Picture it. Mississippi. 1985. A country boy turns on his television set in the living room to watch a comedy about four "women of a certain age" in Miami. It's Saturday night, and he's recently started his first real job after graduating (for the first time, at least) from college, having moved from the country to a "big town" (about 17,000 people, but it is Mississippi, after all). The show begins with three of the women already living together in the same house. One of them, Blanche, is getting ready for a date. The other two, Dorothy and Rose, are listening to Blanche talk about her new beau (a word we don't use much any more). The doorbell rings, and everyone assumes that it's the man. Instead, it's a tiny grey-haired woman with a wicker purse. Sophia, Dorothy's mother, has come to stay with her daughter because "the home" has burned down. Sophia has had a stroke that has damaged her ability to censor what she says. When she meets Blanche's date, he says to her that she must be Blanche's sister. Sophia's response: "You must be blind." After he and Blanche leave, Sophia calls him a "scuzzball." And so begins the first episode of The Golden Girls--the way I remember it anyway.
I have watched all of the episodes of this show. I even own a couple of seasons on DVD. I loved the humor that these women displayed. All of them were talented, perfectly cast for the parts that they acted. Rue McClanahan was a quintessential Southern belle, all frills and flirtatiousness. Betty White was always good for a laugh as the innocent Midwesterner with stories of her days in St. Olaf. Bea Arthur had the sass of a New Yorker down to a tee and could make a man--or anyone--wither with just a look. And then there was Estelle Getty. As Sophia, she was a mix of Old World charm, what with her stories about Sicily, and New World realism.
Estelle Getty passed away today. All of the tributes from her castmates on the show mentioned how grateful we should be that we still have the show to remember her. I don't even know that I need to watch any episodes to recall some of my favorite moments. Sophia battling Blanche for the affections of a handsome, older Cuban gentleman, responding to Blanche's announcement that she's going to soak in a tub with just enough water to cover her "perky bosoms" by saying, "You're only gonna sit in an inch of water?" Sophia telling Dorothy about how she and Dorothy's father conceived her at a festival "right behind the sausage and peppers stand." Sophia thinking that she's died and gone to heaven when she's really just injured and lying in a bed in a hospital elevator, suffering from a hernia thanks to having helped a group of older women lift a Volkswagon as part of a practical joke although she has blamed Dorothy for making her move furniture. When Dorothy tries to apologize, Sophia says, "Oh, please. It's wicker." In fact, wicker had quite a place on that show besides the purse that was always at Sophia's side, no matter the outfit. I loved one time when she stood in the middle of the living room and announced, "Enough wicker." Partner At The Time and I used to recite that line every time we went to Ikea and wandered through "that area" of the store. Priceless. Maybe not that funny, but still priceless.
Estelle Getty had been sick for some time, suffering from dementia. She hadn't made public appearances in years, not even when the cast was reunited a couple of times for those specials on Lifetime or the recent TV Land Awards show. It's as if she had the gift of Sophia to give us and then, having accomplished that special feat of generosity, she slowly drifted away from us. I know I've probably been writing too much about these losses we're experiencing in the entertainment business, but I'm not sure where to put the sadness that I feel when someone who has given so many pleasant memories is no longer here. I miss her even if I never met her in person. I really only know her as this character, but I'm still grateful to her for all of the moments that she allowed us to have.
Whenever Sophia told a story, she always began it: "Picture it. Sicily. 1942." The year would change, of course, and once or twice the location, but the lead-in was always the same. So if you were a fan of The Golden Girls and you too treasure the chances for laughter that we were given years ago, picture your favorite involving Estelle Getty. I think that's a fitting tribute.
Tuesday, July 22, 2008
Monday, July 14, 2008
A Nonsensical, Ridiculous, Unfunny Post
I shouldn't let these things bother me. I know better than to read them. Even if there are lots of good comments, I'm going to obsess about any negative ones. It isn't fair of me to do that to myself, yet here I go again.
Periodically--and perhaps this is where I go wrong--I do check out the ratings of professors on the internet. I'm on a couple of the websites, and every now and then I just want to see what people are saying. My college doesn't really have a formal system of student evaluations after you receive tenure, except for once every three years. That's a little too large of a gap for my comfort, but it's what our union has "allowed" at this point. I'd like to know more about what's working and what isn't working in my classes from time to time.
When I've read the posts about me or about some of my colleagues, I've noticed one trend. Students are usually far too kind and generous in their praise. I think they give us so much positive reinforcement when, at times, we don't really deserve it. I know that I don't think I'm anywhere near as good of a teacher as those sites would indicate if you looked at the majority of the comments. I still struggle every day to do my job well, and I always try to think of new ways to reach students, to try to get more of them to understand how to be better writers. It's a struggle, certainly, but I do enjoy my job. And I want to do it better if I can, so that's why I sometimes read those ratings.
Just as an aside... this must be somewhat similar to what performers feel about reviews or the way that authors of books feel about critical reactions to their work. No wonder some people claim never to read their notices. However, I certainly understand the impulse that students have to share information about their teachers; I even applaud it, really. Students should know what other students think, both good and bad.
However, just last week, this was posted on one of the more popular sites, one that is visited a lot by students on our campus: "seems he will grade hard; i agree with you guys--he say things that are totally nonsence and ridiculous, yet considering himself funny. i don't enjoy his 'jokes' at all." That's the full message. Don't get distracted by the typos; they appear that way in the original, but that's hardly my focus in this rant (and it is a rant, I know).
