Peebo.net

I took some unexpected time off from blogging because of the event described in my last post. After my uncle passed away I felt I had to write something about it. How could I talk about snowboarding or a good movie or our trip to Costa Rica without first addressing this Big Thing? So, I decided that only after writing about my uncle could I post anything else.

So I started trying� many, many times.

Time passed.

It’s not that I was too distraught or too choked up. In fact, most of the words came easily and the memories evoked while writing were largely happy ones. It�s just that there was too much. I would end up with pages on Bubby, my family in Kentucky, my childhood–in short: family, time and death. Not exactly blog material.

I even wrote a whole entry describing this problem I was having just so could say something and end my self-imposed moratorium. It was while I was (re)working that (aborted) excuse that I cobbled together some of my other writing into what became my last entry.

Now that it�s off my chest, I can go back to bitching about work and posting poorly edited movie reviews, gushing accounts of recent trips and other random stuff that someone may or may not read.

Best,
peebo

My uncle Ronnie (known in our family as “Bubby” or to his friends as “Ron”) died in his home on Tuesday, January 17th, 2006. He was fifty-five years old. (Some of the lakehouse veterans may remember my uncle as that quiet guy that used to fish off the boat dock.)

I’ve spent a long time struggling over this post. Every time I started to write about my uncle I’d end up going off on long tangents about my childhood in Kentucky. Although I grew up in Cabot, Arkansas, and lived there until I went to college, in many ways my childhood, or what memory has made my childhood, is a product of Kentucky.

We spent every Christmas in Kentucky but it is the summers there that I recall the most vividly. Every summer from about the age of eight (?) until I was around thirteen we’d load up the car as soon as school let out and make the twelve-hour drive from the flat land of central Arkansas to the hills of far eastern Kentucky. My folks would head back home after a few days, but my brother and I would stay and spend the next couple of months on Thornton hollow (pronounced “holler”) with our extended family: my grandparents Lula (“Mamaw Luli”) and Paul (“Papaw Paul”), my great-grand parents William (“Papaw Bill”) and Cora (“Mamaw Cory”), and my uncle Ronnie (“Bubby”).

My great-grandparents lived in a one-story, two-bedroom house that they built shortly after they were married in 1928. The house was located just across the front yard from a small general store that they also built and which stayed in business into the 1990s. They had their first and only child (Lula) in their home and when she grew up and married a coal miner from North Carolina (Paul) she built her house on the hill behind her parents. Lula and Paul’s oldest child, Angie (my Mom), married a traveling “Encyclopedic Dictionary” salesman named Harold (my Dad) and ended up moving off Thornton, but her younger brother Ronnie stayed and built himself a small house just across the street from his parents and grand-parents. So when I say I spent summers with my extended family, I mean it literally. They were all right there together.

Those summers in Kentucky are some of the most memorable and influential times of my life. To this day a good percentage of my dreams are set in Kentucky. Sometimes it’s the actual place I visited: my grandma’s living room, my great-grandfather’s garden, behind the counter at the store. Often, though, it’s just a feeling. What I see in the dream—landscape, buildings, people—may have nothing to with Thornton nor bear any physical resemblance to the actual place; but still, within the dream, I know that I am there. Thornton is the setting. It’s where everything is happening. This realization is never unpleasant, nor is it surprising. It just is.

My uncle was the last close relative I had from that place. He lived in the same little house across the street from his family for most of his life. He saw his mother and grandfather die of cancer in the mid-eighties. In the nineties he moved across the street and into his grandmother’s house where he cared for her until her death in 2000. Finally, his father passed in 2002. Only then did he leave Thornton to be with his sister in Arkansas. He was living in an apartment less than a hundred yards from my folks’ back door when he died, but he was buried in Thornton.

After the funeral we drove down the narrow, winding road that runs the length of the hollow to the old home site. All the houses of my childhood were gone. A neighbor bought the store, added a second floor and converted it into a home. My great-grandparents’ house is their grassy yard. All that remained of my grandparents’ house on the hill was a brick barbeque that looked out of place up there all alone, and my uncle’s house across the road had been recently demolished. Rough piles of upturned dirt and bulldozer tracks were still visible.

My family and I sat in the car and looked out the windows, and though we felt a sense of loss, we were not sad. We took comfort in knowing that the new owners of the land and the occupants of the converted store, were neighbors from Thornton—kids, now grown, that my brother and I played with in those summers years ago. More than that, though, we were not sad because when we looked at the grassy yard and the hill and blank spot where my uncle had lived we still saw everything vividly and surely more perfectly than we would had the physical structures remained. Though no longer there, we saw the houses and the store and the garden and the people and it was natural and right, just like in my dreams.

