As you can see I haven’t quit. Just took a hiatus. A longer one than I meant to. And while I don’t intend to play catch, don’t be surprised to see commentary from some of the intervening issues here. Like the Star Trek review for example. Can’t be quiet where Trek is concerned.
So what happened? As with so many other things in life, this break wasn’t due to any one thing. It simply snowballed from getting behind my self-imposed schedule to skipping entire issues. Work contributed, as did some level of burn out – alleviated in part due to a turn towards my childhood fave…comic books. Oh, pardon me, today they come bound in multiple issue sets and are called Graphic Novels.
I threatened, publicly I think, to jump into a much longer form – Kavelier and Klay – but didn’t have the attention for it.
And so, I’ve come a step closer to the condition of many long time New Yorker subscribers. That condition consisting of having the ever growing pile of unread issues. This was one of my wife’s fears, brought on by the truck loads of New Yorkers stacked in closets and on shelves of her mother’s New York apartment. And this has force me to face the possible unreality of my original premise. Which was to read at least 3 stories each week and make time to reflect on them, before the next issue arrived. Other New Yorker subscribers have told me they harbor not such illusions. They remain content to enjoy the random article(s) they do read and pay no mind to the others. And I’m partway there.
But like that sore tooth you can’t leave alone, there are a couple articles that, having been read, I can’t help commenting on. Just don’t expect this level of service all the time.
In no particular order…
Ok I lied…in order of WFT?
May 18
Anthony Lane succeeds and fails all in the same breath as he reviews the new Start Trek movie, which he wants so badly to dislike. He succeeded on at least one point (and only at one point), only in so far as one of my criteria for a really good scathing review is the degree to which it entertains. I am sure I can’t be the only person to note that the very best reviews, the most well written and entertaining, are offspring of a reviewer’s deep dislike of the piece he/she is reviewing. In this case, Lane manages to get one laugh out of me, and that with a joke set up by circumstances of questionable origin. He uses a line about Kirk’s changing hair color ( I have to admit I never saw the change) to land this crude but serviceable punchline “But don’t worry, he’s still a dickhead underneath.” And while, I’ll admit to laughing at this the second time I read it, I have to question it’s value to his review. Kirk actually wasn’t a dickhead.
But the rest of Lane’s review is a man in search of enough words to fulfill his contract. And while this Star Trek was designed to appeal to non-fans, as a reviewer, a glancing attempt at a little subject research would have kept his lack in interest from screaming at us off the page. To couple Kirk’s near miss with Tiberius as his first name with this movie’s villain ignores a basic fact of the original. To make the comments about Chekhov’s speech issues likewise belies an ignorance of the source material. For all the need J.J. Abrams and team felt to make put their own imprimatur of the story line, their were some elements that deserved to remain unaltered. And Chekhov’s accent is one of those things.
But of all the silly things for Lane to complain about in a SCIENCE FICTION movie, the alternate reality issue really takes the cake. As a long time fan (I watched my first episode during the series original first run, as a 10 year old in a “we’re going to the moon” world), I had no issues with the liberties taken by the new creative team. I can name some things I would have done differently, but nothing interfered with my enjoyment of the movie. I do understand that some of the “hardcore-don’t-have-a-life-trekkies” took umbrage to some changes and the use of the alternate reality ploy, but Lane – as a movie reviewer - has no leg to stand on here. Namely, in my book, because the movie didn’t fawn all over the concept. It wasn’t dragged out over and over again or even leaned on in any heavy way. They brought it up, put it out here and moved on. As opposed to that dreadful “here’s-the-enterprise” seen from the god-awful 1st Trek movie however many years ago that was.
As for my complaints? Well the nits I pick can be picky indeed. I am not sure we needed the 8 yr old steals a car scene. I have been told that I am wrong, but I believe several of the crew would have been in a Federation class enough years behind Kirk so as not to have been on this first outing. Chekhov especially. I have always envisioned the Kobyashi Maru to have been a more tension building moment. I think the filmmakers missed something by not having Kirk play it up for seat of the pants suspense. I also fell he would have researched the issue and set up his win on the first round. If he has already faced the Kobyashi, then nothing is established or gained by being given a second shot at it. Once the lesson is learned, there is not reason to repeat the process. And Spock giving in to his human lust with Uhura? I think the value of this stunt is short-lived whereas they now (IMHO) have to come up with a creative way to extricate these 2 from this relationship before it drags down future plotting.
Small change. I am now eager for the next installment, which won’t be hindered by any of the “getting-to-know-you” stuff this movie required.
Don’t!
The secret of self-control.
by Jonah Lehrer
or as they named on NY Public Radio’s Radio Lab
Mischel's Marshmallows
A marshmallow by any other name would taste as sweet. And your reaction to it as a youngster would tell researchers oodles about your potential for success or difficulty. I strongly suspect I’d have been in the “difficult” category. What’s the defining trait? Self-control. The researchers tested 4th graders on their ability to resist marshmallows on a plate in front of them in exchange for a later reward. The group that successfully waited for the reward turned out to be able to accomplish more than their counter parts. How much was surprising and if it weren’t for an accidental revisited to the group by the main researcher, we wouldn’t have found out how much or over how long a person of their lives. If you want to know more, visit the New Yorker and look up the story.
My interaction with this story is, to me, both a little more pedestrian and a little simpler. I have become used to NPR following the New York Times lead on a wide variety of stories. Usually by a day, sometimes 2. But I guess I hadn’t expected The New Yorker and NY Public Radio’s Radio Lab to be playing tag. I haven’t looked it up, but these 2 treatments of the same story had to surface within a week of each other. And each of them require research and production time way beyond that scale. What does it mean? As Mr. Natural might say, I may not mean Shit, but I found it curious so there.
The other stuff….
I’ve just looked down at my bag-o-magazines and determined that I don’t have anything to say about the other stories from my quiet period. Next up…a stab at health care.
Friday, June 5, 2009
Monday, April 20, 2009
April 13
I’ve had a mix of being busier this week, as well as seeing my interest flag somewhat. As you’ll see, I’ve read 2 and half stories, one of which was a 2 page humor piece. Partly, the stories didn’t grab me, partly there have been a couple TV shows I wanted to catch up with (have you seen Kings or Fringe?), and partly I’m getting an itch to read a longer fiction. For what it’s worth, I’ve retrieved Michael Chabon’s The Amazing Adventures of Kavelier and Clay from then library for another try. The first time around I got bogged down in a rather dense section about 50 to 80 pages in. Since then I’ve read The Mysteries of Pittsburgh, The Final Solution: A Story Of Detection, Gentlemen of the Road, The Yiddish Policeman’s Union, and the graphic novel The Escapist. So it seemed like I may be better able to appreciate K and K this time around. My reasoning is…I gave up on Anne Rice’s Interview with a Vampire 50 pages in…twice. Then went on to enjoy The Vampire Lastat, The Queen of the Damned, and Tale of the Body Thief. Along the way I learned that my problem with Interview is the voice. That book is written in Louis’ whinny, kvetching voice, while the others are written in Lestat’s strong assured voice. As a matter of fact, the one book in the series I am angry with Anne about is Memnoch the Devil. She but Lestat in the Louis role there, stuck with the job of occasionally interrupting the story to say “what happened next?”! I ended up feeling that she’d have written a more satisfying book if she’d deleted Lestat and let Memnoch carry his own story. After that revelation, about the voice, I was able to zip right through
None of which have anything to do with this week’s New Yorker.
