Friday, December 30, 2005

Jerry Fielding, cultural dogma.. and... and

Around this time, three years ago, I conducted an interview with the famous film composer/raconteur David Raksin (Laura), for the MA I was completing. He was in his nineties, and died some eight months thereafter, and was not as helpful (for what I was looking for) then he might have been when I first met him in the eighties when we both spent time at a Sundance film composing workshop.

Shortly before the interview, I had come across the information that Raksin had "named names", during the McCarthy Hollywood witch hunt. The nature of my interview was technical and not biographical/political, so I didn't bring it up. I had known him for years before finding this out, and had found him charming and intelligent, if self centered and short fused (no tolerance for fools). I figured that I would not be his judge.

During the interview, due to his advanced age and deteriorating health, he had trouble remembering details of what once had been an encyclopedic knowledge of film music history. My knowledge at the time was not enough to be much help. He would look at me exasperated at my ignorance. This embarrassment led to an enforced diet of films over the last three years, closely watched, from the seventy-three years of recorded film music, with a special attention to the great names of film composing. Raksin would be much happier with me now.

Jerry Fielding (nee Joshua Feldman in 1922 according to Imdb, which I take with a grain of salt ever since someone inserted someone else's bio over my credits in their database!) was a composer who took the fifth, refused to name names and so was blacklisted in Hollywood for almost ten years. He could be outspoken, obviously (an interesting two part interview I recommend). He died of a heart attack at 58, in 1980.

Perhaps because of all the history, both were heavily consigned to television during the sixties and seventies. But Fielding's films were on a par (for my money) with Jerry Goldsmith, Elmer Bernstein or John Williams of the time.

I met a man, once, who explained how when he was in college, hoping to expand his worldliness, he took a class in "Music Appreciation". You know, the three Bs, Mozart, Hayden, Schumann and Schubert etc. These were the things that one must know to fit in with the type of society that the college education was going to lift him into. After a course of great emotional uplifting, he came away with one thing... maybe. He had been taught what a "fugue" was, and how to count the entrances of the voices. Forty years on, he still spent his time at concerts, waiting for these voices to count.

Oh, there was one other thing he learned, and that was Wagner's use of leitmotif. The assigning of specific musical themes to specific characters or objects as a form of dramatic construction. And this brings us back to film music, for there are two dogmatic, knee-jerk terms learned by every film music dilettante, and one is leitmotif. Leitmotifs have become almost anachronistic in film, as films are no longer experienced as a through story, they are more experienced as a series of stories. How many times have you watched a film in parts on cable? Everything has to work unto itself now, and if history is required to understand the music of the moment, it may well be lost.

The other film music idiots dogma goes by the name of "mickey mousing". Almost anyone can imagine what that might mean, and proudly understanding and finding the name easy to remember, these numbskulls go off trumpeting it in almost any circumstance. Oh, curiously, considering how beloved cartoons and their music are, this is considered a derogatory term and technique by the film music neo-classicists.

The writer of Jerry Fielding's bio on the Imdb (someone who goes by the moniker Heathcliff Blair), tries to praise him by proclaiming that he never resorts to any "mickey mousing" no siree! But curiously, this is exactly what makes Fielding so spectacularly good. Every tempo he ever uses is always derived from something on screen. He musically accents almost everything (like a cartoon) but does it so subtly his music does seem (as his reviewer quotes a producer) "... like a man in a green suit walking in a forest". That is a good quote, that is.

Today I watched two of his films (both Clint Eastwood) Escape From Alcatraz and The Outlaw Josie Wales, but I would also heartily recommend Straw Dogs or The Wild Bunch. If you ever whistled the march of Hogan's Heroes, that was Fielding! Jerry Fielding was the shit, and he didn't name names! Right on!

(he is my current favorite, in case you were wondering, after Rota, and.. mmm thinking)

Early influences...


Yup, I am either Mr. Softee or a Fluffernutter, your call.

The cool thing about these sites, they have mp3s of their jingles!!!

You have to be from the northeast of the US for these logos and products to mean anything, but I am sure there are correlates. Maybe you can share the name of your childhood ice cream man? Do you remember the theme song?



