Happy New Year's Eve!

Happy New Year's Eve!

I spent this morning and early afternoon reading a couple thin Images of America books to reach my woefully miniscule yearly reading goal. It is so woefully miniscule that I'm embarrassed to give the number...oh fuck it, it's 25 books. Yes, I know there are folks out there who probably read 25 books in a month, maybe even a week. I wish I was one of those people, but I'm not and probably never will be.

In the late afternoon, I went out for one final run, which in this case was just a walk/run. I knocked out 5 kilometers yesterday, so today it was 3.25 km (about two miles) running and 2.5 kilometers of walking. I enjoy the days when I mix it up. I will run a half-kilometer, and then walk a half-kilometer and simply enjoy being outside in nature (while, of course, also listening to a podcast. I don't really listen to music that much anymore while running, I tend to enjoy hearing people talk about movies, music, television, politics, or sports. I can't really explain why that is. Maybe the voices are more soothing, as if I'm being accompanied on my run by friends talking to me though my bluetooth headphones).

It looks like it will be a calm, relaxing New Year's Eve just watching episodes of The Mosquito Coast (or maybe something else later), until midnight. See, that's why I don't read more: I watch too much goddamned television. 

I know this will sound incredibly petty and beneath me as a grown-ass adult, but I'm relieved that the Michigan Wolverines football team lost this afternoon and is now out of the college football playoff.  The thought of Michigan winning the national championship filled me with dread.

It looks as if we are about to continue watching our show, so I shall leave you for now. I hope all three or four people who read this blog have a safe and enjoyable New Year's Eve.

The Obligatory "Keeping the Streak Going" post

This just might end up being the obligatory "gotta keep the December streak going" blog post. 

The weather has warmed significantly the last few days. It's funny to think that a week ago we were slowly plodding our way through ice, snow, and wind to and from the airport, and today I was practically overheated in my fleece sweatshirt on my run through the neighborhood, and later didn't even wear a coat on our completely non-treacherous drive to my brother's house. (We were able to have a little family get-together after last week's chaos postponed just about everything).

It's also that time of year when I feel the need to cram in as many last second movies and books in as possible before the new year. I think that tomorrow I'll try to watch The Banshees of Inisherin to see what all the fuss is about, and seeing as how I should try and get some reading in, I'll sign off for now.

In Detroit. Also, rambling observations of art and Van Gogh

I am coming at you live from Slows BBQ at 2138 Michigan Avenue in Detroit--Corktown to be precise. I just finished eating a pulled pork sandwich called "The Reason" and a Moscow mule.

More later.

Okay, I'm back several hours later.

As I mentioned in a previous post, we drove down to Detroit today to see the "Van Gogh in America" exhibition at the Detroit Institute of Arts (DIA). I have now been to so many Van Gogh exhibitions over the years that I might be accused of being a total Van Gogh "stan." We saw the "Van Gogh: Face to Face" exhibition at the DIA in spring of 2000 (I had to look up the name of the exhibition and through the miracle of Google, I actually found it.). Then, earlier this year, we saw the Van Gogh interactive Expo in Grand Rapids. So, though I wouldn't describe myself as a Vincent Van Gogh superfan, maybe I am. The man was an undeniably brilliant visual artist and had a unique, passionate, busy, tragic, and all-too-short life.

My experiences at art museums and art exhibitions always make me want to be more creative, but unfortunately that never seems to happen. Sometimes it will lead to a sudden burst of creativity, but then that tends to tail off. I also must admit that, after about two hours in an art museum--regardless of the beauty of the art I witness, I eventually hit a wall. Maybe it's sensory overload. At some point, I'll see a painting and just think, "Yeah, that's a painting...and that's another painting...okay, my feet hurt...and I'm hungry...and all these people here at the museum are kind of annoying." Sure enough, this happened today at the DIA. The Van Gogh exhibition was crowded today. It's more difficult to enjoy an art exhibition if you feel like you have to fight through a crowd of people to see the artwork and don't feel like you have enough time to appreciate and study the artwork. That said, I've rarely been the kind of person stands and contemplates an artwork for a long time. I don't look for symbolism and I don't generally look for meaning in the art. Let's just say that those aspects of art don't mean that much to me. I am far more likely to react emotionally to a painting or sculpture that is simply beautiful. Maybe the colors are brilliant, perhaps the landscape is stunning, or maybe if it's a study of a human or the human form, the person's expression or their eyes make me feel something in a way that I can't put into words. Some of my favorite paintings are Francis Bacon's horrifying Screaming Pope series in which the twisted and anguished faces appear to be melting, and Francisco Goya's viscerally disturbing Saturn Devouring His Son.

But then there is Van Gogh, whose studies of poor and working class people are so colorful and expressive. He was able to capture both the pain and dignity of these folks. I was particularly struck, in this exhibition, but Van Gogh's paintings of Madame Ginoux. He captures a woman who has "led a life" but displays wisdom and dignity. 

Also striking--and this might be a "no, shit Sherlock" observation--is that Van Gogh was able to capture both the beauty of landscapes AND people in a way that few other artists are capable. At least not in my observation.

By the way, I never took and art history class in my life so I may very well be completely full of shit. My formal artistic training ended in high school.

First movie experiences (part one)

Someone of "The Big Picture" Facebook page posted a query asking people about the first "adult" movie they saw in a theater. By "adult," I assume they meant R-rated, and strictly R-rated. (So if your parents snuck you into an X-rated movie, you're out of luck).

The post got me to thinking about my own moviegoing life, not just my first R-rated movie experiences, but all movie experiences. It seemed like a fun topic to explore in this blog.

Disney animated features are the first movies I went to. This is when my parents lived in Holt, just south of Lansing. A Lansing, by the way, that still had downtown movie theaters. I have distinct memories of seeing Bambi, Cinderella, Peter Pan, Robin Hood, and Song of the South with my mom. I'm sure we saw others, but these are the ones I definitely remember. By the way, these were the days when Disney routinely re-released old, animated movies from their vault for exhibition in theaters. It's a shame that Disney has gotten away from doing this.

I suppose it sounds like a cliche to say that seeing these animated Disney movies was a "magical" experience, but it truly was. It's difficult to capture the feeling of being a four-year-old child in a mammoth theater watching a bright, colorful animated feature on an enormous movie screen, but I know it was a profound experience because I can remember it to this day. I have memories of all those Disney movies because I loved Disney. Every Sunday, I would go absolutely apeshit (I believe that's the technical term) whenever The Mouse Factory (1972-1973) show would be televised

The Legend of Boggy Creek (1972) is the first live-action movie I can remember wanting to see. I have vague memories of seeing the trailer on television and being intrigued by the scary Bigfoot aspect of the movie. I must have pestered my parents enough about it because they did take me to see it. I'm pretty sure this was a drive-in theater viewing and it was a creepy, though hardly terrifying, experience. It was so long ago that I have little recollection of The Legend of Boggy Creek. A rewatch would be fascinating.

Other movie memories from the early-to-mid seventies include my parents taking me--once again to the drive-in--to see The Great Waldo Pepper (1975), starring Robert Redford as the eponymous barnstorming airplane pilot. This is a movie experience that is hazy, and I'm not even sure if I ever saw The Great Waldo Pepper again after seeing it in the drive-in. I am not even sure if I stayed awake for the entire flick. As it was directed by George Roy Hill and stars Redford, I am sure this is another good candidate for a rewatch. My only distinct memory of this movie is that the flying scenes were exciting.

The 1974 version of Murder on the Orient Express is the first "grown-up" movie I recall seeing in a theater and not at a drive-in. I went with my mom and my grandma, who was an Agatha Christie aficionado and I'm sure was game to see any filmed version of a Christie novel. I wish I could say this led me on a long and rewarding path of whodunit fandom, but in truth I was bored stiff by this movie. I'm not even sure why I went, unless my mom couldn't find anyone to watch me and was forced to take me to the theater. Maybe I asked to go? I have no idea. Apparently, the movie made enough of an impression to stay with me in memories, so perhaps it wasn't so terrible.

1974 was also the year I saw Herbie Rides Again at the movie theater. I remember a Volkswagen in the theater lobby that was painted just like Herbie the Love Bug, with "his" distinctive red, white and blue stripes and number "53". I loved Herbie and this movie was a quite an important event in my movie-watching life. Disney strikes again. 

At this point, I've been going on and on about my movie life and I'm not even to the really good stuff yet. As it's getting late, I'll wrap this up now and go for "part two" tomorrow.

Funny Cat Videos, Kung Pao Chicken takeout, Days off, and Top Gun: Maverick

We're back to doing what we usually do when older son is home: watching funny YouTube videos. In this particular case, it's cat videos. The sheer variety of strange and goofy cats is astounding.

Earlier, we ate Thai takeout while watching the series The Mosquito Coast (starring Justin Theroux) which is good--much better than I expected. (We generally find some new show to watch when he's home. It has often been anime, but not always).

This week is weird because I'm only working two days: today and tomorrow. I took Thursday off to go to the Detroit Institute of Arts for the Van Gogh exhibit they are having. That should be fun, fascinating and I will give a report here. Friday is a day off because New Year's Eve is on a Saturday and that's a normal day off for me. So Friday is basically "the holiday." And the same is true for Monday, a day off because New Year's Day is on Sunday. Is that boring enough for you?

