My Last Superman

 Still feeling sad about the fate of Christopher Reeve, I decided to satisfy my curiosity about the next Superman.  I heard that the movie addressed today’s issues, even emphasizing the hero’s status as an immigrant. That turned out to be the least of his problems.

This time, Superman spent most of his time on his back, up against an assault of computer- generated foes so swift, loud and unworldly that it left me dizzy in my seat.  Only the villainous  motives are totally familiar.

As I walked to my car, I thought of Bill’s comic book collection.  It seems only a minute ago that they helped him to learn how to read.  

Superman’s earthly father tells him he can choose to have his powers.  Superman tells us he may be from elsewhere but we are all the same.

Oh Superman, we know you are brave enough.  And your purity is intact. 

Are we?

Literary Game

 Robert B. Parker was the best-selling mystery writer who hit the jackpot with his character Spenser.  The hard-boiled Boston detective is quick with his gun, and just as quick with a quote from the classics, both gestures occurring only when appropriate. 

Parker died in 2010 and whoever was in charge decided to continue his series, hiring others to hopefully pick up his style…and his paychecks.  I read a few of the “afterlife” books and then decided, if I still wanted Spenser and his world, I could just re-read the originals.

One of the “afterlife” books has a plot about how a stolen manuscript deprives the real author of the credit he deserves.  Really? Spenser would never have so insensitive.  Or was that a sly joke from one of the pretend authors letting us know he’s in on the game.

Who Are We?

 

The times are heavy upon me…and I know you are feeling it too.  I’m striving for balance between a stoic stance: “there is always evil in the world”, and heart stopping emotion: “how can they get away with this!” 

In The New Yorker, Jill Lepore shares with us how she coped with the first 100 days of Trump 2.0. She kept the classics close at hand.  She tapped into the treasures of the human mind and heart to find appropriate quotes.

My oldster friend Naomi handles it this way:  “I’ve lived through so much:   World War II, civil rights, Vietnam. I’m taking it in stride.”  I guess when your book has many chapters, you don’t linger on one page.

There’s no right or wrong here.  I like the way Jill summed it up:  “There is no emergency, or any day, that does not require poetry.”

Living Small

 

At lunch with my friend Doris yesterday, we shared some “up close and personal” stories about ourselves and mutual friends through the years.  We smiled as we agreed that the big decisions and high stakes lie in the past and along with them the drama and excitement.

Today, I find what might seem depressing to be oddly comforting.  A new job, love affair, or home becomes a new book, new class or new restaurant.  Or even, smelling a new bar of soap.  

Boring?  Remember, we can put danger, guilt and regret in the rear view mirror too.

Up Against AI

 

In my class the other day, one of my classmates presented a very clear, even eloquent definition of a concept we were discussing. “That’s AI speaking”, he said. 

My friend Barb sent me her copy of JAMES by Percival Everett. She is curious about my thoughts and opinion of the book.  An idea, entirely new to me, crossed my mind.  “I wonder what AI thinks about this book?  Would my ideas overlap with AI?  Would we agree?  Would I miss some of what the author intended that AI picked up?  How much?”

Most unnerving, “Will AI leave my thoughts in the dust?  Who then will I be?”

Wimbledon

 

The tennis matches at 6 a.m. are perfect for early risers like me.  But don’t worry, you can catch them just about any time now on ESPN.  I continue to be convinced that tennis is the most difficult sport.  All alone, hours of play, equally matched opponents.  Tennis is heroic.

I’m just coming out of my funk at the loss to time of Nadal and Federer.  And, I’m somewhat annoyed that Djokovic — my least favorite of the “Big Three” —remains.  Okay, not just “remains” but continues to play gloriously.  

I’m going to stop whining now, pour myself another cup of coffee, and settle in. I’m going to enjoy the current crop of heroes.  Wanna join me?

America Then and Now

 Holidays always prompt memories of the years spent on that day.  Traditions emerge.  Some of my happiest holiday memories are of July 4th with Kathy and Jerry.  I loved taking the kids over to their big house and yard to picnic and play.  Their family was an emotional anchor in my more fractured family life.

Kathy and Jerry are gone now and the house has been sold. But I’m still around to keep the memories alive and I'm sure Bill and Marguerite will carry them forward. 