This post was inspired by stumbling on the Mr. Softee site on 300 Monks music blog.

Thursday, December 29, 2005

I never thought...




... I would stoop to posting silly dog pictures, but... I can't help myself sphfffftttttt! I have had days like this dog looks like he is having.

This is from a Tub Thumpin' Scot named Michael, by way of his being one of Mickey's "expendables".



Oh well, as long as I am doing silly animals:



J Alva Scrubbs dug this Kentucky Colonel up from those good folk at Wealth Bondage.


Now go on over and wish Ping Lee a happy 18th BDay!

Wednesday, December 28, 2005

Goodbye, old friend.

It was amazing that she has lasted this long, considering. The SS France was the great, graceful queen of the ocean, back when I was young. I remember seeing her at full run, in the Channel when she was spanking brand new. I was in my secret reading spot, high up, just behind the wheel house of the SS Rotterdam, heading to Le Havre from Southampton. The SS France was going back the otherway. It was glorious, I just wanted to jump up and down waving. Her bow wave cutting an elegant scythe through the sea.

For the last few years she has been laid up in Bremerhaven (long ago having become the SS Norway. A gal so beautiful that two countries wanted their name on her). Now the news that she is on her way to the graveyards in India or Bangladesh, where she will be run up hard onto the sand, and slowly broken apart by ant like humans. (Mr. Golby should like this :-))

Tuesday, December 27, 2005

About a movie...


.... it being the season, I have splurged a bit. I haunt my local used DVD shops (being very movie business around here, there are many), and buy many DVDs, trying to spend no more then $10 per.

$8 for Zhivago, okay, I finally bought it. You would think that a David Lean/Maurice Jarre film would be in my library long ago, but I have long maintained a grudge against this film, for its status among neanderthal capitalists (or is that redundant). But I am someone who considers Marx the only economist worth reading.

It is not so bad, as my forty year memory held it. Overly lit, saccharine strong emotional gimmickry, I can't help but confess a deeeeep lust for Julie Christie. It is an incredible lesson in film scoring. The combination of Lean and Jarre, starting with Lawrence of Arabia, was one of those unlikely godshots, comparable to the Beatles. Lara's Theme (Somewhere My Love) was the romantic movie theme of my generation, on a level with Nino Rota's The Godfather's to the next. I remember reading that Jarre, with the rejections from Lean, had to come up with themes, over and over until he landed on this. Which only goes to show, no matter how much a genius you are, it pays to listen to your boss. We do not have the knowledge of the themes he threw out! It is a theme of simple and very strong harmonic color, with a contrasting bridge that has the same eastern European folk like roots as The Godfather did later (tremolo balalaikas being replaced by mandolins). Jarre even uses the, minor-third motion, lift-me-up I pointed out way back in The Five Stairsteps' Ooh Child.

I was discussing the theme to NYPD Blue with its composer Mike Post. He pointed out how he put, in a pseudo-celtic/Irish bridge, all the emotional roots he would need for the rest of the series.

So Zhivago, Godfather and NYPD Blue all have these ethnic based strong, simple harmonic motion at the root of their emotional manipulation. The simple act of switching an expected chord's major/minor status in such a deeply understood context has great affect.

Monday, December 26, 2005

An informal survey....

... I am pondering the change of the film watching experience over the last fifty years.

Yesterday (Christmas, and speaking of Toms), I went to my friend Tom's house. He is a film composer, gourmet and oenophile and has a a large crowd of friends who are either very talented music folk, or very talented restaurant/food folk, or both, all around ten to twenty years my junior. This makes for wonderful parties, IN-FUCKING-CREDIBLE food, and apparently good wine (as I only get to watch). And great talk about music.

In the midst of this bacchanal (although the temperature drop down to the low sixties (due to a fog bank over the Laurel Canyon location) made the grand table in the garden a bit chilly) I started asking people "how many movies do you watch on television (cable, broadcast, DVD or videotape) compared to how many movies do you see in a theatre". It seemed a general number might be 9 to 1.

How about you?

St. Stephens day menudo?

(let us see what google search calls that up!)

