Blah diddy blue…

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So, I guess you could tell from that last post, I am a wee bit out of sorts. Could you tell I was a tad tipsy, too? No matter, I suppose. The truth is, I’ve The Weight of the World upon me, with a smidge of Malaise thrown in to give it a little razzamatazz. (I’ve already explained my self-obsessed taxonomy of all of the ways I could possibly feel bad. If you’re into self-punishment, read them again here:

http://smalleradventure.blogspot.com/2009/11/feelings-woe-woe-woe-feelings.html; by the way, this is actually one of my most popular posts because it begins with a picture of a blue meanie I jacked from Google Images. People just love them Meanies, I tell you what!)
I also have allergies – oh, my achin’ bacon! To all my fail allergy sufferers, I join you in cursing the air! Oooh, air! You make me so angry! RRRRRRRRRRRRRR!
Anyway, I am on the road to feeling 100% better -yay!- and in the meantime, I will leave you with some cool things I have seen I have seen recently.
Have a great week!







I Live In The Present, No Matter What You Think!

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Upon rereading my last post, it occurs to me that some of my followers- that’s right, I have followers– might have studied American history, and might, therefore, have prior awareness of certain factual information, like, for instance, the douchebaggery of George Armstrong Custer. Perhaps, though I find it difficult to fathom, you don’t find my take on certain important events, like the lead up to the Battle of Little Bighorn, what one would term “breaking news.” I understand that just because something happened over 130 years ago and you learned about it when you were twelve, some of you might not think that a rehashing, no matter how vibrantly told, is really relevant to today’s complex and turbulent times. Really, I get that. Misguided as it is, I feel your boredom with my historical fascination.

