A Yellow Melamine Dansk Mixing Bowl

My mother likely bought the bowl in the early 1970's. Fairly certain we've had it since we lived in Sioux Falls.

Extremely useful bowl, in the then popular Danish modern style. In the fifty years its been in the family, it mixed innumerable cake batters and doughs, dips and crusts. Lots of bowls of buttered popcorn, and played utility for cleaning messes. 

It's held floor mop water, animal wastes and a fair amount of vomit. 

It's done sponge baths and cleaning water and, most recently, drinking water for dogs. 

Took it all in cheerful stride. Always available for a job. Always under the sink or up in a cupboard. 

Cleaning out my dead parent's house, the family home since 1973, it's one of the very few things that I sought out. 

That first year I made everyone fruitcake. Staying up for a couple of days straight to bake and mix and wrap the little bastards in cheese cloth before their month long brandy soak... They were mixed there. The cheese cakes mom baked, lots of chex mix. All my memories of cooking, really, are part of the goddamned bowl.

Which, today, started to leak. 

It's gone utility senile. Not at all fit for what it was designed and made for. Or for any of the thousands of things that it has done, for so long, for my family. 

Throw it out? It's just a broken tool, a bowl that cannot be used. 

I'll drink your favourite child's blood before that happens. 

I'll use it to hold my kitchen tools, I think. Replacing the various cannisters. I'll probably do it tonight, a suitable retirement. 

Not yet. For a little while, it can just rest. With the gratitude of a lifetime's use embodied. 

It Goes

 

From George Takei, today. I could not write about this better. 

"On this day 82 years ago, on February 19, 1942, President Franklin Delano Roosevelt, in the height of insanity of racism after the bombing of Pearl Harbor, signed Executive Order 9066.

It ordered all Japanese Americans on the West Coast to be summarily rounded up and imprisoned within 10 barbed wire prison camps, with no charges, no trial, no due process.

One day, a few months later, we saw two soldiers marching up our driveway, carrying rifles with shiny bayonets on them. They stopped up the porch right in front of our window and banged on the front door. My father answered, and one of the soldiers pointed the rifle at him, right in front of us, and ordered us out of our home. I had just turned five in April; it was May when they came to take us away. 

My father gave my brother Henry and me two heavy suitcases. And we brought them out onto the driveway and waited for our mother to come out. When she did, she had our baby sister in one arm, a huge duffel bag in the other, and tears were streaming down her cheeks.

That is one morning that is seared into my memory. I will never be able to forget all the innocent people, my family included, who had nothing to do with Pearl Harbor, most of who were law abiding U.S. citizens, who were suddenly categorized as ‘enemy aliens.’

Today, I hear terrifying words from political leaders today that once more raise the specter of what happened before, right here in America. 

Donald Trump and his allies are talking about rounding up 11 million people and putting them into mass detention camps before deporting them. 

There won’t be time for due process, to sort out who is documented and who is not. Homes will be lost. Businesses, too. Families will be torn apart. Lives will be ruined, over fear and ignorance, all to serve the ambitions and agendas of politicians.

I know, because I lived through it.

I say, never again. Not while I have one ounce of fight still left in me. 

Join me. Fight this madness. Help keep America from repeating the mistakes of its past."

***

Me, again.

 Any time, ANY TIME, any goddamned time someone tells you that some horror- any horror- cannot happen here, cannot happen in the United States?

 Not only can it. It probably already _has_.

  Any time someone tells you that the good and just people of the United States simply would not, could not tolerate something, go along with something, approve or put up with something?

 Not only can they. They probably already have. 

 History, as has been said by too many people to cite, in too many ways to remember, is a cycle. Peacetime and war, plenty and famine, profit and loss, growth and decline. Personal histories, national histories, global history and very likely universal history- fill with things that come and go and come again- and go. 

 I shudder to think it, but our nation- and our world- are cycling back toward a harsher reality.  One where we are bound together not by the dream but by The Fear of The Other. 

 I would love to believe that _this_ time, having learned our lessons, having remembered our history_this_ time, we will avoid the worst of it. That we will manage to keep a step or three away from the real muck. Before we cycle back, before, once again, we lean foreward and progress. That we can, having taken our two steps forward, avoid taking that one step back. 

 I often end these things, whatever the hell you want to call them, with a phrase: "And so it goes."  I have been on the fence about this. I like it, but it's not original, and I had been bothered, as it was, I believed, original to Kurt Vonnegut. 

 It is not. "So it goes" is Vonnegut.  "And so it goes" is the late newsman Lloyd Dobbins. Who did the original swiping and updating from Vonnegut. And I got it from Linda Ellerbee, who swiped it from him. So. The hell with guilt, this is now a _tradition_.

 And so it goes.

There Has To Be A Better Way

 Sitting on top of the grandfather clock that dad and I built together, a triangle boxed US flag. Given to him on his retirement from the Veteran's Administration. There was a ceremony. He took it home and put it on the shelf, and as far as I know, never looked at it again. 

 My father worked from his fifteenth year straight through to his seventieth. He mowed lawns, drove a cab, packed meat. He helped support his parents and brother and helped put himself and his brother through college and dental school. When he married and started a family, he added mom and us kids to his responsibilities. When his work took him away from Omaha, he sent money and we drove down to visit his parents regularly. 

 I was proud of my father.  He seemed to be proud of the quality of his work, and he was- as far as I could ever tell- well respected. He went from odd jobs through college to his own practice and then the VA, and worked his way up into management and then executive management. He also became a college professor. I am still hearing from co-workers and former students, who want me to know how much he meant to them. 

