Sad brilliance

Outside of the compulsory book or two I read in school, I am largely ignorant of much of Mark Twain’s work. That must change.

Last night, after all the work was done and the Thriller went downstairs to read, I hit the sofa and channel-surfed. I came upon the last segment of Ken Burns’s Twain biopic on PBS. I was really surprised.

We generally tend to think of Twain as a sage; an American literary papa whose humor and talent for spinning yarns enchanted the world — and I do mean the world, as he toured extensively around the globe, giving talks and reading from his novels. But what I didn’t know was the freak show of guilt and personal tragedy that made up most of his adult life.

An inventor, he spent lots of time with the likes of Nikola Tesla and Thomas Edison. He invested heavily in a contraption called the compositor, designed to make newsprinting more efficient. He actually staked a great deal of his wife’s personal fortune on its development, but it failed miserably, and his family lost nearly everything. It was for this reason that Twain embarked on his world speaking tour. He needed to recoup $200,000 in debts and save his beloved wife and daughters from the embarrassment personal bankruptcy would cause.

It was decided that his daughter and wife would go with him, but other daughter Susie would stay home. Susie fell ill while the others were in England, so Twain’s wife and daughter sailed home to take care of her. They were no strangers to losing a child, as they had lost a son years before. It was during that journey home that Susie died. Livvy (Twain’s wife) found out about it when she reached the States, and Twain himself was unable to attend the funeral services. Thus began the downward spiral into depression and loss.

Not long after, his wife died, which pretty much sealed the deal for him. Robbed of his soul mate and two of his children, he sank into despair and was, understandably, never the same. Never really happy again. How tragic.

I learned that his ambitious novel, A (Connecticut) Yankee in King Arthur’s Court, is an encapsulated representation of his own life. It starts out lighthearted and optimistic, and ends darkly. I must buy that today for my Nook.

It’s a fear that lives in the back of many minds, I’m sure: outliving all your loved ones. My grandmother Johnson lived to see her husband, sister, mother, father, and worst of all, all three of her sons, die. All the more reason to enjoy your family every day. Tell them you love them. Don’t lose touch.

Next week I am going to visit my cousin Glenn, who lives near Dallas. I haven’t seen him in probably 35 years. Perhaps we can talk about Mark Twain.

Happy Wegsday — now go hug your mama.

RNF XXXVIII

Random Neuron Firings

Whoa! Gilbert gets smacked for a hunnert grand for bashing LeBron. I still say he published what most fans were feeling, even though he went a little koo koo at the end of the letter.

But Jesse Jackson needs to SHUT. UP. Gilbert was acting like a “slave owner?” SERIOUSLY? It’s only a matter of time before his fellow media hog Sharpton shows up and throws his weight around. Couple o’ knuckleheads. They’re as bad as Beck and Olbermann — they just save it up for longer.

Wow, I’m a little snarky this morning. *feeling forehead* I might be coming down with something. Wait here. Going to make coffee.

==========

All right, that’s better. Pssst. Hey Mel. Mel Gibson. Some advice: If she records one phone conversation, she might record another. Sheesh.

==========

I’m in total agreement that if Lindsay Lohan doesn’t go to jail, then get supervised help this time, she’ll never learn. Shame on the enablers. The girl is suffering, lost, confused, lonely, and making a crap ton of bad decisions. Somebody needs to go over there and clean house.

==========

Ha! How cool is this?

Will Saturday ever get here? I doubt it.

FO

Apple pie hangover

Ugh…I can’t believe I ate the whole thing.

Actually, I didn’t eat the *whole* pie, but I had two slices of Dutch Apple last night after a fantastic cookout dinner at BFFs Kay & Bob’s house. Now I got a crackin’ sugar hangover. Blaaaah. Ah, well. Back on the wagon today.

I haven’t been on a vacation in 15+ years, so I really don’t remember much. Is it normal to feel a little apprehensive six days out? Like you haven’t thought of everything, or geez I hope we saved enough money to do unexpected fun stuff? I guess I’m just itching to get on the road. Sure wish I didn’t have an all-morning meeting in Columbus on Saturday. Blerk. Life would be a dream…

All right, it’s time to get ready and go to the school house. Meetings today, yay!

Fink out, on a rainy Monday morning, ick.

Five things

Dare ya to do it. Five things we don’t know about you. Five opinions that might shock, entertain, delight, enlighten, or evoke feelings of utter ambivalence. Five items that are either personal or professional, good or not so good, silly or sublime, prideful or shameful.

Short lists reveal a lot, I think. Behold:

  1. Although I think I might have mentioned this someplace before, I believe I am the only high school choir director in the United States who has never seen a single episode of “Glee.”
  2. There are very few things I truly hate, but #1 on that short list is mean, inconsiderate people. (Passive-aggressives rank a close second, and Pharisees are up near the top as well.)
  3. I believe that spankings do have an occasional place in the discipline framework of parenting. (If you want to open a protracted discussion on this, I’m game.)
  4. I think people who say, “I don’t care what anyone thinks,” are likely hiding some issues that would indicate otherwise. If you don’t care what anyone thinks, you really shouldn’t have to say so. You just do what you do. It’s like telling the kids on the playground, “I’m really going home now! I mean it!” after not getting your way.
  5. I really, really, really, really hate choir warmups. You know, the scales, the solfege, the chorales. I am going to do some experiments this fall with minimizing them.

OK, go. Regular Finkville citizens know I run this blog just as much for interaction and discourse as for blathering on about me, me, me (although I do enjoy that tasty morsel), so you know what to do. Your username and email are probably auto-saved in your browser. I also know there are readers who hide in the shadows, or who only comment once in a great while. Let’s hear from you, too.

Is it Sunday already? Could it possibly mean that in six days, we will be on the road towards the Odyssey? And me without a single plan for what to pack…

Review: Knight and Day

Yesterday, the Thriller and I took off to Mansfield to catch a matinee and do some pre-Odyssey shopping. Eclipse was our film of choice; it started at 11:00. Well, thanks to endless traffic jams due to heavy construction, we were late enough to have missed the first part of the movie. So, he says to me, “You go ahead and pick another one. I’ll watch whatever you want.”

On a whim, I chose Knight and Day, the new film with Tom Cruise and Cameron Diaz. What a hoot! A perfect movie for a carefree day. We both loved it.

I’m sad that half the critics at Rotten Tomatoes.com disliked it. No, it didn’t have any heavy or lofty themes, and no, it wasn’t about dastardly Americans destroying the earth and creating a dystopia that only helpless but politically and environmentally correct malcontents can fix. Rather, it’s a spy story with lots of great car chases and shoot-outs, accompanied by a good dose of mystery and silliness.

I think Tom Cruise is a wackjob in real life. But people, he is positively adorable in this movie, playing a rogue spy who goes against the “Agency.” His perfect foil is Cameron Diaz, a likable character with a small ditzy streak whom Cruise endeavors to protect. That’s where the comedy comes in. Diaz is an absolute spaz, flipping out regularly at the dizzyingly dangerous situations in which she finds herself, while Cruise shows total calm — indeed, he is the ultimate gentleman and perfect nice guy, calmly and kindly giving instructions to Diaz while the pair is bombarded by machine gun fire, or gently reassuring her as he sedates her for her safety.

It was funny and entertaining, and that’s all. If you won’t feel the need to assign national importance to its message, and you can find it within yourself to just enjoy a crazy romp, then you need to see this film. If you can’t, then maybe you could be a movie critic. Honestly, sometimes they’re just uptight goons.

On the Rat-O-Meter scale of five cheeses, I give the following to Knight and Day, simply on its entertainment merit: