Since yesterday was Father's Day and I ran my traditional Father's Day post, I've had to bring you Poetry Sunday on the rather untraditional Monday*. It's okay, you'll survive the shock.
French film critics coined the term film noir to describe the dark look and bleak, sinister themes of many World War II era and postwar American movies. Classic noir films include The Maltese Falcon and Double Indemnity, as well as more modern films like Sin City and, perhaps, Seven. They reflected the tensions and insecurities of the time, and their themes featured fear, mistrust, bleakness, loss of innocence, despair and paranoia. The heroes (or anti-heroes) of noir films aren't always distinguishable from the criminals they fight, and most plots feature a sense of injustice not corrected. Films noir seldom have happy or optimistic endings.
You wouldn't think that the subject would necessarily lend itself to poetry, but it does in this poem by Nicholas Christopher, which weaves many of the stock images of film noir into a short, punchy picture ...
Film Noir
by Nicholas Christopher
The girl on the rooftop stares out
over the city and grips a cold revolver.
Laundry flaps around her in the hot night.
Each streetlight haloes a sinister act.
People are trapped in their beds, dreaming of
the A-bomb and hatching get-rich-quick schemes.
Pickpockets and grifters prowl the streets.
Hit-men stalk informers and crooked cops hide in churches.
Are there no more picket fences and tea parties
in America? Does no one have a birthday anymore?
Even the ballgames are fixed, and the quiz shows.
Airplanes full of widows circle the skyline.
Young couples elope in stolen cars.
All the prostitutes were wronged terribly in childhood.
They wear polka dot skirts, black gloves, and trenchcoats.
Men strut around in boxy suits, fedoras, and palm-tree ties.
They jam into nightclubs or brawl in hotel rooms
while saxophone music drowns out their cries.
The girl in the shadows drops the revolver
and pushes through the laundry to the edge of the roof.
Her eyes are glassy, her hair blows wild.
She looks down at her lover sprawled on the sidewalk
and she screams.
A crowd gathers in a pool of neon.
It starts to rain.
If you were looking for Poetry Sunday, don’t despair – because it's Father's Day and I have my traditional (if updated) tribute to fathers today, your poetry fix for the week will appear in this space tomorrow. Come back then, but be sure to read on today as well ...
Today is Fathers’ Day, the day we honor the man who contributed half of our chromosomes and many of the life lessons that shaped us into who we are.
Fathers don’t always get the same degree of respect that mothers do. We work in design, rather than production, after all, and don’t earn the credit that mothers do for going through nine months of pregnancy followed by months of sleepless nights and years of worry. And truth be told, many fathers don’t earn that respect. For all too many men, fatherhood is an unfortunate side effect of good sex, and a child is an impediment to the enjoyment of life. For many men, fathering a lot of children by a lot of women is the imagined sign of a manly stud ... not of lives betrayed by a thoughtless ass who thinks with his man parts* instead of his brain and heart.
Luckily, though, there are many good men out there trying their best to be good fathers. It’s not an easy job, and not everyone does it successfully ... but fortunately, enough do.
I have often reflected back on the course of my life, and I've come to the conclusion I’ve been a much better grandfather than I was a father. This is probably normal. You’ve seen more of life, and had more experiences – good and bad – to share. If you’re the grandfather, you get to be the gentle, wise, let-‘em-do-what-they-want fellow the children love to see, rather than the grouchy, tired father who has to put bread on the table, crack the whip, and enforce the discipline. You get all the joy of holding and loving the children with none of the negatives ... when the baby needs changing, for instance, there's none of that messy fuss - you just give her back to her mother. What's not to like?
I think that, from the father's perspective, we have our children too early in life. We're still learning how to be adults, and all of a sudden we're fathers, responsible for teaching our children all the lessons of life that we haven't even learned yet. Our children grow up as much in spite of our mistakes as because of our excellence in parenting.
When you get to be a father, you look at your own father differently. It was Mark Twain who supposedly once said, "When I was a boy of fourteen, my father was so ignorant I could hardly stand to have the old man around. But when I got to be twenty-one, I was astonished at how much the old man had learned in seven years."
It's true.
A good father, as I came in time to understand, is a gift beyond all price. The gold standard for fatherhood is, of course, my own father. He fought the Nazis** in the skies over World War II Europe, ran his own business, raised four children and buried one, and cared for mom through the long years of misery as Alzheimer's gradually destroyed the mind of the dynamic and witty woman he loved. Dad left us this past January and I no longer get to hear his jokes and stories and learn the lessons he still had to teach, yet he remains the man to whom I owe whatever shreds of honor, decency, and ... well ... manhood that I can claim.
