At some point in one's life--and I'm beginning to suspect it's in your mid-40s--too many of the people you associate with your youth begin to pass away. I've written about several of them already on this blog, most recently Cyd Charisse. I know that we must face the loss of icons from time to time, but it does seem to be happening with alarming frequency these days.
This morning I saw on the front page of the Los Angeles Times that George Carlin had died. I can't even begin to express how much his passing saddens me. When I was younger, a teenager, I had friends who owned all of Carlin's albums. We used to listen to them and laugh into the early morning hours. (We did the same with Richard Pryor's albums, and his passing hit me very hard too.) Once Carlin started making HBO specials, we would stay home to watch them, whatever night they were on. Not everyone had cable in those days; it was still a bit of a novelty in some parts of the world, believe it or not. But, thankfully, one friend did and we skipped everything that was going on at the time in order to watch Carlin. We'd laugh throughout the show and then spend the rest of the week retelling the jokes and stories to each other so that we could laugh again.
What most impressed me about his work was his attention to language. Here was a man who knew intricately the meanings of words and the ways that we twist the meanings of words. He could riff for what seemed like hours on a single word like "stuff." And I'll never forget the first time that I heard the "seven words you can't say on television" routine. Carlin was a wonder to behold as he dissected our national and international obsessions with language use.
Not everyone "got" Carlin, and I think that's what drew a lot of us to him. The people who didn't understand were somehow just too stupid. And that would include members of my own family, who never quite understood a lot of the things that I was interested in as a kid. A few years ago--perhaps it was the last time I went home for Thanksgiving, now that I think about it--one of my cousins asked my mother what would be an appropriate last-minute gift for me (since she had purchased Christmas presents for everyone else). My mother suggested Carlin's When Will Jesus Bring the Pork Chops? It's a hilarious read, but my cousin asked several times if she heard my mother correctly. And when I opened it, she had to reassure me that my mother had said it was what I wanted. By the way, I don't think that story is particularly telling of a mindset of the South either. I would wager that there are lots of people throughout the United States who never understood either. Too bad.
My friend B is, no doubt, inconsolable today. I understand her sadness. She is feeling these losses the same as I am. There are too many of them around these days.
Monday, June 23, 2008
Wednesday, June 18, 2008
One of the Best
I came home this morning after my medical visit (see the previous post if you dare), and Brigadoon was playing on Turner Classic Movies. When I first bought a DVD player years ago, one of the first movies that I and the partner-at-the-time (PATT) purchased was Brigadoon. I love that movie, and in particular, I love watching Gene Kelly and Cyd Charisse dancing together in it. One of the most romantic dances in musical history is the two of them gathering heather on a hillside. Just a wonderful, magical film.
Imagine my sadness when I opened today's paper and discovered that Charisse had passed away on Tuesday. What a tremendous loss. She was always my favorite dancer at MGM because she was so lithe and sexy. She could make a mere movement of her hips into an event. She was always cast as an exotic creature, almost otherworldly in her beauty and her talent. I was always transfixed when she came on the screen.
Thankfully, we still have her performances to remember her. I will never forget seeing her for the first time in Singin' in the Rain. She has no lines in that film, just an incredible dance in a smoky nightclub with Kelly. She's terrific in The Band Wagon too, one of the best musicals ever made. Well, she was terrific in every movie she was in. She brought a sense of glamour and beauty that we won't see again.
I want to mention one of her later credits. Long after the era of movie musicals had passed--at least, in the classical sense of the genre--she made an appearance in a Janet Jackson music video. The song is "Alright," and the video is primarily a tribute to Cab Calloway, who also appears (as do the fabulous Nicholas Brothers). Charisse walks out of a dress shop and dances briefly with Jackson in front of the store. I was probably the only guy watching MTV in Mississippi who knew that it was Charisse (well, maybe not, but there weren't many of us), but just her brief moment on the screen was electrifying. Jackson was paying tribute to some of the great dancers of the past, and we've lost them all now. Go watch the video and let the smile come back to your face. (You don't need a link from me; you have YouTube as one of your bookmarks anyway.)
Imagine my sadness when I opened today's paper and discovered that Charisse had passed away on Tuesday. What a tremendous loss. She was always my favorite dancer at MGM because she was so lithe and sexy. She could make a mere movement of her hips into an event. She was always cast as an exotic creature, almost otherworldly in her beauty and her talent. I was always transfixed when she came on the screen.
Thankfully, we still have her performances to remember her. I will never forget seeing her for the first time in Singin' in the Rain. She has no lines in that film, just an incredible dance in a smoky nightclub with Kelly. She's terrific in The Band Wagon too, one of the best musicals ever made. Well, she was terrific in every movie she was in. She brought a sense of glamour and beauty that we won't see again.
