brainsplotch

I just finished my blog post about musician deaths and totally blanked out on David Crosby. I'm not sure how that happened. I am a little to tired right now to write about Croz, but will try in the next day or so.

It's an ever-so-slightly snowy Sunday afternoon here in Michigan and I'm watching the National Football League playoffs, Buffalo Bills vs. Cincinnati Bengals. The Bengals are currently ahead 24-10 in grey, gloomy, snowing suburban Buffalo, New York and all I can think of is how goddamned depressing it will be for those Bills fans if their team loses. I suppose at this point, they are used to it. Between the punishing weather and the sports teams that always break your heart, you have to be a hearty person to live in Buffalo. I have only been to Buffalo in the summer, and it's a perfectly nice place--in the summer. Seriously, Buffalo has a good art museum (Albright-Knox Art Museum) and an equally good history museum (Buffalo History Museum). We have had a spate of musician deaths in the last few weeks. Jeff Beck departed to that great concert in the sky on January 10. Though I appreciate Beck's contributions to music, I can't say I was a big fan. I think I might be a...

I am watching The Golden Globes tonight because I need to "veg out" a little bit and, believe it or not, am actually interested in who wins these awards. I think I've seen enough of the movies and TV shows that I have a stake in who the winners are. For example, as I write this Quinta Brunson is accepting the Golden Globe for Best Actress in a Comedy Television Show, and I am very happy for her. She deserves it, as Abbott Elementary is one of the best shows on TV and one of the few decent offerings from the Big Three major networks. It's been a long day. I started it out by going to the doctor--no big deal, just reestablishing being a patient with the GP I had sort of lost contact with over the last few years. I really liked her, but Covid sort of threw everything out of whack and I hadn't had an appointment with her in at least six years. I had tried another doctor, but the "chemistry" wasn't there and I didn't care for this other doctor's ...

Sorry folks, I missed filing a blog post yesterday, so the streak is over. I suppose I could have written something this morning and simply backdated it to January 7, but that would be just a little dishonest. After dropping older son off at the airport and returning home on Friday, we decided to watch a movie: The Banshees of Inisherin on HBO Max. It's a movie that has been getting considerable Oscar buzz, and as it turns out, it is deserving of the praise. I'm not sure it's a great film, but is certainly good, and might get better with age and repeat viewings. It's the sort of movie you watch and are not exactly sure what to think in the immediate aftermath but find yourself thinking about hours later or--in my case--the very next morning.   The Banshees of Inisherin takes place in 1923 on a sparsely populated but stunningly beautiful (fictional) island off the coast of Ireland. It could really almost be any small town or sparsely populated locale, a place where eve...

I'll tell you what, nothing like "Facebook memories" to remind you of the passing of time and just add a little bit more to the melancholy I'm already experiencing today. Ten years ago today--January 6, 2013--I took the boys to the small hill behind their elementary school for some sledding. It was the day before they had to go back to school. They were eleven and seven years old. I had forgotten that in the chaos of getting their snow pants, coats, and boots on as well as gathering up the sleds, discs, and various snow hill sliding devices, I locked my keys in the house. That meant we had to walk to the hill, which is about 3/4 mile from the house. That is not an unmanageable distance, but with two kids in snow gear and several sleds, it was much less convenient than throwing everything in the car and driving there. (As for how we got back in the house after we were finished sledding--I can't remember. Maybe L. arrived home from work or wherever she was and let u...

Today was our last day with older son before he returns to Germany. We had Qdoba for dinner and caught up with the last few episodes of The Mosquito Coast . (I'm not sure if it's a great show, but it is definitely addictive). I am feeling the same melancholy about him leaving. You'd think I'd be used to it by now, but that is still not the case.

As a kid in 1977, seeing Star Wars for the first time, I though the interior of the Death Star looked like the interior of the recently completed (1976) Fairlane Town Center in Dearborn, Michigan. I even imagined the Death Star smelling like the inside of Fairlane (I suppose that would be the smell of brand new clothes and Cinabon? I'm not exactly sure, but it certainly would be a new and fresh smell). In retrospect, maybe Fairlane looks a little more like the world created in the movie Logan's Run . In any case, judge for yourselves.  

We had our final family get-together of the holiday season, rescheduled from the disastrous Christmas Eve. I do like seeing my parents, but I'm relieved that the holiday season is over. Yet, at the same time, I'm bracing myself for the next few months of cold, gray, depressing winter. (I'm sure this isn't the first time I have expressed this sentiment in this blog). Last night, older son had two of his friends over to watch the latest version (released in 2022) of All Quiet on the Western Front . They were nice enough to let the "old people" watch it with them. There is little in the world quite as amusing as three 21-year-olds watching a movie together. The banter was pretty damned funny. However, when it became clear that this movie was not going to be a joyride, they got serious and somber. All Quiet on the Western Front is an unsparing, visceral, and violent movie that wastes no time in demonstrating that war is hell. As a viewer, you can't help but f...

I'm not even sure how this happened, but somehow in late 1976, I decided that I really wanted to see Rocky .  In the mid-'70s, boxing was still a massively popular sport, with Muhammad Ali, Joe Frazier, and George Foreman all in the prime of their careers. I was certainly aware of the sport, as ABC's Wide World of Sports often broadcast heavyweight (and middleweight, welterweight, etc.) fights on Saturday afternoons. So, like many other kids my age, I was a fan of Muhammad Ali because of how frequently he and his bouts were on television. I'm not sure that my mother was terribly thrilled about taking me to see a boxing movie, but she dutifully took me to see Rocky during Christmas vacation of '76. Though Rocky pales compared to movies like The French Connection , Dog Day Afternoon , or Serpico (to name a few), it was my introduction to that subgenre now known as the "gritty '70s drama." As an eight-year-old, I was thrown off by the movie's openi...

I am currently at a family get-together drinking a beer and watching the Detroit Lions demolish the Chicago Bears. We will soon be eating dinner. The last few days, I have read Patti Smith's A Book of Days, which was a Christmas gift from my niece. It is an excellent collection of photos and accompanying captions that Patti Smith posted on Instagram the last few years. The book will make you want to investigate and or read the works of the many artists, poets, novelists, and musicians that she celebrates within the pages of the book.  Patti Smith writes with the flare and floridness of a poet. It's not always a style that I gravitate towards, but I never doubt her sincerity. She is a deep thinker and clearly someone who has completely dedicated and immersed herself into the life of an artist and seeker of knowledge and truth. I admire her for this. If you like Patti Smith, or have any interest in the arts, I recommend seeking out this book.