The use of the verbs "seems" and "say" and "don't enjoy" makes it pretty apparent that this is a student currently enrolled in one of my two summer school classes (yeah, I do know which class, if not which student). We had met four days before this was posted. Four days. I have graded two reading quizzes so far, no essays yet. How can someone determine how tough a grader I'm going to be on the basis of two reading quizzes? Either you did the reading or not; I'm not grading you harshly if you didn't read and answer the questions. The students don't even have a rough draft of their first essay due until tomorrow, and the first essay's final draft isn't due until Thursday. Should I already be determining who is going to be a weak writer on the basis of four or five days of class with no more substantial evidence than a feeling? That would seem to be fair if this student's approach is valid.
I have no idea what comments of mine are "totally nonsence and ridiculous." Perhaps everything I say falls into this category. I have tried to make the study of writing something that is not so fear-inducing for students. I try to relate the lessons I teach to examples they might be familiar with, and when I ask them to share ideas, I do the same. Maybe those are things I shouldn't be doing. I want an environment where students aren't feeling intimidated by me or the other people in the room, but perhaps I'm making it too relaxed and they think they aren't learning anything serious in the process.
As for the charges of my un-funniness, this is not the first time they have been leveled at me. I suppose I do, at times, find odd things funny, but I'm not really a joke-teller. I know faculty members who are, but I don't think of myself that way. I am certainly a storyteller, and I do sometimes laugh about things I've said or done. If I were being truly unkind, I suppose I could admit that having a 19-year-old college kid find you funny is hardly something worth caring about. Other students do laugh sometimes when I say something that might be construed as funny, but I don't lose a lot of sleep over it when they don't. It's not as if I'm testing new material for my nightclub act. It just bothers me that this is such an important issue to this student (and to others like him or her).
I told a class last year that I thought one of the more interesting trends among the postings about me was this issue of being funny. Some seemed to think that I am; others think I'm not. Is this really a serious issue for someone trying to learn how to be a better writer? Is this really a criterion that students should have in mind when trying to pick a teacher? I know they prefer someone who is entertaining, perhaps even someone who makes them laugh, but does that necessarily translate into a better education? If I'm too serious tomorrow, will no one learn anything? If I'm too funny (which apparently is not an issue at all for some people), will too many of them learn? Can I have them laughing in the aisles so much that they all earn A's?
Look, I'll be the first to admit that I'm no comic. I'm not the best teacher on campus. I'm not an easy grader. And I'm not "hot," which is also one of the criteria that you can find on this particular website. (The very notion that a 19-year-old might find me "hot" makes my flesh crawl, frankly. What a revolting idea.)
You don't have to write to defend my honor. I know it's only one post and only one person. I know that there are lots of students who have enjoyed my classes and have perhaps even learned something despite my sense of humor. I know I shouldn't let it bother me, and it won't after a while. And I know I have certainly gone on about this for way too long. I just had to share a bit of frustration. It's tough when someone criticizes you for a trait that is completely unrelated to your job performance and is allowed to get away with it without any sort of repercussions. I think students sometimes think of us as machines, as if we are incapable of being hurt by their comments, as if we aren't humans at the end of the day who think about what people say about us. I just needed some space and a bit of your time to acknowledge my all-too-fragile humanity, that's all. I'm already feeling better.
Periodically--and perhaps this is where I go wrong--I do check out the ratings of professors on the internet. I'm on a couple of the websites, and every now and then I just want to see what people are saying. My college doesn't really have a formal system of student evaluations after you receive tenure, except for once every three years. That's a little too large of a gap for my comfort, but it's what our union has "allowed" at this point. I'd like to know more about what's working and what isn't working in my classes from time to time.
When I've read the posts about me or about some of my colleagues, I've noticed one trend. Students are usually far too kind and generous in their praise. I think they give us so much positive reinforcement when, at times, we don't really deserve it. I know that I don't think I'm anywhere near as good of a teacher as those sites would indicate if you looked at the majority of the comments. I still struggle every day to do my job well, and I always try to think of new ways to reach students, to try to get more of them to understand how to be better writers. It's a struggle, certainly, but I do enjoy my job. And I want to do it better if I can, so that's why I sometimes read those ratings.
Just as an aside... this must be somewhat similar to what performers feel about reviews or the way that authors of books feel about critical reactions to their work. No wonder some people claim never to read their notices. However, I certainly understand the impulse that students have to share information about their teachers; I even applaud it, really. Students should know what other students think, both good and bad.
However, just last week, this was posted on one of the more popular sites, one that is visited a lot by students on our campus: "seems he will grade hard; i agree with you guys--he say things that are totally nonsence and ridiculous, yet considering himself funny. i don't enjoy his 'jokes' at all." That's the full message. Don't get distracted by the typos; they appear that way in the original, but that's hardly my focus in this rant (and it is a rant, I know).
The use of the verbs "seems" and "say" and "don't enjoy" makes it pretty apparent that this is a student currently enrolled in one of my two summer school classes (yeah, I do know which class, if not which student). We had met four days before this was posted. Four days. I have graded two reading quizzes so far, no essays yet. How can someone determine how tough a grader I'm going to be on the basis of two reading quizzes? Either you did the reading or not; I'm not grading you harshly if you didn't read and answer the questions. The students don't even have a rough draft of their first essay due until tomorrow, and the first essay's final draft isn't due until Thursday. Should I already be determining who is going to be a weak writer on the basis of four or five days of class with no more substantial evidence than a feeling? That would seem to be fair if this student's approach is valid.
I have no idea what comments of mine are "totally nonsence and ridiculous." Perhaps everything I say falls into this category. I have tried to make the study of writing something that is not so fear-inducing for students. I try to relate the lessons I teach to examples they might be familiar with, and when I ask them to share ideas, I do the same. Maybe those are things I shouldn't be doing. I want an environment where students aren't feeling intimidated by me or the other people in the room, but perhaps I'm making it too relaxed and they think they aren't learning anything serious in the process.
