1964

Remember those days?
Fridays after work at the lounge
It was the summer after Kennedy died
I knew a Republican at the office
Who bragged he'd pulled the trigger

Coastal sun
Portholes behind the bar
Arguments over Clay and Liston
Sometimes women
Lips with a showroom shine
They listened, expressions like cats
When they took off their sunglasses
Soon they huddled together
Secret musings
Whispers, intake of breath
Covert glance toward the next table

The sea came in on the air
Falling from heaps of heat-loosened shells
Half open
Mouths robbed of conversation
We said little when eating
Staring blankly at white breakers
On a beach across the bay
Littered with colored rectangles
Province of wives, children
Husbands as aloof, crew-cut despots
The newspaper a barrier to the wind
Reading of writing in the sand
Washed by Asian surf

Painted wooden corners
Spider webs billowing in a breeze
Goldwater pushing us to the edge
A young girl disappears in a mushroom cloud
On the TV
Someone observes, "his cause is surely lost"

Prominent behind the counter
Milkshake machine, faded green Sunbeam
A fleshy hand twists the metal cup
Pours a chocolate dream straight up
Sweat beads on the steel
The meal is done, we stir to leave
The ex-ballplayer drops his keys
One of the girls, laughing, takes him  home
The fins of the Buick slice the air
Leaving the place I give back one glance
I can see next week already there

The New Golden Age of TV

Numerous articles have appeared trumpeting a new golden age of TV. I have a digital subscription to the NY Times now, and one of my first stops on the website every day is the Television section, to see if there are any reviews of new shows. If I read about something that sounds interesting, I’ll make a mental note, though it’s getting to the point where quality television is beginning to eat substantively into my free time.

What follows is a list of the shows I’m watching presently, and what I think. I used to look forward to weekends because I could watch movies then, catching up on the ones that I’d missed in the theater. Lately, I’ve just been watching TV shows--watching two or three episodes of different shows every weekend. The quality is such that I get at least as much enjoyment from many of the programs as I would out of a well-written and capably directed film.

Mad Men

I started watching when it appeared in 2007, and it’s still the best show on TV. Created by Matthew Weiner, who was a producer and writer on The Sopranos, it’s depicted the journey of Don Draper in the America of the 60s, as he helps to fashion the vision of a New York advertising agency. Draper is a notorious lothario, and he finds no shortage of women willing to go along for the ride, some of whom are even aware of his marriage as they tumble into bed with him. As we watch his family battered by the storms of his infidelities, we also see the country weather a tumultuous decade, the signature events often coming through on TV news breaks with the agency employees huddled around, watching them unfold. As the series has gotten into the latter part of the decade, my sense of nostalgia has been triggered. I’ll see an object that was an integral part of the backdrop of my childhood, or hear a song that was on my very young soundtrack. Besides the satisfaction of an expertly crafted show, I get this added buzz of reliving that time in a strangely keen sense. The show is entering its last season this year, and I’m already trying to prepare for its conclusion. There was a scene in the finale of season 1, where Don gives a presentation to a couple of Kodak executives for their brand new Carousel slide projector. Don waxes poetic, as usual, on what the product can deliver for the customer, as he flips through photos of his family, the kinds of photos we all have yellowing away in albums or boxes. Images of happier times, as Don experiences personal turmoil in the many hours between when those pictures are taken. It’s an extremely powerful scene, worthy of a first-rate film. He finishes his soliloquy and the lights come on. The Kodak guys turn in their chairs, unable to utter a word, their jaws hanging. Another character tells them, “Good luck at your next meeting.” Good luck finding a show this good again for a while.

