Everything Is Broken: What do you do when a piece of equipment fails shortly after the warranty is up? Case in point: my iBook. It is dead. When it first started going into Kernel Panics (see last month) I naturally did a web search to find out what steps to take and I took all of them. Still the Panics came. So I let the local Mac shop have it for a few days. After a while they claimed they had fixed it by doing exactly what I had already tried. Naturally I got it home and it immediately Panicked again. I could, and may still, bring it back to the Mac shop, but it's pretty clear that they do not have the ability to do anything I haven't already done. So, for all intents and purposes, my iBook is toast. (For the truly geeky out there, I am pretty sure the problem is with the PRAM. If you flash the PRAM the damn thing works for a few days before it goes back to persistent Panics.)
Now my iBook was getting obsolete pretty fast, and it never had really enough juice to do photo-editing other than at a glacial pace, so I decided that rather than pay whatever it would take to find and fix the issue, I may as well bite the bullet and get a new laptop. But how could I get another Mac?
I liked my iBook. The new Mac laptops are even better. But how can I go back and support a company that sold me a product that failed in less than 2 years? Isn't that like rewarding Apple for a bad experience? I know Apple has a stellar reputation when it comes to laptop quality, but wouldn't buying another one just make me a sap. I wanted another Mac but what kind of tool gets a smackdown like that and gives that company another chunk of profit? In such circumstances, you are pretty much compelled to go elsewhere. It's a shame, because you can't get a Mac anywhere except from Apple, so now I am back to Microsoft and Vista (which is more than a little flaky, btw) on an HP. Dell was out because they sold me a pile of crap laptop prior to the Apple. Sony has nice laptops, very cool looking too, but there's quite a premium over HP. Lenovo was another choice, but I got a discount on the HP through my day job.
Next in line for breakdown was my wireless router. As with laptops, I have been through three, abandoning manufacturers as they betray my trust. My first router was a Belkin. After about month of use it ceased to generate a signal stronger than one bar even when my iBook was right next to it. It was replaced with a Linksys which served me for about 14 months. Then it developed exactly the same problem, it just ceased to generate a strong enough signal to be read. It worked fine with a wired connection, but not wireless. I have two wireless devices -- my laptop and a Roku Soundbox -- neither could get a signal so I am sure it wasn't the wireless card. So now Linksys is on the feces list. I have ordered a new router, this one an SMC.
So for those of you scoring at home, the feces list now contains Dell, Apple, Belkin and Linksys. On the bubble are HP and SMC.
Oh, and my wireless mouse ceased to function. It's about 3 months old. Add Logitech to the feces list.
Thursday, October 04, 2007
Re-Switcheroo: One good thing about re-switching back to Windows is the broader range of software available. Picture editors in particular. I use Adobe Photoshop Elements primarily. If I had the time, I'd master editing to the point of needing full-on Photoshop CS (although that may be in my future). Photoshop Elements, like its big bro, is available for Mac of course, but what is not is Google's Picasa which is not so much an editor but a viewer and manager and has become my new best friend. It's truly slick, even more so than the freely provided MS picture editor; even more so than the freely provided Mac picture editor iPhoto. Recommended.
Also not usable is OS X are many of the music sites, especially the subscription ones. I have been intrigued by subscription music services -- you know: $XX a month and play anything you want, but you don't have anything to keep. On the Mac, you pretty much only get iTunes, which has no subscription option. I've purchased stuff off iTunes Music Store, but I often wonder if I would use a subscription service more. I could probably figure out a way to have the subscription stream through the Roku Soundbridge, then, for a small monthly fee I would have literally hundreds of thousands of songs I could play through my stereo without having to manage a truckload of .mp3 files.
Another cool thing about Windows is the availability of better file manages. OS X has Finder which is pretty lame. Windows has Explorer, which is marginally better. But in OS X if you want something more capable you have to shell out money for Pathfinder. In Windows there are a ton of free options: Free Commander, ExplorerXP, File Ant, etc. All have different little bells and whistles.
Actually, if MS did just a couple of things with Windows, it would have no obvious shortcomings versus OS X.
• Fix the security model: this is not to say it's insecure (Vista is, I think, petty darn secure) but the OS X way of verifying actions is much better. On OS X, you just enter your login password anytime you are going to do something that a shady program might want to try to do without your knowledge. In Vista it's an are-you-sure verification message or two, or three, or four. I don't doubt that it keeps you functionally safe, but it is awkward, ungainly and annoying.
• Stop with the pop-up messages, suggestions, and bloatware. This is truly obnoxious. A lot of this you can turn off after you see it the first time, although sometimes it's not exactly clear how to do that. And not only does MS get to be a busy body, but the bloatware freebies that are pre-loaded get to annoy you too (although that may be HP's fault, not MS). I would pay a small premium to a notebook manufacturer who would ship a nice clean Vista install with all the intrusions shut off.
Clarity is not MS strong suit in their software design. The very best example I can give you of why people tend to appreciate OS X for its simplicity and elegance is the file overwrite warning message. On a Mac, in Finder, if you are about to copy a newer file over and existing one (an act I do almost daily in backing up my current work to a USB drive) you get a confirmation message along the lines of, "An older file with the name foobar.txt already exists, do you want to overwrite it?" which is just about perfect. You get a verification that the file you are about to wipe out is older than the one you are about to save, which is the key verification because lord knows I've had a file up in two different finder windows and have accidentally tried to copy the older over the newer more than once. You can either go ahead or cancel out of the action and figure out what it was you meant to do.
In Vista, the message is:
Ye Gods! Let's make a simple task stunningly complicated, shall we? I'm sure it seemed to someone at MS that offering three options instead of just yes/no was very clever, but it's mostly just noise. In the exceedingly rare instances where you want multiple copies of a file, would you really think to do that by just dragging and dropping a copy into the same folder as the original? And the fact is, I don't need to know the size and the name of the file or even the date. We can assume, I think, that I knew what I was doing when I initiated the copy command. I just need some reassurance that I am replacing the correct file. Why do I need a paragraph on "Don't Copy" when I have a cancel button? The single piece on information I need in that text is "(newer)." If I see that I know I'm doing what I meant to. Instead, I have to read War and Peace to get there. Oh and by the way, you are not "clicking the file you want to keep" like the instruction says, you are clicking the action you want to take. Can Bill Gates not afford an editor?
Now, this is not an enormous deal. Once I know what is going on I can zero in on the information I need. And as a software development manager in my day job, it probably bothers me more than normal people. It's just one of those graceless, awkward things that keeps companies like Apple and Google in business.
Also not usable is OS X are many of the music sites, especially the subscription ones. I have been intrigued by subscription music services -- you know: $XX a month and play anything you want, but you don't have anything to keep. On the Mac, you pretty much only get iTunes, which has no subscription option. I've purchased stuff off iTunes Music Store, but I often wonder if I would use a subscription service more. I could probably figure out a way to have the subscription stream through the Roku Soundbridge, then, for a small monthly fee I would have literally hundreds of thousands of songs I could play through my stereo without having to manage a truckload of .mp3 files.
Another cool thing about Windows is the availability of better file manages. OS X has Finder which is pretty lame. Windows has Explorer, which is marginally better. But in OS X if you want something more capable you have to shell out money for Pathfinder. In Windows there are a ton of free options: Free Commander, ExplorerXP, File Ant, etc. All have different little bells and whistles.
Actually, if MS did just a couple of things with Windows, it would have no obvious shortcomings versus OS X.
• Fix the security model: this is not to say it's insecure (Vista is, I think, petty darn secure) but the OS X way of verifying actions is much better. On OS X, you just enter your login password anytime you are going to do something that a shady program might want to try to do without your knowledge. In Vista it's an are-you-sure verification message or two, or three, or four. I don't doubt that it keeps you functionally safe, but it is awkward, ungainly and annoying.
• Stop with the pop-up messages, suggestions, and bloatware. This is truly obnoxious. A lot of this you can turn off after you see it the first time, although sometimes it's not exactly clear how to do that. And not only does MS get to be a busy body, but the bloatware freebies that are pre-loaded get to annoy you too (although that may be HP's fault, not MS). I would pay a small premium to a notebook manufacturer who would ship a nice clean Vista install with all the intrusions shut off.
Clarity is not MS strong suit in their software design. The very best example I can give you of why people tend to appreciate OS X for its simplicity and elegance is the file overwrite warning message. On a Mac, in Finder, if you are about to copy a newer file over and existing one (an act I do almost daily in backing up my current work to a USB drive) you get a confirmation message along the lines of, "An older file with the name foobar.txt already exists, do you want to overwrite it?" which is just about perfect. You get a verification that the file you are about to wipe out is older than the one you are about to save, which is the key verification because lord knows I've had a file up in two different finder windows and have accidentally tried to copy the older over the newer more than once. You can either go ahead or cancel out of the action and figure out what it was you meant to do.
In Vista, the message is:
There is already a file with the same name in this location.
Click the file you want to keep
Copy and Replace
Replace the file in the destination folder with the file you are copying
Foobar.txt
Size 10k
Date Modified 9/30/07 (newer)
Don't Copy
No files will be changed leave this file in the destination folder.
Foobar.txt
Size 10k
Date Modified 9/28/07
Copy But Keep Both Files
The file you are copying will be renamed "Foobar.txt(2)"
Ye Gods! Let's make a simple task stunningly complicated, shall we? I'm sure it seemed to someone at MS that offering three options instead of just yes/no was very clever, but it's mostly just noise. In the exceedingly rare instances where you want multiple copies of a file, would you really think to do that by just dragging and dropping a copy into the same folder as the original? And the fact is, I don't need to know the size and the name of the file or even the date. We can assume, I think, that I knew what I was doing when I initiated the copy command. I just need some reassurance that I am replacing the correct file. Why do I need a paragraph on "Don't Copy" when I have a cancel button? The single piece on information I need in that text is "(newer)." If I see that I know I'm doing what I meant to. Instead, I have to read War and Peace to get there. Oh and by the way, you are not "clicking the file you want to keep" like the instruction says, you are clicking the action you want to take. Can Bill Gates not afford an editor?
Now, this is not an enormous deal. Once I know what is going on I can zero in on the information I need. And as a software development manager in my day job, it probably bothers me more than normal people. It's just one of those graceless, awkward things that keeps companies like Apple and Google in business.
Comcast is on Crack: Still speaking of techno-problems, I have documented my trials and tribulations with Comcast before. The latest has been over my DVR. It occasionally just stops working. The screen goes blank and it no longer responds to the remote or any of the buttons on the front panel. I have to unplug it, then re-plug it in, then once it powers up, the on-line guide takes about 15 minutes to rebuild.
So I called Comcast to ask what to do and they quickly arranged an appointment so that I could take a half day off work to wait for the cable guy. By the way, they no longer will call you when they are about to get to your place, you have to take a half day off and wait for them. Welcome to ten years ago.
The guy was supposed to appear between 9:30 and 12:30, and he showed up at about 10:45 -- not bad. I thought he would just swap out the DVR for a new one. I'd lose my TIVO'd stuff but at least I would constantly be jumping up to unplug the DVR.
I was wrong. He simply held two buttons on the front down (the 'power' and 'select' buttons) simultaneously while he unplugged the box and re-plugged it back in, which is apparently how you do a super-duper top-secret ultra-mega reset. Then he called for a signal to be sent from Comcast. Then he had me sign a paper. Then he set off a seven minute demo on how to use the DVR that they are required to do with every visit (one of the most monumentally stupidest policies in history). Then he left.
Apparently the folks at Comcast think I am incapable of holding down two buttons on the device while unplugging it, so they make me take a half-day off work rather than instructing me over the phone. Absolutely un-friggin'-believable. And naturally, the fix didn't last. I still have the same problem so now I am likely up for taking another half day off work to wait for the guy to come back and put in a new DVR, another task I could accomplish in my sleep. Words fail me in trying to fathom Comcast. I should register the domain comcastisoncrack.com. I'd make millions.
So I called Comcast to ask what to do and they quickly arranged an appointment so that I could take a half day off work to wait for the cable guy. By the way, they no longer will call you when they are about to get to your place, you have to take a half day off and wait for them. Welcome to ten years ago.
The guy was supposed to appear between 9:30 and 12:30, and he showed up at about 10:45 -- not bad. I thought he would just swap out the DVR for a new one. I'd lose my TIVO'd stuff but at least I would constantly be jumping up to unplug the DVR.
I was wrong. He simply held two buttons on the front down (the 'power' and 'select' buttons) simultaneously while he unplugged the box and re-plugged it back in, which is apparently how you do a super-duper top-secret ultra-mega reset. Then he called for a signal to be sent from Comcast. Then he had me sign a paper. Then he set off a seven minute demo on how to use the DVR that they are required to do with every visit (one of the most monumentally stupidest policies in history). Then he left.
Apparently the folks at Comcast think I am incapable of holding down two buttons on the device while unplugging it, so they make me take a half-day off work rather than instructing me over the phone. Absolutely un-friggin'-believable. And naturally, the fix didn't last. I still have the same problem so now I am likely up for taking another half day off work to wait for the guy to come back and put in a new DVR, another task I could accomplish in my sleep. Words fail me in trying to fathom Comcast. I should register the domain comcastisoncrack.com. I'd make millions.
Wednesday, September 05, 2007
The Month That Was - August 2007: I have failed miserably, so you get a short shrift this month. I took a weeklong vacation in the South Dakota Black Hills region, but there is no way I'm going to have it written up for you very soon. As you'll see below, I have run into all sorts of technological snags when trying to get anything done this past couple of weeks, culminating in the purchase of a new laptop. But being computer-less, even for a few days, put a huge dent in my writing time, most of which had to go to my football column. (Yes, that is starting again. You can read the Pre-season review, AFC preview, and NFC preview, if you’d like.)
To top it all off, at one point I committed about three hours worth of writing to my flash drive and promptly found the file to be corrupted when I got back to it. There is little more disheartening than irretrievably losing hours of work.
So since I got so fouled up, and without my computer there is no way to edit the pictures I took, many of which are excellent, the trip report is delayed. If I finish it mid-month I may post a special update. Otherwise, next month for sure.
SNAFU
John from Cincy and HBO
Mad Men and Memory
To top it all off, at one point I committed about three hours worth of writing to my flash drive and promptly found the file to be corrupted when I got back to it. There is little more disheartening than irretrievably losing hours of work.
So since I got so fouled up, and without my computer there is no way to edit the pictures I took, many of which are excellent, the trip report is delayed. If I finish it mid-month I may post a special update. Otherwise, next month for sure.
SNAFU
John from Cincy and HBO
Mad Men and Memory
SNAFU This month was an extended lesson in the origin and nature of screw-ups. To wit:
Comcast - For the past year and a half Comcast has been double billing me for internet service. You see, when I signed up for the Comcast digital cable/high-speed internet combo I got a deeply reduced rate for my first six months. I knew, in the back of my mind, that after six months my rate was going to go way up and it did. I just didn't bother to look at the itemized bill. It came every month for the same amount and I paid it.
Then, I went to the Comcast kiosk at the Mall to check out an offer for a new deal and the guy pulled up my bill and told me I was being charged for two high-speed internet connections. What followed was pure farce.
I called Comcast and got a message about there being extraordinary call volume and I should try to use the Comcast web site to resolve my problem. I got on the Comcast’s online chat room with a Internet Billing rep. After a while this rep confirmed that I was being double charged, but said the second internet charge was coming from the Cable TV department not from the Internet department so I would have to get in touch with Cable Billing to resolve it.
So I got on the phone to Comcast again and received a familiar automated message: that the phones were very busy and I should try using email support. So I used email support -- I sent in my rather lengthy explanation of the circumstances and I got a message back from Cable Billing the next day to tell me that they couldn’t resolve my issue over email and I would have to call.
So I called again and waited past the message telling me to use their web site and I got an offer to have a rep call me back as soon as one was free, so I left my number. Ten minutes later I got a voice mail. It was from Comcast, but not a rep. It was a recorded message telling me I should press some button if my problem was not resolved. Huh? In what way will press a button in response to a voice mail get any information back to Comcast? I'm not on the line with Comcast, it's my own voice mail.
