Nine

Oprah had the guys who invented You Tube on her show today. They have recently sold it for $1.6 billion. I don't think these guys are even 30 yet, I'm not sure and I don't want to think about it for fear of sobbing without end. She had the most popular YouTubers on: the skateboarding bulldog, the English ex-cellphone salesman now turned opera singer, and the English couple who did the Dirty Dancing number for their wedding were among my favorites. The English couple performed the dance for the audience and halfway through Patrick Swayze came out to surprise them, which was fun and for some reason brought tears to my eyes and not just because I saw the amount of plastic surgery Swayze had done. The couple was genuinely surprised. Later listening to the opera singer, again some tears came, something about the music and his voice was just too emotional. I suppose that's why opera is hardly ever done with the banjo.
I'm not overly emotional, and I don't think I cry at the drop of a hat, but certain things can wring out a few tears in me. I'm not talking about things like losing loved ones, getting good or bad news at the doctor's, you know, life. I'm talking books or movies or television or plays. Art (yes, sometimes television is art; you just have to know where to look). What is it about art or entertainment that brings us to tears? Why do we cry? Is it just emotional flotsam and jetsam or is it an embedded image in our past that's tripped by a line of dialogue or a camera angle?
I don't know, but I do know what makes me cry genuinely, supremely and most profoundly at the movies even at repeated viewings.
Here's the list:
1. Glory-This Civil War feature starring Morgan Freeman and Denzel Washington holds the record for a personal crying jag. I do believe it's the last 15 minutes of the film. I've only seen it once.
2. The Color Purple- I've seen this thing about a thousand times. I cry all through the film and it's a fabulous cleansing weeping. Good for cold and flu season.
3. E.T.--Yeah, I know, everyone always cries at the end. I don't. But I always, and I do mean always cry the very first time Eliot and E.T. take flight on that bike. To this day, I have no idea why.
4. Defending Your Life--Love this movie about the afterlife, love it and the end is so tender and so lovely that it does make me weep with a little joy.
5. The Shawshank Redemption- the end, what a great ending, again it's a happy cry.
Some new entries:
Dreamgirls--when Effie sings THAT song. Jesus, Mary and Joseph. I cried for every man that ever treated me like crap even though that was over 21 years ago and counting. That song and the way she sang it broke my heart.
Million Dollar Baby--Holy crap. That last scene. Just Clint and Hillary Swank. Lordy, lordy, lordy. I could not catch my breath. The scene doesn't last long, but it was like a granade to the heart. Ohh.
And for LJ, especially, I have only one more feature to add, even though it was a made for TV movie. The original Brian's Song.
So to my peeps, and I'm not talking the little yellow and sometimes pink or blue marshmallow chicks, what are the movies that make you cry like a little girl?

Eight

Today was a perfect weather day. I realize it's Florida and we get our fair share of great weather, but today was perfect. Just a hint of breeze. Not a cloud in a cornflower blue sky. Just the right amount of sun. Enough to be comforting, but not enough to make you break a sweat. Even the air had a tinge of fall, which feels a lot like spring because it is Florida and we don't get normal autumn, but we get perfect days like this which is a pleasant enough trade off.
I managed to have a brisk power walk after work, not on the beach as I would have liked because it was high tide, but along First Street. But afterwards, we strolled out just to watch the water. Living close to the ocean for this long, I admit it, it makes you take the view for granted. I don't always come down here, a mere 11 minute walk from my house across the death trap that is now Third Street so it has becomes a kind of local Fear Factor mini-event. Still, I don't make the trip often during the summer. Part of it is because I hate people. Not everyone, mind you, just people in crowds that come to the beach with every thing they own and park by the water's edge and carry on their dysfunctional family spewage in a natural setting. It's upsetting to me to see the beauty of the beach smeared by such Judge Judy /Jerry Springer energy. So I tend to avoid the beach like the plague during the summer.
In the late fall and winter, though, it's a different story. Like today. The water was a steel gray and blue with the sunshine laced between layers of waves. On the sand were piles of seaweed in brown sienna, perfect for a clambake. Where's friggin' Frankie Avalon when you need him? That guy could always put together a clambake in a New York second and the band would appear out of nowhere. There were a few surfers in the water, a couple of guys on shore with their rods and reels trying to outwit the fish. I sat there and took it all in. Looked at the expanse of ocean which is a miracle in itself how it hangs with this planet. I breathed in the air, with just the right amount of salt, and each image lingered even when I shut my eyes. No revelation emerged, only a little peace and beauty on a Monday.