Game of Thrones

HBO has been on the cutting edge of decent TV for at least the last ten years now, and this adaptation of George R.R. Martin’s popular fantasy book series continues their formidable run. This is fantasy opera really, full of grand gestures in ominous minor chords. I was initially a bit frustrated because the fantasy elements seemed to be parceled out in meager helpings and sometimes only hinted at in vague allusions, but I’m gradually seeing more of them finally bloom into reality. This is storytelling for the long term, and when events happen, they occur with real weight and consequences. Characters which we grow fond of over time are dispatched with jarring force and callous disregard, which only increases our concern for the rest. The story doesn’t try to hide its debt to ancient English history, and you can see its outlines in the seven Kingdoms and the familiar contours of the map displayed in the sweeping shots of the show’s famous opening (Narrow Sea = English Channel). The show is full of shocking events that go viral shortly after airing (The Red Wedding, the birth of the dragons), and viewers can expect more to come. I love visiting Westeros and the surrounding lands for an hour every week, but I’m not sure I’d live there very long.

Louie

Quite simply the best comedy on television right now. It’s Louie CK’s subversive but still realistic take on the life of a forty-something divorced white male with two kids navigating the tortuous turns it can take in the big city. We see Louie dealing with his ex, his kids, bizarre family members, the always challenging dating scene of middle age, and his job as a comedian. Throughout each episode, he wears the flustered expression of a man who’s continually stymied by life’s riddles and insults. Despite this slow torture, the show has a sweet underlying tone, reminiscent of the early Woody Allen films. Louie often scores the episodes with the same variety of airy jazz, as if to reassure the viewer that, in the end, we all somehow muddle through it. Watching this show after watching a typical network comedy is truly to view a landscape in contrasts. It’s the choice between being railroaded toward the traditional sitcom tropes of petulant insults and sarcastic one-liners, or the comedy inherent in genuine situations that many of us have faced. Though it’s anything but, Louie makes it look easy, and makes it seem fresh.

Boardwalk Empire

Another HBO offering, starring Steve Buscemi as an actual, historical Atlantic City gangster named Enoch Thompson. Thompson (in real life, Enoch Johnson) lived there in the 1920s, as prohibition took hold and bootlegging became a lucrative but dangerous illegal business. He starts out in a position of local power, and we’re privy to the first faltering efforts of the federal government to get a handle on the situation (the FBI wasn’t formed until 1924, so the agency that initiates the efforts to investigate is the Bureau of Prohibition). After a pilot episode beautifully directed by Martin Scorsese (he remains a producer on the show), we’re immersed in the world of ‘20s Atlantic City, with its famous boardwalk and the bizarre attractions located there, such as the storefront that alerts passersby to babies being kept alive on incubators. Nucky’s fortunes rise and fall and rise again, with competition coming from local upstarts, as well as other gangsters based in New York City and Chicago. It is, as you would expect, a hyperviolent and seedy world. We tend to think of the country as being very innocent before the depression, but this program tells a different and fascinating story.

The Americans

I’m a bit late to the party on this one. Just about midway through season 1. The show about Russian spies in the US in the early 80s, and their efforts to gather intelligence while trying to evade the FBI and the threats from their own group of agents. It’s another decent period piece, and the show was created by a person who actually served in the CIA, so it feels very authentic. It seems that sometimes the Russians take risks that are not terribly realistic. They often come very close to blowing their cover and exposing their whole operation. It’s a small concern, however, and for the most part, it’s a voyeuristic glimpse into a world few of us get to see up close.

Vikings

Yeah, there seems to be a common theme among these favorites. I’ve always been a history buff. One of my favorite eras is the dark ages, and with this show, we have a story about the years when Norsemen began venturing out from the rocky coasts of Scandinavia and raiding the British Isles. They were called Vikings, and for a couple of centuries they were the scourge of Europe. This show concerns Ragnar Lothbrok, who apparently

was an actual figure at the time, and his idea to pursue these raids. We see the discovery of a new method to navigate open water, and the particular battle tactics that were used at the time. The lead of the piece is a former model, and has a very limited range. They should’ve cast a more charismatic actor in that role, but the cast is also very big, so the focus is never on him for too long, which is a good thing. One review I read in the Guardian described it as “the most metal show on TV”, which is a good way to put it. I check my brain at the door and appreciate the simplicity of life decided by the slash of the sword and the effectiveness of a shield wall. Skol!