Now we have exhausted all of today's funny cat videos and are on to Red Letter Media's funny review of Rob Zombie's The Munsters trailer. The trailer does look cheap and terrible, so I'm not sure what the movie is like. Maybe the low budget look is the point? I don't know. Maybe I will need to watch it, since it's on Netflix.

So last night, we watched Top Gun: Maverick on Amazon Prime. It was a joyride, even if a healthy amount of disbelief is required to enjoy it. This starts with the notion that Tom Cruise's character (Maverick) can a) fly an airplane at Mach 10 and b) eject from said airplane without dying instantaneously. Spoiler alert: Maverick successfully ejects from his burning supersonic jet airplane and survives. That is, unless you subscribe to the theory that Maverick actually dies when attempting to eject and the rest of the movie is Maverick's view from the afterlife. The next completely ridiculous part of the movie is the mission that Maverick and the Top Gun pilots undertake in the last 45 minutes or so of the movie. As fun as it is to watch--and it probably looks even better on a big screen--it reminded me of the outrageous war stories I wrote when I was in sixth grade: entertaining but with little to no basis in reality. 

Overall, I give Top Gun: Maverick about an 8 out of 10. Fairly mindless entertainment.

Happy Boxing Day

Hello everybody, happy Boxing Day!

Thus far today, I have been drinking coffee, I ate an Entenmann's mini-donut for breakfast (one of those is quite enough), and I have been watching funny meme videos on YouTube courtesy of older son, who just spoke to a customer service representative about his missing luggage after being on hold for two hours. (No, that's not an exaggeration). It sounds like the bags are still in Amsterdam. I hope he gets them before he has to fly back to Germany.

The sun is out for the first time in what now seems forever. The temperature is supposed to top out at over 20 degrees today, which seems like a heatwave. I plan on going out in the afternoon and, at the very least, going for a run/walk combination. My exercise has taken a real hit the last week or so.

Yesterday, after Christmas dinner, we watched Glass Onion: A Knive's Out Mystery on Netflix. It is a fun movie, definitely worthy of a rewatch. Beyond being a murder mystery, it's a good send-up of modern "influencer" culture, with Edward Norton playing a not-so-exaggerated version of Elon Musk and David Bautista a Joe Rogan-like podcaster. 

After family had left, we caught up with Slow Horses and Fleishman Is in Trouble. So, as you can see, it was largely a television Christmas.

Merry Christmas!

I am taking a few moments in the aftermath of this morning's Christmas festivities to knock out another post. 25 in a row. I amaze even myself. I wasn't sure if I could really do this. I am not sure of the quality of some of these posts, but I hope that at least some of them have been entertaining and/or informative.

Last night's drive to and from Detroit Metro Airport was truly harrowing. This is the worst Christmas weather we have had since 2013, when a horrific ice storm knocked out power in our area for a solid week. I suppose I will accept bad driving conditions over no power. Last night, we saw a few spinouts on the road, did a little fishtailing ourselves on I-96 heading towards Detroit, and saw a few abandoned cars along the side of the highway.

In a few minutes, I'll have to abandon this blog post and go outside and--guess what?--do a bit more shoveling. We have some family arriving and the driveway needs to be cleared at least a bit.

As for gift exchange, younger son made out like a bandit with all sorts of haircare and fashion products and clothes. He is quite the fashion maven now. Older son received the new laptop that he wanted. Santa got L. a Brandi Carlile fleece blanket and a few other smaller items. Santa got me the Beatles' Revolver special edition 5-disc box set that I pretty blatantly requested and a few other sundry items, including a new pair of pants and some cute Grover (as in Sesame Street's Grover) socks. Yes, in my older years I have finally acknowledged the fun of wearing funny socks. This is something I never ever would have done as a younger person. Now, I just don't give a damn anymore.

Well, that snow won't shovel itself. [Bad dad joke]. I now need to bundle up, turn on those trusty bluetooth headphones, and listen to a podcast while I scrape snow off the driveway.

I hope anyone and everyone out there reading this has a wonderful Christmas!

Live report from DTW

Coming to you live from the baggage service office at Detroit Metro Airport. Older son is here, but his baggage is not. This is putting all our Christmas Eve plans in doubt, but honestly--whatever. At this point, I'd prefer to just get home and go to bed.

The drive here was harrowing. This is one relentless storm. Unlike most winter storms in Michigan, it didn't just drop a ton of snow in a few hours and leave, it has lingered and slowly bludgeoned us for about two days. It's bitterly cold, icy, snowy, windy. 

That's all for now.

Live update, part 2: It is 9:03 EST and we are driving in these conditions:

[Sorry folks, Blogger will not accept my photo for some reason, so you can't see what the road looked like. Suffice it to say it was extremely snowy and icy].

Snow still coming down hard. We are stuck in a snow vortex. I hope we are home in about a half-hour.

Update: We safely arrived at our Christmas Eve festivities, only three miles from our house, and were able to enjoy a few hours of eating and gift exchange. Then we finally got to "home sweet home" at about 11:20 PM.

Christmas Eve Eve

As expected, older son's flights were canceled. It looks like he should be able to fly on Christmas Eve though. That throws our original Christmas Eve plans out of whack, but whatever. That doesn't really matter much to me. That will just make it our second consecutive "memorable Christmas Eve/Christmas," though I suppose Christmas '20 was memorable because it was the "deep in the pandemic" Christmas. Memorable for all the wrong reasons.

I am now relaxing on the couch. Just watched the 1966 Chuck Jones-animated How the Grinch Stole Christmas--hadn't seen that all the way through in many years--and now onto the mind-numbing but addictive fluff Emily in Paris on Netflix. I think I will be turning off my brain the rest of the evening.

Spilled coffee, snowpocalypse, and The Godfathers

My morning, for all intents and purposes, started with me spilling my coffee all over the place at Starbuck's. I ordered ahead and stupidly tried to pick up the coffee by its lid. Guess what? The lid was barely on the cup. Disaster ensued, but thankfully none of the spilled java ended up on me. I just had to wait about five minutes for the barista to make a new cup of joe for me.

The rest of the workday was fine and reasonably uneventful.

Now we wait to see if snowpocalypse/snowmageddon hits with the ferocity that has been predicted. As I write this, it is snowing outside. It's not too bad yet, but we'll have to see what it's like tomorrow. I just hope older son can make it home without incident.

Today's drivetime listening was The Godfathers' 1987 album Birth School Work Death. I grabbed the CD impulsively this morning. Eighties crunchy guitar rock just seemed to fit the bill. (I still have not purposely listened to any Christmas music in December). I don't know that the subject matter of "Birth School Work Death" (the song) was exactly life-affirming or joyous this morning. It definitely takes on new meaning the older you get.

It's now late and I'm tired. If I am going to keep this "post-a-day" challenge going, I better post it now.

Musicians and bands that I like, yet don't own any of their records

For this post, I thought it'd be fun to list musicians and bands that I like, yet don't own any of their records. This harkens back to an earlier post in which I compared soccer to bands you like when you hear them, yet for whatever reason have never bothered to buy any of their records.

So here is a list of three bands off the top of my head. I may add others as I think of them:

The Beths--This New Zealand power pop band has three albums out already. I've liked everything I've hear by them, yet I do not own any of their records. They are an absolutely infectious power pop band, though.

The Cramps--One of the most famous bands to emerge from the punk era and a precursor to goth. They have had a recent resurgence based on their version of the song "Goo Goo Muck" appearing in the Netflix show Wednesday. Like The Beths, I've liked everything I've heard from The Cramps, yet somehow don't own a single record, cassette, or CD they have released. I am always on the lookout "in the wild," but never see anything. I suppose I could order something on-line, but that's just not as fun.

Sleaford Mods--These two blokes from Nottingham, England have a sound that is hard to describe. Jason Williamson is not quite a rapper and definitely not a singer. He yelps and bellows out rapid-fire lyrics that are sometimes angry, sometimes funny. The musical accompaniment is beats, rhythms, and sounds provided by the laconic Andrew Fearn on his laptop computer. In short, it's great music to run to, but I've never bought any of their records. My issue is that, though I love to listen to them in my earbuds, I just can't envision sitting in the living room listening to a full album and listening to Sleaford Mods in the car might make me more prone to road rage.

My Tuesday: Impending Snowpocalypse, Loud Fire Alarms and More Hendrix

It's looking increasingly like there will be a "snowpocalypse" starting on December 23 and extending at least until December 24, and this throws older son's travel plans into doubt and uncertainty. I guess we'll just have to see what happens. I hope it's not as bad as predicted, but I'm definitely worried he will fly into Dulles and be stuck there for who knows how long.

Today, we had a fire alarm at work. We have fire alarms at least once a month, or so it seems. It's usually caused by a library patron lighting up in the restroom. Our fire alarm is so loud that it could wake the dead. It's so loud that one of these days, one of us will keel over from a heart attack, and then immediately come back to life because the damned fire alarm....you guessed it...wakes the dead. 

We all grabbed our coats, phones, keys, and whatever else we wanted to take and snaked our way down the stairwell and outside. There, we waited for the fire department to arrive, poke inside the library for 15 minutes, and then give us the "all clear." Now we wait for the inevitable fire alarm in about a month or so and jump out of our skins when the 100+ decibel shriek of the alarm goes off.     

