The Movie: Lilo & Stitch, 2002 (Chris Sanders & Dean DeBlois, screenwriters and directors)
Who says it: Daveigh Chase as the voice of Lilo, a Hawaiian orphan
The context: Lilo argues with her sister, Nani (voice of Tia Carrere), about whether to return her monstrous new pet, Stitch, to the pound.
How to use it: To remember your obligations.
Just a quick post -- because I've gotten a couple of e-mails -- to say that, thank God, my twin sister Kathy and her family got out of their house in Pascagoula well ahead of Katrina, and are safe with friends in Atlanta. Whether their house still stands, and what condition it might be in, remain to be seen.
Here in Gardiner, the Elks are hosting an emergency blood drive tomorrow afternoon at the Gardiner Sportsman's Club, starting at 1:30. People who want to donate to the Red Cross should click here, and people who want to donate to the Salvation Army should click here.
My flight to Chicago on Wednesday connects in Pittsburgh, which is supposed to be getting the remnants of Katrina then. I'm on the phone right now to see if there's any way to change that... one way or another, the dateline on the next post will be September 1 -- Chicago.
Monday, August 29, 2005
Tuesday, August 16, 2005
In Memoriam, J. Alton Wingate
I'm back from hiatus just for today, because I wanted to post something about my friend and mentor Alton Wingate, who died at his home in Georgia early today.
You've probably never heard of him, even if you're in the banking business -- but Alton was the man who put the first bank branch in a supermarket, and licensed the concept in 1984. Over the past 20 years, Alton's company, Financial Supermarkets Inc., has helped banks put branches in supermarkets from California to Lorraine. Almost before anyone else, Alton saw the evolution of modern consumer banking into a transaction-based business, and understood the need to abandon traditional restrictions on service hours and service methods. He didn't want to hear why something couldn't be done; he wanted to know how you planned to do it.
I met Alton in 1987, as a shaky new lobbyist for the Conference of State Bank Supervisors. As busy and important as he was, he always seemed to have time to explain his business and his goals to a 22-year-old who lacked even a basic banking vocabulary. Four years later, when I started writing CSBS's weekly newsletter, he was my most vocal supporter. The newsletter hit members' desks on Monday afternoon, and as often as not I'd get a phone call from Alton on Tuesday, praising a story or laughing at one of my lame punning headlines.
The biggest favor he ever did me, professionally or personally, was after another promotion, in 1993. In addition to the newsletter and the media relations, I suddenly had responsibility for bank industry liaison, as well. At 27, I was way, way over my head, trying to staff a group of bank CEOs who had forgotten more than I'd ever know about the dynamics of state and federal banking laws. "You gotta go and meet these people," Alton told me. "You gotta see them where they are, that's how you find out what they need."
That was the genesis of my first big road trip, a month-long drive from Washington, DC through the Southeast, as far west as Austin, as far north as Indianapolis and back again. My brother Ed, who'd just graduated from college, came along for the adventure, and to share the driving. We stayed in no-tell motels and ate at diners, and I visited a dozen state banking departments and at least a dozen banks. I made friends on that trip I'll have for the rest of my life, and I'd never have had the confidence to do it without Alton's encouragement.
I thanked him more than once for all his help through the years, but I doubt he ever fully understood how much his support meant to me -- how he made it possible for me to pretend that I knew what I was doing, until the day came when I finally did know.
He was constantly trying to quit smoking, or pretending that he had quit, and the demon weed got him in the end. But he enjoyed his life, his business, his family and his success as much as anyone I've ever known, and not a moment of his life was wasted.
I feel lucky to have known him. The only lines I can think to end with are Philip Larkin's.
The first day after a death, the new absence
Is always the same; we should be careful
Of each other, we should be kind
While there is still time.
You've probably never heard of him, even if you're in the banking business -- but Alton was the man who put the first bank branch in a supermarket, and licensed the concept in 1984. Over the past 20 years, Alton's company, Financial Supermarkets Inc., has helped banks put branches in supermarkets from California to Lorraine. Almost before anyone else, Alton saw the evolution of modern consumer banking into a transaction-based business, and understood the need to abandon traditional restrictions on service hours and service methods. He didn't want to hear why something couldn't be done; he wanted to know how you planned to do it.
I met Alton in 1987, as a shaky new lobbyist for the Conference of State Bank Supervisors. As busy and important as he was, he always seemed to have time to explain his business and his goals to a 22-year-old who lacked even a basic banking vocabulary. Four years later, when I started writing CSBS's weekly newsletter, he was my most vocal supporter. The newsletter hit members' desks on Monday afternoon, and as often as not I'd get a phone call from Alton on Tuesday, praising a story or laughing at one of my lame punning headlines.
The biggest favor he ever did me, professionally or personally, was after another promotion, in 1993. In addition to the newsletter and the media relations, I suddenly had responsibility for bank industry liaison, as well. At 27, I was way, way over my head, trying to staff a group of bank CEOs who had forgotten more than I'd ever know about the dynamics of state and federal banking laws. "You gotta go and meet these people," Alton told me. "You gotta see them where they are, that's how you find out what they need."
That was the genesis of my first big road trip, a month-long drive from Washington, DC through the Southeast, as far west as Austin, as far north as Indianapolis and back again. My brother Ed, who'd just graduated from college, came along for the adventure, and to share the driving. We stayed in no-tell motels and ate at diners, and I visited a dozen state banking departments and at least a dozen banks. I made friends on that trip I'll have for the rest of my life, and I'd never have had the confidence to do it without Alton's encouragement.
I thanked him more than once for all his help through the years, but I doubt he ever fully understood how much his support meant to me -- how he made it possible for me to pretend that I knew what I was doing, until the day came when I finally did know.
He was constantly trying to quit smoking, or pretending that he had quit, and the demon weed got him in the end. But he enjoyed his life, his business, his family and his success as much as anyone I've ever known, and not a moment of his life was wasted.
I feel lucky to have known him. The only lines I can think to end with are Philip Larkin's.
The first day after a death, the new absence
Is always the same; we should be careful
Of each other, we should be kind
While there is still time.
Friday, August 12, 2005
“You’re still here? It’s over. Go home.”
The Movie: Ferris Bueller’s Day Off, 1986 (John Hughes, screenwriter and director)
Who says it: Matthew Broderick as unconventional high school senior Ferris Bueller
The context: This is the very last line of the movie, after all the credits have rolled and reasonable audience members are already in the parking lot.
How to use it: At the end of a long day, or a long party.
Blame Tom Ehrenfeld for this post, which I'm only making because this quotation is so perfect for it.
How's everybody doing? Miss me? Yeah, I miss you, too. Really, I do, which worries me.
Greetings from Cambridge, where Kate had several authors signing last night. Yesterday was also the Feast of St. Clare --so afterwards, I walked around the corner and ate a lot of Indian food, which is hard to find in central Maine. (Brunswick has an Indian restaurant, but I haven't been there.)
Just for those of you who were checking in, here's What I've Read this Month. See how it goes when I'm not blogging?
Sandra Balzo, Uncommon Grounds. Wisconsin divorcee Maggy Thorsen opens her new coffee shop for its first day of business, and finds her business partner electrocuted on the floor in front of the espresso machine. Like so many first novels, this one needed one last rewrite; the storytelling improves dramatically from the first chapters to the end, and the book ends strongly. Fans of Diane Mott Davidson's Goldy Bear series will like this one.
Elizabeth Benedict, The Practice of Deceit. Eric Lavender is arrested on charges of child molestation during the course of a vicious divorce proceeding. His wife happens to be a divorce lawyer; as Eric tells the story of their courtship and marriage, and how he wound up in jail, the book itself changes from social drama to psychological thriller. I bought this book last night and finished it before morning, which should tell you all you need to know.
Ken Bruen, The Killing of the Tinkers. I read this book a couple of years ago, but felt the need to look at it again before voting on the Anthonys. Ex-Garda Jack Taylor returns to Galway on a major cocaine binge, and reluctantly agrees to investigate a series of murders among the Travellers. Bruen's novels hang somewhere between poetry and prose, terribly dark and terribly compassionate for all of us who do terrible things.
Edward Conlon, Blue Blood. This memoir of life in the NYPD got a lot of attention when it came out, because Conlon is a Harvard graduate -- but he makes it clear that his career choice was hardly an aberration, and barely even eccentric. Conlon comes from a long line of New York law enforcement officials and firefighters, and sees his work as a vocation. Over the course of some 600 pages, Conlon covers everything from the Irish-American experience to the intricacies of the New York legal system. It's the best book about police work I've ever read, and will stand as cultural history for decades to come.
Lee Goldberg, The Man With the Iron-On Badge. Due out in late September/early October, this is a violent, often crude, sometimes hilarious and ultimately touching homage to the Gold Medal paperbacks of the 1950s and 1960s. Harvey Mapes is a loser working a dead-end job -- security guard for a gated community in a Los Angeles suburb -- when one of the community's residents asks him to trail his wife. With all the knowledge Harvey's gained from a lifetime of "The Rockford Files" and Travis McGee novels, he uncovers a blackmailing plot, a murder, and a tragic set of family secrets. Goldberg manages to get the tone just right, never treating his characters' sorrows with less respect than they deserve.
