29 Weeks?!

For twenty-nine weeks that previous post sat lonely at the top of page. But no longer.

In an attempt to resurrect this blog, I have decided to largely focus on film (and occasional music) discussion/thoughts/reviews. The goal is to make these entries snack-sized yet filling. A few sips of scotch rather than a barrel of malt liquor.

This works better for you and for me, since this darned job-thing keeps my writing time limited. And I like scotch.

The site will also remain PG-rated, as far as language goes. This is a challenge for me since I love dialing up colorful metaphors when I have specific passions about film. This approach will be even more difficult since the films I’m currently watching are brazenly adult.

Note: I finally saw No Country for Old Men on Friday night, but I’m not ready to discuss. At first blush it was a lot better than I thought it would be. That may or may not change as it stews.

"And the roads are covered with a million little molecules."

We made it to Los Angeles. Our one-bedroom apartment was awaiting us. Despite the fact that it was a little crustier than we remembered, it was great to get in and close the door behind us. It's just as spacious as we'd remembered. Kristen will work her craft with colors and spaces to make it our home...

...of course our stuff hasn't made it to LA yet. We arrived on Weds. The movers will get here, supposedly, next Tuesday. So in the meantime, we're squatters. Squatters who are providing IKEA with some swell business, that is.

One thing that I've noticed immediately is that we get the Beach Breeze (caps necessary) all day. It is lovely. Really, I could lay on the floor for hours and just enjoy it. Then again we have no furniture, so that's about all I can do.

The park across the street is LA at its best. International patronage exercising, napping, and playing tennis all day. Something died in the bushes in front of the apartment recently. A rat, squirrel, Johnny Drama, or something. Luckily we're not downwind from it.

We get great water pressure in the shower, so much so that the water clears the entire bathroom sometimes. It's nice to be back in the land of REAL Trader Joeses. Can't overstate how much we appreciate being able to buy wine anywhere and at anytime. I mean, we bought a bottle of champagne at Target. Had to drive for 15 minutes just to find a bottle of champagne in Monty Co. MD -- but only from 11am-8pm, 6 days a week.

Per the pic in the previous post, my new car is great. She hauls. Kristen gave me a good idea for a name which I shall ponder. The car is insured, but my a$$ is not. Blue Shield, stop dragging your big feet. Speaking of which, we went to Lola's to celebrate our arrival. Much recommended.

I'm currently watching Fellini's Satyricon. I'd like to review it for this blog, but it may take some additional research. It's a tough, ugly film. There's a different kind of review coming next week that'll be much more enjoyable for you and me.

By the way, Norms.


It's good to be home.

MK HAS A NEW RIDE...

...and he's on the West Coast!

And he looks pretty happy. And he's going to stop referring to me in the 3rd person.

Quick Pics

In no particular order:
(You can click pics to enlarge)

This is how much we loved the Texas rest stop:


Breakfast:


A single tree that broke my heart:

(and a lucky shot in a moving car, i'm not handy with digital cameras)

It's a science:


First, life looked like this:


Now it looks like this:


Rates were pretty good here:


Arkansas BBQ delight:


ICBs with the fellas on Aug 24th


We saw several of these. Ponder this marketing plan for a moment.


Now stop pondering that. I leave you with this image:

I'm Bad, I'm Nationwide

OK. Some thoughts on this whole cross-country drive thing. Day 4 of 6. My memory is awful so this will work best as a list. (Kristen's blog has the details. Pictures coming soon.)

• In talking to folks (before starting this voyage) about the cross-country drive, I was able to place the responses in two categories. 1.) The Romantic starry-eyed "Oh I always wanted to do that! It sounds so fun." and 2.) "Yeah, I did it. So what's for lunch?"
  I should have paid more attention to #2. The people who did do this trip. There's nothing romantic about it. You sit in the car. A lot. And then some more. Then you go to sleep. You wake up. You sit in the car. A lot. And then some more. Then you go to sleep. Repeat.
  I LOVE to drive. This almost cured me of that love. I also love to listen to music. But one discovers limits after 30+ hours in close quarters. So, driving across this big lovely country is not romantic. It's physical and dry. It's also educational , expansive, and unique. But so are Don DeLillo's novels. Yet they're cheaper and less time consuming and unless you read while standing on your head, you'll get fewer headaches and backaches.
  All complaints aside, I'm glad I'm doing this. Kristen is a fantastic driving partner, and she hasn't suffocated me in my sleep. Yet.