MI-5

This is a show that in England was called “Spooks”, but was titled MI-5 here and in Canada. Probably something

to do with the racial connotations of that word in this country. It’s another espionage thriller, about a group of agents in MI-5, which is the English equivalent of our FBI. Specifically, this is the counter-intelligence unit, fighting threats inside the country from foreign perpetrators, or even home-grown radicals as well. It’s a fast-paced, tautly written program, with a similar air of authenticity to it as The Americans. I first caught a few episodes on A&E when they were running it in the mid-noughties, but when I bought my house, I got rid of most of my cable.  They stopped running it anyway at about that time, and now I can watch all 10 seasons on Hulu. I’ve just ended season 3, and they’ve completely replaced the three principal actors, the former leads having either disappeared or been killed off. I’m waiting to see if their replacements will have the same appeal as the originals. If they keep the same showrunners throughout, then I don’t think there will be any worries.

Spiral (Engrenages)

Essentially a French police procedural, set in Paris. It revolves around an attractive female detective, the cases she encounters, as well as her team and her romantic adventures. She’s interested in a prosecutor she works with, but is not above suddenly sleeping with a young informant on a case after it is resolved successfully. There is government corruption to deal with, and a CSI-like focus on autopsies at times. I’m not a big fan of procedurals, but it helps that it’s set in a different country and system. French movies have caused me to believe that the country is full of beautiful people, and this show does nothing to disavow that perception. It’s been a hit in other countries, but I can see the subtitles handicapping it in impatient America. You’d be missing out on a show that’s psychologically and narratively rich and complex.

Those are the TV shows I currently have on heavy rotation. I’m trying to temper my eagerness to find more of them. All of these are 45 minute or hour long episodes, time spent in front of the screen adds up quickly. I may have room for one or two more though. After such a harsh winter, my need for sunshine shouldn’t be that overwhelming.

2013 At The Movies

This is a list of the 2013 movies I saw, some in the theater and some at home. It was a decent year, though I didn't get out to see as many indies as I normally like. Maybe I can change that in 2014.

Let's get on with the reviews.

Zero Dark Thirty

Director Kathryn Bigelow's journalistic account of the raid on the compound in Pakistan that had been the hideout for Osama Bin Laden. The tension builds slowly but steadily as the intelligence services of the world's remaining superpower struggle to find the 9/11 mastermind. It's a series of dead ends until one female agent, played by Jessica Chastain, catches a break and follows the thread until she manages to find the terrorist's redoubt. Fascinating for its glimpse into the inner workings of America's intelligence infrastructure, and its depiction of the torture methods used to extract information. It gave me a sense of the great experiment in Democracy this country embodies suddenly going off the rails due to the actions of 19 individuals. This made a lot of 2012 lists, deservedly so, but in the Roc we sometimes get the good stuff later than the larger cities, so I'm finally including it for this year.

Side Effects

Notable for being Steven Soderbergh's last directorial effort on a feature film, or so he expressed at the time. So far, he's kept his promise. The story concerns the side effects of a fictional anti-depressant prescribed to a young woman who later murders her husband. I was hoping for more of a discussion about the epidemic of prescription psychotropic drugs washing over the country, but Soderbergh chooses to emphasize the thriller aspect. This was executed well enough that I was willingly sucked down the rabbit hole of a young woman's (Rooney Mara) twisted scheme. I got the sense that, after so much experience, Soderbergh would find it very difficult to make a truly bad film.

Spring Breakers

Harmony Korine's dark fever dream shot against South Florida's dayglo colors of a group of young girls, ineffably bored with their small town existence, who decide to turn criminal to facilitate an escape to the promise of spring break. There, they meet James Franco's white, corn-rowed rapper, a small time entertainer who fancies himself a true gangsta. Franco's performance is by turns hilarious and disturbing, as he begins his association with the girls having the upper hand, only to have it turned against him in the end. It pulls back the curtain to reveal the menace that can lie beneath the carefree party vibe of those sun-soaked beaches.