So I called Comcast back and this time I actually waited on hold until I was actually talking to a real person.
Turned out to be a very helpful person who verified my story and said she’d call back. And she did, and got my account credited (let's just say I won't have a cable bill for a while). Advice: when dealing with Comcast it is worth the wait to talk to a live person.
Pair.com - Pair.com is my hosting service for my two book sites (Read Apple Pie and Read Business As Usual). Now, I have touched neither of these sites in ages, although changes are coming Real Soon Now. Suddenly I am getting messages about being over my disk usage limit. The limit is 250 meg and what I have up there amounts to little more than a 5 meg. WTF?
So I send an email to Support asking the WTF? And they reply that I have over 250 meg of mail messages. I registered these sites many years ago and along with the site registration comes a free email account. But, I never used it. Never did anything to configure it. Never gave it out to anyone. Just pretty much forgot it ever existed. My status remains at WTF?
Well, despite it never being used or published spammers found it. And over the years they were loading up the inbox until they hit my storage limit. 250 meg of spam! Do you have any idea how many messages that is? I tried to clean out the messages but there were so many it took my whole system down. I finally had to ask Pair.com to delete all the messages, then I promptly disabled the mail addresses. Sheesh.
Kernel Panic - Most people are familiar with the Blue Screen of Death in Windows. Basically the system just totally freaks out and tells you need to reboot and start over. It happened fairly regularly in early versions of Windows, although I have never seen one in later versions of XP or Vista. In the Mac world the equivalent experience is something called a Kernel Panic. I love the descriptiveness of that.
Anyway, after just shy of two years with my iBook, I started getting kernel panics. They were intermittent. Sometimes the thing would shut down before I could even log in. Other times I would get a day or more of up-time before the crash. Naturally, this all started when I was half way across the country, so I really didn't have many options for staying connected which was a pain since I really needed to be connected.
Upon my return I ran all the diagnostics and reparations I could find but to no avail. So I turned it over to a Mac repair shop and told them to have at it. As I write this, they are still having at it. I couldn't wait, however, and decided it was time for me to move up to a new laptop. If they fix it, fine, I'll have a spare -- maybe keep it permanently hooked up to my receiver to play iTunes. Other than that, I'm moving on.
My new friend is an HP Pavilion Verve Edition. With Vista. Yes, I now officially a re-switcher. The Mac was nice, and for a long time it was solid. But I never got used to the navigation, having spent so many years with Windows and still having to use Windows at work. Plus, there is software you miss out on with the Mac. In my case, I'm a heavy MS Office user and I found Office for OS/X to be a little eccentric. And I love Google's photo utility Picasa, which is not available for the Mac. (Picasa seriously rocks, and it's free. It's not comprehensive enough to replace a real photo editor, but it’s great for organizing and viewing photos.)
Of course, I was promptly reminded what a mess a fresh MS based system is -- all the pop-up tips, the warnings, the reminders, the intrusive demo software. Ugh. And the MS approach to security is silly. On a Mac, whenever new software is being installed, the system asks for your login password. Makes perfect sense. That stops unwanted software from getting installed maliciously from the web, and from strangers who may find your laptop unattended, and from friends and family who just want to check their email. In Vista, you don’t have to enter a password but you do need to click through about four or five "Are you sure?" type messages. That is poor design. Oh well, at least the keystroke navigation that I have burned into my brain cells works again.
Anyway, they key thing is that I am up and running again and can continue to get work done. At least until the next SNAFU.
Comcast - For the past year and a half Comcast has been double billing me for internet service. You see, when I signed up for the Comcast digital cable/high-speed internet combo I got a deeply reduced rate for my first six months. I knew, in the back of my mind, that after six months my rate was going to go way up and it did. I just didn't bother to look at the itemized bill. It came every month for the same amount and I paid it.
Then, I went to the Comcast kiosk at the Mall to check out an offer for a new deal and the guy pulled up my bill and told me I was being charged for two high-speed internet connections. What followed was pure farce.
I called Comcast and got a message about there being extraordinary call volume and I should try to use the Comcast web site to resolve my problem. I got on the Comcast’s online chat room with a Internet Billing rep. After a while this rep confirmed that I was being double charged, but said the second internet charge was coming from the Cable TV department not from the Internet department so I would have to get in touch with Cable Billing to resolve it.
So I got on the phone to Comcast again and received a familiar automated message: that the phones were very busy and I should try using email support. So I used email support -- I sent in my rather lengthy explanation of the circumstances and I got a message back from Cable Billing the next day to tell me that they couldn’t resolve my issue over email and I would have to call.
So I called again and waited past the message telling me to use their web site and I got an offer to have a rep call me back as soon as one was free, so I left my number. Ten minutes later I got a voice mail. It was from Comcast, but not a rep. It was a recorded message telling me I should press some button if my problem was not resolved. Huh? In what way will press a button in response to a voice mail get any information back to Comcast? I'm not on the line with Comcast, it's my own voice mail.
So I called Comcast back and this time I actually waited on hold until I was actually talking to a real person.
Turned out to be a very helpful person who verified my story and said she’d call back. And she did, and got my account credited (let's just say I won't have a cable bill for a while). Advice: when dealing with Comcast it is worth the wait to talk to a live person.
Pair.com - Pair.com is my hosting service for my two book sites (Read Apple Pie and Read Business As Usual). Now, I have touched neither of these sites in ages, although changes are coming Real Soon Now. Suddenly I am getting messages about being over my disk usage limit. The limit is 250 meg and what I have up there amounts to little more than a 5 meg. WTF?
So I send an email to Support asking the WTF? And they reply that I have over 250 meg of mail messages. I registered these sites many years ago and along with the site registration comes a free email account. But, I never used it. Never did anything to configure it. Never gave it out to anyone. Just pretty much forgot it ever existed. My status remains at WTF?
Well, despite it never being used or published spammers found it. And over the years they were loading up the inbox until they hit my storage limit. 250 meg of spam! Do you have any idea how many messages that is? I tried to clean out the messages but there were so many it took my whole system down. I finally had to ask Pair.com to delete all the messages, then I promptly disabled the mail addresses. Sheesh.
Kernel Panic - Most people are familiar with the Blue Screen of Death in Windows. Basically the system just totally freaks out and tells you need to reboot and start over. It happened fairly regularly in early versions of Windows, although I have never seen one in later versions of XP or Vista. In the Mac world the equivalent experience is something called a Kernel Panic. I love the descriptiveness of that.
Anyway, after just shy of two years with my iBook, I started getting kernel panics. They were intermittent. Sometimes the thing would shut down before I could even log in. Other times I would get a day or more of up-time before the crash. Naturally, this all started when I was half way across the country, so I really didn't have many options for staying connected which was a pain since I really needed to be connected.
Upon my return I ran all the diagnostics and reparations I could find but to no avail. So I turned it over to a Mac repair shop and told them to have at it. As I write this, they are still having at it. I couldn't wait, however, and decided it was time for me to move up to a new laptop. If they fix it, fine, I'll have a spare -- maybe keep it permanently hooked up to my receiver to play iTunes. Other than that, I'm moving on.
My new friend is an HP Pavilion Verve Edition. With Vista. Yes, I now officially a re-switcher. The Mac was nice, and for a long time it was solid. But I never got used to the navigation, having spent so many years with Windows and still having to use Windows at work. Plus, there is software you miss out on with the Mac. In my case, I'm a heavy MS Office user and I found Office for OS/X to be a little eccentric. And I love Google's photo utility Picasa, which is not available for the Mac. (Picasa seriously rocks, and it's free. It's not comprehensive enough to replace a real photo editor, but it’s great for organizing and viewing photos.)
Of course, I was promptly reminded what a mess a fresh MS based system is -- all the pop-up tips, the warnings, the reminders, the intrusive demo software. Ugh. And the MS approach to security is silly. On a Mac, whenever new software is being installed, the system asks for your login password. Makes perfect sense. That stops unwanted software from getting installed maliciously from the web, and from strangers who may find your laptop unattended, and from friends and family who just want to check their email. In Vista, you don’t have to enter a password but you do need to click through about four or five "Are you sure?" type messages. That is poor design. Oh well, at least the keystroke navigation that I have burned into my brain cells works again.
Anyway, they key thing is that I am up and running again and can continue to get work done. At least until the next SNAFU.
Back to Cincinnati With You: John from Cincinnati finished up and left people who watched the whole series more confused that the Sopranos ending. HBO is not renewing it, so we'll never know if it would have become clearer to us. At the end, David Milch gave an interview to a blogger at Variety about what he was trying to achieve.
To which, like the Geico Caveman, I can only respond, "Uh...What?"
J from C was, then, a story about how the characters defined their personal view of God from within their own experiences. To emphasize this self-definition, Milch attempted to divorce the words and actions of the characters from their meaning allowing the audience to self-define the entire show, giving them latitude to allow the characters to define their view of God based on the viewer's personal view of the characters. At least, I think that might be it.
A curious experiment. It may have worked if we (the viewers) were prepped to go into it with that mindset. But we weren’t, we were told it would be another great David Milch drama. I am half tempted to re-watch the entire ten episodes with the knowledge that I am supposed to self-define the narrative, but I just don't have time. I am reminded of James Joyce, who believed his readers should devote their lives to understanding his work.
I certainly wouldn't call J from C a failure. I would have probably continued to watch ad infinitum just because I so admire the fact that someone has the guts to use the English language in something other than a utilitarian way. I also thought it was drop dead funny in parts, which, to me, is worth more than all the philosophical experimenting in the world. But many of the characters were not very complete or consistent and a lot of their "conflicts" were on the cliched and contrived side. Gotta let this one pass and call it a learning experience.
At least now Milch can get back to finishing up Deadwood, although it sounds like Ian McShane is holding up the stagecoach.
Entourage and Flight of the Concords finished up last week, but Curb Your Enthusiasm begins so we'll have our comedy fix. The final season of The Wire doesn't start until January so drama-wise we are left with something new called Tell Me You Love Me which looks absolutely excruciating. Without seeing anything but the trailers, my guess is that it is essentially Thirtysomething (What about myyyy needs!!!!!) with lots of lurid sex and shock talk which gets pumped as "groundbreaking." Ugh. But that’s just a guess...
"Each character has the opportunity to generate God by his or her behavior. All of us are the mother and father of God, to the extent we accept the limits of our humanity."
[snip]
"My understanding of the way the mechanism of storytelling works is...whether or not the audience is conscious of the process, apart from the audience awareness that there is a process, any story is constantly appending specific values to the meanings of words, and of the actions of characters. And the fact that story uses as its building blocks words or characters that the audience believes it has some prior recognition or understanding of, is really simply the beginning of the story, but not its end.”
To which, like the Geico Caveman, I can only respond, "Uh...What?"
J from C was, then, a story about how the characters defined their personal view of God from within their own experiences. To emphasize this self-definition, Milch attempted to divorce the words and actions of the characters from their meaning allowing the audience to self-define the entire show, giving them latitude to allow the characters to define their view of God based on the viewer's personal view of the characters. At least, I think that might be it.
A curious experiment. It may have worked if we (the viewers) were prepped to go into it with that mindset. But we weren’t, we were told it would be another great David Milch drama. I am half tempted to re-watch the entire ten episodes with the knowledge that I am supposed to self-define the narrative, but I just don't have time. I am reminded of James Joyce, who believed his readers should devote their lives to understanding his work.
I certainly wouldn't call J from C a failure. I would have probably continued to watch ad infinitum just because I so admire the fact that someone has the guts to use the English language in something other than a utilitarian way. I also thought it was drop dead funny in parts, which, to me, is worth more than all the philosophical experimenting in the world. But many of the characters were not very complete or consistent and a lot of their "conflicts" were on the cliched and contrived side. Gotta let this one pass and call it a learning experience.
At least now Milch can get back to finishing up Deadwood, although it sounds like Ian McShane is holding up the stagecoach.
Entourage and Flight of the Concords finished up last week, but Curb Your Enthusiasm begins so we'll have our comedy fix. The final season of The Wire doesn't start until January so drama-wise we are left with something new called Tell Me You Love Me which looks absolutely excruciating. Without seeing anything but the trailers, my guess is that it is essentially Thirtysomething (What about myyyy needs!!!!!) with lots of lurid sex and shock talk which gets pumped as "groundbreaking." Ugh. But that’s just a guess...
The Times Aren't a-Changin': The best show on TV at the moment is probably Mad Men, AMC's original series about the personal and professional goings-on of execs in a high-powered ad agency in 1960. I'm pleased that, now that the whole period-piece culture shock has been covered, they are really digging into the characters, some of whom are remarkably well shaded. The acting, in some instances, leaves a bit to be desired, but the stories come through and even though it's already a fine show, I have the sense that they have yet to really hit their stride.
One thing that must strike anyone who sees it is how much things have changed since that time. In and of itself, that's no big deal. But to someone like me, who still has memories of those days (not 1960 strictly speaking -- I was only just born in 1960, but I remember the way of life described in the series vividly) it's a bit of a shock to see them again, this time as a historical representation.
The changes are almost certainly for the better, I believe. Of course, the basics remain in place -- they always do; humans are still humans -- but the spin and surface are very, very different. (I described a bit of this last month's Tube Notes.) My first reaction to the magnitude of change is to not see it as something out of the ordinary. My instinct tells me that, although the full effect of it can only be seen after-the-fact, social change proceeds at a pretty much constant pace. It's going on right now, but we just don't have the perspective to realize it, and if we try to distance ourselves enough to see it, we usually get it wrong because of our contemporary prejudices.
But then I read this observation from Gregg Easterbrook about the movie American Graffiti:
Haunting is right. Maybe the second half of the 20th century really was a time of accelerated social change. Or maybe the contemporary times stand out for their lack of social change. I don't know, but I certainly need to rethink the idea of social change at a constant pace.
One thing that must strike anyone who sees it is how much things have changed since that time. In and of itself, that's no big deal. But to someone like me, who still has memories of those days (not 1960 strictly speaking -- I was only just born in 1960, but I remember the way of life described in the series vividly) it's a bit of a shock to see them again, this time as a historical representation.
The changes are almost certainly for the better, I believe. Of course, the basics remain in place -- they always do; humans are still humans -- but the spin and surface are very, very different. (I described a bit of this last month's Tube Notes.) My first reaction to the magnitude of change is to not see it as something out of the ordinary. My instinct tells me that, although the full effect of it can only be seen after-the-fact, social change proceeds at a pretty much constant pace. It's going on right now, but we just don't have the perspective to realize it, and if we try to distance ourselves enough to see it, we usually get it wrong because of our contemporary prejudices.
But then I read this observation from Gregg Easterbrook about the movie American Graffiti:
It's haunting to think American Graffiti, which surely depicts the perfect high-school-days summer night that [director George] Lucas never actually had -- was made in 1973 and portrays small-town California of 1962. Just 11 years had passed, yet American Graffiti was received as a nostalgic trip into a bygone era of music and social mores that could never return. Think if you made a movie today that was intended to be a wistful voyage 11 years into the past: to 1996. Hardly anything would seem different, except for the lack of cell phones, and there'd be no haunting sense of a simpler lost era. Is there even one single person who would pay $8 for cinematic nostalgia about 1996?
Haunting is right. Maybe the second half of the 20th century really was a time of accelerated social change. Or maybe the contemporary times stand out for their lack of social change. I don't know, but I certainly need to rethink the idea of social change at a constant pace.
Sunday, August 05, 2007
The Month That Was - July 2007: Well, I finally got through the re-editing process on Business As Usual and it should be settled and available from the new publisher soon. It was quite a chore since I don't think the editor had a good grasp of the informal, idiomatic style I was going for, so I ended up reversing most of the edits. I also have some quirks that are at odds with most writers. For instance, I believe most contemporary American fiction is overloaded with unnecessary commas. I also think it's best to let dialogue flow without any "he saids" that aren't absolutely necessary. To an editor inclined to more prosaic prose (heh-heh), it must have looked in need of work.
The good news is that in the course of reading through the whole book under a close eye -- something I haven't done in years -- I came away very happy with it. I think it's a good bit of writing. Royalties have dwindled to virtually nothing and will likely remain that way forever, but I'm satisfied with it. That made me feel good.