Shouts and Murmurs
I’d have to say that my top read from April 13 is Mi Chiamo Stan by Ian Fraser. Fraser uses the framework of a self taught Italian language lesson to spin a cute little distraction about an Illinois pig farmer’s dream of going to Fashion Week in Milan and bringing home a super-model wife. Among my favorite lines is this one: Per favore depsiti il suo tabacco da masticare all’impiegato. Le sara restituito quando sara rilasciato. Which translates as Please surrender your chewing tobacco to the desk clerk. It will be returned to you when you are released.
Profiles: Last Laugh, Katt Williams Takes On The Haters
While the promos for Katt Williams’ Comedy Central show look appealing enough, I’ve never taken the time to check him out. I appreciated the overview of Williams’ career written by Ian Fraser, but I’m still not sure I’ll be tuning in. One thing that sticks out for me, and it’s worth taking note of, is the work it takes too break through in comedy. While a similar path probably exists in other entertainment careers, the schlep of the long distance comedian is a long one indeed. Maybe this sticks out for me because I made a brief foray into stand-up a couple of years ago. At the very front end of this journey is a long string of nights practicing material and delivery at open mic events. These open mics are held at bars or coffee houses hoping to boast their mid-week crowds and not caring how that’s done. The audience, as often as not, have come in for many other reasons than to hear erstwhile comedians ply their future trade. Or they’ve come to hear and cheer their buddy. In any case, the audience’s attentiveness varies and truly fs up your concept of which jokes or what deliver works or sucks.
And once you graduate from that level to something that pays, small gigs or MC jobs, you find that they may pay, but barely. The next step up the rung is getting on the circuit, better pay, offset by the number of hotel nights you pay for on the road and the various other indignities of a life dependent on cheap ass club owners.
Let’s cut to the chase and simply say, I have a lot of respect for comedians who make it far enough to national exposure. Even if I don’t like their schtick, I give them their due.
Annals of Finance: IOU, American Way of Life
Wow, mucho frustration here. Regardless of what I wrote at the top of this, I truly haven’t had as much reading time this week. I have one issue sitting since last Tuesday while I poke at this blog entry and I haven’t finished reading one of the better articles in this issue. Jill Lepore takes us on an historical review of America’s bankruptcy and debtor treatment throughout our 233+ years. And I have to admit it’s made me think more about how we’re all reacting to the current debt crisis. But I haven’t finished reading it and I feel compelled to put this issue to bed and move on.
But don’t be surprised if I circle back here later…
None of which have anything to do with this week’s New Yorker.
Shouts and Murmurs
I’d have to say that my top read from April 13 is Mi Chiamo Stan by Ian Fraser. Fraser uses the framework of a self taught Italian language lesson to spin a cute little distraction about an Illinois pig farmer’s dream of going to Fashion Week in Milan and bringing home a super-model wife. Among my favorite lines is this one: Per favore depsiti il suo tabacco da masticare all’impiegato. Le sara restituito quando sara rilasciato. Which translates as Please surrender your chewing tobacco to the desk clerk. It will be returned to you when you are released.
Profiles: Last Laugh, Katt Williams Takes On The Haters
While the promos for Katt Williams’ Comedy Central show look appealing enough, I’ve never taken the time to check him out. I appreciated the overview of Williams’ career written by Ian Fraser, but I’m still not sure I’ll be tuning in. One thing that sticks out for me, and it’s worth taking note of, is the work it takes too break through in comedy. While a similar path probably exists in other entertainment careers, the schlep of the long distance comedian is a long one indeed. Maybe this sticks out for me because I made a brief foray into stand-up a couple of years ago. At the very front end of this journey is a long string of nights practicing material and delivery at open mic events. These open mics are held at bars or coffee houses hoping to boast their mid-week crowds and not caring how that’s done. The audience, as often as not, have come in for many other reasons than to hear erstwhile comedians ply their future trade. Or they’ve come to hear and cheer their buddy. In any case, the audience’s attentiveness varies and truly fs up your concept of which jokes or what deliver works or sucks.
And once you graduate from that level to something that pays, small gigs or MC jobs, you find that they may pay, but barely. The next step up the rung is getting on the circuit, better pay, offset by the number of hotel nights you pay for on the road and the various other indignities of a life dependent on cheap ass club owners.
Let’s cut to the chase and simply say, I have a lot of respect for comedians who make it far enough to national exposure. Even if I don’t like their schtick, I give them their due.
Annals of Finance: IOU, American Way of Life
Wow, mucho frustration here. Regardless of what I wrote at the top of this, I truly haven’t had as much reading time this week. I have one issue sitting since last Tuesday while I poke at this blog entry and I haven’t finished reading one of the better articles in this issue. Jill Lepore takes us on an historical review of America’s bankruptcy and debtor treatment throughout our 233+ years. And I have to admit it’s made me think more about how we’re all reacting to the current debt crisis. But I haven’t finished reading it and I feel compelled to put this issue to bed and move on.
But don’t be surprised if I circle back here later…
Saturday, April 11, 2009
April 6
ANNALS OF NATIONAL SECURITY:
Syria Calling
Seymour M. Hersh
What can be done about the Middle-East. Countries that aren’t currently in a state of crisis are on the edge or dancing with touchy neighbors. Syria no less than any other. And likely, Syria has been directly involved as a bad player for many years. But to hear Seymour Hersh tell it, there are factions in Syria that are willing to negotiate better behavior…on their terms. One of their stated goals, as communicated to Mr. Hersh (among others) by President Assad, is the return of the Golan Heights. Whenever they raise this issue they blithely phrase it as a return to pre-1967 borders. Forgetting for the moment that we’re talking about rolling back the clock 33 years (parse that, numerologists!) it’s important to remember how that border move came about. To make this as clear as possible, look around your neighborhood. Look for the highest ground overlooking your home and imagine people throwing very big rocks down on your house. A lot of them. Explosives rocks. Damn hard getting up hill to stop them, ain’t it. Now imagine that you do get up there and stop them. Now the hill that looks over your home in no longer a threat. But the only way you can be sure it stays that way is to keep the hill for yourself.
In case I haven’t been blunt enough, here’s the deal…in 1967 Israel was attacked by 4 or 5 of its neighbors, Syria among them. Not only did Israel beat them back, she took control of some strategic property. From the safety of my Middle American upbringing, I can’t think of a single good reason to give that land back. Assuming Assad and his country are serious about being a bridge to other Arab countries, for both the US and Israel, I’d be looking for some goodwill demonstrations before I’d even discuss the matter. Let’s talk about how they fuck with Lebanon and Iraq for a minute.
Some possibly valid points are made on Syria’s behalf in Hersh’s informative piece, but as you can see, I need a bit more convincing.
A REPORTER AT LARGE
Message in a Bottle
John Colapinto
What’s an impossibly rich and environmentally well meaning dude to do in order to call (more) attention to our untenable life-style? How’s about making a boat out of trashed plastic water bottles and sail it through a floating plastic trash “bloom” that’s developed in the Pacific Ocean (there’s also one in the Atlantic, we learn). And how that’ll get the junk cleaned up, I’m still not sure. But more people will learn about it. I must say, John Colapinto’s article, Message in a Bottle, is detailed and entertaining look into David de Rothschild’s latest eco-venture and how he got there. It ends before they set sail, but I’m sure we’ll hear more about it this summer. And I hope this becomes a discussion for the mainstream press, because the impetus for this voyage is a difficult to conceive of phenomenon, that I’d rather see a rich guy raising money to fix than sail through. While I’m sure that’s his ultimate goal, any discussion of how to approach this problem was totally absent from the article. More time was dedicated to a competitor in the re-cycled plastic sailing world than to potential solutions.
Suffice it to say, there is a huge tract of ocean serving as a repository for waste plastics floating in from China, Japan, Mexico and the Western US. This gyre is an area where the currents capture the trash and keep it slowly swirling…indefinitely. Between this and other similar areas found in other oceans, researchers estimate “the amount of plastic marine waste to be a hundred million tons.” I can only say I am astounded.