Iron Man 3

Robert Downey Jr. returns as the eponymous hero for a third go-round. Different director this time as Shane Black takes over, he of Lethal Weapon scriptwriter fame. The dialogue pops more in this installment, but for me, the Iron Man movies are probably one of the least successful franchises for Marvel's characters. I can't quite put my finger on it, but they don't really capture the essence of the hero. I thought he was better handled as part of the Avengers ensemble. It devolves into a finale which again reaches for excess, with Downey being sucked into and spit out of so many different Iron Man suits, to both comic and exhausting effect. Nevertheless, still probably the best of the three films, but I'm kind of hoping they don't make any more for a long while.

Mud

A modest, low-budget effort starring Matthew McConaughey as a drifting ne'er-do-well who involves a couple of kids in his scheme to win back an old love and escape the reach of the law. A well done film with very capable performances all round. It's a film which makes a star of its location, along the banks of the Mississippi, as much as any of its human stars.

Man Of Steel

The much-anticipated cinematic reboot of Superman, courtesy of producer Christopher Nolan (The Batman trilogy, The Prestige) and director Zack Snyder. A trailer released three months before the film opened had me salivating to see this new iteration of the iconic character. When I saw that Nolan shared a story credit on the film, that bolstered my confidence even more. Alas, the film is a mixed bag. The quieter moments are nicely executed, with Clark's powers slowly coming to the fore, and all the questions they raise about responsibility and purpose. Kevin Costner offers a neatly understated turn as Pa Kent. Once he becomes Superman though, and joins battle with General Zod (a one-note shoutfest from the usually brilliant Michael Shannon) the super-destructive battle sequences take over and drown out the rest of the film. More of the budget goes toward demolished buildings than any tactical flourishes in the fighting. There was much made about Supes taking a life in this one, which didn't initially bother me at first. But maybe that speaks more to the creators' lack of imagination with this story. Ah, what might've been had the film lived up to that trailer.

The Bling Ring

Sofia Coppola (the daughter of that other famous film Coppola) directed this little gem about

Hollywood teens who become obsessed with celebrities, and become a part of their world by deciding to rob their mansions while they're away. This movie was based on actual events that took place a few years earlier. Coppola is good at depicting the emotional malaise of the rich and famous (see Somewhere, a nice companion piece) and we get a glimpse into Paris Hilton's actual residence, as she agreed to allow shooting in it for the film. A grown up Emma Watson stars as one of the dimmer bulbs in the gang. This is what happens when all of those materialistic dreams-come-true just aren't enough.

The Wolverine

I never saw the first Wolverine film, and didn't feel I missed much since there were a slew of bad reviews for it. This one had James Mangold directing though, who had previously directed Cop Land, a film I really enjoyed. This was one of the better superhero efforts, as Wolvy travels to Japan to meet with a very old acquaintance, and consequently gets embroiled in a conflict which robs him of his ability to heal quickly. Wolverine is a character better used in a group context, at least for me, but I enjoyed this solo outing very much.

Kick Ass 2

The sequel to the successful 2010 film of the same name, this time with a different director. These are the further adventures of the DIY superheroes called Kick Ass and Hit Girl, in all their stylized, hyper-violent glory. While not quite as inventive as the original, this follow-up had enough energy, new characters, and comic edge to make it an interesting two hour journey. As in the first, Chloe Grace Moretz as Hit Girl gives the film most of its punch.

Elysium

Matt Damon stars in another film about a dystopian future for Earth. This one's helmed by Neil Blomkamp, the South African director who made a splash back in 2009 with District 9. This is more of a conventional action film, with Damon as one of the unlucky many stuck back on a planet devastated by overcrowding and conflict. He wants to somehow get into Elysium, a huge floating space station that the rich have built to escape from the chaotic masses. He receives the help of an exoskeleton surgically affixed to his body which makes him stronger and better able to defend himself against the forces of the elite arrayed against him. Sharlto Copley, the star from District 9, has a hell of a time as the villain of the piece. It's been too long since a film has had a good South African villain.