Seven

Oh my. How lame can I be? I thought it would be at least a double digit day that I would come to the table with nothing, absolutely nothing, but here I am at day 7 and I have zip. Nada. Nothing. The big goose egg. Crap. I did try stream of consciousness typing but it all turned out to be a giant rant about work and I can't have work frustration mucking up the blog. It serves no real purpose because nothing changes. Then I decided to make a list: 10 things I would make into law if I were queen of the universe. As I started to make the list, it seemed like most of the items had to do with electrically shocking certain segments of the population into modifying their behavior. Republicans, teenagers that roll their eyes, parents who are habitually late picking their kids up from school, any female who wears low cut tight jeans so that stray flesh oozes out in unflattering ways, Kenny G. Up the voltage on that. That list, very one dimensional. Perhaps recording the day---lovely stroll through the UNF nature trails that was only interrupted once by a three year old bossing his parents around (another one to add to the high voltage list). The sunlight was making the all those fantail scrub palms look absolutely exotic. Although the trail right by the lake made me nervous because it's just like me not to enjoy such a scenic little vista. No, I was scanning the water closest to us, trying to plan for the swiftest escape if one, most likely a mutant sized alligator with a four foot vertical leap should choose that moment to make an abrupt appearance. Our ride home from our daylong self exile was uneventful. No one flying a little American flag was camped on our front yard as I had feared. There were some late afternoon flyovers by the Blue Angels and I could have sworn I saw one of those guys giving me the finger as the windows in the living room rattled. There was nothing to do except put the kettle on for tea, wait for the whistling, pour and steep and eat with a cookie. Truth be told, the tea and cookie time at home soothes all ills, calms the any fear and leaves me with a good taste in my mouth. And for today, that was enough.

Six

We bugged out of the beach today and booked a hotel room in town. Airshow nonsense had all roads around us clogged and sluggish and I was no mood to negotiate the streets because the military thinks it's a good idea to use my tax dollars on this collective penis waving venture than to buy the decent body armor to keep one more soldier from getting his or her arm or leg blown off in Iraq. This crap pisses me off on a deeper level than just being inconvenienced about excessive noise and traffic jams. We have limited tax dollars----this is the most productive way of spending it? Step off.
The hotel is having an anime convention, something I did not know when we booksed the room. This is God's way of giving me a cosmic wedgie. It's a lot of teenagers, early twenty-somethings and round girthed men in their late 30's still trying to coax in facial hair all in very strange costumes, some that defy description. As Cal and I were walking to our room, we saw a tall Black guy in a diaper with a painted Snidely Whiplash mustache wearing pink boxing gloves strolling past us. I'm not imaginative enough to make that up. Lots of diminutive Asian teens with magenta hair with outfits held together with a series of two inch safety pins. Studded dog collars. Plaid Catholic school skirts. Leather halters. That's just one kind of outfit. I wanted to take pictures but I feel it would be rude, like a parent taking photos of kids playing spin the bottle. I'm not sure of the whole point of anime, it's cartoons basically and people are fans of certains ones and they get dressed up as homage and a way of escape which I understand. Escape is healthy as long as it's temporary, as long as you come as a tourist. I gotta say, some of those outfits looked as if they had been on certain folks a very long time, some of the guys in their 30's for instance. Ah, unfortunate. But everyone here seems to be connected, lots of hugging and laughing at familiar referenced codes. It's quite strange but sweet, despite the bizarre wardrobe choices.
There's no way I could ever cast a judgment here having gone to my share to Trek conventions, although never ever in costume even though I have a perfectly good Uhura outfit hanging in my closet, unworn and mocking my lack of conviction. Everyone needs to feel like they belong, like people around them understand their passions, relate to their frustrations and laugh at their jokes. It's human need and it is unbending in this regard. We go where we are wanted, where ,when we arrive in a diaper and pink boxing gloves, we are greeted with open arms.

Five

The Blue Angels have been practicing in our airspace here at the beach. They represent the military well for they are gratuitously noisy, as in sonic boom noisy, not a pleasant sensation for the last two days. They are flashy and not in the manner in which I would prefer my tax dollars to be flashy. The government building flying cars, now that's flash and I would gleefully hand over and bendover my hard earned dollars to the IRS for. But guys trying to break the sound barrier just to put on a show on my dime, well, hell, why don't you crank up the banjos, lube up your step-sister and have another tall boy Bud because that's how useful it rates with me. I also have no faith in their talents. Any moment as they zoom overhead I expect one of those badboys to careen into a neighborhood and level someone's house into flame and ash. And I'm just fatalistic enough to think it will be mine.
People flock to the airshow. Flock. I don't understand why but I also don't understand the mystery and allure of NASCAR racing and watching the America's Cup. I suppose folks who are fans of those things would not comprehend the things I find fascinating to watch.
My top five things to watch: (in no particular order and just for today; tomorrow's list would probably be different)
1. Tommy Emmanuel play guitar. Honestly, this guy is not of this earth. When he plays you would swear there are at least 5 other guys playing with him, and yet it's just him and his guitar and hands that blur across the strings.
2. My friend Norma knit socks. Okay, jump back and don't judge because the minute you read knit you thought, "Can peeking in on paint drying be far behind?" I love knitting because you're taking one long piece of yarn and turning it into something useful. Socks are intricate and have angles and Norma can knit a pair in about an hour. It's awesome to watch.
3. First grader B. P. at my school cracking the code of reading after weeks and weeks of struggle. Now he runs to me with a book and he can't wait to read. That's wicked cool to watch.
4. Siguorney Weaver in Aliens.
5. Bad cats being bad. That's for you, Hansel.

