He has also been nominated for an Academy Award). Gary Oldman accepted the award on Ledger's behalf, in a quick, restrained, but classy speech.One of the funniest speeches was from Meryl Streep, winning for her role as a strong-willed and suspicious nun in Doubt. She admitted she didn't expect to win, she hadn't even worn a dress. Streep was utterly charming in her honesty, and expressed her deep thanks and admiration for the not only the other women in her category, but for all the female actors who have done such good work in the last year.
Wednesday, January 21, 2009
Nip/Tuck DVD Review: Season Five - Part One
Previously posted at Blogcritics Magazine.
There are a few minor cases, but not enough to pay the expenses of their glamorous real estate. Fortunately the boys soon meet PR big fish Fiona McNeil (the wonderful blade-free Lauren Hutton) and things turn around. She finds them consulting work on a hit TV show about plastic surgeons called “Hearts & Scalpels”, and then more opportunities present themselves. Both doctors get small speaking parts on the show and more importantly, begin to capitalize on the all important networking among
Christian (Julian McMahon) is invited to pose for Playgirl, while Sean (Dylan Walsh) begins to date one of the stars from the show, Kate Tinsley (Paula Marshall – 
tors’ stitches, and this first half of Season Five is filled with even more bizarre twists and turns then ever. Several fascinating guest stars are featured in these first 14 episodes include Rosie O’Donnell (who reprises her role of Dawn Budge), Oliver Platt, Portia de Rossi, Donna Mills, Sharon Gless, Jennifer Coolidge and Jai Rodriguez.
Some of the intertwining plots involve Sean (and Christian’s) estranged son Matt showing up in LA with his and Kimber’s baby Jenna. Previously the two had been involved in the
Another arrival in LA is the radiant Julia, announcing her plans to move in with “Ollie.” S
ean and Christian seem to take the news fine, until they find out that Ollie is short for Olivia (Portia de Rossi) and Julia is now a lesbian, or at least in love with one. And daughters Annie (Julia and Sean’s) and Eden (AnnaLynne McCord) are along for the fun. And
What else, stalking, car-jacking, blackmailing and sex. Threesomes, twosomes, and freaky age differences. Incest, poisonings, stabbings and clawings. Pornography, drug addiction, surgery addiction and sex. Gays, Straights, and everything in-between --- yes, it sounds like a season of Nip/Tuck.
My only problem with this whole set was the actual viewing. To watch the episodes on a steady basis, say three or four in a row, can leave one a bit depressed or ill-at-ease at seeing so much off-the-wall depravity. The material was written to be viewed once a week; submersion any deeper takes its toll.
COVER ART
An eerily beautiful scene shows the two stylin’ docs in the 
FEATURES
The DVD set includes a few deleted scenes, one funny but too short set of outtakes, and a featurette called Hollywood Hedonism. It’s a 10 minute “Making Of” type offering, with supporting clips and a mildly entertaining look at the actors’ take on the new season, and what it means to the show.
My Funeral Playlist
I've got a couple obvious tear-jerkers, what can I say; I’m a sucker for certain songs, despite the huge commercial appeal.
Spirit in the Sky – Norman Greenbaum
Being an oldie but goodie, this song never really registered with me until I was grown up, with the family at a beach amusement park. This song was being played while we were leaving, and it struck something inside. It’s so full of joy and faith and makes me want to dance. Which, I won’t be able to do, when the time comes, actually. So, I rely on those present to dance for me.
Angel – Sarah McLachlan
I don’t know which is more heartbreaking – McLachlan’s voice full of ache and promise, or her haunting lyrics. It became a personal anthem after my father died.
The Precious Jewel – Roy Acuff.
Instrumental version by Charlie Hayden and Pat Metheny
I’d never heard of Hayden, just barely knew the name Pat Metheny. And certainly never heard of Roy Acuff. Then one day Sir Mark wrote one of his usual thoughtful Friday Morning Listen column pieces highlighting how this song came along at just the right time as he and TheWife™ were dealing with some tough family stuff. Triumph in the face of Adversity and all that is how it sits with me.
Cast Your Fate to the Wind – Vince Guaraldi (George Winston version)
Not only is the appeal of this Charlie Brown favorite ageless, the very title is liberating.
The Long Day is Over – Norah Jones
Lovely Norah comforts with her voice, inviting a warm respite.
Trust me, it’s a very pretty song.
Fix You – Cold Play
OK, so it’s a little manipulative. But to me it’s God’s ultimate promise in Eternity.