FICTION
“Visitation”
Brad Watson
As a former single-parent I can say that Brad Watson’s fiction piece, Visitation touched me on several levels. He painted a rather complete picture of his main character and brought a couple of other characters into clear enough focus to share a reality with the reader. On one level it was a very stereotypical reality, that of the downtrodden non-custodial parent trying ineptly to make some thing of the snatches of time he has with his child. To his credit, Watson begins by beating his protagonist to such a depressed pulp before launching us into “the fix he was in now” that we want to like him. We want to like him a he takes his son to an inappropriate hotel, as he quietly gets drunk while his son watches TV, as he lamely wades through a day of not connecting with his son, and as he finally comes to a realization about his relationship with his son – one that may be relative to his overall connection to the larger world. As I began to write this I thought of several things I’d have done differently and better (and I did in my day), but the act of thinking about the story brought me back to the reality Watson created and, as when I read it the first time, my reality faded and his sat squarely in front of me. Obviously, this story is about more than a man who is not a part of his son’s life. And, just as obviously, Brad Watson wrote a good tale.
THE THEATER
Hilton Als
For several decades I’ve harbored a crush for Susan Sarandon. And the photo accompanying Als’ review of “Exit The King” did nothing to dampen it. Als, in his review gives a thoughtful and positive review of Ionesco’s parodic comedy. He also very quietly, but unmistakably, avoids discussing Ms. Sarandon’s performance. Which would have been difficult in a larger cast show, considering her name recognition. But in a 3-character jaunt such as this, his silent treatment screams paragraphs. Especially considering the long half paragraph he dedicates to the fun Geoffrey Rush and Lauren Ambrose had with Ionesco’s words. How much more praise can be offered 2 actors than “they perform little pirouettes around his concrete poetry”. I would love to see this play, first for the shear pleasure these pirouettes promise, but also in the hope that Ms. Sarandon plays to her character’s nature and for no other reason didn’t earn more mention in this review.
As for Als’ other reviews, the only one worth mentioning is his scathing swipe at Zachary Oberzan and “Rambo Solo”. I can’t for the life of me think of what would motivate anyone to hang their theatric hat on the Rambo movies, let alone craft a one-man show around them, but Oberzan did. And Als hated it. Did I say hated it? I’m sorry, I don’t think that properly describes the loathing which I am sure Als will feel for Oberzan for the rest of both of their lives. While “excrement” isn’t mentioned in the definition of execrable, it’s what I heard when Als used it to describe this show. My only regret about Als review is that I’ve seen reviewers absolutely wax poetic about things they’ve hated, but here Als merely detests it and moves on.
Syria Calling
Seymour M. Hersh
What can be done about the Middle-East. Countries that aren’t currently in a state of crisis are on the edge or dancing with touchy neighbors. Syria no less than any other. And likely, Syria has been directly involved as a bad player for many years. But to hear Seymour Hersh tell it, there are factions in Syria that are willing to negotiate better behavior…on their terms. One of their stated goals, as communicated to Mr. Hersh (among others) by President Assad, is the return of the Golan Heights. Whenever they raise this issue they blithely phrase it as a return to pre-1967 borders. Forgetting for the moment that we’re talking about rolling back the clock 33 years (parse that, numerologists!) it’s important to remember how that border move came about. To make this as clear as possible, look around your neighborhood. Look for the highest ground overlooking your home and imagine people throwing very big rocks down on your house. A lot of them. Explosives rocks. Damn hard getting up hill to stop them, ain’t it. Now imagine that you do get up there and stop them. Now the hill that looks over your home in no longer a threat. But the only way you can be sure it stays that way is to keep the hill for yourself.
In case I haven’t been blunt enough, here’s the deal…in 1967 Israel was attacked by 4 or 5 of its neighbors, Syria among them. Not only did Israel beat them back, she took control of some strategic property. From the safety of my Middle American upbringing, I can’t think of a single good reason to give that land back. Assuming Assad and his country are serious about being a bridge to other Arab countries, for both the US and Israel, I’d be looking for some goodwill demonstrations before I’d even discuss the matter. Let’s talk about how they fuck with Lebanon and Iraq for a minute.
Some possibly valid points are made on Syria’s behalf in Hersh’s informative piece, but as you can see, I need a bit more convincing.
A REPORTER AT LARGE
Message in a Bottle
John Colapinto
What’s an impossibly rich and environmentally well meaning dude to do in order to call (more) attention to our untenable life-style? How’s about making a boat out of trashed plastic water bottles and sail it through a floating plastic trash “bloom” that’s developed in the Pacific Ocean (there’s also one in the Atlantic, we learn). And how that’ll get the junk cleaned up, I’m still not sure. But more people will learn about it. I must say, John Colapinto’s article, Message in a Bottle, is detailed and entertaining look into David de Rothschild’s latest eco-venture and how he got there. It ends before they set sail, but I’m sure we’ll hear more about it this summer. And I hope this becomes a discussion for the mainstream press, because the impetus for this voyage is a difficult to conceive of phenomenon, that I’d rather see a rich guy raising money to fix than sail through. While I’m sure that’s his ultimate goal, any discussion of how to approach this problem was totally absent from the article. More time was dedicated to a competitor in the re-cycled plastic sailing world than to potential solutions.
Suffice it to say, there is a huge tract of ocean serving as a repository for waste plastics floating in from China, Japan, Mexico and the Western US. This gyre is an area where the currents capture the trash and keep it slowly swirling…indefinitely. Between this and other similar areas found in other oceans, researchers estimate “the amount of plastic marine waste to be a hundred million tons.” I can only say I am astounded.
FICTION
“Visitation”
Brad Watson
As a former single-parent I can say that Brad Watson’s fiction piece, Visitation touched me on several levels. He painted a rather complete picture of his main character and brought a couple of other characters into clear enough focus to share a reality with the reader. On one level it was a very stereotypical reality, that of the downtrodden non-custodial parent trying ineptly to make some thing of the snatches of time he has with his child. To his credit, Watson begins by beating his protagonist to such a depressed pulp before launching us into “the fix he was in now” that we want to like him. We want to like him a he takes his son to an inappropriate hotel, as he quietly gets drunk while his son watches TV, as he lamely wades through a day of not connecting with his son, and as he finally comes to a realization about his relationship with his son – one that may be relative to his overall connection to the larger world. As I began to write this I thought of several things I’d have done differently and better (and I did in my day), but the act of thinking about the story brought me back to the reality Watson created and, as when I read it the first time, my reality faded and his sat squarely in front of me. Obviously, this story is about more than a man who is not a part of his son’s life. And, just as obviously, Brad Watson wrote a good tale.
THE THEATER
Hilton Als
For several decades I’ve harbored a crush for Susan Sarandon. And the photo accompanying Als’ review of “Exit The King” did nothing to dampen it. Als, in his review gives a thoughtful and positive review of Ionesco’s parodic comedy. He also very quietly, but unmistakably, avoids discussing Ms. Sarandon’s performance. Which would have been difficult in a larger cast show, considering her name recognition. But in a 3-character jaunt such as this, his silent treatment screams paragraphs. Especially considering the long half paragraph he dedicates to the fun Geoffrey Rush and Lauren Ambrose had with Ionesco’s words. How much more praise can be offered 2 actors than “they perform little pirouettes around his concrete poetry”. I would love to see this play, first for the shear pleasure these pirouettes promise, but also in the hope that Ms. Sarandon plays to her character’s nature and for no other reason didn’t earn more mention in this review.