• Graceland -- Yeah, we did it.
  I have a problem with Elvis. This white man is an international icon, worth nine figures in his death. Yet he earned his fame and fortune from co-opting (stealing) the songs from dozens of black men and women who died penniless. Yes, it's heartbreaking that he overdosed on prescription drugs, but Bessie Smith bled to death outside a hospital that wouldn't accept black patients. So, pardon me if I change the station when I hear him singing "Hound Dog". He also seemed to leach all of the raw sexuality out of his (stolen) songs' lyrics, then forced awkward 1950's retarded sexuality into his performances with his leg wiggles.
  But anyway.
  Graceland was much more entertaining than I expected. The guy had a really great house and entertained himself well. The car museum and AIRPLANES (yes, really) were fun to visit. You could see that he meant a lot to people and that he established himself as a unique product very well. The museum brushed quickly over his acting career and bloated end, which is probably a good idea. The guy served in the military rather than recording more million-dollar songs, and continued to serve despite his mother's passing. So he's a good American kid and always had great sideburns.
  One final note: The numbers that the tour often quote are questionable. They say that 1.5 billion people watched his live televised 1972 concert. Huh? Not only had his popularity greatly waned in this country, but......this was 1972......there were barely 3 billion people in the world and only a few countries outside of US and Europe had televisions, plus Elvis didn't catch on in Asia until the '90s. So, maybe 1 percent of the figure might work. And the "1 billion albums sold" figure. Again, let us count the amount of people in this world who have the ability to purchase recorded music. Then take that figure and subtract the amount of people who wouldn't buy American music. Then take that figure and subtract all of the people with good enough musical tastes not to buy more than one Elvis album...
  
• I thought I liked The Doobie Brothers. But I really don't. I think I did once. Not anymore. Every time their songs come up on my iPod, I wanted to bite the steering wheel.
  
• I'm not wearing socks anymore. Just flip-flops. Started it on my birthday, only interrupting it for my boot-wearing Graceland trip. My feet are white like marshmallows and bony like cheap steaks, but they are happy to breathe again.
  
• Rest Areas -- Stop there to pee. Don't pass them by. States are keeping them cleaner now. Much cleaner than the KFC/TacoBell/PizzaHut or Conoco crappers. Take my word for it. Plus if you pass one up in New Mexico, there are no pitstops for 90 miles. And there's really no tree to go behind when you're on the prairie highway.
  
• We stopped in Texas. Best rest area so far. And we hit a DQ there. Not much going on in Northern Texas. A lot of cows. One really big cross.
  
• Cracker Barrel, official white person dining establishment. For those of you on the West Coast, these grease shovel pits are everywhere. Wait, that was judgmental. I haven't been to one yet, though I did make a promise to Kristen that I'd go there. I will offer an official apology once I eat there and am impressed by the franchise.
  
• Motel Pillows -- different everywhere. Sometimes too big. Sometimes too squishy. Sometimes you have four, sometimes three. Sometimes I don't remember because I've slept like the dead. The other night in Oklahoma, my pillows smelled like mildew. How long does a pillow have to sit to smell like mildew? And how did it get damp enough for the spores to plant in the first place? I slept well that night.
  
• Motel room electric outlets. Seriously, we're out of the 19th century, let alone the 20th. Whomever designs and furnishes each room puts these things in places impossible to reach. Behind the bed that is glued to the wall. Behind the 200-lb television stand. And ones that are accessible are looser than a prostitute on payday (apologies). The other night Kristen and I both had to crowd around the bathroom sink to check our email, propping our laptop chords at the right angle so they wouldn't fall out of the socket.
  