First up this week are some comments, of a sort, on current events, which is uncharacteristic (and will remain so, I hope). Then a good bit of rambling about TV and movies. But first, we have a travel report on this year's trip Up North, all the way to the U.P., appropriately titled To Yooperville and Back. Do read it.
Gas Prices
Michael Vick
TSA
Tube Notes
Flick Notes
Green at Home
The good news is that in the course of reading through the whole book under a close eye -- something I haven't done in years -- I came away very happy with it. I think it's a good bit of writing. Royalties have dwindled to virtually nothing and will likely remain that way forever, but I'm satisfied with it. That made me feel good.
First up this week are some comments, of a sort, on current events, which is uncharacteristic (and will remain so, I hope). Then a good bit of rambling about TV and movies. But first, we have a travel report on this year's trip Up North, all the way to the U.P., appropriately titled To Yooperville and Back. Do read it.
Gas Prices
Michael Vick
TSA
Tube Notes
Flick Notes
Green at Home
All Gassed Up: This month's Yooperville trip report features no travel industry complaints. The lodging arrangements worked out well and it was a road trip through Northern Michigan, so there was no interaction with the airline industry. Apart from the minor issue of a bit of construction now and then, the only real problem was gas prices.
Now I am not one to complain about gas prices, generally speaking. I don't believe that Big Oil executives sit in a board room lighting cigars with hundred-dollar bills and twirling their mustaches like Snidely Whiplash while colluding to screw the honest working man out of his hard earned cash. Market forces set the price of gas, prices rise because demand is increasing faster than supply. Much of that increasing demand is coming from economic booms in China and India. Much of the lack of supply comes not because of the scarcity of oil, but the scarcity of refineries. Besides, the fact of the matter is that even at their current levels, gas prices have not kept up with long term inflation rates. If they did they would be well over $5.00/gal. No, sir: I am not at all exorcised by gas prices, generally speaking.
What I don't understand is why here in Michigan, where we are pretty much mired in constant recession, our gas prices should be higher than everywhere else. Other things equal, a lousy economy compared to the rest of the nation should reduce demand and therefore lead to relatively lower prices. Of course, other things are never equal. But I have not seen nor heard of a plausible explanation of what things are unequal. I am not asking why they are so high; I am asking why they are so high relative to the rest of the country.
As usual, everyone just gripes but no one bothers to understand and explain. Feh.
By the way, I don't think I have encountered a dumber idea in my life than a one-day boycott of gas purchases as a method of getting lower prices. That's not just garden-variety shoddy thinking. If you cannot see how totally useless such an undertaking is, you really need to take some time to evaluate whether your understanding of the world is not as shallow Paris Hilton.
Now I am not one to complain about gas prices, generally speaking. I don't believe that Big Oil executives sit in a board room lighting cigars with hundred-dollar bills and twirling their mustaches like Snidely Whiplash while colluding to screw the honest working man out of his hard earned cash. Market forces set the price of gas, prices rise because demand is increasing faster than supply. Much of that increasing demand is coming from economic booms in China and India. Much of the lack of supply comes not because of the scarcity of oil, but the scarcity of refineries. Besides, the fact of the matter is that even at their current levels, gas prices have not kept up with long term inflation rates. If they did they would be well over $5.00/gal. No, sir: I am not at all exorcised by gas prices, generally speaking.
What I don't understand is why here in Michigan, where we are pretty much mired in constant recession, our gas prices should be higher than everywhere else. Other things equal, a lousy economy compared to the rest of the nation should reduce demand and therefore lead to relatively lower prices. Of course, other things are never equal. But I have not seen nor heard of a plausible explanation of what things are unequal. I am not asking why they are so high; I am asking why they are so high relative to the rest of the country.
As usual, everyone just gripes but no one bothers to understand and explain. Feh.
By the way, I don't think I have encountered a dumber idea in my life than a one-day boycott of gas purchases as a method of getting lower prices. That's not just garden-variety shoddy thinking. If you cannot see how totally useless such an undertaking is, you really need to take some time to evaluate whether your understanding of the world is not as shallow Paris Hilton.
Sick of Vick - Validated: He's been called Ron Mexico. He's been called Ookie. Now we can call him Toast. Barring some amazing turn of events wherein he is totally exonerated and every piece of speculation proves wrong, it is quite possible that Mike Vick will never be a serious football player again. Short of outright exoneration, what possible outcome would cause you to be a fan or go and cheer for him? What team would to sign him to a leading role, especially in this era of bad behavior crackdowns? Like I said: Toast.
His reputation, such as it was, is gone. And soon, his money will be gone, too. Needless to say, endorsements will not be forthcoming, probably not even for Valtrex. Nike has already dumped him and his product plans. There are reports that sporting goods stores like Dick's have his jersey on fire sale. So he will have little or no income, lots of legal bills, and just for good measure, if there is testimony about him dropping $10,000 bets on dog fights, I'm guessing the IRS is going to want to have a look at his checking account. To paraphrase the great Walter Sobchak: Ookie, you're entering a world of pain.
As a player, Vick was flashy and charismatic, but not all that great. Defenses can adapt to a running QB no matter how fast he is. A QB needs to pass to be a winner; and pass accurately and wisely. It is possible that this was the year we'd have found out that Vick could do that -- there was mention of letting him audible and giving him freer rein -- but kiss that goodbye. I envision approximately zero probability that he plays in 2007. Can you imagine how many renditions of "Who Let the Dogs Out" he will hear at opposing stadiums? Even the fans in Atlanta would probably boo him.
The best thing he can do is apologize, go on Oprah and cry, beg for forgiveness in the most mewling way possible, donate an enormous sum to the Humane Society, and play the sentimental public like a bass fiddle; plea bargain for a short sentence (I bet he could get away with a few months in a minimum security); accept a year suspension for the NFL and re-sign with some desperate team as a low profile back-up QB/receiver just to get back on the field. Then hope for a long term re-habilitation of his rep.
The thing is, I suspect Vick is not the type to play that game. Judging by the behavior of his equally distasteful brother Marcus, who once stomped on an opposing player in the middle of a college game badly enough to get kicked out of school, the Vicks are not ones to regret and apologize. They no doubt see it as a sign of weakness, or their arrogance simply won't allow it. Whatever bodies are left in their wake have no significance to them, they just step over them without a second thought.
Well, Michael is about to get his introduction to the concept of comeuppance. The next body to be stepped over is his own.
His reputation, such as it was, is gone. And soon, his money will be gone, too. Needless to say, endorsements will not be forthcoming, probably not even for Valtrex. Nike has already dumped him and his product plans. There are reports that sporting goods stores like Dick's have his jersey on fire sale. So he will have little or no income, lots of legal bills, and just for good measure, if there is testimony about him dropping $10,000 bets on dog fights, I'm guessing the IRS is going to want to have a look at his checking account. To paraphrase the great Walter Sobchak: Ookie, you're entering a world of pain.
As a player, Vick was flashy and charismatic, but not all that great. Defenses can adapt to a running QB no matter how fast he is. A QB needs to pass to be a winner; and pass accurately and wisely. It is possible that this was the year we'd have found out that Vick could do that -- there was mention of letting him audible and giving him freer rein -- but kiss that goodbye. I envision approximately zero probability that he plays in 2007. Can you imagine how many renditions of "Who Let the Dogs Out" he will hear at opposing stadiums? Even the fans in Atlanta would probably boo him.
The best thing he can do is apologize, go on Oprah and cry, beg for forgiveness in the most mewling way possible, donate an enormous sum to the Humane Society, and play the sentimental public like a bass fiddle; plea bargain for a short sentence (I bet he could get away with a few months in a minimum security); accept a year suspension for the NFL and re-sign with some desperate team as a low profile back-up QB/receiver just to get back on the field. Then hope for a long term re-habilitation of his rep.
The thing is, I suspect Vick is not the type to play that game. Judging by the behavior of his equally distasteful brother Marcus, who once stomped on an opposing player in the middle of a college game badly enough to get kicked out of school, the Vicks are not ones to regret and apologize. They no doubt see it as a sign of weakness, or their arrogance simply won't allow it. Whatever bodies are left in their wake have no significance to them, they just step over them without a second thought.
Well, Michael is about to get his introduction to the concept of comeuppance. The next body to be stepped over is his own.
Up, Up and Away, with TSA: Longtime readers know that I have not been a TSA basher. It's very common among pundits and editorialists to mercilessly hammer TSA as anything from a useless annoyance to a pack of fascist lapdogs. Strangely, or perhaps not so strangely, folks I know who fly frequently seem less likely to be so negative. As for me, I simply don't know if TSA is effective or not. Certainly, there has been no major airline terrorism in the U.S. in the past few years; that should count for something. On the other hand, there's a reason Post Hoc Ergo Propter Hoc is referred to as a common fallacy.
Recently a TSA admin named Kip Hawley submitted to a five part interview with a fellow named Bruce Schneider, who is apparently a big critic of TSA. The interview was civil (although many of the comments from readers are not) and rather informative. My impressions:
Recently a TSA admin named Kip Hawley submitted to a five part interview with a fellow named Bruce Schneider, who is apparently a big critic of TSA. The interview was civil (although many of the comments from readers are not) and rather informative. My impressions:
- The point of screening is not to catch everyone with a contraband item. That's acknowledged as impossible. So if someone sneaks something through, that is not indicative of a failure of the process. The point is to make it risky enough that it is not worthwhile to attempt anything.
- Much is made of how the many of the current security policies are ineffective. Shoe removal and limiting carry-on liquids foremost among them. The TSA admin tries to justify them and doesn't do to well. I agree that those are pretty ineffective measures but the fact of the matter is that we have no one to blame for them but ourselves. When that bridge collapsed in Minneapolis they hadn't even pulled the bodies out before people were casting around for someone to blame, and by extension, someone to sue. Can you imagine if they stopped checking shoes and some plane got shoe bombed? How many people complaining about it being ineffective would change their tune and start casting around for someone to blame? How big would the lawsuits be? We'd need a tax increase just to cover the government payments to the survivor's families. This is the bed we've made with litigation. Not TSA's fault.
- I didn't know this, but TSA does not maintain the no-fly list. No one is ever stopped at security because they are on the no-fly list. If you got a boarding pass you are not on the no-fly list. People are stopped at security either because an agent has a suspicion or they are selected by a mathematically random process for extra screening. Also, there are apparently some very reliable methods for identifying guilty parties through their behavior. (I'm should professional poker players have known this for years.) I'm curious as to what they are.
- TSA abuses of authority do happen. Of course, anytime anyone has authority, there is the potential for abuse. A cop had a fight with his wife so he writes you up even though you were only going 7 mph over the limit. A health inspector wakes up constipated and so your restaurant is shut down for a week. That kind of thing happens all the time, the question is whether it is more common when TSA is involved. I don't know the answer and I don't know that anyone else does either.
Tube Notes: Well, I continue to hold faith with David Milch -- for the time being. I'm still twirling John from Cincinnati in my mind. Some things have become more clear. We now know that there is something religious -- even quasi-Christian -- going on. The upshot now seems to be that God has decided to speak to this exceedingly dysfunctional family of surfers and their circle. The title character (John from Cincinnati), presumably God's messenger, is a bizarre creature: cannot be harmed or feel pain; manifests to the other characters sometimes in reality, sometimes in hallucination; and speaks either in inscrutably cryptic comments or mocking parroting of what is said to him, or both. Slowly the other characters realize something freaky is going on. Now what? I don't know, but if Milch pulls it off -- the story of a modern day visitation by a prophet -- it will be amazing.
I will continue to watch John just because I so love the way Milch and his writers use the English language. To me it is refreshing to hear people speak in a florid colorful manner -- as opposed to naturalistic utilitarian dialog. I think it takes a lot of guts to do that on a TV show. A couple of the actors involved are taking quality turns, prime among them is Ed O'Neill who is perfect as a retired cop and a bit of a head case who is psychically connected to his pet bird. His comic timing is even better than when he was Al Bundy.
But, overall, I can't recommend John to the general public just yet. It is mesmerizing, but it still needs to find a clearer purpose. And it is not something that can be watched casually. I am pretty much committed to the season, so I'll be sure to let you know if it's worth your time once all is said and done. Then you can rent the DVD.
The other show that caught my eye is Mad Men on AMC. Essentially a period piece set in 1960 about the corporate and personal lives of execs at a high-powered ad agency. There are two keys to Mad Men. The lesser key is the reproduction of the style and substance of life in 1960: everyone smokes, women are mere supplicants, and so forth. Having been a sentient child at the tail end of this era (mid-'60s), I can verify that they hit the nail on the head with a lot of this stuff. The salarymen don't think twice about pouring each other a scotch on the rocks at work. Kids leap about in a moving car without seatbelts. Divorce, psychiatry, and birth control are taboo.
Some of this stuff is delightfully dramatized: parents don't mind if their kids play with plastic dry-cleaning bags over their heads; a black busboy garners suspicious looks when a white business man engages him in conversation at a nice restaurant; a fellow proclaiming "It's not like there is a magic machine that can make exact duplicates of documents"; a phone and intercom are scary high technology; children are given a swat for spilling their milk.
While this is fun, it must be tempered. It would be too easy to take the contrast in mores and taboos and use them to make fun of the poor savages of a bygone era while extolling our brave, new, progressive world. That would be lazy. And not entirely accurate. While I certainly wouldn't trade the contemporary world for 1960 I found myself looking at some of the lifestyle with a little twinge of nostalgia, specifically with respect to certain freedoms of behavior regarding children. Certainly it was a time before the safety Nazis sucked a lot of the fun out of childhood. But short of that, I can see very little that was preferable back then. Although there are plenty of times I would like to have liquor on hand at work, that's for sure.
Still, it's a work of drama and it needs to be about people. That's the greater of the two keys and on that front they are doing well. The lead character is utterly fascinating -- a seemingly perfect family man (for the '60s), but at his core cynical and negative, given to emotionally checking out. By extension his marriage is unfulfilling, his wife is clearly unhappy possibly due to her inability to keep connected to her husband. Of course, this being 1960, it is never discussed openly. In 2007 they would all be prattling on like Woody Allen in therapy and mainlining Xanax.
I think Mad Men is going to do fine. My guess is that they will use the retro environment wisely, as a highlight for the humanity of their characters instead of making it the point of the show. This show I can recommend you catch up on. (AMC seems to be running it about 8 times a day so it should be easy to catch.)
Lastly, under the heading of Man Does Not Live By Great Drama Alone, we have the USA Network that has been cranking our enjoyable, wispy police procedurals. These are based on wholly contrived situations and plots built around shallow, but eminently likeable, characters. The writers often have their tongues wedged firmly in their cheeks; they know how silly what they are doing is, and they don't pretend otherwise. This started with Monk and continued with Psych. The latest is Burn Notice which strikes me as potentially the new Magnum P.I. in the same way Monk is the new Columbo.
I wouldn't go out of my way to watch these, but if they are on and I'm vegging, I'll happily tune in for the distraction. That is not a backhanded compliment; these shows are excellent examples of their genre. I suspect they will all have a long and happy life in syndication for decades to come.
I will continue to watch John just because I so love the way Milch and his writers use the English language. To me it is refreshing to hear people speak in a florid colorful manner -- as opposed to naturalistic utilitarian dialog. I think it takes a lot of guts to do that on a TV show. A couple of the actors involved are taking quality turns, prime among them is Ed O'Neill who is perfect as a retired cop and a bit of a head case who is psychically connected to his pet bird. His comic timing is even better than when he was Al Bundy.
But, overall, I can't recommend John to the general public just yet. It is mesmerizing, but it still needs to find a clearer purpose. And it is not something that can be watched casually. I am pretty much committed to the season, so I'll be sure to let you know if it's worth your time once all is said and done. Then you can rent the DVD.
The other show that caught my eye is Mad Men on AMC. Essentially a period piece set in 1960 about the corporate and personal lives of execs at a high-powered ad agency. There are two keys to Mad Men. The lesser key is the reproduction of the style and substance of life in 1960: everyone smokes, women are mere supplicants, and so forth. Having been a sentient child at the tail end of this era (mid-'60s), I can verify that they hit the nail on the head with a lot of this stuff. The salarymen don't think twice about pouring each other a scotch on the rocks at work. Kids leap about in a moving car without seatbelts. Divorce, psychiatry, and birth control are taboo.