* * *

It’s funny what stays with us. When I was first learning to talk I consistently mispronounced my Papaw Bill’s name. In the years that followed every time we arrived for a visit my great-grandfather would meet our car in the driveway, hug me as soon as I got out and greet me with that old childhood mispronunciation, “Hey, Peebo Bybo!”

We received some sad news this weekend. . .

Katy’s paternal grandmother Aleksandra (known to friends as “Olenka,” the diminutive of her name, and to her family as “Babcia,” which means “Grandma” in Polish) passed away this weekend in her home in Chojnice, Poland.

I was lucky enough to visit Babcia on two occasions. I remember her as a gracious hostess and a terrific cook. Although we couldn’t say a word to each other (I don’t know any Polish and she didn’t speak English), she managed to make me feel welcome in her home.

I also remember that she was a competitive Bridge player and even won a national championship. (Her championship plaque hung on her dining room wall and she proudly pointed it out to me while I was there.)

We were planning a family trip to Poland this summer to celebrate her 80th birthday.

She is survived by her son Andrzej, her daughter Alina, her daughter-in-law Ewa, and her granddaughters Katarzyna (Katy) and Agnieszka.

Katy and her family will be traveling to Chojnice for the funeral next week.

Babcia and Peebo – September, 2002

Babcia, Agnieska, and Andrzej – September, 2002

* * *
Aleksandra Witkowska
1925 – 2005

So… Peebo walks into a bar.

The bartender says, “Howdy, partner. Why no blog entries lately?”

Peebo says, “I been busy!!”

* * *

Work

Just after my last post (way back at the end of October) the lull in my work cycle un-lulled. I started a new project for my former employer and I picked up two new clients. So, I went from no work to a lot of work happening simultaneously. This is not a complaint, however. I’d rather work long hours in short bursts than regular hours all the time.

I also did some traveling in November. . .

Memphis

First stop: Memphis.

I spent three-and-a-half days (the longest stretch I’ve spent in the River City since I moved from there in 1996) visiting friends, sleeping in comfortable guest beds (it must be a sign of my age that so many of my friends now have “guest rooms”) and being on the receiving end of that famous (and still very much alive) southern hospitality. Some highlights that spring to mind:

• Leigh’s Birthday Brunch
• Watching an 1980s-era “how your government works” documentary on PBS with Dave
• Salmon and Pumpkin Pie at Frank and Marjorie’s
• John’s “Documentary Film Roundup” discussion on Frank and Marjorie’s front porch (John is one of those teachers that make me want to go back and slap a number of my Jr. High and High School “educators” for being such idiots)
• A guided tour of the new Rhodes College library (which seems to have been designed to make parents think, “Damn, this place is impressive and well worth the exorbitant tuition,” and visitors like me think, “Damn, this is a hell of a lot nicer than that shithole library at my school” and succeeds on both counts.)
• Too many Guinness at the Celtic Crossing
• Seeing “Walk the Line” () in the town where it was filmed (the house where Johnny and his first wife lived, in the movie, was about 100 yards from one of my comfortable guest beds)
• A late night discussion with Truk on the future of New Orleans
• A mid-morning discussion with Katherine on her host Maori Koori community’s reaction to her dissertation
• Barbeque and Spaghetti

Thanksgiving in Arkansas

From Memphis I went to Arkansas for Thanksgiving (and my birthday; my sister-in-law and I share the same birthday, a fact I find very cool).

Arkansas was good as usual. My mom got my dad and I hooked on Lost while I was there. It started innocently enough–renting disc one of season one–however, it quickly degenerated into a full-scale Lost-fest. We’d watch three or four episodes a night. If I watched an episode during the day without my dad I’d have to provide a verbal synopsis as I fast-forwarded through the episode with him in the evening when he got home from work.

The lowest point came on the Sunday evening after Thanksgiving. The entire state of Arkansas was bisected, north to south, by a huge line of thunderstorms. All the local television stations interrupted programming to show non-stop storm coverage. Tornados were being spawned all over the state (Seven according to wikipedia, 25 according to NOAA). My mom was in the kitchen glued to the television while dad and I obliviously watched Lost in the living room. We finished a disc at about 9pm (around the height of the storm) and debated going out to the video store for another. The debate lasted about 40 seconds. I went. Man, it was windy. . . but I did have the road pretty much to myself.

New York

From Arkansas I went straight to New York City for work. There followed four days of eight hour meetings to discuss issues that could have been resolved in half that time. (I get paid by the hour now, so I guess I shouldn’t complain.)

The best part of the NY trip happened after work (of course). I spent two nights in Larry (Larry has glasses now!) and Michelle’s new apartment (Brooklyn in da house!); had tapas and received Costa Rica travel advice from, Leah & and Brian in the east village; and I even got schooled on the finer points of New Orleans flood travel by my roving reporter pal Jenny (she covered Katrina for Newsday, but unfortunately I can’t link to her stories now as they are “archived”).