The Grandmaster

Legendary Hong Kong director Wong Kar Wai's tale of the early life and career of Ip Man, the martial arts teacher who mentored Bruce Lee. Gorgeously shot, the film boasts great performances by Tony Leung and Ziyi Zhang. The painstaking effort to craft every shot is evident in every frame, and it restored my faith that there are some directors who still know how to shoot a fight scene. A compelling and poetic glimpse into a long-gone era in China.

Rush

Ron Howard breaks away from the franchise films he's been making recently and tells an original story about the rivalry between Formula 1 racers Nikki Lauda and James Hunt during the 70s. Daniel Bruhl as Lauda is real find, an actor that I hope to see more of in the future. The racing scenes are slick and tense, and even though the ending is a matter of history, I still found myself on the edge of my seat, waiting for the climactic moment.

Prisoners

Hugh Jackman and Jake Gyllenhaal head the cast for a film about the disappearance of two children in a small Pennsylvania town, the confused circumstances surrounding the disappearance, and what happens when parental frustration boils over. This film skirted a little too close to exploiting the situation emotionally early on in order to provoke a reaction, but then refocused on the incident and the slow march toward its resolution. Strong performances from both the leads. It feels like a true story, but it's not. If it were true though, it would probably dominate the news cycle for days. Paul Dano also turns in a solid performance as a mentally handicapped young man who seems to stand at the center of the investigation. He was also an evil plantation overseer in 12 Years A Slave. I like his role choices so far in his brief career.

Gravity

The incredible film that you'll really believe they shot in space. Sandra Bullock is a scientist from a space station that's been destroyed by orbital debris. The next 90 minutes are her fight for survival, with little help, in the most hostile environment there is. It's a stunning technical achievement, and the movies says a lot about our reliance on technology, and questions whether it's made us lose sight of more important things. Bullock's emergence from the shallow lake back on Earth at the end seems to point to a rebirth for humanity, stripped of the gadgets that have divorced us from a close relationship with nature and ourselves. Alfonse Cuaron (Children of Men) directed this masterpiece. Perhaps an American director would have duplicated the special effects, but I doubt they would have included the existential seasoning, which makes the film truly great.

Thor: The Dark World

The second Thor film, as Marvel continues its annual colonization of the cinemaplex. The whole thing gets off to a rather lumbering, slow start, but quickly picks up steam. Thor faces a powerful villain, on top of dealing with the machinations of his wayward brother, Loki (Tom Hiddleston). The conceit of the action traversing through different dimensions as it happened was an interesting twist, and made for some great setpieces. I think some of the warmer aspects of the character from the comic are missing, but Marvel's “Superman” does need big cosmic stories. Very satisfying, but mostly in a four-color way.

12 Years A Slave

For me, the best film of the year. The true story of Solomon Northup, a free black man who's kidnapped by Southern slave traders and sold into slavery in Louisiana. It's based on the memoir he published back in 1853 about his horrible experience. I don't know why it took an English director (Steve McQueen) to make the most honest portrait of an institution that remains the shame of a nation. Maybe we still can't face what happened then, in all of its evil and brutality. Chiwetel Ejiofor plays Northup, and the pain that the man endured is indelibly etched on his face throughout the entire film. This is one for the ages.

American Hustle

Director David O. Russell returns with his story of the Abscam operation of the late 70s, when several congressmen were caught in an FBI sting operation involving fake Arab sheiks and large sums of money. This film boasts a great cast, led by the reliably fascinating Christian Bale, as he morphs into an overweight, neurotic con man who still manages to filch your sympathy. Russell's camera is fluid and the dialogue is rich and sinuous. The film ably captures a slippery decade and its equally slippery inhabitants.