Some of this stuff is delightfully dramatized: parents don't mind if their kids play with plastic dry-cleaning bags over their heads; a black busboy garners suspicious looks when a white business man engages him in conversation at a nice restaurant; a fellow proclaiming "It's not like there is a magic machine that can make exact duplicates of documents"; a phone and intercom are scary high technology; children are given a swat for spilling their milk.
While this is fun, it must be tempered. It would be too easy to take the contrast in mores and taboos and use them to make fun of the poor savages of a bygone era while extolling our brave, new, progressive world. That would be lazy. And not entirely accurate. While I certainly wouldn't trade the contemporary world for 1960 I found myself looking at some of the lifestyle with a little twinge of nostalgia, specifically with respect to certain freedoms of behavior regarding children. Certainly it was a time before the safety Nazis sucked a lot of the fun out of childhood. But short of that, I can see very little that was preferable back then. Although there are plenty of times I would like to have liquor on hand at work, that's for sure.
Still, it's a work of drama and it needs to be about people. That's the greater of the two keys and on that front they are doing well. The lead character is utterly fascinating -- a seemingly perfect family man (for the '60s), but at his core cynical and negative, given to emotionally checking out. By extension his marriage is unfulfilling, his wife is clearly unhappy possibly due to her inability to keep connected to her husband. Of course, this being 1960, it is never discussed openly. In 2007 they would all be prattling on like Woody Allen in therapy and mainlining Xanax.
I think Mad Men is going to do fine. My guess is that they will use the retro environment wisely, as a highlight for the humanity of their characters instead of making it the point of the show. This show I can recommend you catch up on. (AMC seems to be running it about 8 times a day so it should be easy to catch.)
Lastly, under the heading of Man Does Not Live By Great Drama Alone, we have the USA Network that has been cranking our enjoyable, wispy police procedurals. These are based on wholly contrived situations and plots built around shallow, but eminently likeable, characters. The writers often have their tongues wedged firmly in their cheeks; they know how silly what they are doing is, and they don't pretend otherwise. This started with Monk and continued with Psych. The latest is Burn Notice which strikes me as potentially the new Magnum P.I. in the same way Monk is the new Columbo.
I wouldn't go out of my way to watch these, but if they are on and I'm vegging, I'll happily tune in for the distraction. That is not a backhanded compliment; these shows are excellent examples of their genre. I suspect they will all have a long and happy life in syndication for decades to come.
Flick Notes: Accidentally, I found myself having a little impromptu Mafia-fest due to some coincidental scheduling on the 937 movie channels I have on Comcast Digital. It offered some interesting contrasts so...
The first was The Godfather Saga, a recut of Godfather 1 and 2 into chronological order - the Boy Vito flashbacks comes first, followed by the remainder of Godfather 2, followed by the entirety of Godfather 1. In and of itself, that's no big deal, but they also add back a sizeable amount of footage that was cut from the originals, making them more of a "Director's Cut." The GFs are one of the few instances where re-adding cut sequences really makes for a better movie. In this case, the motivations of Fredo and Tom and much clearer, and a good bit of the new material fills in some blanks. I have always been of the opinion that, while undeniably great filmmaking, the Godfather movies are overrated by public opinion. The added footage makes me feel somewhat less strongly about that.
Ironically, I am of the belief that Godfather 3 is underrated. It is not the ham-fisted disaster it is often described as. There are some very effective scenes, and Pacino is vastly superior compared to his wooden portrayal of the young Michael C. It contains my single favorite scene in all three movies: Connie Corleone (Micheal's sister) convinces Michael he needs to do something drastic. Michael agrees and starts to walk away. She calls to him and says (homaging their father), "Now they will fear you." Michael replies ironically, "Maybe they should fear you." It perfectly sums up the change in Michael, and the world, since the end of the second movie.
Mean Streets might rightly be thought of as the launch pad of DeNiro and Scorcese. I had never seen it in its entirety before and whereas so many people herald it as a work of authentic genius, I'm not so sure (no surprise there, right?). Though, no one could fail to see the immeasurable potential of both DeNiro and Scorcese, the film also lacks polish and professionalism. It is all raw emotion, searing energy, and explosive talent -- it is, simply put, a movie possessed by its passion as opposed to the reverse.
In nearly perfect contrast to Godfathers, there is no idealizing anything. You have a two-bit thug (Harvey Keitel) hovering on the verge of entering the lowest echelon's on the proper mob. He maintains an unwarranted loyalty to another two-bit hood who lives entirely by impulse (DeNiro) and is obviously going to drive things to an ultimately violent end. No doubt it is an entirely realistic portrayal of folks living on the outskirts of organized crime. DeNiro is utterly riveting in his portrayal of a borderline sociopath whose friendship with the other hood is all that's keeping him alive and tethered to reality.
I recall seeing a TV interview with a guy who was once part of the FBI's organized crime unit. It seems that once a year he and his colleagues would get together for a movie night. They would vote on which movie to watch each year and virtually every year it was Mean Streets. In fact, he said there was only on year where something else was selected and that was Goodfellas. This was intended to highlight the realism of Mean Streets in the eyes of the guys who would know. Fair enough, but Mean Streets isn't anywhere near the movie Goodfellas is, which came about after Scorcese had mastered the craft and had upgraded from Harvey Keitel to Joe Pesci.
Lastly, I stumbled on Analyze This, a pointless but really quite funny movie where DeNiro got to parody himself. I laughed a lot. I bet DeNiro had a lot of fun with it. The in-jokes for mob movie watchers were fun. But it was also sad in a way because it was the final nail in the coffin of DeNiro as the paradigmatic mafia tough guy. Not surprisingly it arrived in the same time frame as The Sopranos, which was the last word in mob drama.
DeNiro has descended into shlock, or at least into throwaway farces. That's fair. He's put out a wonderful body of work and he deserves the right to coast a bit. Pacino isn't burning up the screen anymore, although he still does an interesting role now and then. He was excellent as Shylock in the Merchant of Venice. Scorcese has been uneven in the past few years. I loved The Aviator, but Gangs of New York wasn't terribly good. I've heard mixed things about The Departed. Interestingly 1999's Bringing Out the Dead came and went so fast I don't even recall hearing of it, never mind seeing it. I suspect Scorcese still has his chops. He has three known projects that sound reasonably vital (a documentary on the Rolling Stones, a film about 17th century Jesuits who traveled to Japan, and a project concerning Teddy Roosevelt). But, there is also a rumor about a project he has with DeNiro about a retired hit man lured back by his old Don. I hope it's just a rumor. Mob flicks are dead. They were whacked by David Chase. Time to let 'em go.
The first was The Godfather Saga, a recut of Godfather 1 and 2 into chronological order - the Boy Vito flashbacks comes first, followed by the remainder of Godfather 2, followed by the entirety of Godfather 1. In and of itself, that's no big deal, but they also add back a sizeable amount of footage that was cut from the originals, making them more of a "Director's Cut." The GFs are one of the few instances where re-adding cut sequences really makes for a better movie. In this case, the motivations of Fredo and Tom and much clearer, and a good bit of the new material fills in some blanks. I have always been of the opinion that, while undeniably great filmmaking, the Godfather movies are overrated by public opinion. The added footage makes me feel somewhat less strongly about that.
Ironically, I am of the belief that Godfather 3 is underrated. It is not the ham-fisted disaster it is often described as. There are some very effective scenes, and Pacino is vastly superior compared to his wooden portrayal of the young Michael C. It contains my single favorite scene in all three movies: Connie Corleone (Micheal's sister) convinces Michael he needs to do something drastic. Michael agrees and starts to walk away. She calls to him and says (homaging their father), "Now they will fear you." Michael replies ironically, "Maybe they should fear you." It perfectly sums up the change in Michael, and the world, since the end of the second movie.
Mean Streets might rightly be thought of as the launch pad of DeNiro and Scorcese. I had never seen it in its entirety before and whereas so many people herald it as a work of authentic genius, I'm not so sure (no surprise there, right?). Though, no one could fail to see the immeasurable potential of both DeNiro and Scorcese, the film also lacks polish and professionalism. It is all raw emotion, searing energy, and explosive talent -- it is, simply put, a movie possessed by its passion as opposed to the reverse.
In nearly perfect contrast to Godfathers, there is no idealizing anything. You have a two-bit thug (Harvey Keitel) hovering on the verge of entering the lowest echelon's on the proper mob. He maintains an unwarranted loyalty to another two-bit hood who lives entirely by impulse (DeNiro) and is obviously going to drive things to an ultimately violent end. No doubt it is an entirely realistic portrayal of folks living on the outskirts of organized crime. DeNiro is utterly riveting in his portrayal of a borderline sociopath whose friendship with the other hood is all that's keeping him alive and tethered to reality.
I recall seeing a TV interview with a guy who was once part of the FBI's organized crime unit. It seems that once a year he and his colleagues would get together for a movie night. They would vote on which movie to watch each year and virtually every year it was Mean Streets. In fact, he said there was only on year where something else was selected and that was Goodfellas. This was intended to highlight the realism of Mean Streets in the eyes of the guys who would know. Fair enough, but Mean Streets isn't anywhere near the movie Goodfellas is, which came about after Scorcese had mastered the craft and had upgraded from Harvey Keitel to Joe Pesci.
Lastly, I stumbled on Analyze This, a pointless but really quite funny movie where DeNiro got to parody himself. I laughed a lot. I bet DeNiro had a lot of fun with it. The in-jokes for mob movie watchers were fun. But it was also sad in a way because it was the final nail in the coffin of DeNiro as the paradigmatic mafia tough guy. Not surprisingly it arrived in the same time frame as The Sopranos, which was the last word in mob drama.
DeNiro has descended into shlock, or at least into throwaway farces. That's fair. He's put out a wonderful body of work and he deserves the right to coast a bit. Pacino isn't burning up the screen anymore, although he still does an interesting role now and then. He was excellent as Shylock in the Merchant of Venice. Scorcese has been uneven in the past few years. I loved The Aviator, but Gangs of New York wasn't terribly good. I've heard mixed things about The Departed. Interestingly 1999's Bringing Out the Dead came and went so fast I don't even recall hearing of it, never mind seeing it. I suspect Scorcese still has his chops. He has three known projects that sound reasonably vital (a documentary on the Rolling Stones, a film about 17th century Jesuits who traveled to Japan, and a project concerning Teddy Roosevelt). But, there is also a rumor about a project he has with DeNiro about a retired hit man lured back by his old Don. I hope it's just a rumor. Mob flicks are dead. They were whacked by David Chase. Time to let 'em go.
The Green, Green Grass of Home: While I was trolling around Up North it occurred to me how nice it would be to live amidst all that outdoor goodness. Then I remembered, I already do, sort of. Early in the month I took and afternoon to stroll through Nichols Arboretum, a large wooded commons down by campus. It's no slouch when it comes to beauty and it's just about 20 minutes down the road from Dexter. People who have never been beyond the Detroit area simply cannot imagine how green and lush Michigan is (in the summer).
The standard green
More greenness
Even more greenness - zoom in real close you can see folks playing Frisbee. Gives you a good idea of the size of the place.
Take a seat. Enjoy the view - it's green.
Stairway into the dark unknown woods
Bridge over the river - the Arb is bounded by the Huron River. I include this pic because many, many years ago, I lived in that building on the other side of the river.
Apparently there is no kissing in the Arb - I hop the folks in that row boat under the railway bridge realize that.
Rocks looking like a Zen garden in the water - and single-word graffiti on the bridge. Is that a message.
Can you canoe?
Another river view - if I was better with Photoshop I would make this look like an impressionist painting.
This St. Bernard has the right idea
The standard green
More greenness
Even more greenness - zoom in real close you can see folks playing Frisbee. Gives you a good idea of the size of the place.
Take a seat. Enjoy the view - it's green.
Stairway into the dark unknown woods
Bridge over the river - the Arb is bounded by the Huron River. I include this pic because many, many years ago, I lived in that building on the other side of the river.
Apparently there is no kissing in the Arb - I hop the folks in that row boat under the railway bridge realize that.
Rocks looking like a Zen garden in the water - and single-word graffiti on the bridge. Is that a message.
Can you canoe?
Another river view - if I was better with Photoshop I would make this look like an impressionist painting.
This St. Bernard has the right idea
Friday, July 06, 2007
The Month That Was - June 2007: I'm busily struggling to finish up the repositioning of Business As Usual with its new publisher, which has been an adventure (of a sort) that I may recall here once it's over.
Also, I am wrestling with a particularly insidious, frustrating and painful bout of tendonitis. Any suggested cures are welcome, however bizarre.
Harrisburg Hell
Chicago Heaven
Last Word on The Sopranos
John from Cincy Begins
Summer Photo Slop
Also, I am wrestling with a particularly insidious, frustrating and painful bout of tendonitis. Any suggested cures are welcome, however bizarre.
Harrisburg Hell
Chicago Heaven
Last Word on The Sopranos
John from Cincy Begins
Summer Photo Slop
How may we disserve you?: I had to get to Harrisburg, PA for work. That meant a foray into the organized asshattery that is the air travel industry. The itinerary was: Detroit to Harrisburg via Dulles in DC, a night at the Crowne Plaza, and then reverse the trip the following day.
Just during the first leg, Detroit to Dulles, we were treated to:
• 20 minute delay for a mechanical repair in Detroit
• 10 minute delay at the gate to wait for paperwork on the mechanical repair
• 15 minute delay on the tarmac in Detroit because the air corridor to Dulles was too busy
• 10 minute delay waiting in Dulles for another plane to vacate our gate
• 15 minute travel time to the connecting flight because Dulles has a midfield terminal so you must take a shuttle to other terminals
All this added up to a missed connection. That meant a trip to the customer service desk where approximately 40 people were waiting for one of two customer service clerks, although for some reason every customer was treated as a team effort so there wass really only one clerk for everybody. Didn't matter if you needed a quick seat assignment on a later flight (like me) or you were trying to reschedule a multi-day itinerary and you wanted to debate the cost of every possible route and discuss it with your spouse for an extended amount of time before you made any decision (the people in front of me). Everybody got to wait for the same team of clerks.
What's worse, United's 800-number for reservations was hosed -- it kept cycling me back to the same voice response system -- so there was no alternative.
It is annoying and disheartening to miss your flight, but then to have to stand in line completely uncertain of your future and worry whether you were missing another flight while you were in line, or wonder whether you might as well just head to a hotel for the evening, or be terrified of losing your place in line even though your bladder is bursting -- that is strictly third-world level service. Shame on United Airlines in Dulles.
I was one of the lucky ones. I was able to get on the line to my corporate American Express travel agent, and although she couldn't perform all the magic paperwork, she was able to reserve a seat for me on the next Harrisburg flight. I just had to complete my wait in line to get my boarding pass, but at least I had a (relatively) certain future.
Still, I was facing sitting around the airport for 4 hours until the next flight, but luckily, Kate and Anna saved the day. They managed to break away to make it out to the airport and we got to share a quick dinner at the airport Marriott which, incidentally, turned out to be where Miss Anna's upcoming prom was to be held. It's a nice enough hotel (a standard-issue Marriott), but Anna deemed it to be too "ghetto" for a prom.
Back to Dulles for the short jump to Harrisburg. The plane appeared to be a reworked Greyhound bus from the '70s with wings welded to either side. I was in the very last row, my chin resting on my knees, and I had a rather too intimate aural relationship with anyone using the lavatory across from me. Then, we sat for a while at the gate because someone had parked a plane behind us and we couldn't pull out. I am not making that up. Our pilots wanted to pull away and fly but they had been parked in. It took at least 35 minutes to find the keys and move the blocking plane. Thirty-five minutes sitting at the gate for a twenty-two minute flight. The Dulles airport authorities are consummately incompetent. Between the design of that airport and people who run it, we'd all be better off if it was burnt to the ground. (Note to TSA monitors: That last sentence was hyperbole. I am not intending to, nor do I advocate, setting Dulles airport ablaze. Please do not strip search me next time through.)
