Each locale grows a crop uniquely applicable to its environs. Properly distributed seeds and supplies.
We don’t have kids, we have dogs, and for the first time in almost thirty years we have only one dog. Lupita has passed and she’s a great story.
In electronic terms, current follows the path of least resistance. My uncle plumber had a different way of describing the same basic concept: shit flows downhill.
Most of what we are seeing in our current political climate will be with us for awhile because we simply do not all agree and it’s a question of ideology. I believe that I am my brother’s keeper, in the form of laws and taxation to support those who have none or at least very little. Many disagree with that and that’s the problem: we do not agree. I wonder if we ever will.
What drives this schism? Why are my ideals set in the particular way that make me sick when I hear or see certain things that have the opposite effect on others. We can’t be all alike and there will always be conflict but why are we so angry and violent?
Ex-pat living in Paris is visited by his son. Projection. Saturate expectations. Just how good could that be? And then how badly could it go?
Little did he know
Unbeknownst to him
Women face a tough go of it in many ways men don’t. Encouraged by managers, starlets reveal during photo shoots. An actress recently stated she did not get roles because she failed to flirt during casting. Flirt’s a subjective term but the point fits. Everything provokes sexuality. Trump tells the wife of a world leader that she’s in good shape, as if that mattered. Women wear makeup from girlhood. And it’s all shallow.
What is a record? Instantly, I think music. Always. Four ambitious Liverpudlians got together and in a days time produced a record that shattered the recording industry.
A few, exciting years later, they shut it down. In the meantime, they made some great records.
Customer: “I like my water with about 1/3 ice. The ice floats and displaces the water; this ratio keeps the water ice cold.”
Waitress: “You want me to measure every fucking glass?”
Customer, ruffled: “No, no. Just close.”
Story as a patchwork of scenes in parallel with history. Glimpses of my life, told as truth, without pulling punches; interesting things happen to everyone. Why not write, even obliquely, about what I can personally say is a true event. I really did break my friend’s nose, just a few years before he was my best man and about the same time he shot his waterbed with a .22.
Shanghaied in the 18th Century. Dropped into a hostile environment, like I’ve been.
Someone figures out how Jacob did it.
Susie asks a provocative question (nothing sexual) and Harold is stuck.
A hole opens in the tube Harold’s been and yanks him outside. He struggles mightily and returns to the conversation, saying something erudite.
“If you could go anywhen, when would that be?”
He thought. Visions flared through his mind, mostly sex, but some worthwhile. Then his eyes got bigger. “Like anytime?”
“Within reason. Have you read “A Conneticut Yankee in King Arthur’s Court?”
He shook his head.
‘Yeah, not his most famous work but most applicable right now.”
Then a seriousness flushed his face.
“There are rules?”
“Of course there are rules. Can’t have people killing Leo Harvey Oswald or Adolf Hitler as children.”
“A council in 2145 ruled that the timeline in place at that time (I’m not being elliptical) would be the agreed upon timeline. Makes sense: you know that everybody and everything is the way they are because of the very specific events that unfolded that brought us to that time and place.”
“I’m confused. No changes?”
“Nope. Just visiting.”
“Doesn’t anybody ever change things?”
“Oh, yeah, from time to time,” winking.
“Rotate the dial clockwise, four clicks.”
“But the dial doesn’t rotate.”
Smiling condescendingly, “slide your fingers around the dial as if you were rotating it. We’ve evolved beyond moving parts.”
He cautiously “turned” the dial to the right and could feel the click as he passed the 3 on the face.
Soft laughter. “Keep going.”
He’s thinking “I know I’m not moving anything but something’s moving.”
12. Click and an amber glow briefly warmed the watch face.
“Excellent. You’re almost there. Turn the dial counterclockwise four clicks.”
9. Click. 6. Click. 3. Click. 12. Click and the entire room froze, but for him and his friend.
Nothing moved. Food halfway to mouths hung in space, not dripping. Someone brushing past him stopped in his tracks, just as they were touching.
“What the fuck?”
Bellowing laughter. “You’ve stopped time, my friend.”
There was an odd hum he couldn’t identify.
“What’s that hum?”
“Basically the current sound from all sources, stopped where they were.” Looks around, as if revisiting an old haunt. “Weird, huh?”
“Yeah.” Then his brain kicked in. “Now what?”
Broad smile. “Now you go backwards or forwards.” He nodded towards the watch. “Look at the dial.”
He glanced down and saw millions of microscopic dots, every color and some no one else had ever seen before now. And they flowed in patterns that were slowly hypnotizing him.
Fingers snapping. “Hey, come around.”
He looked up, back at the motionless world around him. Nothing had moved.
“This is a lot to take in.”
“That’s an understatement. And it gets better.”
“How far back can I go?”
“As long as you go back to a timeplace that supports human life, the times the limit. I’ve heard tell of some who’ve gone to prehistoric ages. You know, dinosaurs, etc.”