The Wolf Of Wall Street

Scorsese is back in vintage form, with a film highly reminiscent of his classic, Goodfellas. Instead of the mob being the focus though, it's Wall Street. Leo DiCaprio plays Jordan Belfort, a small time trader who rose to heady heights when he began manipulating his clients through sheer force of a talent for salesmanship. The other star of the film is cocaine, which is snorted regularly and praised generously as an indispensable aid in doing the job. There are some hilarious moments as the inevitable downward spiral begins. Belfort's hubris gets the better of him, and consequently so do the Feds. It's another glimpse into the decadent world of high finance, which seems to be constantly fertile ground for this kind of story. We don't seem to learn anything from them however, as the party just goes on. This one clocks in at three full hours, and could've been edited down by about 20 minutes and lost none of its power. This is a small criticism at best though. At 71, Scorsese still has his gift.

There are some films I didn't get to see in time, such as Inside Llewyn Davis, and All Is Lost, but maybe I'll include those in later posts. I hope your cinematic choices offer as much satisfaction as mine did for me. Whatever you do, for God's sake, don't just limit yourself to the animated crap your kids want to lap up. Expand your horizons to the adult world!

One Last Kindness

I'd only seen David at the nursing home a couple of times in the past two months. A busy late spring and summer, plus an extraordinarily painful wipeout on the tennis court kept me at home more than I liked. The weeds grew high around my yard. The usual outside chores went undone as I recuperated. After a solid month, I finally began to regain the full use of my arm. The bruises faded. My hip is still sore to the touch, the place where my full weight came down on the hard court. But it slowly heals too.

I got an e-mail saying things had taken a turn for the worse. On a Saturday, I made it in to see him. David lay on his bed, under a few sheets, his eyes mostly closed, his breathing labored. It reminded me of my grandmother's last days. She slept while I sat with her, but her breathing sounded like she was running sprints. These are contradictions we don't expect.

I felt like all I could do was to sit with him and do Tonglen practice. This is the Tibetan Buddhist practice of giving and taking—we take the negative from whomever we're practicing for, and give out positive qualities—health, loving-kindness, wisdom, in the form of golden light. We're transforming the negative into the positive through this practice. I'd done it before for David. It was good practice for me as well. Initially, I was too overwhelmed with my own negativity to feel I could transform anyone else's. David taught me a lot of things in the brief time I'd known him.

Twenty minutes after I arrived, the hospice aide came in, then the hospice nurse. He was supposed to be repositioned every 45 minutes. The aide swabbed his mouth to keep it moist. He worked hard for every breath, and his mouth dried out quickly as a result. The hospice nurse looked long into his eyes, trying to read some kind of sign. They talked to him, and his eyes opened a little. The rate of his breath never wavered though. His gaze never focused. I wondered what he was picking up from all the activity around him. Another nurse came in and told him she was giving him Roxillin to help with the fluid in his lungs. She squeezed a few dropperfuls into his half-open mouth. I could barely hear a difference as he rasped.

I talked to the aide as she performed her minstrations. Her hands ran over his arms to check if he felt warm or cool. She would adjust his blankets, if necessary. She told him what she was doing, called him “honey”, and leaned in close as she made sure he was as comfortable as possible. He was “actively dying”, she said. One of those ironic terms, like “military intelligence” or “affordable housing”. She said the process could go on for days. She gave me a short pamphlet explaining this process. I asked if I could take it with me, but she said they had none to spare. I could order one if I liked. I noted the organization name on the back, and the website.

She asked me if I knew David's religious affiliation. I didn't. It was always a struggle for him to talk. I'd ask him questions, and at times he would begin to answer clearly, but then his voice would trail off. The words would get caught in his throat. I spent a lot of time leaning in to catch the words he did produce. It was frustrating at times. Since conversation wasn't really an option, I tried to just appreciate the time I could spend reading to him, or showing him pictures I'd taken on my most recent hike. He seemed to enjoy those. The volunteer coordinator had told me that he liked to read, but couldn't hold the books anymore to do so. We spent many hours poring over his box of National Geographic magazines, looking at the pictures. I'd read the captions and the articles to him.