Also, for some reason, the pilots we unable to turn the engines on so we could have air conditioning. It got seriously hot sitting at the gate -- not that the outside temp was that high, but it was a humid evening and this very cramped plane was absolutely packed. I was damp with sweat. The fat guy next to me was sweating profusely and popping some kind of serious looking pill.
Now, this was a United Express flight operated by Mesa Airlines. Mesa Airlines is the regional operator that farms itself out to United and USAir and America West and so forth. This is the second time I have spent an extended period sitting at the gate in sweltering heat with no a/c on a Mesa airlines flight. (The previous time was a few years ago in Phoenix.) If the pilots are forbidden to turn on the engines, thus providing a/c, because they don't want to waste fuel, Mesa should be sued out of existence immediately. If they are forbidden by airport or FAA policy, they should let people deplane back into the air-conditioned terminal until they get it sorted out.
If your reservation ever says United (or USAir, or America West) Express operated by Mesa Airlines, you are in for Hell -- be forewarned. Bluntly stated: I absolutely loathe Mesa Airlines.
Bottom line on getting to Harrisburg: 3.5 hours of planned travel became 9 hours. It would have been a 7-hour drive.
Oh, and when I arrived, the wireless in the Crowne Plaza was not working. Perfect.
The next day, I had planned to be in seminars and conference meetings until 5 and so had set up my flight out for 7:20pm. To my surprise, my duties were over by Noon. No problem, just get to the airport and get on standby for an earlier flight. I shamelessly copped a free ride on the Hilton airport shuttle even though I wasn't staying there. (The Hilton is right next door to the Crowne Plaza.)
Well, at the airport my first standby option had just closed the doors. It wouldn't have mattered anyway because a) it was overbooked to begin with and more importantly b) I had left my portfolio on the shuttle. Brilliant.
In my portfolio were my boarding passes, which were no problem because it's trivial to reprint them; my meeting notes, also no problem because I had already transcribed them into a Word doc; and a copy of my latest manuscript of Misspent Youth with scribbled edits over the first eight or so chapters. The manuscript itself was not a problem because it is ALWAYS backed up in a couple different places, but the scribbled edits, some extensive, were irreplaceable. After a couple of desperate phone calls to make sure the driver didn't throw it away, I was back in a cab heading back to the Hilton to retrieve it. Lucky I saved all that money by scamming an early ride to the airport, eh? At this point I didn't dare ask if things could get any worse.
The folks at the Hilton found and saved my notebook, and even tried to get it drive it back to me at the airport but we crossed paths. Excellent work from the Hilton. I'd feel guilty for scamming a free ride on their shuttle if I wasn't a regular at Hiltons for many years. Since I am screaming and yelling about some horrible service in this rant, it's only right to give equal time to the good experiences. Hilton has come through for me a number of times in my travel life; that's why I keep piling up Hilton Honors points. They are like the Toyota of hotels, nothing flashy but dead reliable.
Similarly, back at the Harrisburg airport, the United guys at the ticket counter got me re-routed on an earlier flight through O'Hare to cut a couple of hours off my travel time, and not only that, at the gate they changed my assigned coach-class middle seat to an Economy Plus (more legroom!) aisle seat. No charge. Those guys rule. A hundred and eighty degrees different from United in Dulles. Small airports rock.
But then things went quickly back to normal: about a fifteen minutes delay getting out of O'Hare to Detroit. At my arrival in Detroit I hopped a shuttle to the parking lot. The previous day I was happy when I assigned a parking space that was so close to the exit gate. Usually that means you will be the first one off the shuttle. But for some reason, the driver decided to start dropping folks at the far end first. I was dead last to get off. Then, coming home on I-94 I was stopped dead by night construction. It was knife twist upon knife twist.
Once again, what should have been a quick air trip took me as long as it would have to drive -- except in the car I could have stopped whenever, not worried about having my little bottle of mouthwash in a baggie, not been scrounging for elbow room on the plastic seats in the terminal, and been soothed by Sirius the whole way. How many hours wasted? I am too old to be wasting any of the time I have left on Earth. Probably the most infuriating and annoying bit of travel I have ever had. Ugh.
Just during the first leg, Detroit to Dulles, we were treated to:
• 20 minute delay for a mechanical repair in Detroit
• 10 minute delay at the gate to wait for paperwork on the mechanical repair
• 15 minute delay on the tarmac in Detroit because the air corridor to Dulles was too busy
• 10 minute delay waiting in Dulles for another plane to vacate our gate
• 15 minute travel time to the connecting flight because Dulles has a midfield terminal so you must take a shuttle to other terminals
All this added up to a missed connection. That meant a trip to the customer service desk where approximately 40 people were waiting for one of two customer service clerks, although for some reason every customer was treated as a team effort so there wass really only one clerk for everybody. Didn't matter if you needed a quick seat assignment on a later flight (like me) or you were trying to reschedule a multi-day itinerary and you wanted to debate the cost of every possible route and discuss it with your spouse for an extended amount of time before you made any decision (the people in front of me). Everybody got to wait for the same team of clerks.
What's worse, United's 800-number for reservations was hosed -- it kept cycling me back to the same voice response system -- so there was no alternative.
It is annoying and disheartening to miss your flight, but then to have to stand in line completely uncertain of your future and worry whether you were missing another flight while you were in line, or wonder whether you might as well just head to a hotel for the evening, or be terrified of losing your place in line even though your bladder is bursting -- that is strictly third-world level service. Shame on United Airlines in Dulles.
I was one of the lucky ones. I was able to get on the line to my corporate American Express travel agent, and although she couldn't perform all the magic paperwork, she was able to reserve a seat for me on the next Harrisburg flight. I just had to complete my wait in line to get my boarding pass, but at least I had a (relatively) certain future.
Still, I was facing sitting around the airport for 4 hours until the next flight, but luckily, Kate and Anna saved the day. They managed to break away to make it out to the airport and we got to share a quick dinner at the airport Marriott which, incidentally, turned out to be where Miss Anna's upcoming prom was to be held. It's a nice enough hotel (a standard-issue Marriott), but Anna deemed it to be too "ghetto" for a prom.
Back to Dulles for the short jump to Harrisburg. The plane appeared to be a reworked Greyhound bus from the '70s with wings welded to either side. I was in the very last row, my chin resting on my knees, and I had a rather too intimate aural relationship with anyone using the lavatory across from me. Then, we sat for a while at the gate because someone had parked a plane behind us and we couldn't pull out. I am not making that up. Our pilots wanted to pull away and fly but they had been parked in. It took at least 35 minutes to find the keys and move the blocking plane. Thirty-five minutes sitting at the gate for a twenty-two minute flight. The Dulles airport authorities are consummately incompetent. Between the design of that airport and people who run it, we'd all be better off if it was burnt to the ground. (Note to TSA monitors: That last sentence was hyperbole. I am not intending to, nor do I advocate, setting Dulles airport ablaze. Please do not strip search me next time through.)
Also, for some reason, the pilots we unable to turn the engines on so we could have air conditioning. It got seriously hot sitting at the gate -- not that the outside temp was that high, but it was a humid evening and this very cramped plane was absolutely packed. I was damp with sweat. The fat guy next to me was sweating profusely and popping some kind of serious looking pill.
Now, this was a United Express flight operated by Mesa Airlines. Mesa Airlines is the regional operator that farms itself out to United and USAir and America West and so forth. This is the second time I have spent an extended period sitting at the gate in sweltering heat with no a/c on a Mesa airlines flight. (The previous time was a few years ago in Phoenix.) If the pilots are forbidden to turn on the engines, thus providing a/c, because they don't want to waste fuel, Mesa should be sued out of existence immediately. If they are forbidden by airport or FAA policy, they should let people deplane back into the air-conditioned terminal until they get it sorted out.
If your reservation ever says United (or USAir, or America West) Express operated by Mesa Airlines, you are in for Hell -- be forewarned. Bluntly stated: I absolutely loathe Mesa Airlines.
Bottom line on getting to Harrisburg: 3.5 hours of planned travel became 9 hours. It would have been a 7-hour drive.
Oh, and when I arrived, the wireless in the Crowne Plaza was not working. Perfect.
The next day, I had planned to be in seminars and conference meetings until 5 and so had set up my flight out for 7:20pm. To my surprise, my duties were over by Noon. No problem, just get to the airport and get on standby for an earlier flight. I shamelessly copped a free ride on the Hilton airport shuttle even though I wasn't staying there. (The Hilton is right next door to the Crowne Plaza.)
Well, at the airport my first standby option had just closed the doors. It wouldn't have mattered anyway because a) it was overbooked to begin with and more importantly b) I had left my portfolio on the shuttle. Brilliant.
In my portfolio were my boarding passes, which were no problem because it's trivial to reprint them; my meeting notes, also no problem because I had already transcribed them into a Word doc; and a copy of my latest manuscript of Misspent Youth with scribbled edits over the first eight or so chapters. The manuscript itself was not a problem because it is ALWAYS backed up in a couple different places, but the scribbled edits, some extensive, were irreplaceable. After a couple of desperate phone calls to make sure the driver didn't throw it away, I was back in a cab heading back to the Hilton to retrieve it. Lucky I saved all that money by scamming an early ride to the airport, eh? At this point I didn't dare ask if things could get any worse.
The folks at the Hilton found and saved my notebook, and even tried to get it drive it back to me at the airport but we crossed paths. Excellent work from the Hilton. I'd feel guilty for scamming a free ride on their shuttle if I wasn't a regular at Hiltons for many years. Since I am screaming and yelling about some horrible service in this rant, it's only right to give equal time to the good experiences. Hilton has come through for me a number of times in my travel life; that's why I keep piling up Hilton Honors points. They are like the Toyota of hotels, nothing flashy but dead reliable.
Similarly, back at the Harrisburg airport, the United guys at the ticket counter got me re-routed on an earlier flight through O'Hare to cut a couple of hours off my travel time, and not only that, at the gate they changed my assigned coach-class middle seat to an Economy Plus (more legroom!) aisle seat. No charge. Those guys rule. A hundred and eighty degrees different from United in Dulles. Small airports rock.
But then things went quickly back to normal: about a fifteen minutes delay getting out of O'Hare to Detroit. At my arrival in Detroit I hopped a shuttle to the parking lot. The previous day I was happy when I assigned a parking space that was so close to the exit gate. Usually that means you will be the first one off the shuttle. But for some reason, the driver decided to start dropping folks at the far end first. I was dead last to get off. Then, coming home on I-94 I was stopped dead by night construction. It was knife twist upon knife twist.
Once again, what should have been a quick air trip took me as long as it would have to drive -- except in the car I could have stopped whenever, not worried about having my little bottle of mouthwash in a baggie, not been scrounging for elbow room on the plastic seats in the terminal, and been soothed by Sirius the whole way. How many hours wasted? I am too old to be wasting any of the time I have left on Earth. Probably the most infuriating and annoying bit of travel I have ever had. Ugh.
My Kind of Town: Most people identify with a certain big city. Generally, it's the big city nearest your home. You use it as shorthand to say where you are from when you are from a town nobody outside your circle could place. Often you maintain a loyalty to the sports teams and familiarity with the local geography. For me it is Detroit, but I don't want it to be Detroit anymore. Detroit is pathetic. I want it to be Chicago. (I suppose, technically, it could be Ann Arbor, since Ann Arbor is reasonably widely known. But Ann Arbor is hardly a big city.)
Problem is, I can't really justify it. Chicago is within driving distance, but it's four times further than Detroit. My only history with Chicago is a few long weekends, as opposed to being born and raised in or near Detroit. If someone asked me where Dexter, MI was I could say "Oh, about four hours east of Chicago," but that's way too contrived. I could wear a Cubs cap and prattle on about Da Bears, but there's nothing worse than manufactured team loyalty. No sir. I can't do it, and that saddens me.
Still, at least I could consol myself with a spur of the moment weekend in Chi-town. One of my faves, The Fairmont, was running a special via Expedia. Amtrak tickets were available. (I even got business class on the way back.) And most importantly, I looked at my Outlook calendar and I saw no free days for weeks, except for the upcoming Friday; it was perhaps my last chance for spontaneous travel. Plans were laid and triggers were pulled.
As I have almost certainly mentioned before, when it makes sense time-wise, Amtrak is vastly superior to air travel, and I don't just say that because of the metaphorical impaling I took at the hands of the airline industry trying to get to and from Harrisburg (above).
You can arrive five minutes before the train leaves if you want to cut it that close. No one will check your bag for hidden 4oz liquids, ask you to take off your shoes, require picture ID; for that matter, they don't even check to see if you have a ticket until the train is underway. Even the tightest coach seat on the train has plenty of legroom. There are no seat belts; you can get up anytime you want, even during takeoff. There is no turning off of unapproved electronic devices. In fact, there are a/c plugs in next to the seats for recharging your phone or hooking up your laptop. The lavatories are about four times the size of those in a plane and there are two in each car. No one is blocking the aisle with a beverage cart -- there is a caf‚ car with lots of food and drink choices and it even has it's own seating so it doesn't feel like eating at the drive-thru.
The only thing they need to do to make it perfect is have assigned seats. That and speed up the trains so I could take it even when my destination was far off. If we had a lattice of high-speed train lines, say 200-300 mph, I would be done with the airline industry for good.
Oh, and have Hooter's girls as conductors. That too.
You arrive at Union Station in Chicago, which is utter bedlam. (By the way, why is it that virtually all big city train stations are either "Union Station" or "Penn Station"? Is there a reason for this apart from total lack of imagination?) From there it's about a $10 cab ride to your hotel, as opposed to a $50 ride from O'Hare.
My hotel, the Fairmont, is not the most luxurious hotel in the city, nor is it the trendiest. But I have settled on it for a few reasons. First, as always, excellent service. Second, location: in this case that means a shot at an excellent view of either the waterfront or the cityscape, but more importantly, you are on the north edge of The Loop giving you ready foot access to virtually anywhere in the downtown area you'd want to go. Millennium Park is just around the corner, the Art Institute is a block or so further. It's twenty minutes to the River North area or all the way up the Magnificent Mile. Lastly, for the workout junkie, the Fairmont is attached to the Lakeshore Athletic Club which is one of the finest health clubs I have ever been in, and I've been in a few, plus it's free if you are a member of Fairmont's President Club which, in itself, is free to join. The Fairmont Chicago makes me happy.
View from my room at the Fairmont (342K)
One unusual aspect of this trip was the bad food. After my mid-afternoon check-in I was hungry for lunch so a slid a few blocks over to Ada's, a place I remembered as being a top notch Jewish deli. (I once had to watch the season final of The Sopranos there because my hotel at the time did not have HBO.) Let's just say it did not measure up to my memory this time. I recall delicious potato-pancake style bread and nicely stacked meats. This time I got unfresh corned beef on what must have been store-bought rye. I was also a bit queasy the rest of night for which the sandwich may or may not have been at fault.
The other disappointment was Lou Malnati's. I wanted some real Chicago style deep dish and was wondering what the current sentiment was for the top joint. A friend of mine insisted Chicago Pizza and Oven Grinder Co. was not to be beat, but that was a cab ride away and too much trouble. Citysearch.com's editor's choice was Lou Malnati's which is in River North. So at lunchtime on a rainy Saturday I trolled on over and snagged a seat at the bar. The verdict: good stuff, but really no better than your basic Uno's or Giordano's. I guess it's wrong to call it a bad food experience. It was ace Chicago Dish, and that is always good, but it was disappointing in that I was hoping for something special. Kick-ass spinach bread, however.
By the way, although it may be heresy not to pick a Chicago or New York joint for the top slot, the very best pizza I have ever had was at Pizzeria Paradiso in Dupont Circle, Washington D.C. It's not deep, but they use the same fresh ingredients and semi-sweet tangy sauce that the better Chicago joints use, except they don't drown it in molten mozzarella. They use feta with a light touch. As good as it gets. But I digress.
About Millennium Park: The City of Chicago really nailed this one cold. Of the unending number of urban renewal and upgrading projects that go on around the country most are boondoggles and white elephants. Most city administrations are so unimaginative, out-of-touch, and downright corrupt that these things become laughable slapstick before ground is broken. Millennium Park, in contrast, is a triumph.
