I regret that I didn’t pursue animation. Yeah, I know, it’s not fashionable to have regrets. I suppose there are self-actualized individuals who’ve genuinely reached the point of “no regrets,” but I reckon that with most people who purport to have no regrets, the claim is wishful horseshit. You have regrets when you fail to go after a skill or livelihood that necessitates beginning when you’re still young. For me it’s sailing, horseback riding, martial arts, and animation. Don’t get me wrong; it’s never too late to start doing anything you’re passionate about, but you have to face the fact that there are certain things that require a lifetime to get good at. Now I admit it’s true that Yukio Mishima didn’t start to train in the martial arts until he was 40, and still became a kendo adept, but he also flipped out and disemboweled himself in public, so I don’t think I’ll suggest him as a role model. There have been rare exceptions among artists (like Grandma Moses? Who else?), but the fact is I made choices that removed me from the world of animation, even though I’d art-directed a corporate animation for Rand-McNally at the age of 24 and had come to the attention of Chicago’s top animator. It’s not complicated—I out-smarted myself and stopped animating, just like Dadbo decided to become an engineer instead of pursuing veterinary medicine. Regrets don’t have to be debilitating, but most likely there will be something you’ll abandon and wish later you hadn’t. Just make sure it isn’t one of the “big things.” Never turn away from your true passions. So… I can’t sail, cycling is the closest I get to real riding, I’m still an Aikido white belt, and I’ve learned to live without animation, even though I still dream of having gotten rather good at it. I contemplate taking the time to study Tex Avery, Jay Ward, the TerryToons, and all the classic cartoon arts or immerse myself in the works of Jordan Belson, Saul Bass, or Hayao Miyazaki. Fortunately I still hold on to my greatest touchstone. I continue to draw with my own hand…
Archive for the ‘Personalities’ Category
Oldenday V
Monday, April 18th, 2005Oldenday IV
Sunday, April 17th, 2005You would have thought that I’d get at least one decent art teacher during my years in high school. No dice. And so I continued my bizarre attempt at artistic cultivation. I developed my own comic book characters, illustrated home-grown stories, and advanced my “Wanted Posters” into a state that was clearly an attempt at pushing my facial skills as far as I could handle without proper training. Nobody had ever told me about anatomy or life drawing. I absorbed the daily comics (I hated “Dondi” but studied the drawing). The unique intro to The Wild Wild West and the long-forgotten Lone Ranger animated series fascinated me. I became more and more interested in animation. I poured over the drawings of political artists—Herblock, Hugh Haynie, and Paul Conrad. I entertained the notion that I wanted to be an editorial cartoonist, and wrote letters to prominent exponents of the art form. But then something happened that would change everything. I saw an an advertisement from the Famous Artist School and responded. A representative actually paid a visit to our home and I begged my parents to let me give it a shot—the correspondence course that would give me the art instruction that I’d never managed to acquire. They said, “Okay,” and I will forever be grateful for this simple consent to expose me to legitimate art educators. I acknowledge now that the home-study “Course for Talent Young People” was an experiment, an attempt to market the successful adult course to a younger market. That meant nothing to me at the time. This was the school endorsed by Norman Rockwell! How could they deny me this opportunity? Well, they didn’t, even though my Mom had to cajole me into keeping up with the lessons. But a sea change had occurred. I was formally introduced to the world of art at last, fine and applied, and I was soon ready to make an informed decision about the direction of my artistic development. When my grandmother gave me a bulletin of classes from the University of Cincinnati, I was ready to choose a course of action—commericial art. No surprise. This was it! Everything else fell to the wayside…
Oldenday III