I Still Haven’t Found What I’m looking For – U2 (Live version from Rattle and Hum)
And neither have I, quite frankly. But this gospel inspired hopeful anthem by one of
Thy Word – Amy Grant
Catchy and inspiring. Good stuff.
Run Like Hell – Pink Floyd
Because the perverse part of me insists.
Saturday, January 17, 2009
Cinematic Goodness
Some gems to share:
One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest - directed by Milos Foreman, 1976.
Jack=Hollywood Gold. Sure, we all know that.
But don't forget Louise Fletcher as Nurse Ratched. She captured the character's manipulative, controlling, and sadistic demeanor masked with sweet-faced concern perfectly. No wonder she took home an Academy award for her work. And Danny DeVito - fantastic. And Christopher Lloyd -
wow.And then there's The Namesake - directed by Mira Nair, 2007.
I have not seen the whole movie yet, but so far it's just lovely. The cinematography pops and enhances the story of Ashima and Ashoke, who are married by arrangement in India, and move to New York City and take care of each other and their new family. The story will ultimately showcase the work of our favorite stoner, Kal Penn, but the unhurried look at his parents' love for their family and each other is a wonderful setup.
Wednesday, January 07, 2009
What's in a Name
An oldie but goodie Rant o' Mine.
Corporate Naming. I hate it. I really do. I was looking at a press release earlier for Fleetwood Mac's upcoming tour. And I really can't believe my eyes. Sure there's comfort in seeing Madison Square Garden and the Nassau Coliseum listed as venues. But can you imagine telling your friends, "yeah, I'm gonna hit the Blue Cross (Rochester, NY) for some fine tunes tonight." Or how about "Hey Monster Mike, I scored two tix to the Izod (East Ruthorford, NJ) - our ears are gonna bleed for sure!"
Silly indeed.
Can corporations be so desperate for market recognition that crass over-saturation is just collateral damage, and do they hold the attitude that nostalgia for the old stadium names are for the weak and unhip?
Fuck 'em.
Well, I don't think I have the chutzpah to not mention these brands when I write some entertainment pieces. I can't follow the Denver Post's lead when they refused to use the name of Invesco Field, and instead stuck to the beloved moniker of Mile High Stadium.
Or can I?
Corporate Naming. I hate it. I really do. I was looking at a press release earlier for Fleetwood Mac's upcoming tour. And I really can't believe my eyes. Sure there's comfort in seeing Madison Square Garden and the Nassau Coliseum listed as venues. But can you imagine telling your friends, "yeah, I'm gonna hit the Blue Cross (Rochester, NY) for some fine tunes tonight." Or how about "Hey Monster Mike, I scored two tix to the Izod (East Ruthorford, NJ) - our ears are gonna bleed for sure!"
Silly indeed.
Can corporations be so desperate for market recognition that crass over-saturation is just collateral damage, and do they hold the attitude that nostalgia for the old stadium names are for the weak and unhip?
Fuck 'em.
Well, I don't think I have the chutzpah to not mention these brands when I write some entertainment pieces. I can't follow the Denver Post's lead when they refused to use the name of Invesco Field, and instead stuck to the beloved moniker of Mile High Stadium.
Or can I?
Friday, November 28, 2008
Hot Pocket!
Today I had my first ever Hot Pocket. It didn't suck, so that's a bright spot. It's not something I'd want to look forward to every day - but it didn't suck. I said that already. And it's funny, that on a day after Thanksgiving, I'd have a freakin' Hot Pocket to begin with. With all this food in the house, we have no food, to like - eat. Sure, there's some leftover pie. And the yummy mini-quiches. And some crabmeat and artichoke parmesean dip. Another yumm-o.
But, I had 3 mini quiches for breakfast. And later a mini cinnamon roll. And then later on a lemon poppy seed muffin. And I wanted something normal for lunch. But I realized the deli meat was dicey, same with the leftover chicken from the great Call of Duty 5 lost weekend. I had made a chicken casserole when our friend Dave (AKA known as "Captain Awesome") stayed over. But, umm, that was *cough* a couple weeks ago. I had planned to make chicken salad with the left over cubed up chicken, but never managed to do it. But the poor cubes still sit in their little plastic storage thingie - sick with the knowledge that they are doomed for the Top Secret penicillin experiments (covertly engineered by Massive Dynamics).
So, I peeked in the freezer. The other day I picked up some frozen/junk food type items. Taquitos. Burritos. French Bread pizzas. Yuk - nothing appealed, but then I found the breakfast Hot Pocket - and well, it didn't suck!