Alas, as a graduate of the BSISD, I have almost no knowledge of my country’s past, nor do I have any sense at all of basic geography, chemistry, physics, or algebra of any kind. Sometimes I get confused about what it means when the big hand is on or near the nine, and if you use obscure directional terms like “north” and “south”, I am bound to end up near Oklahoma, a place nobody really goes by choice.
I think back over my education and wonder why I never learned about things that others seem to know.
In the BSISD high schools, many history and government classes are taught by coaches, often of the ignorant, foaming, Republican nature. I went to a school that had no athletics, so the powers that be had to import a survivalist, child-loving redneck to fill in for a football dude. Mr. McCartwright, as I will call him, spoke as if he always had a hunka chaw under his lip. “I hate to tell yew yer wrong, cowboy…. but yew shure ain’t right,” he’d say when we’d question the ethical nature of the Confederacy, or mention the hypocrisy of the Puritans. I particularly remember his enthusiastic portrayal, in a series of seemingly interminable lectures – no print-rich, stimulating word walls for this guy, I tell you what!- on “The Plight of the American Injun.”
“What happened with yer injuns,” he said, with a sad and knowing smile, “wuz that they re-lied on the buffaloes, for evrythang…evrythang you could pawsibly imajun!”
While I imagined the Indians relying on the buffalo for electricity, rock concerts, snow days, weed, Flashdance t-shirts, and blowdryers – I had a pretty vivid, if not juvenile, imagination at that time – Mr.McCartwright would suck at his teeth and shake his head in the mock pity of those who know better.
“Sad to say,” he went on, “but them buffaloes got sum disease, sumpin’ real bad, like a buffalo flu. They got to gettin’ real sick, and then hell! They all up and died!”
He proceeded to explain, with charts and graphs that he drew on the blackboard – back in the day, we used a substance called ‘chalk’, that left a thick, white dust on a black board- that the Indian was totally unable to adapt to the loss of the buffalo, and therefore succumbed to a quick and relatively painless death on paradises called ‘reservations’ that the United States government set up for their final days.
Is it any wonder that until recently, I thought that George Custer was a great American hero?
Anyhoo, I could tell you many more stories about Mr. McCartwright, who ended up being reprimanded for attempting to force me into writing a major paper about a book called The Great Hoax, which was about how the Holocaust never happened; this, even though he was made aware that my grandmother wore an unwanted tattoo from her long years at Bergen Belsen, and my grandfather spent WWII in a Prisoner of War camp; or about how he married a student (her parents were happy about it, even though she was shy of 17), named Betsy McSlutterson (okay, okay, not her real name!); but that’s not really what I want to talk about here, at this point, today.
Today, I’d like to be relevant.
So…the Superbowl, right? I hear they’re playing it in DALLAS, this year! Dallas, Texas! Yeah, that’s right! Dallas: it’s not just for presidential assassinations anymore, right?! Hellz, no, dawg! Hope those teams from those places win, right? Can I get a what-what? By the way, happy fidddieth anniversary, JFK’s Inaugural address! Address that changed America, right? Sorry Dallas killed you, JFK! Possibility and promise…shoot that bitch right in the head, what?! Hellz to the yeah! That was some old style shit; hope and change, no lie, GI! Do ya feel me?
So, speaking of fitness- oh, hell no! Segue much, Ex-Lax? How about that Jack Lalanne, right?He’s dead! Dead as Kennedy! Guess all that fitness and shizz only paid off only for ninety-four years! Fo-nitey-fo! Guess he feels like a fool, what? Let’s all go to Mickey D’s and celebrate, right! That shit’s on me, fo’ sho! It’s cheap, so I should buy it!
I heard that Camden, New Jersey, which has a crazy high crime rate, decided that the police department was not a top priority and laid off 44% of it’s force and a good chunk of firefighters…has anyone been following what’s going on south of the border, about what’s up down Mexico way? Drug cartels and death, that’s what’s up! Lawless chaos and scared citizens, wondering how it can get any worse! Maybe instead of making sure we get rid of ‘sanctuary states’ and making sure registered voters have picture ID, we might look at finding ways to fund basic safety and security essentials…other than just firing a bunch of people. Do I smell administrative mismanagement and overspending? Ah, yes, I always do! http://www.recordnet.com/apps/pbcs.dll/article?AID=/20110123/A_NEWS0801/101230309/-1/NEWSMAP
And talkin’ ’bout relevance…how ’bout that news I watched today on the teevee? Now that’s some relevant shit, right? Less see…Oprah’s got a sister! OMG! Who knew? I did not know that! Thank you, news on teevee! And that’s not all! Gabby Giffords is continuing to slowly improve! Since all signs have pointed towards her very fortunate betterment, and I have been continuously bombarded by information regarding her every progressive twitch, I must say, I am shocked by her…predicted progress! The other day, the TV news preempted regularly scheduled programming to show an ambulance moving her from one hospital to another – LIVE! Oooooeeee! That’s riveting!
And speaking of predictions…it’s going to be cold this winter, with snow, and ice! BRRRR! Let’s talk about it some more, shall we? Get this! On the news the other day, I learned that the Octamom, a misnomer fo’ sho’, since she actually has 14 kids….is broke! I did not see that coming! Also, if you deep fry healthy foods in lard and fat… they lose their health benefits and actually cause you to increase calories, and therefore gain weight! So that’s what’s up with your unforeseen obesity, lard ass! Thanks, teevee! I did not realize that! And it’s flu season! I forgot, even though it happens at this same time every year! I wondered why all around me kids at school were turning pale and puking on their desks! Whoopsie! Wash those hands, boys and girls, and quit coughing with your dirty mouth aimed right at me, biyotch! Sneeze in my eye again and I Will Cut You!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
So, did I tell you I went on vacation? I did, and it was so relaxing…
Kisses!
AVR
P.S. Here’s something else I know: yellow fever causes black vomiting. It’s not the scarlet death, but still, what exciting color combinations!
P.P.S. In case you were wondering, I don’t have TB. Whew! Close one! Now about the syph…
Just kidding! All clear!

Saddle Up, Sucker!

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After writing that last post, I had a mighty strong hankerin’ to do two things: finish telling you about the trip I took last summer to the great state of South Dakota, and stand on the corner of a busy street and scream,with the joyful abandon of a drunken banshee, a certain word that will remain untyped in this post. Can you guess what it is? Go on…guess! Perhaps you could if you had something to lubricate your mind a bit, massage the old membrane, if you will… not that membrane and not that kind of massage, Ass Nasty! I’m speaking, of course, of a drink, a restorative beverage, a rum drink perhaps, a rum cocktail, a cockrum, a …uh-oh! I almost wrote it! I was so close! Must not write the word! Must be careful!

