The TCM Classic Film Festival (Part 1)

Fraser Heston introduces Touch of Evil

I'm out here in Hollywood attending the TCM Classic Film Festival. Turner Classic Movies, the cable channel that shows uninterrupted classic movies, started this festival five years ago. They feature a wide assortment of classic movies over four days. Several movies feature stars or directors introducing the showing. The Festival has seen very thick crowds, filling most screenings.

Highlights include Mel Brooks introducing Blazing Saddles, Shirley Jones introducing a restored Oklahoma, Richard Dreyfuss introducing The Goodbye Girl, Maureen O'Hara introducing How Green Was My Valley, Ryan O'Neal introducing Paper Moon, and Kim Novak introducing Bell, Book and Candle. The Festival screens many other classics this year on the big screen, such as What Ever Happened to Baby Jane, The Lion In Winter, A Hard Day's Night, the Godfather Part II, The Quiet Man, Gone With the Wind, and the Wizard of Oz. Later this weekend, the Festival will hold a Jerry Lewis tribute, complete with his putting his hand and feet prints in cement outside the Chinese Theater.

The Festival screens at several classic Hollywood movie theaters, including the Egyptian, El Capitan, and the old Graumann's Chinese Theater. These are across the street from the Cinegrill and the Roosevelt Hotel.

Yesterday I attended the Festival opening, a restored version of Oklahoma, with Shirley Jones discussing the movie briefly before it ran. This was a red carpet event, with several stars and lots of industry attending. Tippi Hedren, Kim Novak, Margaret O'Brian, and Alec Baldwin attended. Oklahoma was her first movie, and she recounted several stories about its making, proudly reflecting she was 18 and the time, and now is 80.

After that, I saw a really cool, underrated movie for the first time-1939's Bachelor Mother, starring David Niven and Ginger Rogers. Comedian Greg Proops introduced it, drawing laughs before this romantic comedy started. Rogers plays a down on her luck single woman who, through a series of misunderstandings, takes custody of a baby boy. Employer and rich playboy David Niven connects with the baby and then with Rogers, leading to the inevitable screwball happy ending. Niven never really did fulfill his promise as a romantic lead, but carried the role originally meant for Cary Grant very well. Ginger Rogers likewise never seemed to escape Fred Astaire's shadow, which was a shame because she clearly had the chops to do so. Both displayed impeccable timing with a great script. Oh, and let me just add, Ginger Rogers was HOT. Who knew? And, yes, she was originally a Texan.

Today I saw three movies, all at the Chinese Theater. The first, the restored director's cut of Orson Welles' Touch of Evil, really stood out. Imagine the Citizen Kane treatment for a pulp B-movie. Throw in a stellar cast: Charlton Heston, Janet Leigh, Welles, Marlene Dietrich, and many of the Welles regulars, a Henry Mancini score, and gorgeous black and white photography. Very ahead of its time. 

The second was the MGM standard bearer, Meet Me In St. Louis, the old Judy Garland standout. Classic MGM musical, depicting a year in the life of a St. Louis lawyer's family. Pretty much what you'd expect, though its pretty much the whitest movie ever made. Garland shines. Other actors may have done certain things better than she did, but no actor ever possessed more overall talent than Judy Garland. She could do everything.

Then I met my friend Donna for dinner at the complex, before queuing for Blazing Saddles. After an hour and a half wait, we finally got in (Donna didn't have a festival pass, and basically had to talk her way into the nearly full theater). Mel Brooks, despite being in his 80s, still possesses enormous energy and enthusiasm. He came out and sang the theme song's first verse before settling down to answer host Robert Osborne's questions. I'd heard most of his stories before, such as Gig Young originally taking the Waco Kid role but dropping out due to alcoholism, or Richard Pryor being intended for the Sheriff role. Brooks confirmed what many have said, that he couldn't get the movie made today. He said someone high up with Warner Bros. gave him extensive notes on what he had to cut. "You can't have someone farting. You can't hit a horse." Those cuts would have left a 12 minute movie. Brooks said he didn't cut a single word or even concept. He agreed to a limited release at first, but if it did well in New York and LA, the studio agreed to a national release. Brooks did say one new thing. They had debated how much, if at all, they could use the "n-word" throughout the script. Pryor pushed for using it extensively. He argued it was necessary to convey the townsfolk's evil, and also to justify the Sheriff's triumph when he finally won them over. That makes perfect sense. How could you portray a late 1800s Western town supposedly hating a black sheriff, without using a word that whites (and even blacks) used almost casually until the late 20th Century? Brooks is right-political correctness has run amok. This movie represents a potent, timeless, attack on racism. As Brooks once said as to why he could justify using humor about the Nazis, the worst thing he can do to them is laugh at them. And painting them as ignorant, unthinking, dumb, dullards...you know...morons, is much more devastating than any deadly serious frontal attack. Yet, today's pandering, patronizing, soundbite politics would totally ignore (or fail to grasp) that great reality and would focus only on the "word" (much like those ignorant blowhards who want to ban Huckleberry Finn).