 Thing is, he almost never spoke about work. As a kid, I would go into the VA and hang out- having lunch with him, shooting around the office. It was all very impressive to me. He had the lab coat with name and title stitched on, a collection of staff working with him and then reporting to him, and as he moved up in responsibility, he got into larger and larger offices. Moved from having an assistant to having secretaries.  When I overheard him talking with other doctors- some dentists, some other specialists- the terms and the dedication to fixing and curing, to patching up and healing seemed thick enough to bottle. 

 His standard response to questions about it all- was to deflect. Hard work, but necessary. Glad to be done for the day and home. 

 It wasn't until we had moved back to Omaha that I got a better answer. A less "Just happy to be part of the team" answer. Caught him in a reflective mood and pounced. 

 Looking that that flag, what he told me, then. Sitting next to his glowing HAM rig, playing with one of our dogs... resonates strongly with me. Makes me wish he were still alive to talk about it, to add my own perspective. 

 Dad liked what he did well enough. But he hated having to do it.  The reason he was so closed mouthed about it was that he was determined to keep work separated from his home life. Work was what you did to earn money and gain resources to support your life. That's it. You should do your best at it- so you can earn more. You should be proud of your ability. But it had nothing to do with the life it helped you build. 

 A consequence, I am certain, of being made to _get_ work as a young man. To help feed his parents and brother, and to afford schooling. Of watching friends and others going out to do things, when he had to work. Of missing time with his wife and his kids, to work. 

 When my dad did retire, first from the VA and from teaching a few years later... he dedicated himself to travelling with my mom. To seeing places they had always wanted to see, to having experiences they wanted to share. Things that they'd deferred to raise a family. Things that he defered because of work. 

 So. I am approaching retirement age. I have worked from about fifteen- odd jobs and summer jobs and so forth. I, like my father, have rarely taken days off, time off, sick time. At my current job, I have started each of my work years at- or nearly at- the maximum time off accrual. And I have largely treated these jobs as what I did to afford everything else. Same as my dad. Tried not to get into it at home, tried to leave it on the desk when I left. 

 Less successful than he was at that. But it's still my default. How was my day? People brought me problems, I tried to fix them. Some people are jackasses, some are not- everyone is over worked and stressed and snappish. Same as it ever was. Same as it ever was. Same as it ever. Was. 

 And it's bullshit. 

 Working through your entire life, to afford to do things on the weekends and evenings, to afford things that you haven't the time or energy left to enjoy- it's all so rushed and harried and puts so much stress on moods. Working at a job when you don't particularly enjoy it, because you need to pay the bills and want to afford the occasional good day out.

 It's decades of deferment, in the hopes that, in the end, you can have a few relatively healthy years to fuck around with. 

  There has got to be a better way.  Go to school, get a job, learn a trade- that's all good. Education is good, skills are good, being useful, to yourself and to others? Good. But nose to the grindstone and hop off to Disneyland once a year is bullshit. 

 More We're gonna have to find another way for most people to live _anyway_. Technological advances are eliminating whole categories of jobs. Before too much longer, call center jobs will vanish. Customer service jobs will vanish. The coffee you get from the drive through- as well as the food- will have been made by machinery. Most of it already was, it's just that last step, the finishing touch, the delivery, that needs replacing. Machines don't get sick, need personal days, need a break to use the john. Technology is working on eliminating taxi drivers, pilots- all sorts of factory jobs. 

 How are people going to earn their livings, moving forward, when jobs like these are no longer available? How are they going to pay their bills? My former profession- cooking. Every restaurant owner or chef out there already knows this, but the entire front line of cooks could be replaced by machines, and the food would be _fine_. You don't want or need finesse or artistry from a line cook. You need robot like repetition and the ability to adjust to changes while being faithful to instruction. 

 Every steak, every chop, every appetizer- it's supposed to go out exactly as every other. All the steaks cut to the same weight, all the cheese portioned to the same size, every fish finished to the same standard. 

A good line cook is part robot _anyway_. When I worked the line, the goal was to put out things out, regardless, to the same damned standard. Any artistry in the creation of the food was done long before it got to me. The chef had figured out how to make it, what it had to taste like and look like. 

 Being clever with it was not my job. 

 Going full robot would only help the chef, and the restaurant. And your meals would be the same. 

 Once the robots get good enough to take over, that entire category is gone, overnight. 

 So what do the cooks do? Can't all be chefs, and without the ability to learn- by working that line, by getting that training- a lot of cooks won't have any way _to_ learn how to be a chef. 

 Since we are looking down the barrels of this... why not see how we can reshape the concept of work at the same time? 

 My proposition? A guaranteed stipend for everyone in the US. Lots of parts to it, but basically- everyone gets enough calories and nutrition for their day. Gets enough water. Meal packs, essentially. Probably not fancy, but decent variety, decent nutrition, a guarantee that everyone will survive, and not get malnutrition diseases. That people will be able to concentrate.  National health care, with a bias toward preventative care. Regular checkups and maintenance. Birth control and prenatal care. Child care assistance. Greatly expanded public transportation and housing. 

 How is this going to be paid for? There's plenty of money. We just have to decide to change how we use it and where we get it. What kind of society we want

 Think about this. How much do _you_ make in a year? If I took _half_ of it, but you didn't have to pay for meals, doctor's visits, babysitters and such? If you didn't have to pay a mortgage or rent- how much of that would you actually use? You don't get to use fifty percent of what you make as you might want to _now_. 