Friday, April 15th, 2005I don’t know if I really liked school as a kid, but rather accepted it as my fate. It did have one nice thing going for it—ample opportunity to draw. Because we were Catholics, we went to school six days a week, although the Saturday religious instruction (catechism) was only in the morning, which wasn’t so bad because we were used to it, and we got to hang out with our top chums, the Vagedes boys. But maybe the best thing about Saturday mornings was that we got a comic book. I didn’t know that Treasure Chest wasn’t “cool.” I looked forward to the wholesomely didactic magazine (given out one per family before we went home each Saturday morning) because it was a comic book. Super heroes would come later. “Treasure Chest” introduced me to the longer pictorial narrative form and the art of the visual cliffhanger. Looking back on it, the staff that produced it was clearly packed with talent. I never saw another issue of it after 1964. With the move to a new town, a few dimes to spend, and the proximity of my junior high school to a retail rack of Superman, Batman, and Aquaman, I made the seismic shift to the world of DC Comics. Other than being shown how to use pastel chalk by family friend Mr. Smalley, I still had received no direct exposure to fine arts instruction. I was almost a teen, and I’d had no educator who could demonstrate to me genuine artistic technique, even though I’d had a series of teachers who rather negligently but wholeheartedly supported my effort to become self-taught. And so I continued with my own strange mix of preferred influences: Reed Crandall, Doug Wildey, Bob Clampett, Alfred Andriola, Curt Swan, Bob Kane, and Frank Frazetta. Actually, I could have chosen much worse…
Just keep going
Friday, April 8th, 2005It’s now hitting me that it’s rather dangerous to enter the IU medical library and sit down in front of a keyboard, given my internal whirl of emotions and a state of French-roast-induced mental hyperventilation. Oh well, here goes…
Even in the year 2005, at one of the top hospitals in the Midwest, medical decision makers still don’t routinely punch catheters into a sick man’s torso and drain it like a dirty crankcase. They have to seriously think about it first. And then they have to assemble a crack professional team. Neither will they go in blind, but insist on using precise, x-ray imaging to guide them. That’s why Bruce had to endure yet another wait as technicians fiddled with the CT scanner.
But over the next few hours an astonishing sequence unfolded. After coming through surgery (with multi-hued banners rippling in the wind), he was soon off the IV sedation, breathing on his own, and writing truncated notes on the paper he’d asked for with sign language. By evening his ventilator tubes had been removed and he was insightfully recounting his ordeal. When we marveled at his vocabulary he dismissed it with a quip: “For all you know, Art Buchwald could be in the next cubicle.” I was moved not only by the return of his wit, but by all the other honest, pure-hearted expressions that he earnestly and meticulously communicated to each of us who paid a visit.
He told us that he wanted, more than ever, to view “The Passion of the Christ,” so he could be reminded of someone who had suffered more than he.
I am indeed proud of my courageous son and how he persevered though his silent trial and emerged with love, optimism, humility, wisdom, and good manners. I think it was Winston Churchill who said, “If you’re going through hell, keep going.”
Oldenday I
Saturday, April 2nd, 2005Although my mom provided a truly rich atmosphere for mental play and my dad revealed for me his familiar world of nature, I look back at times with wonder and some amusement that I ever arrived at any sort of creative legitimacy, given the odd character of my early visual stimuli. I always had chalk and my own blackboard, and was given free reign to inhabit the world of my own imagination, sharing it with a captive sibling audience. I suppose we were rather sheltered. It was no surprise they thought I was a real artist. I recall almost no access to books with “serious” artwork. A bound collection of Currier and Ives reproductions was about as close as it got. I don’t remember any childhood visits to art museums or even going to a library before attending school. There was really nothing about art to learn on television, except for the exposure to Walt Disney, or a glimpse of illustrations in the books read by Captain Kangaroo, or, eventually, Jon Gnagy’s “Learn to Draw.” At least I understood that Yogi Bear and the Flintstones wasn’t about art. We didn’t get a daily newspaper. And so it was a monumental event in my life when Uncle Art delivered a stack of Saturday Evening Post magazines and a year’s worth of old Sunday comics. I must not have had a bit of interest in anything else until it was fully absorbed. For a time, that was the pinnacle: Walt Kelly, Al Capp, Milton Caniff, and, of course, those magnificent Rockwell covers…
Various & Sundry, part thirteen
Friday, April 1st, 2005— Month of March workout totals: Swim-7; Bike-3; Run-3; Lift-7.