As for the charges of my un-funniness, this is not the first time they have been leveled at me. I suppose I do, at times, find odd things funny, but I'm not really a joke-teller. I know faculty members who are, but I don't think of myself that way. I am certainly a storyteller, and I do sometimes laugh about things I've said or done. If I were being truly unkind, I suppose I could admit that having a 19-year-old college kid find you funny is hardly something worth caring about. Other students do laugh sometimes when I say something that might be construed as funny, but I don't lose a lot of sleep over it when they don't. It's not as if I'm testing new material for my nightclub act. It just bothers me that this is such an important issue to this student (and to others like him or her).
I told a class last year that I thought one of the more interesting trends among the postings about me was this issue of being funny. Some seemed to think that I am; others think I'm not. Is this really a serious issue for someone trying to learn how to be a better writer? Is this really a criterion that students should have in mind when trying to pick a teacher? I know they prefer someone who is entertaining, perhaps even someone who makes them laugh, but does that necessarily translate into a better education? If I'm too serious tomorrow, will no one learn anything? If I'm too funny (which apparently is not an issue at all for some people), will too many of them learn? Can I have them laughing in the aisles so much that they all earn A's?
Look, I'll be the first to admit that I'm no comic. I'm not the best teacher on campus. I'm not an easy grader. And I'm not "hot," which is also one of the criteria that you can find on this particular website. (The very notion that a 19-year-old might find me "hot" makes my flesh crawl, frankly. What a revolting idea.)
You don't have to write to defend my honor. I know it's only one post and only one person. I know that there are lots of students who have enjoyed my classes and have perhaps even learned something despite my sense of humor. I know I shouldn't let it bother me, and it won't after a while. And I know I have certainly gone on about this for way too long. I just had to share a bit of frustration. It's tough when someone criticizes you for a trait that is completely unrelated to your job performance and is allowed to get away with it without any sort of repercussions. I think students sometimes think of us as machines, as if we are incapable of being hurt by their comments, as if we aren't humans at the end of the day who think about what people say about us. I just needed some space and a bit of your time to acknowledge my all-too-fragile humanity, that's all. I'm already feeling better.
Saturday, July 12, 2008
No Fad Diets, No Exercise, Yet Still Lose Weight!
Over the past three months or so, I've managed to lose enough weight that I've gone from wearing my 36 jeans back to my 34s. It was quite a happy moment on Monday when I decided to see if the smaller jeans (I won't call them skinny jeans, but you know I want to) would fit, and they did. Without cutting off my breath, I might add. I managed all this week to wear 34s to work. I'm just hoping I can maintain this size.
You may be wondering what I've been doing to lose the weight. Well, I haven't been exercising, that's for sure. I've spent a lot of my free time since March sitting on the couch (lying on the couch might be a more accurate description, actually). I couldn't go to the gym because when I started to sweat, the bandages on my nose tended to come loose. So I've stayed home and rested. And not worked out. At all. I watched television, old movies mostly, but I don't think I'd recommend that to others as a way to lose weight.
I haven't tried any particular diet, either. I'm not eating only grapefruits and bacon (although some bacon sounds good right about now). I didn't try South Beach or Jenny Craig or that one where they deliver a huge box of food to your door that's supposed to last for a month. Some of the people in the building have that service (NutriSystem?), so I've seen those massive cardboard boxes in the hallways. I still go shopping for myself and still try to cook dinner for myself each night.
No, I just stopped buying some things. I don't bring home soda any longer, for example. I gave up caffeine last year, November to be specific, and now I'm trying to give up the sodas altogether. I may still have one when I'm out at a meal or something, but I just don't buy them and bring them home to drink. I figure if I can eliminate high fructose corn syrup, I'll probably keep my waist smaller. That stuff is everywhere.
I also don't buy sweet stuff. I have an incredible sweet tooth; I love desserts. But if they aren't in the house, I won't go out late at night to buy a candy bar or a slice of cake. Again, if I'm eating in a restaurant, I might have one now and then, but I'm trying to change those habits as well. My guess is that I will miss that more than I miss soda.
So the kitchen now has lots of fresh fruit for me to snack on, all organic. The refrigerator is stocked with lots of water and very little else to drink except for milk and some juice for breakfast. I've got the fixings for salad, which I'm trying to enjoy at least a couple of times a week. I did say I'm trying. Each time I sit down with a salad, though, I remember my grandfather always calling it "rabbit chow." There's no red meat in the house. I only have a hamburger about once every couple of weeks. It's all fish and some chicken here at home.
Obviously, it's true that changing the way you eat can make a difference. Because I didn't like spending a lot of time in the grocery store when I was bandaged up, I didn't purchase a lot of stuff that I used to buy. Those were some very quick shopping trips. I would be in and out of the store in under thirty minutes. When you're not allowing yourself to make impulse purchases--"those look awfully good"--maybe you eat better.
I'm just grateful to be able to wear a smaller size again after a year of feeling fat. I know I'm not really fat, but I'm what I've dubbed "California fat." Here, if you have more than 10 percent body fat, you're considered grossly overweight. And in the gay community, it's probably more like 5 percent. I'm still way over that threshold, but I do like to eat and I am not planning on switching from food to those protein shakes any time soon. Or some very restrictive diet. I saw a very skinny guy in Trader Joe's one time who bought nothing but soy milk and frozen salmon. There was at least a week's worth of both in his cart. There might have been a vegetable or two in there as well, certainly fated to be steamed, I'd imagine. I remember thinking to myself, "What kind of life is that?" I wouldn't want to spend my days eating pretty much the same thing.