This was the man who battled for our freedom in 1944 ...
Here he is at the Mount Vernon Wine Festival in 2002, surrounded by admiring ladies (from left to right: our friends Susan and Nadja, our daughter Yasmin, and Agnes) ...
Here he is with my brother Mark and I, on the occasion of Mark's retirement from the Navy (our brother Paul served in the Army, but wasn't able to be there) ...
And here he is in December of 2013 at his 90th birthday party in Pittsburgh, surrounded by the friends and family members who came out to honor him in spite of some really ghastly winter weather ...
I'd like to think I made him satisfied, if not proud.
If you’d like to know more about the life of this wonderful man, who left us this past January, you can read my remembrance here.
It's politically correct (bordering on mandatory) nowadays to say that a child can grow up just fine in a household with same-sex "parents," but you'll never be able to convince me that it's the same as being raised by a father and a mother who love each other, treat each other with dignity and respect, set a good example, teach their gender-specific life lessons, and subordinate their own dreams and desires to the momentous task of raising a brand new human being.
On Fathers' Day, this wonderful song by Dan Fogelberg sums it all up for me ...
Have a good day. Honor your father. And if you're a father, be a good one ... preferably a better one than I was. Your children ... and, indeed, the future ... are depending on you.
More thoughts later.
Bilbo
* As Missandei would say. If you're into "Game of Thrones," you'll get it. ** The real ones, the ones that murdered millions of innocent people and destroyed most of Europe, not the imaginary ones to which stupid people in this country compare their political opponents.
Nine people were murdered in a Charleston, South Carolina, church by a man who shot them while they attended a bible study class; The earthquake that rocked Nepal in April of this year was so powerful that it moved Mount Everest, the world's highest peak, about three centimeters to the southeast*; in California, six people were killed and seven seriously injured when a fourth-floor apartment balcony collapsed during a birthday party; tropical storm Bill brought torrential rain and wind to the Texas Gulf Coast, proving that Governor Rick Perry is not the only source of high wind in the area; and in New England, two prison escapees - both extremely dangerous convicted murderers - remained on the loose two weeks after they broke out of the Clinton Correctional Facility in Dannemora, New York.
This week, in honor of the end of Season Five of the smash hit show Game of Thrones, our selection of theme cartoons features knights and dragons ...
Time's flying, Dear Readers, and it's time to name our Left-Cheek Ass Clown of the Month for June ...
It's always a chore to pick out the most deserving recipient, but a prime candidate has floated to the top of the tank. The action for which our awardee is cited actually took place back in May, but there's such a backlog of candidates that it took until now to fit him into the queue. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you the Left-Cheek Ass Clown for June ...
Many travelers were very concerned at the sight of an individual carrying such a fearsome weapon in a busy airport, and notified the police ... who could do nothing because, as it happens, it is perfectly legal under Georgia law* to carry a loaded weapon into an airport, as long as it is not carried into the secured areas under the control of the TSA.
When one of the responding police officers told Cooley that “You’ve got quite a few people afraid because calls are like just coming in left and right,” Mr Cooley haughtily replied that "People's fears are not my responsibility." He went on to tell the police that he was carrying the weapon for his personal safety**, reminded them that it was legal to do so, and threatened to sue the airport if he was "harassed." In a subsequent interview with a local television station, Mr Cooley stated that “It shouldn’t matter what I carry, just that I choose to carry ... you never know where something might happen.”
I wish to stress that Mr Cooley broke no laws and was exercising his legal rights under the US Constitution and Georgia law. I am presenting him the Left-Cheek Ass Clown Award not for the specific action, stupid as I believe it was, of carrying an automatic rifle with a 100-round drum magazine into the world's busiest airport, but for his brazen disregard of the legitimate concerns of other citizens. Mr Cooley may be a stand-up fellow, one of the "good guys with a gun" sanctified by the NRA as the front line of our defense against "bad guys with guns." Unfortunately, none of the rest of us is able to see the invisible halo that distinguishes him from a similarly armed bad guy.
For his selfish and ludicrously-justified action that caused significant distress to his fellow citizens, Mr Jim Cooley is named the Left-Cheek Ass Clown of the Month for June of 2015. If you come to the awards ceremony, be sure to wear your formal kevlar vest.
Have a good day. More thoughts tomorrow.