 And think about yourself, your parents. Think about what life could be like if you didn't devote a third or more of your time to trying to afford to live the _reast_ of the time. 

Res Ipsa Loqutor. 

 

 

 

 

 

Northern Exposure Rewatch/Review

 "Pilot"

 Written by Joshua Brand and John Falsey, directed by Joshua Brand. Starring Rob Morrow, Barry Corbin, Janine Turner, John Cullum, Darren E. Burrows, John Corbett, Cynthia Geary, Elaine Miles and Peg Phillips.

 The main reason I'm doing this is practice. Practice writing reviews, practice making them interesting. 

 Why a TV show thirty years off the air?

 Because I loved it, when it was on the air, and I love it still. The only time I've been up to Seattle- to visit my brother- I dragged his family off to the small town fictionalized in the series as Cicely, Alaska. I visited the locations that served as the main character's office, the village grocery, the Brick tavern, and ate at the restaurant behind the sign featured in the title. I peered into the window at the KBHR set. All decades too late- things were more memory of location than location- but I did it. 

 Which isn't the sort of thing I do. I don't really need to see filming locations, I've seen plenty of sets before, and frankly? They usually aren't all that damned interesting. 

 But Cicely, Alaska?  Somehow, in watching the series all those years ago, Cicely became very real to me. Not real in the sense that I thought- or think- that I could go there. Real in the sense that it felt real. Fully imagined, and oddly familiar. And it is a show that I tend to revisit, when I feel at odds with myself. 

 I've said, more than once, that nostalgia is a trap, that memories of our halycon days are flawed- as our memories make things all seem better and grander than they actually were.  But for me- Northern Exposure presents a very homey and familiar place. Someplace that feels to me as if I might have been there. As if, had I turned one way, rather than the other, I'd have turned up at The Brick, rather than the Dundee Dell. 

 So.

 Pilots are not like regular episodes of an intended series. They're meant to prove to the financers who are meant to pay for everything and the network or studio meant to show it that it can actually be made. That the production team can build sets, cast the right actors, hire the right writers and tell a decent story. One that will interest viewers and the advertisers who want to sell to those viewers. 

 And, in addition to telling that story, they have to introduce the characters and set up the ongoing series. 

 Some pilots never air- made more to sell the show than actually function as an episode. Others are scrapped- the process of production having revealed a need for changes. 

 Northern Exposure's pilot aired- and it does a fabulous job setting up the leads, the town and the general character of the show. 

 The premise is... After finishing his residency,  M.D. Joel Fleischman lands in Anchorage, Alaska, where he is meant to practice for several years- in exchange for the state paying off his medical school debt. 

 Anchorage doesn't need him, so he's bundled off to Cicely. A small town out in the back of beyond. One of these places surrounded by wilderness, with one of everything- church, bar, restaurant, rich bully trying to run everything, etc. 

 Joel hates it. The residents who aren't strange seem ignorant and hostile. The town handyman seems to have siezed upon him as an entertainment, his landlord as a frustration, and the food is inedible. 

 Of course, none of that is true, exactly. The residents aren't strange so much as they are strange to him. Cicely is better appointed than it appears, and a sizeable number of the locals are Native Americans, who's cultural norms make more sense the more he's around them. 

  The pleasure comes from watching Joel acclimate- largely against his will- and watching the other characters bloom from sketches into paintings. Between the writing, directing and acting, they turn into very real seeming people, with personality, strengths and weaknesses, flaws and delights. 

 Maurice, the rich bully- is nursing a broken heart and feuding with his best friend, who stole away the woman Maurice intended to marry. Holling, the best friend, is a from a long line of awful, awful people and intended never to marry- to let the family line die off. And now he's in love, in his late sixties- with a woman barely into her twenties. Joel's landlord, who's as frustrating as he is, is an unintentional black widow. Her boyfriends don't break up with her so much as drop dead. All accidents, all strange accidents, but she's built a miniature graveyard/shrine to them in her living room. 

 And so on and so forth. No one stays a cipher, native beliefs are respected, modern US beliefs are disrespected, and it all grows into an ensemble show about an accidental family. 

  The plot? Joel arrives, gets shuttled off to Cicely, hates it, and spends the entire episode learning that he has no legal way to break his contract. In the process meeting and mingling with the other characters who'll pop up regularly. 

 That's kinda nothing. Just a bunch of vignettes, really. But it all holds together. The writing and acting, it's all set up, but it's setting up a pleasant place, with interesting people, who it might be nice to drop in on for an hour every week. 

 Errata.

 None of the characters, in the pilot, are quite who they become. They are very close, but not quite there- sort of playing things larger. Rob Morrow plays Fleischman at such a level of strident hectoring that it's a wonder no one just cocks him one in the nose. Janine Turner plays Maggie- obvious eventual love interest- as if she wants to bite someone.  But. John Cullum as Holling and Barry Corbin - while, again, not quite where they get with their characters, later on, are a lot of fun to watch in these rougher versions. Corbin has a lot of fun with Maurice's emotional volatility- flinty one moment, sad and teary eyed literally the next. Cullum displays a mastery of the reaction take. 

 The actual town- Roslyn, Washington- is a lot larger than fictional Cicely. Cicely is basically one street to one side of Roslyn. The series production team does a pretty good job making it look isolated and small- a main street, with some side streets and a few blocks of housing. But it's not perfect here- it never is, really. And you start to get a sense that a town as small as Cicely is meant to be, and as isolated, could not actually survive. Where's the service station for the trucks and cars? The garage? How does Holling get his beer and food? How does Ruth Ann get her store resupplied? Where the hell do all these people in Cicely work? 