As for Als’ other reviews, the only one worth mentioning is his scathing swipe at Zachary Oberzan and “Rambo Solo”. I can’t for the life of me think of what would motivate anyone to hang their theatric hat on the Rambo movies, let alone craft a one-man show around them, but Oberzan did. And Als hated it. Did I say hated it? I’m sorry, I don’t think that properly describes the loathing which I am sure Als will feel for Oberzan for the rest of both of their lives. While “excrement” isn’t mentioned in the definition of execrable, it’s what I heard when Als used it to describe this show. My only regret about Als review is that I’ve seen reviewers absolutely wax poetic about things they’ve hated, but here Als merely detests it and moves on.
Saturday, April 4, 2009
March 30
I had such a good start with this issue, as noted in last week’s entry, but have ended up having a hard time getting around to writing this. Partly a busier work week, I’m writing this in a hotel in Buffalo. The wings really are better here. And, partly…I don’t have a clue. Lethargy, simply distracted? But here I am…
Every time I’ve heard David Sedaris on This American Life I’ve been entertained from beginning to end. His mix of sarcasm, irony, and excellent timing makes his stories a hoot. So I have to admit being a bit disappointed in his New Yorker story about a book tour. I appreciated it, but the pleasure was of mild interest. I guess I didn’t hear his voice in it as I have other authors in their pieces.
Imagine my relief as I rolled right through Woody Allen’s Tail’s of Manhattan. This tale tickled from front to back. I’ve dodged Madoff stories whenever I could, but I was too deep into this 1 pager, by the time Madoff made his appearance that I couldn’t look away. Nor did I want to. My experience with humor at this length is always a mix of awe and a recognition that it took a simple step of imagination to get this ball rolling. And it feels like it rolled off his pen (keyboard) onto the page in one smooth delivery.
Nancy Franklin’s review of NBC’s Kings was as notable for her lead in as it was for her closing. She begins by ruminating on the other dramatic milestones this spring, including NBC’s upcoming Southland and the end of ER. Franklin then bemoans the decline of broadcast network drama series, as evidenced by next fall’s impending loss of 5 hours of primetime network real estate. The new Jay Leno 10 pm show is seen by many to be a harbinger of things to come, especially if successful. Talk shows cost much less to produce than episodic TV. As a long-time NON-fan of Jay Leno, I’m not convinced the end is neigh. Franklin ends her piece by revealing that we have a mutual interest, comic books. And dropping a piece of news I’ve been too busy to notice, the coming Green Lantern movie. In between, she introduces the main characters and thematic direction of NBC’s biblically based series. My wife and I have been enjoying Kings from the first episode, partly for the same reason Franklin mentions in her piece, the inestimable Ian McShane. As Franklin notes, McShane’s previous role, that of Al Swearengen, was cut short prematurely. When I consider that Deadwood met it’s untimely end so that creator David Milch could launch the annoyingly aimless John from Cincinnati, my blood pressure begins to rise again. I am obviously too artistically immature to appreciate what Milch was doing with “John”. NOT! I saw this short-lived series of an unfortunate waste of interesting characters…and my time. Which tells you not an inch more abot Kings or Franklin’s review, so me close by simply stating I enjoyed it, I agree with Franklin, and I look forward to reading more from her.
On the solemn side of things, Craig Raine gives us a brief but touching look into the death of a woman from cancer, scenes for her life with her husband, and brief, transitory effect of all this on her husband. In his short fiction, Julia and Byron, Raine paints a clear picture of Julia and upon her death, introduces husband Byron to us. Whereupon he simultaneously makes us pity Byron on 2 levels before leaving him to continue his life. I was touched, not in a deeply moving way, but touched none-the-less.
I’ve never played poker. Well, I could say I have, for hours, against a cheap phone game. But I’m certain that doesn’t count. So I have to admit, the allure of poker is strong when I read a about it. And this was no less true when reading of mathematician poker payer Chris Furguson. The fact that he has long straight hair and just the right beard ha earned Chris the nickname Jesus and the article a cool name, What Would Jesus Bet? That there is a format or a stylistic direction for New Yorker profile articles is becoming apperent, but that doesn’t minimize the pleasure of reading them. In this one, Alec Wilkinson familiarizes us with Ferguson, some legal issue surrounding on-line poker sites (definitely NOT a game of chance), and some professional level poker strategy. And does so in an inviting, inclusive manner.
Every time I’ve heard David Sedaris on This American Life I’ve been entertained from beginning to end. His mix of sarcasm, irony, and excellent timing makes his stories a hoot. So I have to admit being a bit disappointed in his New Yorker story about a book tour. I appreciated it, but the pleasure was of mild interest. I guess I didn’t hear his voice in it as I have other authors in their pieces.
Imagine my relief as I rolled right through Woody Allen’s Tail’s of Manhattan. This tale tickled from front to back. I’ve dodged Madoff stories whenever I could, but I was too deep into this 1 pager, by the time Madoff made his appearance that I couldn’t look away. Nor did I want to. My experience with humor at this length is always a mix of awe and a recognition that it took a simple step of imagination to get this ball rolling. And it feels like it rolled off his pen (keyboard) onto the page in one smooth delivery.
Nancy Franklin’s review of NBC’s Kings was as notable for her lead in as it was for her closing. She begins by ruminating on the other dramatic milestones this spring, including NBC’s upcoming Southland and the end of ER. Franklin then bemoans the decline of broadcast network drama series, as evidenced by next fall’s impending loss of 5 hours of primetime network real estate. The new Jay Leno 10 pm show is seen by many to be a harbinger of things to come, especially if successful. Talk shows cost much less to produce than episodic TV. As a long-time NON-fan of Jay Leno, I’m not convinced the end is neigh. Franklin ends her piece by revealing that we have a mutual interest, comic books. And dropping a piece of news I’ve been too busy to notice, the coming Green Lantern movie. In between, she introduces the main characters and thematic direction of NBC’s biblically based series. My wife and I have been enjoying Kings from the first episode, partly for the same reason Franklin mentions in her piece, the inestimable Ian McShane. As Franklin notes, McShane’s previous role, that of Al Swearengen, was cut short prematurely. When I consider that Deadwood met it’s untimely end so that creator David Milch could launch the annoyingly aimless John from Cincinnati, my blood pressure begins to rise again. I am obviously too artistically immature to appreciate what Milch was doing with “John”. NOT! I saw this short-lived series of an unfortunate waste of interesting characters…and my time. Which tells you not an inch more abot Kings or Franklin’s review, so me close by simply stating I enjoyed it, I agree with Franklin, and I look forward to reading more from her.
On the solemn side of things, Craig Raine gives us a brief but touching look into the death of a woman from cancer, scenes for her life with her husband, and brief, transitory effect of all this on her husband. In his short fiction, Julia and Byron, Raine paints a clear picture of Julia and upon her death, introduces husband Byron to us. Whereupon he simultaneously makes us pity Byron on 2 levels before leaving him to continue his life. I was touched, not in a deeply moving way, but touched none-the-less.
I’ve never played poker. Well, I could say I have, for hours, against a cheap phone game. But I’m certain that doesn’t count. So I have to admit, the allure of poker is strong when I read a about it. And this was no less true when reading of mathematician poker payer Chris Furguson. The fact that he has long straight hair and just the right beard ha earned Chris the nickname Jesus and the article a cool name, What Would Jesus Bet? That there is a format or a stylistic direction for New Yorker profile articles is becoming apperent, but that doesn’t minimize the pleasure of reading them. In this one, Alec Wilkinson familiarizes us with Ferguson, some legal issue surrounding on-line poker sites (definitely NOT a game of chance), and some professional level poker strategy. And does so in an inviting, inclusive manner.
