From the Bronx to Los Angeles- An Archive of and Reflections on An Ordinary Life.
Thursday, April 28, 2016
I'm a Millenial; I Have a Porsche; I Can Do What I Want!
Ok, it could be, "I'm a Millenial; I have a BMW; I can do what I want!". I have no chance with my Toyota Rav4. Oh, and I'm not a Millenial. I am not even in the same territory as a Millenial. That's a subject for another day.
It's bad enough that traffic in Los Angeles is apparently the worst in the country. The powers that be encourage use of public transportation, but public transportation in Southern California has nothing in common with say that of New York or San Francisco. You can go from certain cities to others, but the lines are just too short. Truth be told, though, even if they extended and connected the lines, I wouldn't ride. Been there. Done that. For 27 years as a Bronx-ite. And you can sell it any way you want, being one of the sardines in the car isn't something I plan on going back to, God willing and the creek don't rise.
I love to drive. I just don't love the twenty somethings who think I can read their minds as they dart in front of me with their cool cars with nary a signal.
You'd think it would be only the guys. Oh, no. Often it is the young women with a left hand flung with studied casual-ness out the window, flicking a cigarette. She must not mind if I get the benefit of the second hand ashes flying back my way.
So, I might be at a cross-walk waiting for that pedestrian with an I-phone in one hand and a Starbuck's half-caf, soy latte in the other to pass, and an impatient young one with places to go and people to see, will give several short irritated honks. I have, on occasion, put my left hand out of the window--and pointed, using my index finger--I promise-at the person in front of my car inhibiting my ability to get out of the way.
Such haste resulted in a happily not serious accident a few months ago. I was on Fountain Avenue. A young woman left her garage and instead of turning right, she blocked my way to turn left. The young men behind me were clearly impatient as I heard them move around to my left and smack into the young woman's car before she'd quite completed the turn. No one was hurt. But it was a clear case of comparative negligence.
Uh, oh, I may break out in a chorus of "What's the Matter With Kids Today" from Bye Bye Birdie.
Not all of them, of course, (I know several who are terrific, whose parents taught them that the sun does not shine out of their, well you know) but here in La La land, way too many.
Hey kids, go ahead vote for Bernie. He believes in redistribution of money and property. Maybe I can have your Porsche. Happy to give you my Rav4.
Saturday, April 2, 2016
Contrasts
These two images have nothing obvious in common, except that I saw the two films, one for the movies, one for television, and made some fifty years apart, today. And they spawn thoughts, such as they are.
Let me recapitulate. I have been felled by one of those colds that you think is gone, and you go out and live your life as usual, and the darn thing comes back in full force. That has been the last two weeks for me. And then today, I really really think, as the sun sets, I think "Yes, I am over it, this damnable cold." And a friend calls and says, "Wanna see a movie?" And I suck in my breath for fear of tempting the cold gods and say, "yes." And the movie we select is "Hello, My Name is Doris" which has received laudable reviews. Rotten Tomatoes gives is 83 percent.
So, off we go, Len Speaks and I, to my local theatre, the Sundance, where no one under 21 is allowed and where one can purchase and eat a full meal, with wine or beer, at one's seat, built in tables to your left or right provided. Good. Not very far from my bedroom, or living room. Literally, it is three and a half blocks away.
I loved what the movie tried to do. A woman of a certain age, who has given up much of her life to take care of her mother, while the rest of her family fulfilled their dreams, finds herself "free". Mother has died. But she has forfeited the joys of a younger life and a middle age life in order to be a care giver and now, all that remains of her is a caregiver minus an object of care. She could have married, was even engaged once, we find out in the course of things, but she could not leave New York to be with her sole beloved. The choices she made, while good and true, have limited her own existence. And now? She remains an employee of what once was a staid company, but was bought out by millennial hipsters. It is a Google of apparel. Chairs are swapped for exercise balls (that was one really idiotic screenwriting choice I thought among others, that doomed this film), and everyone talks in this techno, babble speak. She is probably like 65 or 70 and they are like 25 or 20. She survived the merger, although how that was possible is beyond logic. It is not that she is older. It is that she is not like any older person I have ever seen. She wears mismatched colors and skeins. She has this odd ribbon in her hair all the time. She wears the cat glasses, with sparkles, that were left behind in the 1960s. She would not have survived the merger as the only older person to keep a job. I have friends, my age or more, who work for such companies, but they are mainstream stylish for their generations. And, our Doris is a hoarder besides. Doris basically sets her sights on a new young executive, John, as a potential break out for the first time in 45 years dating object. There is comedy, of sorts. And tragedy of sorts. She has friends and family whose stories are half developed. I thought of this film as a trying for a "Being There" vibe, mixed with Walter Mitty touches (Doris has these reveries). I wanted it to work. I really did, because I resonate with the road not traveled so far and hope that it is possible for a way late start, but it just was a mish mash from start to finish.
I did enjoy my chicken barbecue quesadilla and two craft beers. And it was nice to spend a few hours with a friend after a nearly monastic couple of weeks.
When I got home, I flipped to METV and there was Star Trek. I was fifteen minutes late for the beginning, but I have seen the episode who knows how many times since it's denouement in 1960 something. "The City on The Edge of Forever" written by science fiction scribe Harlan Ellison. Dr. McCoy, one of the triumvirate of the universe of Star Trek, is accidentally injected with a drug that generates paranoia. This is not a good place for him to be paranoid as the crew, the stalwart Captain Kirk and the loyal Mr. Spock among them are on a planet with an arch that has the ability to send those who pass through it back in time. The Dr. flees through the portal. And as in all such time travel tales, the other heroes, Kirk and McCoy, must get him back before he changes the trajectory of history so much so that their very existence is in peril. But the tale of the threesome, once on earth, each drawn to one woman, a generous, forward thinking settlement worker of 1930 earth, Edith Keeler, is powerful and timeless in a time travelling tale. She is the focal point. Kirk and Spock become her charges, helping around the mission, and she and Kirk discover a kinship first, and then a love of the ages. The problem is as it turns out is that in the original skein of time, she died in an auto accident, and that death was essential in preventing a sequence of events that would have allowed Germany to win World War Two. In order to preserve the integrity of the time line, Edith Keeler must die. Heart or History? The emotion and happiness of one or the preservation of millions. Edith Keeler finds McCoy before they do. She helps him. As she and Kirk are walking on the way to a Clark Gable movie, she mentions McCoy's name. Kirk runs across the street to the settlement house, and the three men are reunited. As Edith distractedly walks across the street toward them, she does not see the truck barreling toward her. McCoy sees it and begins to intercept her. Kirk holds him back in an heroic reflex, closing his eyes against the unthinkable. Spock absorbs his friend's expression. McCoy, knowing none of the backstory, chides Kirk, "Jim, do you know what you did, I could have saved her!" Spock responds for his friend, "He knows, doctor. He knows."
A little television show a half century old writes about sacrifice. They really don't make 'em like they used to. I am afraid "My Name is Doris" will fade into obscurity. But I think "City on the Edge of Forever" will find its way into the data banks of the 24th century, if we make it that far as a species.
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