I want to mention one of her later credits. Long after the era of movie musicals had passed--at least, in the classical sense of the genre--she made an appearance in a Janet Jackson music video. The song is "Alright," and the video is primarily a tribute to Cab Calloway, who also appears (as do the fabulous Nicholas Brothers). Charisse walks out of a dress shop and dances briefly with Jackson in front of the store. I was probably the only guy watching MTV in Mississippi who knew that it was Charisse (well, maybe not, but there weren't many of us), but just her brief moment on the screen was electrifying. Jackson was paying tribute to some of the great dancers of the past, and we've lost them all now. Go watch the video and let the smile come back to your face. (You don't need a link from me; you have YouTube as one of your bookmarks anyway.)
A Nose by Any Other Name
Back to painkillers and antibiotics.
I got up at 4 a.m. today to get to the doctor's office in the Valley on time. The wound has finally healed enough that I underwent microderm abrasion with the hope that it would reduce the scars on my nose somewhat. I have to say that I can't believe people submit to this procedure willingly. It's incredibly painful once the numbing starts to wear off. I feel like my nose is on fire now. And it looks pretty awful too, red and angry--at least, it looked that way before the nurse bandaged it up tight. I kind of look like a toucan at this point (although my beak is not so colorful).
I stand by my previous assertion that the shots that you get in your nose to numb it are the worst part of the procedure, especially if you have to have a series of them. They are remarkably painful; avoid them at all costs if you can. The second worst part is having to look in the mirror to see what your face looks like after the procedure is done. I do understand that the doctor wants me to be able to talk about how I look and how I'm feeling about how I look. It's just a bit of a shock to see yourself this way. I didn't feel like crying today (which is somewhat unusual), but my heart did sink a bit.
So three weeks more of bandages, at least. By that point, I'll have spent almost four full months under wraps. I know it's only temporary and that I will be healed soon, but I will be so very grateful when this is all finished. I don't know if anyone will recognize me without some sort of bandage on my nose.
Do you really need me to warn you to wear sunscreen now?
I got up at 4 a.m. today to get to the doctor's office in the Valley on time. The wound has finally healed enough that I underwent microderm abrasion with the hope that it would reduce the scars on my nose somewhat. I have to say that I can't believe people submit to this procedure willingly. It's incredibly painful once the numbing starts to wear off. I feel like my nose is on fire now. And it looks pretty awful too, red and angry--at least, it looked that way before the nurse bandaged it up tight. I kind of look like a toucan at this point (although my beak is not so colorful).
I stand by my previous assertion that the shots that you get in your nose to numb it are the worst part of the procedure, especially if you have to have a series of them. They are remarkably painful; avoid them at all costs if you can. The second worst part is having to look in the mirror to see what your face looks like after the procedure is done. I do understand that the doctor wants me to be able to talk about how I look and how I'm feeling about how I look. It's just a bit of a shock to see yourself this way. I didn't feel like crying today (which is somewhat unusual), but my heart did sink a bit.
So three weeks more of bandages, at least. By that point, I'll have spent almost four full months under wraps. I know it's only temporary and that I will be healed soon, but I will be so very grateful when this is all finished. I don't know if anyone will recognize me without some sort of bandage on my nose.
Do you really need me to warn you to wear sunscreen now?
Monday, June 16, 2008
Going to the Chapel (or the Courthouse)
It isn't often (enough) that you get to watch history take place, but this afternoon I put everything aside to watch the first legal marriage take place between two people of the same sex in Southern California. (I'm not going to call it same-sex marriage, by the way; it's marriage, nothing more, nothing less. It is not different from marriage between people of the opposite sex, so why do we keep labeling it as if it were somehow different?) I cried almost as much as Robin Tyler and Diane Olson did today during their ceremony. Of course, every local channel had a news crew at the Beverly Hills Courthouse (one of the places where I have served jury duty, just as an aside), and apparently, so did every other channel in the world. The number of cameras was astounding.
Yet, despite the difficulty in seeing the couple at times, I watched every minute of it, even switching back and forth between channels to see it from different angles. Someday, people will talk about this moment as a significant historical event. I'm certain of that. After all of the years of lawsuits and ballot propositions and everything else, gay and lesbian people have the same right to marry as straight people do. It's been a long time in coming, and I couldn't help but feel emotional about its arrival.
Naturally, there were protesters, and I even heard a couple of their offensive comments during the ceremony. I know they don't like that the world is changing around them and they can't seem to stop it. I wish I could say to them that this country is held up to the rest of the world as beacon, a shining example of a place that offers everyone freedom and equality. At least, it claims to do so. But until and unless everyone has the same rights, is this country truly living up to the ideals expressed in our Constitution and Declaration of Independence? The gay and lesbian people who want to marry aren't asking for anything special or different; they just want the same things that everyone else has. If you believe in equality, you have to believe in it for everyone.
Yes, I realize that argument would go nowhere. It isn't as if members of my own family don't feel the way that the protesters do, but at least they have the smarts to keep their mouths shut about it around me. I know there's a long fight ahead with a proposed amendment to the state constitution, and we all know that many unpleasant, ugly things are going to be said between now and November. However, if we could be objective just for a little while and see the images from Tyler and Olson's wedding, maybe we have a chance of keeping bigotry and intolerance out of the document that serves as a foundation for our state government. These two women love each other and have made a commitment to each other; all they want is to share that with the rest of the world.