— Time to boost my running and cycling mileage. Plenty of mild weather ahead; no more excuses for the recent pitiful stats.
— Today at my Rotary luncheon I sat next to a retired English professor who’d served on a nearby ship during the battle for Iwo Jima. It caused me to think of Josh, with the profound hope that in 60 years, he, too, might be enjoying a pleasant meal with his friends.
— We’ll be heading back to Indiana tomorrow to visit Bruce. His ongoing exhaustion remains a concern to us. We can’t overlook the steady improvement, though, even if the pace has been tortuous.
— Stalin supposedly scoffed, “How many divisions does the Pope have?” More than adequate, as we’ve come to see, with the collapse of Soviet Communism in the 1980s, due in part to the bold stand for human freedom taken by this Polish priest turned world leader.
Seeing Danny
Thursday, March 31st, 2005March goes out
like a lamb (he pronounces too smugly).
What a glorious day to walk to campus and swim my first laps since making the decision to switch from the Wellness Center pool. I saw a friend on the way, so we chatted, although I should correct myself and point out that a conversation with Danny can hardly be called a “chat.” In 10 to 15 minutes we touched on Bruce’s ordeal, prayer, grace, the soul, despair, suicide, Socrates, Hunter S. Thompson, Hemingway, St John of the Cross, the death of Terri Schiavo, eternity, Thomas à Kempis, and the origins of monastic life. There’s never been time for “small talk” when Danny and I see each other, which isn’t often enough. When I got to Centre the water temperature and chlorine level were just right. The sun was pouring through the skylights. Even the shower-head couldn’t have been in more satisfactory adjustment. When I tested the speed of my freestyle stroke, I matched my personal-best, single-lap sprint time. Perfection.
Various & Sundry, part twelve
Friday, March 25th, 2005— I woke up this morning with a distinct phrase in my mind: magnesium fusion triggers. Look, I don’t drive the thing. I’m just ridin’ shotgun…
— Marty called last night and we talked about a subject that’s totally captured his excitement, the new Sony PS Portable. Hey, you’re allowed to get excited about something like this when you’re thirteen. For me, at that age, it was probably Art Linkletter’s “The Game of Life,” or something like that. However, I can’t help but think of this quote from Ben Stein: “I tremble for the day that the next generation has to provide for themselves with what they have learned from their video games.” Relax, Ben. They’ve probably learned more than I ever learned from watching too many hours of “The Avengers,” “The Prisoner,” “Hawaii Five-0” and “The Man from U.N.C.L.E.”
— From what I can discern through the Associated Press, Josh and his 623rd Field Artillery unit was with the convoy that came under attack on Sunday morning, but it stayed with the trucks during the battle and sustained no casualties (from a Bruce Schreiner byline story).
— The new brochure we created for the Brass Band Festival is a major hit, according to our friend who’s retiring as director of the Visitor’s Bureau. I told her I hoped our work makes a good impression with her successor. She said she thought it would and will put in a good word for us. Sounds promising, but the new person brings strong connections to her former employer, a previous client of ours turned competitor. All I can do is stay positive and make my case at the appropriate time. I’d insert a link to the Festival, but the site is just too ugly. Wait a second! This is a job for Website Makeover™ Man!
— Dana and I are heading back up to Indy today to check on Bruce. Normally I have my Rotary Club meeting, but we’re dismissed for Good Friday, so we’ll deal with any urgent matters in the studio and then hit the road before it gets too late.
— I decided to google for “magnesium fusion triggers” and found myself reading an overview at GlobalSecurity.org about special weapons facilities on the Indian subcontinent. OK, so what am I supposed to be more scared of, the metastasis of the World Wide Web, unchecked nuclear proliferation in South Asia, or my own dadburn subconscious?