Golf was on the television. The PGA was in Rochester, at Oak Hill. We talked idly about the event. I tried not to observe the aide too closely, so she wouldn't feel self-conscious. I was curious about the job though. She said she'd been doing the job for 20 years. These people face a time in our lives few of us are willing to even think about. They perform an incredibly compassionate act...helping a dying person leave this life and move on to the next. It takes great courage to face this, I think. Since becoming a Buddhist, there isn't a single day I don't think about it. Keeping it foremost in my mind helps me to be a good person. All the rest of life seems like just so much trivia in comparison.

Eventually I had to go. I said a few last words to David. I hope he heard them. The man in the bed hardly resembled the man in the pictures on his corkboard. They were of he and his wife, posing with different locales as the backdrop. They looked like they were from the 50s or early 60s. She had cats eye glasses on and a shy smile. One of them showed the couple on a couch, David's head thrown back in laughter. Now the skin of his face was drawn tightly against his skull. His eyes were glassy. A slim record of a whole life in those pictures, with all of its range of emotions and experiences. Now David's body showed all of its wear. I never knew his age. The knowledge rested heavily on my mind that we're all headed for this end at some point.

I left after saying goodbye. A couple days later, I got another e-mail letting me know that David had passed away at 5pm that day, about 90 minutes after I had left. All those years had reached a conclusion. I said prayers for him, and wished him a safe journey through the bardo, that he may find his way out of the cycle of rebirth. One of my best memories is sitting out in the hall by the nurses station with him, watching the show pass us by. There was always something or someone to make you laugh. David turned his head slightly toward me and chuckled, as if to say, now I've seen it all. His eyes then glinted with mirth. I'll never forget that look on his face. I would liked to have brought that expression to him more often. I only knew him for his final six months on this planet, but he gave me more than he'll ever know.

Rochester Gets A Mention In A New Novel

This is a passage from the latest James Salter novel, All That Is. Reminded me of F. Scott Fitzgerald's mention of Lockport in his novel, Tender Is The Night. Fitzgerald's family spent time in Buffalo when he was a child, but it sure does sound like Salter has visited the area. Then again, with the internet, maybe he just got enough from there. In any case, it made me feel like our corner of the world isn't so ignored after all.

“Beatrice had been born, the younger of two girls, in Rochester in the last year and month of the century, 1899. Their father was a teacher who died of the flu, the so-called Spanish flu that had first appeared in Spain and then broke out in America in the fall of 1918, just at the end of the war. More than half a million people died in scenes reminiscent of the plague. Her father had been stricken while walking down Clifford Avenue on a balmy afternoon, and two days later, face discolored, burning with fever and unable to breathe, he died. Afterwards they went to live with her grandparents, who ran a small hotel on Irondequoit Bay, a wooden hotel with a bar and a large, white kitchen and, during the winter, empty rooms.”

Empty rooms during winter? Not surprising.

Revisiting WE3

Pulled out an old favorite graphic novel today, a three issue collection called WE3.

It's written by Grant Morrisson and illustrated by Frank Quitely, a now legendary creative duo in the comic world. They're both Scotsmen, and they've combined to tell some of the most original and beloved stories in the medium.

They're known mostly for their superhero work, but this book is different. There are no capes in it. The story concerns the three animals referenced in the title—a dog, a cat, and a rabbit. They are part of a government-run security group. The animals have been cybernetically enhanced. For much of the story, only their heads are visible amid the armor and tangle of technology that covers their bodies. In the opening pages, we see them as they infiltrate a house occupied by some mysterious figure. They make short work of his small army of bodyguards.

The creatures have a limited ability to communicate verbally. Their speech is depicted phonetically, in a simulacrum of the kind of words you see as shorthand in text messages or on Twitter. We know as the story progresses though, that at heart these are animals...our pets actually. They would be much happier living that sort of life, instead of the dark servitude they endure as part of a cruel and selfish experiment. Their attempted escape from it can't be far behind.

