Dear rakkity,

We had roomful of sixteen for dinner and then two more for dessert with assorted friends of Matthew’s tossed in at odd hours.

Wand over the photos and you’ll get some idea of who’s who. Not much, but some.

Mike

Note: We both like that empty table theme, although yours is a far better photo.

Hi Mike,

There were “only” 5 at our T’giving dinner, but it was the core schmahl five!
Here are a few pictures of our repast preparation and eating.

There will be some more pictures soon, as Patrick & Georgia will be here 3 more days, and we have lots to show them of beautiful snow-dusted Boulder.

rakkity

PS The 23rd is eminently possible! (but not the 26th or 29th).

Hi Mike,

There were “only” 5 at our T’giving dinner, but it was the core schmahl five!
Here are a few pictures of our repast preparation and eating.

There will be some more pictures soon, as Patrick & Georgia will be here 3 more days, and we have lots to show them of beautiful snow-dusted Boulder.

rakkity

PS The 23rd is eminently possible! (but not the 26th or 29th).

Asking for more in my final act.

By Ed Siegel

November 23, 2007

I RECENTLY celebrated turning 60 by having a boys’ day out at the movies. (No doubt early-bird specials will be next.) Since one of my friends is eligible for a senior citizen discount and another is slightly older than I am, the cinematic choice seemed appropriate – “No Country for Old Men.”

The reviews had just come out and they were almost unanimous in praise of the Coen brothers’ adaptation of the novel by Cormac McCarthy, he who has been lionized by everyone from Oprah Winfrey to Harold Bloom. I have to admit that I had never been crazy about McCarthy – “All the Pretty Horses” being too purple and “Blood Meridian” too portentous for my taste. What was I missing? Maybe “No Country for Old Men” would make a convert out of me the way that “Atonement” and the film “Enduring Love” made a McEwanite out of me.

I’m afraid I’m still missing the McCarthy boat as the story about a contemporary cowboy chased by a psychopathic killer turned out to be no movie for at least this old man. Obviously a book shouldn’t be condemned because of the adaptation, but the film seemed faithful and featured great acting by Javier Bardem, Tommy Lee Jones, and others, as well as the always-arresting (if never first-tier) direction by Joel and Ethan Coen.

“No Country for Old Men” belongs to a genre that cuts across almost every artistic idiom, one that could be bundled under “The world is going to hell in a handbasket.” Many of Don DeLillo’s novels fit the category, as do Stephen King’s. The best of DeLillo’s are sublime, the worst of King’s ridiculous.

Which brings me back to turning 60. It’s now evident that I’m not going to read every great book or see every great movie before I die. Unless those wonder drugs get even more wonderful, middle age is gone, baby, gone. You know the joke – how many people do you know who are 120?

It’s not that everything has to be great – an episode of “The Office” is rarely memorable the next day, but it’s a fine way to spend a half-hour. But whatever piece of art or entertainment I look to has to get me past the “Am I wasting my increasingly precious time?” factor, and “No Country for Old Men” didn’t do that.

It reminds me more of King than DeLillo in that the degree of difficulty is about a two on a 10-point scale. The metaphor of the psychopathic killer as emblematic of the world’s increasing amorality is undeveloped and shallow. The draining of humanity from both killer and victims is numbing. Give the ending a different twist, and not much separates “No Country for Old Men” from “Die Hard.”

Here, too, we have heroes and villains performing almost superhuman acts with blood spurting out of what I used to think were vital parts of one’s body. Me, I’m likely to take to bed with a paper cut. That probably hasn’t changed much in my life, but the disconnect with blood-drenched films gets greater with age.

Paper cuts aside, it’s not enough for an artist to impose a barren vista on America or the world. David Rabe’s play “Streamers” is currently being revived by the Huntington Theatre Company. When it first came out in 1975, it was seen as a searing statement on men at war in contemporary times. Indeed, it seems like a combination of Edward Albee’s seminal play “The Zoo Story” and the first half of Stanley Kubrick’s great film “Full Metal Jacket.”

So why is “Streamers” so dull today, where those other works are still fresh? If you randomly take any passage from “The Zoo Story” – currently being revived in New York with a new first act – and one from “Streamers,” the former crackles while the latter seems flat or forced. Albee earns his “We’re all animals under the skin” points; Rabe doesn’t.