 Having set foot in the location set for Dr. Fleischman's office- the studio set is laid out exactly the same way, but it's about five times larger. Which was weird at the time. It's a clothing and mercandise shop now, and- over by those tables is where Marilyn sat, past that door is Joel's private office, etc. But rather than being several feet apart, it is all right to hand.  Made me appreciate the wizardry of cinematography. Joel arges with Maggie in his office, she storms out, he follows her, stomping through his little hall, past Marilyn, and catches her by the door. You can see people moving around outside, the real streets of Roslyn, so that shot is at the location, but you cannot tell that it is so much smaller. 

7 of 10. See you next episode. 

Doctor Who "The Church on Ruby Road. Spoiler Free Review.

 The Church on Ruby Road. Written by Russell Davies, directed by Mark Tonderai. Starring Ncuti Gatwa, Millie Gibson, Davina McCall.

 The story, for once, is not an end of a city, end of a world, end of a universe thing. It's not a massive invasion of monsters or aliens bent on world domination or obliteration or whatever the hell. Daleks do not roam, Cyber boots do not stomp, and there's nary an ancient prophesy or apokyclypse in sight. 

 The Doctor, upbeat and out to have a good time for himself on Christmas- taking in the sights on his favorite planet and amongst his favorite species- takes notice of something. And from that builds the plot, introducing the new companion and setting the tone for this incarnation of character and series. 

 Russell T Davies has, I can report, for good or ill, not settled this thing down into a specific genre. He still takes Clarke's Law- any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable by the less advanced from magic- dead to heart. 

 I don't want to spoil anything that the preview hasn't so... if you caught whiff of either Gremlins or Labyrinth in the previews- you're not wrong. Not quite _right_, mind you, but the plot  has clearly seen these movies. 

 Yup. 

 Goblins.

 They make a good villain- not so much evil and bent on worse, but nasty and not entirely compatible with what most of us would find a good night out. 

 It all works out- in the typical way. Though not in a typically Doctorish way. Ncuti's Doctor- due to some handwavium in the last Tennant/Tate special- is, probably for the first time we have _ever_ seen the character, in the entire history of the show... not in a mood. He's not running from anything, to anything, or obsessed with issues from his past.  

 He's not so much over all of that as... accepting of it all. Shit happened, in his _thousands_ of years of life. Lot of it bad, lot of it he could not make better. But rather than this placing a hole in his heart or a bleak tinge to his character, this Doctor has perspective on it all. He is not distant, not emotionally blocked up. not secretly anything. He's a young man, out to have a good time, willing to help out if and when needed. Very much, in this version, a cheerful sort. 

 There was a lot of chatter about the Doctor's sexuality when Ncuti was cast- in that the showrunner and actor are openly gay- a phrase I loathe but which still bears. 

 Wrong worry, fanbase. 

 What's going to be harder to deal with, I think, for long term fans, is the Doctor as happy. A little of Bugs Bunny's love of mischief to him. a little flash of temper here and there, but basically, a happy rascal. 

 The moodiness, the broodiness, the Doctor literally withdrawing from everything to live in isolation in a cloud, or peevish because of what's been done or what's happened... Poof. Now, he does _react_ to what happens, but it's not flashing out of an endless puddle of gloom.

 There will be comparisons to other versions of the Doctor, in the show's 60 year history. Inevitable, I think.  Some will see the dash of the Third, or the goofiness of the Fourth. Others might see a lot of the Tenth and Eleventh in this. 

 All wrong. This is someting new. The sunny Doctor, the basically happy Doctor, the young and in love with life Doctor. 

 I like it. I like it a lot.

 Millie Gibson's companion, Ruby Sunday, is actually more like the general version of the Doctor than the Doctor. She's moody, broody about her life and circumstance, looking to figure out her own history and commanding.  

 There is a late in the episode twist- remember Davies now, do you, as a writer?- that I very much enjoyed. It's something Steven Moffat might have pulled, actually- a serious yank on the crank that may or not mean anything serious, but which is certainly going to wind up the fanbase and build speculation, the clear intent of the thing. When I say it reminds me of Moffat- prior showrunner and head writer, two back from Davies- I mean that it's a decreasing radius of a turn sort of thing, getting spookier as it rattles along- that reminds me of Moffat's work on the Hyde mini series, from many years back. 

 Or- for my friend Sean- I might better put it as a stinger right of of the EC playbook. Heh. Heh. Heh., 

 9.5 of 10. Did what I wanted, with style, enjoyed myself. 

Errata:

That half a point deduction is for the latest incarnation of the goddamned sonic screwdriver. Which- this time- looks more Star Trek than Doctor Who and less like a screw driver than ever. This tool has grown so far from original intent that I suppose I ought to be grateful they didn't just go with the wind on this and make it a full on wizard's wand, but even _that_ would have been more interesting and less annoyingly designed. Thought 13's was janky, did you? Thought 12's a bit over the top. Wait. 

 Just in case, Ncuti's name is pronounced Shootie. Shootie GATwa, in full. I'd been saying it wrong for a year, so. 

 Once again, the budget is clearly pretty high. Full scale sets where there used to be corridors and doors, practical effects blended well with computer stuff. The goblins looked good, and I wouldn't mind seeing them come back, either. Give me a hungry villain with a propensity for practical jokes any day. 

 Love the new TARDIS peek inside the door effect. When they started this,way back in 2005, it was generally a photo stand up applied to the interior back wall of the police box prop. Careful lighting and angles and all. This time, it accounts for movement and changes in angle. It looks much better. Much more like you are actually seeing into the console room. 