J.A. Konrath, Whiskey Sour. Chicago police lieutenant Jack (short for Jacqueline) Daniels and her partner chase down a sadistic killer who calls himself The Gingerbread Man. The violence in this novel was too graphic for my sister Kathy, who had to put it down; I didn't think any of it felt gratuitous, and Konrath has my great respect for his ability to write a female first-person narrator so convincingly. This is a series I'll keep reading.
Roberta Isleib, Putt to Death. Professional golfer Cassie Burdette takes a job as a pro at an old and exclusive club in Connecticut. Almost immediately, she gets embroiled in a campaign to increase the rights of women in the club -- and starts finding the corpses of the club's most controversial members. The mystery side of things gets resolved a little abruptly, but the book is full of fascinating information about sports psychology and the mechanics of a golf tour.
M. J. Rose, The Halo Effect. Sex therapist Dr. Morgan Snow investigates the disappearance of one of her clients, a high-priced call girl, and consults with the NYPD on a series of brutal killings whose victims are costumed as nuns. Lurid, but well-done -- or well-done, but lurid -- not the kind of thing I usually read, so that's a benefit of working my way through the Anthony nominations list.
Happy birthday today to the ageless Mikki Ansin, and many happy returns of the day.
Now I really am gone...
Who says it: Matthew Broderick as unconventional high school senior Ferris Bueller
The context: This is the very last line of the movie, after all the credits have rolled and reasonable audience members are already in the parking lot.
How to use it: At the end of a long day, or a long party.
Blame Tom Ehrenfeld for this post, which I'm only making because this quotation is so perfect for it.
How's everybody doing? Miss me? Yeah, I miss you, too. Really, I do, which worries me.
Greetings from Cambridge, where Kate had several authors signing last night. Yesterday was also the Feast of St. Clare --so afterwards, I walked around the corner and ate a lot of Indian food, which is hard to find in central Maine. (Brunswick has an Indian restaurant, but I haven't been there.)
Just for those of you who were checking in, here's What I've Read this Month. See how it goes when I'm not blogging?
Sandra Balzo, Uncommon Grounds. Wisconsin divorcee Maggy Thorsen opens her new coffee shop for its first day of business, and finds her business partner electrocuted on the floor in front of the espresso machine. Like so many first novels, this one needed one last rewrite; the storytelling improves dramatically from the first chapters to the end, and the book ends strongly. Fans of Diane Mott Davidson's Goldy Bear series will like this one.
Elizabeth Benedict, The Practice of Deceit. Eric Lavender is arrested on charges of child molestation during the course of a vicious divorce proceeding. His wife happens to be a divorce lawyer; as Eric tells the story of their courtship and marriage, and how he wound up in jail, the book itself changes from social drama to psychological thriller. I bought this book last night and finished it before morning, which should tell you all you need to know.
Ken Bruen, The Killing of the Tinkers. I read this book a couple of years ago, but felt the need to look at it again before voting on the Anthonys. Ex-Garda Jack Taylor returns to Galway on a major cocaine binge, and reluctantly agrees to investigate a series of murders among the Travellers. Bruen's novels hang somewhere between poetry and prose, terribly dark and terribly compassionate for all of us who do terrible things.
Edward Conlon, Blue Blood. This memoir of life in the NYPD got a lot of attention when it came out, because Conlon is a Harvard graduate -- but he makes it clear that his career choice was hardly an aberration, and barely even eccentric. Conlon comes from a long line of New York law enforcement officials and firefighters, and sees his work as a vocation. Over the course of some 600 pages, Conlon covers everything from the Irish-American experience to the intricacies of the New York legal system. It's the best book about police work I've ever read, and will stand as cultural history for decades to come.
Lee Goldberg, The Man With the Iron-On Badge. Due out in late September/early October, this is a violent, often crude, sometimes hilarious and ultimately touching homage to the Gold Medal paperbacks of the 1950s and 1960s. Harvey Mapes is a loser working a dead-end job -- security guard for a gated community in a Los Angeles suburb -- when one of the community's residents asks him to trail his wife. With all the knowledge Harvey's gained from a lifetime of "The Rockford Files" and Travis McGee novels, he uncovers a blackmailing plot, a murder, and a tragic set of family secrets. Goldberg manages to get the tone just right, never treating his characters' sorrows with less respect than they deserve.
J.A. Konrath, Whiskey Sour. Chicago police lieutenant Jack (short for Jacqueline) Daniels and her partner chase down a sadistic killer who calls himself The Gingerbread Man. The violence in this novel was too graphic for my sister Kathy, who had to put it down; I didn't think any of it felt gratuitous, and Konrath has my great respect for his ability to write a female first-person narrator so convincingly. This is a series I'll keep reading.
Roberta Isleib, Putt to Death. Professional golfer Cassie Burdette takes a job as a pro at an old and exclusive club in Connecticut. Almost immediately, she gets embroiled in a campaign to increase the rights of women in the club -- and starts finding the corpses of the club's most controversial members. The mystery side of things gets resolved a little abruptly, but the book is full of fascinating information about sports psychology and the mechanics of a golf tour.
M. J. Rose, The Halo Effect. Sex therapist Dr. Morgan Snow investigates the disappearance of one of her clients, a high-priced call girl, and consults with the NYPD on a series of brutal killings whose victims are costumed as nuns. Lurid, but well-done -- or well-done, but lurid -- not the kind of thing I usually read, so that's a benefit of working my way through the Anthony nominations list.
Happy birthday today to the ageless Mikki Ansin, and many happy returns of the day.
Now I really am gone...
Sunday, July 31, 2005
“Life’s like a movie – write your own ending.”
The Movie: The Muppet Movie, 1979 (Jack Burns and Jerry Juhl, screenwriters; Jim Henson, dir.; music and lyrics by Paul Williams and Kenny Ascher)
Who says it: Jim Henson as Kermit the Frog
The context: This is the first line of the movie’s big finale, after the Muppets have made it to Hollywood and realized their dreams.
How to use it: Use your imagination.
From almost the first day of this theme, I knew that this quotation would end it.
Life’s like a movie,
Write your own ending
Keep believing, keep pretending
We did just what we set out to do –
Thanks to the lovers
The dreamers
And you.
This blog has been brought to you by the grace of God, the technology of Blogger, and the kindness of family and friends too numerous to mention. It has been, first and foremost, for the entertainment of Mom, Dad, Chris and Claire. I hope you enjoyed it, too.
Thanks, everybody. I’ll see you in September.
Who says it: Jim Henson as Kermit the Frog
The context: This is the first line of the movie’s big finale, after the Muppets have made it to Hollywood and realized their dreams.
How to use it: Use your imagination.
From almost the first day of this theme, I knew that this quotation would end it.
Life’s like a movie,
Write your own ending
Keep believing, keep pretending
We did just what we set out to do –
Thanks to the lovers
The dreamers
And you.
This blog has been brought to you by the grace of God, the technology of Blogger, and the kindness of family and friends too numerous to mention. It has been, first and foremost, for the entertainment of Mom, Dad, Chris and Claire. I hope you enjoyed it, too.
Thanks, everybody. I’ll see you in September.
Saturday, July 30, 2005
“Ready or not, the future comes just the same.”
The Movie: Blue Car, 2002 (Karen Moncrieff, director and screenwriter)
Who says it: David Strathairn as Mr. Auster, an English teacher
The context: This is a line from Auster’s novel, which he reads to his student, Meg (Agnes Bruckner). He quotes it after he introduces Meg to his son.
How to use it: When something is ending.
Thanks again to Gary for recommending this small and lovely film. It generated great buzz at Sundance in 2002, but never attracted the wider attention it deserves. Agnes Bruckner, who got an Independent Spirit nomination for this role, is one of those actresses like Sarah Polley -- a compelling screen presence who ought to be a huge star, but will never be on the cover of PEOPLE.
And happy birthday today to my cool and elegant cousin Kathleen, who has been the object of my admiration since before we were picking out our own clothes.
The theme for the second incarnation of this blog, beginning September 1, is Terms of Art. Every day I'll take a word or phrase of jargon from some specialized discipline -- medicine, law, engineering, finance, publishing, music, etc. -- and explain how to drop the jargon into ordinary conversation.
I hope this will be fun and educational -- it will be for me, at any rate -- but I have ulterior motives. Jargon can be colorful and imaginative, and serves its purpose as verbal shorthand. But it also exists to draw lines between Those Who Know and Those Who Don't. Jargon creates and reinforces bonds among members of a group, but it also acts as a barrier to entry, isolating its users and alienating outsiders. Anything that helps us learn to talk to each other across boundaries must be good, right? (said the builders of the Tower of Babel...)
Terms of Art will need far more help from my friends than You Talking to Me? has, because regardless of what I pretend after a few drinks, I don't know everything and I can't learn everything from books. Please send me the phrases you use in your own work that would mystify outsiders; the e-mail link in my profile will stay live during my month off, and I'm not taking a break from e-mail.
This site won't go anywhere, although I'll probably monkey with the template before starting Terms of Art. The archives will stay up as long as Blogger allows.
The Friday reading lists will continue in the new blog, and I'm toying with the idea of continuing those reading lists even through August-- we'll see. It might be better for me to go cold turkey for a month; don't they say you need 28 days?