Anyway, I forgot where I left off in the tales of my travel and the saga of McAdams and her quest to avoid human contact and 50’s music. She doesn’t like people, generally, though she is fond of bears, and she is unreasonably afraid of any music that even approaches doo-wap, as she believes those smooth soul stylings are harbingers of doom. Other than these and a few other idiosyncrasies, she is the perfect traveling companion.
OK, so I told you about Mount Rushmore (boo!) and The Crazy Horse Memorial (yay!), Keystone and the shacklet, Porter Sculpture Park and the 1880’s train. That brings us, without further doodoo, to Deadwood! Yay! FINALLY!

Like all things that get an unnecessarily long introduction, are much anticipated, and over-hyped, Deadwood itself was kind of a letdown.
The historic part of Deadwood is mostly torn down, burned up, or remodeled, nowadays. The area was severely economically depressed until 1989 when gambling was legalized, and the gaming industry gave the city a much needed financial shot in the arm. Unfortunately, now Deadwood is filled with casinos that are dimly lit and tacky, like I imagine all of Reno to be. I don’t know why, I just do. The HBO series also did much to generate interest and tourism to the city, so there are a lot of cheesy souvenir stores and uninspired eateries, including one that is owned by Kevin Costner that is crammed with memorabilia from his movies. That was kind of weird. Deadwood is a little out of the way, because it was bypassed by I-90, and I found its sister city, Lead, to be more interesting and charming. Even the famous whorehouses are gone, the victims of a big raid in 1980. The last one to close was called “Pam’s Purple Door.” There’s some trivia for ya! After some industrious sleuthing, I did happen to spot a sinful roundheel strumpet plying her wares in front of a “slot house”…

If modern Deadwood lacks a bit to be desired, its history is still fascinating, and we loved the tiny Adams Museum – no relation to Mc- which had artifacts like chairs, scissors, hardware, blankets and old, yellowing ledgers behind ropes or under glass.

Here is a brief account of the city of Deadwood:

Deadwood Gulch, as it was originally known, was so named because it had a bunch of dead trees in a gulch. (What exactly were you expecting?!) It was an illegal settlement, because due to the Treaty of Fort Laramie in 1868, it was part of the Black Hills territory ceded in perpetuity to the Lakota Sioux, and early on, the government sent troops to several forts to keep people from entering the Hills.

The Black Hills are magnificent and rich in minerals and resources, and settlers took notice and sneaked in to exploit them, despite the military presence. By 1873, the U.S. government began trying to buy the land back from the Sioux to open it for mining. In 1874, the coc – the conquered commander George Armstrong Custer was sent to investigate rumors of gold, which instigated the rush.
(A word here about Custer… I don’t like him. After barely graduating at the bottom of his class at Westpoint in 1861, he was known for not obeying rules and playing assholey practical jokes on his fellow soldiers – just the kind of guy you’d like to serve next to in a combat situation, right? He excelled in self-promotion, travelling with a 16 piece band, a small group of journalists, and dressing up in stupid costumes, like buckskins and boots. He wore his blonde, flowing hair down and loose, like an 1800’s Jim Morrison, and more than once his recklessness caused unnecessary danger to his troops. He was only made a general because of social promotion; his title was an honorarium from a high-ranking fan, and it was temporary. After the Civil War, his permanent rank was that of captain. He invented fancy-pants social events for his inner circle, which included young and dashing favored officers and his family members. This group was known as ‘the royal circle’ by resentful enlisted men.
He was sent to scout the Hills because he had already fought and won some battles against small bands of Sioux, when he was charged with protecting railroad interests. Prior to this, Custer had skirmished with the Cheyenne at the Battle of the Washita River, where he claimed to have killed 103 warriors. The Cheyenne estimated their own losses at 11 warriors and 19 women and children, plus Custer took 53 women and children prisoner, and shot most of their 500 plus ponies. Dick. Because he was arrogant, he assumed a quick and easy victory if he met up with the Sioux again.
Custer took about a thousand men into the Black Hills, and he took his time doing it. He hunted and shot a grizzly, hiked (but didn’t scale -wuss!) Mt. [Me So] Harney, played a lot of baseball, and threw nightly champagne parties for the winning teams.
By the time Custer and his men encountered the tribes, tensions between the Indians and the U.S. government were running high, on account of constant treaty-breaking and continuing American advancement on Indian landed. The government decided that all remaining free Plains Indians be rounded up and “corralled.” Instead of willingly reporting to designated areas, Sitting Bull gathered together the largest ever gathering of Cheyenne, Lakota, and Arapaho Indians at Little Big Horn River, to discuss what to do about the white devils that were destroying their way of life, stealing their land and murdering their people.
Custer had no idea what he was getting into. His famous last words were: “Hurrah, boys, we’ve got them! We’ll finish them up and then go home to our station!” WRONG!!!)