Various & Sundry, part eleven
Thursday, March 24th, 2005— Now that the corner has been turned, and Bruce’s life has been preserved, he faces a difficult future, short- and long-term. A tough row to hoe, as they say. Today it appears as though the doc has given up on salvaging his transplanted kidney—too little function, too much chronic deterioration. This means more dialysis, a process which Bruce grew to loath, and will surely dread to accept back into his life on any regular basis. It may be several more hours before his awareness clears enough for him to evaluate his choices (or lack thereof). He’s being moved from intensive care to progressive care, and taken off anti-rejection drugs, narcotics, steroids, and sedatives, plus he’ll be down to a single tube—oxygen. One of the reasons they doped him is because he became combative and ripped out the nasal/gastric tube at least twice (as I might have, too, had I been in his situation). Or maybe I have that backwards (side effects of medication causing aggressive behavior and colorful use of language). In any case, the outlook is encouraging, but I’ll keep up my prayers. It’s likely that there will be more bumps in the road…
— If I came up with an idea for a new method of capital punishment—slow death by starvation—would it be declared cruel and unusual? If authorities came into your home and discovered all the pets were dead, would they say, “…within his rights—slow death by starvation.”? Sorry, just thinking rhetorically here. (Did I do the punctuation correctly on that?) “…I can’t imagine why, the world has time enough to cry.”
— As an avid watcher of Brian Lamb’s “Booknotes,” I was disappointed when he wrapped the 800-show series on C-SPAN. Listening to writers talk about writing makes me want to write. Listening to politicians talk about politics doesn’t make me want to run for office. Listening to artists talk about art definitely makes me want to make art. Now the only other good interview show with the classic all-black set is Charlie Rose. I think Rose is at his best when he’s talking to artists. Not that he doesn’t demonstrate the same level of skill when interviewing journalists and politicians, but I guess he tends to insert more opinions that sometimes irritate me. His recent conversation with Daniel Day-Lewis and his astonishingly brilliant and beautiful wife, Rebecca Miller (daughter of the late Arthur Miller), was just about as good as television ever gets. How in the world does he get these creative people to relax and describe the inexpressible aspects of their talent and craft? His style is totally different than Lamb’s, but they both make it look so easy. Not the performance (if that’s what you can call it), but the technique of coaxing the guest to say things that are genuinely interesting. I made the mistake of watching a perfunctory interview with Clint Eastwood, leading up to the Oscars, and the interviewer managed to avoid steering him to a single topic that was remotely enlightening… quite a feat, actually.
Political passion trumps good manners once again
Wednesday, March 23rd, 2005Bruce has experienced the medical turnaround that he needed. Somebody’s been praying out there, and you know who you are! His wife, mother, and sister have been at his side, with so many others close to him in spirit. Today’s news is so much better than it’s been since Monday. Although I’m sure it was nothing compared to Dana’s ordeal, yesterday was a rather exhausting day for me emotionally, and not made any better by someone who called to ask about Bruce, and then, when the subject turned to my nephew Josh’s situation, launched into a scathing denunciation of the President of the United States and his Iraq policy. Even if I’d had the inclination or energy to disagree (which I certainly did not), what could I possibly have said to affect an opinion impervious to what others have already stated so ably in support of winning the war… others more influential than me, such as John McCain or Joe Lieberman; or more intellectually gifted than me, such as Jonah Goldberg or Christopher Hitchens; or more deeply thoughtful than me, such as Tom Friedman or Ben Stein? And for cryin’ out loud, it just wasn’t a decent time to kick-start that old debate.
Now (tough) vs later (really tough)
Friday, March 18th, 2005I saw part of an interview with
Dennis Quaid. The other person, referring to scenes from a recent movie, remarked that he was in great physical shape for his age. Now, let’s put aside the fact that a Hollywood star can devote months of preparation before going in front of a camera, including personal trainers, nutritional advisors, plus hours a day in the gym leading up to a shooting schedule. Nevertheless, Quaid said something in response which was pretty powerful: “I got fit in my twenties and I never really let myself get out of shape.”