Four

My new antidote for an unsatisfying day at work is to read through my Useless Information book. I'm not sure why it soothes me so, it just does in the way that popping bubble wrap satisfies. There are a lot of things in there that make me giggle, some just stop me in my tracks in wonder like this: A third of Tawainese funeral processions include a stripper. Melting pot that we are, how come we haven't absorbed this particular custom into our collective culture? A stripper. Excellent. Of course, the minute I read it I was lining up a bevy of celebrity strippers for my funeral procession: (in no particular order) Viggo Mortensen, Matthew McConnaghey, Taye Diggs (that shower scene in How Stella Got Her Groove remains lodged in my long term memory), and Antonio Banderas but only if I kick in the next 5 years because if I live to my 90's as I am genetically predisposed to on the Cuban side of the family, those guys as strippers will be a moot point. But if I go in the next 5, if someone could get a hold of their agents, I would appreciate it. It would be nice to have my passing be eternally linked with A-list manflesh bumping and grinding to a little Earth Wind and Fire and the best of Tom Jones.
I do wonder if those funeral processions have a particular type of stripper---are there funeral strippers as a category? Do they resemble Demi Moore in Striptease? I'm not sure any stripper looks like Demi----no stripper can afford that much plastic surgery even back then when she made that movie. And while her muscle tone was commendable, it just wasn't sexy. Athletic, yes, watching her shames you into running back to the gym and staying there until nothing jiggles anywhere on your body. But talk about sexy and you are talking about Marilyn Monroe in Some Like It Hot. You can't teach what she does on screen and in the dresses they have her in, honestly, I have no idea how this movie got past the censors in the 50's. She looks absolutely naked in the one dress where she is singing, "I Want To Be Loved By You." I'm swearing to you that dress was nothing but a reflection of the light. But even past Marilyn's charms and sex appeal, the movie holds up as a classic comedy even 50 years later. Jack Lemmon is a revelation in heels and is the funniest man in drag, sorry Dustin Hoffman, it's true. Come to think of it, cancel those celebrity strippers for my funeral, and just show Some Like It Hot. Shed one or two tears and then break out the tequila, and make sure it's the good stuff.

Three

There was a time, starting back in '88 when we bought this house, that we would buy candy for trick or treaters that would stumble their way into our neighborhood. During the first five years, no one, not one kid in a highly combustible Batman costume, would get within missile range of us. So we stopped buying candy for Halloween and of course, somehow they knew, they sensed our lack of all things high fructose corn syrupy and they came in droves. We sent them away empty handed except for those odd children who would accept the handfuls of Fiber One in their buckets. Then we came up with the idea of bugging out for the evening. Dinner and a movie or whatever. That's the way it's been for quite some time although with the sorry state of cinema these days, it's not so much a movie evening.
Tonight it was Indian food, chicken tikka masala with some garlic nan and Cal nabbing the lamb vindaloo. Then to a bookstore, lots of browsing, lots of coveting tons of books I can't possible find room for except for one, The Book of Useless Information. Right up my alley. Having useless information is great entertainment, not for others, just for me actually and mostly, that's all I care about. The trick to using useless information is finding just the right opportunity to slip it in and making it look like it belongs when it really doesn't. A lot like the thinking that went behind casting Keanu Reeves in Much Ado About Nothing.
For example, if you're talking about bestsellers in general, you could slip in the useless tidbit that Herman Melville's Moby Dick only sold 50 copies, which would make me want to beat my 11th grade English teacher if she wasn't already dead. They still assign that book in English classes everywhere and I ask why? Fifty freaking copies.
There's a bunch of nuggets like that in this book. Here's another one: People in Iceland read more books per capita than any other people in the world. Well duh. They live in Iceland. It's either that or club Greenpeace volunteers.
For my Disneylovin' pals:
Donald Duck's middle name is Fauntleroy.
Peter Pan and 101 Dalmatians are the only two classic Disney features in which both parents are present and don't die throughout the movie.
Donald Duck comics were banned in Finland because he doesn't wear pants.
So what, you may ask are the top five reasons for revelling in this useless knowledge?
5. It's crap like this that could have kicked Ken Jenkins's ass during his Jeopardy reign.
4. Entertain those around you on a trans-Atlantic flight.
3. Become king or queen of small talk at any gathering including memorials, brisses and First Holy Communions.
2. Establish an eccentric icebreaking vibe at your next parent teacher conference.
and the best reason to know all that useless information:
1. Create the illusion of real writing in a blog.

One more for my Star Trek bro, LJ: The mask used by Michael Myers in the original Halloween movie was actually a Captain Kirk mask painted white.
That's what I'm talkin' about.