Who says it: David Strathairn as Mr. Auster, an English teacher
The context: This is a line from Auster’s novel, which he reads to his student, Meg (Agnes Bruckner). He quotes it after he introduces Meg to his son.
How to use it: When something is ending.
Thanks again to Gary for recommending this small and lovely film. It generated great buzz at Sundance in 2002, but never attracted the wider attention it deserves. Agnes Bruckner, who got an Independent Spirit nomination for this role, is one of those actresses like Sarah Polley -- a compelling screen presence who ought to be a huge star, but will never be on the cover of PEOPLE.
And happy birthday today to my cool and elegant cousin Kathleen, who has been the object of my admiration since before we were picking out our own clothes.
The theme for the second incarnation of this blog, beginning September 1, is Terms of Art. Every day I'll take a word or phrase of jargon from some specialized discipline -- medicine, law, engineering, finance, publishing, music, etc. -- and explain how to drop the jargon into ordinary conversation.
I hope this will be fun and educational -- it will be for me, at any rate -- but I have ulterior motives. Jargon can be colorful and imaginative, and serves its purpose as verbal shorthand. But it also exists to draw lines between Those Who Know and Those Who Don't. Jargon creates and reinforces bonds among members of a group, but it also acts as a barrier to entry, isolating its users and alienating outsiders. Anything that helps us learn to talk to each other across boundaries must be good, right? (said the builders of the Tower of Babel...)
Terms of Art will need far more help from my friends than You Talking to Me? has, because regardless of what I pretend after a few drinks, I don't know everything and I can't learn everything from books. Please send me the phrases you use in your own work that would mystify outsiders; the e-mail link in my profile will stay live during my month off, and I'm not taking a break from e-mail.
This site won't go anywhere, although I'll probably monkey with the template before starting Terms of Art. The archives will stay up as long as Blogger allows.
The Friday reading lists will continue in the new blog, and I'm toying with the idea of continuing those reading lists even through August-- we'll see. It might be better for me to go cold turkey for a month; don't they say you need 28 days?
Friday, July 29, 2005
“Not everybody gets corrupted. You have to have a little faith in people.”
The Movie: Manhattan, 1979 (Woody Allen and Marshall Brickman, screenwriters; Woody Allen, dir.)
Who says it: Mariel Hemingway as Tracy, a high school senior on her way to study theater in London
The context: Isaac Davis (Woody Allen), who had dated Tracy and then dumped her, pleads with her to take him back and not go to London; she refuses. This is the last line of the movie.
How to use it: To reassure someone you love – and yourself.
If I had to pick one favorite movie, this would be it. I saw it with my friend Gary at the Naro Expanded Cinema in the summer of 1982, and suddenly the world seemed enormous, and my opportunities limitless -- even if all I ever did was move to New York.
Despite everything that came later -- and everything we now know about Woody Allen, and wish we didn't -- I still love the world of this film, in which overeducated New Yorkers talk too much about their feelings and make decisions they know will lead to unhappiness. The answer, Woody seems to be saying, is to hang on to that sense of wonder and possibility, to believe that corruption is not inevitable.
My favorite daydream is an infinite number of parallel universes, in which an infinite number of parallel selves lead the lives we didn't choose in this one. As this blog ends, the unused quotations call to me from some of those other universes, and I wish I'd made some different choices, or watched some movies sooner.
In this universe, all possible choices distill themselves into only one set of circumstances, here and now. So let's move on to What I Read this Week.
Tess Gerritsen, Gravity. I picked up a nice first edition of this book at the Yarmouth Clam Festival, of all places, and got Dr. Gerritsen to sign it at a cookout last weekend. This was the perfect week to read it, since it's about an experiment on the International Space Station that goes horrifyingly wrong, and the shuttle flight whose astronauts may infect the earth with a devastating new organism. Absolutely terrific, not for the weak of stomach.
Reed Arvin, Blood of Angels. I keep saying I don't read legal thrillers, and then I keep reading legal thrillers that are so good I feel like a jerk. Arvin's third Thomas Dennehy novel finds the Nashville prosecutor grappling with the possibility that he sent the wrong man to his death, while he pursues a rape/murder case against a Sudanese refugee. I can't stand the phrase "New South" -- that's a rant for another time -- but this book is a fantastic portrait of culture clash and the limits of the legal system in today's South. I have not read the second book in this series, but remember being impressed with Arvin's debut novel, The Will.
A. J. Dunning, Extremes: Reflections on Human Behavior. This is a slim book of essays published in the early 1990s by a Dutch cardiologist; I pulled it off my shelf to answer a question for my friend Dan. As the title suggests, the essays explore the extremes of human nature. One compares Joan of Arc and her contemporary, Gilles de Rais, as examples of pure good and pure evil. Another looks at the history and nature of absinthe, and its effects on the careers of Baudelaire, Verlaine and Rimbaud. I consulted it for the essay on physical disorders related to shell shock, and wound up rereading the whole thing. It's that kind of book.
Gregg Hurwitz, Troubleshooter. Regular readers of this blog know that Gregg is a pal, and I'm a fan of his work. I admit I was a little wary of this one. The first book in this series, The Kill Clause, begins just after the brutal murder of Deputy Marshal Tim Rackley's six-year-old daughter. When Troubleshooter's jacket copy revealed that Rackley's wife, Andrea, is the victim of an attack this time, I thought, "Aw, Gregg..." I need not have worried. Troubleshooter is as close to perfect as thrillers get, and can be read without any knowledge of the earlier Tim Rackley books. Rackley and his colleagues chase down three escaped outlaw bikers, and his wife -- a sheriff's deputy -- is in the wrong place at the wrong time. What seems to be a biker gang war turns out to be something far more sinister, tied to the murders of several young Hispanic women and rooted in a scheme that stretches from Afghanistan to Mexico. Gregg could give lessons on research, and while this book is extremely violent, none of it feels gratuitous. As usual, Gregg does a particularly good job of making his villains real characters, behaving in ways they feel are understandable and even justifiable.
Who says it: Mariel Hemingway as Tracy, a high school senior on her way to study theater in London
The context: Isaac Davis (Woody Allen), who had dated Tracy and then dumped her, pleads with her to take him back and not go to London; she refuses. This is the last line of the movie.
How to use it: To reassure someone you love – and yourself.
If I had to pick one favorite movie, this would be it. I saw it with my friend Gary at the Naro Expanded Cinema in the summer of 1982, and suddenly the world seemed enormous, and my opportunities limitless -- even if all I ever did was move to New York.
Despite everything that came later -- and everything we now know about Woody Allen, and wish we didn't -- I still love the world of this film, in which overeducated New Yorkers talk too much about their feelings and make decisions they know will lead to unhappiness. The answer, Woody seems to be saying, is to hang on to that sense of wonder and possibility, to believe that corruption is not inevitable.
My favorite daydream is an infinite number of parallel universes, in which an infinite number of parallel selves lead the lives we didn't choose in this one. As this blog ends, the unused quotations call to me from some of those other universes, and I wish I'd made some different choices, or watched some movies sooner.
In this universe, all possible choices distill themselves into only one set of circumstances, here and now. So let's move on to What I Read this Week.
Tess Gerritsen, Gravity. I picked up a nice first edition of this book at the Yarmouth Clam Festival, of all places, and got Dr. Gerritsen to sign it at a cookout last weekend. This was the perfect week to read it, since it's about an experiment on the International Space Station that goes horrifyingly wrong, and the shuttle flight whose astronauts may infect the earth with a devastating new organism. Absolutely terrific, not for the weak of stomach.
Reed Arvin, Blood of Angels. I keep saying I don't read legal thrillers, and then I keep reading legal thrillers that are so good I feel like a jerk. Arvin's third Thomas Dennehy novel finds the Nashville prosecutor grappling with the possibility that he sent the wrong man to his death, while he pursues a rape/murder case against a Sudanese refugee. I can't stand the phrase "New South" -- that's a rant for another time -- but this book is a fantastic portrait of culture clash and the limits of the legal system in today's South. I have not read the second book in this series, but remember being impressed with Arvin's debut novel, The Will.
A. J. Dunning, Extremes: Reflections on Human Behavior. This is a slim book of essays published in the early 1990s by a Dutch cardiologist; I pulled it off my shelf to answer a question for my friend Dan. As the title suggests, the essays explore the extremes of human nature. One compares Joan of Arc and her contemporary, Gilles de Rais, as examples of pure good and pure evil. Another looks at the history and nature of absinthe, and its effects on the careers of Baudelaire, Verlaine and Rimbaud. I consulted it for the essay on physical disorders related to shell shock, and wound up rereading the whole thing. It's that kind of book.
Gregg Hurwitz, Troubleshooter. Regular readers of this blog know that Gregg is a pal, and I'm a fan of his work. I admit I was a little wary of this one. The first book in this series, The Kill Clause, begins just after the brutal murder of Deputy Marshal Tim Rackley's six-year-old daughter. When Troubleshooter's jacket copy revealed that Rackley's wife, Andrea, is the victim of an attack this time, I thought, "Aw, Gregg..." I need not have worried. Troubleshooter is as close to perfect as thrillers get, and can be read without any knowledge of the earlier Tim Rackley books. Rackley and his colleagues chase down three escaped outlaw bikers, and his wife -- a sheriff's deputy -- is in the wrong place at the wrong time. What seems to be a biker gang war turns out to be something far more sinister, tied to the murders of several young Hispanic women and rooted in a scheme that stretches from Afghanistan to Mexico. Gregg could give lessons on research, and while this book is extremely violent, none of it feels gratuitous. As usual, Gregg does a particularly good job of making his villains real characters, behaving in ways they feel are understandable and even justifiable.