Friday, March 27, 2009
March 23
I am now a couple of days late reading my March 23 issues of The New Yorker. Chief on the list of roadblocks is my venture into the world of concentric contact lenses. I’ve never worn contact lenses. I tried standard lenses several years ago but the narrow range of focus annoyed me. Or I didn’t have enough patience to get used to them. So what do I try next? I try lenses with concentric rings of 2 different focal lengths, which my brain must now magically decipher and learn how to use. And I know, viscerally as well as intellectually, that it can. I had a personal demonstration, about 10 years ago, of the brain’s penchant for adjusting your vision to what it thinks you should be seeing. And this didn’t involved controlled substances.
I was swimming in a pool with my daughter. Her swim goggles were blue, mine gray. I tried hers for a couple of minutes, I can’t remember why. When I came out of the pool and took them off the world was orange for a flashing slice of a second. It was a revelation. Boom, everything’s in shades of orange and then it quickly fades to the right colors. It hit me almost as quickly that my brain color-corrected the signal it was receiving from my eyes. What a piece of work is man!
So each night when I go home, I switch to the contacts and wear them for several hours. Can’t do it at work, because a) I’m not used to them yet and 2) they’re made for medium and long distance, not reading. (Last night I had a phone call that require me to view an email. I blew the words up to practically an inch high and leaned way back) My Dr. says when he finishes all his adjustments; I should have a focal range from computer distance, a little past arms length, to “far” distance. I think he views this as a challenge as he knows I am picky about focus and focal length. I’m a television producer. Anyway, I’m only on day 4, I still have a long way to go.
In the meanwhile, I’ve received and have begun reading the March 30 issue. I began, at lunch one day, with the first full length article in the issue, a mildly entertaining David Sedaris piece. And noticed that it’s followed by a Woody Allen. That’s when I knew I had to stop and take care March 23.
I guess the highlight of the March 23 issue is the Paul Goldberg “introduction” to the new ball stadiums in NY. The Sky Line gives an engaging overview each stadiums place in history, as well their respective physical placement in their neighborhoods. Had I only seen the pictures, I’d have chosen the new Yankee Stadium as the more pleasing of the two. Now, having read the article, that impression is cemented. One of the Yankee Stadium advantages is it’s incorporation into the surrounding neighbor hood. The article refers to several big cylinder stadiums, of which the Met Stadium was on, that were constructed in the 60s and 70s. I was very familiar with Pittsburgh’s Three Rivers stadium and know the difference between wading across a seemingly boundless concrete field to reach the stadium and walking through a neighborhood to get there. I prefer the latter. And besides, the Mets Stadium’s (Citi-Stadium) main entrance is plain ugly.
It is interesting to me that the following issue, March 30, bears cover art featuring both stadiums.
The other satisfying read of this issue was the Letter From Moscow: The Accused, by Keith Gessen. Keith tells a detail story of the trial of the men charged with murdering Russian Journalist Anna Politkovskaya. Gessen begins his story of covering this Moscow trial in the Starbucks across the street from the courthouse, having been refused entrance to day one of the proceedings. He then weaves a tale of Chechens and mobsters and human-rights lawyers that points us first in one direction then brings around to another, much like the jury was led during the trial. Along the way we get to know just enough about the major characters, the accused brothers, their mob related associates, the victim’s relatives, the attorneys, and the prosectution to have a meaningful glimpse into their world. Yes, I named the baseball stadium story as the highlight of this issue, because it made me smile, but this was by far the deepest journey.
I want to say more about Tessa Hadley’s fiction, “She’s The One”, but either I didn’t quite get it or it simply ended flat for me. Which is bothersome, because I enjoyed the reading of it. I liked the characters. I felt them as well developed, at least the 2 primarys. There was a minor character who may have been a catalyst, but she was brought in so ephemerally that I didn’t experience her as a presence. At least not as a presence of enough note to be central to the story’s conclusion. As I write this, mind you w/o any formal writing criticism experience or training, I feel that the ending was a cheap deux-ex-machina pulled out of a hat to conclude the story.
As for other parts of this issue…I agree with Henrik Hertzberg about those pesky republicans decrying the needed spending we’re facing and he’s made me think more about the tax holiday concept. I never even considered reading the Madoff article and quit Burris less than a third of the way, having decided I didn’t care enough to continue reading about him.
It just dawned on me that any semblance of a same-day-each-week posting is screwed for the spring season as work had me traveling regularly. Yeah, yeah, I could read it online, but I like the act of holding the magazine and changing the pages. I read enough other stuff online.
I was swimming in a pool with my daughter. Her swim goggles were blue, mine gray. I tried hers for a couple of minutes, I can’t remember why. When I came out of the pool and took them off the world was orange for a flashing slice of a second. It was a revelation. Boom, everything’s in shades of orange and then it quickly fades to the right colors. It hit me almost as quickly that my brain color-corrected the signal it was receiving from my eyes. What a piece of work is man!
So each night when I go home, I switch to the contacts and wear them for several hours. Can’t do it at work, because a) I’m not used to them yet and 2) they’re made for medium and long distance, not reading. (Last night I had a phone call that require me to view an email. I blew the words up to practically an inch high and leaned way back) My Dr. says when he finishes all his adjustments; I should have a focal range from computer distance, a little past arms length, to “far” distance. I think he views this as a challenge as he knows I am picky about focus and focal length. I’m a television producer. Anyway, I’m only on day 4, I still have a long way to go.
In the meanwhile, I’ve received and have begun reading the March 30 issue. I began, at lunch one day, with the first full length article in the issue, a mildly entertaining David Sedaris piece. And noticed that it’s followed by a Woody Allen. That’s when I knew I had to stop and take care March 23.
I guess the highlight of the March 23 issue is the Paul Goldberg “introduction” to the new ball stadiums in NY. The Sky Line gives an engaging overview each stadiums place in history, as well their respective physical placement in their neighborhoods. Had I only seen the pictures, I’d have chosen the new Yankee Stadium as the more pleasing of the two. Now, having read the article, that impression is cemented. One of the Yankee Stadium advantages is it’s incorporation into the surrounding neighbor hood. The article refers to several big cylinder stadiums, of which the Met Stadium was on, that were constructed in the 60s and 70s. I was very familiar with Pittsburgh’s Three Rivers stadium and know the difference between wading across a seemingly boundless concrete field to reach the stadium and walking through a neighborhood to get there. I prefer the latter. And besides, the Mets Stadium’s (Citi-Stadium) main entrance is plain ugly.
It is interesting to me that the following issue, March 30, bears cover art featuring both stadiums.
The other satisfying read of this issue was the Letter From Moscow: The Accused, by Keith Gessen. Keith tells a detail story of the trial of the men charged with murdering Russian Journalist Anna Politkovskaya. Gessen begins his story of covering this Moscow trial in the Starbucks across the street from the courthouse, having been refused entrance to day one of the proceedings. He then weaves a tale of Chechens and mobsters and human-rights lawyers that points us first in one direction then brings around to another, much like the jury was led during the trial. Along the way we get to know just enough about the major characters, the accused brothers, their mob related associates, the victim’s relatives, the attorneys, and the prosectution to have a meaningful glimpse into their world. Yes, I named the baseball stadium story as the highlight of this issue, because it made me smile, but this was by far the deepest journey.
I want to say more about Tessa Hadley’s fiction, “She’s The One”, but either I didn’t quite get it or it simply ended flat for me. Which is bothersome, because I enjoyed the reading of it. I liked the characters. I felt them as well developed, at least the 2 primarys. There was a minor character who may have been a catalyst, but she was brought in so ephemerally that I didn’t experience her as a presence. At least not as a presence of enough note to be central to the story’s conclusion. As I write this, mind you w/o any formal writing criticism experience or training, I feel that the ending was a cheap deux-ex-machina pulled out of a hat to conclude the story.
