Temps were cool today, but it was a fine day all around. I went out to mow the yard, and did the front but not the back. Maybe tomorrow. In the meantime, I composed “Still Life With Lawnmower.”
Of course I didn’t invent that title. Here’s a painting from more than 20 years ago that not only features a lawn mower, but also a more traditional vase & flowers motif.
A headline I spotted today on Google News: FBI investigating tip to Hoffa burial site. This story’s an evergreen, in news biz jargon. Actually, no. When a magazine editor, at least of my generation, called a piece an “evergreen” that meant it didn’t have to run in a particular issue. If you waited an edition or two, it wouldn’t go stale.
But I’m expanding the definition: the Hoffa article is evergreen because it could have run 15 years ago, or 10 or five or last year, with only a few details changed. It could also run next year or five years from now, provided Mr. Hoffa’s remains aren’t found, and I wouldn’t bet any money that they will be. But you never know, maybe someday — how long did it take to find Richard III?
I also read that the 50th anniversary of zip codes is coming up. Years ago I remember thinking, zip codes weren’t around when I was born? (Lilly might someday feel the same odd feeling about Google.) Maybe that thought occurred to me in high school, when I heard a presentation by a Canadian mathematician (or maybe he was just a math teacher) about postal codes. He claimed that five- and six-number codes were the easiest to remember — the postal code systems that the United States and the Soviet Union, respectively, had adopted.
“The most difficult system to remember is a combination of arbitrary numbers and letters, which the British adopted,” he said. “The Canadian government, in its wisdom, decided to imitate the British system, which is the worst.”
Zip codes, they say, were developed to help the post office deal with too much mail. Bet the USPS wishes it had that problem about now.
I’ve learned a number of things since the last post, including unfortunate news about a high school friend of mine, Kevin Norton. He died last August, but only I found out about his passing about a week ago. The news traveled at 18th-century speed, but that’s because I had little communication with Kevin in the last 20 years or so. Just one of those things.
From the Sept. 2, 2012, San Antonio Express-News: “Kevin Charles Norton, age 50, passed away in Dallas August 16, 2012. He was born September 18, 1961 and grew up in San Antonio, graduating from Alamo Heights High School in 1979. He attended college at the University of Texas at Austin in the Plan II Honors Program and graduated in 1987. He went on to the University of Texas School of Law and earned his Juris Doctor in 1990. He practiced appellate law with the firm of Cantey & Hanger in Fort Worth and Dallas for many years and later was briefing attorney for the Fifth District Court of Appeals at Dallas.
“He had many intellectual and artistic interests studying languages, literature, philosophy, history, religions, art and music. He is survived by his parents, Doris and Donald Norton, sisters: Lucy Norton and partner Maggi Joseph, Deborah Norton all of San Antonio, and Nancy Norton of Dallas; a paternal aunt, Geraldine Koch of Richmond, Virginia; and numerous first and second cousins from all around the country… In lieu of flowers contributions in Kevin’s name may be made to Dallas Symphony Foundation Endowment… or It Gets Better Project …”
I met Kevin sometime in junior high, but I remember him best as my debate partner throughout much of high school. That meant long hours with him sometimes, preparing index cards and other pre-electronic materials for speech tourneys both in town but also in Austin, Houston, Corpus Christi, and one time even as far afield as Midland – the only time, in fact, that I’ve ever been to that place. He was the first person I knew who drank coffee to stay awake, and if I’d had any taste for it, I would have started drinking it then too.
After high school, I hung out with Kevin some in the summer of ’81 in Austin. Among other things, introduced me to Eyebeam – which was still running in the Daily Texan at that time – and ragtime, specifically Scott Joplin, which he had a talent for playing. He spent a longish period traveling in the ’80s, mainly in the Middle East and India, which he told me about later. His travels didn’t inspire me to go to the Middle East or India, but they did help inspire me to take my own leave of the country for a while.
All in all, the obit is right: Kevin had a keen mind and a lot of interests, and I was better for knowing him. RIP, Kevin.
Back to posting around June 16. Not exactly a summer vacation, especially since the pace of for-pay work isn’t slacking off, but more like a warm-weather interlude. Except that it isn’t quite warm enough to be summer, at least not in northern Illinois.
I’ve heard about the latest version of Gatsby, and so decided to read the book again. I’m going to pass on the film, for reasons stated before. But also because I’ve heard about the soundtrack.