Thursday, July 28, 2005
“You must chill! You MUST—CHILL!”
The Movie: Say Anything…, 1989 (Cameron Crowe, director and screenwriter)
Who says it: John Cusack as graduating senior Lloyd Dobler
The context: Lloyd serves as the keymaster at a graduation night party, making sure no one drives home drunk; he uses this line to calm a classmate who’s freaking out about his keys.
How to use it: To restore order. Yes, "You Talking to Me" ends on Sunday, but let's not get too excited about that...
At the computer this morning with my cup of coffee, I'm thinking about how strange it will feel next week, when I'm not blogging. The blog has been the one constant in a year of upheaval. Without it, I expect to feel unanchored, and maybe even a little lonely. It's so much fun to stand on my own personal soapbox for twenty minutes a day; but if twenty minutes a day were really all I spent on it, I wouldn't be taking a month off.
I'm not sure how much time the blog consumes, which is one reason for the break. I may spend only twenty minutes writing each day's entry, but I have no idea how much time I spend trolling for likely quotations, discussing them with friends, checking for comments, or planning future entries. It's not unproductive time, because all of my projects seem to feed each other, but it's time I could be using for something else. Tod Goldberg's blog roll -- if you scroll over my name -- scolds me for blogging when I should be writing.
So this morning I'm making a list of Things I Will Be Doing With My Non-Blogging Time.
1. Finishing at least two major projects for clients, one badly overdue.
2. Deciding whether to continue my novel-in-progress, or set it aside to start something new.
3. Reading for Bouchercon (the World Mystery Convention, Sept. 1-4), so I can vote on the Anthony Awards and tell people, "Oh, I loved your book!" without lying. If I loved their books, that is. Otherwise, I'll just smile radiantly and say, "It's lovely to meet you!"
4. Buying a new bicycle before it gets too cold to ride it.
5. Spending serious time on China Lake with Anna, if she lets me on her property.
6. Brushing up my field hockey skills.
7. Calling Mom every day, to give her the information she would otherwise get from the blog.
8. Setting up my office -- after eight months, it might be time to finish unpacking.
9. Entertaining house guests; I'm hoping to see a few visitors this month.
10. Organizing the You Talking To Me? blog entries into book form -- just the quotations, not my pointless ramblings -- and begging some nice publisher to buy it from me. If you know anyone who might be interested, send them my way.
Happy birthday today to my cousin Sheila McLaughlin Cameron, cultural avatar and founder of the Free Katie movement. Sheila has a new cause: public support for the one and only Eliot Spitzer, the man who proved once and for all that J. Lo cannot sing. Check it out at EliotRocks.com.
Who says it: John Cusack as graduating senior Lloyd Dobler
The context: Lloyd serves as the keymaster at a graduation night party, making sure no one drives home drunk; he uses this line to calm a classmate who’s freaking out about his keys.
How to use it: To restore order. Yes, "You Talking to Me" ends on Sunday, but let's not get too excited about that...
At the computer this morning with my cup of coffee, I'm thinking about how strange it will feel next week, when I'm not blogging. The blog has been the one constant in a year of upheaval. Without it, I expect to feel unanchored, and maybe even a little lonely. It's so much fun to stand on my own personal soapbox for twenty minutes a day; but if twenty minutes a day were really all I spent on it, I wouldn't be taking a month off.
I'm not sure how much time the blog consumes, which is one reason for the break. I may spend only twenty minutes writing each day's entry, but I have no idea how much time I spend trolling for likely quotations, discussing them with friends, checking for comments, or planning future entries. It's not unproductive time, because all of my projects seem to feed each other, but it's time I could be using for something else. Tod Goldberg's blog roll -- if you scroll over my name -- scolds me for blogging when I should be writing.
So this morning I'm making a list of Things I Will Be Doing With My Non-Blogging Time.
1. Finishing at least two major projects for clients, one badly overdue.
2. Deciding whether to continue my novel-in-progress, or set it aside to start something new.
3. Reading for Bouchercon (the World Mystery Convention, Sept. 1-4), so I can vote on the Anthony Awards and tell people, "Oh, I loved your book!" without lying. If I loved their books, that is. Otherwise, I'll just smile radiantly and say, "It's lovely to meet you!"
4. Buying a new bicycle before it gets too cold to ride it.
5. Spending serious time on China Lake with Anna, if she lets me on her property.
6. Brushing up my field hockey skills.
7. Calling Mom every day, to give her the information she would otherwise get from the blog.
8. Setting up my office -- after eight months, it might be time to finish unpacking.
9. Entertaining house guests; I'm hoping to see a few visitors this month.
10. Organizing the You Talking To Me? blog entries into book form -- just the quotations, not my pointless ramblings -- and begging some nice publisher to buy it from me. If you know anyone who might be interested, send them my way.
Happy birthday today to my cousin Sheila McLaughlin Cameron, cultural avatar and founder of the Free Katie movement. Sheila has a new cause: public support for the one and only Eliot Spitzer, the man who proved once and for all that J. Lo cannot sing. Check it out at EliotRocks.com.
Wednesday, July 27, 2005
“Cecil, I blame you! I blame you very much indeed.”
The Movie: A Room with a View, 1985 (Ruth Prawer Jhabvala, screenwriter, from the novel by E.M. Forster; James Ivory, dir.)
Who says it: Helena Bonham-Carter as Lucy Honeychurch
The context: Lucy berates her fiancé, Cecil (Daniel Day-Lewis) for his role in renting a nearby cottage to George Emerson (Julian Sands) and his father, who are not welcome neighbors.
How to use it: When something goes wrong, and you wish you had nothing to do with it.
Thanks to Anna Bragdon for reminding me of how much our friend Sue Schulz loves this line -- and thanks to Sue for confirming the exact phrasing and context. What does it say about me that I'd pick Daniel Day-Lewis over Julian Sands in this movie? (Though I'd rather have Daniel Day-Lewis in Last of the Mohicans, if you're really asking.)
I was sorry this morning that I don't have a digital camera, because the riot of wildflowers behind the old paper factory is spectacular. Queen Anne's lace dominates among black-eyed susans, tiny daisies, and many flowers whose names I don't know -- purple, yellow, white. I'll take a regular camera down there this evening; I'll need the reminders of all this color in about six months.
The heat makes effort of any kind difficult. I plan to spend most of the day working at the library, just to be in air conditioning.
Who says it: Helena Bonham-Carter as Lucy Honeychurch
The context: Lucy berates her fiancé, Cecil (Daniel Day-Lewis) for his role in renting a nearby cottage to George Emerson (Julian Sands) and his father, who are not welcome neighbors.
How to use it: When something goes wrong, and you wish you had nothing to do with it.
Thanks to Anna Bragdon for reminding me of how much our friend Sue Schulz loves this line -- and thanks to Sue for confirming the exact phrasing and context. What does it say about me that I'd pick Daniel Day-Lewis over Julian Sands in this movie? (Though I'd rather have Daniel Day-Lewis in Last of the Mohicans, if you're really asking.)
I was sorry this morning that I don't have a digital camera, because the riot of wildflowers behind the old paper factory is spectacular. Queen Anne's lace dominates among black-eyed susans, tiny daisies, and many flowers whose names I don't know -- purple, yellow, white. I'll take a regular camera down there this evening; I'll need the reminders of all this color in about six months.
The heat makes effort of any kind difficult. I plan to spend most of the day working at the library, just to be in air conditioning.
Tuesday, July 26, 2005
“It’s understanding that makes it possible for people like us to tolerate a person like yourself.”
The Movie: Ferris Bueller’s Day Off, 1986 (John Hughes, screenwriter and director)
Who says it: Matthew Broderick as high school senior Ferris Bueller, masquerading as Abe Froman, the Sausage King of Chicago
The context: The snooty maitre d’ has thanked Ferris for his understanding, after his original refusal to seat Ferris and his friends.
How to use it: To rage against the machine politely.
This quotation comes from my brother James, who says he's never had the courage to use it.
Almost all of the quotations lined up for this final week come from the 1980s. It's strange how the decade in which we come of age brands our consciousness forever. Has anyone decided what we're calling this decade, by the way? The Oughts? The Naughts? The Zeroes? The Ohs? (And now I'll have that Sesame Street song, "O, Would You Like to Buy an O?" in my head all day. It'll only cost a nickel...)
Yesterday's mail brought my Anthony Awards ballot, so it's a good thing I was already planning to reduce my workload for August. I have a lot of reading to do: two Best Novel nominees, three First Novel nominees, and all of the paperback originals. What, you say? I don't have to read every book nominated? I don't have to vote in all these categories? For shame. Nothing makes me happier than being asked for my opinion, and voting when I haven't read all the books would be dishonest. Tracking down all the short stories will be a challenge; if anyone knows an easy way to do this, please post it here or e-mail me.
