I would like to see President Obama do the political equivalent of what the New Orleans Saints did yesterday as they began the second half of the Super Bowl--surprise the hell out of everybody, break all convention, and do an on-side kick, score a touchdown, and then make a two-point conversion. That little package told the Colts that there was a new game in town. They were playing a team ready to do things that hadn't been practiced against; the Saints weren't just winning a game, they were showing a new way to play.
Barack Obama lets it be known that he watches the Super Bowl and he is smart enough to have instantly gotten this on Sunday night--great politicians see analogies everywhere. Look for his on-side kick any time now.
Monday, February 8, 2010
Saturday, February 6, 2010
A Quick Thought
I have just finished watching Inglourious Basterds and at the moment can only say that this is Tarantino's world and the rest of us just live in it.
And see his movies. Capra, Coppola, Scorsese, Tarantino. I get the picture.
And see his movies. Capra, Coppola, Scorsese, Tarantino. I get the picture.
Monday, February 1, 2010
J. D. Salinger, RIP
The more I read about J.D. Salinger since his death the more I like him. According to yesterday's New York Times, he was a regular townsman in Cornish, New Hampshire who loved the monthly church suppers, was in local stores daily, had lunch at the local cafe, and drove his Toyota land cruiser to the neighboring town of Windsor, Vermont. (Speaking of his travel, the LA Times last week published a picture of a beaming Salinger talking to a young woman at a theater in South Florida in the early 1980's--some hermit!) From the NY Times story I gather that he was a good and friendly neighbor, not the kooky recluse demanding fans and journalists made him out to be.
Now he is gone at age 91, and it seems he has prevailed in his great joust with the gods of celebrity, photo ops, and television. Almost none of his writing contemporaries were so fortunate--most became, to some degree, public property--that part of your yard that really is owned by the city but that you are required to tend. Good for J. D. Salinger! He beat the whole corrupt flying circus and lived his long life in his own house at his own pace.
Now he is gone at age 91, and it seems he has prevailed in his great joust with the gods of celebrity, photo ops, and television. Almost none of his writing contemporaries were so fortunate--most became, to some degree, public property--that part of your yard that really is owned by the city but that you are required to tend. Good for J. D. Salinger! He beat the whole corrupt flying circus and lived his long life in his own house at his own pace.
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