I have been driving by Toms #1 sign for menudo for almost thirty years. There are thousands of fast food stands around LA called some varietion of Toms (Tommy's, Tomy's (as in tomaine?)) with numbers ranging from 1 to 5. Outside of one or two (there is one that Tom Waits made famous) I generally avoid them.

But stumbled on this blog, which may or may not be interesting. I just thought I'd share it.

Thursday, December 22, 2005

It couldn't have happened to the righter person

Most of us in the states, knew this fellow, Alistair Cook, as the grandfatherly Englishman who introduced weekly episodes of Masterpiece Theatre (memorably during the period of The Forsythe Saga and Upstairs, Downstairs) on the tele. If you spent anytime in the UK, though, you got to hear him weekly, in his true persona. He had been recording a "Letter From America" for something like sixty years when he died a bit ago. In this weekly letter he revealed himself as a rampant asskisser of power, a deeply fascistic fellow with an awe for all that is wrong headed in conservative economics. The obsequious, obsessive brown nosing was sickening to listen to.

And so it only seems fitting, even right to find out that as his body lay in a US funeral home:
"...body snatchers allegedly surgically removed his bones and sold them for more than $7,000 (£4,000) to a company supplying parts for use in dental implants and various orthopaedic procedures."
I will admit admiration for his step daughter who showed the proper concern when she said, "I'm most shocked... that my stepfather's ancient and cancerous bones should have been passed off as healthy tissue to innocent patients"

Wednesday, December 21, 2005

Hooooo Doggy!

Here it is 10pm, and the sound of the surf breaking on the beach is quite loud. Normally, I can't hear it until traffic dies down later around midnight. We have giant swells, rolling in across the bay like junior tsunamis (good name for wrestler).

Meanwhile the temperature was in the mid seventies this mid-day. I felt a slight sun burn happening (on the shortest day of the year) as I wandered the street market stocking up on the fruit and veg that Stu Savory has exhorted us to eat. I have always been a greens eater, known as Peter Rabbit in my family as a child.

I stopped for my usual market crepe and espresso (not on Stu's diet), and had an Xmas culinary splurge in solidarity with Mary B. Instead of my habitual lemon juice and sugar crepe, I had a gnutella and banana and chantilly crepe! There is a French woman who works there who I am very charmed with. We have been blushing at each other for over a year. Today she comped my espresso, in Christmas mood. Blush.

Tuesday, December 20, 2005

There is hope...

Joey Harrison's photos of his mid western home bring daily joy.

I am going to join Frank, and get in a Poinsettia, today!

Last night (these days are soooo short) I was on an AA panel at a local vets hospital, and it brought back the deep despair and demoralization the holiday season used to bring to me (after the initial rush of office parties and free booze). I remembered, waking up face down in my vomit in a San Fernando valley parking lot, only to wonder how I was ever going to pick up the pieces of my life, let alone get home. I remembered a dark and cold night on Huntington Ave. in Boston, with no clear route to happiness anywhere. My life was littered with these horrid moments. There is no comparison to the wonderfulness of my life now.

I could also see that for some of the wonderful group of men, last night, just past their nadir, there was a future to be hopeful for as well.

Sunday, December 18, 2005

DC3

On my walk, I spy several DC3s banking out of the airport and going over my head at around 1500 feet. It is the seventieth anniversary of the plane, and many are coming home to where they were built, here in Santa Monica. I would not normally have a fond spot for such a war machine, except the DC3's history is much more one of service to general and commercial aviation.

My fascist, warmongering walking coach (and friend :-)) nee 1930 here in Santa Monica, tells how for the first fifteen years of his life, until the end of WWII, he grew up in a city hidden under camouflage tarps. The noise of the Douglas plant and its product (long gone) was incessant. He didn't realize what quiet was until after the war when all of a sudden it was over. So I guess I understand, if you grow up in time of war, and all you hear about is war heroes, war becomes the most important and glorious thing to you.

The weather is cold and grey (for southern California, winter weather, in the sixties, grey surf in long precise curls). Deep dreams, last night I dreamt I was in a pound trying hard not to adopt a cat. There were some spectacularly psychedelic cats that were part turquoise, but they were being hoarded over by some society sort of dames. Myself, I fall in love with a rock in my shoe if it has been there long enough, I could never make up my mind.

