9.19.2024 – wouldn’t know where to go

wouldn’t know where to go
if didn’t have somebody
that knowed where to go

From the line “I thought I’d go and get something to eat some place, only I wouldn’t know where to go if I didn’t have somebody with me that knowed where to go.” from the play, June Moon, a play by George S. Kaufman and Ring Lardner. Based on the Lardner short story “Some Like Them Cold.”

Back when I was a kid growing up in Grand Rapids, Michigan in a family of 11 kids, it was rare to find myself alone in the family room with the TV.

But that’s where I was one night when I was about 12 years old.

It was bedtime and I should have been in bed but I wanted to stay up, I always wanted to stay up, and watch TV.

My Mom came in and looked at the clock and looked at me and I played my secret card.

Can we just see what is on public television?

Educational or Public TV had just arrived in our area and my Mom would never deny access to something educational.

See I would watch anything if it was on TV and I would even watch educational television if it meant not going to bed.

And you never knew what you might see our the light local PBS station.

She rolled her eyes and said okay, just for a few minutes.

I turned the TV to UHF and then turned the dial the channel 35 and sat on the floor.

What ever was on had already started and we missed the introduction.

It seemed to be a television production of a play but it was just two people, a man and woman who had just met and where on a train and talking.

The dialogue was nothing and everything at the same time and the timing of the two actors was so quick that while nothing was really happening I got drawn into their conversation.

The odd thing was, so was my Mom.

First she turned to watch for a bit.

Then she sat on the edge of chair.

And then she sat back and just took in the play.

There was a quality to the writing, the words and the acting that you could not ignore and we watched the whole play WITHOUT COMMERICIALS.

We watched the entire play together and when it was done, we looked at the clock and it was past 11 p.m.

Get to bed,” Mom said, “that was fun.”

And she gave me hug a off I went.

Years later I can still remember parts of the dialogue and the other day I started to try and search out the play based on what I could remember.

It turns out what we had watched was a special presentation of the play, June Moon, by George S. Kaufman and Ring Lardner and when I learned that so many lights clicked on.

The pacing the timing of Mr. Kaufman famous for his Broadway hits.

The dialogue and words of Mr. Lardner famous for his short stories.

Stories about the new kid from the small town arriving in the big city.

Stories where the kid would say, “I thought I’d go and get something to eat some place, only I wouldn’t know where to go if I didn’t have somebody with me that knowed where to go.”

If you haven’t read Mr. Lardner I encourage you to do so, especially the short story, Golden Honeymoon where Mr. Lardner writes, “After dinner we made them come up to our house and we all set in the parlor, which the young woman had give us the use of to entertain company. We begun talking over old times and Mother said she was a-scared Mrs. Hartsell would find it tiresome listening to we three talk over old times, but as it turned out they wasn’t much chance for nobody else to talk with Mrs. Hartsell in the company. I have heard lots of women that could go it, but Hartsell’s wife takes the cake of all the women I ever seen. She told us the family history of everybody in the State of Michigan and bragged for a half hour about her son, who she said is in the drug business in Grand Rapids, and a Rotarian.”

Its as if you have to read that paragraph in one breath.

Reading Lardner is like getting on a train and you can’t get off until the next station.

I thought I’d go and get something to eat some place, only I wouldn’t know where to go if I didn’t have somebody with me that knowed where to go.

Just something charming about those words as well as the memory of the first time I heard them.

9.16.2024 – cannot read papers

cannot read papers
as they no longer reflect
the world I perceive

Adapted from the passage:

“After twenty years of studying them I am no longer able to read newspapers.

Why?

It’s because they no longer reflect the world I perceive.

I will have to go along with the way I see it even if wrong.

And if they are right, it lacks interest.”

Written by Jim Harrison in the novella, The Man Who Gave Up His Name, published in the collection titled, “Legends of the Fall” by Jim Harrison, New York, Grove Press, 2016.

I still try to read The Guardian and the New York Times every morning with my morning coffee.

I used to try and read USA Today but it’s website defies any real effort to read the stories without a lot of perseverance.

I am speaking of perseverance, of course, from a technical point of view.

Oh to handle all the ads and popups and pop downs and such that make reading online news such a challange.

But of late I am having more and more issues with what I am reading.

I keep asking, what world are these people living in.

The world described more and more in newspapers does not reflect the world I percieve.

One side of the paper can decry the end of the world and those dire portents in the next elections and how if we all could really care about what was happening, we could stop it.

And on the other side of the paper are heart felt discussions of the clothes people wore on the red carpet of the Emmy’s and how the Emmy’s was rigged and whole lot of other stuff that is supposed to be of interest to me.

Maybe it is getting older.

I recently went to a major college football game and while there was much I recognized from when I went to this college as a student, there was much that did not reflect on college football as I perceived it.

I chatted with the lady next to me and she said that they were searching for ways to make if fun for kids.

I guess getting together with your friends along with a keg of beer and going someplace where you could drink in public and yell your head off is no longer fun enough.

Reading this as I type it I decided I better check my drivers license and it says I was born in 1960.

I think I am right on schedule.

9.13.2024 – many touches but

many touches but
couldn’t care less what the colours
are in reality

From the review, Van Gogh: Poets and Lovers review – a riveting rollercoaster ride from Arles to the stars by Jonathan Jones in the Guardian, September, 10, 2024.