Bilbo
* You can read the Georgia law, HB 512, The Safe Carry Protection Act, here.
** He was clearly able to outgun anyone armed with a weapon carrying less than a hundred rounds.
Today is June 18th, and for those of you who are historically-minded, it's the 200th anniversary of the Battle of Waterloo, in which the resurgent French emperor Napoleon Bonaparte was defeated by English and Prussian forces under the respective commands of the Duke of Wellington and Field Marshal von Bluecher. Were it not for the outcome of this battle, I might be writing this blog in French.
I find military history to be fascinating, and the scope of my interest has been steadily moving backwards from my teenage interest in World War II, originally fueled by 1960's-vintage TV series like "Combat" and "The Gallant Men." The Second World War grew out of the First World War, which built on the earlier Balkans wars and the Franco-Prussian War, which led back to ... well ... the Napoleonic Wars.
Cornwell is, of course, the author of the popular series of novels and short stories featuring the character of Richard Sharpe*, the British soldier who rose through the ranks and fought in every single battle of the Napoleonic wars, culminating in his participation at Waterloo as a lieutenant colonel.
Mr Cornwell has written a very detailed, but very readable and exciting history of the three battles of the Waterloo campaign - Ligny, Quatre Bras, and Waterloo, bringing the noise, smell, and fury of the battle to life as perhaps no other current author can. He draws on previous historical research and writings, and on primary sources such as diaries and letters to present the battle from perspectives ranging from those of Napoleon, Bluecher, and the Duke of Wellington to those of private soldiers of the three competing armies (French, Prussian, and English). After reading this book, you'll be glad you weren't there.
This, as you might imagine, irritated the ever-prickly French, whose government huffed that the coin threatened to undermine European unity and "spur an 'unfavorable reaction in France.'" The French, of course, have never quite accepted that Napoleon didn't work out well for them in the long run.
And if you are not especially interested in European military history, you can still celebrate the legacy of Waterloo in this song by the Swedish quartet Abba ...
Get your ration of history - read this fine book by Bernard Cornwell.
Have a good day. Come back tomorrow, when we'll reveal the Left Cheek Ass Clown for the month of June. More thoughts then.
Bilbo
* Sharpe was played by actor Sean Bean in the BBC series based on the Cornwell stories. Mr Bean also played the character of Eddard Stark in the HBO series "Game of Thrones," and of Boromir in "The Lord of the Rings."
As you know, Dear Readers (and as I'm sure you're tired of me reminding you), I enjoy writing. The sort of professional, quasi-technical/instructional/doctrinal writing I do at work, and especially the writing of personal letters. This is a dying art, to be sure, squeezed out by the lack of time, the lack of facility with cursive writing, and the growth of phone calls, e-mail and text messaging as the preferred mode of communication. I've written to some of you, and almost all of you have written back (I won't mention the lone holdout, but his name rhymes with Mike), making for a trip to the mailbox that is more entertaining than simply riffling through the piles of bills, political detritus, and assorted advertisements that have replaced the traditional ink-on-paper letter.
For those of you who would like to write, but lack the time, energy, vocabulary, or legible handwriting to do so, there is an option available to you: The Bureau of Communication. This is a wonderful website that provides fill-in-the-blank stationery for everyday correspondence. Need to send a complaint? Offer unsolicited feedback to someone? Deliver bad news? Offer congratulations on an event? Reply to an invitation or, conversely, invite someone to an event? Air a grievance or offer an apology? Look no further! The Bureau of Communication has a form letter waiting for you, and all you need to do is print it out, fill in the blanks, and drop it in the mail. What could be easier?
Amaze your friends ... confound your enemies ... send your thoughts! Visit the Bureau of Communication today!
Have a good day. Write to someone today ... they'll thank you for it.
Last Friday, fellow blogger and pleasantly-twisted commentator Angel published a post titled "Humor About Flatulence." Yes, strange as it may seem to those of you who live in other parts of the world, we Americans are fond of making jokes about flatulence or, to use the more polite and precise medical term, farting. You can even find lots of apps for your smart phone that will produce the degree of flatulent noise desired: here are some for your iPhone or your Android device. And if you're a fan of the smash hit television series NCIS, you are familiar with the doll owned by goth forensic scientist Abby Scuitto - Bert the Farting Hippo.
But all other commentary about flatulence aside, if you have not heard the famous Crepitation Contest, you don't know fart-all about the topic ...