San Francisco

I made it back to San Francisco on the first Saturday of December. After a busy two weeks of work and (mostly online) Christmas shopping (well… with a little time for xBox live and my new favorite game, Splinter Cell) I returned to Arkansas on the 17th to spend the Holidays with my family.

Christmas

The best thing about being a virtual employee is the ability to work from anywhere. Armed with my laptop and my mom’s wireless broadband network I can work as effectively from my parent’s guestroom (it even has a desk) as I can from my home office in SF. I could work a full day and then exit the bedroom/office and be on “vacation” in Arkansas, and this is just what I did in the run-up to Christmas. (The week after Christmas was another story–my clients were all on vacation and it was too easy to slack.)

Christmas Eve brought the traditional Peebo Family Celebration, which means tons-o-food and way too many gifts (we all tend to go overboard). As usual, I made out like a bandit and received so many cools things that I’m too embarrassed provide you with a complete list.

On December 27th my little brother turned thirty years old. (Oy… I can’t express how old that makes me feel.) We had a big surprise party for him (and I think he was genuinely surprised; having a birthday two days after Christmas means you rarely get a real party). We stayed up until 5am playing Texas Hold Em’, PS2 games (“Dance, Dance Revolution,” “Fight Night 3,” and “Katamari Damacy”) after drinking entirely too much beer. It was a great party.

Another highlight of the xmas break was meeting Aaron and Carrie’s new baby Molly for the first time. That is one cute kid (and I think she likes me!).

New Years

I returned to San Francisco on the 29th just in time for the last holiday of 2005. Northern California was in the midst of series of drenching rainstorms, so Katy and I avoided driving and celebrated in our neighborhood with our friends Sam and Emma: dinner at a nearby restaurant followed by champagne at our place. By midnight the skies had cleared enough for us to see fireworks over downtown San Francisco from our living room window.

On New Years day, Katy and I were eating dinner (including black-eyed peas, of course), reflecting on the past year and talking about what we’d like to accomplish in the New Year. It made me realize how lucky I am. I have my health, good friends, and a great family.

2006 finds me very content.

Happy New Year.
-peebo

Dir. George Clooney (2005) – trailer, IMDB

Edward R. Murrow takes on Senator Joseph R. McCarthy in this historical vignette. Beautifully photographed in black and white and making liberal use of archival material (McCarthy plays himself), “Good Night, and Good Luck” is less a full-fledged dramatic film than a snapshot of a historical moment when some people working in mass media still believed that television could do more than entertain. True to its themes, much of the film feels more like a documentary re-enactment than a cinematic drama; most of the action and dialogue serves to explore actual events and there is little in the way of individual character development or insights into Murrow the man. It is a movie of ideas for grownups; intelligent without being boring or pedantic.

I came away thinking that Murrow’s words are as relevant (and prophetic) today as they were fifty years ago, which I suppose is the point. Listen…

Excerpts from Murrow’s Speech to the Radio and Television News Directors Association (RTNDA) Convention
October 15, 1958 – [see full text]

. . It is my desire, if not my duty, to try to talk to you journeymen with some candor about what is happening to radio and television. . .

. . . It is not necessary to remind you that the fact that your voice is amplified to the degree where it reaches from one end of the country to the other does not confer upon you greater wisdom or understanding than you possessed when your voice reached only from one end of the bar to the other. . .

. . .Believing that potentially the commercial system of broadcasting as practiced in this country is the best and freest yet devised, I have decided to express my concern about what I believe to be happening to radio and television . . . I am seized with an abiding fear regarding what these two instruments are doing to our society, our culture and our heritage.

Our history will be what we make it. And if there are any historians about fifty or a hundred years from now, and there should be preserved the kinescopes for one week of all three networks, they will there find recorded in black and white, or color, evidence of decadence, escapism and insulation from the realities of the world in which we live. I invite your attention to the television schedules of all networks between the hours of 8 and 11 p.m., Eastern Time. Here you will find only fleeting and spasmodic reference to the fact that this nation is in mortal danger. There are, it is true, occasional informative programs presented in that intellectual ghetto on Sunday afternoons. But during the daily peak viewing periods, television in the main insulates us from the realities of the world in which we live. . .

. . For surely we shall pay for using this most powerful instrument of communication to insulate the citizenry from the hard and demanding realities which must be faced if we are to survive. I mean the word survive literally. If there were to be a competition in indifference, or perhaps in insulation from reality, then Nero and his fiddle, Chamberlain and his umbrella, could not find a place on an early afternoon sustaining show.. .