Right. So back to Deadwood. In 1875, a miner found gold in Deadwood Gulch, and it was on like Donkey Kong. In no time a-tall, the population of the still-on-the-DL town reached an estimated 5,000. In 1876, Charlie Utter and his brother Sam rode up in a covered wagon train filled with prostitutes and gamblers. That same year Wild Bill Hickok (Hickok-sucker?) was shot in the back of the head in the Number 10 Saloon, and shortly after that Calamity Jane began making up rumors that she had been romantically involved with the famous marksman, though by all accounts he was said to have found her somewhat repugnant. Al Swearengen (I admit, I just said it, LOUDLY, but I didn’t write it, so it doesn’t count!) opened up the Gem Variety Theater in 1877 and quickly cornered the opium trade. The Homestake Mine, the largest and most profitable in the area, thrived, and Sheriff Seth Bullock kept order, if not law, in town. 1878 saw the first telephone exchange in Deadwood. In 1879 a fire almost destroyed the town (this would happen three more times, the last being in the 1950’s), by 1880 there was a Chinatown, and in 1883 Deadwood was almost wiped out by a flood. In 1890, the railroad pushed through the Black Hills.
I know all of this stuff is true because I read two books, a bunch of pamphlets, and consulted the Internet.
The coolest part of Deadwood is Mt. Moriah, the cemetery, which was created between 1877 and 1878. You can see famous graves like these:


You can see less famous graves like this:
Ms. DuFran was the most profitable madam in Deadwood, and also had brothels in Belle Fourche and Rapid City. The one in Belle Fourche was called “Diddlin Dora’s” and was advertised as “Three D’s – Dining, Drinking and Dancing – A Place Where you Can Bring Your Mother!”, which is especially convenient if your mother is Elliot Spitzer, Jimmy Swaggart, or Hugh Grant. Calamity Jane worked for Dora DuFran as an occassional cook and maid, and it was from Diddlin’ Dora’s that Jane went off on her final bender. The little devil planter in the corner of the photo is one of four, that represent Dora’s four business establishments. Also buried at Mt. Moriah is Dora DuFran’s beloved husband and her pet parrot, Fred.

Mt. Moriah has a big section for children, many of whom died in epidemics, one headstone for an unidentified Chinese man, and a large Jewish section.



All right, my precious co- umm, concubines, that’s about it for Deadwood. My fingers are tired and my mind’s half worn from thinkin’, so I hope you’re satisfied, coc- Caucasians and other racial groups who read this blog. I’m out! Signing off from Deadwood,

Your COurageous Correspondent, Queen of the DaKotas…
So long for now, SUCKERS!!!!!!!!!!!