Important note to young people of either gender: It’s much easier to maintain youthful fitness than to rebuild it later in life after its been lost. Even if you haven’t been an athlete, it’s much easier to get in shape in your twenties and work to preserve it, versus putting it off until later, when you inevitably begin to dislike how your body is aging.
This may sound like a lecture, but uncles are allowed to instruct now and then, especially when it’s based on direct experience. Trust me, everybody over the age of 40 wants to be in good shape. It’s just a matter of whether you have a 20-year momentum to work with, or whether you have to start basically from scratch.
The world of Randas Batista
Tuesday, March 15th, 2005You don’t have to explore the Web very long to discover a site that’s distinctive, substantive, and full of talent—
Jeffrey Luke’s Brazil Diary is one of them…
Various & Sundry, part ten
Saturday, March 12th, 2005— We had no business doing it, but we purchased a DVD recorder for our TV/cable configuration at home. Dana’s testing it out today. My question is this: If I’m supposed to transfer my entire collection of Mission: Impossible from VHS to DVD in order to save space, does that mean I get to watch all of it during the dubbing?
— Last night Dana and I made pizza, opened a bottle of Australian Merlot (Black Swan), and celebrated 27 years since our first date. Positioned precisely six months across the calendar from our wedding anniversary, this special observation enables us to have two celebrations each year that honor our enduring partnership in all things.
— After hearing a remark by Charles Murray that the movie Groundhog Day is an “Aristotlelian moral fable” of profound significance that will stand the test of time as a great work of art, Dana and I watched it again and enjoyed it enormously. Yes, I’m aware that among some people, Murray (no relation to Bill) has a negative reputation (unfair, in my opinion), but how can a guy who lists P.J. O’Rourke and James Clavell among his favorites be all bad?
For all those forunate enough to read this
Friday, March 11th, 2005I can never explain exactly how these odd exercises get started, but it germinated while Dana and I were watching C-SPAN during breakfast. It took root in the shower and before long I was compelled to complete my list.
— — —
THE 30 MOST INFLUENTIAL MEDIA INNOVATORS OF MY LIFETIME
Edward R. Murrow, Ted Turner, Brian Lamb, Rush Limbaugh, Rupert Murdoch
Ronald Reagan, Don Hewitt, Steve Allen, Ben Bradlee, Matt Drudge
Oprah Winfrey, Roone Arledge, Jack Anderson, Phil Donahue, Johnny Carson
Woodward/Bernstein, Garrison Keillor, Huntley/Brinkley, Lorne Michaels, Lucille Ball/Desi Arnez
Tom Wolfe, Barbara Walters, Walter Chronkite, Al Neuharth, MacNeil/Lehrer
Mike Royko, Jeff McNelly, Bob Edwards, Charles Schultz, Norman Lear
— — —
For reasons I can’t explain to myself, I’ve left out the world of cinema, music, theater, and pure entertainment (the full spectrum of mass media). There seemed a need to have an overall public affairs orientation to it. Each figure meets the requirement of both influence and innovation, although some are weighted more to one than the other. Yes, it gets shakier and more subjective as I move down the list, and I’d be interested in the opinion of others. It wouldn’t be that hard to expand it to 50 names, to find room for many others worthy of consideration, such as: Jacques Cousteau, Ken Burns, Jann Wenner, Clay Felker, Charles Kuralt, Jim Henson, Paul Conrad, Malcolm Forbes, Daniel Shore, and Roger Mudd, etc., etc.
What do you think? Did I neglect the obvious? Who would you strike? Who would you add?
If you like this kind of history-of-mass-media material you’ll like the cybernewseum.
Damn. Some people probably get paid for thinking up stuff like this.
! ! !