That's the first two days. Coming up, I plan to see Mary Poppins, either the Goodbye Girl or How Green Was My Valley, Bell, Book and Candle, and the Women. Also Cat on a Hot Tin Roof, The Quiet Man, and The Wizard of Oz.

Check back for updates. Or I'm tweeting too.

ETA: a serendipitous moment occurred during Blazing Saddles. (Spoiler alert-though if you've never seen Blazing Saddles you're either 12 or you've been stranded on a desert island). Late in the movie, Harvey Korman ducks into a movie theater to hide from the Sheriff and the Waco Kid. We see him buy a ticket, walk in, and then watch a bit of Blazing Saddles, albeit he is in Blazing Saddles. The theater he goes into is Graumann's Chinese, which is where we were watching Blazing Saddles, 40 years later. At one point, I was sitting in the theater and watching a screen that showed an actor in that exact same theater watching the same screen, and the same movie on the same screen. Kinda mind blowing huh? Kismet. 

Contrarianism: Revisited Movie Classics

Maureen O'Hara

If there's anything I'm known for, its doing new things.

Uh, yeah.

But this year, I'm doing something new. Rather than attending the Jazz Festival, I'm going Hollywood. Specifically, I'm attending the Turner Classic Movies Classic Movie Festival.

Its held at several landmark Hollywood movie theatres, like the famous Graumann's Chinese Theatre and the Egyptian. They will screen dozens of classic movies, many restored, and many featuring interviews with actors or other people associated with the movie. The highlight, as far as I'm concerned, will be a restored Blazing Saddles, introduced by Mel Brooks. "I must have killed more men than Cecil B. DeMille."  I hope to blog from the Festival, much as I've done when attending Jazz Fest. Hope you can follow along.

Meanwhile, to get some practice writing about movies, I wanted to bring up some classic movie issues that occasionally bother me. And which should bother you. These questions in no way ruin the movie. But its fair to ask these questions, at least years later. Mostly, I wonder about certain plot holes or implausibilities. It can ruin a movie for me if it shows something that could never happen. True, nearly every science fiction movie does this by definition. I mean, within the world where the story takes place, something that could never happen. Or makes so little sense given what we know about that world that it would never happen. Or something the character would never do (like When Harry Met Sally's orgasm scene. Prim, closed off, live by the rules Meg Ryan's character would never have faked an orgasm right smack in the middle of Katz's Deli during a crowded lunch rush).

Here's some examples.

Star Wars (the trilogy): For someone with the Force on his side, not to mention a light saber that he

Nice Kentucky move there, Luke

can effectively wield without even looking at the target, Luke Skywalker sure needs a lot of help to do practically anything. Han and Leia have to disarm the shield on Endor for him to even get at the second Death Star. In the first movie, he stands around on the Death Star all weepy about Obi Wan dying as his more level headed friends have to practically force him to get on the Millenium Falcon. Then he has to fly a tie-fighter as part of some huge formation that draws most of the enemy fire so he can get in his shot. Leia has to rescue him from the Cloud City at the end of Empire Strikes Back. Many Bothans "had" to die to get the stupid plans for the second Death Star, which, oh by the way, was exactly the same as the first Death Star they had already blown up. And in the end, he doesn't beat Darth Vader. Or the Emperor. His incessant yammering at Vader about how he knows Vader is good deep down, you know, like, after he's killed hundreds of thousands of people, obviously prompts Vader to shit can the Emperor just so Luke will shut up. Then, in the end, Lando Calrissian, flying that whale known as the Millenium Falcon, manages to bring down the second Death Star just like Luke had in the first movie, (without using the Force by the way).