Weekend Updates

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Really, SNL, are you going to use my superclever made-up word as the crux of your “aflockumentary” skit without giving me credit! How can you sleep at night? You ought to be ashamed of yourselves! I blame Lorne Michaels, who I once saw in New York. I had been drinking rather liberally, shall we say, and I walked right up to him and said, “Hey! Hey, Lorne Michaels, creator of the long-running and ground-breaking late-night tv sensation Saturday Night Live! Hey! I just gotta ask you – How ya doin’, Lorne Michaels?” He completely ignored me, as if I was just some drunk stranger, some slurring, swaying cray-cray, intent on starting a long, rambling conversation about absolutely nothing with him. As if he didn’t have time for that kind of thing! Rude, Lorne! He acted like he didn’t recognize me then, just like he is pretending not to recognize my work right now!
You will pay, Lorne Michaels and entire cast and crew of Saturday Night Live! Plagiarism is a crime! I will not be wronged by the corpocracy of the National Broadcasting Company or any of it’s powerful affiliates, like Halliburton and the makers of Peeps marshmallow animals (have you noticed how they are now ubiquitous at every holiday, instead of just Easter? They don’t know their place, and they’re taking over, I tell you!) I will have justice! Prepare for an epic lawsuit, you bastards!*
In real news, I spoke to McAdams. Her school re-opened on Friday, and while she was apprehensive about returning, she had some good things to report. In a show of support for the school and its administration, almost 100% of the student body showed up for classes. They arrived early, wearing their school spirit shirts, or dressed in red, their school color. The students waited outside until the bell rang, and then together, as one group, they crossed the threshold and entered the building. Other schools sent pictures and videos of their students wearing red, or holding signs that said “We are Millard South.” Local businesses donated food and flowers. Substitute teachers from the surrounding districts volunteered to cover classes so that teachers from Millard South could attend the funeral services of Vicki Kaspar, the assistant principal who was killed. People were kind and gentle with each other, and there was a spirit of healing and fellowship in the halls. I am so glad that on the heels of tragedy, McAdams and her colleagues and students were able to have a life-affirming experience. Of course, things are nowhere near normal, and the repercussions of this tragedy will be felt for years to come, but it’s nice to know that after one person acted in a way that was so selfish and unfeeling, hundreds of people are responding with empathy and communal goodwill.
My friend Smurp hipped me to this great interview from W. Earl Brown, who played Dan on Deadwood. Fans, you’ll love this: http://www.avclub.com/articles/w-earl-brown,49370/ . If you don’t want to read it all, here’s a bad news/good news summary of what’s going on Deadwood and beyond: BAD NEWS- The much anticipated and oft-dreamed of movie finale of Deadwood is nothin’ but a fond, fruitless fantasy. Since the show hasn’t been on the air since 2006, you probably figured that. I was still clinging to hope, because that’s how I am, but now it’s official – I have been DENIED!
GOOD NEWS- A new Milch series is coming up this year! It’s about horse racing and has an all star cast, led by…wait for it…Dustin Hoffman, Nick Nolte and Richard Kind, who you might now from Curb Your Enthusiasm. It’s in post-production at HBO as we speak!
So, yay! I’ll drink to that, cocksucker!**
swearengen-shot.jpg

*Full disclosure – I stole the Aflocalypse thing from an article I saw in a newspaper story on the Internet. And, as far as I know, NBC is not in anyway affiliated with Halliburton or Peeps. Curse my unwavering honesty and commitment to journalistic integrity!

** I can’t help it! It’s like he has some Svengali-like hold on me! Swearingen makes me swear in general, even when it’s not appropriate, shit-sticks! Doh! I did it again! For fuck’s sake, make it stop!

Aflockalypse Now

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If I get killed by a dead bird plummeting from the Arkansas heavens in the dead of night, suspect fowl play.

Get it?
P.S. They say it is fireworks that caused the birds to suddenly take flight in the dead of night. I wonder when birds learned to expect the 4th of July. Can someone say “government-chupacabra-area 51-like-hell-they-walked-on-the-moon-it-wasn’t-Oswald-alien-Hussein-Obama-there-is-no-global-warming-conspiracy time?”

Not again!

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I got this email from McAdams, who teaches in Nebraska, this evening: “Survived my first shooting today. Both of my principals were shot in the main office. Both in critical condition. The shooter was a senior. He committed suicide.”

At this posting, one of the victims has died. McAdams described her as “..nice to everybody, a real grandmotherly type.”
McAdams is fine, and I am so grateful I want to cry.
My local news didn’t mention the incident, but instead led with the fact that a regional chain store was going to offer its merchandise online.
The student, the son of a police detective, was apparently angry because he was suspended earlier in the day for an infraction of school policy. I forgot what McAdams said it was, but I thought the suspension was reasonable. ABC news reported: In a rambling Facebook post filled with expletives, Butler warned Wednesday that people would hear about the “evil” things he did and said the school drove him to violence.

He wrote that the Omaha school was worse than his previous one, and that the new city had changed him. He apologized and said he wanted people to remember him for who he was before affecting “the lives of the families I ruined.” The post ended with “goodbye.”

