I saw Rob Lowe on the street today. Near Columbus Circle. I'm 90% sure, anyway. I didn't stare. He was with what appeared to be a family, sporting a salt n' pepper beard. I stepped into a pharmacy across the street to get some pads. Walking to the counter, my peripheral vision saw a magazine stand. I stopped, and scrunched my eyes. I took a step back, looked down, and started laughing at a shirtless Rob Lowe on the cover. If i were superstitious, i'd believe that i was meant to buy that magazine. As it is, i'll settle for...the WEST WING Seaborn-a-thon!
-pilot (season 1)
Smokin' up with your call girl (or not).
-Enemies (1)
A birthday message for the Assistant Transportation Secretary.
-100,000 Airplanes (3)
Lisa Sherbourn Seaborn.
-Night Five (3)
Hayes, you could make a good dog break his leash.
-Hartsfield's Landing (3)
You're going to run for President one day. Don't be scared.
-Dead Irish Writers (3)
A super-colliding super-conductor.
-Transition (7)
Our Sammy is back.
Thursday, March 31, 2011
Wednesday, March 30, 2011
Twain's Gould
(Excerpted from 2010's "Autobiography of Mark Twain". Jay Gould, 1836-1892, was a railroad baron and speculator. He is credited with being the first American to manipulate the marketplace on a national level, for the sole purpose of profit. What would Twain think today about his "century to come" prophecy? Might he re-name this country the U.S.G, and emigrate as briskly as possible?)
Jay Gould had just then reversed the commercial morals of the United States. He had put a blight upon them from which they have never recovered, and from which they will not recover for as much as a century to come. Jay Gould was the mightiest disaster which has ever befallen this country. The people had desired money before his day, but he taught them to fall down and worship it. They had respected men of means before his day, but along with this respect was joined the respect due to the character and industry which had accumulated it. But Jay Gould taught the entire nation to make a god of the money and the man, no matter how the money might have been acquired. In my youth there was nothing resembling a worship of money or of its possessor, in our region. And in our region no well-to-do man was ever charged with having acquired his money by shady methods. The gospel left behind by Jay Gould is doing giant work in our days. Its message is "Get money. Get it quickly. Get it in abundance. Get it in prodigious abundance. Get it dishonestly if you can, honestly if you must."
Jay Gould had just then reversed the commercial morals of the United States. He had put a blight upon them from which they have never recovered, and from which they will not recover for as much as a century to come. Jay Gould was the mightiest disaster which has ever befallen this country. The people had desired money before his day, but he taught them to fall down and worship it. They had respected men of means before his day, but along with this respect was joined the respect due to the character and industry which had accumulated it. But Jay Gould taught the entire nation to make a god of the money and the man, no matter how the money might have been acquired. In my youth there was nothing resembling a worship of money or of its possessor, in our region. And in our region no well-to-do man was ever charged with having acquired his money by shady methods. The gospel left behind by Jay Gould is doing giant work in our days. Its message is "Get money. Get it quickly. Get it in abundance. Get it in prodigious abundance. Get it dishonestly if you can, honestly if you must."
wound 4
(a follow-up to http://nakedmeadow.blogspot.com/2010/04/wound-3.html)
"Self-awareness is a paraplegic tackling a greased pig."
-dr. jane aloysius o'mccorkleschlatt
Another angle on my spirit-wound of the past few years lies in the confluence of two streams, my awareness and my ability to feel. Throughout my life i've chased two varieties of perspective: the differing one and the larger one. Inasmuch as i've been able to succeed, i've come to understand the isolation that underlies all present human activity on this planet. I see past the fear and possessiveness that define us, to the loneliness and pain underneath...a pain so profound that each of us must create monumental coping mechanisms, the foremost of which is denial. Layer upon layer of denial, obscuring our isolation.