Casablanca

Casablanca.  OK, Casablanca's the greatest movie ever made. But the script, compelling and fascinating in every way, only came together after shooting began. So the writers came up with the whole plot pretty much on the fly. As you recall, Victor Lazlo, hero of the Underground Resistance, was carting around his secret wife, Ingrid Bergman, all over Europe trying to get to America (ok, question right there, who exactly excused him from the fight? How does he get to go on an American vacation? Was the war over? Get back to Paris and keep blowing up trains, shirker). Along the way they land in Casablanca, and it turns out the only guy who can get them out of town is the guy that Bergman totally blew off the year before in Paris. Major oops! moment. And, spoiler alert, he gets them out of Casablanca because he has "letters of transit" signed by Gen. Weygand, which cannot be revoked or questioned. Contemporary audiences would have know that Maxine Weygand was Vichy France's National Defense Minister, and a collaborationist leader who deported Jews and others to concentration camps. Most of the movie, the Gestapo is running all over Casablanca hunting down those letters of transit, lest they fall into Lazlo's hands and he escape their clutches. So, let's get this straight. The Nazis blitzkrieged over most of Europe. They exterminated six million Jews. They started the Blitz over London and launched V-2 rockets later in the war just to kill civilians. They looted and plundered priceless art treasures. But, notwithstanding their usual ruthlessness and seeming disinterest in international law, the Nazis were going to let someone who was really good at paperwork punk them. Like Major Strasser was going to just look down, shake his head, and say "ahhh...you got me" if Lazlo showed up with the signed letters of transit. Hmmm...ok. At the end, Lazlo and Bergman head off to the plane without anyone official bothering to check their travel documents anyway. What, the pilot was going to verify their documents? Oh, ok. And another thing. Why does Lazlo take his wife along? Usually when you go off to war, you leave your untrained, non-military wives and family behind. You don't drag them along with you where they might wind up getting shot accidentally as the enemy comes after you.

The Way We Were. You know this story too. Ordinary, loudmouth nice Jewish girl Katie somehow intrigues rich WASP Robert "Hubble" Redford enough for him to marry her. Actually she date rapes him but that's not the point. He's all angsty about 25 years before that became acceptable, and just can't deal. Katie spends the whole movie fawning over him but that's not good enough. Though doting and loyal, she's annoying and preachy, always pushing him to write some novel that will sell exactly six copies, instead of making movies and writing TV scripts. Eventually, he gets sick of it and they divorce. But not until Katie finally gets pregnant. Rather than being a responsible father, Hubble leaves Katie with his baby. He totally takes a breeze, having nothing to do with his daughter. Who does he think he is, Dr. J? Way to keep it classy. And what was Hubble's problem exactly? Katie wanted him to write a novel? To protest against McCarthyism? Land sakes! A girl wanting to think? Streisand was ok looking back then. She was no Lois Chiles, obvs, but she was interesting at least. Besides, in the long shot at the end, we see the girl he did finally wind up with, and, well, Damn! That chick probably barks. Bad for the look, Hubble.

Your girl is lovely Hubble

 

Gone With the Wind: Yeah, ok, this one's full of questions. The happy go lucky slaves, who love picking cotton and fussing over the white folks' problems at Tara, the happiest place in the world not run by Disney. Rhett Butler, who doesn't do anything in the slightest bit to justify his reputation as a supposed bad ass. Like, maybe if he'd shot a Yankee or something. Hell, Scarlett was ten times the bad ass Rhett Butler was supposed to be. And most famously, why was she so hung up on stupid Ashley? He'd have been great hanging around the plantation on sleepy nights, but was utterly useless once the war ended. All he could do was split rails and not keep his hands off her when she wore her new bonnet around town. And she sure does her best Saul on the road to Damascus impression when, during about a 30 second span, she gives up her lifelong love for stupid Ashley and simultaneously realizes she really did love Rhett after all. Honestly, it was about 30 seconds. That's longer than it takes me to walk down a flight of stairs. Its like that scene had an NBA shot clock on it. Guess it takes a lot less time to totally reject the love of your life than I thought.

So that's pretty much the gist of it.