Now is not the time for preaching…but I can’t help myself.
1. When you care about people, or when they make your load a bit lighter, or if they do you some small kindness, you should let them know. I heard about this man who decided to write a thank you card every day to someone he wanted to recognize and acknowledge. I thought it was a nice idea, but a little over the top and hokey. I think I am going to do it, too. I mean really, how many times do I have to learn and forget the same lesson? Life is unpredictable and short. Our greatest gifts are the relationships and connections we are lucky enough to enjoy, and we should cultivate and nurture them.
2. In order to save money, many school districts are cutting teachers and increasing class size, even in elementary school. Vote no and protest vigorously against any law that forces students to have less contact with competent, concerned adults. A kid is at school for the majority of every day. If that time is wasted, we may never get it back. Teachers cannot bond with 10 classes of up to 40 kids each, and this sort of action is harmful to everyone involved.
3. Please remember that even though there are some bad teachers and administrators, most people who devote their lives to education want to be good, and they try, even when they really don’t feel like it.
4. We must guard against becoming desensitized by bad news or the feeling that we are being overwhelmed and always strive to make things better. Do good, and don’t give up.
To my friends who read this blog:
Dear Friends,
This is my first post of the new year, and I think it is fitting that it concludes with this thank you note.
Thank you for taking time out of your day to get to know me better than you already do. Some of you have been my friends since I was a kid; some have known me all my life. For you to still be interested in my thoughts, feelings, and bullshit rantings is so touching; I can’t tell you how much it really means to me. You make me feel special and smart. It’s everything to know that you care.
Thank you for your comments. I read them all. Twice, at least.
Thank you to those of you who are new, or who I don’t see often, for keeping up with me, even though I am not on Facebook.
I love writing this blog; it makes me feel better, and I like having a record of my thoughts. Still, I think if it weren’t for those of you who I know read it, I don’t think I would keep it up, and that would be a shame, because I learn so much from it. So thanks again.
I wish you all happiness, health, hope, growth and opportunity in 2011 and beyond. I really love you, and you know who you are – and you know I know, too!
Take care of yourselves.
Love,
Me

Roses in December

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Fasten your seat belts, folks; I think this is going to be a long one!

As you probably know, the very last place to develop Kodachrome film is processing it’s very last roll today, and retiring the special Kodachrome machine that uses the special Kodachrome chemicals that give the film it’s unique warmth and richness.
Kodak gave the final canister of film ever manufactured to a photographer named Steve McCurry, whom they thought had done an outstanding job of using the film to its best advantage. He is the man who took the iconic photograph “Afghan Girl”, of a young green-eyed girl named Gula in a Pakistani refugee camp, for National Geographic. (Thirty years later he found her again and took another photo; she looks like she’s had a rough life. Even her once bottomless eyes look faded and colder, like sand worn beach glass instead of tiny, twin planets.)
If you’re interested, here are some images of from that ultimate roll:

He’s quite the photographer, right?
Anyway, for some reason, the end of Kodachrome really bothered me. I heard about it on CBS Sunday Morning News, and couldn’t stop thinking about it all week.
This is the season for reflection, and I am kind of obsessed with memory anyway, because I am always so astonished when reminded of all that I have forgotten. Not remembering distresses me, because, as some famous but completely forgotten person once said, “we are our memories.” In a never-ending quest towards self-improvement, I find it imperative to be able to define who I am, in order to figure out who I want to be, and that involves analyzing what the elements of me are, so in addition to being fascinated by all things memory/perception-related, I have a personal stake in the subject. Perhaps that’s why I write this blog – to remember what I think. (Here’s a paraphrase of a really nice memory quote from J.M. Barrie: “[We have memories] so that we might have roses in December.”)
The thing is, often, I am not sure if my memories are my own, or if they are manipulated mutations of memories. In other words, are memories organic, or are they products of external suggestions? The answer, of course, is “Yes.” They are both. And many of my favorite memories are in Kodachrome. I can no longer distinguish the moment from the image that captured it, and the intensity or import of those moments is enhanced by the density and dynamism of, as it turns out, a unique developmental process and a slew of chemicals. Which came first: the picture or the memory?
My first camera was a Kodak X-15 Instamatic. I had it for years. I took pictures of my grandfather driving what I will always think of as a Cadillac, whether it was or not. Never much concerned with details like what’s in the frame, I have a picture of his legs, from his white leather belt and polyester, maroon pants against the green leather seat, down to his matching white loafers on the pedals. On the floor is an orange golf tee. From the picture comes a cloud of sensation and factoids: the smell of his pipe; the way he ate so slowly, always the last up from the table on Friday nights; the strength of his arms when he let me feel his muscles; the taste of the peaches he grew; the songs that crooned from the radio of that car as it purred down Central Expressway, passed the drive-in that is no longer there, on our way to the now-demolished Luby’s, where I could order anything I wanted, so long as I ate everything that I put on my plate. Holding that slightly blurry photo – a word that itself is giving way to the more popular “image”- I am transported to a world in which my grandmother is still living, and I can almost feel her hands in my hair, smell her soup on the stove, hear her whispering to me, as I’m sure she did to all of my cousins, that really, I am her favorite. I see the dress I get to pick out on my first day of third grade and remember how proud I was. I see my sister as a tiny golden sundrop, with a shag hair cut in a little fringed jacket, smiling up at me, posing for the camera, and my mother, beautiful and radiant, and my handsome beatnik father, a perfect family before I knew that families are never perfect. That one picture brings back an entire era that is forever bathed in a certain glow…a Kodak glow. The era is gone forever, as are high school, and leaving home, and my first love, and life-changing travels to astounding locales, and groups of friends that are long dispersed, and people, now, quite a few, who I will only ever see again in the photos in my albums or the snapshots in my head. In those pictures we are smiling and laughing, or walking and talking, sharing holidays and road trips and afternoons on the porch. I miss those people. Part of me is gone with them, and I have phantom pain in the part that remains.
It’s not just that.
There are photos of our collective consciousness. I recently saw Paul McCartney on SNL and the again on the Kennedy Center Awards. At the awards, there was a retrospective of his professional life. There were the early black and white Beatles; funny to think that those well-tailored young men were considered radical and threatening. Pictures showed them growing up, growing into a phenomenon, growing apart. Cynthia on John’s arm, Yoko on John’s arm, Sean in John’s arm and then no John at all. Later, there will be no George. At least Ringo is still out there, preaching peace and love.
Back to the show. Paul and Linda. Linda Eastman McCartney, herself a photographer, but not a member of the Eastman-Kodak family, maybe the love of Paul’s life. There they are in a flowered, verdant field, on brown and white spotted horses, there they are making wings of their fingers, there she is, blonde curtain of hair obscuring her face as she leans over the piano. The camera at the Kennedy Center pans on Paul, looking a bit wistful and lost, slightly hollow. I am struck by how sad it is that these oft-viewed photos and film clips are all he has left of what must seem like another lifetime. Of course, there are also the memories one carries in the mind, but it is the double-edged blessing and curse that they fade. To me, it seems like McCartney himself is fading, and it is hard to watch.
On the tv, the light has changed. The retrospective has moved from technicolor to video to digital, and then the stage lights come up and instead of McCartney desperately attempting to channel himself when he was more vivid and in-focus, Gwen Stefani, looking bloodless and sounding soulless, minces on 6 inch stilettos through “Hello Goodbye” and “Penny Lane.” Then Dave Grohl and Norah Jones, then Steven Tyler. The Beatles, once so powerful and revolutionary, so seminal and inventive, are now represented by others who are like the spark of a Zippo to an inferno. They were the big daddies, the memory makers of a generation, the song of growing up for so many, and in such different ways, from the teenyboppers to the Manson family. As a kid, I was a huge Aerosmith fan, but really, is sell-out Steven Tyler now elder statesman of music that once made a statement? Are grandparents and grandchildren going to dance together to “Big Ten Inch Record” or “A Lick and A Promise” in the same way they do to “All You Need Is Love” or “Let It Be”?
The thing about this is, as our touchstones crumble, we lose ways to communicate with each other. We lose our collective memory.
Ah, the times they are a’changin’. The final gasp of film – it’s been dying for a pretty long time now-has left me nostalgic. I understand progress, and that those who can not adapt, and who cling to the obsolete will be left behind. I’ve always known this, but I am beginning to understand how easily it can happen, and how a person can get stuck in time, swallowed by memories. I myself have a fabulous new camera, a Canon with a lens that goes in and out – fancy!- and I love the fact that I can delete and edit my snapshots at will. Life is too short for a bad picture, especially one of me! But I think that’s the heart of my feeling of loss right now. There was a time when thing in life were not so clear, sharp and harsh. There was a time when life itself seemed brighter, deeper, richer, warmer. Then, there was no deleting, no Photoshopping, no taking out the red eye. It’s not so much that we saw things how they really were in the past; it’s just that then, the imperfections seemed to add to the value, like the patina on an antique. We saw things in washes of color – “the greens of summer” – and comforting generalities – “makes me feel all the world is a sunny day.”* I guess the past always seems more innocent, but now at a time in my life when I might enjoy a little delusion, the writing is stark on the wall: People get older, then old, then die, and others mourn, and then forget, and what seemed so important, so pivotal and monumental, is forgotten. I am not immortal, and everything ends.
That was a whole lot of words to tell you something you’ve already learned and probably remember, huh?
That being said, here are some digital images I have captured with my great camera in the final weeks of 2010.
* These words, of course, were written by Paul Simon, who has a new album coming out in 2011, So Beautiful Or So What.