Friday, December 16, 2005

Cognitive dissonance...

... may be cancer forming? I suppose that could be a worry, as I suffa' from so much of it (CD-"A condition of conflict or anxiety resulting from inconsistency between one's beliefs and one's actions, such as opposing the slaughter of animals and eating meat.")). Like, when our dear Bush kindly puts a number on the Iraqi dead as a result of his war (30k, hokay, I can work with that number) and then goes on to be so big, honest and caring about us, he admits the war happened on account of false data, but never makes the connection that he(WE!)killed 30k human beings, for what?

T-H-I-R-T-Y--T-H-O-U-S-A-N-D!!!!!!!

That is 60 thousand mothers and fathers who lost their children.
That is countless children who lost their parents
Countless sisters who lost their brothers
Countless brothers who lost their sisters
Countless lovers who lost their lover
Countless wives who lost their husbands
Countless husbands who lost their wives
Countless pets who lost their caretakers
Countless friends who lost their friends

Is this NOT a C-R-I-M-E--A-G-A-I-N-S-T--H-U-M-A-N-I-T-Y??????

Principle VI. The crimes hereinafter set out are punishable as crimes under international law:

(a) Crimes against peace:
(i) Planning, preparation, initiation or waging of a war of aggression or a war in violation of international treaties, agreements or assurances;
(ii) Participation in a common plan or conspiracy for the accomplishment of any of the acts mentioned under (i).
(b) War Crimes:
Violations of the laws or customs of war which include, but are not limited to, murder, ill-treatment or deportation of slave labor or for any other purpose of the civilian population of or in occupied territory; murder or ill-treatment of prisoners of war or persons on the Seas, killing of hostages, plunder of public or private property, wanton destruction of cities, towns, or villages, or devastation not justified by military necessity.
(c) Crimes against humanity:
Murder, extermination, enslavement, deportation and other inhumane acts done against any civilian population, or persecutions on political, racial, or religious grounds, when such acts are done or such persecutions are carried on in execution of or in connection with any crime against peace or any war crime.

Principle VII. Complicity in the commission of a crime against peace, a war crime, or a crime against humanity as set forth in Principle VI is a crime under international law.


See, political grounds are a reason just as racial or religion is a reason. Thirty thousand for... "democracy"?... is political, no?

"Complicity", hmmmm! (" Involvement as an accomplice in a questionable act or a crime.")("An associate in wrongdoing, especially one who aids or abets another in a criminal act, either as a principal or an accessory.").

So when do Bushie, Cheney, Rummie, Wolfie, Colin, Condie and about HALF of the population of this here USA, get dragged to their Nuremberg? Thirty-thousand, for what?

I'm going for a walk in the sunshine, looking with disgust and loathing on my fellow 'mercuns.

I better hope cognitive dissonance is good for you!

Tuesday, December 13, 2005

Moving on.... (sigh)

Okay, how about my favorite new website, The Duluth Shipping News, a place I can hang about for hours (most of you will think I am crazy) and find a wonderfully international community in the frozen hinterlands (who would have ever thought... !) . I am sorry, I find ship photos endlessly moving.

Monday, December 12, 2005

I am, simply, gutted

How such a little prick, for there is no better description for the kind of overcompensation that Schwarzen ASS_FUCKING_HOLE displays, can be so predictable, is amazing.

Not that Stanley Williams deserved any more or less then anyone else, this rough justice.

Over the years I have seen this Arnold guy around town. We have lived in the same town, been around the same age, I have been to many parties he was at, been to his restaurant, I did the music for an "ABC After School Special" starring the Austrian jerk, how this shit can think he has any right to NOT save a life, is beyond me.

I am so embarrassed for my country, for my state.

I live in a country full of the same assholes that killed three million Vietnamese without a care, and they are on the ascendant. I heard the news of the Governators chickenshit act while driving home from lunch, then to top it off, on the "educational" NPR station a ditzy reporter (with the appropriate name of KITTY Felde) was busy gushing over her interview with this American Fascist (leader of the American Legion). If ever anybody needed to have an American flag rammed up his backside and then made to run across the length and breadth of the world begging forgiveness, it is him. But then I do not believe in corporal punishment. Listening to his insane bellowing, I could not imagine it any less weird then living in Nazi Germany.