. . .I am entirely persuaded that the American public is more reasonable, restrained and more mature than most of our industry’s program planners believe. Their fear of controversy is not warranted by the evidence. I have reason to know, as do many of you, that when the evidence on a controversial subject is fairly and calmly presented, the public recognizes it for what it is–an effort to illuminate rather than to agitate. . .

. . . In this kind of complex and confusing world, you can’t tell very much about the why of the news in broadcasts where only three minutes is available for news. . . If radio news is to be regarded as a commodity, only acceptable when saleable, then I don’t care what you call it–I say it isn’t news. . .

. . .One of the basic troubles with radio and television news is that both instruments have grown up as an incompatible combination of show business, advertising and news. Each of the three is a rather bizarre and demanding profession. And when you get all three under one roof, the dust never settles. The top management of the networks with a few notable exceptions, has been trained in advertising, research, sales or show business. But by the nature of the coporate structure, they also make the final and crucial decisions having to do with news and public affairs. Frequently they have neither the time nor the competence to do this. . .

. . .I am frightened by the imbalance, the constant striving to reach the largest possible audience for everything; by the absence of a sustained study of the state of the nation. Heywood Broun once said, “No body politic is healthy until it begins to itch.” I would like television to produce some itching pills rather than this endless outpouring of tranquilizers. . .

. . .But this nation is now in competition with malignant forces of evil who are using every instrument at their command to empty the minds of their subjects and fill those minds with slogans, determination and faith in the future. If we go on as we are, we are protecting the mind of the American public from any real contact with the menacing world that squeezes in upon us. . . .

. . .Just once in a while let us exalt the importance of ideas and information. Let us dream to the extent of saying that on a given Sunday night the time normally occupied by Ed Sullivan is given over to a clinical survey of the state of American education, and a week or two later the time normally used by Steve Allen is devoted to a thoroughgoing study of American policy in the Middle East. Would the corporate image of their respective sponsors be damaged? Would the stockholders rise up in their wrath and complain? Would anything happen other than that a few million people would have received a little illumination on subjects that may well determine the future of this country, and therefore the future of the corporations?. . .

. . .It may be that the present system, with no modifications and no experiments, can survive. Perhaps the money-making machine has some kind of built-in perpetual motion, but I do not think so. To a very considerable extent the media of mass communications in a given country reflect the political, economic and social climate in which they flourish. . . We have currently a built-in allergy to unpleasant or disturbing information. Our mass media reflect this. But unless we get up off our fat surpluses and recognize that television in the main is being used to distract, delude, amuse and insulate us, then television and those who finance it, those who look at it and those who work at it, may see a totally different picture too late. . .

. . .Someone once said–I think it was Max Eastman–that “that publisher serves his advertiser best who best serves his readers.” I cannot believe that radio and television, or the corporation that finance the programs, are serving well or truly their viewers or listeners, or themselves. . .

. . .To those who say people wouldn’t look; they wouldn’t be interested; they’re too complacent, indifferent and insulated, I can only reply: There is, in one reporter’s opinion, considerable evidence against that contention. But even if they are right, what have they got to lose? Because if they are right, and this instrument is good for nothing but to entertain, amuse and insulate, then the tube is flickering now and we will soon see that the whole struggle is lost.

This instrument can teach, it can illuminate; yes, and it can even inspire. But it can do so only to the extent that humans are determined to use it to those ends. Otherwise it is merely wires and lights in a box. There is a great and perhaps decisive battle to be fought against ignorance, intolerance and indifference. This weapon of television could be useful. . .

Excerpt from See it Now broadcast of on CBS TV
March 9, 1954 – [see full text]

We must not confuse dissent with disloyalty. We must remember always that accusation is not proof and that conviction depends upon evidence and due process of law. We will not walk in fear, one of another. We will not be driven by fear into an age of unreason, if we dig deep in our history and our doctrine, and remember that we are not descended from fearful men — not from men who feared to write, to speak, to associate and to defend causes that were, for the moment, unpopular.

This is no time for men who oppose Senator McCarthy’s methods to keep silent, or for those who approve. We can deny our heritage and our history, but we cannot escape responsibility for the result. There is no way for a citizen of a republic to abdicate his responsibilities. As a nation we have come into our full inheritance at a tender age. We proclaim ourselves, as indeed we are, the defenders of freedom, wherever it continues to exist in the world, but we cannot defend freedom abroad by deserting it at home.

The actions of the junior Senator from Wisconsin have caused alarm and dismay amongst our allies abroad, and given considerable comfort to our enemies. And whose fault is that? Not really his. He didn’t create this situation of fear; he merely exploited it — and rather successfully. Cassius was right. “The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars, but in ourselves.”

Good night, and good luck.