Of course, he was a handsome man and very thin with a well developed upper body, just the sort of look everyone wants these days. And the sort that everyone wants to be with as well. I'll likely never get to that stage, but as long as the DVR still has some old movies saved, I'll be just fine. And maybe I'll even keep losing weight by lying on the couch watching them.
You may be wondering what I've been doing to lose the weight. Well, I haven't been exercising, that's for sure. I've spent a lot of my free time since March sitting on the couch (lying on the couch might be a more accurate description, actually). I couldn't go to the gym because when I started to sweat, the bandages on my nose tended to come loose. So I've stayed home and rested. And not worked out. At all. I watched television, old movies mostly, but I don't think I'd recommend that to others as a way to lose weight.
I haven't tried any particular diet, either. I'm not eating only grapefruits and bacon (although some bacon sounds good right about now). I didn't try South Beach or Jenny Craig or that one where they deliver a huge box of food to your door that's supposed to last for a month. Some of the people in the building have that service (NutriSystem?), so I've seen those massive cardboard boxes in the hallways. I still go shopping for myself and still try to cook dinner for myself each night.
No, I just stopped buying some things. I don't bring home soda any longer, for example. I gave up caffeine last year, November to be specific, and now I'm trying to give up the sodas altogether. I may still have one when I'm out at a meal or something, but I just don't buy them and bring them home to drink. I figure if I can eliminate high fructose corn syrup, I'll probably keep my waist smaller. That stuff is everywhere.
I also don't buy sweet stuff. I have an incredible sweet tooth; I love desserts. But if they aren't in the house, I won't go out late at night to buy a candy bar or a slice of cake. Again, if I'm eating in a restaurant, I might have one now and then, but I'm trying to change those habits as well. My guess is that I will miss that more than I miss soda.
So the kitchen now has lots of fresh fruit for me to snack on, all organic. The refrigerator is stocked with lots of water and very little else to drink except for milk and some juice for breakfast. I've got the fixings for salad, which I'm trying to enjoy at least a couple of times a week. I did say I'm trying. Each time I sit down with a salad, though, I remember my grandfather always calling it "rabbit chow." There's no red meat in the house. I only have a hamburger about once every couple of weeks. It's all fish and some chicken here at home.
Obviously, it's true that changing the way you eat can make a difference. Because I didn't like spending a lot of time in the grocery store when I was bandaged up, I didn't purchase a lot of stuff that I used to buy. Those were some very quick shopping trips. I would be in and out of the store in under thirty minutes. When you're not allowing yourself to make impulse purchases--"those look awfully good"--maybe you eat better.
I'm just grateful to be able to wear a smaller size again after a year of feeling fat. I know I'm not really fat, but I'm what I've dubbed "California fat." Here, if you have more than 10 percent body fat, you're considered grossly overweight. And in the gay community, it's probably more like 5 percent. I'm still way over that threshold, but I do like to eat and I am not planning on switching from food to those protein shakes any time soon. Or some very restrictive diet. I saw a very skinny guy in Trader Joe's one time who bought nothing but soy milk and frozen salmon. There was at least a week's worth of both in his cart. There might have been a vegetable or two in there as well, certainly fated to be steamed, I'd imagine. I remember thinking to myself, "What kind of life is that?" I wouldn't want to spend my days eating pretty much the same thing.
Of course, he was a handsome man and very thin with a well developed upper body, just the sort of look everyone wants these days. And the sort that everyone wants to be with as well. I'll likely never get to that stage, but as long as the DVR still has some old movies saved, I'll be just fine. And maybe I'll even keep losing weight by lying on the couch watching them.
Three Months, Three Weeks, Three Days
Monday was a big day. I started teaching summer school, and I had an appointment with the surgeon who removed my skin cancer back in March. After the interval of time that serves as my title for this post, I was hoping to get the bandages off for good. The healing has been going very well, and on Monday afternoon at about 1:30, the doctor released me from further treatment. I'm bandage-free for the past week now, and it feels pretty glorious.
I'm not fully done, of course. Because of the "new" skin that has grown since the microderm abrasian three weeks ago, I have to avoid the sun still--not a problem for me, honestly. I even bought a cap yesterday at Target; I should have a hat, I know, but I don't know where to look for one. My stylist told me that I needed to find a shop that caters to "old men," but where are these shops? I might be rocking a fedora if I can only find one with a large enough brim to shade my nose.
By the way, I also have to massage my nose. Yes, massage it. Inside and out, at least once a day. It's to help the scar tissue keep from becoming too firm. It must be a funny image, me rubbing my nose for several minutes and then sticking a finger up in it for another minute or two. Still, if it keeps me from having a severe scar, I'm willing to go along with just about anything.
As best I can tell, there's only a couple of signs that I ever had the surgery. There's a tiny hole where the deepest part of the cut occurred (and that "the flap" didn't quite cover). And there's what can only be described as a notch near the center of my nose. That's where the skin sort of pulled in toward the wound while it was healing. There are, naturally, cosmetic solutions to both of these areas, but for now, the doctor wants the healing to be complete before we even consider those options. I'm not even sure I care to have any more surgery at this point. I think I can live with both of these little reminders. It's not as if I have ever been known for my great beauty anyway, so it isn't as if my looks have been irrevokably harmed.
My nose is still a bit red. That may last for about three more months. It looks like I have gotten sunburned, so I'm going to hope that's what everyone thinks when looking at me. Slowly, gradually, I'm going to get back to some semblance of a regular life, one which allows me never to have to post about my nose again. Consider yourself lucky. I think of myself that way now.