I am beginning to think these times are not any less philosophically hard to live in then those of my parents who were born in/after WWI, lived through depression, WWII etc.

Sunday, December 11, 2005

Sufferin' Synapses

I must confess, I catch everything that is going around, and then some. But then it is one of my favorite non-drugged states (fevered). The last two days were lost to bed, sweat and sweet hallucinations. Interesting hallucinations I try to cling to.

As I had been too sick to cook or even send out, I was feeling a bit peckish this morning. And as I have too much studying to do to let illness do otherwise, I forced myself into shower and shave. Far from well, but certainly better, I took myself out into a bright sunny Sunday morning. I went for a whopping breakfast at one of my usual spots, which was filled with a wonderful rabble, glad to be off work and with their families for the day. Admist screaming children, flying food, and happy looking parents, I read more about neural anatomy then I could reasonably predict my forthcoming test would require. It is just sooooo interesting.

The mind boggles the mind, boggles the mind boggles the mind etc. etc.

I am filled with gratitude and wonder. I do some grocery shopping, topping up the car's tank, and a fever starting to build again, come home to study some more.

Friday, December 09, 2005

Another passing... a bus passing


Nothing but fond memories. In the seventies I had an on again off again romance in London, and as luck would have it she had a job. While killing the afternoon hours that the pubs were closed, waiting for her to get off work, I would take myself to the top-front seat of a bus and ride it to the end of the line. A pack of Camel straights being diligently smoked through. Then I would hop on the next ... and the next.... I got to know London well. There was much more of a vista from up there, over the tops of the black cabs. Visions of Oxford St. at rush hour, hundreds of these buses and black cabs all mired up. The scrums of these buses outside the train stations. Hop on! Hop on, they all seemed to call

I enjoyed the symbolic openness of that gaping back platform. Made it seem as if everyone was invited, and there was always a conductor to help set you straight as to directions. Now London is further still, from that exciting party town I would visit in my youth. Happens to everything and everyone, unless you are carved in hard stone in a dry environment.

Wednesday, December 07, 2005

Pacifist, clarinetist, hero.

(who would a thunk, a clarinetist? hero? no, no way.... but)

Went to visit MaryB in her shorty pjs, and there read an inspiring story. The Tom Fox, Quaker pacifist, who was kidnapped in Iraq a little while ago, was her old school mate. Although a string player, such as myself, would rarely care a hoot for a clarinetist (which Tom Fox is), and even consider it some kind of service, to shall we say, disuade him from doing such a silly, irresponsible thing again (playing a clarinet), in this case, I cannot wait to hear him playing a clarinet in the near future. I would even welcome him if he came with bagpipes. Do go and read, it is inspiring. And it raises my estimation of the vast amount of musicians who go to work in the military (our government spends more money on military bands then all the other arts combined).

Paris, and Christmas

The last few Christmas seasons I spent in Paris. This year, I am staying home by the beach, but it doesn't mean I'm not thinking of it. If you are there, be square and go sing xmas carols (en anglais) at BIA! 17, rue des Écoles in da' 5th. Here is some appropriate music, provided by a Metry dude in a snowy Wreckroom.


And coming soon (watch them work)! 4, rue Mahler in the 4th (moving up).

Tuesday, December 06, 2005

Brain tweakers

Tools of a trade. Back about fifteen years ago, I bought a pair of Neve 1073 audio equalizer modules. I had fallen in love with a pair of 1066s, when I had used them alone, along with a Telefunken 251 microphone to record/produce a successful album. Over the years, their value has almost tripled until now when they have been reissued. The microphone went from $10,000 to $20,000 in the same time, so they reissued those as well.

When you think about it, there is nothing more like tweaking your brain then audio tweakage. You are sitting there, in your normal space, hearing as you do, but your hand turns and something between your ears registers. Each model/brand, even each unit, if you pay close attention, will tweak your brain a bit differently. When you find something that ... uhuh, feeeeellllllls gooooooood. Buy it Damn It! It is not an illusion, it does feel good, at the twist of a knob! Where else can you get that? Of course, sometimes it doesn't work, and then you have to grab a different tweaker until you get what you need. Hmmm.