That was the extent of the excitement at work.

Drive time music was provided by Jimi Hendrix's Radio One collection. Yes, the Hendrix jag continues (yesterday it was Electric Ladyland). It was the first Hendrix compact disc I ever bought (I already had a few cassettes). If I remember correctly, I got it from Columbia House in 1988. It's just comprised of recordings Hendrix made for BBC's Radio One, and I hadn't listened to it in a ridiculously long time. I honestly can't remember the last time. I'm happy to say it holds up. Of particular interest are some of the covers on the album, like a fairly faithful attempt at "Day Tripper" and a goofy take on "Hound Dog." Nothing on the album is essential, but it's an enjoyable listen.

Listening to all this Jimi Hendrix makes me consider how tough he had it as a Black virtuoso musician in the 1960s. He wasn't fully embraced by either white or black audiences. White fans certainly appreciated his amazing guitar playing and showmanship, and maybe to a certain extent his songwriting, but many still saw him as a Black stereotype of the overly sexual "super spade." Meanwhile, Black audiences largely viewed him as an Uncle Tom playing "white music" for predominantly white audiences. 

I read a story of Hendrix returning to Harlem to play in front of a Black audience and facing a jeering crowd that threw things at him as he took the stage. Even when Hendrix played in front of appreciative Black audiences on the "chitlin' circuit" before he became famous, he had to deal with racist bullshit from whites in the South. This was an America that was only a few years removed from the Civil Rights Act of 1964 and in which Bull Connor's firehoses and the Birmingham church bombing (to name just a few of the 1960s civil rights era powder kegs) were still fresh on everyone's minds. More than ever--as I have already mentioned in a previous post--I think about what a shame it is that Hendrix died before he could truly grow into a mature artist and do exactly the kind of music he wanted to do--not feeling as if he had to satisfy the expectations of other people. He was aiming in that direction with the Band of Gypsys album (along with other music recorded in 1969/1970)...and then he died. We'll never know what more Hendrix might have accomplished if he had the opportunity.                                                                                                                                                                                  

A little Christmas stress

I'm feeling a bit fried tonight because I stayed up too late last night. That said, I still need to get my 10,000 steps in before I go to bed and I have about 917 to go. Those 10,000 steps can be reached from pacing back in forth in the kitchen while listening to a podcast. Yes, I actually pace back and forth in the kitchen if I need to get the steps in and I can't get outside to do it. It's too late and too cold to go outside and walk.

I admit, I'm a weirdo.

The weather is calling for a wicked snowstorm to hit the Midwest on Friday, which just happens to be the day that older son is scheduled to fly in from Germany. I am, of course, worried that he'll either get stuck in Washington, DC at his layover stop, or that his flight(s) will get cancelled/delayed. I suppose we'll "cross that bridge when we get there," to use that well-worn cliche.

I also feel that along with the slight rise in Christmas spirit, the annual Christmas stress is battling the spirit for supremacy. I am so tired of the constant quest to make the holiday "perfect" and trying to satisfy everyone's wants and needs. It's impossible, and not ever worthy of the attempt. Yet, we do the same thing every year. Even when the stated goal is to "downsize" and "minimize" on Christmas, it never seems to happen.

So on this sour note, I'm out for now...

My Sunday

 As soon as I get on my laptop, the cat is immediately fascinated with what I'm doing and must rub my face and claw at me. And as soon as I finish that sentence, she jumps down and finds something else to occupy her time. 

I also find myself "refereeing disagreements" between the dog and cat(s). The dog becomes very possessive of his little Greenie bones, which he always thinks the cats have designs on stealing. I don't think they give a damn about his Greenies. Still, he insists on barking at them, which they casually dismiss. Sometimes, he will leap off the couch and get in their faces, and their response is a cross between mild annoyance and mystification. 

We seem to be at peace for the moment.

This morning, we watched the World Cup final between Argentina and France. I really did not care who won. Maybe I was kinda sorta rooting for France? However, seeing as how Argentina had not won the Cup since 1986, I was happy for them. Regardless, it was an incredibly exciting and intense match that demonstrates why football (soccer) is the most popular sport in the world.

Do you know when there is a musician or band that you don't think about that much, and you don't own any of their albums, but whenever you hear their music you enjoy it and wonder why you DON'T own anything by them? That's how I feel about soccer. I'm far from an expert, I don't read about soccer, I barely played it, coached it very badly at the kindergarten level, and I don't necessarily seek out soccer games (except for the MSU women's team this autumn and a handful of World Cup games this year), but when I DO watch the game, I love it. I don't know that I've ever seen a competitive soccer game that was not exciting and/or tense. 

Between having the Detroit Lions' football game on mute, I spent most of the afternoon troubleshooting my persistently annoying stereo system. After unplugging, plugging, unplugging, unhooking, hooking, unhooking various wires and components, I determined that the problem I was having with sound only coming out of one channel had to do with the CD player being plugged into a problematic input--all of which I'm sure sounds boring as hell. The upshot is that I have the bare bones CD player I bought for $6 at the thrift store plugged into the stereo, and I think I'll just leave it that way until after Christmas. There's no point in wreaking any more havoc in the living room during the holiday season.

This CD player from the thrift store is actually quite good and I have Fleetwood Mac's Tango in the Night playing right now. (Earlier, I had the Jimi Hendrix Experience's Live at the L.A. Forum 1969 playing). So, yes, the Fleetwood Mac/Hendrix jag continues. Tango in the Night was released in 1987, a time when I thought I was waaaaayyyy too cool to give a fuck what Fleetwood Mac was doing. As it turns out, this is a damned good album. Sure, the sound is a little dated--as is the case with almost every album from the mid to late '80s--but it's adventurous and the songwriting is excellent as usual with this band. 

Well, once again, life beckons me--or, at the very least, "other stuff" beckons me--so I shall leave you until tomorrow when I'll have more mundanities to share.

Feeling kinda Christmas-y maybe

It's feeling a little bit more Christmas-like the last few days. For one thing, we have SNOW now and it's cold. I also had my annual holiday potluck at work yesterday afternoon.

L. found a Christmas tree after work yesterday. Conveniently, the biggest tree farm in the area is literally across the street from her office. We put the tree in its base today and L. did about 90 percent of the decorating and I did maybe 10 percent. I know, that's bad. My problem is I put about two ornaments on the tree and then get either distracted or bored. Then I putz around for 5-10 minutes before resuming with another few ornaments. I'm also afraid I'll put the ornaments in a bad location on the tree and that gives me some anxiety. 

Later this afternoon, I grinded out a four-kilometer run to get my week total up beyond 16.2 km/10 miles. The pavement was slicker and icier than I expected, so I needed to be careful. The last thing I want is to wipe out and fall on my ass in freezing weather.

When I got back from running, we drove over to the theater to see the movie Violent Night. As I put it on Facebook, if you are in the mood for a a wild and raucous Christmas movie, then definitely check it out. However, if the notion of an ultra-violent, take-no-prisoners, ass-kicking Saint Nick fills you with revulsion, then this flick will not be your cup of Christmas tea. I had a lot of fun, though. I particularly appreciated that Violent Night pays homage to other holiday classics like Die Hard--basically the entire premise of the movie is a nod to Die Hard--as well as Home Alone and A Christmas Story. (The female villain is reminiscent of the "mean department story elf" in A Christmas Story). Oh, and there is some good stunt casting in having Beverly D'Angelo (National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation) as the foul-mouthed matriarch of the rich family taken hostage by John Leguizamo's bad guys. (John Leguizamo is basically "Hans Gruber" to David Harbour's "John McClane").

As I write this, it's 11:30 PM and I'm watching this insane Buffalo Bills/Miami Dolphins football game from a snowy and exuberant Highmark Stadium in metropolitan Buffalo. So, before the glare of this computer screen throws off my circadian rhythms (or whatever), I bid you farewell for the evening.

Hendrix (continued)

I can't listen to Jimi Hendrix without thinking about college, which is the time and place when Hendrix's music first entered my musical life. 

Of all places, it was at a David Bowie concert in 1987 that I first thought, "hmm, Jimi Hendrix is pretty cool." This was when Bowie's guitarist on that tour, Carlos Alomar, broke into a snippet of "Purple Haze" that was mind-blowingly awesome. In fact, it was the clear highlight of that concert. (I love, love, love David Bowie--and I am grateful that I saw him perform live--but that Glass Spider Tour was subpar).

Fast forward a few months into my sophomore year in college. A bunch of us from Ground Floor/Shaw Hall had piled into a car and driven out to the Meijer store in Okemos. I can't remember why, exactly. Some kind of grocery run? a beer run? (Probably a beer/alcohol run, primarily). On the drive to and from, various cassettes were rotating in the car's sound system. On the way back to campus, on Grand River Avenue somewhere near Hagadorn Road (I have no idea how or why I still so vividly remember the car's exact geographic location when this moment occurred), Dave B. (our resident freshman metalhead who later traded his metal cassettes for rap cassettes) popped in a tape and the first song started with this strange "PFF ... PFF ... PFF ... PFF-PFF-PFF-PFF" sound effect followed by what sounded like a distant and dissonant bell being rung and an immediate electric guitar squall, then this stoned laconic vocal, "If you can just get your mind together...than come across to me..." 

