There's a new sheriff in town.
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
Monday, January 19, 2009
Ticked Off
The power went off for a second this morning and I had to re-set the digital clocks. And you can't dial POPCORN for the correct time anymore. My god, I'm sounding like Andy Rooney. I wonder if "60 Minutes" will hire me to grouse about inconsequentials when Andy finally goes to the Old Farts Home.
Sunday, January 18, 2009
Friday, January 16, 2009
Goodbye to All that
I don't have much to say about Bush's farewell address that the bloggerati hasn't already said, except to observe that the thing from the speech that got sound-bit the most was his claim to have made "tough decisions." But really, was there one thing the Decider decided that wasn't promulgated by Dick Cheney, the neocon cabal, the oiligarchy, and the Christian reich -- uh, right?
As usual, Rachel Maddow said it best:
Watching this again, I'm struck by what I like best about Rachel: her tone of informed and impassioned irony. I think Jane Austen would have loved her. I even like the way she talks out of the side of her mouth, the opposite side from the one Dick Cheney talks out of.
As usual, Rachel Maddow said it best:
Visit msnbc.com for Breaking News, World News, and News about the Economy
Watching this again, I'm struck by what I like best about Rachel: her tone of informed and impassioned irony. I think Jane Austen would have loved her. I even like the way she talks out of the side of her mouth, the opposite side from the one Dick Cheney talks out of.
Tuesday, January 13, 2009
Clunk! Clang! Clunk! Clang!
And so another season of "24" counts down. Yes, it's a guilty pleasure, and yes, it's sometimes little more than terror 'n' torture porn for Dick Cheney and the dittoheads. And I bailed on last season when Jack Bauer's Rambismo got completely out of control. But like Michael Corleone (or for that matter, like Jack Bauer) I keep getting dragged back in.
I admit it's nice to see Bill (James Morrison) and Chloe (Mary Lynn Rajskub) and even the implausibly resurrected Tony Almeida (Carlos Bernard) again, even if Tony and Jack seem to be engaged in a contest to see who can out-glower the other. And if you can compartmentalize away the right-wing politics, the glaring continuity gaps, and the complete absurdity of the premise that all this is taking place in "real time" -- it seems, for example, that no place in L.A. or, this season, D.C. is more than a commercial break's distance from any other -- then you can have a litte fun.
For me, the pleasure of "24" is watching some really fine performers do what they can with really awful material. Who can forget Gregory Itzin and Jean Smart as the Logans? And this season we have the miraculous Cherry Jones as the president, a part she plays as a kind of mixture of Hillary Clinton, Nancy Pelosi, Dianne Feinstein and Margaret Thatcher. And the wonderful Janeane Garofalo, who seemed to be taking on Chloe's old role as the put-upon techie brainiac until Chloe herself showed up and got into a split-screen duel with her over control of the security system. We can only hope that Garofalo and Rajskub get lots of screen time together.
This season's McGuffin is a gizmo that can override all the security protocols of the federal government, including air traffic control. And the villains are African warlords on a genocidal rampage, who seem to have their fingers into everything, including the murder of the son of the president and the first spouse (a gaunt and glum Colm Feore). The ripped-from-the headlines premise of "24" has always been bogus, however. Best to just sit back and disengage your expectation that any of it should bear a resemblance to the real world.
I admit it's nice to see Bill (James Morrison) and Chloe (Mary Lynn Rajskub) and even the implausibly resurrected Tony Almeida (Carlos Bernard) again, even if Tony and Jack seem to be engaged in a contest to see who can out-glower the other. And if you can compartmentalize away the right-wing politics, the glaring continuity gaps, and the complete absurdity of the premise that all this is taking place in "real time" -- it seems, for example, that no place in L.A. or, this season, D.C. is more than a commercial break's distance from any other -- then you can have a litte fun.
For me, the pleasure of "24" is watching some really fine performers do what they can with really awful material. Who can forget Gregory Itzin and Jean Smart as the Logans? And this season we have the miraculous Cherry Jones as the president, a part she plays as a kind of mixture of Hillary Clinton, Nancy Pelosi, Dianne Feinstein and Margaret Thatcher. And the wonderful Janeane Garofalo, who seemed to be taking on Chloe's old role as the put-upon techie brainiac until Chloe herself showed up and got into a split-screen duel with her over control of the security system. We can only hope that Garofalo and Rajskub get lots of screen time together.
This season's McGuffin is a gizmo that can override all the security protocols of the federal government, including air traffic control. And the villains are African warlords on a genocidal rampage, who seem to have their fingers into everything, including the murder of the son of the president and the first spouse (a gaunt and glum Colm Feore). The ripped-from-the headlines premise of "24" has always been bogus, however. Best to just sit back and disengage your expectation that any of it should bear a resemblance to the real world.
Thursday, January 8, 2009
Cat Not Napping
While I was in rehab, my cat got sick and had to be euthanized. I miss the little guy, but this video reminds me that cat-ownership can be a mixed blessing.
