Monthly Archives: August 2009

Crazy days

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On a cursory check, I found that this particular week (5 – 8 August, roughly) was quite busy historically.

I really, really hate conspiracies. I just want to know. Ya know? Marilyn’s death remains surrounded in mystery. Did she overdose by accident, or on purpose? Or was she really snuffed by the Kennedys? No one will ever know, I guess. And it’s probably safe to assume that anyone who might have known took the story to his/her grave.

Anyway, it was on this day — 5 August — in 1962 that Marilyn Monroe was found dead in her bungalow.

Tomorrow marks the anniversary of the 1945 bombing of Hiroshima. I don’t think kids today (or even those of us born in the 50s and 60s) realize the true horror of a catastrophe of this magnitude. Honestly. And I’m tellin ya: controlling nukes owned by crazy people = herding cats.

On the 7th is the anniversary of the foggy morning in 1974 when French athlete Philippe Petit illegally stepped out on a wire he and his mates strung between the two towers of the World Trade Center in New York. The Thriller and I finally got to see the movie about it, Man on Wire. You must see it to believe it.

The intrigue, blind faith, incredible audacity, celestial alignment and just plain dumb luck that combined to facilitate this stunt are simply not to be believed. Go rent this film today.

And on the very next day in the very same year (1974), Richard Nixon resigned the presidency. I vividly remember watching a replay of the announcement on the news the following evening, sitting with my dad in the living room. Another good movie: Frost/Nixon. We’ve seen it twice. Brilliant performances by Frank Langella as Nixon (he was nominated for an Oscar for the role) and Michael Sheen as David Frost.

Crazy days indeed. And now I’m off to my own crazy day. Ugh. Have a goody!

FO

Photo credits: 20th Century Fox; Magnolia Pictures

What the world?

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Lars used to ask that when he was little. “What the world is that?” “What the world are you doing?”

Cute.

Today, I wax philosophical. Or maybe I’m just wondering about stuff.

While listening to Slacker Radio on my Storm (salaam to whoever put that app together…Lawd), I heard “Mercy Mercy Me (The Ecology)” by Marvin Gaye.

Poison is the wind that blows from the north and south and east”

Indeed. And not just in an ecological sense. This morning I ponder things, at random of course, as is my wont:

  1. What the world are people doing when they talk poison and hurt those they supposedly love?
  2. Why are we bailing out/fresh-starting/overhauling the auto and banking industries, but not public education?
  3. Why do we tend to blame others for what we’ve become?
  4. Why is marijuana illegal, but alcohol isn’t?
  5. How and when did empathy fall out of favor in our culture?
  6. Tell me, where is fancy bred? In the heart, or in the head? (“Shall we roll on?” Heh.)

Pick one or two and weigh in, if you get the hankerin’. No judgment passed here in Finkville, promise. Well, except maybe by me.

KIDDING :-)

Have a dandy Tuesday. I’m off to the school house, with Jake riding shotgun. Yee-haw!

Now don’t go gettin all riled up.

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Cuz this ain’t about politics.

I noticed these images on a couple of blogs yesterday, and followed some links. It’s amazing (and gratifying) how visual art, after several millennia, still moves people to all manner of emotions.

A gaggle of different feelings will serve as reactions to the following picture. (You know the Law, so I ain’t interested in what those particular reactions are for you personally, or why. Just be nice and play my little game for today, k?)

Maybe this evokes less of a “convicted” response. I think it’s funny, myself:

Art has been controversial for centuries, but there was a time not too long ago when it was the only commercial visual stimulus available, and much attention was paid to its viewing, criticism and social commentary. I like art history — especially the periods which coincide with music history (Medieval, Renaissance, Baroque, Classical, Romantic, Impressionistic, Contemporary).

I won’t go into the whole of it, as I’d be writing all day instead of planning my glorious return to the school house, but imagine the shock of looking at this painting up close, when you hadn’t been raised on watching realistic reenactments of it on television:

Judith Slaying Holofernes, by Artemisia Gentileschi, 1618Artemisia (yep, a girl) painted several versions of this scene, over and over. Traditional misinformation classifies the painting as channelling the artist’s personal revenge against the men who humiliated her in her lifetime (she has an interesting story if you ever want to search it out), but in fact she maintained a closeness to the real story of Judith, who performed this grisly deed on an enemy general to scare his troops into retreating and leaving her people alone. Therefore, it’s more an indictment of tyranny than a kicking, screaming fit against the misogynistic ruling class of the day.

Interesting stuff.

Still, look at the determination on the women’s faces. Then look at Holofernes. How do you think the men of 1620 Italy reacted to it? And the women (though likely in secret)?

Did I mention I like visual art? It was the subject of one of my very first posts here at RtB. I could talk about it all day, really. Alas…

I found this quote from Artemisia herself:

An artist’s feeling is the white-hot core of painting…You’ve got to use your own emotions and paint with your own blood if need be in order to discover and prove the truth of your vision.”

If only we all felt that way about our own visions, eh?

FO

Wild Weekend

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I gotta get in shape or somethin.

When people tell you that grandchildren wear them out — believe it. It’s the good kind of worn out, though. I guess I should say they keep me young. Or wishing I was.

I think back to when Seamus and Lars were little and I wonder how I pulled it off, day after day after day. Then I go, “Ahhh…you were 24. No wonder it was easier.” A quarter-century later — not so good. Still, we loved every minute of Jake this weekend. We went to the park, played in the back yard, read a gazillion books, played the piano, took a walk, grocery shopped, chased each other around, antagonized Rousseau, and played cars.

At 10 p.m., he rested.

I’m upset that my photos of the Thriller’s birthday bash didn’t turn out very well. My Storm and the red walls of my dining room didn’t play well together. Shoulda used the regular camera instead. Suffice it to say that it was a fabulous feed, and the birthday boy got lots of great gifts, not the least of which was getting to spend several hours with the family, which we don’t get to do nearly often enough. Thanks to all the RtB fiends who wished him a happy birthday, too. I think he’s finding that 58 isn’t so bad after all, which bodes well for the rest of us. (Except if you’re RD, in which case you’ve been there and done that. :-))

Fink (I make “old” jokes whilst I still may because time’s running) out.