I haven't decided yet whether I'm going to watch this morning's shuttle launch. Part of me hopes it will be scratched again -- because if today's launch is successful, I don't think that will mean the space program has resolved all of its safety issues.
Who says it: Matthew Broderick as high school senior Ferris Bueller, masquerading as Abe Froman, the Sausage King of Chicago
The context: The snooty maitre d’ has thanked Ferris for his understanding, after his original refusal to seat Ferris and his friends.
How to use it: To rage against the machine politely.
This quotation comes from my brother James, who says he's never had the courage to use it.
Almost all of the quotations lined up for this final week come from the 1980s. It's strange how the decade in which we come of age brands our consciousness forever. Has anyone decided what we're calling this decade, by the way? The Oughts? The Naughts? The Zeroes? The Ohs? (And now I'll have that Sesame Street song, "O, Would You Like to Buy an O?" in my head all day. It'll only cost a nickel...)
Yesterday's mail brought my Anthony Awards ballot, so it's a good thing I was already planning to reduce my workload for August. I have a lot of reading to do: two Best Novel nominees, three First Novel nominees, and all of the paperback originals. What, you say? I don't have to read every book nominated? I don't have to vote in all these categories? For shame. Nothing makes me happier than being asked for my opinion, and voting when I haven't read all the books would be dishonest. Tracking down all the short stories will be a challenge; if anyone knows an easy way to do this, please post it here or e-mail me.
I haven't decided yet whether I'm going to watch this morning's shuttle launch. Part of me hopes it will be scratched again -- because if today's launch is successful, I don't think that will mean the space program has resolved all of its safety issues.
Monday, July 25, 2005
“In the topsy-turvy world of heavy rock, having a good solid piece of wood in your hand is often quite useful.”
The Movie: This is Spinal Tap, 1984 (Christopher Guest, Michael McKean, Harry Shearer and Rob Reiner, screenwriters; Rob Reiner, dir.)
Who says it: Tony Hendra as road manager Ian Faith
The context: Ian explains why he always travels with his trusty cricket bat.
How to use it: When wielding a big stick.
I had forgotten the simple pleasure of standing outside with a big stick in one's hands. Field hockey was never really my game -- I preferred lacrosse -- but later this week, I'll go buy my own pair of shin guards and look at used sticks. This group plays year round; in the winter, they play at an indoor arena in Topsham. And they play early in the morning, rather than at night. The test of my new enthusiasm will be whether I'm willing to get up at 6:00 a.m. to play.
Gardiner High School stands between farms and woods. Two young foxes, apparently unaware that humans are the enemy, came out last night to watch us play. As late afternoon turned into evening, we heard cows complaining (about what? Don't cows get milked in the morning?). The grass was green, the sky was blue, and it all felt like an advertisement for New England in the summertime.
This morning I feel a little creaky, but I'm still thinking about where I could go to brush up on my ball-dribbling skills.
Who says it: Tony Hendra as road manager Ian Faith
The context: Ian explains why he always travels with his trusty cricket bat.
How to use it: When wielding a big stick.
I had forgotten the simple pleasure of standing outside with a big stick in one's hands. Field hockey was never really my game -- I preferred lacrosse -- but later this week, I'll go buy my own pair of shin guards and look at used sticks. This group plays year round; in the winter, they play at an indoor arena in Topsham. And they play early in the morning, rather than at night. The test of my new enthusiasm will be whether I'm willing to get up at 6:00 a.m. to play.
Gardiner High School stands between farms and woods. Two young foxes, apparently unaware that humans are the enemy, came out last night to watch us play. As late afternoon turned into evening, we heard cows complaining (about what? Don't cows get milked in the morning?). The grass was green, the sky was blue, and it all felt like an advertisement for New England in the summertime.
This morning I feel a little creaky, but I'm still thinking about where I could go to brush up on my ball-dribbling skills.
Sunday, July 24, 2005
“Fasten your seat belts, it’s going to be a bumpy night.”
The Movie: All About Eve, 1950 (Joseph L. Mankiewicz, screenwriter and dir.)
Who says it: Bette Davis as legendary actress Margo Channing
The context: Margo prepares to make a scene at her own party.
How to use it: When you’re ready for a ruckus.
At the time of this movie's release, most people had never worn a seat belt unless they'd flown on an airplane. Ford was the first American auto company to install seat belts in the factory, in 1955 (for the 1956 model year), and they didn't become mandatory equipment until the 1968 model year. My twin sister and I (born in late 1965) were probably in the first generation of children to grow up with the rule that the car didn't go until seat belts were fastened.
Now, of course, most small children in cars are better protected than astronauts. The Lechners gave me a ride home last night from Anna & Tarren's, and their Gracie has a booster seat that could probably survive a drop from a skyscraper.
Today's quotation doubles as a prediction for my evening, because I'm going over to Gardiner High School tonight to play field hockey -- for the first time in more than 20 years. A group of women play every Sunday night, and it sounds like fun. My new insurance card arrived in yesterday's mail, and I bought some new cross-trainers with excellent treads, so I'm all set.
Who says it: Bette Davis as legendary actress Margo Channing
The context: Margo prepares to make a scene at her own party.
How to use it: When you’re ready for a ruckus.
At the time of this movie's release, most people had never worn a seat belt unless they'd flown on an airplane. Ford was the first American auto company to install seat belts in the factory, in 1955 (for the 1956 model year), and they didn't become mandatory equipment until the 1968 model year. My twin sister and I (born in late 1965) were probably in the first generation of children to grow up with the rule that the car didn't go until seat belts were fastened.
Now, of course, most small children in cars are better protected than astronauts. The Lechners gave me a ride home last night from Anna & Tarren's, and their Gracie has a booster seat that could probably survive a drop from a skyscraper.
Today's quotation doubles as a prediction for my evening, because I'm going over to Gardiner High School tonight to play field hockey -- for the first time in more than 20 years. A group of women play every Sunday night, and it sounds like fun. My new insurance card arrived in yesterday's mail, and I bought some new cross-trainers with excellent treads, so I'm all set.
Saturday, July 23, 2005
“We don’t sell things. We sell dreams.”
The Movie: Absolute Beginners, 1986 (Richard Burridge, Terry Johnson, Don MacPherson and Christopher Wicking, screenwriters, from the novel by Colin McInnes; Julien Temple, dir.)
Who says it: David Bowie as 1950s advertising mogul Vendice Partners
The context: Partners gives Colin (Eddie O’Connell), an ambitious young photographer, a tour of his advertising empire; Colin is amazed that this structure exists just to sell things.
How to use it: Marketing 101.
Just over a week to go left on the "You Talking to Me?" theme, and I am rushing to include a few last favorite movies before it ends. This line is nothing special, but the movie is one of my favorites. Every few months it goes into heavy rotation on cable, and I have to watch it every time I happen upon it.
Yesterday afternoon I walked to the eye doctor's, because I had to get my pupils dilated -- and then I walked around Gardiner looking like a junkie, hiding my enormous pupils behind sunglasses even inside Reny's. The bad thing about living in a small town is that rumors can get started pretty fast... and the bad thing about getting my pupils dilated was that I couldn't really read for about four hours afterward, which put me even further behind on my workload than I already was.
Nevertheless, I am going out to Anna and Tarren's this afternoon for a cookout. No pies today; I am making a big Thai peanut noodle salad. It should go nicely with hot dogs. But what doesn't?
Who says it: David Bowie as 1950s advertising mogul Vendice Partners
The context: Partners gives Colin (Eddie O’Connell), an ambitious young photographer, a tour of his advertising empire; Colin is amazed that this structure exists just to sell things.
How to use it: Marketing 101.
Just over a week to go left on the "You Talking to Me?" theme, and I am rushing to include a few last favorite movies before it ends. This line is nothing special, but the movie is one of my favorites. Every few months it goes into heavy rotation on cable, and I have to watch it every time I happen upon it.
Yesterday afternoon I walked to the eye doctor's, because I had to get my pupils dilated -- and then I walked around Gardiner looking like a junkie, hiding my enormous pupils behind sunglasses even inside Reny's. The bad thing about living in a small town is that rumors can get started pretty fast... and the bad thing about getting my pupils dilated was that I couldn't really read for about four hours afterward, which put me even further behind on my workload than I already was.
Nevertheless, I am going out to Anna and Tarren's this afternoon for a cookout. No pies today; I am making a big Thai peanut noodle salad. It should go nicely with hot dogs. But what doesn't?
Friday, July 22, 2005
“Thank you for that… uh… powerful expression of basic human needs.”
The Movie: Blaze, 1989 (Ron Shelton, director and screenwriter, from the book by Blaze Starr and Huey Perry)
Who says it: Paul Newman as Louisiana Governor Earl Long
The context: Governor Long has just seen the stripper Blaze Starr (Lolita Davidovitch) dance for the first time.
How to use it: This quotation works on a wide range of socially inappropriate behaviors.
I may not have this quotation exactly right -- it's not on IMDb, but this is the way I've been saying the line for years.
A1-to-Go had its monthly wine tasting last night. I bought three bottles: a Prosecco, a Spanish table red, and, for curiosity's sake, a New Zealand Sauvignon Blanc that comes with a screw top. The Prosecco has a beer-bottle cap, but no one expects to recap a bottle of Prosecco once it's open.