(You’d think that in 2011, people would be more sensitive than to call those kids slow, right? I believe the correct term is ‘Street Traversing Challenged’.)

Are you still here? Good! This is a really interesting story about what people want to be remembered and how they want to remember it: http://www.theworld.org/2010/12/30/gay-holocaust-memorial-controversy/
See you in 2011!

Sick TV

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Urrgh. I’ve been sick, and not just allergy sick; I’m talking can-I-make-it-to-the-bathroom sick. I hear it’s going around, which only adds to a raging case of misanthropy I’ve been cultivating. Stupid people with their breath and fluids. One of those disease spreaders recently said that at least I was lucky enough to be on vacation when the dreaded stomach virus hit. It’s a well-intentioned comment I know, but really people, THINK! Who wants to be sick on vacation! I would gladly miss school to lay on the couch all day watching bad tv than waste a day of vacation laying around on the couch watching bad tv.

Which, as it turns out, is all I have been doing for the past two days. While I am beginning to feel better in my tum-tum, the low-level, chronic hatred of human-kind that I suffer from is getting much, much worse. I watched the Ladies of The View (Oh, so shrill! Please, ladies, let the stupid-ass guest finish answering the stupid-ass question you just asked!) Maury Povich, Dr. Oz, Regis and Kelly, and Rachael Ray. Twice I woke up to the Today Show; not the part that has the news, but the part that has crazy, drunken Kathie Lee Gifford (“Welcome to the Today Show! It’s Booze Tuesday! It’s Wine Wednesday!”) I also checked out Sesame Street; it’s different from back in the day, but still good. I especially enjoyed a riveting segment on “Things that Open and Close,” hosted by Elmo.
All parodies of daytime tv are true. It is inane, ridiculous, and actually destroys brain cells and independent thought. I know things now that are clogging my brain like a shellacking, a phrase I swear I hear every time I turn on any Fox station. I feel my synapses shattering, and those are some hard bridges to rebuild, I tell you what. Here are some things I have learned:
1. Erica Kane is still alive. She’s still a pretty crappy actress, and still looks exactly the same as she has for the last 30 years. Now there’s a shellacking for ya!
2. That guy who plays the Spanish teacher on Community and the crazy gangster guy in The Hangover is really a doctor. An MD. Really. Go figure.

3. Men are dicks and women are bitches. (I learned this on Maury. Hard to believe that show ever went off the air, huh? It was always so healing and uplifting…)
4. Some girl on a teenage mother show on MTV beat the crap out of her big, dough boy baby daddy on an episode and then got arrested for it.
5. Justin Bieber’s girlfriend, who is two years older than he is – scandal!- and who is also apparently some kind of star, is no longer wearing her Promise ring, so that means they are doing it!
6. The first manned untethered hot air balloon ride covered 5.5 miles over Paris, France. (Jeopardy is not always as interesting as I remembered it.)
7. There is a big bed bug infestation, it’s cold in the winter, and placebos can be effective. (I filed these in an ever-growing mind folder labelled “Things in the News I Thought Everyone Already Knew, But are Reported as if they had Just Been Discovered.”)
8. “Blue carpet is killing me.” This is from Nate Berkus. I am not sure who Nate Berkus is, but he has a show.
9. I am smarter than a 5th grader. Mostly.
10. Cable is 20,000 channels of crap.
I hope I feel better soon.
P.S. I would be remiss if I didn’t mention two really good things that happened during “mah layin‘-in spell”: My friend sent me a FABULOUS New Year’s present that was left on my front step in fancy-pants gift bag, which I found when, huddled up in my flannel pj’s, robe, sweater and bedspread, I went outside to dump the water out of a big bucket I had just rinsed. I LOVE gifties, and there is nothing better than a happy surprise! Thank you, E.D.!
Also, my mom made me delicious soup and then came out, in the cold and rain to deliver it. When she got here she called me a “Poor Baby!” about thirty times and told me I was being brave.
Even when I am sick, I remain the Luckiest Girl In the World! Yay, me!