So it wasn’t until I made that last post about Sunset Blvd. that I realized I’d never posted anything about movies, which is bizarre considering I’m kind of a Movie Geek. I like movies. All kinds of movies. I go to the movies at least once a week�often with a free pass from one of the half dozen film-related organizations that send me newsletters. (I have 161 messages tagged as “film” in my Gmail account–64 of which are unread). I have 144 DVDs in my Netlfix queue. I belong to the San Francisco Film Society. I subscribe to Film Comment magazine. I own books with titles like Film Theory and Criticism, Seeing Through Movies, Celluloid Mavericks, and More than Night: Film Noir and its Contexts (Ok, maybe I haven’t read every word of every book, but I do flip through them now and then with the best of intentions�.) Yet somehow I’ve never blogged about movies?

God. I really am like the worst blogger ever�

Anywho, I’ll start rectifying this today. Following are some things I’ve seen recently that seemed blog-worthy.

I’ll use the Film Comment star rating system, because I like the range it provides�especially the “of interest” rating. I don’t like the Netflix rating scheme, for example, because it’s too limiting. It jumps from “liked it” to “didn’t like it” and where does that leave you when trying to rate something like “Alien vs. Predator.” You know it’s no “Citizen Kane” but, well� it’s freakin’ Alien versus Predator! Come on, there’s no denying that is “of interest”–even if it stinks.

= Bomb.
= Mediocre
= Of Interest
= Good
= Very Good
= Excellent

So, without further ado…

The War Within

Dir. Joseph Castelo (2005) – trailer, IMDB

This is story of Hassan, a Pakastani man who illegally enters the United States to join a terrorist cell. The film follows his preparations for a coordinated bomb attack on New York City and explores the relationship between Hassan and the Pakistani-American family he lives with, who do not know he is part of a cell and who have assimilated into American life.

This is the first film I’ve seen that looks at violent Islamic extremism from the point of view of the terrorist. While not a polemic, it does touch upon issues that motivate terrorism and the West’s complicity in fostering an environment conducive to extremism. However, the primary focus is on the personal rather than the political. To cope with a world in which he feels he has no other option, Hassan embraces an ideology, rooted in his own deeply held religious beliefs, and allows this ideology to dictate his actions. The conflict between action motivated by ideological imperative and the very real and painful consequences of those actions, to both the actor and others, is the subject of the film.

The film also provides an honest, even-handed look into the Arab-American community, which is rarely represented in the media in anything other that stereotype. The thought provoking narrative and well-acted characters (if slightly flat�there are character “types” here) make this film worth seeing. Go with friends and talk about it afterwards.

The Prize Winner of Defiance, Ohio

Directed by Jane Anderson (2005) – trailer, IMDB

Julianne Moore is Evelyn Ryan, a real-life Ohio housewife who supports an alcoholic husband (Woody Harelson) and ten kids by winning an incredible number of jingle contests in 1950s Ohio.

I saw this movie with a friend and as we left the theatre he said, “that movie was almost terrible,” which just about sums up my impression. The peek into the lost subculture of “contesters” is sort of interesting (who knew such a thing existed?) and Moore’s performance as a saintly and irrepressible housewife is terrific. However, the movie as a whole is a bit schmaltzy. The director also uses some too-cutesy cinematic techniques (Moore directly addressing the camera, “whimsical” imaginary sequences) that I found distracting and annoying. Also the last scene of the movie�a staged reenactment of real events by the real-life Ryan’s family (the movie was based on a Memoir by Ryan’s daughter)�was ridiculous, ill conceived and should have never been filmed. I also suspect the Mother Theresa Mom and the Alcoholic With a Heart of Gold Dad are more characters from the memoirist’s imagination than representations of actual people. (If Julianne Moore wasn’t in this I’d probably give it just one star; she’s great as usual. For a much better film in which she also plays a repressed 1950s housewife see “Far From Heaven”.)

On the other hand, it was sweet, entertaining, had some funny lines and makes you want to send flowers to your Mom. So, if you find yourself visiting relatives over Thanksgiving and need a non-threatening, non-controversial, light, populist entertainment, this might be a good choice.

Domino

Directed by Tony Scott (2005) – trailer, IMDB

A sexy but tough as nails ex-model (Keira Knightley) partners with the father figure she never knew (Micky Rourke) and becomes a kick-ass bounty hunter. A lot of action involving guns, explosions, reality TV, Beverly Hills 90210, armored trucks, Afghanistan, the Mob, and the Los Angeles DMV ensues. The result is a fantastic train-wreck of a movie.

