Movie for Our Times

Corrie and I watched a movie the other night that shocked me how much it spoke to our time, how much it presaged the youth of today. It was released 35 years ago, was written by a woman (Leora Barish), produced by two other women (Sarah Pillsbury and Midge Sanford), directed by a woman (Susan Seidelman), and gave a pop-star her first movie roll:

"Desperately Seeking Susan" was way more accurate in the depiction of the world, or, rather, the foundation for our current celebrity driven/social media perusing youth culture can be found in this film. I recommend it for anyone who would like to get a sense for how we got to this point.

The first time we see Madonna in this movie, this is what she's up too:

Kids today, and plenty of non-child-aged "adults" are very familiar with the selfie.

This image, and scene, claims that this is Madonna inventing the selfie. Besides being inaccurate, I think that's low-hanging fruit and doesn't discuss the fact that the rest of the '80s depicted here would be recognizable to us today.

Madonna, while playing the titular Susan, isn't actually the focus of the movie. It's really a movie about a bored housewife played by Rosanna Arquette. She reads, rather religiously (if that can be used in this context), the personal ads, and knows some of the social history of at least one of the, er, stars(?) or celebrities(?) of the personal ads.

Now, young people from today are NOT familiar with personal ads, or, "the personals," nor are they familiar with CraigsList, so there you go.

BUT, unsatisfied people who live vicariously through social media and the celebrities created by such, IS DEFINITELY A THING. Sitting around scanning the personals is the same as sitting around scanning Instagram or Twitter.

Madonna is an "influencer" in that era: she's confident in her sexuality, confident in her garish fashion choices that become fashionable simply by being sported by someone with this personality, and she has none of  the ties that normal folks suffer.

I haven't even mentioned the screwball plot; it blends amnesia, Hitchcock-ian mistaken identity, and antiquity theft into a wholly original conclusion.

Throw in early performances for Aidan Quinn, Laurie Metcalf, and John Tuturro, and you've got the makings of a classic, an underappreciated gem that's got Girl Power written all over it.

Also, you may be arruffato if this turns you on:

Sogno di un domani arruffato!

Celebrate First, then: the Work

It was a Saturday morning, with Cass bouncing around, enjoying his second waffle after his cereal. Camille laughing and gazing at her brother, happily alternating between her yogurt and eggs.

I had the curtains open, since it was after 8 and we try to flood the place with natural light. My neighbor was again in her makeshift garden, in a small patch of private space outside their apartment door. Then, a commotion. Her voice from inside her apartment carried...a shriek: giddy and truthful. Then, she was back outside, screaming, "It's over!"

Soon, car-horns and cheers would resonate throughout our neighborhood. People would take to their roofs to shout at the sky. Catharsis. Regime change.

Old-fashioned regime change. The election of 2020 was called on Saturday, five days after the titled Election Day, after it was apparent that Biden would be taking over the Oval Office.

One telling thing from that Saturday was the amount of celebration spontaneously commencing. When people celebrate you losing an election like the Death Star has just been blown up, it SAYS SOMETHING ABOUT YOU OR THE REST OF US. OR BOTH.

But now the real work begins. Does anyone have any illusions to what lies ahead? 

The answer to that emphatically: YES.

While we can celebrate the 74 million folks voting against the dude, we need to soberly try to strategize working with the 70 million folks who were, in the least, not turned off by the racism and misogyny, by the lies and ineptitude, in the glorification of unthinking machismo. The story of this country's ailments goes beyond one-dude, goes beyond one destructive quartet of years. Is Joe Biden the answer?

Would Bernie have been the answer?

How will we move forward with dismantling systemic racism? With dismantling the patriarchy? How much does Biden even care about all that? Kamala, sure, okay, I could be convinced she's an ally.

But the DNC? The RNC is obviously against any altering of the status quo, but so are the Democrats. They torpedoed Bernie, just like they torpedoed Howard Dean in 2000 and tried to torpedo Obama in '08.

I'm afraid they'll take the W for the White House and try to "move forward" while not actually doing anything positive for the greater good.

First order, though, is avoiding the million-cases-a-week projection of this pandemic. And a subset of the the 70 million thinks they shouldn't have to wear masks.

All I can say is: IT ISN'T ABOUT BEING FORCED, IT'S ABOUT GIVING A SHIT ABOUT OTHER PEOPLE.

This is what we're dealing with, and the outgoing regime just made this kind of personality somehow socially defensible and mainstream, a truly terrible and sickening thing that's come out of the last four years.

Meanwhile, we ready the torches and sharpen the pitchforks.

A return to normalcy would be a waste and a mirage at best. The time for civility may have passed, but I'm open to talks about the best way to get the results we need.

Haven't Worn Socks Since

 With so much other shit going on, I thought I'd drop this trivial note here:

My first pair of Birkenstocks in a decade arrived, and I haven't worn socks since. 

"So Much Yucky"

 Each morning is an adventure. Me and the kids get up and have breakfast: the Boy has his cereal or waffle or both, and Baby-girl has her yogurt, waffle, or egg, and in between getting lunch ready for school and making sure everyone is dressed and cleaned up and fed, I get to make my own breakfast.

I've been making what I call "Jacque's Eggs" or maybe "Jacque's Volcano Eggs," named after the venerable Jacque Pepin. They're so easy and delicious and awesome, and because I douse them fairly liberally with my hot-sauce, nobody ever wants a bite:

Two eggs, yolk preserved, in a bowl (this way you don't waste valuable seconds cracking an egg as one cooks). Small non-stick pan, tablespoon of butter, once melted and frothy, pour the eggs in, hit with salt and pepper, and then the magic trick: add about spoonful of water and cover it. It will sizzle up with some ferocity, which is what you should see as yu put the lid on.

The water steams the whites so they'll be totally done. Take a look after one minute. Feel the yolks and pull them when they're where you like them: for me RUNNY. No flipping necessary.

I hit them with hot sauce, then pop the yolks, then hit the yolk again with the sauce. I start my pan with a piece of bread to make toast, then toss in the butter and do the eggs. This takes maybe four minutes, and I leave my plate on the table as it cools and thickens as the other shenanigans transpires.

Cass sneers at it most days, but the other day he said: "Dad, there's so much yucky on your plate."

NO WAY, SON! RUNNY YOLKS AND HOT SAUCE IS MAGIC! The whites being all done is a bonus...