 By the by. that's the proper term. Not control room, not bridge. Console room. 

 He doesn't get a chance, here, but Ncuti, if they ever get around to it, is gonna make a brilliant shouty speechifier, in the grand tradition. Better than Tennant, not quite as good as either Tom Baker or Peter Capaldi. 

 

 

MAGA Mike Johnson

 Trump's choice for Speaker of The House has been granted the imperial nick name. MAGA Mike Johnson.

Of course.

Speaker Johnson was and is an election denier and was one of the architects of the plan to overturn the election of President Biden. Johnson is against LGTBQ Rights, Civil Rights and is apparently a christian dominionist.

Take a moment, if you have not, Go read Agenda 47. Trump's published plan- sorry, really, "plan" for his final term. Granted, most such "plans" rarely survive, like battle plans, engagement with the opposition. But it is well worth your time. There are videos, but there is also text.

It's basically about rolling back every social change in this nation since the fifties. Stop Green policies, forget about climate change, destroy public education and "agendize" the Bowdlerization of our history in favor of the heroified history as mis-taught by people who were afraid of an educated US electorate pushing back against the right wing agenda of that time. Slavery? Wasn't that _good_ for black people? Got them out of Africa, taught them skills? Women? Shouldn't they be working at home, raising a strong family, not working and interfering in politics. There's also union busting and concentration camps for the homeless and other undesirables.

And the Speaker of The House, who controls the sort of legislation that Congress creates- he's a supporter. The Speaker of The House can also manipulate the certification of the next presidential election, he's a supporter.

So. Centrist, are you? Both sider? Think that politics should be about compromise, and the US should be a _global_ partner in things?

We agree. Democrats and republicans, pro and re gressives ought to work together. Maybe WE don't get an assault weapons ban, but maybe THEY don't get their goddamned concentration camps.

And let's be perfectly fucking clear. Dedicating swaths of cheap land across the nation for camps for homeless people- no matter what kinda support you pledge?

Can they leave?

When they want to?

Camp. Open air prison.

The thing to be wary of, here? Two things, actually.

One. The people who seem to be ascendant in our government, local, state and federal? They're not compromisers. They're my way or the highway, I'm right, you're wrong, burn it all down, scorch the earth and salt the ground so nothing ever grows types. Most believe that their version of god favors it. Most believe that they are on the verge of being exterminated if they falter in pushing for it.

Two. The political powers that were, the pundits- everyone underestimated the MAGA movement. They belittled it and they cast scorn on it. There was a lot of "people can't be this stupid" denial thrown around, and a lot of "they can't" sprinkled on top.

Some of these people are, in fact, dumber than a post pounded into cow shit. Watch Jordan Klepper's Daily Show segments, where he goes out and asks fairly simple questions at MAGA rallies, Trump rallies.

Holy mother of GOD, he finds some winners.

But they aren't _all_ dumb. Not at all. I have friends who support MAGA, and they aren't morons. They're just wrong. And they've bought into a belief system that supports what they feel has gone wrong in our society. That provides what are, to them, acceptable solutions.

Same as you and me, Spanky. Same as you and me.

The problem isn't so much what they believe as it is the inflexibility of that belief.

And they are not going to be easily defeated or pushed back against or handled.

Okay, then. What's a reasonable sort of lefty/progressive/centrist to do?

I'm not going to give you a plan here. I am sure there are plans floating around all over the place, find one you like.

But I do want you to be aware of what you're up against when you do plan. And I do want you to take these people seriously. They want what they want, and they look at you as an enemy to be crushed and driven into the nearest sea.

Creative Obligations Versus Creative Rights

 I have what I believe to be a pretty good story, sitting in my head. I know the plot, the characters and most of the scenes. I have the dialogue.

 Action, adventure, romance, comedy. This story has it all. Opening scene? Could go in several different directions: A call girl, at a bachelor party, trying to explain to the drunken groom why she's worth more than the hookers giving blow-jobs in the bathrooms.  A small plane, daredevil pilot and drunken passengers, flying under a rural bridge, very late at night. Two men, sitting at a bar, drinking beer, waiting for the blotter acid to kick in. A naked man, standing on a balcony, yelling down at a room full of partiers, telling a man to get up into the bedroom and fuck his wife.  Because she wants him as much as he wants her, and he's tired of pretending it's not true. A cab driver, parking beside a tent in a field, a wedding party assembled, swinging his meter off, and telling his fare he'll wait to either take two people the hell away from there in a hurry, or to take the man off someplace to get drunk. 

 Each could kick it off well. Each supports the overall story. 

 I have not committed a line of it to paper. Have not opened a file. I think about it a couple times a year. I think about chopping it up, using the bits as parts of other stories. As jumping off points. I think - what the hell, just get it out get it down, get it out of my head. See if it is as good as I think it will be. 

 Never have. Not sure I ever will. 

 Because parts of it are based on the lives of real people. People who might be damaged by the story. Even if no one but them recognized the truth in it. And thinking about any one of them, sitting with the knowledge that this story is out in public. People laughing at the funny bits, tearing up at the sad bits, cheering at the adventurous bits- and them thinking... "That's not the way it really happened. That's not what I really said." Or did or thought or felt. 

 Sitting there with the results of all the decisions I made without their input, in telling stories of their lives. 

 Sitting there with my decision to use their lives to tell the story I wanted to tell. 

 It bothers me. It worries me. It concerns me, in the most serious version of each phrase. 

 This is the awesome, the terrifying reality of being a writer. If you are telling stories or using characters that are in any way based on reality- touching on real people and their real lives?