A review of the show, Van Gogh: Poets and Lovers, at the National Gallery, London, that opens September and I will never see.

Mr. Jones writes, “He’d toiled for years doing brown studies of northern life before he met the avant garde in Paris: within weeks of his arrival in Arles, he took the impressionist ideas he’d encountered to the next level. Describing his painting of a man sowing, he wrote in June 1888: “There are many touches of yellow in the soil … but I couldn’t care less what the colours are in reality.”

I have seen so few Van Gogh’s in person but I can testify to the impact of the power of the artist that can be felt standing in front of painting, knowing you have to be in the same space the artist once stood and the world the artist attempted to record on canvas.

As Mr. Jones states: “Reality is not real. The visionary is.”

I like that.

I like that a lot.

Reality is not real.

The visionary is.

When Mr. Jefferson wrote, “We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness,” he wasn’t, as we know, describing the world of Colonial America as it then existed.

Not all men, mankind were equal.

It wasn’t the reality.

It was a vision.

A vision we are still too far from after almost 250 years but the vision, for a lot of us, is still there.

Which, I guess, makes us the visionary.

Reality is not real.

The visionary is.

That is the reality of it all.

Mr. Jones closes his review with this.

We all know how badly it ended. The ideals Van Gogh invested in his little home couldn’t withstand the shock of sharing it with Gauguin, and after his ear-cutting and further crises he decided he was better off in an asylum. But here, that never happens. We experience not the sordid facts, but Van Gogh’s dream of The Yellow House. It still exists, always, out there among the painted stars.

It still exists, always, out there among the painted stars.

9.11.2024 – some page of figures

some page of figures
filed away — till elevators
drop us from our day ..

9-11 Day 2024.

Adapted from an excerpt in the poem, “The Bridge: To Brooklyn Bridge” by Hart Crane as reprinted in The Complete poems of Hart Crane, Doubleday & Company, Garden City, NY, 1933.

How many dawns, chill from his rippling rest
The seagull’s wings shall dip and pivot him,
Shedding white rings of tumult, building high
Over the chained bay waters Liberty—

Then, with inviolate curve, forsake our eyes
As apparitional as sails that cross
Some page of figures to be filed away;
—Till elevators drop us from our day …

I think of cinemas, panoramic sleights
With multitudes bent toward some flashing scene
Never disclosed, but hastened to again,
Foretold to other eyes on the same screen;

9.8.2024 – I kinda feel bad

I kinda feel bad
I kinda feel good there are
other fans who feel worse

The last time the University of Michigan football team lost a game was back in 2022.

Until yesterday.

They lost and lost badly to the University of Texas at Austin.

The lost so badly that I felt bad – not bad bad, but downish in a goofy for what it’s all about way, bad.

Back when I was in college one of my roommates was from Ann Arbor and his folks would invite us over to their house for lunch and watch the game on Saturdays when Michigan had an away game.

After a game that saw Michigan lose to Illinois, my roommate’s Mom looked out the window and said that now she wouldn’t be able to read the Sunday Morning papers because they would all, somehow, work the score of the game into any story.

She also said she wasn’t looking forward to church as she knew their Pastor would work the score into his sermon.

She hated losing.

She wasn’t particularly fond of people who ‘lost games’ for Michigan.

I remember watching a game at their house once and Michigan was lining up for a field goal attempt and I said, “I wonder what Bryan Virgil is doing now?”

Mr. Virgil had had a fairly good multi year career for Michigan as a placekicker, except for having a game winning attempt against Notre Dame blocked back in 1979.

There were those who point out that a Notre Dame player jumped up on someone’s back to block the kick (a move that resulted in a new rule the next year) and there were those who claimed Mr. Virgil took too long to get the kick off.

When I wondered out loud what Mr. Virgil was now doing, my roommate’s Mom fired back, “I don’t know, but what ever it is, he is taking 5 steps to do it.”

When Michigan lost yesterday I thought of my roommates Mom.

I thought I don’t want to watch any more football today.

I don’t want to read the papers tomorrow.

And I know that in Church, even here in the low country of South Carolina, where the Pastor is actually a Michigan Fan (a west Michigan native), I will most likely hear about the game from the pulpit.

I puttered around most of the rest of Saturday afternoon.

My wife and I went out to investigate a new used bookstore we had heard about and picked up 4 novels from the Four-for-a-Dollar bin.

We call these beach books as I am reluctant to bring my devices to the beach.

Also I find it refreshing for my eyes to read a printed novel from time to time.

Back home, being Saturday and my day in the kitchen, still feeling a bit blue, I got the out tools and ingredients for the evening hamburgers and fries.

I then turned on the TV.

And I heard, “It’s a stunning loss for Notre Dame and a stunning victory for NIU!”

And I smiled.

I laughed out loud.

I felt good.

Sure Michigan lost to a top 5 team.

But ND was a top 5 team and lost.

Lost to a team from the Mid American Conference.

Not a slam on NIU , just saying.

I felt good that there were football fans who felt worse than I did.

I felt good that Michigan’s loss was not THE college football story for this weekend.

Then for a second, I felt bad.

I felt bad that I felt good that other fans felt worse than I did.

Than I remembered I was thinking about Notre Dame.

And I didn’t feel that bad at all.

Gotta got get ready for church.