It was one of those "What the fuck am I listening to?!" moments that happen in ever so periodically in life. How has this piece of music existed my entire life and why am I only hearing it now? 

I was fairly confident it was Jimi Hendrix, but as I remember it, I had to blurt out--reflexively blurt out, "WHO IS THIS? WHAT SONG IS THIS?!"

"Jimi Hendrix, Are You Experienced," Dave replied--or more accurately, shouted above the ear-splitting din of Hendrix's lyrsergic feedback drenched and backwards guitar mindfuck.

I later found out that Dave's cassette was the 1984 hodge podge release, Kiss the Sky. I found a copy of the cassette presumably at WhereHouse Records shortly thereafter and thus my Jimi Hendrix fandom began in earnest. Kiss the Sky was a perfect introduction to Hendrix, as it contained an equal mix of studio tracks and excellent live material, (including a great version of "I Don't Live Today" that I wish I still had. Yes, I got rid of that Kiss the Sky cassette many years ago).  Uh-oh, do I suddenly have an urge to reacquire Kiss the Sky?

Not my actual cassette, but this image--taken from eBay--looks exactly like the one I had.

So that concludes my Jimi Hendrix origin story. I hope you weren't too bored by it.

Hendrix, Community Newscenter memories, and author Tim Riley

I am easily led into unexpected directions by whatever podcast I happened to listen to or whatever book I'm reading. But lately, it's really been podcasts that have had the power to sway me in directions involving movies to watch or music to listen to. A few days ago, I listened to an episode of The Classic Rock Album-By-Album podcast that was all about the Jimi Hendrix Experience's Are You Experienced album. The guest host was Tim Riley, who is a music commentator who has been around for a long time and wrote two books about The Beatles and Bob Dylan that I have enjoyed for decades, Tell Me Why: A Beatles Commentary and Hard Rain: A Bob Dylan Commentary. 

I remember haunting the old Community Newscenter bookstore on Grand River Avenue across from the MSU campus when I was a college student and had little-to-no money. One of the books on the shelf was the hardcover edition of Tell Me Why. The book was published in 1988, so this would have likely been sometime that year. Having no means of buying the book, I think I read about half of it in a series of visits to Community Newscenter. Several years later, when I was working at Schuler Books, I saw the paperback edition, decided that the softcover price combined with my employee discount made it an acceptably low price, and I bought that.

Just to go on yet another tangent, the newsprint and paper smell of Community Newscenter was unforgettable and beautiful. It smelled like knowledge and sophistication.

Back to Hendrix: the podcast inspired me to listen to Are You Experienced and Axis: Bold As Love for the first time in several years. I still like those albums, but--gulp--find them a little dated and maybe a bit half-baked in spots. Is that heresy? Don't get me wrong, Hendrix was a genius, but I'm not sure he released an album that was a beginning-to-end masterpiece. His musical highs were stratospheric and transcendent, but every album has some filler on it. It is such a travesty that Hendrix died at age 27. Who knows what musical paths he would have taken had he lived.

Movies and television

In recent years in December, I maniacally try to catch up with all the movies I should have seen during the year but have fallen behind on seeing. So, last night, I/we caught Ticket to Paradise on the Peacock streaming service. It was a perfectly fine "turn off your brain after work" type of screwball romp. There are plot holes a-plenty and a script that is a bit half-baked, but it is enjoyable to see the George Clooney and Julia Roberts chemistry on screen. Anyone who liked those two in the Oceans series of movies will be at least reasonably entertained by Ticket to Paradise.

I will more than likely, either on New Year's Eve or New Year's Day, list my favorite movies of the year in this blog. This was a year in which I thought the television shows offered by the streaming services were, in general, much better than movies. So I am just warning you that even with my intense December catch-up, I'll probably have still missed a large swath of movies.

As for TV shows, I'll list my favorites of the year, since I watched an obscene number of shows this year--and even so, still feel as if I have missed plenty of good ones. It really has been a banner year for TV, and by TV I'm mainly talking about the stuff on Hulu, Amazon Prime, Netflix, Disney+, HBO, HBO Max, and Apple+. Aside from PBS and the syndicated Jeopardy!, Abbott Elementary (on ABC) is the only show I like on old fashioned network television.

In case you're wondering, I do still read books and have not quit reading permanently after finishing the Isherwood book. I started Donna Tartt's The Secret History, and should probably end this blog post so I can return to it.

Running in the cold

It's that time of year when I understand why old people go south in the winter. The older I get, the less tolerant I am of the cold. I went out running when I got home from work, trying to get out there while there was still a sliver of light outside (it was, for all intents and purposes, dark when I finally got going at 5:30 PM) and it was miserable. Not only was it dark, it was cold and windy. Cold as in slightly under 30 degrees F. That might not sound too bad, but the wind made it feel worse. I grinded out two miles, and when I say "grinded," that's what I mean. My pace was slow and plodding in the freezing dark. (I should also mention that our neighborhood has few street lights and plenty of potholes and crumbling asphalt, so it's best to run carefully in the dark). Regardless of all my griping, I have to keep plugging away at the running in the winter and not use bad weather and darkness as an excuse not to knock out at least eight to ten miles per week.

An Aubrey Plaza couple of evenings

I watched the season two finale of The White Lotus last night and enjoyed it. I have to say The White Lotus will certainly be in my top ten television shows of 2022.

Aubrey Plaza was in this latest season of The White Lotus, and also in a movie I just watched tonight, Emily the Criminal. It is now streaming on Netflix, so if you have Netflix, by all means check it out. At 97 minutes, it's a tight taut suspenseful crime drama about a young woman (played by Plaza) saddled with college debt and an assault conviction in her past who is compelled to enter the world of credit card fraud to make money. Plaza is excellent in the movie, as she also is in The White Lotus.

My Saturday, continued (but really, more about Fleetwood Mac--sorry)

I will carry on after my cat interrupted me yesterday:

I should have mentioned that before I left to pick up my CD player, I was listening to another Fleetwood Mac's album Then Play On (1969), which is considerably different from Tusk, the album I listed to in the car. Of course, aside from Mick Fleetwood and John McVie, those were completely different versions of the band. Then Play On features Peter Green and Jeremy Spencer and is more like John Mayall's Bluesbreakers combined with a dose of early blooze rockin' ZZ Top. This is how it sounds to my ears, others may disagree. (I have no idea if Fleetwood Mac was even aware of ZZ Top, so the similarity I hear with them might be completely coincidental). Ten years later, Lindsey Buckingham had assumed control of the Mac and Tusk is a glorious hodge podge of lush pop rock and eccentric, edgy weirdness (mainly supplied by Buckingham, who was in mad scientist auteur mode and likely hoovering coke like a human vacuum cleaner). 

Fleetwood and McVie deserve credit for essentially leaving their egos at the door and recognizing musical talent where and when they saw it. They did this with Christine McVie and Bob Welch in the early '70s and, of course, again in 1975 with Buckingham and Nicks. Mick and John seemed content with being the rhythm section and letting the talent they brought in write and sing the songs. Through the band's various incarnations and metamorphoses, they managed 20 years of excellence. Even after their salad days had ended, they managed to keep performing live and recording albums of middling quality.

I saw Fleetwood Mac in concert one time. It was in 1995, after the salad days had ended. In fact, it was low enough that they were opening up for REO Speedwagon. Buckingham and Nicks were long gone. This version of FM featured Mick, John, Christine, and guitar legend (Traffic, et al) Dave Mason. I don't have much memory of their performance, other than it was neither bad nor great, but it was an unexpected treat to see Dave Mason play.

Well, the season finale of White Lotus is about to start, so goodbye for now.

My Saturday

For today's installment, I will simply recount my activities for the day, or at least the highlights.

I have managed to watch four different sports today: football (soccer), football (American), basketball, and now hockey. Perhaps there is an Australian league baseball game I can watch later to add to today's variety of sports.

I caught the end of the Morocco/Portugal World Cup game (won by Morocco in exciting fashion), and then drive off to Williamston to pick up my CD player which was finally repaired. I wanted to get younger son to drive there but he was a bump on a log and I just didn't have the energy or patience (mainly patience) to prod him. So, I grabbed Fleetwood Mac's Tusk CD for drive time listening (yeah, going through a bit of a Fleetwood Mac jag--which was actually already sort of the case even before the passing of Christine McVie). It's about a 15-20 minute drive to Williamston--essentially a straight line from my house. Vintage Sound was humming with activity when I arrived. It's a narrow little storefront shop off the main drag in Williamston. They sell all variety of, well, vintage audio equipment: turntables, receivers, amplifiers, speakers, and used vinyl and CDs. In other words, a place where I could easily become addicted to and tempted to spend too much money. It's a good thing it's a little out of my way. 

It cost me a mere $50 for my repaired CD player. It has a brand new belt and I hope is ready and raring to go for another 15 years at least. Maybe this time I won't leave a stray CD in there that will fall underneath the carousel and eff the whole thing up. (In fairness to that stray CD--Oasis' Definitely Maybe--it took it 15 years to wreck the CD player. I am sure I left it in the player back in 2007 when we moved from our old place to our current house. I had spent years wondering what happened to that CD and when it was obvious it was lost--somewhere--I bought a replacement. I am sure there are plenty out there that might say that the CD goblin was doing me a favor by disappearing Definitely Maybe).