The magazines say that plastic corks and screw tops are the wave of the wine-bottling future, but it still seems comical. And what will I do with the fancy corkscrew I got for Christmas last year?
Too busy to read much for pleasure this week, especially since one of the books I did read was 652 pages long.
What I Read This Week
J.K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince. You think I'm above Pottermania? If you're looking for backlash, you won't find it here. She's not the world's greatest prose stylist; when even Stephen King says you overuse adverbs, you should listen. But the world she's imagined is so compelling, and her plots are so ingenious, that she deserves every bit of her success. I was sure I knew who was going to die at the end of this book, and it seemed obvious who the Half-Blood Prince was -- but the circumstances of that death, and the real identity of the Half-Blood Prince, shocked me. Most impressive, nothing about these revelations felt contrived or "Scooby Doo"-like; everything in the first five books built toward the final fifty pages of this one. Bravo.
Terrill Lee Lankford, Blonde Lightning. As soon as I finished the advance reading copy of this book, I came across a blog posting of Lee's in which he asked people not to read the advance copy, because he made substantive changes before the book went to press. So now I'll have to read the book itself, just to see the changes -- but the advance copy was quite good, even before his changes. This is a sequel to last year's Earthquake Weather, a classic Hollywood noir whodunit. Blonde Lightning is a thriller, rather than a whodunit, as would-be film producer Mark Hayes gets involved in his neighbor Clyde McCoy's obsessive determination to make a film from his own screenplay. The character of Clyde McCoy owes a great deal to Newton Thornburg's Alex Cutter, a debt Lankford acknowledges by sending his characters to see a revival of Cutter's Way at the Nuart. You can read Blonde Lightning without having read Earthquake Weather, but the first ten pages of Blonde Lightning give away the ending of Earthquake Weather, so it's probably best to read them in order.
Who says it: Paul Newman as Louisiana Governor Earl Long
The context: Governor Long has just seen the stripper Blaze Starr (Lolita Davidovitch) dance for the first time.
How to use it: This quotation works on a wide range of socially inappropriate behaviors.
I may not have this quotation exactly right -- it's not on IMDb, but this is the way I've been saying the line for years.
A1-to-Go had its monthly wine tasting last night. I bought three bottles: a Prosecco, a Spanish table red, and, for curiosity's sake, a New Zealand Sauvignon Blanc that comes with a screw top. The Prosecco has a beer-bottle cap, but no one expects to recap a bottle of Prosecco once it's open.
The magazines say that plastic corks and screw tops are the wave of the wine-bottling future, but it still seems comical. And what will I do with the fancy corkscrew I got for Christmas last year?
Too busy to read much for pleasure this week, especially since one of the books I did read was 652 pages long.
What I Read This Week
J.K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince. You think I'm above Pottermania? If you're looking for backlash, you won't find it here. She's not the world's greatest prose stylist; when even Stephen King says you overuse adverbs, you should listen. But the world she's imagined is so compelling, and her plots are so ingenious, that she deserves every bit of her success. I was sure I knew who was going to die at the end of this book, and it seemed obvious who the Half-Blood Prince was -- but the circumstances of that death, and the real identity of the Half-Blood Prince, shocked me. Most impressive, nothing about these revelations felt contrived or "Scooby Doo"-like; everything in the first five books built toward the final fifty pages of this one. Bravo.
Terrill Lee Lankford, Blonde Lightning. As soon as I finished the advance reading copy of this book, I came across a blog posting of Lee's in which he asked people not to read the advance copy, because he made substantive changes before the book went to press. So now I'll have to read the book itself, just to see the changes -- but the advance copy was quite good, even before his changes. This is a sequel to last year's Earthquake Weather, a classic Hollywood noir whodunit. Blonde Lightning is a thriller, rather than a whodunit, as would-be film producer Mark Hayes gets involved in his neighbor Clyde McCoy's obsessive determination to make a film from his own screenplay. The character of Clyde McCoy owes a great deal to Newton Thornburg's Alex Cutter, a debt Lankford acknowledges by sending his characters to see a revival of Cutter's Way at the Nuart. You can read Blonde Lightning without having read Earthquake Weather, but the first ten pages of Blonde Lightning give away the ending of Earthquake Weather, so it's probably best to read them in order.
Thursday, July 21, 2005
“Match me, Sidney.”
The Movie: Sweet Smell of Success, 1957 (Clifford Odets and Ernest Lehman, screenwriters, from a novelette by Lehman; Alexander Mackendrick, dir.)
Who says it: Burt Lancaster as J.J. Hunsecker, a powerful gossip columnist
The context: Hunsecker has just spewed a vicious tirade about press agent Sidney Falco (Tony Curtis) in front of a Senator and his wife, while Falco sits beside him. At the end of the speech, Hunsecker asks Falco to light his cigarette, to complete his humiliation. Falco refuses.
How to use it: To add that last killer blow when someone’s been defeated.
Tom Ehrenfeld has been telling me to watch this movie for years, and I finally did last night. What took me so long? If I'd seen it a year ago, at least three other quotes from this movie would already have run in the blog ("My right hand hasn't seen my left hand in 30 years." "The cat's in the bag, and the bag's in the river." "I love this dirty town."). I rented it from Netflix, but I think I'll have to buy my own copy.
Four days of 90+ degree temperatures have left my corner of Gardiner smelling like garbage. It's a little cooler this morning, but it's still only 8:30. Yesterday I had to go work out just so I could be in air conditioning. Whatever gets me there...
Who says it: Burt Lancaster as J.J. Hunsecker, a powerful gossip columnist
The context: Hunsecker has just spewed a vicious tirade about press agent Sidney Falco (Tony Curtis) in front of a Senator and his wife, while Falco sits beside him. At the end of the speech, Hunsecker asks Falco to light his cigarette, to complete his humiliation. Falco refuses.
How to use it: To add that last killer blow when someone’s been defeated.
Tom Ehrenfeld has been telling me to watch this movie for years, and I finally did last night. What took me so long? If I'd seen it a year ago, at least three other quotes from this movie would already have run in the blog ("My right hand hasn't seen my left hand in 30 years." "The cat's in the bag, and the bag's in the river." "I love this dirty town."). I rented it from Netflix, but I think I'll have to buy my own copy.
Four days of 90+ degree temperatures have left my corner of Gardiner smelling like garbage. It's a little cooler this morning, but it's still only 8:30. Yesterday I had to go work out just so I could be in air conditioning. Whatever gets me there...
Wednesday, July 20, 2005
“Surely you can’t be serious.” “I am serious. And don’t call me Shirley.”
The Movie: Airplane!, 1980 (Jim Abrahams, David Zucker, and Jerry Zucker, directors and screenwriters, from a teleplay by Arthur Hailey, and a screenplay by Hailey, Hall Bartlett, and John C. Champion)
Who says it: Robert Hays as shell-shocked former fighter pilot Ted Stryker, and Leslie Neilsen as Dr. Rumack
The context: Dr. Rumack explains that the pilots have succumbed to food poisoning, there’s no one to fly the plane, and they must land as soon as possible.
How to use it: Any time someone uses the word “surely.” It is funny every time.
This may be the most frequently suggested line/exchange I haven't used yet; thanks to Tom Ehrenfeld, Paul Tomme, and anyone else who's sent me this one. 2005 marks the 25th anniversary of Airplane!, and it's just as funny now as it was then.
I may have to break down and buy an air conditioner today -- a window unit, just one, so I can get some work done without having to spend all day at the library. In the meantime, I'm going to spend all morning at the library. Today isn't quite as humid as it was yesterday, but all the paper in my printer is already wavy.
Happy birthday today to the legendary Bill Kelly. Surely we have not known each other more than 20 years already...
Who says it: Robert Hays as shell-shocked former fighter pilot Ted Stryker, and Leslie Neilsen as Dr. Rumack
The context: Dr. Rumack explains that the pilots have succumbed to food poisoning, there’s no one to fly the plane, and they must land as soon as possible.
How to use it: Any time someone uses the word “surely.” It is funny every time.
This may be the most frequently suggested line/exchange I haven't used yet; thanks to Tom Ehrenfeld, Paul Tomme, and anyone else who's sent me this one. 2005 marks the 25th anniversary of Airplane!, and it's just as funny now as it was then.
I may have to break down and buy an air conditioner today -- a window unit, just one, so I can get some work done without having to spend all day at the library. In the meantime, I'm going to spend all morning at the library. Today isn't quite as humid as it was yesterday, but all the paper in my printer is already wavy.
Happy birthday today to the legendary Bill Kelly. Surely we have not known each other more than 20 years already...
Tuesday, July 19, 2005
“You should not drink and bake.”
The Movie: Raw Deal, 1986 (Gary DeVore and Norman Wexler, screenwriters, from a story by Luciano Vincenzoni and Sergio Donati; John Irvin, dir.)
Who says it: Arnold Schwarzenegger as ex-FBI agent turned sheriff Mark Kaminsky
The context: Kaminsky’s alcoholic, rage-filled wife (Blanche Baker) has just hurled a cake at him.
How to use it: Funny in any kitchen-related situation.