This year, many of us are feeling “iffy” about America.  We’re a fractured family. So let’s celebrate the best of who we are.  And what will always be possible.

A Better Bubble?

 People in my political bubble are still saying:  “What can we do?  What can we do?”  And they are doing more than most:  protesting, postcarding. calling, writing.  The ideas here came my way from Robert Reich.  They didn’t originate with him, but he thought they were worth passing on.

The Democratic Party has to adopt a new attitude with new tactics.

Form an indépendant, civilian-powered investigative coalition of experts:

Veterans, whistleblowers, watchdogs, 

Hold public hearings. 

Channel DNC funds into all 50 states: rapid-response teams, legal defense coalitions, sanctuary networks, digital security training.

Use your platform to educate the public on rights and resistance tactics.

It’s time to shift from panic to blueprint: Project 2029

Lay out the laws and amendments you’ll pass to make sure this never happens again.

Discuss this now.

Go International!

Join the International Criminal Court

Invite the ICC into US borders.

Leverage international media and watchdogs.

Feed stories to BBC, Al Jazeera, The Guardian, Reuters, Der Spiegel

Make what’s happening in America a global scandal.

(I don't think the current Democratic Party is up for this.  Something new must emerge.  Do you agree?)

Another Chance

 My broken computer, which for weeks stumped the experts,  has experienced a “Lourdes” type miraculous cure.  Chris, who once again stepped up as the “driver to the cure”  (my heart attack) got me to the Apple store where the laying on of hands took place.

So, I’m back.

It’s just as well that my keyboard didn’t work these last few weeks.  No combination of words, even thoughtfully conceived, could have captured how the country has turned on a dime.  

So far, they’re getting away with everything.

Maybe enough of us, hearing about my iMac, will rise from our chairs, throw away our crutches, and usher in a new day. I’ll start typing.

Why We Shake Hands

 The Lakers have been eliminated from the NBA playoffs.  As losers, they still get the headline.  Today, the Timberwolves are an asterisk in the story of:  “Is this the end for LeBron?”

I like the sports where the players line up and shake hands at the end of the game.  Even as we cheer or cry, we acknowledge that every victory requires that both sides take the field. We shake hands to acknowledge the beauty of engagement.  

Victory today…tomorrow yet to come.

Jesus and Justice

 

In the 100th Year Anniversary issue of the New Yorker there is a thoughtful, compelling article by the Texas based journalist and novelist Lawrence Wright. He goes deep into the story of how a group of nuns met and formed a bond with women on Texas death row.  The title Sisterhood gives us a clue about Wright’s broad lens.

Both groups soon realized how similar were their lives of absence and confinement.  The nuns and the prisoners accepted and were willing to learn from one another,  Nice story.  But Wright has more to tell.

The trip to death row is a dark one.  These women are young or have been inside for a long time.  So, the chaos, cruelty and physical damage came fast.  Waiting for them was a twisted

“criminal justice” system.  Lawyers who didn't know what they were doing or didn't care. Botched or fabricated evidence.  Prosecutors who amped up the crime to almost gleefully go for the big one: the death penalty.

Here’s the question that haunts me:  Do we have to live lives of silent contemplation removed from family, work, sex and love to be able to connect with the “other”?  Or does ambition, competition, greed, and “worldliness” keep us in a lonely place?

Time Stands Still

For my baseball class I’m reading an essay by the great Roger Angell. He is sitting next to an old, old timer at a college game.  His companion had pitched for thirteen years in the Majors when the White Sox were black and Ty Cobb was celebrated for his hitting.

As they watch, the veteran reacts to the play on the field and talks about the memories it invokes.  The game is large enough for both.

I’m an old timer now too.  And, I’m watching what’s happening on the field of play.  To our country and our world.  I remember the days I could march, could work for social justice organizations, could cherish Pete Seeger and Woody Guthrie.  Imagine.  My life has turned out to be large enough for both.

So many years…and time stands still.  

 

Damn the Torpedos...

Just like they're in the process of explaining the universe, physics figured it out.  And, of course, the Yankees figured it out.  If you change a few places on the bat, it's got a greater chance of getting the ball out of the park.  