My father told us about this for years, and we never believed it actually existed until, many years ago, I found it on a CD advertised in a catalog called "Things You Never Knew Existed." Today, you can find it on YouTube and, as a CD or downloadable mp3, at Amazon.com.
Go ahead and break that wind, cut that cheese, airbrush those boxers, and play the o-ring oboe*. Just do it somewhere else.
One of the most annoying things ever invented is the cellular telephone. Oh, I'll grant you that it has its uses ... it's superb for sending text messages, surfing the web, making videos of police activity, shooting selfies, and tracking your workout. It's even useful for making telephone calls, often without regard for the unintended audience of the call.
We've all had the wonderful experience of sitting in a restaurant or an airport waiting area or some other public space and being treated to the loud and often highly personal conversations being carried on by some clueless twits on their cell phones. I believe I've written here before about the very loud and angry conversation I overheard while waiting for a flight at Washington National Airport* ... in which the furious caller was berating the person on the other end for not getting him his desired appointment with his urologist. I have often overheard highly personal calls between lovers emanating from stalls in Pentagon rest rooms. And fellow blogger Kathy ranted on Facebook the other day about an ass clown at Houston Airport who had been talking loudly on his phone for about 30 minutes about his cousin whom he was visiting who was "nuts" and needed immediate commitment as the caller "fear(ed) for his life."**
What is it about cell phones that encourages people to share their most intimate and distressing affairs in public? More importantly, how can we make them stop?
I say we bring back the Cone of Silence.
Some of you may remember the 1960's vintage TV comedy "Get Smart," in which Don Adams played bumbling secret agent Maxwell Smart in a Mel Brooks parody of the secret agent films and TV shows popular at the time. Agent Smart was famous for the telephone hidden in his shoe, and for the famous security device known as the "Cone of Silence." When Smart was meeting with his boss ("The Chief," played by Edward Pratt), he would often call for employment of the Cone of Silence to ensure that their conversation would remain private ...
The problem was that while the Cone of Silence prevented people outside from listening in on the conversation, the people inside couldn't understand each other because of the tremendous echo. There was also a portable version of the Cone of Silence for use outside the headquarters (which suffered from the same problem) ...
I'm thinking that a portable Cone of Silence would be a great thing for people addicted to their cell phones. We could create a special device with a built-in cell phone that people could simply wear when they wanted to make a personal call in public. It might look something like this ...
I'll be the first one to volunteer to bolt it on the head of some publicly-nattering ass clown.
Have a good day. Keep your private calls private.
More thoughts tomorrow.
Bilbo
* Sorry, but I refuse to call it "Reagan National" airport. The GOP has already named enough things in the greater DC area after Saint Ronald. ** Adapted from Kathy's somewhat longer and pithier description of the call.
Halfway through June, and it feels like it ought to be almost Christmas ...
Russian President Vladimir Putin kept Pope Francis waiting for an hour for their meeting last Wednesday, proving that he can stiff the world's leading religious figure while undermining peace on earth; the French government is incensed over plans by the government of Belgium to issue a 2.5 Euro coin commemorating the 200th anniversary of Napoleon's defeat at Waterloo; actor Christopher Lee, famous for his portrayals of Count Dracula and evil wizard Saruman from The Lord of the Rings died at the age of 93; as difficult as it is to believe in gun-crazy America, iconic American gun manufacturer Colt is on the verge of bankruptcy; a pair of convicted murderers escaped from a maximum security prison in upstate New York by using power tools to cut through a steel wall; and in West Africa, the deadly Ebola virus, which had seemed to be on the wane, has roared back with dozens of new cases reported in the last month.
Since we're probably going to be doing a lot of praying as we get deeper into the election season, I thought I'd use a collection of religious-themed cartoons for this week's theme selections ...
Faith is good. Being an ass clown about it is not.
Boxing preachers? ...
That would be the plus-sized lady, nowadays ...
Obvious ...
I think this one is spot-on ...
If Michelangelo were painting the Sistine Chapel ceiling today ...
If I were still on the market, I'd probably have a similar problem ...
Been there, fallen into that trap ...
It is known, as the Dothraki say ...
Probably true ...
And there we are: this week's collection of cartoons to help you over the misery of the news. I'm happy to help.
Agnes and I are spending the weekend at our daughter's house, dog- and cat-sitting with Clara and Lucy. Not bad duty, and it does give me an excuse for not doing things like cleaning out the garage and mowing the lawn.
Have a good day. More thoughts tomorrow, when we come back with Poetry Sunday.
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