A good hour and a half into this two hour movie, an unnamed character played by Tom Waits appears in the desert driving a convertible Cadillac with an unexplained bandage on his hand as a Tom Waits song plays in the background. He proceeds to ramble like a demented televangelist for several minutes to a group of stranded and wounded accident victims (which include Ian Ziering and Brian Austin Green from Beverly Hills 90210�playing themselves) who are high on mescaline and sitting in front of an overturned RV with skulls mounted on the front window. Everyone then gets into his Cadillac and drives to Las Vegas where Waits disappears never to be seen or mentioned again.

This sequence sums up the mood of the movie as a whole: self-referential, chaotic, ignoring traditional Hollywood storytelling in favor of an internal narrative logic that is both clever and absurd. It is an action movie that is also a parody of an action movie. It is a Hollywood entertainment that is a satire of Hollywood entertainment. It’s fun.

My favorite Tony Scott film is still “True Romance” (with a screenplay by Quentin Tarantino before he was Quentin Tarantino) but “Domino” occupies a solid second place. (Scott has helmed a diverse array of Hollywood vehicles from “The Hunger,” “Top Gun,” and “Beverly Hills Cop II” to “Enemy of the State” and last year’s “Man on Fire.”) Maybe I like this movie because, like “True Romance,” “Domino” is based on a quirky, funny screenplay by a young(ish) Hollywood outsider�thirty year-old Richard Kelley who wrote and directed one of my cult favorites “Donnie Darko.” Or maybe because, like “True Romance,” “Domino” is populated with quirky, funny characters played by a mixture of “hot” young talent (Keira Knightley now, Christian Slater then) and seasoned character actors (Micky Rourke now, Dennis Hopper then, Christopher Walken in both). Or maybe it’s because Keira is hot and you get to see her boobs. Whatever it is, it works for me.

Speaking of the actors, there’s really not a lot of character development for them to explore as almost all of the action is moved forward by Domino’s voiceover narration. The characters and the story played out on screen are just the chalk outlines of real people and places based on an unreliable narrator’s tall tale: Knightly is hot and tough and not much more, which is exactly what she’s supposed to be; Rourke essentially reprises his Chef character from the black-crystal-meth-comedy “Spun” to good effect; and the rest of the cast occupy their cardboard supporting roles in the best tradition of the action genre.

“Domino” is not a great movie nor does it aspire to be one. It is slick, surface entertainment and if you approach it in this way it’s a fun ride.

The 40 Year Old Virgin

Directed by Judd Apatow (2005) – trailer, IMDB

If you haven’t seen this already, just know that it’s a raunchy, foul-mouthed and very funny teenage sex comedy without teenagers. In the DVD shelf in my mind it sits somewhere between “Office Space” and “American Pie.” There’s not much more I wanted to say, but I do want to offer the following advice.

If you’re hanging out at your brother’s office one day and your brother says, “Hey, what should we do with mom and dad tonight?” and you say, “How about a movie?” and then he says, “Sure,” don’t then go through the list of movies online and say, “Hey, what about this Virgin movie?” And then when your brother says, “Do you think it’s too dirty for mom?” don’t think, well, it called the “40 year old Virgin” not the “40 Year Old Sex Fiend” or the “40 Year Old Virgin with a Bunch of Raunchy Pot-smoking Friends with Foul Mouths and a Fascination with Anal Sex Jokes” and then say, “Nah, I think it will be ok.” Then don’t meet your Mom at the movies and buy popcorn and talk to her about her horses before the previews and then, as the lights go down, think, this will be fun, a family night at the movies, we haven’t done this in forever, and then start watching the movie, which begins with a visual boner gag. Don’t laugh but then look nervously over at your Mom–who only says “shit” in a kind of quiet voice when she says it at all and who never says the F-word except for that one time in the 80s when she was REALLY, REALLY mad at your Dad and who thinks the language on network TV is getting “too ugly.” And then don’t look over at her again, when a scene early in the movie begins with four guys sitting around a table playing poker and then one guys says “What’s the filthiest thing you’ve ever done with a woman?” and see your Mom’s still smiling but it’s now more of a “polite smile” and think, Oh crap. And then don’t chuckle uncomfortably as the four guys at the table go on to describe in graphic detail, using very colorful nouns and verbs, the filthiest things they’ve done with a women, which involve all sorts of orifices you’re pretty sure your mom doesn’t really want to hear about. And then, later, don’t kind of hunch down in your seat, avoiding looking at yur Mom at all, thinking, Man, I don’t think I’ve every heard the word “Pussy” mentioned so often in so little time. And then don’t notice that your Mom got up and left and then sit up thinking, Oh Crap and look at your brother who looks like he might be thinking, Oh crap, and then just kind of sit there, glancing over to the empty seat now and then thinking surely she went to the bathroom, she didn’t walk out did she? should I go look for her? no she’ll be back, all the while also thinking crap, crap crap. And then don’t feel relief as you see your Mom come back and sit down and think, whew, it was just a bathroom break but now she’s back and she probably doesn’t think I’m a total perv and then realize she got back just in time for the scene where the naked blond girl masturbates in a bubble bath with a shower head.