Wednesday, January 7, 2009
How They Make the Yellow Line
Those who know me well will be surprised to find my writing anything about sports. And I admit it: I'm totally lacking in knowledge of any major sport. I've never watched a basketball game in my life. I get caught up in baseball only occasionally. Watching golf on TV is a good nap spoiled. I grew up in football country, but I rarely watch a game on TV except during my brother-in-law's annual visit.
It was during one of those visits, when he asked if he could watch a football game, that I discovered the yellow line, that stripe that magically appears underneath the players to mark the down line. "Is that really on the field?" I asked. "Nah," he said, "they do it with the camera." He didn't know how.
But now, the magic of Internet video explains it all for us here.
Really, is there anything you can't learn from the Internet?
It was during one of those visits, when he asked if he could watch a football game, that I discovered the yellow line, that stripe that magically appears underneath the players to mark the down line. "Is that really on the field?" I asked. "Nah," he said, "they do it with the camera." He didn't know how.
But now, the magic of Internet video explains it all for us here.
Really, is there anything you can't learn from the Internet?
Tuesday, January 6, 2009
Memories Light the Corners of My Mind. But It's Pretty Dark in the Rest of the Place.
At breakfast this morning, my brother-in-law, who is visiting us, asked, apropos of nothing: "Longfellow's 'Evangeline.' That's in iambic pentameter, right?"
No, I replied pedantically, it's dactylic hexameter, and I proceeded to chant:
This is the forest primeval. The murmuring pines and the hemlocks,
Bearded with moss, and in garments green, indistinct in the twilight,
Stand like Druids of eld, with voices sad and prophetic,
Stand like harpers hoar, with beards that rest on their bosoms.
(Old Henry W. was no Virgil, partly because English isn't Latin. He had to throw in a few trochees to keep things moving along.)
Don't ask me how I remember that. I haven't read "Evangeline" since eighth-grade English class. (You can imagine the snickers at "harpers hoar.") How is it I can remember something [mumbles a number] years ago, but can't remember what I had for dinner last night?
Anyway, that got me thinking (always a perilous thing to provoke) about stuff one remembers and stuff one doesn't. Like song lyrics, for example. Lately, I've got "Everything's Coming Up Roses" from Gypsy stuck in my head. But when I try to supply the lyrics, I can't remember them. Like the ending, just before Ethel or Angela or Tyne or Bernadette or Patti belts out "Everything coming up roses for me and for you!" There are three lines that go:
Honey, everything's coming up [something and something else]!
Everything's coming up [more stuff and still more stuff]!
Everything's gonna be [these things and other things]!
But I can never remember what's coming up. So I substitute my own words:
Honey, everything's coming up hopscotch and sauerkraut!
Everything's coming up bluebells and cantaloupe!
Everthing's gonna be Dagwood and Mickey Mouse!
But that can't be right, so I Googled it, and learned that it's "roses and daffodils," "sunshine and Santa Claus," and "bright lights and lollipops." With all due respect to Stephen Sondheim, I think I like my version better.
Anyway, I guess the point of this is what Milton's Satan said:
The mind is its own place, and in it self
Can make a Heav'n of Hell, a Hell of Heav'n.
Well, yeah. But it can also make a mess of things.
No, I replied pedantically, it's dactylic hexameter, and I proceeded to chant:
This is the forest primeval. The murmuring pines and the hemlocks,
Bearded with moss, and in garments green, indistinct in the twilight,
Stand like Druids of eld, with voices sad and prophetic,
Stand like harpers hoar, with beards that rest on their bosoms.
(Old Henry W. was no Virgil, partly because English isn't Latin. He had to throw in a few trochees to keep things moving along.)
Don't ask me how I remember that. I haven't read "Evangeline" since eighth-grade English class. (You can imagine the snickers at "harpers hoar.") How is it I can remember something [mumbles a number] years ago, but can't remember what I had for dinner last night?
Anyway, that got me thinking (always a perilous thing to provoke) about stuff one remembers and stuff one doesn't. Like song lyrics, for example. Lately, I've got "Everything's Coming Up Roses" from Gypsy stuck in my head. But when I try to supply the lyrics, I can't remember them. Like the ending, just before Ethel or Angela or Tyne or Bernadette or Patti belts out "Everything coming up roses for me and for you!" There are three lines that go:
Honey, everything's coming up [something and something else]!
Everything's coming up [more stuff and still more stuff]!
Everything's gonna be [these things and other things]!
But I can never remember what's coming up. So I substitute my own words:
Honey, everything's coming up hopscotch and sauerkraut!
Everything's coming up bluebells and cantaloupe!
Everthing's gonna be Dagwood and Mickey Mouse!
But that can't be right, so I Googled it, and learned that it's "roses and daffodils," "sunshine and Santa Claus," and "bright lights and lollipops." With all due respect to Stephen Sondheim, I think I like my version better.
Anyway, I guess the point of this is what Milton's Satan said:
The mind is its own place, and in it self
Can make a Heav'n of Hell, a Hell of Heav'n.
Well, yeah. But it can also make a mess of things.
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