Firstly, there is an open air amphitheatre designed by Frank Gehry. It is a substantial and strikingly contemporary piece of sculpture in and of itself, looking like an unfolding aluminum cloud. Emerging from it is a lattice of metal tubes that extend out over the lawn and somehow seem to amplify the skyline. Just a very cool place to be.
The amphitheatre and lattice (280K)
The Chicago skyline through the lattice (329K)
During my visit they were running free concerts (classical mostly) under the guise of the Grant Park Music Festival. (Why the Grant Park Music Festival is held in Millennium Park as opposed to Grant Park, I don't know.) People were picnicking and bottles of wine were in evidence all across the lawn as folks reclined lazily and enjoyed the music. I plopped myself down and joined them briefly. I was not enamored with the music that night -- I think it was an orchestra from Mexico City, there in honor of Mexico/USA gold cup soccer final being played down the road at Soldier Field. They were obviously very talented, just not to my taste. But I was quite happy to chill there in the cool green grass.
Equally sweet are the other dramatic sculptures. At the forefront of the park stands what is affectionately referred to as The Bean: a large metallic, well...bean -- an oversized elliptical shape made of highly reflective stainless steel. Like the lattice over the lawn in front of the amphitheater, it offers and altered perspective of the city's skyline in reflection. Nifty.
The Chicago skyline in the Bean (231K)
Self-portrait in the Bean (226K)
Then there are the two brick monoliths. But they are not monoliths, they are fountains and video screens. That is to say the inside facing monolith walls are filled with LEDs of some sort that project the video image of a face. It's difficult to describe, but exceedingly clever. The wall displays the face of a seemingly average person, one suspects it could have been one of the locals picked up off the street, just subtly changing expression until at one point, the image's lips are pursed and water spews out of its "mouth". Very fun. Kids love it and scurry around in the water. Again, it seems perfectly integrated with the city itself, spraying water to counteract the sweltering city heat while displaying the faces of the perfectly average folks who look like the same sort of people walking by at any given moment.
Face in the Monolith (431K)
Spitting Monolith (424K)
In addition to the sculptures, there is a decent open air restaurant/bar which is always crowded and seems like a happening hangout. There's a lot more too; you could probably spend an entire day exploring Millennium Park at a leisurely pace. It has instantly moved into the upper echelon of my favorite places list.
Just to the immediate south of Millennium Park is another of my favorite places: the Art Institute. I suspect I have written about it before, but if I haven't let's just say it remains one of the best and brightest lights of the museum world, comparable to anything NYC has to offer and a perfect place to spend a couple of hours, which I did.
And while we are on the topic of recommended cultural activities, I give top recommendation for the architecture boat tours that are run by the CAF (Chicago Architecture Foundation). You can really get a sense of the sort of thought and creativity that has gone into much of Chicago's development. There's a contrast for you: the "hog butcher to the world" turns out to be long time hotbed of artistic enterprise. It's very easy to see the skyline as just another city skyline, but this tour does a good job of highlighting the decision making process that went into a number of the buildings and how it was balanced with aesthetics. (Interesting note: the doyen's suggestion that the famed Chicago fire that destroyed much of the city actually provided a hidden blessing in that it let them rebuild from a clean slate. Would that contemporary New Orleans took the same attitude.)
A number of tour operators run architecture tours up the Chicago River, but to be on the safe side, I would stick with the ones run by the CAF.
A beautiful city on an ugly day (504K)
Bridge abutments near the Wrigley Building (443K)
The Sears building soars into the clouds (483K)
It's lonely at the top (311K)
Condos for sardines (479K)
There was also a touch of the absurd in store for me. The morning before I left, I headed down to Navy Pier and happened on to a speedboat tour of the lake on a boat called the Sea Dog. I was hoping for a roller-coasterish ride along the Lake Michigan shore, but it was disappointingly gentle. It got even more gentle when the motor overheated and we found ourselves adrift. The crew handled the situation with aplomb, as if they had dealt with it a hundred times before (hmmm...). Another Sea Dog speedboat was called on to tow us in. So onlookers were treated to the sight of two ultra high performance watercraft limping back into port at a snail's pace.
Just another day at Navy Pier (390K)
The garden at Navy Pier (421K)
The entire trip was a mixed bag of fun and disappointment. After most such trips, I would be left feeling lukewarm or mildly frustrated. But somehow, Chicago makes me feel like it was great. I sure wish it was my city.
Problem is, I can't really justify it. Chicago is within driving distance, but it's four times further than Detroit. My only history with Chicago is a few long weekends, as opposed to being born and raised in or near Detroit. If someone asked me where Dexter, MI was I could say "Oh, about four hours east of Chicago," but that's way too contrived. I could wear a Cubs cap and prattle on about Da Bears, but there's nothing worse than manufactured team loyalty. No sir. I can't do it, and that saddens me.
Still, at least I could consol myself with a spur of the moment weekend in Chi-town. One of my faves, The Fairmont, was running a special via Expedia. Amtrak tickets were available. (I even got business class on the way back.) And most importantly, I looked at my Outlook calendar and I saw no free days for weeks, except for the upcoming Friday; it was perhaps my last chance for spontaneous travel. Plans were laid and triggers were pulled.
As I have almost certainly mentioned before, when it makes sense time-wise, Amtrak is vastly superior to air travel, and I don't just say that because of the metaphorical impaling I took at the hands of the airline industry trying to get to and from Harrisburg (above).
You can arrive five minutes before the train leaves if you want to cut it that close. No one will check your bag for hidden 4oz liquids, ask you to take off your shoes, require picture ID; for that matter, they don't even check to see if you have a ticket until the train is underway. Even the tightest coach seat on the train has plenty of legroom. There are no seat belts; you can get up anytime you want, even during takeoff. There is no turning off of unapproved electronic devices. In fact, there are a/c plugs in next to the seats for recharging your phone or hooking up your laptop. The lavatories are about four times the size of those in a plane and there are two in each car. No one is blocking the aisle with a beverage cart -- there is a caf‚ car with lots of food and drink choices and it even has it's own seating so it doesn't feel like eating at the drive-thru.
The only thing they need to do to make it perfect is have assigned seats. That and speed up the trains so I could take it even when my destination was far off. If we had a lattice of high-speed train lines, say 200-300 mph, I would be done with the airline industry for good.
Oh, and have Hooter's girls as conductors. That too.
You arrive at Union Station in Chicago, which is utter bedlam. (By the way, why is it that virtually all big city train stations are either "Union Station" or "Penn Station"? Is there a reason for this apart from total lack of imagination?) From there it's about a $10 cab ride to your hotel, as opposed to a $50 ride from O'Hare.
My hotel, the Fairmont, is not the most luxurious hotel in the city, nor is it the trendiest. But I have settled on it for a few reasons. First, as always, excellent service. Second, location: in this case that means a shot at an excellent view of either the waterfront or the cityscape, but more importantly, you are on the north edge of The Loop giving you ready foot access to virtually anywhere in the downtown area you'd want to go. Millennium Park is just around the corner, the Art Institute is a block or so further. It's twenty minutes to the River North area or all the way up the Magnificent Mile. Lastly, for the workout junkie, the Fairmont is attached to the Lakeshore Athletic Club which is one of the finest health clubs I have ever been in, and I've been in a few, plus it's free if you are a member of Fairmont's President Club which, in itself, is free to join. The Fairmont Chicago makes me happy.
View from my room at the Fairmont (342K)
One unusual aspect of this trip was the bad food. After my mid-afternoon check-in I was hungry for lunch so a slid a few blocks over to Ada's, a place I remembered as being a top notch Jewish deli. (I once had to watch the season final of The Sopranos there because my hotel at the time did not have HBO.) Let's just say it did not measure up to my memory this time. I recall delicious potato-pancake style bread and nicely stacked meats. This time I got unfresh corned beef on what must have been store-bought rye. I was also a bit queasy the rest of night for which the sandwich may or may not have been at fault.
The other disappointment was Lou Malnati's. I wanted some real Chicago style deep dish and was wondering what the current sentiment was for the top joint. A friend of mine insisted Chicago Pizza and Oven Grinder Co. was not to be beat, but that was a cab ride away and too much trouble. Citysearch.com's editor's choice was Lou Malnati's which is in River North. So at lunchtime on a rainy Saturday I trolled on over and snagged a seat at the bar. The verdict: good stuff, but really no better than your basic Uno's or Giordano's. I guess it's wrong to call it a bad food experience. It was ace Chicago Dish, and that is always good, but it was disappointing in that I was hoping for something special. Kick-ass spinach bread, however.
By the way, although it may be heresy not to pick a Chicago or New York joint for the top slot, the very best pizza I have ever had was at Pizzeria Paradiso in Dupont Circle, Washington D.C. It's not deep, but they use the same fresh ingredients and semi-sweet tangy sauce that the better Chicago joints use, except they don't drown it in molten mozzarella. They use feta with a light touch. As good as it gets. But I digress.
About Millennium Park: The City of Chicago really nailed this one cold. Of the unending number of urban renewal and upgrading projects that go on around the country most are boondoggles and white elephants. Most city administrations are so unimaginative, out-of-touch, and downright corrupt that these things become laughable slapstick before ground is broken. Millennium Park, in contrast, is a triumph.
Firstly, there is an open air amphitheatre designed by Frank Gehry. It is a substantial and strikingly contemporary piece of sculpture in and of itself, looking like an unfolding aluminum cloud. Emerging from it is a lattice of metal tubes that extend out over the lawn and somehow seem to amplify the skyline. Just a very cool place to be.
The amphitheatre and lattice (280K)
The Chicago skyline through the lattice (329K)
During my visit they were running free concerts (classical mostly) under the guise of the Grant Park Music Festival. (Why the Grant Park Music Festival is held in Millennium Park as opposed to Grant Park, I don't know.) People were picnicking and bottles of wine were in evidence all across the lawn as folks reclined lazily and enjoyed the music. I plopped myself down and joined them briefly. I was not enamored with the music that night -- I think it was an orchestra from Mexico City, there in honor of Mexico/USA gold cup soccer final being played down the road at Soldier Field. They were obviously very talented, just not to my taste. But I was quite happy to chill there in the cool green grass.
Equally sweet are the other dramatic sculptures. At the forefront of the park stands what is affectionately referred to as The Bean: a large metallic, well...bean -- an oversized elliptical shape made of highly reflective stainless steel. Like the lattice over the lawn in front of the amphitheater, it offers and altered perspective of the city's skyline in reflection. Nifty.
The Chicago skyline in the Bean (231K)
Self-portrait in the Bean (226K)
Then there are the two brick monoliths. But they are not monoliths, they are fountains and video screens. That is to say the inside facing monolith walls are filled with LEDs of some sort that project the video image of a face. It's difficult to describe, but exceedingly clever. The wall displays the face of a seemingly average person, one suspects it could have been one of the locals picked up off the street, just subtly changing expression until at one point, the image's lips are pursed and water spews out of its "mouth". Very fun. Kids love it and scurry around in the water. Again, it seems perfectly integrated with the city itself, spraying water to counteract the sweltering city heat while displaying the faces of the perfectly average folks who look like the same sort of people walking by at any given moment.
Face in the Monolith (431K)
Spitting Monolith (424K)
In addition to the sculptures, there is a decent open air restaurant/bar which is always crowded and seems like a happening hangout. There's a lot more too; you could probably spend an entire day exploring Millennium Park at a leisurely pace. It has instantly moved into the upper echelon of my favorite places list.
Just to the immediate south of Millennium Park is another of my favorite places: the Art Institute. I suspect I have written about it before, but if I haven't let's just say it remains one of the best and brightest lights of the museum world, comparable to anything NYC has to offer and a perfect place to spend a couple of hours, which I did.
And while we are on the topic of recommended cultural activities, I give top recommendation for the architecture boat tours that are run by the CAF (Chicago Architecture Foundation). You can really get a sense of the sort of thought and creativity that has gone into much of Chicago's development. There's a contrast for you: the "hog butcher to the world" turns out to be long time hotbed of artistic enterprise. It's very easy to see the skyline as just another city skyline, but this tour does a good job of highlighting the decision making process that went into a number of the buildings and how it was balanced with aesthetics. (Interesting note: the doyen's suggestion that the famed Chicago fire that destroyed much of the city actually provided a hidden blessing in that it let them rebuild from a clean slate. Would that contemporary New Orleans took the same attitude.)
A number of tour operators run architecture tours up the Chicago River, but to be on the safe side, I would stick with the ones run by the CAF.
A beautiful city on an ugly day (504K)
Bridge abutments near the Wrigley Building (443K)
The Sears building soars into the clouds (483K)
It's lonely at the top (311K)
Condos for sardines (479K)
There was also a touch of the absurd in store for me. The morning before I left, I headed down to Navy Pier and happened on to a speedboat tour of the lake on a boat called the Sea Dog. I was hoping for a roller-coasterish ride along the Lake Michigan shore, but it was disappointingly gentle. It got even more gentle when the motor overheated and we found ourselves adrift. The crew handled the situation with aplomb, as if they had dealt with it a hundred times before (hmmm...). Another Sea Dog speedboat was called on to tow us in. So onlookers were treated to the sight of two ultra high performance watercraft limping back into port at a snail's pace.
Just another day at Navy Pier (390K)
The garden at Navy Pier (421K)
The entire trip was a mixed bag of fun and disappointment. After most such trips, I would be left feeling lukewarm or mildly frustrated. But somehow, Chicago makes me feel like it was great. I sure wish it was my city.
The End of the Family: I have a long history of commenting HBO series, so now that the dust has settled on The Sopranos I suppose we can recap the big theories about the ending. (I am assuming you saw it.)
Theory number one is that Tony is dead. As Bobby Baccala said in the first episode this year, "They say when it happens, you don't even hear it coming." That would be the meaning of the instant black. That is what Tony experienced, one second he is having a completely innocuous dinner with his family, the next he has ceased to exist. This theory is bolstered by the tension over the shady characters in Holsten's and the fact that there would be a nice symmetry considering he just had Phil Leotardo killed in front of his family.
The problem I have with it is that it is too easy. Is the ultimate lesson of The Sopranos "When you least expect it expect it" or "If you're going to be a gangster, you're likely to get shot"? I don't think so.
Theory number two is that the whole sequence is meant to show that although Tony goes on as before he is always going to live in fear. Fear for himself and fear for his family. The tension is the last scene is unresolved. It just hovers there. For all Tony has done, his punishment is to never know when it's coming, to never have peace. Folks also point out that this leaves the door open for a future movie or reprise of the series.
This is the weakest theory as far as I'm concerned. I provides no meaningful reason for the instant black ending and again, it just doesn't jibe with the timeless themes that David Chase has really tried to emphasize.
The theory I subscribe to is that it doesn't matter, see? Tony got whacked/Tony went on as before -- it doesn't matter. That's not what The Sopranos was about. Ever.
David Chase has said time and time again that The Sopranos is about family. Now you add that to the recurring theme of the show -- criminal level self-delusion -- and you have your answer. It doesn't matter.
The ultimate scene of the entire series actually happened the week before in Dr. Mefli's office. She finally realizes what an abyss Tony is; that she has made no progress; that she has been used in the service of Tony's dysfunction. She kicks Tony out, acknowledging her failure, and he turns to her declaring, without a hint of irony, that what she is doing is "immoral." (Note how he instinctively starts the charade again with A.J.'s therapist.)
Tony is hopeless. Whether it was referring to himself as a "soldier" or a "captain of industry" he could always build a fortress of justification around himself. But what about the family? Carmella, whose conscience once tortured her and sent her to therapy and to her priest desperate for redemption doesn't even think about it anymore; she just focuses on her real estate career. A.J., who for a brief moment seemed to gather up the courage to act in some way, is bought off with a BMW and two-bit job in the film business. He was never much for self-reflection anyway. Meadow is headed for a career civil rights law, convinced that the horrendous criminality all around her is really just a figment in the collective imagination of a prejudiced society. In fact, the final sequence where she is struggling to park her car but eventually fits into place is, I believe, the final symbol of that.