OK physics.  I respect you.  But please don't mess with what we love about the game.  Beating out the bunt.  Nailing the runner at the plate with a great throw from center field.  Executing a double play or even a double steal.  And yes, the occasional home run.You get the idea.  The moments you never saw coming when you jump up from your seat in the bleachers or your couch at home. 

Yesterday, the Sox sent Martin Perez to the mound in his first time with the team.  He was pitching six no hit innings when they took him out. Analytics said his time was up.  Wouldn't it have been great if he had gone all the way?

Sequins, Corned Beef and Cabbage

 I went to lunch today where the restaurant featured corned beef and cabbage.  This memory emerged.

When I was between marriages, my mother decided that it was in our best interest to go together on a cruise.  She reached for the gold, selecting the most elegant ship in service: the SS France.  Thus, we spent two weeks among the very rich and sometimes famous.

Formal dinners featured champagne and caviar.  My newly acquired wardrobe included a full length sequin dress.  

Yes.  There was the very slight possibility that I might have fulfilled mother’s dreams by landing the very eligible doctor from Boston.  But, of course, I chose to hang around with two union bosses from the same town.  Probably married.  Probably using union dues.  Skipped the caviar and kept ordering corned beef and cabbage for dinner. They were so much fun.

In the Warehouse

 Len’s business included a warehouse.  It was over on Ravenswood.  One day a man came in and asked for a few minutes of his time.  He represented a foundation that was working to find jobs for men who had been in prison.  “We work very closely with our men.  They have been through our program and are trained. We believe they deserve a second chance.”

Len thought it over, talked to the other warehouse people, and ended up turning it down.

Some time later, Len discovered that his office manager, an engaging young woman, had been embezzling small sums from the business for years.  

I can’t think about one story without being reminded of the other.

Companions

 On TV this morning they were talking about how people are developing “relationships” with AI generated “companions.”  I don’t think this is particularly new.  Except for the AI part.  Remember Bill’s movie “Lars and the Real Girl”?  Or “Her” with Joaquin Phoenix? In LA, I heard about people putting a blowup doll in the front seat so they could ride in the car pool lane.

One step removed — but the same idea — is our attachment to characters we “love” in the books we read.  Some of my favorites are Olive Kitteridge, Ruth Galloway, and Harry Bosch. 

I guess AI could set it up so our “companion” would always respond in a way you enjoy.  Or, at least not cause any trouble.  I’m not ready to give in.

A Voice for Today

 As we struggle with today's black days and fear more ahead, there are voices I wish were here by my side.  When Mark mentioned Studs Terkel in our baseball class, I thought: “Yes.  That’s exactly who I’d love to hear from now.”

During the 1960’s, another time of great civic upheaval, Studs’ interviews on WFMT introduced us to rarely heard people and perspectives. All in his unique voice and style. 

The one person who still sticks with me is Virginia Durr. She was a civil rights activist from Alabama.  Just hearing her southern accent gave me hope. 

Here’s what I found about her today:

Her life spanned most of the twentieth century, and Virginia Durr had a front-row seat for the New Deal, McCarthyism, and the civil rights movement. She spent years working to abolish the poll tax and to end segregation, and her husband, Clifford, an attorney, was involved with a number of civil rights cases.

WFMT has a radio archive of Studs Terkel interviews.  I’ going to spend some time with him again.

Brief Encounter

  100.  That’s the mind-breaking number of points scored by Wilt Chamberlain in one basketball game in March, 1962.  Since there was no immediate media coverage of the game, some are claiming it never happened.  Just too impossible.  But Pablo Torres, the sportswriter, took the time to find and interview several fans who were there and swear the number is correct.

100.  That’s the number of times my friends have probably heard me tell about my encounter with Wilt.  So why not make it 101?  It was on a flight to New York.  I was wearing my silver fox fur jacket.  I admit I looked pretty spiffy.  As I walked down the aisle, a very large man wearing a purple suede jumpsuit gave me a big smile.  “Nice jacket”, he said.

During the flight, the attendant announced that several famous basketball players were on board and willing to sign autographs.  She mentioned Wilt Chamberlain.  I wasn’t a fan back then so the name meant little to me.  As I picked up my bag, Wilt came over to me and smiled again, “Nice jacket.”

It was only later that I learned of his basketball and other exploits.  He claimed “romance” with 20,000 women.  Ah Wilt, you never passed up an opportunity to score.