The acquisition of perspectives has been an intellectual quest. Unfortunately, this state of awareness has coincided with a separate quest, that of awakening the feeling part of my my psyche. My youthful life of the mind prepared me for this in no way. Over the past few years, while my capacity to feel is at an unprecedented level, my sensitivity to the psycho-spiritual aggression that pervades our society has become so strong that anti-social tendencies have been the result. If i weren't so attuned to my desperate need to be held, i might have sought out a hermit's cave long since.
I've been trying to input the staggering levels of pain that are both within me and all around. Never mind the world, no one can fully integrate their own wounds, and remain quite sane.
Anyone have a suitable Mr. Rogers quote?
Choke it down, don't die.
Was that him?
"Self-awareness is a paraplegic tackling a greased pig."
-dr. jane aloysius o'mccorkleschlatt
Another angle on my spirit-wound of the past few years lies in the confluence of two streams, my awareness and my ability to feel. Throughout my life i've chased two varieties of perspective: the differing one and the larger one. Inasmuch as i've been able to succeed, i've come to understand the isolation that underlies all present human activity on this planet. I see past the fear and possessiveness that define us, to the loneliness and pain underneath...a pain so profound that each of us must create monumental coping mechanisms, the foremost of which is denial. Layer upon layer of denial, obscuring our isolation.
The acquisition of perspectives has been an intellectual quest. Unfortunately, this state of awareness has coincided with a separate quest, that of awakening the feeling part of my my psyche. My youthful life of the mind prepared me for this in no way. Over the past few years, while my capacity to feel is at an unprecedented level, my sensitivity to the psycho-spiritual aggression that pervades our society has become so strong that anti-social tendencies have been the result. If i weren't so attuned to my desperate need to be held, i might have sought out a hermit's cave long since.
I've been trying to input the staggering levels of pain that are both within me and all around. Never mind the world, no one can fully integrate their own wounds, and remain quite sane.
Anyone have a suitable Mr. Rogers quote?
Choke it down, don't die.
Was that him?
Monday, March 28, 2011
"Biutiful"
2010, directed by Alejandro Inarritu
Possibly the most honest film you'll ever see. It's taken me almost a week to feel that i can begin to communicate anything about it in words. Several of my normal response parameters don't apply. You won't hear me mention a single actor by name, though they were perfect. You won't hear me compare it to anything else. I'm sorry that it got involved with the "movie awards" scene, it's undeserving of such trite nonsense. Inarritu also wrote the screenplay, along with Armando Bo and Nicolas Giacobone. There is a genre called theater of cruelty, in which the point is to try to make the audience feel uncomfortable or assaulted. This film is a thousand times crueler than any product of that genre, because it intends no cruelty at all. It is an unrelenting, stunningly painful portrayal of present-day human society on planet earth. Yet at the same time, it is profoundly gentle, almost muted. With almost none of the contrived drama of conventional cinema, it removes itself from the emotional manipulation inherent therein. There was only one scene that i saw coming (that's me...perhaps you'll see no scene coming, or seventeen). Although there is one "biutiful" actor in the cast, to remind us that such people exist, there is none of the artificial feel associated with watching actors who are more attractive than the real people they portray. That pretense is gone, leaving you with one less slice of bullshit in your psyche. Some of the film's uniqueness can be attributed to the fact that it's European...but only some. With conventional cinematic nonsense stripped away, you're left with people who are no more or less real than you and everyone you know. Watching the pain of their lives is chokingly, indelibly hard to endure. Welcome to your world.