The Festival features some really incredible movies and I'm looking forward to catching the scene. The Goodbye Girl with Richard Dreyfuss introducing it. Bell, Book and Candle with Kim Novak appearing. Fiddler on the Roof, with director Norman Jewison. Oklahoma with Shirley Jones. Can't wait to spend day after day watching some of the greatest movies ever made, in the greatest movie theaters ever built. Follow along here!

You Don't Turn Off Jimi Hendrix

Jimi Hendrix at Woodstock

Sorry for another extended absence. Work seems to occupy just about all my spare time, not to
mention my actual work time. I hate when work gets in the way of important life endeavors. The things that really matter. Like 10,000 word essays on things like who's the cooler hero mentor: Viper from Top Gun or Morpheus in the Matrix (Viper, obvs. He got BOTH Maverick AND Iceman. You've got to have #baller game to do that).

So here's a quick hitter. A few days ago I was driving up South Congress on a beautiful Spring day. I had the top down, natch, and was just stopping at a traffic light. I had my satellite radio blaring, and Jimi Hendrix's "The Wind Cries Mary" just came on. Just as I stopped, I changed the channel to see what else was on.

A number of people were waiting at a bus stop at the light, and at that moment, as I was messing with the channels, an older black man waiting for the bus waded out into the traffic lane at my car and was saying something to me. Though I became a bit apprehensive, I turned down the radio to hear what he was saying. "Was that Jimi Hendrix?" he asked. "Yeah," I answered. He became upset and yelled to me, in that ubiquitous, disapproving, fatherly way in which older men can yell, "Put it back on! You don't turn off Jimi Hendrix!"

Hey, there's nothing more important in this world than knowing when someone drops some serious truth on you. And that, my friends, was some serious truth. Never, NEVER turn off Jimi Hendrix. Ever.

It just goes to show, you can learn something important any time, anywhere.

I put it back on quickly and waved to him. Then the light changed.

But I started thinking, who else should you just never, ever turn off? That every song they performed is better than just about anything else that could possibly be on. Here's a list (I know, I know. I've said lists aren't really writing, but you take what you can get).

Miley Cyrus. Just kidding. (Of course, there's probs millions of people in this country who would totally say that in all seriousness. This is why the Chinese are beating us.)

Ella Fitzgerald
Louis Armstrong
Frank Sinatra
Duke Ellington

The Beatles
The Rolling Stones (everything through Tattoo You)
The Who (until Keith Moon died)
Marvin Gaye
The Supremes
Roy Orbison
Elvis Presley (before 1965)
Otis Redding
Ray Charles
John Coltrane
Hank Williams

Muddy Waters
BB King
Led Zeppelin
James Brown
The Beach Boys (up until Smile)
Buddy Holly
Patsy Cline
The Ramones
Sam Cooke
Chuck Berry
Nat King Cole
Stevie Wonder (except Ebony and Ivory)


What music would you never turn off?

Talkin' 'Bout (Not) My Generation: The Millennial In Your Workplace (A Handy Reference Guide)

Millennials. Yay!!

[Before even getting started, I have to warn you, this post reeks of Bitter Old Guy. Read at your own peril.]

Ah, life. Countless scholars, mystics, clergy, philosophers, song writers, romantic comedy screenwriters, and bartenders have contemplated its meaning. What are we doing here? Is there a God? And if so, how does He (or She) intend that we live our lives? Do we live one life or do we "reincarnate"? Should we devote our lives to helping others, or to pursuing our own happiness however we can? How do we cope with life's tragedies and why must we suffer? Does love really exist or is it just some chemical reaction within our minds?

Me? I'm just trying to remember what town I'm in when I wake up most mornings. And keep from freezing. Like Pee Wee Herman looking for his lost bicycle, my life has played out on the road for much of these last two months. I haven't met Large Marge yet (although the rental car shuttle driver in St Louis was very odd), but I go from town to town meeting clients, giving speeches, checking in and out of hotels, and trying to survive the Polar Vortex (honestly, first I nearly froze to death in Springfield, Illinois, then I damn nearly caused a 15 car pileup trying to drive back to St. Louis in a snowstorm...why do people live places like that? Humans aren't penguins. Move to where its warm!! Like the cave men did during the Ice Age.). When not on the road, I've been getting ready to travel, or recovering from travel. All while dealing with, ummm, how you Americans say...law firm BS? In short, My life of late seems much like a Lynyrd Skynrd song, only without the fun parts.