 You can change what happened to suit what you want to have happened.  Higgins and Eliza, in your story, will end up together. The well qualified candidate will win the office. The lost race will be won, the sad romance made happy, the losers victorious. 

 The question is- should you? 

 To me, a writer always has the obligation, fact or fiction, to get the story right. If working from a basis in reality, that reality must be respected. If working with people's lives, those lives must be respected. 

Your version of that person, of that sequence of events, may not, in the end, have more than a cursory resemblance to the actuality. But that semblance must be honest.  

 I can do that. But if I do, I have to do it with clean hands. And in the case of this story, that means telling things that will almost certainly hurt people to see or read. 

 So the story sits in my head. Waiting until such a time as I believe that I can tell it well enough and honest enough that anyone who sees themselves in it will accept that it was respectfully done. That, even if events in the story do not start, stop or end as they did in real life, the echo of real life is there. 

 But man, oh man, is it tempting.

 Thoughts, please?

 

The Cheeseburger- more reaction to The Menu

 Featured in the 2022 movie "The Menu" is a request for a simple, well made cheeseburger. The preparation of which is shown in the glossiest style imagined by any pornographer. 

 If you've never seen it, search for clips from "Nigella Bites" for plentiful examples of the style. Dramatic lighting, lingering shots of oily food moving languidly, etcetera. 

 Food porn is not a new phrase, but I want you to understand my meaning. It's a series of techniques that render food- on the screen- as almost unbearably appealing. You can practically smell it, taste it. 

 In the case of this cheeseburger, I've read lusty, desirous reactions from confirmed vegetarians- it looks that good. 

 It ignited a craving in me, so last night I made one. And it tasted as good as it looked. 

 The "Well made cheeseburger" from "The Menu":

It's not complicated. To make 2: A pound of decent ground beef, separated into 4 equally sized balls, kept cold until cooked. Good quality hamburger buns, about a quarter of a small white onion, thinly sliced, and 4 slices of Kraft Deli Deluxe American Cheese. Kosher salt and freshly ground pepper. 2-4 pickle slices per burger. 

You need a pan- not non stick- with a thick bottom, one that can take high heat. Cast iron or carbon steel would be good, and you will need a sturdy spatula- thin, metal- and possibly a paint scraper. A burger or bacon press would be good here, but you can get by. Also, a folded bit of parchment paper.

Toast your buns. You can put them in a toaster, spread with butter and pop them in the oven, or be all "I'm a professional" and toast the insides in melted butter in a pan. Top the bottom bun with pickles. If you like a sauce, like mayonnaise or mustard and ketchup- whatever- put that on the top bun. Set aside.

For the burgers:

Heat the pan until a water drop squirted on the surface skitters. Then slam the balls of meat down, and, putting the parchment paper on top of each beforehand- so the spatula does not stick-smash them- hard- with the sturdy spatula. Depending on your pan, you may be able to put in all four balls, but I would start with _two_.  Two patties = 1 cheeseburger.

Season the top of the patties with salt and pepper. Don't coat them, don't make it look like the salt snowed down. But, a good amount.

Spread about a tablespoon of thin sliced onion on each.

By this time, they should be almost done. Red in the center, greyish around the sides. Carefully, flip. If it seems to stick, use the paint scraper to get the crust off with it. Flip so that the onions are under the patty.

Let them cook for a minute or two, then drape the cheese on top.

When it melts to drippy, even looks like it is getting crusty around the edges, put one patty on top of the other-careful to get all the onions- then put them on the bun.

That's really it. Use mayonnaise or ketchup, mustard- whatever you favor- on the top bun, if you like a dressed burger. If you like bacon, you could cook some, and put the bacon between the patties when you finish. 

I would advise against lettuce, tomato, all of that- but you do you.

Delicious, basic stuff.

My issue here is that I cannot get my glass cooktop hot enough to make this quite as I would like. So my burgers lack the precise crust that I want. But if you have nice loopy metal burners or a gas stove, this is gonna go well. 

 

The Menu- Now Streaming. A Reaction, As Much As A Review.

 The Menu, a 2022 movie, now streaming. Written by Seth Reiss and Will Tracy. Directed by Mark Mylod. With Anya Taylor-Joy, Ralph Fiennes, John Lequizamo, Nicholas Hoult.

 Bear with me. A little detour. 

 Atelier Crenn. A restaurant run by chef Dominique Crenn. San Francisco, currently awarded three Michelin stars. 

 Basically- they do French seafood, using molecular gastronomy and a whole bunch of other preparation tricks. You get a menu of poetry that allegedly describes each dish, and you eat what turns up. 

 Obviously, the food is good- Michelin does not give out stars easily, and three are almost unheard of. 

 But the whole approach is enraging. 

 From the pretentious website- which features not one, but two ballet dancers moving around a rocky shore, but which deigns to give little useful information save a link to the reservation requesting site- to the carefully deconstructed food served- essences of this, with foams and bubbles and so on- it's had my teeth clenched since I first read of Crenn and her restaurant. 

 I didn't understand why until I watched The Menu. I was fascinated by the pretension- this is food assembled on custom made plates with tweezers. Food where you can expect sea water slush to melt around your scallop and slightly flavor the barely steamed, locally sourced, hand picked bits of vegetable, clinging to the rock- from a local beach- on which it is all served.  All meant to evoke something- a memory, a moment, a sense of money leaving your wallet, having paid for nonsense. Annoying, certainly. Over the top, over done. But enraging? Infuriating?  My own reaction seemed as over the top as Crenn. 