I have kept my good tools, and sometimes I have to go looking for something to tweak!

Sunday, December 04, 2005

Sailing is in the blood...

... (looking for an excuse for my new obsession). Here is my mother, looking very happy despite WWII raging around her, sailing on the Zuider Zee.
MomSailing.jpg

Saturday, December 03, 2005

What I saw (and thought about) on my walk today.

My father used to always ask "Sooo, what did you learn in school today?" "Ohhhhhhh, daaaaaddddd". "Well, Okay, did you see anything while walking to school?" Ohhhhhhh, daaaaaddddd".

Twenty years ago today, maybe, my father died. I say maybe because when I found his body, he had been dead for possibly ten days (the coroner said), so I am not sure.

A strong ten to fifteen knot, northerly wind had cleared the skies. I could see for thirty or more miles as I walked along the palisades. The headlands of Pales Verde and the isthmus of Santa Catalina, often obscured by mists were as seen in a magnifying glass. Several box boats marching with one nation's goods (China) to Long Beach, stood out clearly above the horizon. The private jets were pulling u-turns over the beach at around 1000 feet to land at Santa Monica airport contra the normal flow, but far above at maybe 4k feet were the big jets heading for their normal seaward landing at LAX. The brisk temperature (60s) kept the crowds at bay.

I passed some gardeners with their blowers. One of the BIG changes of my life, when I consider, for the first 25-30 years, the sound of gardening was a repetitive (sometimes gentle, sometimes not) rakkkkke---rakkkke--rakkkke etc. This was a sound that was probably heard for thousands of years, but now no more.

I thought about how we are living through a massive paradigm shift, on the order of the renaissance (well, it is not like things ever stand still, but this period is important). That since the renaissance, the development of the romantic humanism and even the romantic scientific humanism of the twentieth century was now being revealed as all hooey. That the religious revival, the anti-Darwinism, the further withdrawal from the day to day reality of life by many academic areas, are all feet dragging and screaming against the inevitable. The yelling insistence by the bourgeois masses, "THIS IS ART! No, THIS IS ART! uh THIS IS ART", trying to convince themselves that there is enough of the old order left to give them a taste of the old dream.

The future that shall, somewhere in the next few generations, know that we are nothing but genetic machinery, purely Darwinian in design, that even our unpredictability is predictable will mean that whole new reasons for behavior will have to be developed. Morals, ethics? These will need redefining, not based on any old mystical mumbo jumbo. It is not pretty, and already happening, painful to someone of my vintage. But I can not make an argument against it on any grounds except personal preference.

After an hour and some walking, on the home stretch, the wind started to come around to the west, more in its normal range, I climbed the hill to home. Have you ever wondered about that feeling of safety in coming home? If you consider the statistics (most people die at home), one might turn around and walk back out.

My new passion

As this faux painting may suggest Paul Miller has a healthy sense of humor about it all. His California Sailing Academy is a funky, comfortable and well used marine school house. Not much of the spit and polish one might expect from a product of Annapolis.

I sailed, a bit, on Boston's Charles River (Community Boating) as a teenager (60s), but you can count on one hand how many times I have gone out on "someone's" boat since then. Usually my mind was always on how long it was going to take to get back to where a bar might serve me something stronger then the beer on board.

This fall I started studying with this fellow, through UCLA. Since then I have moved to directly studying at his school. The remarkable thing, for me, is I haven't been so passionate for anything outside of my work, for decades. It started boiling in me a couple of years ago on my freighter trip. The only caveat to myself, is how sailing appeals to my desire to isolate. I find myself longing for the time (as soon as I am finished with my finals at school 16 Dec.), that I can sail off by myself. In any case, it seems like my kind of world, if Paul is any example.