I returned home and watched the England/France World Cup game (I know I should probably refer to it as a "match" and not a "game"). I'd make a "I see England, I see France" joke, but I have far too much dignity to do that. I am, however, slightly disappointed I did not see any of the players' underpants. The match was exciting--as has been almost every competitive soccer game I have ever seen. It's easy to see how the entire world loves the game. It seems like the United States is slowly coming around.

Well, the cat is bugging me. So I must abruptly end this.

My trip to the 1997 Detroit Lions/Indianapolis Colts game

This post is maybe "cheating" a bit, because I am transcribing something I wrote after attending my one previous Detroit Lions game, on November 23, 1997:

It only took me 29 years to make it to a Lions' game, but what a first game to go to! On a grey, windy, extremely cold day, Mike [my brother] and I saw the Lions at the [Silverdome]. We sat in the 22nd row of the bleachers--lower deck in the south end zone.

Detroit sacked Indianapolis' quarterback in "our" end zone for a safety. Before the play, Mike was chanting, "Safety! Safety!" and, lo and behold, the Lions did it. I believe the Colts' quarterback was Justin #11. [The quarterback was, indeed, Paul Justin].

We saw it all, two Jason Hanson field goals for over fifty yards each. He kicked a 55-yarder on the final play of the first half to give Detroit an 18-10 lead. 

Without a doubt, the highlight of the game was Barry Sanders. He rushed for about 216 yards [216 yards exactly] and, on the first play from scrimmage in the second half, ran for an 80-yard touchdown. In the first half, he had a run which also came our way, for about 40 or 50 yards. His 80-yard touchdown was amazing, and I feel so lucky to have witnessed it in person and in the flesh. All I could see was a mob of white and blue-clad players 80 yards away after the ball was snapped, but around the right side of that mob (which was on my left side, from my vantage point in the south end zone) emerged #20, he broke several tackles between about the [Lions'] 20 and 50 yard lines and then was gone--and I mean gone. He had about two men to beat after he sped past the 50, and those guys didn't have a prayer. Barry flew down the sideline and scored, to give the Lions a 24-10 lead (soon to be 25-10 after Hanson's extra point). I don't think I'll ever forget the grace and power and sheer determination in Sanders as he rocketed down that right sideline. Even though a couple Colts players attempted to bring him down after he had crossed the Indy 30 yard line (or so), there seemed to be no doubt in my mind or anybody else's that nothing was going to prevent Barry Sanders from crossing that goal line.

It was a perfect game. Scott Mitchell played well and made few, if any, mistakes. The Lions' passing game was conservative, but with Barry running as well as he was, passing wasn't that necessary. Defensively, the Lions were superb. They held tough throughout the game and prevented the Colts from getting a first down on 4th and 1 in Lions's territory (3rd quarter, I think it was). 

We had some funny guys sitting behind us. One of them had Marshall Faulk on his fantasy league team and was flipping out because Faulk wasn't doing much in the game. All of them seemed to second guess every single passing decision (no quarterbacking decision) which Scott Mitchell made.

We froze when we left the dome, the weather had become more grey and windier, but both of us were glowing. It had been a great game. Mike and I ate the two remaining donuts I had brought with us dow to Pontiac. 

It was a great game and I hope to make Lions' games a permanent fixture. [Well, it took me 25 years to return].

Holiday form letters from "The Bannisters"

I was listening to a podcast recently (The Slate Culture Gabfest) in which one of the topics of discussion was Christmas cards and the Christmas form letter from the "perfect family." It stirred up memories of the Christmas form letters my Grandma C. received every year from an old college friend and her family. For the sake of their anonymity--though I highly doubt they will ever come across this humble blog--I'll call them the Bannister's. Let's just say they had "done well for themselves" in life.

Here is a rough approximation of one of the Bannister's holiday form letters:

"Dear Friends,

"Yet another whirlwind year for the Bannister clan. It began in January when Tom and Muffy took the children to Switzerland for a lovely skiing vacation. Ted and I were delighted to be able to accompany them. Long days on the slopes followed by shopping in Zurich or evenings sipping hot cocoa at the fireplace of the mountain lodge. It was a most splendid time for all.

"In the late spring, Eliza finished her studies at the Sorbonne, and it was lovely to fly into Paris for all the pomp and circumstance, but no sooner did we arrive in Paris then we had to jet off to New Haven for Jeffrey's graduation from Yale. Jeff was class valedictorian and will soon be moving to Manhattan to work for Morgan Stanley.

"Ted and I and the extended family enjoyed a most delightful summer vacation at Club Med, where Jennifer announced her engagement to her beau Robert, who just recently received his law degree from Princeton and will be joining his father in the family practice.

"Wishing you all a most Merry Christmas and Happy New Year,

The Bannisters"

This re-creation is only a slight exaggeration of the real thing.

Not only did we receive the letter, but there were always and additional few pages full of photos featuring healthy, well-tanned, (mostly) beautiful people enjoying all the activities mentioned in the letter.

My mom, dad, aunt, uncle, and cousins (who drove down to Detroit from the Upper Peninsula to visit my grandma and us) would read the Holiday letter with a combination of laughter, revulsion, and just a little jealousy--but mostly laughter. It was impossible for me to imagine a life so perfect, and hard to believe that these people were somehow in our social orbit.

Looking back at it now, it seems so long ago that my grandma received those letters. When my grandma died, so did our ties to the "Bannister" family and so did those Holiday form letters. I have no idea what the "Bannisters" are doing now and whether they continue to live such privileged lives. In a strange way, I miss the days of reading those Holiday form letters and laughing about them with my cousins.

Checking in on Wednesday (the day and the show)

I need to just get a post out there to keep this streak going. 

My biggest adventure was the continuing road construction in Okemos making my commute a pain. I had to drive about three miles out of my way this evening to get home. First world problems, as the expression goes.

The weather was warm enough that I didn't mind going for a run this evening. I hate running when it's dark and resent that it looks like nighttime by 5:30 PM in the winter, but you have to just push through. I managed to get in slightly more than three miles.

The other huge excitement was Michigan State basketball actually winning a game (woot!) and then watching the latest episode of Abbott Elementary (about the only network television show that I enjoy--so damned funny) and the second episode of Wednesday on Netflix. About halfway through Wednesday, I was struggling to stay awake, so it was off to bed I went. (Wednesday, for the uninitiated, is a spin-off series from The Addams Family franchise featuring the character Wednesday Addams. The show is part horror, part comedy, part teen drama. So far, it's fairly enjoyable fluff).

Christine McVie, Fleetwood Mac, Fourth Grade, and You Make Loving Fun

Christine McVie of Fleetwood Mac died last week at age 79. Her death--like the deaths of pretty much every celebrity in the last several years--got me to reminiscing about my earliest associations with her and Fleetwood Mac. So, that took me back to 1977-78 and fourth grade. That was when Fleetwood Mac's blockbuster album Rumours was released. Now, of course, I don't remember the album being released, nor would I have had any interest in that. When you're a nine(ish) year old kid, music just sort of appears. You hear it on the radio and it never occurs to you where it came from or how it was created. 

When I think of Rumours, my mind invariably goes back to a girl who was in my fourth grade class at Peter Vetal Elementary in Detroit. I can still remember that she had meticulously braided dirty blonde hair, thick glasses, a prominent nose, she loved horses, and she loved Fleetwood Mac's Rumours. I don't remember this girl's name anymore, but I remember that she brought in several Breyer model horses for show-and-tell and she knew everything about them, and I remember she also brought in a vinyl copy of Rumours that our teacher, Mrs. Papa, let her play it on one of those bulky school record players that was wheeled around on a cart. (It was probably on a day right before a school break). The girl probably liked Rumours because her mom and/or dad liked it. The album does not strike me as one a kid finds on his/her/their own. But who knows?

Beyond hearing the album played in my fourth grade class, Rumours was ubiquitous in the late '70s. Almost the entire album was played on the radio at one time or another. "You Make Loving Fun" was the song that made the biggest impression on me at that time. There was something about that Christine McVie-penned (and sung) song that seemed very adult to me. It had a sultry and slinky quality that made it sound like something that I wasn't supposed to be hearing. I was old enough to have at least a vague idea of what sex was, and this song sounded like sex, like very grown-up sex with very grown-up ideas. At the same time, it was an earworm like most every other Christine McVie (and Fleetwood Mac) song. "You Make Loving Fun" is among a handful of songs that intrigue me as much now in 2022 as it did when I was a kid in the 1970s....and for that, I say, thank you Christine McVie.

Book report: Goodbye to Berlin by Christopher Isherwood

 

Late Saturday evening (more like early Sunday morning, to be precise), I finished reading Goodbye to Berlin by Christopher Isherwood. The book starts as a somewhat breezy, lighthearted collection of character sketches featuring the oddball and eccentric characters Isherwood (or "Issyvoo," as his landlady Frl. Schroeder refers to him) encounters as an English tudor/aspiring writer in Weimar Berlin. 200 pages later, it concludes ominously with the dark cloud of fascism enveloping Germany. What I particularly appreciated is its boots-on-the-ground reportage of the gradual decay of Germany in the early 1930s. Isherwood wrote this as Hitler was coming to power. We see Isherwood transform from passive observer to horrified chronicler. This book is a cautionary tale of how evil and hideous political movements can quietly take hold.

