Since the school district Dad and Meridith work for does not give days off for Rosh Hashanah, as in schools being closed (Apparently not enough of us in this valley), they took today and Friday off. And since Monday and Tuesday are furlough days, meaning that schools are closed and no one's getting paid, in an attempt to save whatever money's left, they'll be home with Mom and I for the next six days. For me, there is the hope of going out to a few interesting places, and the trend of spending money on furlough days, as has been done many other furlough days.
My major desire is to go to IKEA again in Burbank for Swedish meatballs, which doubles as a bonus of getting out of this valley, because in order to do anything different, it can't be done here. I'll push for this over the next day or so.
So far, their time off has given me the opportunity to watch movies in the morning again, since I don't get up early enough when they're at work to do it, and I much prefer reading. Actually, I don't watch movies a great deal anyway, but I'm watching First Monday in October, starring Walter Matthau and Jill Clayburgh, ahead of the Supreme Court's next term on Monday, and I received in the mail yesterday the Ma & Pa Kettle Comedy Collection, containing all 10 Ma & Pa Kettle movies, starring Majorie Main and Percy Kilbride, beginning with The Egg and I, which had them as vastly entertaining supporting players to Fred MacMurray and Claudette Colbert. This set is unique because The Kettles in the Ozarks and The Kettles on Old Macdonald's Farm, the 9th and 10th films in the series, have previously only been available for purchase exclusively on the Turner Classic Movies website, never on the previous sets Universal released. I'm looking forward to possibly watching all 10 films during these different days. Unless of course we go somewhere interesting in the morning hours, in which case I'm in and these can wait.
Naturally, I'm satisfied enough with my books, and my days as they are are just fine, but different perspectives would be nice, different locations. We've been everywhere there is to be in Southern California over these past 8 years, so nothing is truly different, but outside of this valley, it's at least a welcome change.
Thursday, September 29, 2011
Wednesday, September 28, 2011
This Is Me
This is me. All me. I cannot describe myself better than this reader has described her reaction to a book:
"I just spent the last 40, maybe 50 minutes, crying over a book. I haven’t even finished this book. I started crying about halfway, and it just kept getting more and more emotional and. I don’t mean just, tearing up and feeling sentimental.
I mean snot running down my face and dripping onto my shirt, body-shaking sobs, wails, whines, panicked strangled pleas, headaches, stinging eyes, raw cheeks and a puffy face because even though it is physically hurting me to keep reading, I need to be able to try and see the pages.
I had to, with shaking hands, force myself to put it down, not because I need to go to bed (though I do, badly), but because I do not have the strength now to keep reading. I need to calm down. I don’t want to, but I need to come back to a reality that I seriously do. not. want. to.
And that’s why I fucking love books.
I can’t trust people who don’t react to books this way.
I can’t love someone who doesn’t react to books like this."
Amen! A-holyshitthisissotrue-men! Find the original post here.
"I just spent the last 40, maybe 50 minutes, crying over a book. I haven’t even finished this book. I started crying about halfway, and it just kept getting more and more emotional and. I don’t mean just, tearing up and feeling sentimental.
I mean snot running down my face and dripping onto my shirt, body-shaking sobs, wails, whines, panicked strangled pleas, headaches, stinging eyes, raw cheeks and a puffy face because even though it is physically hurting me to keep reading, I need to be able to try and see the pages.
I had to, with shaking hands, force myself to put it down, not because I need to go to bed (though I do, badly), but because I do not have the strength now to keep reading. I need to calm down. I don’t want to, but I need to come back to a reality that I seriously do. not. want. to.
And that’s why I fucking love books.
I can’t trust people who don’t react to books this way.
I can’t love someone who doesn’t react to books like this."
Amen! A-holyshitthisissotrue-men! Find the original post here.
My Inspiration is Retiring
I was 8 and 9 when I knew 60 Minutes to be a repository for luxury car commercials every Sunday night. I knew of Morley Safer, Ed Bradley, Lesley Stahl, and a little bit of Andy Rooney, though I didn't watch much of it. When I was 11, I only knew Andy Rooney.