Their apparent happiness is just more self-delusion. Tony's criminality, and the need to live with it every day without being destroyed by guilt, has claimed its ultimate victims, the ones he most wanted to save. Whoever came through Holsten's door didn't matter. As Carmella from Season One might have said, they are all going to Hell. The moment of potential salvation is gone. One minute everything is fine, but once the moment for salvation is past, it's all over. Instant black.
Three more things:
First, this marks the end of the mob as an American movie paradigm. How can it not? Even if you're another Scorsese or Coppola, there is no way you top The Sopranos with a two hour film, even if you add in four hours of sequels. The genre is done. Everything that could have been said has been said. (With the exception of the inevitable "courageous" film about two gay wiseguys.)
Second, Gandolfini has pulled off what is almost certainly the greatest extended acting tour de force in history. Not an episode went by where I was not amazed by the pitch perfect emotions and manners and delivery. Even in the episodes when the script was weak, Gandolfini sold me. Just flawless. His performance should be watched closely by every student of acting from now on.
Third, I have never seen such an intelligent and popular debate over a work of art in my lifetime. I have seen intelligent debates, always within niche populations. I have seen popular debates: Who shot J.R.? But I have never seen a debate that was both until now. This is Chase's lasting legacy.
[Update: After writing everything above, I was pointed to a long and extremely detailed analysis of the last episode, which makes an extended case that Tony is dead. It invokes the symbolism of the Last Supper, oranges, and Members Only jackets. It makes a very compelling argument which, if true, would make me think less of the ending. I'll stick with my explanation for now, although it is nice to see that someone was more obsessed than I was.]
Theory number one is that Tony is dead. As Bobby Baccala said in the first episode this year, "They say when it happens, you don't even hear it coming." That would be the meaning of the instant black. That is what Tony experienced, one second he is having a completely innocuous dinner with his family, the next he has ceased to exist. This theory is bolstered by the tension over the shady characters in Holsten's and the fact that there would be a nice symmetry considering he just had Phil Leotardo killed in front of his family.
The problem I have with it is that it is too easy. Is the ultimate lesson of The Sopranos "When you least expect it expect it" or "If you're going to be a gangster, you're likely to get shot"? I don't think so.
Theory number two is that the whole sequence is meant to show that although Tony goes on as before he is always going to live in fear. Fear for himself and fear for his family. The tension is the last scene is unresolved. It just hovers there. For all Tony has done, his punishment is to never know when it's coming, to never have peace. Folks also point out that this leaves the door open for a future movie or reprise of the series.
This is the weakest theory as far as I'm concerned. I provides no meaningful reason for the instant black ending and again, it just doesn't jibe with the timeless themes that David Chase has really tried to emphasize.
The theory I subscribe to is that it doesn't matter, see? Tony got whacked/Tony went on as before -- it doesn't matter. That's not what The Sopranos was about. Ever.
David Chase has said time and time again that The Sopranos is about family. Now you add that to the recurring theme of the show -- criminal level self-delusion -- and you have your answer. It doesn't matter.
The ultimate scene of the entire series actually happened the week before in Dr. Mefli's office. She finally realizes what an abyss Tony is; that she has made no progress; that she has been used in the service of Tony's dysfunction. She kicks Tony out, acknowledging her failure, and he turns to her declaring, without a hint of irony, that what she is doing is "immoral." (Note how he instinctively starts the charade again with A.J.'s therapist.)
Tony is hopeless. Whether it was referring to himself as a "soldier" or a "captain of industry" he could always build a fortress of justification around himself. But what about the family? Carmella, whose conscience once tortured her and sent her to therapy and to her priest desperate for redemption doesn't even think about it anymore; she just focuses on her real estate career. A.J., who for a brief moment seemed to gather up the courage to act in some way, is bought off with a BMW and two-bit job in the film business. He was never much for self-reflection anyway. Meadow is headed for a career civil rights law, convinced that the horrendous criminality all around her is really just a figment in the collective imagination of a prejudiced society. In fact, the final sequence where she is struggling to park her car but eventually fits into place is, I believe, the final symbol of that.
Their apparent happiness is just more self-delusion. Tony's criminality, and the need to live with it every day without being destroyed by guilt, has claimed its ultimate victims, the ones he most wanted to save. Whoever came through Holsten's door didn't matter. As Carmella from Season One might have said, they are all going to Hell. The moment of potential salvation is gone. One minute everything is fine, but once the moment for salvation is past, it's all over. Instant black.
Three more things:
First, this marks the end of the mob as an American movie paradigm. How can it not? Even if you're another Scorsese or Coppola, there is no way you top The Sopranos with a two hour film, even if you add in four hours of sequels. The genre is done. Everything that could have been said has been said. (With the exception of the inevitable "courageous" film about two gay wiseguys.)
Second, Gandolfini has pulled off what is almost certainly the greatest extended acting tour de force in history. Not an episode went by where I was not amazed by the pitch perfect emotions and manners and delivery. Even in the episodes when the script was weak, Gandolfini sold me. Just flawless. His performance should be watched closely by every student of acting from now on.
Third, I have never seen such an intelligent and popular debate over a work of art in my lifetime. I have seen intelligent debates, always within niche populations. I have seen popular debates: Who shot J.R.? But I have never seen a debate that was both until now. This is Chase's lasting legacy.
[Update: After writing everything above, I was pointed to a long and extremely detailed analysis of the last episode, which makes an extended case that Tony is dead. It invokes the symbolism of the Last Supper, oranges, and Members Only jackets. It makes a very compelling argument which, if true, would make me think less of the ending. I'll stick with my explanation for now, although it is nice to see that someone was more obsessed than I was.]
What Are You Saying?: As a Sopranos replacement we have John from Cincinnati from David Milch, creator of Deadwood. I yield to no one in my admiration of Milch. He is one of two people working in film and video who actually try to use the English language for artistic and even poetic purposes, rather than utilitarian dialog and narration (the other is David Mamet). But I have to admit it's hard to get a handle on John from Cincinnati.
We have interesting, well fleshed-out characters in a fairly dysfunctional community which is good. We have the dialogue which, while not soaring to the heights of Deadwood, is still characteristically lovely and playful. We have a delightful element of humor. But the premise seems muddled. Milch has stated that John... is about "borders" and how people react to crossing them. One of the borders is between the natural and the supernatural. And there is a strong supernatural element to the show -- one character levitates on occasion, one comes back from the dead, the title character is clearly magical (along with mentally disabled) in some way or another.
Having seen four episodes now I have no inkling whether this is going to mesh into a coherent narrative. It could; it took a few episodes in before I "got" Deadwood and nearly a whole season before it all come together, so I certainly not writing off John..., but the supernatural element scares me. That is such a big booby trap -- it's a deus ex machina waiting to happen; it's an invitation to focus on the mystical weirdness instead of the humanity of the characters.
Obviously, I am passing no judgment yet. I guess we'll just have to wait. Here's hoping Milch works his magic and clarifies things before the season is out. Fact is, even as it stands it's better than 90% of everything else on the tube.
We have interesting, well fleshed-out characters in a fairly dysfunctional community which is good. We have the dialogue which, while not soaring to the heights of Deadwood, is still characteristically lovely and playful. We have a delightful element of humor. But the premise seems muddled. Milch has stated that John... is about "borders" and how people react to crossing them. One of the borders is between the natural and the supernatural. And there is a strong supernatural element to the show -- one character levitates on occasion, one comes back from the dead, the title character is clearly magical (along with mentally disabled) in some way or another.
Having seen four episodes now I have no inkling whether this is going to mesh into a coherent narrative. It could; it took a few episodes in before I "got" Deadwood and nearly a whole season before it all come together, so I certainly not writing off John..., but the supernatural element scares me. That is such a big booby trap -- it's a deus ex machina waiting to happen; it's an invitation to focus on the mystical weirdness instead of the humanity of the characters.
Obviously, I am passing no judgment yet. I guess we'll just have to wait. Here's hoping Milch works his magic and clarifies things before the season is out. Fact is, even as it stands it's better than 90% of everything else on the tube.
Photo Slop: Just some leftover photos I've snapped over the past few weeks, mostly in and around Dexter and Ann Arbor.
Memorial Day in Dexter (totally Norman Rockwell):
Horsin' around (372K)
Hey Bulldog (318K)
Girl Scouts (286K)
Big red band (377K)
Summer in Ann Arbor:
On the lawn at Top of the Park (352K)
Kids at Top of the Park (340K)
Dancin' at Top of the Park (341K)
Teens at Top of the Park (373K)
Former teens at Top of the Park (260K)
Hanging troll (309K)
Very creative alley graffiti (478K)
Our new best friend (300K)
Rural Scenes (from nearby Chelsea):
Rural scene (369K)
Another rural scene (336K)
Yet another rural scene (429K)
Rural sunset (379K)
Another rural sunset (480K) (I made tis one my computer background at work)
Are you sick of my photography yet?
Memorial Day in Dexter (totally Norman Rockwell):
Horsin' around (372K)
Hey Bulldog (318K)
Girl Scouts (286K)
Big red band (377K)
Summer in Ann Arbor:
On the lawn at Top of the Park (352K)
Kids at Top of the Park (340K)
Dancin' at Top of the Park (341K)
Teens at Top of the Park (373K)
Former teens at Top of the Park (260K)
Hanging troll (309K)
Very creative alley graffiti (478K)
Our new best friend (300K)
Rural Scenes (from nearby Chelsea):
Rural scene (369K)
Another rural scene (336K)
Yet another rural scene (429K)
Rural sunset (379K)
Another rural sunset (480K) (I made tis one my computer background at work)
Are you sick of my photography yet?
Saturday, June 02, 2007
The Month That Was - May 2007: You will have already noticed the quick and dirty redesign. This place should look a good deal cleaner now. The business of having boxed off sections was so 2002. Cleanliness and simplicity are the watchwords these days; better to keep focus on the content. Also things should look a little better in IE7 now; specifically the Google bar at the top should not obscure anything.
Memorial Day was perfect. The earlier portion of the big weekend was a rainy mess, but Memorial Day itself was about the best weather I have ever encountered in my life. And so the summer begins.
Tons of pics this month. And some additional reading: something I have been promising to write for a while: a guide to a Michigan summer vacation -- just in time to stop you from making Disney reservations. On with the show...
Last in line to review Moneyball
Photo slop: DC edition
Vegas: Hooter's as a leading indicator
Wasps be gone
Omit needless basicallys
Memorial Day was perfect. The earlier portion of the big weekend was a rainy mess, but Memorial Day itself was about the best weather I have ever encountered in my life. And so the summer begins.
Tons of pics this month. And some additional reading: something I have been promising to write for a while: a guide to a Michigan summer vacation -- just in time to stop you from making Disney reservations. On with the show...
Last in line to review Moneyball
Photo slop: DC edition
Vegas: Hooter's as a leading indicator
Wasps be gone
Omit needless basicallys
The 95-MPH Brushback of Reason: I am almost certainly the last person on the planet to read the now classic baseball tract, Moneyball. I was a fool for not reading it sooner; now I'm all geeked about it but it's old news to everyone else.
In case you've been living in a cave, Osama, Moneyball is about how stats geeks finally got a foothold in professional baseball after years of dwelling on the fringes and in the rotisseries. You see, for many years, stat geeks knew that virtually everything everyone thought they knew about baseball was wrong. All the conventional old-school myths, the inane platitudes and clichÇs announcers constantly spew -- it's almost entirely rubbish.
In Moneyball, the heroes are the people who stormed the castle of the ultimate old boys club with only facts and truth on their side and managed to survive. Longtime readers know of my penchant for playing the odds, for following reasoned probability and analysis despite a universe that always presents the enough random chaos to make you feel like you've gotten a wedgie from a bully for being so smart.
The godfather of all this is, of course, Bill James, who not only had the insights, the timing, and the outright defiance required to get the whole thing started. Anti-social and quite prickly, James went around for years on his jihad and gathered some brilliant followers, but was never able to break through the wall of ignorance. His story is really quite inspirational for anyone who believes in reason and ideas and finds they have to fight an ignorant, thoughtless, and even hostile status quo. According to James: "It is a wonderful thing to know that you are right and the world is wrong. Would God that I might have that feeling again before I die." For most of us that would not be true. It would be insufferably lonely and frustrating.
But James' concepts grew slowly in visibility over the years -- to a great extent only after he exited the battle -- until the perfect storm of Billy Beane's personality, Paul DePodesta's computer, and the Oakland A's financial realities allowed these ideas to be put into practice. Even despite the remarkable successes the new way of thinking has achieved, there is still overwhelming pressure from the old boys club to de-intellectualize the game.
I may have a colored view of this as it is a concept so valued by me, but it would be difficult to imagine someone coming away from Moneyball without an appreciation of the energy and passion author Michael Lewis brings to the table. The characters he describes are, well, characters. And he doesn't mince words about folks on the wrong end of the debate.
From the afterword:
To this day there is enormous resistance to statistical based analysis. For how long it can continue I don't know. There are basically two types of successful baseball organizations anymore. One of them pays attention to its stat geeks (A's, Blue Jays, some others). The other has more money than god and just buys whatever it needs (Yanks, Red Sox). But the small market clubs that just send out beat up old players to scout for talent are doomed whether they want to admit it or not.
I would tell you that if you ever have had a passing interest in baseball Moneyball is a must read, but if you have a passing interest in baseball, you have already read it.
In case you've been living in a cave, Osama, Moneyball is about how stats geeks finally got a foothold in professional baseball after years of dwelling on the fringes and in the rotisseries. You see, for many years, stat geeks knew that virtually everything everyone thought they knew about baseball was wrong. All the conventional old-school myths, the inane platitudes and clichÇs announcers constantly spew -- it's almost entirely rubbish.
In Moneyball, the heroes are the people who stormed the castle of the ultimate old boys club with only facts and truth on their side and managed to survive. Longtime readers know of my penchant for playing the odds, for following reasoned probability and analysis despite a universe that always presents the enough random chaos to make you feel like you've gotten a wedgie from a bully for being so smart.
The godfather of all this is, of course, Bill James, who not only had the insights, the timing, and the outright defiance required to get the whole thing started. Anti-social and quite prickly, James went around for years on his jihad and gathered some brilliant followers, but was never able to break through the wall of ignorance. His story is really quite inspirational for anyone who believes in reason and ideas and finds they have to fight an ignorant, thoughtless, and even hostile status quo. According to James: "It is a wonderful thing to know that you are right and the world is wrong. Would God that I might have that feeling again before I die." For most of us that would not be true. It would be insufferably lonely and frustrating.
But James' concepts grew slowly in visibility over the years -- to a great extent only after he exited the battle -- until the perfect storm of Billy Beane's personality, Paul DePodesta's computer, and the Oakland A's financial realities allowed these ideas to be put into practice. Even despite the remarkable successes the new way of thinking has achieved, there is still overwhelming pressure from the old boys club to de-intellectualize the game.
I may have a colored view of this as it is a concept so valued by me, but it would be difficult to imagine someone coming away from Moneyball without an appreciation of the energy and passion author Michael Lewis brings to the table. The characters he describes are, well, characters. And he doesn't mince words about folks on the wrong end of the debate.
From the afterword:
The game itself is a ruthless competition. Unless you're very good, you don't survive in it. But in the space just off the field of play there really is no level of incompetence that won't be tolerated. There are many reasons for this, but the big one is that baseball has structured itself less as a business than as a social club. The Club includes not only the people who manage the team but also, in a kind of Women's Auxiliary, many of the writers and the commentators who follow it, and purport to explain it. The Club is selective, but the criteria for admission and retention are nebulous. There are many ways to embarrass the Club, but being bad at your job isn't one of them. The greatest offense a Club member can commit is not ineptitude but disloyalty.
To this day there is enormous resistance to statistical based analysis. For how long it can continue I don't know. There are basically two types of successful baseball organizations anymore. One of them pays attention to its stat geeks (A's, Blue Jays, some others). The other has more money than god and just buys whatever it needs (Yanks, Red Sox). But the small market clubs that just send out beat up old players to scout for talent are doomed whether they want to admit it or not.