But the funny thing about the little HP. It comes with a special 'sleeve' for crisping. Or browning. Or both. But one must do some folding and tearing with these little 'sleeves'. It's very odd. I'm not a stupid person, but it took me a minute to get it.
It's nuts though, because the Pocket itself, is not that big...it's nearly pointless to take the time to build this sleeve contraption, just so someone can 'eat it on the go'. Eat what? It'd be gone before you start your car, or put on your backpack.
So, after I started eating mine in its little sleeve (I can see why they don't call the sleeves "pockets"), I realized why it had the sleeve.
It's HOT!
I suppose some dumb kid (sorry..but they are dumb sometimes - I have two, I know) burned himself on the pastry, and now they are putting these swell sleeves in the packages. Too bad they don't keep you from burning the inside of your mouth. I guess I'm still a dumb kid too.
But, I had 3 mini quiches for breakfast. And later a mini cinnamon roll. And then later on a lemon poppy seed muffin. And I wanted something normal for lunch. But I realized the deli meat was dicey, same with the leftover chicken from the great Call of Duty 5 lost weekend. I had made a chicken casserole when our friend Dave (AKA known as "Captain Awesome") stayed over. But, umm, that was *cough* a couple weeks ago. I had planned to make chicken salad with the left over cubed up chicken, but never managed to do it. But the poor cubes still sit in their little plastic storage thingie - sick with the knowledge that they are doomed for the Top Secret penicillin experiments (covertly engineered by Massive Dynamics).
So, I peeked in the freezer. The other day I picked up some frozen/junk food type items. Taquitos. Burritos. French Bread pizzas. Yuk - nothing appealed, but then I found the breakfast Hot Pocket - and well, it didn't suck!
But the funny thing about the little HP. It comes with a special 'sleeve' for crisping. Or browning. Or both. But one must do some folding and tearing with these little 'sleeves'. It's very odd. I'm not a stupid person, but it took me a minute to get it.
It's nuts though, because the Pocket itself, is not that big...it's nearly pointless to take the time to build this sleeve contraption, just so someone can 'eat it on the go'. Eat what? It'd be gone before you start your car, or put on your backpack.
So, after I started eating mine in its little sleeve (I can see why they don't call the sleeves "pockets"), I realized why it had the sleeve.
It's HOT!
I suppose some dumb kid (sorry..but they are dumb sometimes - I have two, I know) burned himself on the pastry, and now they are putting these swell sleeves in the packages. Too bad they don't keep you from burning the inside of your mouth. I guess I'm still a dumb kid too.
Sunday, November 23, 2008
Love, Like a River.
She wonders:
Why does all the sadness, the frustration,
and the deep longing not seep out of my pores
like water from an overflowing basin?
How can it be that this quiet, secret love
does not drip and drip and form streams
and puddles flowing from me along the floor,
out the door, down this street and through
that grove and cover miles until
it reaches the very heel of his foot?
Would he look down and say,
“Ah, here she is.
Do I lift my foot to avoid getting wet?
Do I bend down and drink from this stream?”
"Or do I just collect the liquid love,
bottle it and keep it where I can see it
– just in case.”
- Photo from New Zealand Hot Pools
Friday, November 21, 2008
Over Saturation on a Thursday Night
ER, last quarter hour or so. Simon has had a major freak-down and punched out a patient. Went to town on the man. The patient was nearly blinded. It was a mess of out-of-control bone on bone bloodletting.
And the staff seems to be less concerned about that, and more concerned that later he throws around some equipment. Well, sure now they have to be sterilized -- but --
OK, the thing is, he punched out the smoke inhalation guy. (The man who was an accused of and later found innocent of pedophilia). Wild stuff.
Then when the ER quiets down, Archie talks to Simon about the repercussions of his actions. And slowly, Simon starts to tell his story.
"I was ten, the first time."
Wrenching. Simon is crying, Morris tears up as he listens. The story is nauseating.
And then when we've really had enough, a scene is being played out in a recovery room down the hall. A young girl comforts an older man. They hug. He tells her, "We'll be special friends. Don't tell anyone."
And then the news...
It is NOT a damn party!
You know, I understand that TV execs, from network, or cable, to local branches are concerned about viewership. Especially the news, because it's all so available right here - on the Internet. So, viewers drift away from conventional news sources.
Got it. They want to bring viewers back; they want to keep viewers after the previous drama or comedy just ended. So, they do the following:
1) The anchors jump right in before the commercial break with a relentless couple of minutes of 'headlines.' These promo bits grab the viewer, who is probably a bit comatose from either the late hour, or the previous show (in my case, a riveting ER).