I watched his commentaries in awe. He talked about tools in his workshop at home, of receiving letters, of life in winter, of pens, of various trends that befuddled him, and I was amazed. I could write about all this and talk about all this, with the same attention paid to novels and biographies? I just thought everything he talked about is what happens in daily life and you just live it and move on. I didn't think it could be talked about and written about at length. Not that there's any law against it, but I thought words were mainly reserved for what I thought at the time to be deeper thoughts. And yet here was Andy Rooney, talking about my life, your life, their life.
In that same year of being 11, my family and I want to a large thrift store to look around, one that had long racks of clothing, rows and rows of them. In glass cases, there were video games for sale. And in my favorite part of that thrift store, there were bookshelves bulging with books, threatening to make the shelves explode with the weight of them. And it was within those bookshelves that I found The Most of Andy Rooney, a 761-page compilation of three of his books: A Few Minutes with Andy Rooney, And More by Andy Rooney, and Pieces of My Mind. I don't remember how much it was, I imagine it was probably over $5, but I bought it. I wanted to study Rooney's thoughts, to understand how one goes about writing about the average day-to-day things in life.
That first book, from 1981, begins with a preface by Rooney, stating, "The writing in this book was originally done for television." And it was. "Mr. Rooney Goes to Washington" is made up of interview transcripts that had obviously been broadcast. Same with "Mr. Rooney Goes to Work." But it was page 42, "Mr. Rooney Goes to Dinner" that inspired me the most.
Rooney starts the piece talking about eating, and then says, "There are 400,000 restaurants in the United States and if you ate three meals a day in restaurants for seventy years, you could only eat in 76,000 of them." (This was broadcast on April 20, 1976, by the way)
"Obviously I haven't gone to all 400,000 restauranted in the United States to make this report. Chances are I didn't go to the one you like best or least. I didn't even go to the one I like best. My job may seem good to some of you . . . but I've got a tough boss. Several months ago he gave me an order. "Travel anywhere you want in the United States," he told me. "Eat in a lot of good restaurants on the company . . . and report back to me." I took money, credit cards and a lot of bad advice from friends and set out across the country."
He did. He ate at a "Scandinavian smorgasbord" place called Copenhagen with Walter Cronkite. He visited J.B.I. Industries in Compton, California which specializes(ed?) in making restaurants look like anything. A pirate ship design was on display. $6,000. Then he goes to McDonald's:
"Workmen were finishing a new plastic replica of an old airplane to ship to a McDonald's opening in Glen Ellyn, Illinois. We were curious about how a hamburger would taste eaten in a plastic airplane, so a few weeks later, after it had been installed, we went to Glen Ellyn.
ROONEY (to cashier):
Same price whether I eat it here or in the airplane?
CASHIER:
Yes.
ROONEY:
I guess I'll eat it in the airplane."
After reading that piece, I wanted to do what Rooney did. I wanted to write exactly like he did, talking about the previously-mundane happenings in one's life. And I tried. I got out notebook paper a couple days after I finished reading the entire book, and I began writing about the view outside my window, about my neighborhood, the pool, my bedroom, and school. But I couldn't. It didn't gel as well as his words did, and I realized that Rooney taught me about writing style. I couldn't write like him because I wasn't him. I was me. I was 11 years old, in 5th grade, a native Floridian. I hadn't been a journalist during World War II like Rooney, I wasn't interested in woodworking, and I certainly hadn't lived through the winters he talked about. I knew what I liked, what interested me every day, what I was learning in school, and that's what I had to write about if I wanted to write what he wrote about. My words had to include me.
And yesterday, I learned that Rooney, the great man who made me become a writer, is retiring from 60 Minutes this Sunday evening, which will feature a career retrospective interview with Morley Safer, his 1,097th essay, and the announcement of his retirement. I'm getting choked up because he was there for all those weeks of my life since I decided to become a writer. I watched him every week, always in awe of what he talked about, how he was funny, witty, incisive, never ranting angrily at anything. He was a master at quiet, contemplative bemusement. He taught me that you could write about anything in the world, as long as it comes from you first and foremost and embodies everything that you are. I proudly live his writing beliefs every day.