As for other parts of this issue…I agree with Henrik Hertzberg about those pesky republicans decrying the needed spending we’re facing and he’s made me think more about the tax holiday concept. I never even considered reading the Madoff article and quit Burris less than a third of the way, having decided I didn’t care enough to continue reading about him.
It just dawned on me that any semblance of a same-day-each-week posting is screwed for the spring season as work had me traveling regularly. Yeah, yeah, I could read it online, but I like the act of holding the magazine and changing the pages. I read enough other stuff online.
Thursday, March 19, 2009
March 16 Issue
I’ve got to bitch a little right up front. Not seriously bitch, more of a whinny annoyed-the-world-doesn’t-do-what-I-want-it-to bitch.
My first couple of issues came on a Tuesday. So here I am expecting another Tuesday delivery and – nope, not this time. This time, I am going out of town on business, my New Yorker has not gotten here, and I will miss half a week of reading time. Damn!
But, I got over it. Enough so to read 3 and ½ articles, all the cartoons, and a couple Talk Of The Town pieces.
Along the way, I met a New Yorker reader in line at Chipotle. She had this week’s, being Wednesday I still had last week’s. Why did she get hers before me? Double damn! We had a good chat about what we gravitate to in the NYer. For instance she skipped March 16 because she doesn’t like the style issue. Oh, this is the style issue? I guess Michelle O on the cover in 3 outfits should have been a clue. Or the red lettered header on the contents page that says Style issue. Observant, ain’t I?
Regardless, I found plenty to read, while admittedly over half of the 3 ½ articles I read were about movies.
I truly enjoyed the 2007 movie Michael Clayton. But I didn’t remember the director’s name until reading D. T. Max’s Onward and Upward With The Arts piece entitled Twister. Now I’m itching to see Duplicity, Tony Gilroy’s latest movie. Coming from the writing side of the business, Gilroy brings a depth of story chops to his work. He both wrote and directed this movie, which BTW was NOT reviewed here, but served as a great framework for Max’s exploration of Gilroy’s work and background. I may make some time to look at some of Gilroy’s older, as writer only, movies. It truly sounds, and from seeing Michael Clayton looks, like he has great handle on how to keep a story moving and engaging.
David Denby’s The Current Cinema “Youthquake” was equally interesting. It is essentially an overview of the little known Mumblecore film genre. So little known is this independent film movement, I’ve never heard of before. Not that I’m the paragon of all things film, but it’s high on my list of interests. I am glad to have been enlightened by Denby’s article. While I suspect that these films may turn out to be more of a curiosity for me, than a new thing-to-follow, I am looking forward to seeing “Alexander The Last” or “Mutual Appreciation”.
Not that I need to tell you this in the order I read things, but while I’m here let’s talk about the article I dropped out of. In retrospect, and not that this had any effect, the Patricia Marx article On And Off The Avenue – Made In The U.S.A./ Is it still possible to buy American? was one of the Style Issue features. And it had a good start. For one thing, the made-in-America challenge is one I pay attention to when possible. With all the skill and craftmenship this country is blessed with, you could wonder why we’d want anyone else’s goods. On then the other hand, every ounce of American will and drive and creativity has been imported via the generations of immigrants that make America what it is.
None of which tells you anything about Marx’s exploration of American goods in NY. The article started well, with Ms. Marx on the trail of yankee made goods. Then, for my tastes, it digressed into a list. At that point I noted that the list may be useful someday, but I don’t need to read it. I generally don’t spend much time reading lists of any sort that don’t affect my work. So I moved on.
To a life-long subject of enjoyment and occasional excitement. Dracula. From my earliest days of TV and movie watching, occult subjects have grabbed my attention, Dracula and Vampires chief among them. My childhood faves include Bela Logosi, Peter Cushing, and Christopher Lee; seen alternately on the greatest late night horror show, “Chiller Theater” with host Bill Cardille ( also known to fans as Chilly Billy Cardilly), and at an actual movie theater. Not one of these multiplexes housing 150 thumbnail sized screens. (though I have to admit I haven’t seen one of those in years – the stadium seating innovation works well for me) I’m talking about a gloriously decorated, one huge screen, theater. With popcorn and jujubes on the floor and hundreds of Saturday matinee children in tha audience (me and my friends) occasionally actually screaming at the good parts.
So, I can’t say why my eyes glossed over the listing in the table of contents, but when they lit on Joan Acocella’s Critic At Large offering, Why Dracula won’t die, was on it! Her article is an overview of Dracula and vampire literary history and several books that offer a variety of very similar sounding annotations. Each book has it’s own hook, but they seem thin to me. Of course, I’m not hot on annotated editions; I prefer the story, the characters, the escapism of being taken on a ride. Boatloads of pesky notes are distracting. Except when reading the Tanach in shul (got to do something to stave off the boredom) or Shakespeare. It just occurred to me to wonder if, as I’d expect, Ms. Acocella had to read every page of each of the books she discussed. I shudder to think about wading through not simply one annotated book. Reading the annotations. Perhaps researching the odd tidbit here and there, fact checking. But doing it for several of these beasts. Damn I hope she’s well paid.
While not entirely germane, I feel like sharing that as I write this I am on a short vacation in Fort Worth Texas. Here for a nephew’s Bar Mitzvah. While returning books to the library the night before leaving on this trip I treated myself to a short read for the flight. One of the Buffy the Vampire Slayer graphic novels. One written by Joss Wheadon himself. And featuring, as a major character – on Buffy’s side – Dracula himself. I always thought it was a pity they couldn’t do more with him in the TV series.
On the winding down side of this ride, I want to give a mention to Alex Wilkinson’s entertainingly written visit to an annual Shrinks convention happy hour. Well done. While maybe not so pertinent or informative as John Cassidy’s “Harder Times”, Wilkinson’s “Analytic Hour: How do you feel about that?” was eminently more fun.
My first couple of issues came on a Tuesday. So here I am expecting another Tuesday delivery and – nope, not this time. This time, I am going out of town on business, my New Yorker has not gotten here, and I will miss half a week of reading time. Damn!
But, I got over it. Enough so to read 3 and ½ articles, all the cartoons, and a couple Talk Of The Town pieces.
Along the way, I met a New Yorker reader in line at Chipotle. She had this week’s, being Wednesday I still had last week’s. Why did she get hers before me? Double damn! We had a good chat about what we gravitate to in the NYer. For instance she skipped March 16 because she doesn’t like the style issue. Oh, this is the style issue? I guess Michelle O on the cover in 3 outfits should have been a clue. Or the red lettered header on the contents page that says Style issue. Observant, ain’t I?
Regardless, I found plenty to read, while admittedly over half of the 3 ½ articles I read were about movies.
I truly enjoyed the 2007 movie Michael Clayton. But I didn’t remember the director’s name until reading D. T. Max’s Onward and Upward With The Arts piece entitled Twister. Now I’m itching to see Duplicity, Tony Gilroy’s latest movie. Coming from the writing side of the business, Gilroy brings a depth of story chops to his work. He both wrote and directed this movie, which BTW was NOT reviewed here, but served as a great framework for Max’s exploration of Gilroy’s work and background. I may make some time to look at some of Gilroy’s older, as writer only, movies. It truly sounds, and from seeing Michael Clayton looks, like he has great handle on how to keep a story moving and engaging.
David Denby’s The Current Cinema “Youthquake” was equally interesting. It is essentially an overview of the little known Mumblecore film genre. So little known is this independent film movement, I’ve never heard of before. Not that I’m the paragon of all things film, but it’s high on my list of interests. I am glad to have been enlightened by Denby’s article. While I suspect that these films may turn out to be more of a curiosity for me, than a new thing-to-follow, I am looking forward to seeing “Alexander The Last” or “Mutual Appreciation”.