I'm not fully done, of course. Because of the "new" skin that has grown since the microderm abrasian three weeks ago, I have to avoid the sun still--not a problem for me, honestly. I even bought a cap yesterday at Target; I should have a hat, I know, but I don't know where to look for one. My stylist told me that I needed to find a shop that caters to "old men," but where are these shops? I might be rocking a fedora if I can only find one with a large enough brim to shade my nose.
By the way, I also have to massage my nose. Yes, massage it. Inside and out, at least once a day. It's to help the scar tissue keep from becoming too firm. It must be a funny image, me rubbing my nose for several minutes and then sticking a finger up in it for another minute or two. Still, if it keeps me from having a severe scar, I'm willing to go along with just about anything.
As best I can tell, there's only a couple of signs that I ever had the surgery. There's a tiny hole where the deepest part of the cut occurred (and that "the flap" didn't quite cover). And there's what can only be described as a notch near the center of my nose. That's where the skin sort of pulled in toward the wound while it was healing. There are, naturally, cosmetic solutions to both of these areas, but for now, the doctor wants the healing to be complete before we even consider those options. I'm not even sure I care to have any more surgery at this point. I think I can live with both of these little reminders. It's not as if I have ever been known for my great beauty anyway, so it isn't as if my looks have been irrevokably harmed.
My nose is still a bit red. That may last for about three more months. It looks like I have gotten sunburned, so I'm going to hope that's what everyone thinks when looking at me. Slowly, gradually, I'm going to get back to some semblance of a regular life, one which allows me never to have to post about my nose again. Consider yourself lucky. I think of myself that way now.
Saturday, July 5, 2008
The Evening Sky
I love fireworks. I know there was an article in the Los Angeles Times on Friday about how environmentally unsound they are, but I have always enjoyed looking at them. When I was a teenager, if I was visiting my mother in Illinois at the July 4 holiday, we always managed to make our way to a display for the evening. I used to go with my PATT (Partner at the Time) to the fireworks in Dana Point; we were usually visiting his family down in South Orange County on that day, and it seemed a nice way to end the evening of eating and drinking. (There was always a lot of eating and drinking where his family was concerned, but that's a story for another time.)
Not long after moving into my current abode, PATT and I realized that we had a perfect view of a massive fireworks celebration here in Los Angeles. All you had to do was sit on the couch in the living room with the blinds open and you could see perfectly all the astonishing lights in the sky. I don't even know where the fireworks come from. They just appear magically at about 9 p.m. every July 4. Several times over the years that he and I were together, if we were here instead of South OC, we'd make sure that we were home by the time it got dark so we could watch.
Last night, I was well prepared. I haven't been making public appearances, as you know, because of the continuing nose bandages (three months, two weeks, and three days, but who's counting?). I even lost out on going to see Bette Midler in Las Vegas this weekend because of this nose of mine. So I was determined, at least, to enjoy the fireworks as usual. I ate dinner somewhat early, I guess, and had already turned out the lights in the living room (and the rest of the apartment) by 8:45. All I had on was the television; I was watching Joan Crawford chewing the scenery in Rain, a great movie with her at her "bad" best. Sure enough, at about 9:05 p.m., the first spark headed upward into the sky and the fun began.
There are really two sets of fireworks that are visible from my living room window. One is the larger stuff, the spectacular explosions of color and sparks that seem to fill the entire sky sometimes. The other is shorter, and that's the one that I don't really get to see all that well. There's a suspiciously placed palm tree that obstructs the view of the smaller display; it's the only palm tree around, just for the record. Hmm. It kind of looks like the palm tree is on fire--but in a very sparkly, multicolored kind of way.
Still, for 15 minutes or so last night, I got to see another year come and go. I prefer July 4 fireworks as a way to mark the change of year more than New Year's Day, frankly. Perhaps it has something to do with July being my birth month, but at least in July, you can still go out and enjoy yourself without having everyone around you being completely drunk and misbehaving.
I even got to watch in peace and quiet since the neighbors have apparently decided to be gone most of the weekend. That's a reason to celebrate on its own. Perhaps I'll post about that another time.
There were several highlights, but I don't know if my descriptions would do them justice. A couple of them first seemed to be these golden streamers, but then then turned into flashes of color (usually green or red), and finally they became these circles of golden sparkles. Amazing to watch. Another set came into the sky simultaneously, four or five of them at once. After they each turned into these large balls of brilliant colors (blues and reds and greens), they turned into what looked like a series of interlocked golden geodesic domes, kind of like the Cinerama Dome. Perhaps it was an homage.
The ending always features a large number of explosions simultaneously, all those lights and thunderous booms at once. I suppose that's the tradition. I kept hearing "The Stars and Stripes Forever" playing in my head. I know that's incredibly hokey, but that's what I remember from the fireworks displays of my youth, and I imagine that tradition is being carried on to this day as well.
So now it's back to work and school and whatever else. Monday starts my first day of summer school and, hopefully, my last day of recovery from surgical procedures. Maybe that's another reason I see July 4 as a turning point. Here's to another year, maybe an even better one.
Not long after moving into my current abode, PATT and I realized that we had a perfect view of a massive fireworks celebration here in Los Angeles. All you had to do was sit on the couch in the living room with the blinds open and you could see perfectly all the astonishing lights in the sky. I don't even know where the fireworks come from. They just appear magically at about 9 p.m. every July 4. Several times over the years that he and I were together, if we were here instead of South OC, we'd make sure that we were home by the time it got dark so we could watch.