Thank goodness for IMDb -- I have been misquoting this line as "You should not drink and cook," for all these years. It would have been appropriate last week, when I was making all those pies, but I actually don't drink when I cook. I'm accident-prone enough in the kitchen as it is... a burn blister on my right index finger is peeling away in layers, and I have no memory whatsoever of getting this burn. Guess it didn't hurt very much.
"Why do I feel so good in Target, and so bad in Wal-Mart?" Anna asked last night as we roamed the aisles of south Portland's finest discount store.
"Class," Jen said, and while I think she meant that Target has class and Wal-Mart does not, it's equally accurate about our own class sensitivities. Nasty little children of privilege that we are, we feel that Target is a place for People Like Us, and Wal-Mart is... not. Disgusting, isn't it? Now I am going to have to spend some serious time at Wal-Mart in atonement. Maybe I'll even apply to be a greeter.
But I too feel tremendous comfort in Target, a clean, well-lighted place of endless abundance. I bought a rack for my CDs, which I'm unpacking at last... the rack only holds 180 CDs, and my collection now stands somewhere well over 200, but it's a start.
I've been rummaging through the boxes for the past seven months, but unpacking has still turned up old friends I'd forgotten I had: Carmina Burana. The first Concrete Blonde album. The Pretty in Pink soundtrack (shut up, I love it). Every so often, I think about upgrading to an iPod, but it would take me weeks to convert my collection. And what would I do without liner notes?
Who says it: Arnold Schwarzenegger as ex-FBI agent turned sheriff Mark Kaminsky
The context: Kaminsky’s alcoholic, rage-filled wife (Blanche Baker) has just hurled a cake at him.
How to use it: Funny in any kitchen-related situation.
Thank goodness for IMDb -- I have been misquoting this line as "You should not drink and cook," for all these years. It would have been appropriate last week, when I was making all those pies, but I actually don't drink when I cook. I'm accident-prone enough in the kitchen as it is... a burn blister on my right index finger is peeling away in layers, and I have no memory whatsoever of getting this burn. Guess it didn't hurt very much.
"Why do I feel so good in Target, and so bad in Wal-Mart?" Anna asked last night as we roamed the aisles of south Portland's finest discount store.
"Class," Jen said, and while I think she meant that Target has class and Wal-Mart does not, it's equally accurate about our own class sensitivities. Nasty little children of privilege that we are, we feel that Target is a place for People Like Us, and Wal-Mart is... not. Disgusting, isn't it? Now I am going to have to spend some serious time at Wal-Mart in atonement. Maybe I'll even apply to be a greeter.
But I too feel tremendous comfort in Target, a clean, well-lighted place of endless abundance. I bought a rack for my CDs, which I'm unpacking at last... the rack only holds 180 CDs, and my collection now stands somewhere well over 200, but it's a start.
I've been rummaging through the boxes for the past seven months, but unpacking has still turned up old friends I'd forgotten I had: Carmina Burana. The first Concrete Blonde album. The Pretty in Pink soundtrack (shut up, I love it). Every so often, I think about upgrading to an iPod, but it would take me weeks to convert my collection. And what would I do without liner notes?
Monday, July 18, 2005
“Oh, you’re a bad pony – and I’m not going to bet on you.”
The Movie: House of Games, 1987 (David Mamet, director and screenwriter, from a story by Mamet and Jonathan Katz)
Who says it: Joe Mantegna as Mike, a master con artist
The context: Dr. Margaret Ford (Lindsay Crouse), begging Mike for protection, has just revealed too much about her own motivations – or has she?
How to use it: When you realize someone hasn’t told you everything you need to know.
Oh, how I love this movie. I've seen it well over a dozen times, I own it, I see new things in it every time I watch it -- and even though I know perfectly well how it ends, it always comes as a shock. It is Mamet's best con-within-a-con-within-a-con film, so good that the movie itself is a con, and I watch it over and over, trying to rationalize the behavior of the central characters.
Lunch at the Yarmouth Clam Festival yesterday involved the consumption of many types of deep-fried food. I had chicken nuggets, but they could have dropped any kind of vaguely triangular breaded flesh into the boiling oil, and I would not have known the difference. They could have been possum nuggets. Tasty, in any case.
I could buy my own corn dog/fried vegetable stand, if I wanted to. One was marked "For Sale" at the Pittston Fair on Friday night. Two deep fat fryers, signage, a refrigerated food storage unit, and some other essential equipment, plus space at fairs throughout Maine and New Hampshire next summer, all for $2,000. It's tempting.
"You could get a great book out of it," Steve Lechner said yesterday, a thought that had already occurred to me. But I have little patience with stunts performed for no reason other than to get a book out of it. If I spent a summer frying corn dogs at small-town fairs in New England, I'd be doing it for the experience, not just so people could read about me doing it.
No, Mom, I am not seriously thinking about doing this. Just a daydream.
Who says it: Joe Mantegna as Mike, a master con artist
The context: Dr. Margaret Ford (Lindsay Crouse), begging Mike for protection, has just revealed too much about her own motivations – or has she?
How to use it: When you realize someone hasn’t told you everything you need to know.
Oh, how I love this movie. I've seen it well over a dozen times, I own it, I see new things in it every time I watch it -- and even though I know perfectly well how it ends, it always comes as a shock. It is Mamet's best con-within-a-con-within-a-con film, so good that the movie itself is a con, and I watch it over and over, trying to rationalize the behavior of the central characters.
Lunch at the Yarmouth Clam Festival yesterday involved the consumption of many types of deep-fried food. I had chicken nuggets, but they could have dropped any kind of vaguely triangular breaded flesh into the boiling oil, and I would not have known the difference. They could have been possum nuggets. Tasty, in any case.
I could buy my own corn dog/fried vegetable stand, if I wanted to. One was marked "For Sale" at the Pittston Fair on Friday night. Two deep fat fryers, signage, a refrigerated food storage unit, and some other essential equipment, plus space at fairs throughout Maine and New Hampshire next summer, all for $2,000. It's tempting.
"You could get a great book out of it," Steve Lechner said yesterday, a thought that had already occurred to me. But I have little patience with stunts performed for no reason other than to get a book out of it. If I spent a summer frying corn dogs at small-town fairs in New England, I'd be doing it for the experience, not just so people could read about me doing it.
No, Mom, I am not seriously thinking about doing this. Just a daydream.
Sunday, July 17, 2005
“One thing about living in Santa Carla I never could stomach: all the damn vampires.”
The Movie: The Lost Boys, 1987 (Jeffrey Boam and Janice Fischer, screenwriters, from a story by Fischer and James Jeremias; Joel Schumacher, dir.)
Who says it: Barnard Hughes as Grandpa
The context: Michael (Jason Patric) and Sam (Corey Haim) have saved themselves, their town and their mother (Dianne Wiest) from a community of vampires in a small California town; they had no idea their grandfather knew anything about it. This is the last line of the movie.
How to use it: Witty commentary on the population of your own small town.
It was too sunny for vampires at Old Hallowell Day yesterday. I didn't stick around for the pie judging, but the lady at the booth was very nice, and did not laugh at my offering. (I tripped on the sidewalk between the car and the pie booth, and was sure I'd put my thumb through the topping, but I hadn't. Whew.) Nobody called me yesterday afternoon, so I figure that 1) I did not win and 2) I did not poison anybody. I'll call that a draw.
The Maine International Film Festival began on Friday night in Waterville, and runs until July 24. Don't laugh, you Hollywood snobs; it's an impressive slate of films, and an excellent event all around. The Bragdons and I went up last night. We saw Bearing Witness, a terrific documentary about women journalists covering the war in Iraq, and The World, a Chinese film that aged us all about 20 years, and whose point completely escaped us. But what are film festivals for?
I just took another pie out of the oven to bring down to the Lechners' this afternoon. Turning my oven on was a true act of friendship, because we're having what passes for a heatwave in Maine (temperature and humidity in the 80s, and I don't have air-conditioning... why is it rolling down on the young and foolish? And if you can name that reference, I'll give you a prize).
Too much to do, too little time, but the most important thing to do today is extend the warmest welcome to Layla Christine Cameron, who breathed her first L.A. air early this morning. Layla, you are already blessed in your choice of parents, and may only happiness await you.
Who says it: Barnard Hughes as Grandpa
The context: Michael (Jason Patric) and Sam (Corey Haim) have saved themselves, their town and their mother (Dianne Wiest) from a community of vampires in a small California town; they had no idea their grandfather knew anything about it. This is the last line of the movie.
How to use it: Witty commentary on the population of your own small town.
It was too sunny for vampires at Old Hallowell Day yesterday. I didn't stick around for the pie judging, but the lady at the booth was very nice, and did not laugh at my offering. (I tripped on the sidewalk between the car and the pie booth, and was sure I'd put my thumb through the topping, but I hadn't. Whew.) Nobody called me yesterday afternoon, so I figure that 1) I did not win and 2) I did not poison anybody. I'll call that a draw.
The Maine International Film Festival began on Friday night in Waterville, and runs until July 24. Don't laugh, you Hollywood snobs; it's an impressive slate of films, and an excellent event all around. The Bragdons and I went up last night. We saw Bearing Witness, a terrific documentary about women journalists covering the war in Iraq, and The World, a Chinese film that aged us all about 20 years, and whose point completely escaped us. But what are film festivals for?