Not that I need to tell you this in the order I read things, but while I’m here let’s talk about the article I dropped out of. In retrospect, and not that this had any effect, the Patricia Marx article On And Off The Avenue – Made In The U.S.A./ Is it still possible to buy American? was one of the Style Issue features. And it had a good start. For one thing, the made-in-America challenge is one I pay attention to when possible. With all the skill and craftmenship this country is blessed with, you could wonder why we’d want anyone else’s goods. On then the other hand, every ounce of American will and drive and creativity has been imported via the generations of immigrants that make America what it is.
None of which tells you anything about Marx’s exploration of American goods in NY. The article started well, with Ms. Marx on the trail of yankee made goods. Then, for my tastes, it digressed into a list. At that point I noted that the list may be useful someday, but I don’t need to read it. I generally don’t spend much time reading lists of any sort that don’t affect my work. So I moved on.
To a life-long subject of enjoyment and occasional excitement. Dracula. From my earliest days of TV and movie watching, occult subjects have grabbed my attention, Dracula and Vampires chief among them. My childhood faves include Bela Logosi, Peter Cushing, and Christopher Lee; seen alternately on the greatest late night horror show, “Chiller Theater” with host Bill Cardille ( also known to fans as Chilly Billy Cardilly), and at an actual movie theater. Not one of these multiplexes housing 150 thumbnail sized screens. (though I have to admit I haven’t seen one of those in years – the stadium seating innovation works well for me) I’m talking about a gloriously decorated, one huge screen, theater. With popcorn and jujubes on the floor and hundreds of Saturday matinee children in tha audience (me and my friends) occasionally actually screaming at the good parts.
So, I can’t say why my eyes glossed over the listing in the table of contents, but when they lit on Joan Acocella’s Critic At Large offering, Why Dracula won’t die, was on it! Her article is an overview of Dracula and vampire literary history and several books that offer a variety of very similar sounding annotations. Each book has it’s own hook, but they seem thin to me. Of course, I’m not hot on annotated editions; I prefer the story, the characters, the escapism of being taken on a ride. Boatloads of pesky notes are distracting. Except when reading the Tanach in shul (got to do something to stave off the boredom) or Shakespeare. It just occurred to me to wonder if, as I’d expect, Ms. Acocella had to read every page of each of the books she discussed. I shudder to think about wading through not simply one annotated book. Reading the annotations. Perhaps researching the odd tidbit here and there, fact checking. But doing it for several of these beasts. Damn I hope she’s well paid.
While not entirely germane, I feel like sharing that as I write this I am on a short vacation in Fort Worth Texas. Here for a nephew’s Bar Mitzvah. While returning books to the library the night before leaving on this trip I treated myself to a short read for the flight. One of the Buffy the Vampire Slayer graphic novels. One written by Joss Wheadon himself. And featuring, as a major character – on Buffy’s side – Dracula himself. I always thought it was a pity they couldn’t do more with him in the TV series.
On the winding down side of this ride, I want to give a mention to Alex Wilkinson’s entertainingly written visit to an annual Shrinks convention happy hour. Well done. While maybe not so pertinent or informative as John Cassidy’s “Harder Times”, Wilkinson’s “Analytic Hour: How do you feel about that?” was eminently more fun.
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
Mar, 9, 2009 Issue
To start with, I am already behind in my reading. I have one more story I want to read in the March 9 issue and the new one will be in the mail when I get home. Not stressing, because it’s not a race, but I had hopes of keeping a schedule here. I recently discussed my new subscription and blog with a real writer I know (Goldie), a journalist much smarter than myself, who without any preamble on my part offered that she gives herself permission to not read all of every issue. Which is why, she explained, there are so many subscribers with piles of partially read New Yorkers around the house.
On the differences between reading a magazine and reading a book.
There are physical differences between reading a magazine and a book that aren’t much of an issue (sorry) until you chose the magazine as your prime reading source. They are all related to the flimsiness of the paper and the cover and the size of the pages. In bed, the stiffness of a book makes it easier to hold. The magazine wants to flop this way and that. The only good way to control it is to fold or roll the magazine, revealing only one column at a time. Which relates to the other way books are easier to read in bed, once again their relative stiffness and the single, broad column of print makes it easier for the eyes to follow the text across the page. And don’t get me started on walking and reading on a windy day! Regardless of how you fold or roll the magazine, unless you keep a killer grip on it the wind will catch a corner of the page an flap it in your face whilst you try vainly to read that same corner.
The inside pages
The first item I note is the Cartoon Caption contest. I can tell by the listed finalists that my sharp witty caption didn’t make it. Of course, that minor disappointment is overcome by the laugh I get from the winner’s quote.
I began this issue with a Talk of The Town piece naming President Obama’s Joint Address to Congress as the moment he first took ownership of his presidency. This opinion column didn’t so much re-tread the speech as noted what the act of giving it, and Obama following it with his ambitious budget, said about the man and his taking of the presidential reins. A few fair and accurately dismissive words were written about Gov. Jindal’s sad rebuttal. It may very well reflect the state of the Republican party today, shallow, stiff, and lacking direction.
With a nod to my sister dearest and her penchant for celebrity rags, I dove right into an article about singer Lilly Allen. My daughter introduced me to Ms. Allen’s jaunty tunes a year ago. I enjoyed this outing with the young pop star as she tooled around the big apple for a day. Sasha Frere-Jones’ mix of solid background - the usual "bad girl" antics - and a light touch reporting of her time with Lilly gave me the impression of experiencing a real person, with warts intact.
As a creature of my movie reviewing reading habit, and contrary to my previous decision to not read the New Yorker reviews, I couldn’t resist Anthony Lane’s swipe at the Watchmen movie. I’ve read the graphic novel, wondering how it could be the most acclaimed graphic novel of all times and I, nor several people I’ve questioned, hadn’t heard of it before a year ago? While Lane’s review was cutting, direct, and well-written, it lacked a certain joie de vivre that I’ve found in other reviewers negative reviews (of other movies). I’ve found that a truly disappointed or pissed-off reviewer will often wax poetic in their vilification of the movie at hand. Their turns of phrase and over-all command of demeaning words becomes it’s own entertainment. This feeling was present in Lane’s review. Oh, well.
Patricia Marx’s Memo from the CEO was mildly entertaining. I kept having the feeling that I’d read it before. With changes to a few technology references, it could have come out of the layoffs craze of the 1980s. For any who haven’t lived through this before, it may strike a deeper chord.
If I hadn’t been interested in the story of David Foster Wallace, D.T Max’s “The Unfinished, David Foster Wallace’s project” could have seemed interminable. But it is a compelling story and I was an interested reader. Max paints a very full portrait of the artist as a young and middle-aged man. While simultaneously including all the pertinent details needed to understand each phase of Wallace’s life and career and resisting the (possible) urge to mimic Wallace’s obsession with the minutiae of his character’s lives and thoughts, Max succeeds in bringing Wallace and his struggles to life. Of the incongruous character traits that stuck out for me, one was Wallace’s enjoyment of the writing for it’s own sake and his later qualms over how long “the project” could become before then needing to be cut by 90%. The prospect of how much writing he would need to do daunted him when earlier his approach seemed to be write-first-ask-questions-later. This was probably the most tactile, the most immediate clue to me that the problem wasn’t the writing but the writer. And, as a person who’s known a couple bi-polars in my life, I knew very well the frustration of the chemical guessing game modern psycho-pharmacology remains. We may all share the same DNA, but when it comes to affecting our psyches each of us is an island unto our own. The chance of your doctor nailing the drug, or the combination of drugs, that sets you right on the first or sometimes second try is a crap shoot. Then, once you’ve hit on the magic combo, you can’t rely on it forever…your body changes as you age and the chemicals that work for you now will likely change also. Square one again!