This slog through life kept me away from the site, unfortunately. No blogging. Which means you've been adrift for a couple of months, wondering about important things like how would Goose and Maverick approach about this whole Ukraine thing, or what's the lamest Winter Olympics sport (trick question, they're all equally lame, except possibly hockey).

Oh, and the Daily Affirmations Year In Review? Yeah, that's not happening. Its March. time to look forward. Waiting until March to do your past year in review would be like when Spinal Tap released its Christmas album in July.

So that's all in the past. But now I finally had the chance to spend an entire week at home. You might think the time away offered a chance to reflect. Save up great blog topics and witty phrases. Uh...yeah...that's exactly what happened. Or maybe not so much.

I did, however, courtesy of one particularly iconoclastic friend, manage to contemplate how we must communicate with the millennials.  Or as Archie Bunker might have called them, those punk nosed kids ("Edith, stifle yourself over there!!")  These are people born starting in the early 1980s on through the end of the Clinton years. So they're "millennials" because they grew up in the "new millennium." (OK, they bore me just from that description alone). They grew up with cell phones, computer games, computers, and all the other gizmos that still seem like Star Trek to me. They have no living memory of most of the cool things in life. Like Led Zeppelin, or Three's Company, or John Travolta actually being good, or boxing not being a total joke, or being able to go somewhere without your phone blaring e-mails or text alerts, or good music to dance to, or the absence of "drug resistant viruses," and most importantly, a world where no one outside of Armenia or Los Angeles had ever heard the name "Kardashian." They roll around with their tattoos and piercings, watching Jimmy Kimmel, worshipping Barack Obama (whom they didn't bother to actually vote for because their tweet up was on election day), listening to Beyoncé and John Mayer (singing songs he produced when he found time around his busy schedule of sexing mediocre starlet/singers and acting sensitive), and watching Gossip Girl. Yeah, them. You shall know them by their knit ski caps (worn even when it's 95 degrees out).

Here's the salient point: they're basically impossible to talk to.

Basically, New Age parenting manuals advising Baby Boomer parents to praise, praise, and praise their kids, give them participation ribbons, don't keep score or assign grades, and not discipline them (I'm sorry, "time out" is a vacation, not discipline) have spawned an entire generation of narcissistic, self-absorbed, irresponsible, live in the moment poseur douchebags. (Ah yes, let the hate flow through you! Feel the power of the Dark Side). Except Zooey Deschanel. She's wonderful.

But as for the rest, they drip with an undeserved sense of entitlement. Their self-perceived delicate little snowflakes that wither without constant affirmation (like...a "daily affirmation" perhaps?). Skinny jeans. At work. Putting their entire lives on the internet (a secret's a what?). Likely to have as many "on-line" friends as actual real human friends (this explains why the movie "Her" could be a thing). Really into comics. Wearing hats and vests. Basically, millennials are what you worried would happen the first time you saw a Benetton ad.

They're mostly skittish little yappy dogs. Especially when you're trying to communicate with them. The workplace millennial represents a rare breed. Oh, sure, most of them have some sort of McJob down at the coffee shop or occupying a cubicle at some web design company where everyone's under 30 and works a 20 hour week (so they can spend the rest of their time auditioning or getting gigs for their "band").

I have to deal with (and even "supervise") millennials more and more often. Sadly, unlike when I was in their position, you can no longer just beat or humiliate and then ignore them. And you just can't talk to them the way you can talk to everyone else, i.e. grown ups. It takes a special method, almost like using a different language. 

Particularly when supervising them. They don't possess the ability to focus on much of anything. Certainly longer than say a minute. And you may as well be speaking Swahili if you're trying to convey criticism or negative thoughts. Tell someone their 250 word client memo contained 75 misspelled words and six hummus smears, and your millennial employee pretty much hears you exactly like the adults in a Charlie Brown special.

So, as always, I'm here to help. Just remember, when you need to tell them anything at work, especially when it contains something even remotely resembling criticism, you must follow a formula. Otherwise, your millennial will withdraw, like a groundhog seeing its own shadow.

Here's how it works.