One Earth Tour comes to Danville
Wednesday, March 9th, 2005The rhythmic perfection and exuberant athleticism of the KODO performance at Centre last night was powerful, mesmerizing, and deeply satisfying. I knew the word “Kodo” from my book by Kensho Furuya (Kodo: Ancient Ways— Lessons in the Spiritual Life of the Warrior/Martial Artist), but I wasn’t sure whether it literally meant “Ancient Ways.” The KODO artists boldly but reverently exalt “Taiko,” the traditional Japanese drum, which is the ancient symbol of rural Japan. Their musical interpretations connect at a fundamental human level that must be experienced to fully appreciate.
Trivia: What television theme features the Taiko? Answer.
The account of Don Andrés Serrano
Sunday, March 6th, 2005I’m reading what seems to me to be a jewel of a book by the poet and writing scholar Robert Graves. It’s called “The Islands of Unwisdom,” a novel of Spanish colonization in the South Pacific that takes place roughly in the same time period as Clavel’s “Shogun.” I don’t know very much about Graves other than he was a contemporary at Oxford of Tolkien and Lewis, but apparently had a less than admirable private life. He supposedly dismissed his historical novels as mere thrillers, but I find “Islands” quite captivating. I have no appetite for sentimentality in historical fiction, prefer it to be based on actual characters who lived, and enjoy insights into the clash of cultures, especially East and West. This work fits nicely into that niche, and I may also investigate his “Count Belisarius.”
Down Under vs Up Over
Friday, February 25th, 2005Down Under—
AUSTRALIA will more than double its military commitment in Iraq, deploying a further 450 troops to protect Japanese engineers, as the country’s interim Government struggles to contain a widespread insurgency… Warning that Iraq was at a “tilting point”, Prime Minister John Howard revealed cabinet had approved the plan for more troops only after personal requests from Japanese leader Junichiro Koizumi and Britain’s Tony Blair… A grim-faced Mr. Howard admitted the decision would be unpopular and could lead to the first Australian fatalities in Iraq.
Courageous and strong, these are men of vision. History will judge them as significant and large.
Up Over—
Foreign Minister Pierre Pettigrew said Thursday that CANADA will opt out of the contentious U.S. missile defense scheme… Polls indicate that most Canadians are opposed to the scheme. Many believe that the umbrella, when fully implemented, could lead to an international arms race. Prime Minister Paul Martin, who leads a tenuous minority government, has said that Ottawa would not support what he called the “weaponization of space.”
Foolish and weak, these are men in denial. History will note them as peripheral and small.
Please leave it to the professionals
Wednesday, February 23rd, 2005I burned out on “reality TV” back when it was invented by Allen Funt, who hid a camera and caught people “in the act of being themselves.” I guess there was a certain authenticity to the captured behaviors, but weren’t the scenarios contrived to produce humor in the first place? Dana observed tonight that the pervasive garbage produced today to create an illusion of authenticity isn’t “reality” at all, but rather people in the vicinity of not-so-hidden cameras “trying to act the way they think they should act, when they can’t act.”
Various & Sundry, part seven
Tuesday, February 22nd, 2005— Surprising as it might seem, I never read H.S. Thompson. Maybe it was because I had a back-stabbing co-worker in the 70s who carried on a lot about how great a writer Thompson was. Either that or I just couldn’t get past all the Ralph Steadman, which has been a bit of a mystery, since Steadman’s work was mildly influential for me at a certain point in my development as an illustrator (even though I found something fundamentally revolting about his style).
— Brendan’s new Idiotcam archive is positively super-dooper! Now I have only two major goals left in my life: building a home in the Knobs and making it into the exalted Plastic Mullet Series.
— Something about Mombo’s tribute has really sparked some childhood memories. For some reason I got to thinking about one of the most brattish (perhaps the most brattish) thing I ever did as a child. I was pretty young, so my recollection is rather hazy. I don’t think it was my birthday, so it must have taken place at Christmas. I do remember that I’d been agitating for the only toy I desperately wanted—a firetruck. My parents must have been anticipating the delight that would certainly result from their big surprise. Or maybe it was my Uncle Don who was behind it.