From hotnewhiphop.com: “The director, Luhrmann, spoke on the adaption of F. Scott Fitzgerald’s book, and creating music for it that blends the Jazz Age with a modern spin. ‘F. Scott Fitzgerald’s novel is peppered with contemporary music references specific to the story’s setting of 1922. While we acknowledge, as Fitzgerald phrased it, “the Jazz Age,” and this is the period represented on screen, we—our audience—are living in the “hip-hop age” and want our viewers to feel the impact of modern-day music the way Fitzgerald did for the readers of his novel at the time of its publication.’ ”
Something like Classical scenes in medieval paintings featuring clothes and armor that looks suspiciously medieval? No, that’s being too generous. The producers clearly believe (and correctly so) that a genuine period music soundtrack — or even one featuring closely authentic, newly recorded versions — wouldn’t sell as well as a hip-hop soundtrack, and are pretending it’s for artistic reasons. Yet posh Jazz Age clothes and cars seem to be OK for the movie (to judge by the marketing). I don’t see why Jay Gatsby shouldn’t be dressed like a hip-hop star.
I forget which costume drama I saw about Marie Antoinette some years ago, but it had the same problem — a distractingly modern soundtrack. In that case it was ’80s New Wave, which I’d prefer over hip hop any time, but it still didn’t sit well on the film.
I’ll say it again: Sunday was a crummy excuse of a day for early June, dank and cold. And it isn’t like we get to have a pleasant warm day in early December in return. Except that we did, and maybe this is Old Man Winter’s way of balancing things out (just because it’s June doesn’t mean that old man is idle).
Late in the afternoon on Sunday, everyone but me sacked out in the living room. Left to right: Ann, Lilly (can’t see her face, but note the pink-framed iPod next to her), the dog, Yuriko.
It was a lot like a pic I took on the cold May 31, 2012, except the floor was even more crowed this time around. Plus ça change doesn’t just apply to big-picture events or overarching social conditions, but quotidian moments too.
A grey weekend to begin June, and today was ridiculously cool for June 2 — not over about 60 degrees F. Temps should be warmer later in the week, but not what I call summer.
I’m not sure why I bothered to write the following down in 1997, but I did. These weren’t the first Power Macs that I’d ever used — that was in 1995, when everyone was certain Apple was a doomed enterprise that would never again live up to its glory days, much less become a sinister behemoth on the order of Microsoft. I was glad, maybe, just to have a polychromatic screen.
June 9, 1997
I came back from the fire show in Lake Kiamesha, New York, and our new Power Macs were waiting for us at the office. Fast! It’s a little scary. No sooner is a button pushed than something happens. It didn’t work like that on the old machines (a IIci). This is a 8600/200 with a 7.5.5 operating system.
If I understand correctly, there’s 32 megs of RAM and a whole lot more disc space, and I just discovered that the thing plays audio CDs. Now if it would only play tapes. I have many more of them. No question about who owns the machine, though. A blue label marks it, Property of Intertec Publishing Corp. I may get to buy the IIci for a low price, however. That would be nice to have at home.
I didn’t buy the IIci. It wouldn’t be until 2000 that I had a computer at home, a spiffy purple iMac. Intertec merged into something, and that into something else, and I don’t know what, but some of the magazine titles it published are still around, such as Fire Chief, where I worked at the time.
As for Lake Kiamesha, I’ve posted about that before, though I refer to the trip as White Lake. I happened to visit the Concord Resort Hotel the year before it closed, and it wasn’t hard to see in ’97 that the place was on its last legs.
Some rain lately, and nighttime thunderstorms, but not as much as in April. Grass and bushes and flowers are luxuriating. It’s a good way to approach the real start of summer, which is around June 1.
I had another idea to elaborate on Dogs from Space today as our dog was attacking the vacuum cleaner. Dogs have famously testy relations with vacuums, and ours does her bit by barking at the thing while it’s running, and trying to bite the front end. Dogs might be smart, but not smart enough to attack the real source of their enemy’s power, the electric cord. I would discourage that in harsh terms anyway, but so far it isn’t an issue. Maybe she believes she’s won when the machine is turned off.
What are the mortal enemies of the intelligent dogs from the Sirius system like? Noisy, metallic creatures that suck up their environment looking for food.
Of course, a very simple Google search reveals that Hollywood had a go at the dogs as space aliens 10 years ago in a movie that doesn’t seem to have made much of an impact. Probably because it was bad, though that isn’t necessarily an obstacle to box office success.
Missed the conjunction of Venus, Jupiter and Mercury so far. Every night I’ve thought about it, it’s been cloudy. Every time it’s been clear, I’ve forgotten about it. Ah, well. I satisfied my need to see major celestial events for a while about this time last year with the Transit of Venus. If the next big thing I get to see is the eclipse of August 21, 2017, I’ll be satisfied.