Don’t do that.

-peebo

Directed by Billy Wilder (1950)

Sometimes I watch an old “classic” film, especially an old Hollywood studio picture, out of sense of obligation. I know it’s supposed to be great, wonderful, etc., but there are just so many new things to see. (I often have the same feeling with books.) So it was with a whiff of obligation that I finally watched Sunset Blvd., Billy Wilder’s canonical 1950 film about life in Hollywood. And as is the case with most films I see out of my cinephilic sense of duty, I was not disappointed. It seems there is a reason these films have been deemed classics.

In short, it was great. I didn’t know much about the story before seeing it and I think that’s best (avoid the plot summaries on IMDB). Just know that the writing is first rate; the story sucks you in and the dialogue is sharp and funny. (Take protagonist Joe Gills’ voiceover description of a decrepit Hollywood mansion: “It was a big white elephant of a place. The kind crazy movie people built in the crazy twenties.” For some reason I just love that line.) It’s murder mystery, a critique of celebrity, and a time capsule reminder of the fate of the aging actress in old Hollywood (“Norma, you’re a woman of fifty!”).

If you’ve never seen it before it’s also a treat to realize, as you’re watching, that this is one of those films that has been referenced by many subsequent filmmakers. You’ll notice settings, characters, props and even dialogue that have re-appeared in everything from Barton Fink to Brazil. (I think I first heard the line “I’m ready for my close-up, Mr. DeMille” from Bugs Bunny.)

I’ll be delving deeper into Mr. Wilder’s catalog on Netflix.

This week PBS’s American Masters documentary series ran an excellent two part documentary on Bob Dylan, directed by Martin Scorsese: Bob Dylan: No Direction Home. If your PBS station is like mine they’ll probably re-run it sometime this weekend or next week in the wee hours, so check your local schedule and set your Tivos.

It also seems to be available via Netflix. The Netflix listing is a bit odd, though, because the PBS doc was in two parts at two hours each. Netflix lists the running time as only 120 minutes on one disk with another disc of “bonus material.” However, I suspect the second disc actually contains part two of the series.

The film is not just for die-hard Dylan fans (which I am not) but for anyone interested in how music is created, the Beats, New York in the early 60s, and/or the American folk music tradition in general. It’s constructed around interviews with Robert Zimmerman (aka Bob Dylan) and the people around him during his formative years intercut with live performance video and audio—not just of Bob but also of his influences and contemporaries. Although the film assumes Dylan is an “American Master” he is presented in (at least to this layman) a well-rounded fashion—showing how he fit within the context of the larger social/musical happenings of the day.

If you like American music, you should check it out. If you like American roots/folk music you must check it out.

I just ate two slices of leftover Indian Pizza (Good stuff, Indian Pizza. Imagine Indian food on Pizza crust. It sounds weird but it tastes good. It even comes with that green sauce and red, onion chutney stuff.) and now I’m sitting on the couch watching Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Early Buffy. I time my lunch to correspond with the 2pm reruns on FX. Buffy is a great show, BTW. Eventually I’d like to revisit the entire series on DVD, but there are already 126 items in my Netflix queue… so it will have to wait.

I was sitting here watching Buffy flirt with Angel and thinking about what a crappy blogger I am. I can’t seem to get a regular schedule going. (Now HibiscusFire, there’s a blogger; good writing, up-to-date, interesting posts. Sigh…) I should just post when I get the urge (like now), but then I feel like I’m obligated to report everything I’ve done since my last post, but since I may have done quite a bit it seems too daunting to create this whole, massive update so I put it off, thus falling further “behind.”

Then it occurred to me that maybe no one (but me) really cares about comprehensiveness. In fact, most of you probably don’t care to hear about everything I’ve done since my last post. The highlights are enough, yeah? Besides, if I leave out stuff you won’t even know.

* * *

Hurricane

On the Sunday before Labor Day I was driving with my family back from the lakehouse in Greers Ferry, Arkansas to my folks house in Cabot. On the radio we heard the mayor of New Orleans read an order for the evacuation of the city. Honestly, the gravity of the announcement didn’t sink in as I listened. Instead I was struck by the lackluster oratory skills of the mayor. He sounded like he was reading the minutes of an uneventful city council meeting rather than an historic evacuation notice. I remember commenting on his delivery without really considering the content. I hadn’t followed the news since arriving at the lake on the previous Thursday so, despite this announcement on the radio, it wasn’t until later that evening that I realized what was about to happen.