The impetus for this mini-bio of David Foster Wallace is the expected release of the portion of what would have been his next novel had he not killed himself. And this issue includes an excerpt. As of this writing, I haven’t read it yet, so expect a post-script.
And now for another kvetch. My self-imposed restriction to only reading the New Yorker is at odds with my natural desire to go back and try (again) to read Wallace’s Infinite Jest. Along with Chabon’s Kavelier and Klay (another aborted read) and several other novels that have crossed my path again recently. But I will demure for the time being as they will be there waiting when I get to them. And, I foresee either a random ebb and flow in the number of pieces I will read in each coming issue (most likely scenario) or a need to restrict how many articles I choose each week. I decline to decide for now.
David Foster Wallace book excerpt.
If I remember correctly, The Wiggle Room was one of the earlier pieces Wallace sent to his editor as a teaser. It features a character named Lane Dean Jr. who works in an IRS tax return review facility. The facility itself, described early and in a few words, is a modern Dickensian sweat shop of accountants and calculators. The in box is continually re-filled by “cart boys”, one of whom pushes a cart with the quintessential squeaky wheel. Our “hero”, in this excerpt, hits the wall of boredom at his job. It is a boredom that threatens to drown him. Wallace writes in a swiftly moving stream of thought style that feels as if he invented it. All the better to feel the buffeting of Lane’s psyche as he struggles against boredom with a depth of description that must come from Wallace’s personal relationship with mental turmoil. I’m not sure I have the stamina to experience an entire novel of the same, but intend to try when I return to reading novels.
Ps – I made it. I read The Wiggle Room at lunch, beating the mailbox and my next awaiting issue with hours to spare.
On the differences between reading a magazine and reading a book.
There are physical differences between reading a magazine and a book that aren’t much of an issue (sorry) until you chose the magazine as your prime reading source. They are all related to the flimsiness of the paper and the cover and the size of the pages. In bed, the stiffness of a book makes it easier to hold. The magazine wants to flop this way and that. The only good way to control it is to fold or roll the magazine, revealing only one column at a time. Which relates to the other way books are easier to read in bed, once again their relative stiffness and the single, broad column of print makes it easier for the eyes to follow the text across the page. And don’t get me started on walking and reading on a windy day! Regardless of how you fold or roll the magazine, unless you keep a killer grip on it the wind will catch a corner of the page an flap it in your face whilst you try vainly to read that same corner.
The inside pages
The first item I note is the Cartoon Caption contest. I can tell by the listed finalists that my sharp witty caption didn’t make it. Of course, that minor disappointment is overcome by the laugh I get from the winner’s quote.
I began this issue with a Talk of The Town piece naming President Obama’s Joint Address to Congress as the moment he first took ownership of his presidency. This opinion column didn’t so much re-tread the speech as noted what the act of giving it, and Obama following it with his ambitious budget, said about the man and his taking of the presidential reins. A few fair and accurately dismissive words were written about Gov. Jindal’s sad rebuttal. It may very well reflect the state of the Republican party today, shallow, stiff, and lacking direction.
With a nod to my sister dearest and her penchant for celebrity rags, I dove right into an article about singer Lilly Allen. My daughter introduced me to Ms. Allen’s jaunty tunes a year ago. I enjoyed this outing with the young pop star as she tooled around the big apple for a day. Sasha Frere-Jones’ mix of solid background - the usual "bad girl" antics - and a light touch reporting of her time with Lilly gave me the impression of experiencing a real person, with warts intact.
As a creature of my movie reviewing reading habit, and contrary to my previous decision to not read the New Yorker reviews, I couldn’t resist Anthony Lane’s swipe at the Watchmen movie. I’ve read the graphic novel, wondering how it could be the most acclaimed graphic novel of all times and I, nor several people I’ve questioned, hadn’t heard of it before a year ago? While Lane’s review was cutting, direct, and well-written, it lacked a certain joie de vivre that I’ve found in other reviewers negative reviews (of other movies). I’ve found that a truly disappointed or pissed-off reviewer will often wax poetic in their vilification of the movie at hand. Their turns of phrase and over-all command of demeaning words becomes it’s own entertainment. This feeling was present in Lane’s review. Oh, well.
Patricia Marx’s Memo from the CEO was mildly entertaining. I kept having the feeling that I’d read it before. With changes to a few technology references, it could have come out of the layoffs craze of the 1980s. For any who haven’t lived through this before, it may strike a deeper chord.
If I hadn’t been interested in the story of David Foster Wallace, D.T Max’s “The Unfinished, David Foster Wallace’s project” could have seemed interminable. But it is a compelling story and I was an interested reader. Max paints a very full portrait of the artist as a young and middle-aged man. While simultaneously including all the pertinent details needed to understand each phase of Wallace’s life and career and resisting the (possible) urge to mimic Wallace’s obsession with the minutiae of his character’s lives and thoughts, Max succeeds in bringing Wallace and his struggles to life. Of the incongruous character traits that stuck out for me, one was Wallace’s enjoyment of the writing for it’s own sake and his later qualms over how long “the project” could become before then needing to be cut by 90%. The prospect of how much writing he would need to do daunted him when earlier his approach seemed to be write-first-ask-questions-later. This was probably the most tactile, the most immediate clue to me that the problem wasn’t the writing but the writer. And, as a person who’s known a couple bi-polars in my life, I knew very well the frustration of the chemical guessing game modern psycho-pharmacology remains. We may all share the same DNA, but when it comes to affecting our psyches each of us is an island unto our own. The chance of your doctor nailing the drug, or the combination of drugs, that sets you right on the first or sometimes second try is a crap shoot. Then, once you’ve hit on the magic combo, you can’t rely on it forever…your body changes as you age and the chemicals that work for you now will likely change also. Square one again!
The impetus for this mini-bio of David Foster Wallace is the expected release of the portion of what would have been his next novel had he not killed himself. And this issue includes an excerpt. As of this writing, I haven’t read it yet, so expect a post-script.
And now for another kvetch. My self-imposed restriction to only reading the New Yorker is at odds with my natural desire to go back and try (again) to read Wallace’s Infinite Jest. Along with Chabon’s Kavelier and Klay (another aborted read) and several other novels that have crossed my path again recently. But I will demure for the time being as they will be there waiting when I get to them. And, I foresee either a random ebb and flow in the number of pieces I will read in each coming issue (most likely scenario) or a need to restrict how many articles I choose each week. I decline to decide for now.
David Foster Wallace book excerpt.
If I remember correctly, The Wiggle Room was one of the earlier pieces Wallace sent to his editor as a teaser. It features a character named Lane Dean Jr. who works in an IRS tax return review facility. The facility itself, described early and in a few words, is a modern Dickensian sweat shop of accountants and calculators. The in box is continually re-filled by “cart boys”, one of whom pushes a cart with the quintessential squeaky wheel. Our “hero”, in this excerpt, hits the wall of boredom at his job. It is a boredom that threatens to drown him. Wallace writes in a swiftly moving stream of thought style that feels as if he invented it. All the better to feel the buffeting of Lane’s psyche as he struggles against boredom with a depth of description that must come from Wallace’s personal relationship with mental turmoil. I’m not sure I have the stamina to experience an entire novel of the same, but intend to try when I return to reading novels.
Ps – I made it. I read The Wiggle Room at lunch, beating the mailbox and my next awaiting issue with hours to spare.
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