My Sunday at the Detroit Lions/Jacksonville Jaguars game

So, I went to my first Detroit Lions football game in 25 years and, just like that one, the Lions won in a blowout. On November 24, 1997 the Lions beat the Indianapolis Colts, 32-10. Today, the Lions beat the Jacksonville Jaguars, 40-14. So while the Lions have an all-time losing record, I am 2-0, with the boys in Honolulu blue outscoring the opponent 72-24. Am I a human good luck charm? It would appear to be true.

We set off for Detroit at about 10:00 AM. After the requisite stops for gas and Starbuck's coffee, we finally got on the highway at about 10:20. It was smooth sailing until 6-96, north of Detroit. There was construction that narrowed the freeway down to one lane, but soon it was easy-peasy again until the Fisher Freeway Service Drive which was bumper-to-bumper traffic. It took us a good half-hour to go less than a mile, but we eventually were able to park the car in Comerica Garage and got into Ford Field--amazingly--about a half-hour before kickoff.

Do you ever go to a place and wonder why the hell it took you so damned go along to go there in the first place? I have been feeling that quite a bit lately. Ford Field has been open 20 years and I have had multiple opportunities to go there, but it took me until now to finally do it. At least it ended up being one of the most enjoyable Lions games in recent memory.

I must say that Detroit Lions fans are among the most underrated in all of sports. For an organization that hasn't won a championship in 65 years, those fans bring it strong. The crowd at Ford Field was absolutely lit for the entire game, and I was amazed at how decked out many of the fans get for the game: Lions jackets, jerseys, jewelry, painted faces, etc. I was comparatively underdressed.

It was a fantastic time and, aside from the somewhat stressful drive and the underwhelming Ford Field men's restroom, it was well worth it. If I get around to it, I will write more about it later.

A short update and then a tech glitch, and then I'm back after the glitch

Today it was mainly me and younger son.

I started the day by checking on the progress of my Sony 5-disc player, which is ostensibly being repaired at a shop. I left a message and didn't hear back, so who knows what the hell is going on with that. Stereo equipment repair dudes are as bad as car repair dudes when it comes to follow-up. I suppose I just have to keep pestering and eventually I"ll get an update. Good thing I have a backup CD player, so it's not urgent.

After this, there was the matter of me not having much in the way of Detroit Lions gear for tomorrow's trip to Ford Field. Yes, that IS an issue. I made the short trip to the mall to pick up a shiny new Lions hat.

I am having a technical glitch so will just post this now and update later.

---

I am back. Serves me right for trying to write this on my phone.

So after I bought my nice new Detroit Lions hat, I stopped at Jimmy John's to get younger son a sandwich for lunch since he is allergic to leftovers. After he ate, I pestered him to drive because he really needs to practice driving and get hours in to get his permanent driver's license. Eventually, he succumbed (he's still a somewhat reluctant driver and really needs to get poked and prodded to do it. The thing is, he's a pretty good driver, but just needs a bit more confidence). So, we drove to the Record Lounge, about 10 miles from our house, and I sold back some cruddy old vinyl soundtrack albums that I have had for decades and have never listened to and have absolutely no intention of ever listening to. Younger son had some fun browsing the R&B/Soul section and gave me some ideas for potential Christmas gifts for him. Spoiler alert: the album in question is a Candi Staton album. I hope it is still there when I pop in there again on Tuesday.

Sentimental sap

Hey, how about this! I am about to post my second consecutive blog post.

Here's an observation: The older I get, the more sentimental I become. The oddest and most unexpected things move me: For instance, today at work I was cataloging a new children's book about Robert McCloskey and the creation of the book Make Way for Ducklings. In the back of the book was a small section about sculptures of the ducklings that were installed in a Boston park in 1985. McCloskey was apparently dubious of the sculptures until he saw children playing on them. That was the trigger that set me off. A few tears were shed. A voice inside my head said, "Seriously, dude?!" But it is what it is. I am an old softie. I mean, I've always had a tendency towards sentimentality, but it's become more pronounced than ever the last few years. Is it because of the pandemic? Is it because I'm getting older? I really don't know.

A Little December experiment

Here is an experiment to see if I can write something every day in the month of December.

We bought tickets for the Detroit Lions/Jacksonville Jaguars game this Sunday. Why, you might ask? Well, it started when L. thought she might have scored free tickets at work. I suddenly got excited about the prospect of going to my first Lions game since 1997, when I saw Barry Sanders run roughshod over the Indianapolis Colts at the dearly departed Pontiac Silverdome. Unfortunately, someone else snatched up the tix before us, but the hankering to see the Lions at Ford Field--a venue I still have not been in--had firmly dug its claws (Lion claws?) in my brain. So, even though this will decidedly NOT be a free Lions game, we are going. Oh, but at least we have better seats than those free tickets. So, anyway, I'm excited about that. Whether the Lions win or not, it should be an enjoyable Sunday afternoon. Unlike most other late season football games I attend, weather conditions will play no role. It should be cozy indoors at Ford Field.

And so begins the Holidays and my musings on the Holidays

'Tis the season when Thanksgiving ends and we, at the very least, pretend to be festive and joyous until January 1, 2023 and then fall off the ledge for the inevitable post-holiday blahs. 

Okay, sorry to start the post with such a downer statement. 

Anyway, Thanksgiving is sort of like "opening day" for the holiday "festive season" that lasts about five weeks. To use another sports metaphor, Thanksgiving is like the "exhibition game" that prepares us for the "regular season" of Christmas (and Hanukkah, Kwanzaa, and New Year's Eve/Day). Thanksgiving is also the "Rodney Dangerfield" of holidays: no respect. And in recent years, Thanksgiving is taking much more of a beating for being racist and an anachronism. It's hard to dispute this, certainly when it comes to Thanksgiving origins. Even if one ignores Thanksgiving's roots in European extermination of the native people of North America and tries to treat it as a day in which we "give thanks," let's be real: who really takes time to "give thanks" for anything on Thanksgiving? If you do, then that's wonderful--more power to to you. But for the vast majority of Americans, Thanksgiving is simply about stuffing turkeys, stuffing our faces with turkey and other food, avoiding and/or arguing with family, and watching professional football on television. So, maybe Thanksgiving really doesn't deserve respect. 

While I cast a jaundiced eye at the holiday season, I admit that I actually like about half of it. I do like the festiveness (even if it's performative) and the decorations. However, I enjoy looking at other peoples' decorations. I'm not a Christmas decorator. I am definitely not a Clark Griswold. My idea of Christmas decoration is haphazardly throwing up some lights on the front yard shrubs on December 18. You will never catch me outside on a ladder meticulously decorating the entire house the day after Halloween. (And, yes, there are plenty of people in our suburban neighborhood who do that). 

I know this isn't a unique opinion, but I'm also not interested in the shopping/gift-giving feeding frenzy that takes place during the holidays. I don't mind the act of "gift giving," but will we ever not be obsessed with "the more, the better"? This is a losing battle. I will now forever return to how I saw the lowkey manner in which Christmas is celebrated in Germany--or at least as I witnessed in my little corner of Dresden/Radebeul last year. Christmas was a family lunch at a restaurant in Moritzburg followed by a long walk on the grounds of the castle and then a mid-afternoon snack of coffee and sweets. Gifts were limited to one or two nice things per person. I loved it. Does it represent the way everyone in Germany celebrates Christmas? Not necessarily, I suppose. But by-and-large I have to assume that Christmas in Germany--and the rest of the world--is much sparer than here in the States. 

This is all I have for now.

Why The GDR Fascinates Me: Neese Family Adventures in Radebeul, Leipzig and Dresden

This is the link to a podcast I was on. It was recorded back in the spring and just dropped a few days ago.

Why The GDR Fascinates Me: Neese Family Adventures in Radebeul, Leipzig and Dresden: 

"I have said this often, but I am so grateful to you all for your continued loyalty to the podcast this season. Most of you all don't know this, but I got…"--Steve Minegar, Radio GDR podcast

[The rest of Steve's commentary is available after one clicks the link above].

College nostalgia vignette: She Sells Sanctuary

Today marks the 37th anniversary of The Cult's Love album release. 

The album was released on October 18, 1985, but I didn't hear The Cult for the first time until at least one year later. 

I was at WhereHouse Records in East Lansing. It was the old location on Grand River Avenue and Charles Street, which is now a Starbuck's Coffee. I don't know what I was doing at WhereHouse or what I was looking for. I might have just been poking around or maybe I was looking for an R.E.M. or Smiths album (having just really gotten into those bands upon arriving as a freshman at MSU). I felt free from the restraints of home and of the secluded backwater I had lived in from fifth grade through high school graduation. College life and by extension, the energy and vaguely countercultural vibe of this record store made me feel alive in a way that it difficult to describe.