I spent a lot of time over the following days watching storm coverage on television. The scale of the thing is mind blowing: an entire city, the entire gulf coast. New Orleans (rightfully) got most of the spotlight, but a huge swath of Mississippi was equally devastated. Entire towns were wiped out and, unlike New Orleans, many of these smaller places will likely never recover. (However, I suppose even New Orleans’ recovery is still in doubt at this time…)

My dad’s side of the family lives in Wiggins, Mississippi, which is located about 35 miles due north of Gulfport and the coast. Wiggins wasn’t completely destroyed like many of the coastal towns, but when you consider that the eye of the storm was roughly 30 miles wide they still took a hell of pounding. Trees were uprooted, power lines were downed and residents were warned to boil their water supply, but all of my family was safe.

By Wednesday the Mississippi folks were able to (intermittently) make calls on their cell phones. As soon as my dad spoke to them he was ready to load up his truck with gas cans (he figured he could haul about 120 gallons) and take a delivery of fuel and supplies to his family. However, when we checked with the Mississippi State Police we discovered than non-emergency vehicles were not being permitted to travel below Jackson, MS (a good 160 miles north of the coast). We also heard that police were seizing these sorts of personal gasoline shipments for use by emergency vehicles. My dad reluctantly agreed not to attempt the trip.

In the end, another relative that lived in Louisiana made it to Wiggins and delivered gas and generators. I haven’t spoken to my family members there since returning to San Francisco, but as of last Friday I read that “some” of the power has been restored but more rural areas around Wiggins may not have power for “months.”

Also, my brother’s sister-in-law lives in Gulfport, MS—right on the coast. She’d told everyone she was leaving the area on Sunday evening, but by Wednesday we’d still had no word from her. It turned out that she’d never left. She’d told her family she would evacuate so they “wouldn’t worry” but actually stayed in her home with her husband. Miraculously, they and their home were unharmed. The vast majority of Gulfport was leveled, but the neighborhood in which they lived was inexplicably spared. They got damn lucky.

Even as Katrina coverage slowly recedes from the headlines (or more importantly, from the public consciousness) millions of people still need a lot of help. If you haven’t done so already, please consider making a donation to the Red Cross. Also, check with your employer to see if they have a donation-matching program. If they don’t, lobby to start one.

Arkansas

Despite the hurricane, I’m happy to report that I wonderful time in Arkansas. I was there for eighteen days, which I now realize is the longest, uninterrupted time I’ve spent in Arkansas in ten years. Thanks to my new virtual lifestyle I was able to work from there as easily as I could from my home office in San Francisco. (My mom is very high-tech—broadband and a wireless network.) It was great! I’d finish up my work by around 1pm, then spend the rest of the day watching hummingbirds on the back porch, playing with the dogs and horses, or just visiting with my family. Of course I probably gained ten pounds as my mom insisted on cooking a massive southern meal every night. (Not that I complained too much.)

Over the Labor Day weekend Katy and her family (mom, dad, sister) also came down from Bay Area. We spent most of our time at Greers Ferry Lake: boating, floating around on “noodles” and inflatable rafts while enjoying cool beverages, jumping off rocky cliffs, and playing poker at night. Good times.

Memphis

I made a (much too short) trip to Memphis during the week after Labor Day. I lived there for about six years in the early nineties, so it was great to see friends and just enjoy the city—if only for a day. And let me tell you: southern hospitality is alive and well in the River City. I don’t think I ever feel as welcome and comfortable as when I visit my peeps in Memphis. (Thank you, guys/gals.) I had such a good time I’ve already booked a longer return trip in November.

San Francisco

Now… back to reality.

Buffy is long over. This post is done. What do I do next?

It’s hot down here. I mean really, really… hot.

Consider this: Little Rock, Arkansas shares the same latitude as Tikrit, Iraq.

It has broken 100 degrees every day since we arrived, and the humidity is in the 70%-90% range—even at night. The average temperature for the month of August is 90 degrees (and this includes those overnight lows). It’s 84 degrees outside right now at 11pm. (Weather.com says it “feels like” 91 and I believe it.)

I recall folks up in NYC complaining about the heat in the summer, and yes I suppose it could get a bit muggy, but I still say it is nothing like the deep down, bone warming, thick aired, all summer long, high-humidity, day-after-day, no relief southern heat we get down here. I’ve been in cooler saunas. (My brother was helping a friend move last week and found himself in a vehicle without air conditioning. He said the air blowing into the car felt as if was coming from a hairdryer.)

However. . . despite the heat we really are having a good time. (The air conditioning in my folks’ house it top notch.) We’ll head up to the lakehouse in the northern part of the state in a few days. Hopefully it will be a little cooler up there, but even if the heat continues we’ll have a lake, a boat, and an ice chest full of chilled beverages to help us cope.

Stay cool.
- peebo