“Only as far as the build date of the watch. It can’t go beyond it’s birthdate.” Smiles and winks.
Rules for having a dog
1. Fresh water. Dogs, like most things, need water to survive and I always say if I wouldn’t drink it I won’t make my dog drink it.
2. Safe place to sleep. It doesn’t have to be a palace just safe. And inside. Sorry those of you who won’t let their dogs in the house: I never met a dog who’d rather sleep inside with me, if given the choice, and that’s good enough for me.
3. Food. Anything is better than nothing. Always ensure they have sufficient for their appetite. And the better quality the better.
4. Love. They are god’s beings same as us. Never hit them, hurt them, scare them or make them think they’re not in dog heaven.
A man is in a horrific accident and lies dying. He pleads to his friend, “Get my watch.”
“Yeah, I had it on me.”
“Must be at the police station.”
Intently, “get it!”
“Because I’m dying!”
“What does your watch have to do with it? Shouldn’t I get a doctor?”
After a long pause, soul searching: “I’m from the future.”
“I need to get to my own time. Doctors there can fix what’s wrong.”
He goes to the police station.
“I need my friend’s watch.”
“And who are you?”
“We don’t give out belongings except to the belonger.”
They argue, escalates.
Shouting, “He’s from the future and has to go back to the future so they can save him!”
Laughter. He leaves, sans watch.
He returns to find his friend has died.
Collage of calling funeral homes, searching for relatives – there are none. Burial, eulogy – he did have friends.
The police release his belongings, including the watch.
Excitedly, he puts it on. It looks just like an Apple Watch. Nothing happens.
Montage of looking at the watch, playing with it, frustrated by it.
A man appears one day, saying he’s the deceased’s cousin and needs his stuff.
“How come I couldn’t find you?”
“I was on vacation. Listen, can I just get his stuff?”
“I don’t have any of it.”
Smiling, points at his wrist. “Yes, you do. Right there.”
“This?” Hiding it.
“We’re not allowed to maim anyone but…”
“Just give me the watch.”
“But it’s just a watch.”
Smiling, pulling out a credit card that’s transparent, with a display showing a throbbing circle that gets bigger the closer it gets to the watch.
“What’s that?” Pointing at the card.
“Never mind. The watch, please?”
“Only if you tell me what it does.”
Laughs, “think I’m stupid?”
“Well, then, who was he?”
Uncomfortable, “a time tourist.”
“Someone who goes back and forth in time for entertainment. Not for research; those guys are assholes.”
“Yeah, always bringing shit back with them. Leave it there!”
Still dismayed. “How many are there?”
“Tourists or assholes?”
“How many people going from time to time?”
“Millions. We honestly don’t know.”
Surprised. “Don’t know?”
“Hey, I’m from 2165. The tech just got better. There’s always somebody from after you, you know.”
“From after you?”
“After you in time, from the future.”
“How can you tell them apart?”
Gestures with the card. “Tools.”
“Do you change things?”
“Oh, yeah, lots of shit. The Cold War was a piece of work.”
“They had to send people all the time, stopping shit. We’re talking thermonuclear war. Fucking up the future.” Shakes his head. “The whole thing almost went up lots of times.”
Customer: “I like your Boba Fett tshirt. How much?”
Owner: “It’s not for sale. You’d have to kill me to get it. Or just shoot me and take it. The bloodstains on the tshirt would probably increase its bounty hunter mystique. “Wanted dead or alive.”
Customer: “No, really, how much?”
Young man, his younger autistic brother, the young man’s girlfriend and a platonic young woman. Restaurant staff contribute.
Major plot turns:
Mother of brothers dies
Platonic versus girlfriend
fare safe fear rage hear gear berg herb brie rice ride side tide dies diet ides dire herd here
You’re sitting comfortably in 1968 and you hear the unmistakable sound of a Mac rebooting, Steve Jobs chosen chime that woke up thousands upon thousands with late night restarts.
So, there are at least two people who shouldn’t be in that time. Or are there more?
Protocol dictates immediate action. I check for frequencies ranging from about 800MHz into the multi core speeds and find the signal of a Mac, circa 2001, either an iBook or TiBook. Also called the IceBook, as compared to the DeLorean of turn of the millennium laptops.
I can see it’s in the far corner in a bag next to someone who looks like he’s from 2001 but not obviously out of place. Subtle bits like frames from designers born in the 70s.
But your companions are from 1968 and you’ve got to get to that TiBook.
Shit, it rebooted again.
“What’s your true year?”
“You know, you lose track.”
Surprised, she attacks, “how could you forget your true year?”
“Hey, it comes and goes.”
“Do your recall code.”
Now he’s surprised. “Why?”
“Just to find your year. You can come right back.”
Shamed, he speaks the command and in his place appears something of a percentage of him, never the whole man.
He awakes in a prison cell.
“Is he gone, then?”
Stunned, she muttered, “who?”
Dismissively, he retorted, “me, I mean my original.”