I would tell you that if you ever have had a passing interest in baseball Moneyball is a must read, but if you have a passing interest in baseball, you have already read it.
Photo Slop DC: I took an all too brief weekend down in DC to visit missus Kate and Anna. Stayed up in Dupont Circle for the first time (usually I stay down by the mall) and I wouldn't hesitate to stay up there again.
I have to give my highest recommendation to the Hotel Palomar. It's one of the Kimpton group of hotels that are my absolute favorites -- free wine and snack happy hour every day; eclectic, irreverently styled with animal print bathrobes, just for kicks. A hip, happenin', groovy-cool place.
I had the best pizza I have ever had in a little spot called Pizza Paradiso. Sweetest tomato sauce ever, reminiscent of the sauce at Pizzeria Uno but without the heavy-handed crust or mozzarella (I had feta). Truly spectacular. It goes on the must-do list for future visits.
My celebrity story is that I was in the Corcoran visiting an exhibit on the history of modernism, which was a mixed bag, when who do I spot out the corner of my eye but none other than Mr. Ben Stein -- you know: "Beullar? Beullar? Anyone?"; Win Ben Stein's Money; Clear Eyes, etc. Ben is political journalist and something of a bigwig economist in his spare time so I can only guess it was for professional reasons he was in town.
He was enthusiastically watching an old video about the 1939 New York World's Fair called "The World of Tomorrow" which was an extended old black-and-white promotional film for the Fair. I'm pretty sure Ben, like me and everyone else watching, stood in awe of the total lack of irony, cynicism, or negativity. How very different things are today. Could anyone born after 1960 even imagine such a sincere narrative tone?
By the way, in real life Ben doesn't look nearly as nerdy as they make him look on TV. He was dressed in a perfectly conservative dark blue suit like a proper DC insider, although he finished his ensemble with a pair of brown suede Pumas. Dude has his own style.
Meanwhile, trolling around the city, I brought my camera...
• No idea what this building is, but it's in Dupont Circle
• Lion in front of the Corocoran
• Another beautiful building I can't identify from memory -- DC is an architectural treasure trove
• The Eisenhower Building (I remembered this one)
• A shot of the metro, highly stylized in Photoshop
• Pigeons in motion
• Kids, don't be hippies or this is your fate
• The White House from Layfayette Park -- I love how this one flows from the girls on the lawn to the protester to the tourists to the White House to the Washington Monument
• I love the detail in this tree blossom
• A very tall tree in the National Zoo
• More flowers, enhanced slightly in Photoshop
• A shot of the Smithsonian Castle that I mangled in Photoshop while trying to make it look more gothic (I have a lot to learn)
• Through the WW2 memorial, past the reflecting pool to the Jefferson Memorial
• A huge panorama of the WW2 memorial - you'll have to expand it to real size in IE to get the full effect (I need to remember to take the camera off Auto before I get all creative)
• This would have been a great street scene if it was in focus
• Another street shot -- the confluence of signs cracks me up
• A Dupont Circle panorama - be sure to expand
• The young girls next to me on the lawn posed absolutely perfect with knowing it
• Older girls this time, also posing perfectly (also perfectly self-referential, isn't it?)
I took a ton more pics than that, I may link up some more next month. I 've been taking photos at such a rate I can't keep up. One day, maybe I'll be good.
I have to give my highest recommendation to the Hotel Palomar. It's one of the Kimpton group of hotels that are my absolute favorites -- free wine and snack happy hour every day; eclectic, irreverently styled with animal print bathrobes, just for kicks. A hip, happenin', groovy-cool place.
I had the best pizza I have ever had in a little spot called Pizza Paradiso. Sweetest tomato sauce ever, reminiscent of the sauce at Pizzeria Uno but without the heavy-handed crust or mozzarella (I had feta). Truly spectacular. It goes on the must-do list for future visits.
My celebrity story is that I was in the Corcoran visiting an exhibit on the history of modernism, which was a mixed bag, when who do I spot out the corner of my eye but none other than Mr. Ben Stein -- you know: "Beullar? Beullar? Anyone?"; Win Ben Stein's Money; Clear Eyes, etc. Ben is political journalist and something of a bigwig economist in his spare time so I can only guess it was for professional reasons he was in town.
He was enthusiastically watching an old video about the 1939 New York World's Fair called "The World of Tomorrow" which was an extended old black-and-white promotional film for the Fair. I'm pretty sure Ben, like me and everyone else watching, stood in awe of the total lack of irony, cynicism, or negativity. How very different things are today. Could anyone born after 1960 even imagine such a sincere narrative tone?
By the way, in real life Ben doesn't look nearly as nerdy as they make him look on TV. He was dressed in a perfectly conservative dark blue suit like a proper DC insider, although he finished his ensemble with a pair of brown suede Pumas. Dude has his own style.
Meanwhile, trolling around the city, I brought my camera...
• No idea what this building is, but it's in Dupont Circle
• Lion in front of the Corocoran
• Another beautiful building I can't identify from memory -- DC is an architectural treasure trove
• The Eisenhower Building (I remembered this one)
• A shot of the metro, highly stylized in Photoshop
• Pigeons in motion
• Kids, don't be hippies or this is your fate
• The White House from Layfayette Park -- I love how this one flows from the girls on the lawn to the protester to the tourists to the White House to the Washington Monument
• I love the detail in this tree blossom
• A very tall tree in the National Zoo
• More flowers, enhanced slightly in Photoshop
• A shot of the Smithsonian Castle that I mangled in Photoshop while trying to make it look more gothic (I have a lot to learn)
• Through the WW2 memorial, past the reflecting pool to the Jefferson Memorial
• A huge panorama of the WW2 memorial - you'll have to expand it to real size in IE to get the full effect (I need to remember to take the camera off Auto before I get all creative)
• This would have been a great street scene if it was in focus
• Another street shot -- the confluence of signs cracks me up
• A Dupont Circle panorama - be sure to expand
• The young girls next to me on the lawn posed absolutely perfect with knowing it
• Older girls this time, also posing perfectly (also perfectly self-referential, isn't it?)
I took a ton more pics than that, I may link up some more next month. I 've been taking photos at such a rate I can't keep up. One day, maybe I'll be good.
Still Worried About The Vegas: More evidence that the Vegas bubble has burst. Apparently Hooter's is sagging (heh-heh). According to my peeps over at Hotel Chatter, Hooter's Hotel and Casino is struggling and looking for a buyer. Faced with anemic revenues the current owners are running for cover. This doesn't surprise me. Hooter's is a bit off the beaten path, and more importantly, it was a flawed concept from the start. Hooter's runs restaurants and a small airline. They have succeeded by taking mundane, unpleasant experiences such as eating deep fried pub food or getting packed into coach seats like sardines and distracted their customers from their discomfort by surrounding them with flirty women of ample cleavage. This is their core product. Essentially, Hooter's tag line could be, "You have an ugly task before you, so here are some boobs to take the edge off."
Problem one is that visiting Las Vegas isn't what you'd call unpleasant, even in a slightly sub-standard property like Hooter's. So you've removed one half of the equation -- the ugly task part -- from the start. Problem two is that large-breasted women falling out their shirts are already in oversupply in Vegas. The whole business model collapses (so to speak). So much for your competitive advantage.
Hooter's is a minor loss, though. The biggest blow to the future is the total breakdown of the "Harmon Corridor." Harmon Ave. is a main thoroughfare that runs perpendicular to Las Vegas Blvd. (The Strip). It was going to be the next big area of hotel and casino expansion. The Clooney's late project, Las Ramblas, was going in there as was the new W hotel. Clooney's project famously fell apart when he and his partners realized that while it would be cool to say you own a hotel in Vegas, the day-to-day running of it and making a profit were actually hard work. So they folded and sold the property to the Starwood guys so they could have an even bigger W hotel. Now the Starwood guys have packed it in and the whole dream of Harmon Corridor is in the crapper.
Actually, the more I think about it, this may be a positive development. One thing I previously identified as a red flag for Vegas' future was overbuilding. Maybe it's good the Harmon projects fell apart before they had actual buildings to worry about. I'm still worried about the future, but I have more hope now for a gentle landing than an outright crash.
Problem one is that visiting Las Vegas isn't what you'd call unpleasant, even in a slightly sub-standard property like Hooter's. So you've removed one half of the equation -- the ugly task part -- from the start. Problem two is that large-breasted women falling out their shirts are already in oversupply in Vegas. The whole business model collapses (so to speak). So much for your competitive advantage.
Hooter's is a minor loss, though. The biggest blow to the future is the total breakdown of the "Harmon Corridor." Harmon Ave. is a main thoroughfare that runs perpendicular to Las Vegas Blvd. (The Strip). It was going to be the next big area of hotel and casino expansion. The Clooney's late project, Las Ramblas, was going in there as was the new W hotel. Clooney's project famously fell apart when he and his partners realized that while it would be cool to say you own a hotel in Vegas, the day-to-day running of it and making a profit were actually hard work. So they folded and sold the property to the Starwood guys so they could have an even bigger W hotel. Now the Starwood guys have packed it in and the whole dream of Harmon Corridor is in the crapper.
Actually, the more I think about it, this may be a positive development. One thing I previously identified as a red flag for Vegas' future was overbuilding. Maybe it's good the Harmon projects fell apart before they had actual buildings to worry about. I'm still worried about the future, but I have more hope now for a gentle landing than an outright crash.
Wasp, Where is Thy Sting?: By now, we all know what's up with the dwindling bees, but what about the wasps? Every summer I can count on one thing: the area I live in will be wasp central. There is always nest in between the gutter and the outside wall just outside my balcony. There is always a nest in my garage -- I tend to leave my car outside in summer, so there is not much garage activity to disturb them. There is always a nest in the base of this one light pole at work, where the metal is slightly twisted giving them a safe little gap. Not so this year. Not only are they not in their usual places, they aren't anywhere at all. Not even hovering menacingly around public garbage cans like they always do. I think I can safely say I have not seen one wasp all year. Weird.
Not that I mind. I hate the ornery little buggers and am glad to be without them. I'm just curious how it came about.
Not that I mind. I hate the ornery little buggers and am glad to be without them. I'm just curious how it came about.
Basically, Cut It Out: Just stop saying "basically" every other word, OK? "Basically" is the new "you know" or "it's like".
Basically, as I write this, I basically just got out of a meeting where basically everyone interjected a "basically" basically four or five times per sentence.
You know who you are. Just stop it.
Basically, as I write this, I basically just got out of a meeting where basically everyone interjected a "basically" basically four or five times per sentence.
You know who you are. Just stop it.
Wednesday, May 02, 2007
The Month That Was - April 2007: Well look a that. It's now been almost two months since I did any traveling. That's unheard of. Not even a weekend away. Wow. I'll need to rectify that soon.
Apparently I did a lot of reading this month because that seems to dominate the posts.
Giving Up
Seeing Calvin Coolidge in a Dream
Link Slop
The Return of the Sopranos (and Entourage)
NFL Round-Up (fans only)
Apparently I did a lot of reading this month because that seems to dominate the posts.
Giving Up
Seeing Calvin Coolidge in a Dream
Link Slop
The Return of the Sopranos (and Entourage)
NFL Round-Up (fans only)
I Give Up: I did something I very rarely do but should do more often, and that is to stop reading a book before I finish it. There have been plenty of books in my life that I continued to slog my way through because I felt a duty to finish what I started. Why? What exactly is the pretext for continuing a book if you cease to be interested in it? Life's too short, isn't it? It might be because I felt like I would have wasted my money if I didn't. This month I found two books for free online, and in both cases I decided not to finish them. We'll see if I ever do this for a something I actually purchase.
You can get Kafka's Metamorphosis just about anywhere online (it's lived way past any copyright expiration) but Gutenberg.org is as good a place as any. I feel silly describing the story because if you are familiar with literature you know that it's about a man who wakes up one morning and finds he is a gigantic insect, if you didn't know that, well, how silly would I sound describing it to you?
Generations of serious readers have drawn all sorts of inspiration from it and discovered all sorts of meaning and symbolism in it. Haruki Murakami, whom I wrote about last month, is certainly one of them. I don't doubt there is depth there to be found, but it turns out I can't be bothered with a book unless I can get into the story and the characters. No one in the book seemed very human; they all came across as merely dramatic devices, not actual people. Anyway, after a couple of chapters I felt no compulsion whatsoever to keep going. Maybe if I was younger and my tastes were in the formative stage I might have hauled through it and tried to take it to heart. As it stands, I'll probably just have to make it through life unable to engage anyone in a serious discussion about Kafka. Pity.
The other book was one I recall having been assigned in a 10th grade English class, not reading, and faking my way through the subsequent exam -- Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance, by Robert Pirsig. It's available at something called VirtualSchool.com and there is a ton of background info on a nicely done wiki.
It is only superficially about motorcycle maintenance and it is only marginally about Zen Buddhism. It is intended to be a philosophical tract about the conflict of deterministic and the intuitive, the romantic and the classical, and how it resolves into a search for value. During a road trip from Minneapolis to San Francisco, the author uses his interaction with his companions, his motorcycle and the landscape as a springboard for a series of explorations (which he calls "Chautauquas") along these lines.
Approaching the book again in adulthood, it held some promise. The framework is a story about his relations with his companions, his son, and his history of mental illness, which was reasonably interesting (again, I find myself mainly looking at story and characters). He was also doing a decent job as a travel writer.
But, oh the philosophical diatribes! It was strictly adolescent level stuff (I now understand why it was assigned in 10th grade) blown way out of proportion and loaded down with pomposity. That combined with his annoying habit of picking apart every word and action of his companions and turning it into some sort of character flaw, well the whole thing just put me in mind of another book I once read that had a mildly interesting story that was completely crushed by philosophical obesity: Atlas Shrugged. I did force myself to finish Atlas Shrugged many years ago. Not so Zen.... I was done with it after finish maybe one third. That, my friends, is wisdom ascendant.
You can get Kafka's Metamorphosis just about anywhere online (it's lived way past any copyright expiration) but Gutenberg.org is as good a place as any. I feel silly describing the story because if you are familiar with literature you know that it's about a man who wakes up one morning and finds he is a gigantic insect, if you didn't know that, well, how silly would I sound describing it to you?
Generations of serious readers have drawn all sorts of inspiration from it and discovered all sorts of meaning and symbolism in it. Haruki Murakami, whom I wrote about last month, is certainly one of them. I don't doubt there is depth there to be found, but it turns out I can't be bothered with a book unless I can get into the story and the characters. No one in the book seemed very human; they all came across as merely dramatic devices, not actual people. Anyway, after a couple of chapters I felt no compulsion whatsoever to keep going. Maybe if I was younger and my tastes were in the formative stage I might have hauled through it and tried to take it to heart. As it stands, I'll probably just have to make it through life unable to engage anyone in a serious discussion about Kafka. Pity.
The other book was one I recall having been assigned in a 10th grade English class, not reading, and faking my way through the subsequent exam -- Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance, by Robert Pirsig. It's available at something called VirtualSchool.com and there is a ton of background info on a nicely done wiki.
It is only superficially about motorcycle maintenance and it is only marginally about Zen Buddhism. It is intended to be a philosophical tract about the conflict of deterministic and the intuitive, the romantic and the classical, and how it resolves into a search for value. During a road trip from Minneapolis to San Francisco, the author uses his interaction with his companions, his motorcycle and the landscape as a springboard for a series of explorations (which he calls "Chautauquas") along these lines.
Approaching the book again in adulthood, it held some promise. The framework is a story about his relations with his companions, his son, and his history of mental illness, which was reasonably interesting (again, I find myself mainly looking at story and characters). He was also doing a decent job as a travel writer.
But, oh the philosophical diatribes! It was strictly adolescent level stuff (I now understand why it was assigned in 10th grade) blown way out of proportion and loaded down with pomposity. That combined with his annoying habit of picking apart every word and action of his companions and turning it into some sort of character flaw, well the whole thing just put me in mind of another book I once read that had a mildly interesting story that was completely crushed by philosophical obesity: Atlas Shrugged. I did force myself to finish Atlas Shrugged many years ago. Not so Zen.... I was done with it after finish maybe one third. That, my friends, is wisdom ascendant.
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