• Barbecue is our national dish. It is delicious and American. If you're in the South, Southwest, Mid-West, or Mid-South go get some real BBQ. Really. Don't go to Denny's or Pizza Hut or Taco Bell. Get some ribs or chicken. Soul food for folks of any color. One more reason why I couldn't go vegetarian. It's blissful and the true local BBQ joints are unfiltered Americana. And it's so simple, meat on a fire. Frontiersmen, pioneers, sharecroppers, fur trappers. They took some meat and whatever was sitting around, cooked it over a flame and ate it with their fingers. And the sauces in the Mid-West now......

OK. I'm hungry and I think I'm supposed to go to sleep now. We're in New Mexico, tonight. Grants, NM. The Grand Canyon tomorrow. I've turned 29, got over a double ear infection, left my job, packed up my entire apartment, started this long drive, and I've barely had a moment to think about things. Nor exercise, which is getting kinda traumatic. Change keeps coming. I'll process this all later.

Bittersweet August

I sent my good bye email to the staff at DCTC today. Originally (as of last night) it was going to start with a bunch of jokes about how it was bittersweet -- bitter because I was pulling a late night and sweet because it was my last. But I decided against that because I know people read truth into sarcasm so instead I toned it down. Here it is:

It's 8/24 and I have now turned over my badge and weapon. The Silver Spring days draw to a close.

I want to thank all of you for helping me feel at home here. I am a much different person than I was on February 23rd, 2004. All of these responsibilities I have had forced me to grow up. Interactions with all of you helped me to think bigger, taught me how to problem solve.

The hiccups of turmoil and shining successes taught me that the heart of a company is its employees. We are more than just lines on a budget, the product comes from us. Thus this company's future is bright because it is made up of really wonderful people.

So this departure is bittersweet because I want to take you with me. Unfortunately our Civic is already full of luggage, plants, Lindsay Lohan fan club posters, and bottled water.
Be well, People! It has been an honor.
Thank you.
Michael K.


I'm turning 29 today too. My stomach's been in knots (more than usual). I'm probably a little nervous about the future. Possibly experiencing some withdrawal or separation pangs a little early from this life I've led for the past four years.

I'm not that worried about the birthdays in the 30s. My body's holding together relatively well. My most important pipes are still working, thank the Powers that Be (since the Powers that Be are always on the Blogging tip). I have hair where I shouldn't and missing it where it should be, but that's been going on for some time. Age has little meaning for me now, though I am moving to a place where the industry seems to think that it matters. But I've been too old for that industry for years, since at least 1991.

I'm going out for drinks tonight, er, in one hour. So I'm writing this post as fast as possible. No grammar or missing-word check. I've gotten generous material gifts from several people. Generous non-material gifts from so many more. I seem to get shaken out of my self-centered world when I find out that people miss me. So it's only appropriate to drink it away. Ha HA!

Going to have to finish this thought on the other side of 29.

Review: Tender Mercies

Despite all of its "Jesus"es and "Lord"s, Tender Mercies (written by the brilliant Horton Foote) is remarkably Zen in the simplicity of its story and direction. Like one of Kurosawa's failed, drunken ronin looking for a home, Mac Sledge (Robert Duvall) is trapped by his rage. A once-popular country singer, he struggles with control over The Bottle and fights himself to lead a balanced family life. One doesn't need to enjoy country music to appreciate this movie. I've always struggled to get through an entire 3 minute modern country song, myself. But one can see the roots of the genre in Mac's old school version of country, a little blues and a little folk and a big broken heart; songs with titles like "God Learned to Forgive me, Why Can't You?" These tunes are directly contrasted with the full-band over-wrought easy-listening version of '70s country sung by his ex-wife (Betty Buckley), seemingly a pointed commentary on country music at the time.

Tess Parker is quiet and warm as Mac's new wife, Rosa Lee, who's determined to work through all of her man's darned quirks to make their family complete. One shot of her stands out: As Mac jumps into his truck, angry about his undying desire to keep writing music, she watches him leave. To the left of her stands a Coke machine with the old Coca-Cola slogan "Here is the real thing."

There's a wonderful scene at the end of the second act between Mac and his daughter (a fragile young Ellen Barkin) whom he hasn't seen in nine years. Mac is so humble and devoid of anger, that it's heartbreaking when he says he doesn't remember the lyrics to the song he sang to her when she was little. But once she's gone he quietly sings those very lyrics to himself. It's delicate and lovely.

Recommended.