It’s fall in earnest now, and if you’ve never been to Earnest, it’s a charming little town. Ha! Sorry. Thought I’d start the week so low it can only get better. Fine weekend; the nights are chilly, the trees turned with great speed and in large numbers - not enough to tip the balance, but enough to let you know the end is soon. The end of Green, I mean. The color, the quality, the defining aspect we all take for granted.
There are those odd times during the day when you get a tap on your wrist, and you’re reminded: I have a daughter. Oh right! Completely forgot.
And I had, which is good. I’ll explain that in a bit. Anyway, she’d been at a social gathering and met someone who grew up in London in the 50s, and she said he sounded like John Lennon. I fired back: Lennon was a Liverpudlian, and would have had a different accent, so it’s possible he was not expecting a Minnesota girl in Brazil to know the difference. He may be an agent, do not mention this or he will realize his cover is blown.
The conversation moved along to other things - Bolisaranono’s chances, the NPR hour-long segment on Brazil I’d recently listened to. It was like an Economist story: here’s all you need to know to tell yourself you have a grasp on these things! In all fairness, it was solid, and the panel diverse; the host read a few letters from people that abraded the general narrative. More and more these NPR pieces sound like dispatches from a tower besieged by barbarians; they lean out the window, listen, then describe what the barbarians seem to be saying, but still believe the barbarians will be held at bay. Probably! Moral arc of history and all that.
In general I’m on their side in the whole “smart people having decent, civilized conversations, all of us having agreed aforehand to a set of ideas that preserve, enrich, protect, and nourish Western Civilization” but there are those days when you get these people who’ve beamed in from the future when the Federation has it all figured out, and have a hard time containing their impatience with us in this time period. One anguished dude who’d spent 5 years in Brazil described his crestfallen realization that the post-coup society was not as solid as he had thought, and his friends were wondering about emigrating because they feared . . . bad things. it would be preferable to stay with a corrupt government that did different, better, bad things.
“Brazil,” said another emailer, “is the greatest country that never was.”
I think Bolisarino will be a mess, if he wins, but who knows: what if he gives license for smarter elements of the establishment to work sub rosa to fix things? Could work!
Ha hahahaha most likely not. I don’t get the sense that there’s a dedicated cadre of reform-minded politicians who aren’t just waiting for the chance to get into the inner room where all the money’s kept. It seems to me, from this distance, and knowing nothing, that a fatalistic belief in the inevitable corruption of anyone who steps into the political realm is one of those things that binds people together into a national identity - in the end, bitter realism is something they’re proud of, as long as they maintain a tiny aperture through which hope can enter every electoral cycle.
Hey, it’s central-south America. I know what I’m talking about. I’ve sailed past Panama City AND I’ve seen all eps of Narcos.
Anyway: When I said it was good that I had forgotten I had a daughter, I mean that I’m not missing her in advance while lamenting the loss of childhood, which used to bother me at Target. (Pause here to snort, derisively.) Really - Target was many levels of reminders. If you do the shopping for your family, every aisle contains a Phase, a Period.
The Mac & Cheese phase of life. Look! Fun new shapes! SPONGEBOB shapes! You like Spongebob! Let's get them for mealtime fun! (Note: no detectable amount of fun was added to mealtime)
The juicebox phase. Never that sugary stuff, only flavored water in weighty foil bladders that had to be pierced with pointy straws, which were capable of blinding a fellow student
The single-portion boxes of raisins, which always went hard before the package was empty because they came in a stupid cellophane non-resealable container. Oh, this time I'll put them in a plastic bag that seals tight, and of course I never did, so there'd be a bag torn open with three or four boxes rattling with inedible plastic.
The Pocky candy, from the Japanese phase. What I loved about her Japanese phase was how she was aware that she was having a Japanese phase, and it was rather predictable, but on the other hand she loved this stuff.
All the seasonal things remind me how I used to get as many seasonal things as I could, just to dress the set. Make the home slightly more interesting. Here's some Apple Cider dish soap! Perhaps you will have memories of growing up in a place that always had the scents and hues of the season. Then it all began to weigh on me, since it was coming to an end, and I hate endings. But as I've said, it's been like nothing I expected, because I'm liberated from the approaching ending, and now float like a parade balloon.
Went to the Giant Swede's, watched the game - The Crazy Uke in attendance, of course, to shout KILL HIM at the necessary moments, as well as describe certain blows with slavic tri-syllabic utterances. At one point I checked the Brazilian election results, and tweeted Daughter something about it. She'd sent me a little clip a few days before:
She'd sent me a little clip a few days before. All the people lining the road in support of Bolisonirano.
Now at Target I feel my watch tap my wrist, and think it might be something like this. And that's fantastic.
Not a review, but an interesting reminder of how the most Famous People Ever are forgotten quite quickly.
Needlepoint can do the gentle curves of flag bunting, but quotation marks? Forget it:
Why quotation marks, anyway? Well, here’s Jack:
The perishable nature of comedy, part 1:
Who’s she talking about? We heard Bill Stern thank him last Friday, remember? Mr. Kaltenborn.
Hobby Lobby allowed listeners everywhere to write in about their unusual hobbies so they could come on the radio and "lobby for their hobby." Many of the hobbies were actually people's professions like a female gorilla trainer, a scientist that makes robots, and a beekeeper (whose bees escaped during the show).
During WWII, the FBI recived word that Nazis were attempting infiltrate the show and use Hobby Lobby to covertly send messages to other Nazis over the radio. The agency sent Dave Elman a list of potential Nazis who might try to get on his show by pretending to have a hobby. Eventually threats were made on the lives of Elman and his family requiring 24 hour FBI protection.
I’m still not sure what it means. Was the crafts chain named after the radio show? I don't know. The founder was born around the time this movie came out.
Oh, the movie? It’s the urban-sophisticates-get-rustic concept, and while it’s not exactly knee-slappery from start to finish, it’s always a pleasure to watch Jack - even though he’s better than the material, and plays a morose, nervous, energetic jerk through the whole thing. Percy McBride is as funny as ever. He hasn’t a single punchline.
Doesn't need 'em.
There’s some reminders that 40s style was . . . stuffed. People think it was Deco and Venetian Blinds. Nuh-uh.
I'm sure things were stuffed and frilly in the 30s, too, but the difference here . . .
. . . is that the movies were telling you the chic people did. And the chic people had moved away from that stark monochromatic minimalist stuff.
Any reason to see it, really? Yes - Jack, Percy, and the ever snazzy Ann Sheridan.
It's amusing in its own way, and students of 40s culture should give it a look.
I just didn't find any of it as funny as it seemed to think it was.
Another week; hope I earn your visits. See you around.