Possibly the most honest film you'll ever see. It's taken me almost a week to feel that i can begin to communicate anything about it in words. Several of my normal response parameters don't apply. You won't hear me mention a single actor by name, though they were perfect. You won't hear me compare it to anything else. I'm sorry that it got involved with the "movie awards" scene, it's undeserving of such trite nonsense. Inarritu also wrote the screenplay, along with Armando Bo and Nicolas Giacobone. There is a genre called theater of cruelty, in which the point is to try to make the audience feel uncomfortable or assaulted. This film is a thousand times crueler than any product of that genre, because it intends no cruelty at all. It is an unrelenting, stunningly painful portrayal of present-day human society on planet earth. Yet at the same time, it is profoundly gentle, almost muted. With almost none of the contrived drama of conventional cinema, it removes itself from the emotional manipulation inherent therein. There was only one scene that i saw coming (that's me...perhaps you'll see no scene coming, or seventeen). Although there is one "biutiful" actor in the cast, to remind us that such people exist, there is none of the artificial feel associated with watching actors who are more attractive than the real people they portray. That pretense is gone, leaving you with one less slice of bullshit in your psyche. Some of the film's uniqueness can be attributed to the fact that it's European...but only some. With conventional cinematic nonsense stripped away, you're left with people who are no more or less real than you and everyone you know. Watching the pain of their lives is chokingly, indelibly hard to endure. Welcome to your world.
Thursday, March 24, 2011
absentis
In his head, a book to change the world
But the bullet between his eyes
said "different"
In their heads, a vision to change the world
But they were taken away
No pencils in jail
In her head, a dream to change the world
But a closed fist finished
What man's apathy started
But the bullet between his eyes
said "different"
In their heads, a vision to change the world
But they were taken away
No pencils in jail
In her head, a dream to change the world
But a closed fist finished
What man's apathy started
Wednesday, March 23, 2011
dear family
Dear family,
It's high time i stood up and acknowledged what has been deep in our hearts for many, many years.
I am the glue that holds together this family.
I'm normally self-effacing about this, but facts are indisputable. As just one piece of evidence, there is one person reading this whom i've not seen in over thirty years. If that ain't glue, i don't know what is.
Wait...for that to be true, i'd have to be at least three decades old. Someone double-check that, math isn't my strong suit.
Silliness aside, i'm not one of those "blood is thicker than water" folk. As far as i can tell, the human fascination with blood lineage only arose as a way for men to make sure that the property they'd hoarded went to their own sons when they died. I'm sure, though, that the human race will never heal until every child born is as dear to us as our own snot-nosed, poopie-bottomed progeny. I'm talking to you, aaron. Go wipe.
But you are all dear to me...a lifetime of shared memories is more precious than an inheritance, by far. And i want to thank you all, inasmuch as each of you is loveable. For you each are, in your own way. Being loveable is under-appreciated. There is not one among us who doesn't have to work at it. It struck me the other day that my own sister may be the greatest loveable success story i know. If you haven't spent time with her since she was the school bully, you're missing something.
Because of the different way boys and girls are raised, women acquire the loveable skill more readily. There are other family members i could single out, almost all women. Anyway, the loveability of each and every one of you is something that is not taken for granted on this day.
Also, in our family, you can't shake a stick without hitting a person of faith. I know, i've shaken a few sticks. If anyone can name the groucho marx line about family that i'm painfully restraining myself from quoting, our next fruity, frothy beverage is on me. Someone once said that the only wise person of faith is one who never, ever talks about it. Faith is far too personal to be translatable. And it occurs to me that there are such non-talkers in this family. It's hard to render appreciation to them in person, because doing so requires that we talk about it, which, well, defeats the point. But you know who you are, and i sprinkle love on your pointy heads.
This was fun. So much fun, that i think i'll do it again! At my current rate, you can look forward to the next installment in...2052 or so.
That may be off a bit, as i honestly can't recall what year this is.
I love you all very much.
your crazy glue,
wrobbie
It's high time i stood up and acknowledged what has been deep in our hearts for many, many years.
I am the glue that holds together this family.
I'm normally self-effacing about this, but facts are indisputable. As just one piece of evidence, there is one person reading this whom i've not seen in over thirty years. If that ain't glue, i don't know what is.
Wait...for that to be true, i'd have to be at least three decades old. Someone double-check that, math isn't my strong suit.