So that one particular afternoon--and I am positive it was an afternoon because I remember natural sunlight splashing through the windows--this song plays on the overhead sound system. The drums sound like a cracking whip, the acoustic and electric guitars dance and swirl and punctuate the dramatic bellows and yowls of the singer. The band sound as if they are performing into the pounding wind of a tornado, or maybe the sound they're making is the tornado. I have to find out who this is and the song title. I don't remember who I ask or who tells me, but I learn it's "She Sells Sanctuary" by The Cult.

Shortly thereafter, I found someone on my dorm floor who owns The Cult's album Love and I was able to dub it onto a Maxell 90 minute cassette. Unfortunately, the album is longer than 45 minutes, so the final song "Black Angel" had the final 1/3 or so lopped off. (When I finally bought the CD several years later, I was finally able to hear "Black Angel" in its entirety, but to this day expect the song to end abruptly 2/3 of the way through.

Summer is over. [Sad face]

We took Avery and Nora to the airport last Friday for their return trip to Germany. I've been reasonably okay in the past when seeing A off on any of his overseas trips, but this was the hardest time I've ever had. We had so much fun with the two of them and it was such a joy having them stay with us that I had to do everything I could not to just lose it as I saw them meander their way through the TSA checkpoint.

What makes me feel better is that I know they are adults and have to go about their adult lives, and I know that Nora's parents are there and they'll be there if Avery needs anything. He may be thousands of miles away, but he's in good hands

Day Five of the Labor Day Vacay

This is the final installment of this electrifying series.

So we woke up relatively early on Monday, September 5 (actual Labor Day) and headed on the road back to Niagara Falls. We had all filled out the online ArriveCAN app on our phones to get into Canada. After my last horrifying adventure with the Canadian border (in pre-pandemic 2019--I believe I wrote about it here), I was concerned about getting beyond the border without a hassle. In fact, I felt a bit anxious about it the entire drive to Niagara Falls.

As usually happens when I worry about something, the actual source of the anxiety ends up being completely uneventful, and in this case the Niagara Falls Canadian border patrol guard was a perfectly polite and kindly fellow who let us in with a smile.

Nora was excited because it was her first time in Canada and she was able to add another stamp to her passport.

Despite overcast skies, misty rain, and a chill in the air, the Canadian falls were delightful and worthy of multiple photographs. The general eeriness of the cloudy conditions may have made Niagara Falls even more awe-inspiring.

We probably spent a good two hours in Niagara Falls, Ontario--making this easily the most time I have ever spent at this particular natural wonder. (I had previously been to the falls in 1993 and 2015. I don't think Lynda and I stopped there in 2000. If we did, I have no memory of it).

After poking around in the massive Niagara Falls visitors' centre (note Canadian spelling), we set off for Sarnia. Sadly, this is one of the most boring drives in Canada. There is not much to see beyond the drab office parks, shopping strips, and factories along the highway. We did, however, make a pit stop at an A&W restaurant in St. Catharines and a Tim Horton's in the charming small city of Ingersoll (near London). The Ingersoll sojourn only happened because I accidentally blew past the highway rest area.

After Ingersoll, the rest of the journey home was fairly uneventful. There was a bit of a hold-up getting into the U.S. after crossing the Blue Water Bridge. The final hour stretch home was livened up by a 1980s dance music mix on some forgotten Sirius radio station.

So as you can see, we had quite a wide-ranging and active five-day vacation.

Day Four of the Labor Day Vacay

I better finish up this Labor Day Vacay series before a) I forget what happened and b) my readers completely cease to care (assuming they already DID care).

So on Day Four (Sunday, September 4) we collectively agree to check out Watkins Glen State Park, which is on the south end of Seneca Lake, about a half-hour(ish) drive from Ithaca.

We didn't anticipate the huge crowd at Watkins Glen, but we should have. It was the Labor Day weekend, after all. Even though there were a lot of people, and they made climbing the hundreds of narrow steps of the Watkins Glen gorge falls a bit tight and mildly treacherous, they didn't detract from the amazing beauty. Watkins Glen has to be seen to be appreciated.

We returned to our hotel in the early afternoon sweaty and dirty. We cleaned ourselves up, and walked up route 13 to the Barnes & Noble about a mile from our hotel. (It's been a pleasure to discover how much Nora likes books and bookstores). We, of course, got iced coffees from the Starbuck's cafe in the store and spent close to two hours browsing. All four of us bought books. I bought Donna Tartt's The Secret History, a book I have intended on reading ever since listening to the podcast Once Upon a Time at Bennington College.

After the B&N adventure, we embarked on a new adventure: trying to find a restaurant in downtown Ithaca. The city was hopping and every eatery was packed. We were finally able to get into Monks on the Commons (in the Marriott Hotel--a place we'd considered staying in but was booked). It took the wait staff about a half-hour to decide who was serving us, but eventually (9:00 pm or so) we were able to eat. Avery and I had the house gnocchi which was excellent--and probably even better considering how hungry we were.

We returned back to the hotel and prepared for the long journey home.

Next: Day Five.

Day Three of the Labor Day Vacay

I meant to write yesterday about Day Three of our Labor Day Vacay. 

So we fought traffic and much larger crowds on September 3 to view the falls from the city of Niagara Falls, NY (and not Goat Island). The first stop--after thankfully finding a parking spot in one of Niagara Falls' massive parking ramps--was Starbuck's. I must emphasize how much all four of us love Starbuck's. Yes, I know it is a giant monstrous corporate coffee chain, and I'm not necessarily proud of my devotion, but the product is consistently good. So we stopped there, as we did often on this vacation, and I got my iced brown sugar oatmilk shaken espresso and was ready to face the hordes.

The view of the falls was as equally impressive as it was from Goat Island. Niagara Falls reminds us of how small and insignificant we are as humans--at least that is my theory. There is something awe-inspiring to witness this enormous cascade of water tumbling 170 feet. The sheer power, danger, and beauty of the natural world right in front of us.

After about an hour, we were ready to head out of town. It wasn't the falls that we we were tired of, but the crowds of tourists get to be a bit much. So we trudged back to the parking ramp, got in the car, and headed to East Aurora, New York.

East Aurora was home to Elbert Hubbard and the Roycrofters. Roycroft was a collective of artisans, artists, and crafts people and a birthplace of the Arts & Crafts movement of the early 20th century. This description is a bit reductive and sells Roycroft short. East Aurora is a lovely small town and is home to both a revived collective of Roycroft crafts people AND the Roycroft Inn. L. and I spent a few nights at the Roycroft Inn on our honeymoon in June 2000. We hadn't been back in 22 years. I was happy to see it hadn't changed much since then.

After a few hours in East Aurora, it was off to Ithaca, another place we last visited on that June 2000 honeymoon. We checked into our hotel on route 13 (all the hotels in downtown Ithaca were booked), took some time to rest and recuperate from the day's activities, then headed into town to eat dinner at the Moosewood, a famous vegetarian restaurant that--yes--we dined at in June 2000. I had a vegetarian jambalaya and it was splendid. It makes me wonder why I don't just go full vegetarian, but I don't know if I could prepare food as scrumptious as the Moosewood.

Ithaca is a wonderfully weird, funky, freak-flag-flying college town, home to both Ithaca College and Cornell University. It's like a smaller Ann Arbor with better scenery and less pretension. 

Next: Day Four.

Day Two of Labor Day Vacay

So after I putzed* around Progressive Field taking pictures from every conceivable angle and location, we checked out of our hotel (Hilton Garden Inn) and hit the road for Niagara Falls, New York. (Initially, there was some concern about whether we should attempt to venture to the Canadian falls, considering one of our travelers is a German citizen and we weren't sure how difficult that would be to get through the border. Spoiler alert: it was fine. We saw Niagara Falls from the Canadian side on the drive home).

We arrived at our hotel (Double Tree on Buffalo Avenue & 4th Street), which was along the Niagara River, in the early afternoon. Thankfully, we were able to check in early and get all our luggage and perishable food up into our rooms. Seeing that we could easily walk from the hotel to Goat Island, we set off. 

The weather was bright, sunny and warm--but not uncomfortably warm. We saw the falls from the observation areas of Goat Island and then on a whim decided to go on the--I don't know how to describe it--walking excursion of the Cave of the Winds which takes you to the base of the Horseshoe Falls. You are handed rain ponchos and believe me, you will need it unless you want to get your clothes and entire body soaking wet. It is quite an exhilarating and visceral way to experience Niagara up close. It also made me re-evaluate my previously negative opinion of the U.S. side of the falls.

After our Goat Island excursion was over and we returned to the hotel, we celebrated Avery's 21st birthday at the DoubleTree restaurant. I certainly was feeling too tired from the day's activities to go schlepping around for a restaurant, so it was a relief when Avery decided the menu looked favorable. As it turns out, the hotel restaurant had excellent food. The only downside was the air conditioning seemed to be set at roughly 50 degrees Fahrenheit and the live musical entertainment was terrible. Our wonderful waitress was kind enough to relocate us to the outside patio, where the evening temperature was around the mid-70s and we couldn't hear the bad music. (Hey, I respect anyone brave enough to put themselves out there and perform live, but this guy was rough).

A recurring theme of our trip was re-watching the final season of Breaking Bad on our Fire Stick (it was Nora's first time watching the show), so we retired to Avery and Nora's room and watched an episode before going to bed.

*Spell check doesn't recognize Yiddish.