The story is extremely violent and bloody. It's fairly brief as well. I can't help thinking what an excellent film it would make, however. We've become hopelessly inured to violence inflicted on humans, but the suffering of animals, especially those we perceive as our pets, still resonates with us on a visceral level. Perhaps it would be an estimable effort to crack through our hard shells, to make us see that it isn't an abstraction. Our pets are often our better natures, and the suffering in their eyes would bring home the suffering we ignore in our own.

I've read that Hollywood has gotten its hands on the story. There doesn't appear to have been much progress with it so far. I hope they give it the care and attention it deserves if or when they do get around to making it. This isn't your run-of-the-mill action flick. This is something more, and in the right hands, it could be a phenomenon. It would be cool to see.

 

Inevitable

Recently took what is becoming my annual break from running. It's a little over two weeks long, and is intended to provide my aging legs with some rest time. I've read and heard that for those of us over 40 it's a good idea. I've sprained my right calf in the same spot twice so far, most recently in 2009, and the pain and recovery time for that injury have convinced me this break is a wise decision.

Not that it's easy. I've been a runner since 9th grade, and it has always meant more to me than just a way to stay in shape. It's been my therapy, my beta blocker, my energy pill, my mental rejuvenator, my muscle relaxer, and my sleep aid, among other things. I can remember times as a teenager and into my early 20s where I held so much energy inside me that I'd have to go out for a run...often at 1:30 in the morning. I knew that if I didn't, I wouldn't sleep a wink. So there I was, on a still, summer night, running through the deserted streets of Williamson, the only sounds being the slap of my Saucony sole on the pavement and my labored breath. Once I'd logged a few miles, I'd arrive back at the apartment and crawl into bed, assured of some sleep. It's a wonder my mother didn't suspect me of being a werewolf.

That kind of energy level no longer goads me, thankfully. When I'm running though, I'm just a generally happier person. I can recall finishing cross-country workouts in high school and coasting into the parking lot brimming with an unbounded euphoria. Again, the heights I reach aren't quite as high as then, but I notice during these breaks that there's something missing. I feel flatter emotionally. The light streaming through the windows holds not quite so much promise. On top of this, I notice my leg muscles gradually begin to shrink. My heartbeat becomes more noticeable after a week. My heart murmur becomes a little more frequent. Less frequently, I'll feel short bursts of rapid heartbeat, tachycardia is the medical term, which can be more alarming than the missed beats. I know I'm not the only to experience this phenomenon. I'm only hoping that my activity will keep at bay anything worse until some ripe old age well into the future. The heart is a hardworking muscle. We ask so much of it on a daily basis, not just physically, but also with the emotions we experience. The heart reacts to all of it. It should come as no surprise that for so many of us, it will be the primary cause for leaving this life. It finally gives up its daily workload.

Coming out of the break, as I am now, renews my appreciation for being able to run. The muscles and the joints in my legs are getting older, and there will come a day when I'll have to stop. My hope is that the break will extend their life a little longer. If I'm lucky, maybe I won't have to consider it until I'm well into my 60s. I do keep walking on the break, so I'm not exactly immobile. But it's not the same. There's something about breaking a sweat, about the body reaching an anaerobic state, that almost seems to cleanse the blood. The weight managing benefits aren't bad either. I can still pig out on weekends and not gain too much. It feels like stealing. And there are the moments I still get when I'm out there and decide to turn on the gas again, keeping pace with a passing car for a few seconds, surprised that I can dig down and still find the horsepower for a decent sprint. I did this a couple months ago, and the effect was like takeoff, lifting into the air briefly, free of gravity and the wet pavement. Escaping the forces, for a few moments, that inexorably pull us back down into the dirt. With our striving and our constant effort, it's what we're attempting to do every day. Putting off the inevitable for as long as we can.

For now, I can still run. May I stay ahead of the inevitable for as long as possible.