 

Required workplace millennial conversation structure:

 

1. Start with a common bonding statement ("hey about those Grammy awards, huh?")

 

2. Proceed to mention minimum three great things about the millennial ("I really admire how you cleaned your desk yesterday, it was so boss" NB-work in popular TV show references)

 

3. Then deliver critique or bad news in feather soft, positively-phrased manner ("wow, most people wouldn't have taken a whole day to answer my e-mail, you must have had a lot of important things going on. I bet you'd be super awesome at delegating some of those?")

 

4. Then list four more great things about the millennial ("but no problem because we just couldn't get along without you, I mean, the way you alphabetize files is awesome!")

 

5. Finish with a youth-connecting salutation ("alright, stay cool, you watching Walking Dead tonight?").

 

That's how its done.

Make sure to keep some other things in mind. 

They don't have the time or attention span to speak complete words, much less entire sentences. So instead of saying something is "totally amazing," you just say "totes amaze balls" or "supes jealz" instead of "I'm so jealous."

It's best not to look directly at them. Tattoos, piercings, slovenly dress, and hair freakery have turned many of them into characters from a Boris Karloff movie. Also, like Boo Radley, they don't like direct critical attention. If, however, you're admiring them, they get less skittish.

 

You're going to have to get internet savvy. Hey, preaching to the choir here. That means following all the latest memes, tweeting, ridiculous new made up phrases (like "dashboard" or "thought leader"), trolling, and knowing every single new device that comes out. And you may find it easier to communicate with them by devices instead of face to face. Like all these kids I see texting each other, even as they sit right next to one another. Oh, and use lots of colors and short phrases (are you proud of yourself now, USA Today? See what your cartoon/pie-chart journalism caused?).

And you have to know all their stupid shows and that includes not only cable TV and movies but non-traditional sources like Netflix or streaming outlets. House of Cards is a great example. And their "bands," God help you. I think if I really had to listen to Bon Iver, I might just break out in cancer. All over. Right there.

Me? I'll probably just try to find a way to stay a fossil the next 10 years, then retire early. Or fall off a balcony and live off disability the rest of my life. It beats keeping up with the latest memes and walking around with a man purse. Totes!

NEXT-a trip down (or up) South Lamar.

Bloglette: Men Talk

Guy Talk

Where have I been? Stupid work leaves me no time to write an authentic Daily Affirmation, which means I've profoundly misplaced my life priorities. Still NO TIME to write the usual insightful harangue, err, analysis.

So instead I want to just toss out something I intended to leave as a comment on the excellent She's Come Undone blog. Ultimately it proved too off topic and rambling for that purpose. Shocking, I know. But that just means its right at home here.

Talk amongst yourselves: a woman has to listen to men's conversations every day, and their topics surprise her. I don't know for sure, see below, but I'm just guessing this overheard male conversation isn't all relationship talk or what's the meaning of life talk or feelings talk or is little Johnny experiencing a self-actualized childhood at home talk or do I have a sufficiently contemporary hairstyle talk or what happened on the Bachelor last night talk or do these suede shoes go with these skinny jeans talk. Just a guess. I don't know.

Reactionary Guy stuck in the '70s Reaction:

Well, I have been a man for roughly 49 years (probs more like 35 years, with a 14 year apprenticeship). I've never thought men actually have conversations with other men. At least, I've never encountered one. Maybe I don't know enough "millennial" or whatever young hipster d-bags are called now. But as far as I've ever seen, men only have conversations with women. That's why you have woman friends, right? And to hope she'll introduce you to her hot friends...I've heard. Men will also have conversations with their fathers. Or brothers. But no one else.

Men will talk to other men, of course, but only to top one another's stories ("oh, dude, that's lame, listen to what I did LAST weekend!), quotes from the right movies ("So I jump ship in Hong Kong, and make my way over to Tibet...."), predict future game scores or election results, outdo each other's jokes, run down someone's favorite candidate or sports team, bag on some other guy ("listen to what that a-hole did now"), or have an object judging contest (who has the best BBQ grill, car, lawnmower, girlfriend, etc.).

Or we'll talk in great detail about one mundane thing (the ball game) to avoid talking about something else you probably should talk about but don't want to (like why are you cheating on your wife).

Basically, male "conversations" are just verbal competition.