Similarly, “No Country for Old Men” is, on the surface, Samuel Beckett crossed with John Ford, with a dash of Hemingway or Faulkner thrown in, and that should be a good thing. But McCarthy’s cornpone philosophizing – “Any time you quit hearin’ Sir and Mam, the end is pretty much in sight” – is weightless compared with those other artists.

And the older I get, the more I want weight (except around the waist). The “Hell in a handbasket” dish seems like undercooked stew if it isn’t mixed by a master chef.

Ed Siegel, former theater critic for the the Globe, is a freelance writer.

 

The Boston Globe publishes a piece called Reflection For The Day on the same page with the chess puzzle, which is the only reason I read it. When I’m scratching my head trying to solve the chess problem I’ll drop down and read the Reflection, and often scratch my head again. Sometimes they remind me of my college freshman friend Don Peters who seemed full of stop you in mid-stride on your way to Dr’s Erickson’s Logic class pithy quotes.

But more often these Reflections leave me thinking how obvious or how dumb. Maybe I need someone to pull me through a man-sized Chef’s Choice knife sharpener so I can leave my present place alongside my dull buddies. Or maybe, with age, I’ve lost that sense of wonder?

Anyway, here are two that I did like:

We must be willing to get rid of the life we’ve planned, so as to have the life that is waiting for us.

– Joseph Campbell American writer & educator (1904-1987)

Friendship is a sheltering tree.

– Samuel Taylor Coleridge
British poet (1772-1834)

   

   

Jeffro’s brother-in-law, David, inhabits many of the same lakes and streams in Maine as we do. Here are a few of his photos.

My neighbor, Bob, is the master of cheap eats. With his friend, Al, he dines every Tuesday at out local correctional institute. Subsidized lunch served by felons embarked on new careers costs a buck sixty-two.

Last week, Bob brought his wife, Mary, to the local technical school for lunch. The public cafeteria provides inexpensive meals while some high school students learn the ins and outs of restaurant work.

Bob’s approached by a sixteen year old from whom he orders his meal, and then he engages Mary in conversation. Time flies and after a while Bob wonders what happened to his roast beef sandwich and French onion soup. Until he spies his waitress, now dressed in gym clothes, leaving the room.

First, the beginnings of Smiling Dan’s new two car garage. The proud man is dressed in his work clothes.

Secondly, overhead shots of my neighbor in his colorful flying machine.

Lastly, the long awaited photos of our trip back to Latham, Kansas, to visit my father’s grave with friends and family. The younger folks are first cousins or spouses of, the two guys who look like me are brothers, the three who bear no resemblance are the Ruthenburgs, and the olders folks are aunts, uncles and spouses of. Of course, you all recognize Matthew.

The most ramshackle house is where my father lived with his six brothers and sisters.

I’m especially happy that Jeff, Karen and Travis made the trip because I can imagine years from now as paper copies of these pictures are pulled out, unlabeled,people will be dreaming up names and relationships for them.

This Flash format allows you to fiddle with all the controls, like turning off the music (Enya’s Watermark), or viewing photographic data and even fast forwarding through the images.

  

Pesky Godson is the proud owner of new Macbook (formerly a PC user, but Mac before that) and he and I chatted last night which led to inviting Matt which led to inviting Karen from Evansville (no snapshot) which led to checking in on Kate at Lafayette and finally Goose at Plymouth State. We tried to get a four way going  with Goose, but he wouldn’t join us because he was talking to his “gf.” 

Finally, after much harassment from both Matt and me, and after Kate left,  he joined us. We could hear him talking to his “gf” and it sounded like things weren’t going too well. After his phone conversation ended, we talked briefly before Matt and I agreed it was time to hit the sack. 

“What, you get my girlfriend mad at me and then you leave?” Goose complained.

One of us, and it might not have been the younger Miller said, “Mission accomplished.”   

  

Pesky Godson is the proud owner of new Macbook (formerly a PC user, but Mac before that) and he and I chatted last night which led to inviting Matt which led to inviting Karen from Evansville (no snapshot) which led to checking in on Kate at Lafayette and finally Goose at Plymouth State. We tried to get a four way going  with Goose, but he wouldn’t join us because he was talking to his “gf.” 

Finally, after much harassment from both Matt and me, and after Kate left,  he joined us. We could hear him talking to his “gf” and it sounded like things weren’t going too well. After his phone conversation ended, we talked briefly before Matt and I agreed it was time to hit the sack. 

“What, you get my girlfriend mad at me and then you leave?” Goose complained.

One of us, and it might not have been the younger Miller said, “Mission accomplished.”