RenFest update and Day One of our Labor Day vacay

First of all, and update on the Renaissance Festival. It was fine. Aside from the temperature being a bit hotter than I'd have liked--I find the RenFest to be more enjoyable by late September when the temps are in the low 70s--it was a pleasant time. It didn't get too busy until about an hour before we left. Even though I'm really not the biggest Renaissance Festival fan in the world, after all we have been through with Covid, I had the tastiest giant turkey leg I have experienced in a long time.

Last Thursday (September 1), we headed off on a five-day vacation through Ohio, the little sliver of northern Pennsylvania that pokes up between Ohio and New York, then New York State, and finally into Ontario before returning to Michigan. We brought Avery and Nora with us.

We arrived in Cleveland at about noon on Thursday. As soon as we parked in the lot on Lake Michigan near the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, we were greeted by the ear-piercing sounds of several blue military jets streaking over the skies of Cleveland. It was the Blue Angels. They were in town for a Labor Day air show and were apparently "practicing" that day in preparation for the big show. They were truly an awe-inspiring sight, but the intense loudness became overbearing after about fifteen or twenty minutes. We made our way on the short walk to the RnRHoF.

I had never been to the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame before, but I am happy that I finally made it there. I have griped and complained about the hall for years. (Why do some people get in and others do not? Do we really need an institution for what is supposed to be rebellious and/or proletarian music? In other words, the standard gripes). As it turns out, the RnRHoF is anything but austere or stuffy. It is fun and, befitting a building devoted to rock and roll music, quite LOUD. It felt like walking the halls of a college dorm with every room blasting a different kind of music. The only part missing was the aroma of pot or stale booze wafting in the air. 

We spent about four hours in the RnRHoF and could have easily stayed longer. I'm not sure how much "the kids" enjoyed it, but they were at least good sports about it and indulged the old man. The most memorable artifacts? Probably U2's charmingly mundane talent show trophy from 1978 and Jim Morrison's Cub Scout uniform. (Jimbo was a good scout--he earned all three badges. My sorry ass only attained the Bobcat and Wolf badge. Morrison got those AND the Bear badge).

We spent the night in a perfectly pleasant hotel just a line drive's distance from the Cleveland Guardians' stadium, Progressive Field. The following morning, I strolled over to the stadium and took several photos. I have decided that next summer I want to get tickets for a Detroit Tigers/Cleveland Guardians game and stay in the very same hotel so that we can just walk to and from the stadium. I was quite taken with how vibrant downtown Cleveland truly is. I had heard the city had made giant strides but it was good to see it myself.

A short post from the road...

I am on the road to the Renaissance Festival in Holly, MI with the family. We are bringing my older son's German girlfriend, who has never been to an American ren fest, which I assume are much larger and extravagant than their European counterparts.

I haven't been to the RenFest since before the pandemic. I'd become a bit turned off by how enormous the crowds had become, and I will likely feel the same after today...but who knows. I'll let ya know later.

Brandi Carlile at the Huntington Bank Pavilion, Chicago (August 6, 2022)

It was another emotional, powerful, brilliant, utterly captivating performance by the Brandi Carlile Band, at Huntington Bank Pavilion on Chicago’s lakefront.

As usual, I was a puddle of tears during “The Story,” “The Joke,” and “Party of One.” Brandi’s voice and words (though it was Brandi’s bandmate Phil Hanseroth who wrote “The Story”) just go straight to my heart like few other musicians are capable.

There were so many highlights at the show, so I will just list them as I think of them, in no order.  There was the alternately soaring and shit-kicking “Broken Horses,” the always shit-kicking “Mainstream Kid” (my favorite Brandi rocker), the Hanseroth twins (Phil and Tim) opening the show with their dueling guitar “Twintro,” Brandi and the twins singing three-part harmony on “The Eye,” opening act Celisse joining Brandi and the band for rousing covers of Bowie’s “Space Oddity” and Radiohead’s “Creep,” the second opener (and legend) Ani DiFranco joining a worshipful Brandi for Ani’s “32 Flavors,” Brandi paying further tribute to uber-legend Joni Mitchell with a slow gorgeous version of “Woodstock,” the perpetually po-faced Evangeline Carlile (Brandi’s daughter) joining the band for the sing-a-long “Hold Out Your Hand,” and finally Brandi making everyone cry with “Somewhere Over the Rainbow.”

The music podcaster Yasi Salek (Bandsplain) likes to use the phrase “goddamn gorgeous beautiful” to describe any song that particularly moves her. I love this expression and use it frequently, to the point where Yasi may want to trademark it. Anyway, it was a goddamn gorgeous beautiful Brandi concert on Saturday night in Chicago.

Yet another mass shooting in America

I keep reading about the latest horrific mass shooting in the United States, this one in the affluent Chicago suburb of Highland Park.

In what seems darkly appropriate for what this country has become, this shooting took place during a July 4 parade.

The following is yet another rant that I feel compelled to get out of my system.

I'm not sure if there is a state of mind that is just "beyond angry." I am so disgusted with the continual inaction of our lawmakers to do one single goddamned thing about gun violence and/or gun law reform. It seems like I say the very same thing every single time one of these massacres of innocent life takes place.

Reading about two-year old Aidan, who lost both of his parents yesterday, sent me over the edge. It is absolutely heartbreaking. Why do we continue to allow this to happen? Why has the right to "the pursuit of happiness" been superceded by the right of any nutcase to arm himself to the gills (and it's ALWAYS "himself" and not "herself" when it comes to these rampages).

It is to the point where I no longer feel safe in public. I mean, I do go outside of course, but I'm always aware of my surroundings. But it's not just "outside" where these shootings take place. In fact, it seems more often indoors. So I don't feel completely safe at work either. Our gun laws are so lax and it's so easy for anyone to get their hands on weapons of mass killing (AR-15, I'm looking at you) that there is little one can do if some random wackjob decides to go rogue.

There was a time when I'd find thoughts like this to be over reaction, but now I find them fairly reasonable. It is true that statistically, the likelihood of me or my family being victims of gun violence is small, but it's still there. And the seeming randomness of mass shootings makes everyday life feel like a game of roulette.

Welcome to the TSA (Theocratic States of America)

As everyone knows by now, Roe v. Wade was struck down by our ultra-conservative Supreme Court on Friday, defying the will of--if the polls I have seen are accurate--approximately 67 percent of Americans.

We are officially living in a minority-rule, ultra-conservative, theocratic, authoritarian hellscape. Democracy in the United States is on life support. This nation is a joke and should deservedly be a laughingstock to the rest of the world.

The only way we even begin to get out of this is if the American electorate hits the polls en masse in November and votes the corrupt GOP out. But it's not enough to simply vote, folks on the left have to let the right know that we will no longer tolerate their brazen thuggishness. 

If we can't force these authoritarian theocrats out of office and send them scurrying into the rat holes where they belong, they will not stop trying to mold the United States into their own "ideal' society. One in which straight cisgendered white men are dominant and everyone else subservient. Goodbye gay marriage, and even more shockingly and absurdly, goodbye birth control. This is the truth and no amount of gaslighting from the right will make me believe otherwise. Gaslighting has been one of the right's primary tools in achieving their goals thus far.

For anyone unaware of this blog who thinks I'm some kind of hot-headed naive kid, let me set you straight--I've already taken 54 trips around the sun. I'm old as dirt. I lived through the Reagan years and the Bush years (both Senior and Junior). Those eras were no picnic but are child's play compared to the right wing's current reign of (t)error. (Hey, I managed to fit two cliches in one sentence--not bad!).

It's funny to think back on the civics and American government classes I took back in high school and how my teachers stressed that both our Constitution and checks and balances of Executive, Legislative, and Judicial branches ensured that nobody had too much power. (Somehow the teachers also tried to convince us that the electoral college was beneficial too, but I was never convinced of that). Perhaps this is all true in theory, but we have seen the cracks and fissures in our federal government when unscrupulous people are allowed to take power and exploit the system for their own selfish gains.

Camera Man: Buster Keaton, The Dawn of Cinema, and the Creation of the Twentieth Century (by Dana Stevens)

So it only took me almost four months to get through this book, not because it was bad or difficult to read, but because I was juggling two books at one time (something that never works out well since one almost always supersedes the other one in the "reading hierarchy"). Then, when I was finally able to devote my full "reading attention" to it, I would often put off reading until 10:30 or 11:00 at night and promptly fall asleep after reading about five pages. In the last week, I finally decided to read the book in the afternoon or early evening before I became irretrievably exhausted.

So here is a brief blurb I wrote about the book for the library. I thought I'd share it here, too (apologies if the font size does not match the blog--I am copying and pasting it):

This is a must-read for anyone interested in the life of Buster Keaton, silent movies, comedy, or the early days of cinema. Film critic Dana Stevens—who is also one of the hosts of the Slate Culture Gabfest podcast—presents in the life of Buster Keaton within the context of his times. This is less a biography than a cultural history. For example, a chapter about Keaton’s rough-and-tumble childhood in Vaudeville leads to a look at the history of child labor in the United States; the production and plot of Buster’s 1920 short film One Week (about newlyweds’ home construction that goes comically awry) spins off into a short history of the “kit house” craze of that period.

Stevens’ research is impressive and her respect for Buster Keaton and a man and an artist is palpable throughout the book.