There it was! A bright red steel pedal-car-style fire engine complete with little wood ladders and a silver bell!
I threw a fit. Weeping dramatically, I let it be known that I was totally disappointed. How could somebody have gotten it so utterly wrong? That’s not what I wanted. What I wanted was a little firetruck that I could take out to the sand pile and play with! It was a bitter tragedy. No, it was the end of the world!
I don’t know how much longer it was before the replacement arrived, or what mixed emotions my tantrum must have triggered, but the Tonka fire engine eventually appeared, and it was a beauty. It even had a red hydrant that connected to the garden hose to supply a realistic fire-fighting stream. I have no recall as to what my reaction was. I hope I was appropriately grateful, but I may have just accepted it as merely just and overdue.
Both toys are long gone. Did the pedal car end up at the home of a cousin? Whatever became of the little fire engine? Either toy would be a valuable collector’s item today…
Gallant fact vs believable fiction
Monday, February 21st, 2005After the trip to Berea for Mombo’s celebration, Marty came home with us in preparation for his all-night “lock-down” at The Stadium. He had a good time, connecting with two of his old chums from Bate, but was ready to promptly crash upon his return this morning. When he woke up in the afternoon we talked about Josh for a while, got on the subject of Iwo Jima, which was fought exactly 60 years ago, and discussed how the new movie currently in production might be structured. We ended up at a site devoted to medal recipients from the battle, and after reading a few descriptions, both of us concluded that if some of these true-life sacrificial exploits were brought to the big screen, many people would think they were too unrealistic to have actually occurred. Case in point: Douglas Thomas Jacobson, USMC (born the same year as Mombo).
Dave Garver vs Frankie Dunn
Tuesday, February 15th, 2005I remember first seeing the word Malpaso on the big screen when I summoned the courage to ask out a college classmate, and we went to see “Play Misty for Me” together. For years, just viewing the word on a field of black would trigger an ample dose of anticipatory delight. After watching “Unforgiven,” “The Bridges of Madison County,” and “Mystic River,” the word now assumed tragic tones for me at the opening of “Million Dollar Baby. Was I prepared for two hours of Eastwood’s lean but effective craftsmanship, wearing at my emotions the way a rough sock slowly rubs a blister on a long run?
Clint’s melancholy original music lingers as I give up on capturing with keyboard the ache I took from the theater tonight. I’m already thinking about what could happen at the Academy Awards, and his upcoming picture—on the subject of Iwo Jima—and how I might feel inside the next time that word Malpaso fades up before me in a darkened space.
Various & Sundry, part six
Monday, February 14th, 2005— Since last week, Dana and I’ve been so tied up preparing for tomorrow’s major presentation that we reluctantly acknowledged to each other over coffee this morning that Valentine’s Day would surely slip away without adequate observation. Million Dollar Baby will have to wait.
— Some guy was on the tube today lambasting authors who come up with another gimmick just to get their diet book on the New York Times best seller list. What was he promoting? A new book about diets that will probably get on the best seller list.
— When our friends Jeannette and Betty were in D.C. for the inauguration, they had a chance to get a picture taken with Ben Stein at one of the gala events. They loaned me the snapshot to scan for them and I think my smile, while sitting here doing the favor, is as big as theirs in the photo. It would be so cool to meet Ben and then score a picture with him in his tuxedo. He has to be one of the most desirable media personalities a non-celebrity could hope to encounter. There’s nothing about Ben not to like, and he genuinely appreciates people. I became convinced of that when I read excerpts from his diary. Anyone who likes to document life’s ordinary experiences can learn so much from how Ben does it. Someday his journals will undoubtedly become one of the most valuable accounts of contemporary American life produced at the turn of the century. He has an extraordinary insight into what makes the world go round. It’s never too late to learn new skills for living, because it’s never too late to screw up your life. There aren’t too many books that everyone should read. Ben’s book is one of them!