2) The female anchors and reporters dress like they are at a party. Shiny clothes, sparkly accessories, low cut tops, lots of leg. Sure they look pretty, but to me, it's pretty tacky. Big freakin' whoop that they are on TV. It's fucking NEWS, not a cocktail party. Even if every story ended in rainbows and kittens, the attire is totally inappropriate.
3) The men look a little too shiny as well. It's not a funeral, but it's not a party either. I mean shit, they might as well be hoisting martini shakers and clinking glasses.
4) A little too much glee when reporting stories. Some joker from News 7 Night Team was launching into a breaking news story last night, and the dude looked a little too happy.
Yeah, I know this trend has been around for a long time. "Dirty Laundry", written by Don Henley was released in 1982.
It's just getting worse.
And the staff seems to be less concerned about that, and more concerned that later he throws around some equipment. Well, sure now they have to be sterilized -- but --
OK, the thing is, he punched out the smoke inhalation guy. (The man who was an accused of and later found innocent of pedophilia). Wild stuff.
Then when the ER quiets down, Archie talks to Simon about the repercussions of his actions. And slowly, Simon starts to tell his story.
"I was ten, the first time."
Wrenching. Simon is crying, Morris tears up as he listens. The story is nauseating.
And then when we've really had enough, a scene is being played out in a recovery room down the hall. A young girl comforts an older man. They hug. He tells her, "We'll be special friends. Don't tell anyone."
And then the news...
It is NOT a damn party!
You know, I understand that TV execs, from network, or cable, to local branches are concerned about viewership. Especially the news, because it's all so available right here - on the Internet. So, viewers drift away from conventional news sources.
Got it. They want to bring viewers back; they want to keep viewers after the previous drama or comedy just ended. So, they do the following:
1) The anchors jump right in before the commercial break with a relentless couple of minutes of 'headlines.' These promo bits grab the viewer, who is probably a bit comatose from either the late hour, or the previous show (in my case, a riveting ER).
2) The female anchors and reporters dress like they are at a party. Shiny clothes, sparkly accessories, low cut tops, lots of leg. Sure they look pretty, but to me, it's pretty tacky. Big freakin' whoop that they are on TV. It's fucking NEWS, not a cocktail party. Even if every story ended in rainbows and kittens, the attire is totally inappropriate.
3) The men look a little too shiny as well. It's not a funeral, but it's not a party either. I mean shit, they might as well be hoisting martini shakers and clinking glasses.
4) A little too much glee when reporting stories. Some joker from News 7 Night Team was launching into a breaking news story last night, and the dude looked a little too happy.
Yeah, I know this trend has been around for a long time. "Dirty Laundry", written by Don Henley was released in 1982.
It's just getting worse.
I make my living off the evening news
Just give me something-something I can use
People love it when you lose,
They love dirty laundry
Well, I coulda been an actor, but I wound up here
I just have to look good, I dont have to be clear
Come and whisper in my ear
Give us dirty laundry
Kick em when theyre up
Kick em when theyre down
Kick em when theyre up
Kick em when theyre down
Kick em when theyre up
Kick em when theyre down
Kick em when theyre up
Kick em all around
We got the bubble-headed-bleach-blonde who
Comes on at five
She can tell you bout the plane crash with a gleam
In her eye
Its interesting when people die-
Give us dirty laundry
Can we film the operation?
Is the head dead yet?
You know, the boys in the newsroom got a
Running bet
Get the widow on the set!
We need dirty laundry
You dont really need to find out whats going on
You dont really want to know just how far its gone
Just leave well enough alone
Eat your dirty laundry
Kick em when theyre up
Kick em when theyre down
Kick em when theyre up
Kick em when theyre down
Kick em when theyre up
Kick em when theyre down
Kick em when theyre stiff
Kick em all around
Dirty little secrets
Dirty little lies
We got our dirty little fingers in everybodys pie
We love to cut you down to size
We love dirty laundry
We can do the innuendo
We can dance and sing
When its said and done we havent told you a thing
We all know that crap is king
Give us dirty laundry!
Sunday, November 16, 2008
His Name is Sal
Something was hinted at earlier this season, and tonight was the night that we learned Turtle's first name. Entourage's Jerry Ferrara's alter ego is Sal.And not just Sal.
Sal from Queens' who answered a booty call from a miss Jamie-Lynn Sigler, and who is now looking a lot like a girlfriend.
That Sal.
(Photo ESPN.com)
Saturday, November 15, 2008
Wisdom from the 80's
Got to pull out a Ferris Bueller here:
" Life moves pretty fast. You don't stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it"
Life DOES move too fast, and you know what? WE LET IT HAPPEN!