Last night, I was well prepared. I haven't been making public appearances, as you know, because of the continuing nose bandages (three months, two weeks, and three days, but who's counting?). I even lost out on going to see Bette Midler in Las Vegas this weekend because of this nose of mine. So I was determined, at least, to enjoy the fireworks as usual. I ate dinner somewhat early, I guess, and had already turned out the lights in the living room (and the rest of the apartment) by 8:45. All I had on was the television; I was watching Joan Crawford chewing the scenery in Rain, a great movie with her at her "bad" best. Sure enough, at about 9:05 p.m., the first spark headed upward into the sky and the fun began.
There are really two sets of fireworks that are visible from my living room window. One is the larger stuff, the spectacular explosions of color and sparks that seem to fill the entire sky sometimes. The other is shorter, and that's the one that I don't really get to see all that well. There's a suspiciously placed palm tree that obstructs the view of the smaller display; it's the only palm tree around, just for the record. Hmm. It kind of looks like the palm tree is on fire--but in a very sparkly, multicolored kind of way.
Still, for 15 minutes or so last night, I got to see another year come and go. I prefer July 4 fireworks as a way to mark the change of year more than New Year's Day, frankly. Perhaps it has something to do with July being my birth month, but at least in July, you can still go out and enjoy yourself without having everyone around you being completely drunk and misbehaving.
I even got to watch in peace and quiet since the neighbors have apparently decided to be gone most of the weekend. That's a reason to celebrate on its own. Perhaps I'll post about that another time.
There were several highlights, but I don't know if my descriptions would do them justice. A couple of them first seemed to be these golden streamers, but then then turned into flashes of color (usually green or red), and finally they became these circles of golden sparkles. Amazing to watch. Another set came into the sky simultaneously, four or five of them at once. After they each turned into these large balls of brilliant colors (blues and reds and greens), they turned into what looked like a series of interlocked golden geodesic domes, kind of like the Cinerama Dome. Perhaps it was an homage.
The ending always features a large number of explosions simultaneously, all those lights and thunderous booms at once. I suppose that's the tradition. I kept hearing "The Stars and Stripes Forever" playing in my head. I know that's incredibly hokey, but that's what I remember from the fireworks displays of my youth, and I imagine that tradition is being carried on to this day as well.
So now it's back to work and school and whatever else. Monday starts my first day of summer school and, hopefully, my last day of recovery from surgical procedures. Maybe that's another reason I see July 4 as a turning point. Here's to another year, maybe an even better one.
Wednesday, July 2, 2008
One of Life's Great Injustices
I want you to know that I haven't been spending all of my time while recovering from my surgery watching "good" movies, such as those I'm covering in my other blog. I've done some reading, of course, and even prepared a bit in advance for my summer school class that begins next week. I've also been watching some movies at home just for fun.
The most recent travesty that I watched is a 1979 film called Roller Boogie. It stars Linda Blair as Terry Barkley, a rich girl who's leaving at the end of the summer to study classical music at Julliard. She meets Bobby James, a roller skater, on the boardwalk in Venice Beach and falls in love with him. Well, eventually, she does. You know that one of them has to dislike the other at first or, at least, pretend to. Bobby is played by Jim Bray, who was an actual national roller skating champion. He is an excellent skater, to be sure, but he stinks as an actor. I can't even say that he's particularly attractive either, given how incredibly skinny he is, but I guess that was a look that was popular at the time. Then again, I guess he's as good of an actor as Linda Blair is a skater.
About halfway through the movie, there's a bizarre twist involving some real estate developers who want to take over the local roller disco so they can tear it down. And, of course, that's right before the big roller disco contest that Terry and Bobby want to win. You know how this ends, don't you? The rink is saved, thanks to a fortuitous cassette tape, and Terry and Bobby do indeed win the contest (although their routine is really the weakest of any of them shown). Shockingly, though, the film doesn't end with them skating off into the Venice sunset together. No, Terry goes off to New York after all, leaving Bobby and their trophy behind. He has to skate off into the sunset with his buddies.
This is all silly junk, of course, and I loved every minute of it. One of my guilty pleasures is rewatching those movies that I enjoyed so much as a teenager. That's why I own the DVDs of The Pirate Movie (Kristy McNichol sings! So does Christopher Atkins!) and Xanadu (Olivia Newton-John skates!) and Can't Stop the Music (the Village People and Bruce Jenner act! Awfully!). All of them are signs of the impending apocalypse, certainly, but they are still just as spellbinding to me now as they were almost (gulp!) thirty years ago.
Roller Boogie holds a special place in my heart, though, because it's a movie about roller skating (and it came out before Xanada, so hold your comments). I don't suppose lots of people know that I loved roller skating when I was a teenager. And I was pretty good at it too. There's a shelf of trophies in the bedroom closet as proof. (No, you can't see them.) I've not skated too much as an adult, thanks to an unfortunate shift in my center of gravity, but I used to be able to do a lot of stuff like jumps and spins and other tricks. And it's good exercise too, especially for the legs and, well, you know... When I was in high school, almost everyone skated. It was a weekend ritual for some of us. I used to go almost every night that the rink was open, sometimes four or five times in a week.
As an aside, there are some songs that will forever remind me of roller skating. One is "Lady" by the Little River Band. That's the song that was playing the first time I walked into the rink in Red Bay, Alabama (Redmont Skateland, for the record). Another is "Do You Wanna Touch" by Joan Jett and the Blackhearts. That song was so popular at my home rink that we begged the DJ to play it five times in a row one night, and he complied. Roller skating introduced me to Prince ("I Wanna Be Your Lover") and Lakeside ("Fantastic Voyage") and Carl Carlton ("She's a Bad Mama Jama") and so many other funk and soul and R&B artists. I'd love to find some reissues of the songs that we skated to back in those days, but not even iTunes seems to have them.