He pauses, then says, “damn, I’ve been away for 23 hours and 18 minutes, so…”
Slamming his hand on the table, he barks, “he fucked Susie last night.”
Even more stunned, she stumbles, “Susie?”
“Yeah, I’ve been waiting for weeks.” He paused. “Makes since he’d come back for that.”
“Want to go to 1920 with me?”
“What’s in 1920?”
“Carl Mays kills Ray Chapman.”
They step through a doorway and they’re in another time and in different clothes walking out of a men’s room in Ebbets Field.
It’s hot and they’ve been noticed.
“Sorry, that entrance was designed for me.”
They move away.
“How does he kill him?”
“It’s getting dark, the baseball will be dirty and hard to see.”
“Yeah, cigar spit, dirt, whatever.”
“What’s your interest?”
“The only man killed playing baseball. Gets beaned in the left temple, hemorrhages, stumbles and falls down. Dies after midnight. Tonight.”
“So, you’re a sportsmen?”
“No, just curious.”
I’ve never been more assured and at home than when holding a camera.
Jeremy Renner fades to the background, at least at first, until his role in the drama is evident. If you guessed right away that the two get together, congrats. It’s not obvious and it’s not romantic. It’s always about Hannah.
The actor acknowledged that it’s Adams’ movie. And it’s a great performance.
I love that the spaceship in Arrival looks like a guitar pick that bulges.
When to cut. In a recent scene, I realized how much control the screenwriter has in the visual storytelling by stating actions. He opened one envelope, in the scene, and I would have shown him opening more. The unread letters meant more to describe his guilt in not guiding her. She asked for help and she died.
Grantchester, season two, episode one.
Not all narrators are reliable, apparently, not that I knew that when I read most of the books in my life. Some do not tell the truth.
How do I tell? Some keys, or combination of keys, convinces us.
How then to accomplish that in visual media? Don’t we assume that the memory we see is genuine, and not just the remember’s? What cues?
If a cop comes to your door and insists you come to headquarters or whatever would you trust him and go into custody? Not knowing if you were ever going to be free?
Character is programmed to have awareness for only one waking cycle. Goes to sleep and wakes up tomorrow blank. Would have to leave notes to help himself relearn each day.
The casting and characterization is racist, in the end. We create people and imagine what they do and sometimes fuck up.
We’re in a civil war that could have been resolved centuries ago if certain people had done different things. What would have happened if the thirteen colonies could not agree on slavery? That was a tough sell, even in the 1770’s, but clearly the south won. Many of our early Americans, the big ones, were Virginians. They succeeded in forestalling the debate that they were certain would be solved by a future generation. They were wrong.
“I’d like you to show me how you’re going to make me free my slaves.”
That’s basically all it’s ever been.
It’s a game, or at least an assignment. Hooded beings convince us that they can rend time and drop us into any era, any generation and locale. Bethlehem at the time of Christ’s birth, which is likely apocryphal. We can rend time so that only a moment will pass in your actual lifetime. You are dropped into a life in that era and you will live a life. But only moments pass in your real life. But then, what is real?;
What would it take before the traveler breaks whatever bargain and changes that era. It’s that what we do anyway?
Working for vacation. A job you may or may not hate but pays well so you can spend a month in Bali every year.
Those paid the least, nurses and teachers, cops and firemen, are the ones most deserving.
No one who works full time should be homeless. Veterans must not live in tents under bridges.
We’ve reached the point where only an extralegal event can resolve these issues. Government has basically failed us in numerous ways and Economy is only concerned with profit.
An unheard of Council of Presidents, men who’ve been selected to the highest office in the world, convened to close debate on Trump once and forever.
How many are there? Five? Carter, Bushes I and II, Clinton and Obama. Would you trust their judgement? I would.
Enjoying Tubular Bells and pondering the phase of solo creators who first fully exploited studio technology to create notable works with multiple dubs and almost no musicians in attendance, other than the principal.
Mike Oldfield weaves a magical blend of melodies and instruments that mix into pure joy.
Larry Fast did something not quite so ambitious with Synergy and Steve Winwood would follow with his reboot series.
Skip Spence rented studio space and expurgated dozens of tracks, all unique and touching, then simply slipped away into insanity, never to record again. The resulting work is profoundly raw and in so doing touching. Very personal, as if he had to get a few things of his mind before relenting to his demons, akin to Van Gogh.
We’re visited by a god tuned to our personal perception of god and we do whatever he tells us to do. Either that or we’re conversing with a mirage, and it’s a dissociative experience.
What if a producer shopped out a screenplay to three different crews, each turning in a unique portion of their assigned acts?
How is it the guy always catches his hat when it’s tossed? Or do they swap hats?
There’s only one who intervenes, on demand, and decides for us. And then they leave until next conjured. This someone, who everybody trusts and whose decisions are strictly followed, then judges problems we can’t come to agreement on.
John Glenn’s speed.