 Then, The Menu. And I got it. 

  The Menu features Ralph Fiennes as the executive chef of the ultimate Crenn-ish restaurant, Hawthorn. Hawthorn exists - by itself- on a small coastal island.

 The movie features a lot of artistically prepared and plated food. The restaurant looks very real- from the high end open kitchen to the uniforms worn by the staff to the architecture of the dining room. Fiennes moves through all exactly like the sort of chef he plays, by turns self effacing and dictatorial. The actors playing his staff act and react exactly as you would expect. 

 All of which is blue grey and cold. Distant and abstracted. The menu is filled with foams and gels and tiny bits of stuff here and there. Very little of it actually looks like food. It's more like paintings and sculpture than food. The military precision of the cooks and staff are immediately menacing.

 Which is part of the point of The Menu. 

 The Menu is about what happens when food- and people- are deconstructed. When it all starts to lose its purpose- and becomes self referential. Hawthorn serves food that is disconnected from eating. From nourishment. It's there only for the experience it evokes. As are the diners. 

 It's dark stuff. I think it was meant to be a dark comedy, but, like the food and the people, it's a bit too refined to land with purpose. Top notch production- everything is well done. But it sort of, in the end, seems like a joke that's missing a punch line.

 I am not implying that the story is incomplete. But the last scene tries to invoke the feeling of the last panel of an old EC Comic. That piss shiver of morbid delight. When what's got fits what's been coming, and Karma blows a kiss from her new Barbie Dreamhouse. 

And it doesn't quite manage. 

 Because something in the movie just does not set that up. 

 To me?

 It's a sense of fun. This sort of story cries out for some snark, some snicker, for someone in this mess, as things move along into conflict, to have a twinkle in their eye. No one does. Which lets things dip into maudlin, into drear. The story wants an in for the audience, a sympathetic character with whom we can relate. Humor would help define that character- and that character is there, I am trying to avoid spoilers- but is as sere and humorless as everyone else. 

 In other words- it takes itself too seriously.

  Once it was over, I looked at the production credits. All the beautiful numb food-?

  Dominque Crenn.

  Oh, of course. 

  THAT, for me, is a better ending than what is in the movie. Finding out that the food, hell, the overall experience of Hawthorn, was crafted by exactly the sort of people whom the movie wants to stab with a fondue fork. 

 I think the movie was created by and for people who are utterly sick of the foodie bullshit. Of people stopping to photograph and catalog their food before taking a fork to it. Of people deconstructing everything into little abstract shapes and blobs that tell _stories_ and evoke memories. Of _experience_ dining. Of having a score of courses served to you and leaving the restaurant hungry. 

 That they got one of the leading practitioners of that kind of thing to set up their version of it? Had there been a way to work that into things, it would have been just the right note of droll humor. 

 Ah well.

5 of 10 points for the well observed, exacting recreation of Foodie Heaven, in Hawthorne. And another 3 for both Ralph Fiennes and Anya Taylor-Joy's performances. Final score, 8 of 10.

Errata:

The supporting cast in this is superbly chosen. It's a pity that they aren't given more to do, and that their back stories not more clearly indicated. Would have helped. We're meant to empathize with their plight, but the lack of character details- and one late in the game revelation- makes that extremely difficult. 

A marriage is in trouble? An investment group is in trouble? The rich and famous actor is a bit desperate? One woman who turned up is not who was supposed to turn up?

Fine. But we need more information to care. And we don't really get it. 

The old lady, sitting by herself through dinner service- just drinking. We find out who she is, late in the game. But we get no reaction from her- and as things move along, I think there should be a reaction. That really seems a waste to me. Because she- as is revealed- should absolutely understand where things are headed. And she could have some agency.  Be able to gin up some conflict, some opposition.

I wonder if all of that - which, to me, seems clearly called for- is absent due to a desire to streamline the script? 

 

Wither Trump

  As a guess, right now, via some unobserved channel, a feeler has been sent out to someone who knows someone, who knows someone else, who has the ear of someone in authority at the US Department Of Justice.

 "If Donald Trump ended his campaign for the presidency in 2024, and pledged to stop the shit stirring that led to the attempted insurrection and that has helped divide the nation- would any potential federal charges against him... go away?

 Not by pardon. That's unattainable unless a particular type of Republican takes the presidency. But by the simple expedience of not actually pressing these charges?

 Hey, Binky, it's a win-win. Trump gets off the national political stage, and doesn't spend the next couple years fighting in court- and whatever administration is in office next does not have to deal with the political ramifications of Trump's not facing charges.

 Just, you know, think it over. Word to the wise, and all. "

 Assume Biden retains the presidency- four more years. That gives us until January 2029 before a pardon might be issued for any Federal crimes. Best part of a decade- during which all kinds of things can happen, if charges are filed- and even if they are simply left hanging over head.

 During which Trump, in office or not- can stir up a lot of cess, what hey?

 Why not just... kick this away, now? Trump is closing in on his eighties, he's already slowing down- clearly slowing down- what are the odds that he'll become more reasonable, more responsible, more sane?

 This is the... Doug and Dinsdale Piranha approach. Nice country you have there, squire. Shame if something were to... happen to it. 

  I can even imagine Biden- the ever reasonable man who seems to believe in the Siegel and Shuster version of the US- working his way toward this kind of thinking. 

 "Pardon? HELL no. But if we could just make him go away... let the country get over him. get past him? Make the deal"

 This is- of course- exactly the wrong thing to do. 

 Because?