Given my love of roller skating, is it any wonder that I went to see Roller Boogie in the theaters when it was released? And then watched it again when it premiered on HBO? And went to a friend's house to see it when it came out on VHS? And have ordered the DVD version of it?
So where's the great injustice, you ask? I'm getting to that.
There was another movie about roller disco that came out in 1979: Skatetown U.S.A. It had a more famous cast: Scott Baio, Maureen McCormick, Ruth Buzzi (!), Flip Wilson, and in his first movie role, Patrick Swayze. The "stars" were two people who never went on to great fame or long movie careers: Greg Bradford and Kelly Lang (who is a star of the daytime soap The Bold and the Beautiful, however). Bradford was Hollywood's "It Boy" for a while there, being the perfect embodiment of the blond California surfer type. The plot is silly, naturally, your basic Romeo-and-Juliet rip-off and then something about a roller disco contest. (Were there always roller disco contests in these movies?) And there's "good" guys and "bad" guys. Swayze was the leader of the bad guys, all leather and shirtless vests and such. Heady stuff.
The problem is this movie isn't available to be seen any longer. It's not on DVD and I don't think I've ever seen it on VHS either. More's the pity. Everyone should have a chance to see what all the fuss was about back in the late 1970s. I'd love to watch it again, just to relive for a little while some memories of that time in my life.
Someone get to work on this immediately. If we can have Roller Boogie on DVD, we should have Skatetown U.S.A. as well. You can buy a reproduction movie poster of Skatetown U.S.A., but not the actual movie. There is no justice in this world so long as that remains the case.
The most recent travesty that I watched is a 1979 film called Roller Boogie. It stars Linda Blair as Terry Barkley, a rich girl who's leaving at the end of the summer to study classical music at Julliard. She meets Bobby James, a roller skater, on the boardwalk in Venice Beach and falls in love with him. Well, eventually, she does. You know that one of them has to dislike the other at first or, at least, pretend to. Bobby is played by Jim Bray, who was an actual national roller skating champion. He is an excellent skater, to be sure, but he stinks as an actor. I can't even say that he's particularly attractive either, given how incredibly skinny he is, but I guess that was a look that was popular at the time. Then again, I guess he's as good of an actor as Linda Blair is a skater.
About halfway through the movie, there's a bizarre twist involving some real estate developers who want to take over the local roller disco so they can tear it down. And, of course, that's right before the big roller disco contest that Terry and Bobby want to win. You know how this ends, don't you? The rink is saved, thanks to a fortuitous cassette tape, and Terry and Bobby do indeed win the contest (although their routine is really the weakest of any of them shown). Shockingly, though, the film doesn't end with them skating off into the Venice sunset together. No, Terry goes off to New York after all, leaving Bobby and their trophy behind. He has to skate off into the sunset with his buddies.
This is all silly junk, of course, and I loved every minute of it. One of my guilty pleasures is rewatching those movies that I enjoyed so much as a teenager. That's why I own the DVDs of The Pirate Movie (Kristy McNichol sings! So does Christopher Atkins!) and Xanadu (Olivia Newton-John skates!) and Can't Stop the Music (the Village People and Bruce Jenner act! Awfully!). All of them are signs of the impending apocalypse, certainly, but they are still just as spellbinding to me now as they were almost (gulp!) thirty years ago.
Roller Boogie holds a special place in my heart, though, because it's a movie about roller skating (and it came out before Xanada, so hold your comments). I don't suppose lots of people know that I loved roller skating when I was a teenager. And I was pretty good at it too. There's a shelf of trophies in the bedroom closet as proof. (No, you can't see them.) I've not skated too much as an adult, thanks to an unfortunate shift in my center of gravity, but I used to be able to do a lot of stuff like jumps and spins and other tricks. And it's good exercise too, especially for the legs and, well, you know... When I was in high school, almost everyone skated. It was a weekend ritual for some of us. I used to go almost every night that the rink was open, sometimes four or five times in a week.
As an aside, there are some songs that will forever remind me of roller skating. One is "Lady" by the Little River Band. That's the song that was playing the first time I walked into the rink in Red Bay, Alabama (Redmont Skateland, for the record). Another is "Do You Wanna Touch" by Joan Jett and the Blackhearts. That song was so popular at my home rink that we begged the DJ to play it five times in a row one night, and he complied. Roller skating introduced me to Prince ("I Wanna Be Your Lover") and Lakeside ("Fantastic Voyage") and Carl Carlton ("She's a Bad Mama Jama") and so many other funk and soul and R&B artists. I'd love to find some reissues of the songs that we skated to back in those days, but not even iTunes seems to have them.
Given my love of roller skating, is it any wonder that I went to see Roller Boogie in the theaters when it was released? And then watched it again when it premiered on HBO? And went to a friend's house to see it when it came out on VHS? And have ordered the DVD version of it?
So where's the great injustice, you ask? I'm getting to that.
There was another movie about roller disco that came out in 1979: Skatetown U.S.A. It had a more famous cast: Scott Baio, Maureen McCormick, Ruth Buzzi (!), Flip Wilson, and in his first movie role, Patrick Swayze. The "stars" were two people who never went on to great fame or long movie careers: Greg Bradford and Kelly Lang (who is a star of the daytime soap The Bold and the Beautiful, however). Bradford was Hollywood's "It Boy" for a while there, being the perfect embodiment of the blond California surfer type. The plot is silly, naturally, your basic Romeo-and-Juliet rip-off and then something about a roller disco contest. (Were there always roller disco contests in these movies?) And there's "good" guys and "bad" guys. Swayze was the leader of the bad guys, all leather and shirtless vests and such. Heady stuff.