Friday, December 02, 2005

Lots O' Bloggin'

A bunch of stuff:
  • A grumpy old Scot academic, living in Germany sounds like a guy you might not expect to be very funny a lot of the time, but he is!
  • Mary B has been visiting here (on the blog), so I followed her home one night. She keeps me laughing too, and is generally interesting and charming, so I am refraining from lowering the "all southerners are either idiots, jerkoffs or both" boom. Besides, she lives in the fourth most literate city in the US, and I live in what must be the 4,356th!
  • A great blog pairing, is starting at Funky 16 Corners for some good tunes, then once some greeeeesy music is making your lap top all jumpy, go to Joey's Eye Control for his latest shots of the Detroit area. Now add a plate of some fatback, bring to a boil, and beat (ba-da-ba-da, ba-da-ba-da, ba-da-ba-da) well!

Thursday, December 01, 2005

The poetry of death....

.... it is the one poetry we yanks love.

I watch L'argent. It is the opposite of a situation comedy, a situation tragedy. Based on Tolstoy's The Forged Coupon, it is an example of a story well loved. An innocent man, through a series of unfortunate events, spirals down through the hell of the justice system and prison (in this case French). I find Bresson's love of non-actors acting badly, workable in films such as Pickpocket, but it is a bit trying here. The trick starts thinning out, like stretching your eyes so everything looks funny, as weird and interesting as it might be, enough becomes enough. Of course, this was Bresson's last film, made in his eighties. Other people should do such good work in their thirties.

Although the inimitable Noam Chomsky laid it all out, maybe ten years ago, the revelation of the USA's and Kissinger's role in the death and destruction in East Timor is falling on deaf ears. We don't care that under Kissinger's hands we, meaning every voting citizen of the US, have possibly millions of innocent deaths on our hands. He is old now, like his pal Pinochet, like Bresson was. The taint of retributory thinking has always made me a tad suspicious of the "justice delayed is justice denied" concept, but in this case, it looks like it shall never happen. We are not interested because you can't kill a dead man (a man of Kissinger's age being a "dead" man for all intents). No fun there.

The country is awash with state ordered murders at the moment, a famous one here in California. I believe that despite much that has been said, our Governator is not unintelligent. I sure hope he sees his way to pardoning Stanley "Tookie" Williams. But our country loves to kill together, it makes us feel more like one big happy family. And we relish the poetry of an innocent being executed, it resonates in the bosom of Americans, who tend to identify, "I was screwed"!

Fellow bloggers, are you ever amazed by how your non-virtual friends just about never visit your blog? That it is almost all wonderful strangers who stumble in from here and there? I have no non-virtual friends that blog. Hmmmm. Day of rest over, tomorrow is a big day.

It is a cold....

.... (60f), gray day. Spent three hours this morning on the boat, enjoying sometimes good wind under the grey, roiling clouds of the cold front, and sometimes not. The salt from the water, and the intense tanning from the ever present sun rays (even in doom and gloom) leaves me feeling crusty, salty and nicely tired.

It has been a hard week of school along with many other responsibilities crowding in. I think I shall take my day more lightly for the rest of the day. A refrigerator is well stocked with inspiring things to make for dinner. A choice from four, newly arrived DVDs, Bresson's A Man Escaped (1956) or L'argent (1983) (which is the pick to click (old music biz term) at the moment), or Godard's Weekend (1967) or Vadim's La Ronde ( I had gone looking for the earlier, 1950, one). I am trying to maintain this decision as the only "discouraging word" for the rest of the day. For those interested in film music, a wonderful new book (so far) shall be the rest of the afternoon (between naps).

Some wonderful blogging going on, from France by native English speakers. I can only express a deep admiration for the musical life form who mused this. And be sure to go back to the currant entry for this image "My feet crunch on crystallized thyme, its aroma frozen." Meanwhile the Madame, another musical life form , sputters and purrs. She is always entertaining and thought provoking.

I have signed on to a local computer dating board, I am a little worried by my action, it is not like I am lonely in my single condition, but I am a bit curious. Sometimes I wonder whether my dinner and movie plan might be better, shared with another. My memory (it is going on some time now) is that the other human can be so... so... shall I say, "on a different tack". Or, it is not always the case that any pair of people can be on the same "wavelength" at the same time. Well wish me luck, and maybe someday in the future, I will have some empirical info to share on this subject.