 Because things keep getting worse. Nixon? Watergate only got investigated at all because of massive bad luck and incompetence. And even then, once the nation got a taste for Sam Irvin chewing thoughtfully on his vowels, what was the result? Congress sent representatives to the Oval Office with a 45 caliber automatic, with one bullet in the chamber; resign, or we impeach, and we convict.  

 Then Reagan ignored Congress, as well as the Constitution, traded arms with Iran and used what sure seems to have been illegally raised cash to run a private war. Then George HW Bush lied us into a war with Iraq, first telling Saddam Hussein's government that the US would not interfere in their dispute with Kuwait-  they invaded a week later- and then crying to anyone who listened about this illegal and evil invasion. Then fabricating evidence of a non existent military build up as justification for sending in troops. Thousands died, thousands injured. Including a great many civilians when the US targeted infrastructure for leverage. 

 And then his son, after ignoring warnings specifically related to a potential attack on the World Trade Center- warnings which specifically mentioned Osama Bin Laden, lied us into an even bigger war in the Middle East. 

 Had Nixon faced serious consequences for his actions, I would argue that none of these things would have taken place- because each president would have been aware of the perils of running afoul of Congress. Of pissing off the people who can take you right the hell out of office and throw you into prison. 

 But nothing happened then. And nothing happened again, and again, and again. Some exciting theatrics, to interest the factions, but nothing else.

 What, then, dissuades a man like Trump from saying and doing whatever the hell he pleases? What dissuades him- when common sense won't- from stirring up an attempt to overthrow the government of the US when he loses an election?

 Not a goddamned thing. 

 We have gone from a man trying to game an election through three men who ran illegal wars in other countries, and now to a man who tried to start a war in this country.

What's next? If we don't demonstrate that there are limits to our tolerance, if we don't have one of the three Constitutional authorities following through on what is their job- oversight and if necessary, punishment- when whomever gets into that office has no fear- not of the people or of his government- what next?

 Think about this. Trump didn't actually get away with overturning the election. If you have been following the J6 hearings, it is pretty clear that the big stop for them was massive incompetence: Bad advice, lots of bad judgement and really terrible follow through. Marked by a clear lack of true belief in what they were trying to do.

 Trump didn't want to stay in office because of the work, because of the things he thought his administration had to get done for this country. Trump wanted to stay there because the thing- which I am certain he never either expected to win or wanted to win- turned out to be a pretty good gig.  Lots of ego-boo. Lots of knob polishing. People who formerly wouldn't let him or any of his greasy ilk through the front door- and certainly not in daylight- had to lay out the red carpet. People spent money- and a lot of it- to curry favor. 

 It also kept him away from prosecution.

 His staff, his lawyers, his advisers didn't want to stay in power for any better reason. 

 So. What if the next president is smarter? Is more interested in their agenda, and surrounds themselves with whip smart true believers, true idealists?

 If Trump doesn't get a serious taste of the lash for his actions- this latest escalation in presidential middle finger waving? This still theoretical smart and competent president will get away with far more, and to my thinking, far worse. 

 The J6 committee are done. The new Congress, seated in January, are not going to be interested in much other than either keeping Biden's plans going or stopping Biden cold. Referrals for charges have been made.

 There is still time left for the DOJ to act. For this administration to act. 

  And they should. Trump should be tried, and if the evidence supports it, found guilty and sentenced.

 Jail?

 Never happen. Throwing an 80ish year old man- and former president- into jail? Never happen. 

 But there are other punishments to consider. Forbidding him from holding office, closing down his finances, restricting the amount of trouble he can cause. 

 Sending a message down through time to the next president.

 

 

Stan Lee

 Today would have been Stan Lee's 100th birthday. I would be stunned if anyone reading this had no idea who he was, as his name has been synonymous with US popular culture since the middle of the last century.

 The Spectacular Spider-Man. The Invincible Iron Man. The Incredible Hulk- and a great many other cultural icons, spanning TV, movies, literature- and comic books.

 There were- and are- other creative minds at work on these. Have been from the start. But the guiding mind behind those minds- for decades- was Stan Lee.

 Who, despite my overwhelming love for a couple of characters run by a competing company? Made Mine Marvel, every time.

 Stan's success- often studied, often imitated, never equaled in such things? I think it came down to two reasons. Two not at all secrets.

 One? His characters dealt with the sort of problems his readership faced- though writ large, often during a large, world or worlds threatening crisis. Iron Man was a drunk with a bad heart and a worse conscience. Spider-Man was a kid who felt enormous guilt over the deaths of his uncle and first love. Trying to balance adult responsibilities on some narrow shoulders. The Hulk? Jeezus, where to begin with the problems dumped on Bruce Banner- but foremost? How do I deal with the rage I feel at being treated like shit? How- more to the point- at being treated like a big, dumb kid?

 Two? Stan knew the value of marketing an image. When you think of DC, or Image or what have you, other big players? You think of characters. But for Marvel- for my entire life? Stan Lee. Stan Lee the creator, Stan Lee the snappy epigramist and commenter. Stan Lee, the big, enthusiastic kid. The big kid who somehow got control of the candy store, and ran it like we would. Was that image true? Not always. Not entirely. Poke and prod and you'll find bruised egos, stepped on toes, all of the stuff you find in any life.

 Except for that last bit. The bit about being a big kid.

 And for me- as well as all of us who grew up with Stan Lee's Marvel?

 That was the sale.

 I might not have been sure about the character, the writers, the artists. But if Stan Lee thought it was worth a look?

 I looked. And more often than not, I bought. Here's to you, Stan. Excelsior!