The problem is this movie isn't available to be seen any longer. It's not on DVD and I don't think I've ever seen it on VHS either. More's the pity. Everyone should have a chance to see what all the fuss was about back in the late 1970s. I'd love to watch it again, just to relive for a little while some memories of that time in my life.
Someone get to work on this immediately. If we can have Roller Boogie on DVD, we should have Skatetown U.S.A. as well. You can buy a reproduction movie poster of Skatetown U.S.A., but not the actual movie. There is no justice in this world so long as that remains the case.
Marry Me a Little (or the 25 Percent Solution)
I had a rather intriguing "marriage proposal" over the weekend. Hear me out first before you start to comment.
I was chatting on the phone with someone I dated a couple of summers ago. I liked him a lot, but we only went out a few times before he told me that he didn't think we were right for each other. We have managed to remain friends, however, and have attended movies together and gone out to dinner and even went to Long Beach Pride last year. He's a very nice guy, very smart (Ph.D. in one of the sciences), and, I think, will make a good catch for someone someday. Just not for me. Or, at least, not all of me. Hold on. I'm getting there.
The subject of marriage in California now being available for gay people inevitably came up. I don't know of anyone gay who hasn't been talking about this. I've been wondering if anyone I know is going to get married, and I'm still waiting for an invitation to a wedding. We were on the subject of possible summer weddings when he startled me. He said that he'd actually thought about marrying me. Then he quickly added: "But only about 25 percent of you."
I know what you're thinking because I thought it too. What 25 percent of me is worth marrying? What quarter of me is so attractive that someone who dumped me two years ago would consider taking me as his husband? Before you let your mind wander too far there, let me reassure you that he wasn't talking about my physical presence (ahem). Although that would be extremely flattering, wouldn't it?
No, what he was trying to tell me was that he still found me appealing in terms of the fun we have together when we hang out. He says I always make him laugh, and too few of the guys he has dated since we broke up make him feel like he's having a good time. I guess the 25 percent is all personality. That's quite a letdown in some respects. I want to be desired for my body, but to be realistic, I guess the personality is what's going to hook them after all.
He elaborated on his thinking by telling me that what he really wants is a guy who's a mixture of attributes from several of the men that he's dated. Sort of a gay Frankenstein's monster, I suppose. (Or just "monster," if you think all the rest of it is redundant.) I'd supply the entertaining personality, and I guess someone else would have to provide the body and the ability to line dance and the desire (or ability) to lie about in the sun all weekend long and whatever else he wants in a man.
I never did learn from him why we broke up. He still won't tell me. But I did get some consolation from him during this whole marriage proposal business. He said that it's not as if the other 75 percent of me is bad or anything like that. In fact, he says I rate a "B+" overall. Gee. With praise like that, it's a wonder my head isn't spinning. Too bad I never purchased a fainting couch. I guess I'll just have to loosen my stays and lie on the living room sofa until I recover.
So there you go. The one marriage proposal I'm likely to get this summer, and it's only for a part of me. The rest of me is feeling a little dejected, but I guess I just have to work on improving the percentage for the next one.
I was chatting on the phone with someone I dated a couple of summers ago. I liked him a lot, but we only went out a few times before he told me that he didn't think we were right for each other. We have managed to remain friends, however, and have attended movies together and gone out to dinner and even went to Long Beach Pride last year. He's a very nice guy, very smart (Ph.D. in one of the sciences), and, I think, will make a good catch for someone someday. Just not for me. Or, at least, not all of me. Hold on. I'm getting there.
The subject of marriage in California now being available for gay people inevitably came up. I don't know of anyone gay who hasn't been talking about this. I've been wondering if anyone I know is going to get married, and I'm still waiting for an invitation to a wedding. We were on the subject of possible summer weddings when he startled me. He said that he'd actually thought about marrying me. Then he quickly added: "But only about 25 percent of you."
I know what you're thinking because I thought it too. What 25 percent of me is worth marrying? What quarter of me is so attractive that someone who dumped me two years ago would consider taking me as his husband? Before you let your mind wander too far there, let me reassure you that he wasn't talking about my physical presence (ahem). Although that would be extremely flattering, wouldn't it?
No, what he was trying to tell me was that he still found me appealing in terms of the fun we have together when we hang out. He says I always make him laugh, and too few of the guys he has dated since we broke up make him feel like he's having a good time. I guess the 25 percent is all personality. That's quite a letdown in some respects. I want to be desired for my body, but to be realistic, I guess the personality is what's going to hook them after all.
He elaborated on his thinking by telling me that what he really wants is a guy who's a mixture of attributes from several of the men that he's dated. Sort of a gay Frankenstein's monster, I suppose. (Or just "monster," if you think all the rest of it is redundant.) I'd supply the entertaining personality, and I guess someone else would have to provide the body and the ability to line dance and the desire (or ability) to lie about in the sun all weekend long and whatever else he wants in a man.
I never did learn from him why we broke up. He still won't tell me. But I did get some consolation from him during this whole marriage proposal business. He said that it's not as if the other 75 percent of me is bad or anything like that. In fact, he says I rate a "B+" overall. Gee. With praise like that, it's a wonder my head isn't spinning. Too bad I never purchased a fainting couch. I guess I'll just have to loosen my stays and lie on the living room sofa until I recover.
So there you go. The one marriage proposal I'm likely to get this summer, and it's only for a part of me. The rest of me is feeling a little dejected, but I guess I just have to work on improving the percentage for the next one.
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