" Life moves pretty fast. You don't stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it"
Life DOES move too fast, and you know what? WE LET IT HAPPEN!
Thursday, November 13, 2008
The Spin, the Sizzle, the Story
When I watch a movie, read a book or invest myself anything involving a story; I find myself increasingly absorbed by the telling of the story while the plot, climax and denouement become secondary interests. I know that storytelling has been around since figures were carved on cave walls or symbols scratched onto papyrus. Were there favorites among these artists and scribes?
And when histories and fables were passed on by oral tradition, surely some performed better than others? I do know of this Jewish guy, before the glory days of the Borscht Belt Catskill comedians, who excelled at stand up. (Although he often sat down among his audience.) He could craft a story that had crowds enthralled, asking questions, wanting more. He'd perform tricks too, well not really tricks - no Houdini stuff. He caused a bit of a stir at a wedding once - switching jugs of water with wine - something like that.
But the thing is, the basic theme of his stories was not so unusual, it was his delivery that impressed folks back then. Even today, he's quoted often. Good stuff from that carpenter/story teller. Good stuff.
And still, it's the process that intrigues. Why will one filmmaker use lots of bridging shots, and another favors the slash cut? CGI? Animation? Gritty urban dialogue or drawing room monologue?
This all goes to my frustration towards the average consumer and/or critic. When someone dismisses an effort, let's say a film - for example M. Night Shyamalan's apocalyptic The Happening - they might say, "goofy plot", "not enough gore", "woeful clunker of a paranoid thriller*". OK, fair enough. To each his own and all that. Personally I hesitated after hearing all this panning. So, I ended up seeing The Happening on the small screen. Well it was amped up a little bit. Surround Sound and a 40" flat screen.
But here's the point. Shyamalan's work is fascinating. The story itself was flimsy. That didn't bother me. Flimsy has it's place. But it had so much going for it. Zooey Deschanel's eyes. (Yeah, her big sister Emily is the title character on Fox's Bones.) Anyway, Zooey's got a crazy kind of flat-affect delivery, but I find it charming. Her eyes though, they were really sooo - appealing in The Happening. She could express so much with just her huge eyes. Also - the falling bodies. Amazing shot, that. Chilling in a -- straightforward way. Hey, I could go on and on. But I'm trying to keep to a point, as hazy as that's starting to become.
There is an old adage among the admen. "Sell the sizzle, not the steak." So does that imply that the message is better recieved in a slick package? It just could be so.
*This from The Wall Street Journal's Joe Morgenstern
And when histories and fables were passed on by oral tradition, surely some performed better than others? I do know of this Jewish guy, before the glory days of the Borscht Belt Catskill comedians, who excelled at stand up. (Although he often sat down among his audience.) He could craft a story that had crowds enthralled, asking questions, wanting more. He'd perform tricks too, well not really tricks - no Houdini stuff. He caused a bit of a stir at a wedding once - switching jugs of water with wine - something like that.
But the thing is, the basic theme of his stories was not so unusual, it was his delivery that impressed folks back then. Even today, he's quoted often. Good stuff from that carpenter/story teller. Good stuff.
And still, it's the process that intrigues. Why will one filmmaker use lots of bridging shots, and another favors the slash cut? CGI? Animation? Gritty urban dialogue or drawing room monologue?
This all goes to my frustration towards the average consumer and/or critic. When someone dismisses an effort, let's say a film - for example M. Night Shyamalan's apocalyptic The Happening - they might say, "goofy plot", "not enough gore", "woeful clunker of a paranoid thriller*". OK, fair enough. To each his own and all that. Personally I hesitated after hearing all this panning. So, I ended up seeing The Happening on the small screen. Well it was amped up a little bit. Surround Sound and a 40" flat screen.
But here's the point. Shyamalan's work is fascinating. The story itself was flimsy. That didn't bother me. Flimsy has it's place. But it had so much going for it. Zooey Deschanel's eyes. (Yeah, her big sister Emily is the title character on Fox's Bones.) Anyway, Zooey's got a crazy kind of flat-affect delivery, but I find it charming. Her eyes though, they were really sooo - appealing in The Happening. She could express so much with just her huge eyes. Also - the falling bodies. Amazing shot, that. Chilling in a -- straightforward way. Hey, I could go on and on. But I'm trying to keep to a point, as hazy as that's starting to become.
There is an old adage among the admen. "Sell the sizzle, not the steak." So does that imply that the message is better recieved in a slick package? It just could be so.
*This from The Wall Street Journal's Joe Morgenstern
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