Attempts at actual conversation inevitably turn into problem solving: "Oh, I know, buy her TWO dozen roses." Things you will never hear most men say to each other: (1) "So how did that make you feel?" (2) "How's your relationship with [insert wife/girlfriend name here].

City Slickers was generally a lame movie (oh, sorry for the bad transition), but one passage really illustrates how this works. On the cattle drive, the guys frequently talk about baseball. This irritates jilted Helen Slater (BTW, what idiot would ditch her?) so she asks why they talk so much about baseball. She has this really incredible exchange with the now sadly deceased Bruno Kirby :

Ed: What do you and your friends talk about?
Bonnie: Real life. Relationships...are they working, are they not? Who's she seeing, is that working?
Ed: Its no contest. We win.
Bonnie: Why?
Ed: Honey, if that were as interesting as baseball, they'd have cards for it and sell it with gum.

Exactly.

So, there are no "men's conversations." Thank God.

NEXT-if I can ever get to it, the Daily Affirmations 2013 Year In Review

Whither Austin, Part Two: Andi Sloane

Andi Sloane

Many of you may have heard of Ms. Sloane. She was a tough cancer survivor, who spent her career helping others with legal problems. Recently she made headlines for fighting against BioMarin's lack of a "compassionate use policy" that would have provided her breakthrough drug treatment against her reoccurring cancer. She passed away just yesterday. Ms. Sloane inspired many of my friends and others, who joined "Andi's Army" to help her and others fight this scourge.

Hoping you'll take a little time to read and take away that much still remains to be done in the fight against cancer.

Prayers and condolences to her friends and family.

From KXAN TV's web site:

AUSTIN (KXAN) - After a seven-year battle with cancer, Andrea Sloan passed away on Wednesday evening.
In a Facebook post to the Andi's Army page, Sloan's mother, Karen Sloan, said her daughter died after complications brought on by pneumonia.
Sloan was diagnosed with ovarian cancer seven years ago, at age 37. When her cancer returned in August, Sloan asked California-based drug manufacturer, BioMarin, to grant her compassionate use of their experimental drug, BMN 673, developed specifically to fight her type of genetic ovarian cancer, as well as genetic, or BRCA 1, breast cancer.
But BioMarin repeatedly denied Sloan the drug, citing concerns about safety and effectiveness.

• The Andrea Sloan Saga: Full coverage

BMN 673 is one of nearly a dozen in a class of drugs called PARP inhibitors currently in clinical trials. Sloan's doctors at MD Anderson believe this class of drugs is her best hope, since all other traditional treatments have been exhausted. But BioMarin would not grant Sloan compassionate use, even though their drug is headed in to Phase 3 trials and has been highly touted by company executives for its results in the first two phases of clinical trials.
Sloan and her doctors fought publicly for access to the drug through compassionate use, since she met all of the criteria required by the Food and Drug Administration. The compassionate use system allows patients who meet the requirements access to promising medicine even before all of the clinical trials are complete.
Behind the scenes, Sloan and her physicians were exploring other avenues, as it became clear BioMarin would not grant her access to their drug. In October, they learned another drug manufacturer agreed to grant compassionate use of their experimental PARP inhibitor to Sloan.
Sloan and her physician at MD Anderson, Dr. Charles Levenback, wanted to reform the compassionate use system for other patients. She amassed a large social media following in her campaign to gain compassionate use. An online petition has garnered more than 180,000 signatures supporting her cause.
Sloan was the director of the Texas Advocacy Project where she provided free legal advice for victims of domestic violence.

Whither Austin, Part One

Hipsters prowling Sixth Street

Well, the era of good feelings had to end some time.

I posted something on Facebook that actually received praise, and upon reflection, I think it pretty accurately captures the state of my town. And for all you wanting shorter posts, your time has come.

This responded to a South Austin friend lamenting that so many "unrecognizable neighbors" had moved into our beloved 78704, also known as Ground Zero for the "Keep Austin Weird" lifestyle.

"Neighbors becoming unrecognizables"? I assume you mean skinny jeans-wearing, non-corrective glasses having, fair trade espresso-drinking, bedhead-sporting MF-ers? Yeah, that's happening. Its like one year, the SXSW people just decided never to go home, and they inbred with the Formula One people. The resulting doucheosity is devouring our town. [Sad panda]

NEXT-something a little less "you kids get off my yard!"