Oz the Great and Powerful was an interesting failure. Ann wanted me to take her to a movie last weekend, and that happened to be one we could agree on, and playing at the second-run theater for $1.75. The 2D visual effects – layer-caked CGI – were worth that much, especially the colorful landscape of Oz. The story was uneven and so were the characters, especially Mila Kunis’ Wicked Witch of whichever direction.
Hyde Park on Hudson was likewise an interesting failure. Saw that on DVD a few weeks ago. Mainly I wanted to see Bill Murray give FDR a go. At times he did quite well with the part. Then there were moments I looked at him and thought, that’s just Bill Murray.
Chanced across this video not long ago. Wow, these kids are talented. How does that happen? It also made me look the original English version of the song. I can’t remember the last time I heard it.
The last book of the year that Lilly is reading for freshman English class is Animal Farm. She asks me about it, and I oblige her with what I know, but it’s all I can do not to overload her with detail about the Russian Revolution, Whites vs. Reds, Lenin, Marxism, Stalinism, Trotsky, show trials, old Bolsheviks, the gulag, Five Year Plans, the Nazi-Soviet Non-Aggression Pact, etc., etc. Over the summer she’s supposed to read Nineteen Eighty-Four. I’ll have to resist the urge to blather on about that, too.
The ease that goods move around the world is a marvel of the age — an everyday marvel. No small infrastructure was necessary to bring a frosted bottle of Cockta brand soda from Central Europe to the shelf of a grocery store far inland in North America, where I bought it not long ago for a small sum.
An impulse purchase, of course. Why? Because it was bottled in Slovenia. I don’t ever remember buying anything made in Slovenia, and that was enough to sell me. The label tells me that a company called Droga Kolinska of Ljubljana makes Cockta. It is a regional food conglomerate with other brands that include Argeta, Grand Kafa and Smoki, according to this site, though a lot of the links are broken, including the Cockta one.
It’s a cola. It isn’t bad. With sugar instead of corn syrup. 
It reminded me a bit of the cola made in Vietnam as a domestic alternative to imperialist running-dog Coca-cola, and maybe Cockta was originally created as a Yugoslav version of such. I know from watching One, Two, Three long ago that the quest for a drinkable socialist cola was once an important concern behind the Iron Curtain.
Borodenko: We do not need you! If we want Coca-cola, we invent it ourselves!
C.R. MacNamara (James Cagney): Oh, yeah? In 1956 you flew a bottle of Coke to a secret laboratory in Sverdlosk. A dozen of your top chemists went nuts trying to analyze the ingredients. Right?
Mishkin: No comment!
C.R. MacNamara: And in 1958, you planted two undercover agents in Atlanta to steal the formula. And what happened? They both defected! And now they’re successful businessmen in Florida packaging instant borscht. Right?
Peripetchikoff: No comment!
C.R. MacNamara: Last year you put out a cockamamie imitation “Kremlin-kola!” You tried it out in the satellite countries, but even the Albanians wouldn’t drink it. They used it for sheep dip! Right?
Back again after Memorial Day, which falls three days before Decoration Day this year. Another example of an earlier occasion within a later one, such as Armistice Day within Veterans Day, or to take it back further, the various pagan holidays bundled up within Halloween and Christmas.
Lilly threw a tennis ball in the air not long ago, intending for the dog to chase after it. To everyone’s astonishment, the ball stuck in the back-yard tree. Not in a thicket of branches, but jammed between two small branches that aren’t budding yet, and in fact might be part of a dead branch. You’d have to throw a ball I don’t know how many times to get a result like that. This isn’t the first time Lilly has managed to toss something with astonishing results.
We’ve been expecting the wind to bring it down, but so far – it’s been roughly two days – the ball has stayed in its arboreal home.
Also not long ago, we were out in the back yard with the dog when she took a sudden, inexplicable interest in the sky, running around, looking up, barking a little. I thought she might have spotted a bird, which happens sometimes, sending her off on a vain ground-based chase of airborne creatures. We couldn’t see any birds, or even distant airplanes, which she occasionally looks up at (baffled, maybe).
“She’s getting ready for dogs from space to rescue her,” I suggested. No one was impressed. “No, really, an intelligent race of dogs are on their way from a planet around Sirius to free their brother dogs. Sister dog, in her case. Earth dogs have been waiting for thousands of years for their freedom. One day, they’ll come.”
Again, no one was impressed. I don’t think I made that idea up, but I can’t remember where I heard it.