Silliness aside, i'm not one of those "blood is thicker than water" folk. As far as i can tell, the human fascination with blood lineage only arose as a way for men to make sure that the property they'd hoarded went to their own sons when they died. I'm sure, though, that the human race will never heal until every child born is as dear to us as our own snot-nosed, poopie-bottomed progeny. I'm talking to you, aaron. Go wipe.
But you are all dear to me...a lifetime of shared memories is more precious than an inheritance, by far. And i want to thank you all, inasmuch as each of you is loveable. For you each are, in your own way. Being loveable is under-appreciated. There is not one among us who doesn't have to work at it. It struck me the other day that my own sister may be the greatest loveable success story i know. If you haven't spent time with her since she was the school bully, you're missing something.
Because of the different way boys and girls are raised, women acquire the loveable skill more readily. There are other family members i could single out, almost all women. Anyway, the loveability of each and every one of you is something that is not taken for granted on this day.
Also, in our family, you can't shake a stick without hitting a person of faith. I know, i've shaken a few sticks. If anyone can name the groucho marx line about family that i'm painfully restraining myself from quoting, our next fruity, frothy beverage is on me. Someone once said that the only wise person of faith is one who never, ever talks about it. Faith is far too personal to be translatable. And it occurs to me that there are such non-talkers in this family. It's hard to render appreciation to them in person, because doing so requires that we talk about it, which, well, defeats the point. But you know who you are, and i sprinkle love on your pointy heads.
This was fun. So much fun, that i think i'll do it again! At my current rate, you can look forward to the next installment in...2052 or so.
That may be off a bit, as i honestly can't recall what year this is.
I love you all very much.
your crazy glue,
wrobbie
Twain's myriad
(No small amount of anticipation accompanied the release this year of the "Autobiography of Mark Twain", in no small part because certain parts had never been published - a stipulation Clemens himself made before he died. How juicy! What could be so honest or scandalous that a century was required to make it "safe"? No small fan of Twain's, i was particularly excited. "War Prayer", one of his most powerful pieces, went similarly unpublished until Twain had died. The autobiography isn't as exciting as the buildup, much of it only of interest to Twain scholars...but there are gems. I offer one such.)
A myriad of men are born; they labor and sweat and struggle for bread; they squabble and scold and fight; they scramble for little mean advantages over each other; age creeps upon them; infirmities follow; shames and humilations bring down their prides and their vanities; those they love are taken from them, and the joy of life is turned to aching grief. The burden of pain, care, misery grows heavier year by year; at length ambition is dead; pride is dead; vanity is dead; longing for release is in their place. It comes at last - the only unpoisoned gift earth ever had for them - and they vanish from a world where they were of no consequence; where they achieved nothing; where they were a mistake and a failure and a foolishness; where they have left no sign that they existed - a world which will lament them a day and forget them forever. Then another myriad takes their place, and copies all they did, and goes along the same profitless road, and vanishes as they vanished - to make room for another and another and a million other myriads to follow the same arid path through the same desert and accomplish what the first myriad, and all the myriads that came after it accomplished - nothing!
A myriad of men are born; they labor and sweat and struggle for bread; they squabble and scold and fight; they scramble for little mean advantages over each other; age creeps upon them; infirmities follow; shames and humilations bring down their prides and their vanities; those they love are taken from them, and the joy of life is turned to aching grief. The burden of pain, care, misery grows heavier year by year; at length ambition is dead; pride is dead; vanity is dead; longing for release is in their place. It comes at last - the only unpoisoned gift earth ever had for them - and they vanish from a world where they were of no consequence; where they achieved nothing; where they were a mistake and a failure and a foolishness; where they have left no sign that they existed - a world which will lament them a day and forget them forever. Then another myriad takes their place, and copies all they did, and goes along the same profitless road, and vanishes as they vanished - to make room for another and another and a million other myriads to follow the same arid path through the same desert and accomplish what the first myriad, and all the myriads that came after it accomplished - nothing!
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