Better yet, look at the pictures of Del Martin and Phyllis Lyon, both now in their 80s. These two women have been together for more than 50 years and have now finally had their relationship recognized by the state of California. Who can truly sit in judgment of them? They have managed to maintain a stable relationship longer than almost any couple, gay or straight, and until tonight they were still treated as second class citizens in their home country. How can people truly feel in their hearts that they should decide that Martin and Lyon should not be together, that their relationship is somehow not a valid one? Who should decide our spouse for us? Do all married couples need to be placed on the ballot so that we can vote to accept their marriages, one by one, as appropriate? (Yes, I know that's a slippery slope argument; deal with it.)
I still recall when my home state of Mississippi had a ballot proposition that would have removed the ban on interracial marriage from the state constitution. Even though it was "merely" a formality, the U.S. Supreme Court having struck down such bans as unconstitutional years before, people still went to the polls and voted their prejudices. No, they didn't vote to get rid of the ban; they actually voted to keep it in the constitution. And, yes, they knew that it was, for the most part, a symbolic act. Let's hope that the people of California, who always claim to be more enlightened, won't have that same mentality in November.
There will be a time, hopefully while I am still alive, when all of this opposition will seem quaint, a time when we will read about the years before gays and lesbians could marry as if they were ancient history. Today, we took that first step in California.
For the record, I have no one to marry (and no one has me to marry, either). I don't even have any invitations to any weddings this summer, save for one to a straight couple's wedding. Still, I feel like going to every county clerk's office and courthouse in the state to applaud loudly and throw rice (or birdseed or whatever we're throwing these days) in celebration. If you're getting married, just know that there's a country boy in Los Angeles cheering you on.
Yet, despite the difficulty in seeing the couple at times, I watched every minute of it, even switching back and forth between channels to see it from different angles. Someday, people will talk about this moment as a significant historical event. I'm certain of that. After all of the years of lawsuits and ballot propositions and everything else, gay and lesbian people have the same right to marry as straight people do. It's been a long time in coming, and I couldn't help but feel emotional about its arrival.
Naturally, there were protesters, and I even heard a couple of their offensive comments during the ceremony. I know they don't like that the world is changing around them and they can't seem to stop it. I wish I could say to them that this country is held up to the rest of the world as beacon, a shining example of a place that offers everyone freedom and equality. At least, it claims to do so. But until and unless everyone has the same rights, is this country truly living up to the ideals expressed in our Constitution and Declaration of Independence? The gay and lesbian people who want to marry aren't asking for anything special or different; they just want the same things that everyone else has. If you believe in equality, you have to believe in it for everyone.
Yes, I realize that argument would go nowhere. It isn't as if members of my own family don't feel the way that the protesters do, but at least they have the smarts to keep their mouths shut about it around me. I know there's a long fight ahead with a proposed amendment to the state constitution, and we all know that many unpleasant, ugly things are going to be said between now and November. However, if we could be objective just for a little while and see the images from Tyler and Olson's wedding, maybe we have a chance of keeping bigotry and intolerance out of the document that serves as a foundation for our state government. These two women love each other and have made a commitment to each other; all they want is to share that with the rest of the world.
Better yet, look at the pictures of Del Martin and Phyllis Lyon, both now in their 80s. These two women have been together for more than 50 years and have now finally had their relationship recognized by the state of California. Who can truly sit in judgment of them? They have managed to maintain a stable relationship longer than almost any couple, gay or straight, and until tonight they were still treated as second class citizens in their home country. How can people truly feel in their hearts that they should decide that Martin and Lyon should not be together, that their relationship is somehow not a valid one? Who should decide our spouse for us? Do all married couples need to be placed on the ballot so that we can vote to accept their marriages, one by one, as appropriate? (Yes, I know that's a slippery slope argument; deal with it.)
I still recall when my home state of Mississippi had a ballot proposition that would have removed the ban on interracial marriage from the state constitution. Even though it was "merely" a formality, the U.S. Supreme Court having struck down such bans as unconstitutional years before, people still went to the polls and voted their prejudices. No, they didn't vote to get rid of the ban; they actually voted to keep it in the constitution. And, yes, they knew that it was, for the most part, a symbolic act. Let's hope that the people of California, who always claim to be more enlightened, won't have that same mentality in November.
There will be a time, hopefully while I am still alive, when all of this opposition will seem quaint, a time when we will read about the years before gays and lesbians could marry as if they were ancient history. Today, we took that first step in California.
For the record, I have no one to marry (and no one has me to marry, either). I don't even have any invitations to any weddings this summer, save for one to a straight couple's wedding. Still, I feel like going to every county clerk's office and courthouse in the state to applaud loudly and throw rice (or birdseed or whatever we're throwing these days) in celebration. If you're getting married, just know that there's a country boy in Los Angeles cheering you on.
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