I just took another pie out of the oven to bring down to the Lechners' this afternoon. Turning my oven on was a true act of friendship, because we're having what passes for a heatwave in Maine (temperature and humidity in the 80s, and I don't have air-conditioning... why is it rolling down on the young and foolish? And if you can name that reference, I'll give you a prize).
Too much to do, too little time, but the most important thing to do today is extend the warmest welcome to Layla Christine Cameron, who breathed her first L.A. air early this morning. Layla, you are already blessed in your choice of parents, and may only happiness await you.
Saturday, July 16, 2005
“Sometimes I doubt your commitment to Sparkle Motion.”
The Movie: Donnie Darko, 2001 (Richard Kelly, director and screenwriter)
Who says it: Beth Grant as stage mother Kitty Farmer
The context: Rose Darko (Mary McDonnell) does not seem willing to go the extra mile to support their daughters’ competitive dance troupe.
How to use it: To acknowledge that others do not share your obsessive devotion to something.
I thought I understood this movie -- kind of -- but then I watched the director's cut of it, and realized I didn't have the slightest idea of what was going on. Humbling. Thanks to JJ McMillan for suggesting the line.
The word for the Pittston Fair is "small." The He-Man contest was cool, though. Contestants had to move about 20 big logs from one wood cradle to another; toss a log over a clothesline and back; flip a tractor tire over; carry two five-gallon buckets of something -- maybe nails? -- from one mark to another, and then drag a sledge with a cinder block in the opposite direction. Impressive.
And this line felt particularly appropriate, because as small as the Pittston Fair is, it has its own beauty pageants -- two. The Strawberry Queen pageant seems to be for high-schoolers, while the Little Blossom targets very young girls, maybe 5-7. The little girls seemed to be having fun walking around with sashes on, and I hate to be judgmental, but that whole subculture just horrifies me.
I'm off to Hallowell this morning with my pie. It's not perfect-looking, but I'm not exactly entering this contest to win it.
Who says it: Beth Grant as stage mother Kitty Farmer
The context: Rose Darko (Mary McDonnell) does not seem willing to go the extra mile to support their daughters’ competitive dance troupe.
How to use it: To acknowledge that others do not share your obsessive devotion to something.
I thought I understood this movie -- kind of -- but then I watched the director's cut of it, and realized I didn't have the slightest idea of what was going on. Humbling. Thanks to JJ McMillan for suggesting the line.
The word for the Pittston Fair is "small." The He-Man contest was cool, though. Contestants had to move about 20 big logs from one wood cradle to another; toss a log over a clothesline and back; flip a tractor tire over; carry two five-gallon buckets of something -- maybe nails? -- from one mark to another, and then drag a sledge with a cinder block in the opposite direction. Impressive.
And this line felt particularly appropriate, because as small as the Pittston Fair is, it has its own beauty pageants -- two. The Strawberry Queen pageant seems to be for high-schoolers, while the Little Blossom targets very young girls, maybe 5-7. The little girls seemed to be having fun walking around with sashes on, and I hate to be judgmental, but that whole subculture just horrifies me.
I'm off to Hallowell this morning with my pie. It's not perfect-looking, but I'm not exactly entering this contest to win it.
Friday, July 15, 2005
“This is not a democracy, it’s a cheerocracy.”
The Movie: Bring it On, 2000 (Jessica Bendinger, screenwriter; Peyton Reed, dir.)
Who says it: Kirsten Dunst as cheerleading captain Torrance Shipman
The context: Torrance faces down dissent from her rival, Courtney (Clare Kramer)
How to use it: When you’re making an executive decision for the good of the team.
Thanks to Lucy and Tom Ehrenfeld for recommending this line.
Curiosity can be so inconvenient. Here's what I'm wondering about this morning: when Billy Bob Thornton (allegedly) went on that diet where he ate only orange food, did he allow himself Cheez Doodles? If so, that might be a diet I can get behind.
And it's time to acknowledge that I've been reading too much crime fiction. Last night, I drove by the American Tissue plant just north of Augusta, and I was grossing out until I realized it wasn't human tissue they meant. Sheesh.
What I Read This Week
Michael Connelly, The Closers. Harry Bosch returns to the LAPD to work cold cases, which the department now calls "Open Unsolved." His first case seems like a slam-dunk: a DNA match on a gun that killed a beautiful 17-year-old girl in 1988. Sifting through the old investigation, though, Harry finds echoes of corruption that resonate in the department to the present day. It's nice to see Harry back on the force, and this series is one of my favorites. Weirdly, Connelly's prose seemed a little awkward in this book -- characters speak without contractions, sentences are even choppier than usual. But that's a minor quibble.
Dylan Schaffer, I Right the Wrongs. Schaffer's debut, Misdemeanor Man, was a pure delight: a legal thriller starring a low-level public defender who moonlights as a Barry Manilow tribute artist and struggles to care for his father, who has early-onset Alzheimer's. In this sequel, Gordon Seegerman (aka Barry X) defends a high school football hero whose theft of a rival team's mascot leads to murder, and to the solution of a long-unsolved mystery. Good stuff, not quite as snappy as the first novel, and the timeline of the last few chapters gets a little confusing. I've mentioned before that I'm not crazy about present-tense narration; it's hard to do well, and seems to call attention to itself.
Charles McCarry, The Secret Lovers. Man oh man I love this book, which I had to reread for a client. I consider it the best of all American Cold War espionage novels (although I'll entertain counter-arguments for McCarry's classic The Tears of Autumn). CIA operative Paul Christopher comes to grips with the emotional costs of the life he has chosen, as he pursues an operation that may get a brilliant author killed and cost Christopher his marriage. This book is shamefully, shockingly out of print, although I hear that the Overlook Press plans to reprint it soon.
Jeff Shelby, Killer Swell. And then I went from the sublime to the... not. This debut novel, introducing surfer-P.I. Noah Braddock, isn't bad, but it's so close to being excellent that it made me want to snarl. One redraft under the supervision of a good editor would have taken care of three major plot howlers that wrecked this book for me: the unjustifiably coincidental discovery of the victim's body; the fact that the victim's father hires Braddock without pointing him to the obvious prime suspect, whom the father has no reason to protect; and the fact that an important secondary character hasn't heard about the victim's death a week or more after it happened, despite having close personal and professional ties to the victim's husband. Shelby's obviously talented, and deserves better from his publisher than this.
Who says it: Kirsten Dunst as cheerleading captain Torrance Shipman
The context: Torrance faces down dissent from her rival, Courtney (Clare Kramer)
How to use it: When you’re making an executive decision for the good of the team.
Thanks to Lucy and Tom Ehrenfeld for recommending this line.
Curiosity can be so inconvenient. Here's what I'm wondering about this morning: when Billy Bob Thornton (allegedly) went on that diet where he ate only orange food, did he allow himself Cheez Doodles? If so, that might be a diet I can get behind.
And it's time to acknowledge that I've been reading too much crime fiction. Last night, I drove by the American Tissue plant just north of Augusta, and I was grossing out until I realized it wasn't human tissue they meant. Sheesh.
What I Read This Week
Michael Connelly, The Closers. Harry Bosch returns to the LAPD to work cold cases, which the department now calls "Open Unsolved." His first case seems like a slam-dunk: a DNA match on a gun that killed a beautiful 17-year-old girl in 1988. Sifting through the old investigation, though, Harry finds echoes of corruption that resonate in the department to the present day. It's nice to see Harry back on the force, and this series is one of my favorites. Weirdly, Connelly's prose seemed a little awkward in this book -- characters speak without contractions, sentences are even choppier than usual. But that's a minor quibble.
Dylan Schaffer, I Right the Wrongs. Schaffer's debut, Misdemeanor Man, was a pure delight: a legal thriller starring a low-level public defender who moonlights as a Barry Manilow tribute artist and struggles to care for his father, who has early-onset Alzheimer's. In this sequel, Gordon Seegerman (aka Barry X) defends a high school football hero whose theft of a rival team's mascot leads to murder, and to the solution of a long-unsolved mystery. Good stuff, not quite as snappy as the first novel, and the timeline of the last few chapters gets a little confusing. I've mentioned before that I'm not crazy about present-tense narration; it's hard to do well, and seems to call attention to itself.
Charles McCarry, The Secret Lovers. Man oh man I love this book, which I had to reread for a client. I consider it the best of all American Cold War espionage novels (although I'll entertain counter-arguments for McCarry's classic The Tears of Autumn). CIA operative Paul Christopher comes to grips with the emotional costs of the life he has chosen, as he pursues an operation that may get a brilliant author killed and cost Christopher his marriage. This book is shamefully, shockingly out of print, although I hear that the Overlook Press plans to reprint it soon.
Jeff Shelby, Killer Swell. And then I went from the sublime to the... not. This debut novel, introducing surfer-P.I. Noah Braddock, isn't bad, but it's so close to being excellent that it made me want to snarl. One redraft under the supervision of a good editor would have taken care of three major plot howlers that wrecked this book for me: the unjustifiably coincidental discovery of the victim's body; the fact that the victim's father hires Braddock without pointing him to the obvious prime suspect, whom the father has no reason to protect; and the fact that an important secondary character hasn't heard about the victim's death a week or more after it happened, despite having close personal and professional ties to the victim's husband. Shelby's obviously talented, and deserves better from his publisher than this.
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