Thank you, my writing teacher.
I watched his commentaries in awe. He talked about tools in his workshop at home, of receiving letters, of life in winter, of pens, of various trends that befuddled him, and I was amazed. I could write about all this and talk about all this, with the same attention paid to novels and biographies? I just thought everything he talked about is what happens in daily life and you just live it and move on. I didn't think it could be talked about and written about at length. Not that there's any law against it, but I thought words were mainly reserved for what I thought at the time to be deeper thoughts. And yet here was Andy Rooney, talking about my life, your life, their life.
In that same year of being 11, my family and I want to a large thrift store to look around, one that had long racks of clothing, rows and rows of them. In glass cases, there were video games for sale. And in my favorite part of that thrift store, there were bookshelves bulging with books, threatening to make the shelves explode with the weight of them. And it was within those bookshelves that I found The Most of Andy Rooney, a 761-page compilation of three of his books: A Few Minutes with Andy Rooney, And More by Andy Rooney, and Pieces of My Mind. I don't remember how much it was, I imagine it was probably over $5, but I bought it. I wanted to study Rooney's thoughts, to understand how one goes about writing about the average day-to-day things in life.
That first book, from 1981, begins with a preface by Rooney, stating, "The writing in this book was originally done for television." And it was. "Mr. Rooney Goes to Washington" is made up of interview transcripts that had obviously been broadcast. Same with "Mr. Rooney Goes to Work." But it was page 42, "Mr. Rooney Goes to Dinner" that inspired me the most.
Rooney starts the piece talking about eating, and then says, "There are 400,000 restaurants in the United States and if you ate three meals a day in restaurants for seventy years, you could only eat in 76,000 of them." (This was broadcast on April 20, 1976, by the way)
"Obviously I haven't gone to all 400,000 restauranted in the United States to make this report. Chances are I didn't go to the one you like best or least. I didn't even go to the one I like best. My job may seem good to some of you . . . but I've got a tough boss. Several months ago he gave me an order. "Travel anywhere you want in the United States," he told me. "Eat in a lot of good restaurants on the company . . . and report back to me." I took money, credit cards and a lot of bad advice from friends and set out across the country."
He did. He ate at a "Scandinavian smorgasbord" place called Copenhagen with Walter Cronkite. He visited J.B.I. Industries in Compton, California which specializes(ed?) in making restaurants look like anything. A pirate ship design was on display. $6,000. Then he goes to McDonald's:
"Workmen were finishing a new plastic replica of an old airplane to ship to a McDonald's opening in Glen Ellyn, Illinois. We were curious about how a hamburger would taste eaten in a plastic airplane, so a few weeks later, after it had been installed, we went to Glen Ellyn.
ROONEY (to cashier):
Same price whether I eat it here or in the airplane?
CASHIER:
Yes.
ROONEY:
I guess I'll eat it in the airplane."
After reading that piece, I wanted to do what Rooney did. I wanted to write exactly like he did, talking about the previously-mundane happenings in one's life. And I tried. I got out notebook paper a couple days after I finished reading the entire book, and I began writing about the view outside my window, about my neighborhood, the pool, my bedroom, and school. But I couldn't. It didn't gel as well as his words did, and I realized that Rooney taught me about writing style. I couldn't write like him because I wasn't him. I was me. I was 11 years old, in 5th grade, a native Floridian. I hadn't been a journalist during World War II like Rooney, I wasn't interested in woodworking, and I certainly hadn't lived through the winters he talked about. I knew what I liked, what interested me every day, what I was learning in school, and that's what I had to write about if I wanted to write what he wrote about. My words had to include me.
And yesterday, I learned that Rooney, the great man who made me become a writer, is retiring from 60 Minutes this Sunday evening, which will feature a career retrospective interview with Morley Safer, his 1,097th essay, and the announcement of his retirement. I'm getting choked up because he was there for all those weeks of my life since I decided to become a writer. I watched him every week, always in awe of what he talked about, how he was funny, witty, incisive, never ranting angrily at anything. He was a master at quiet, contemplative bemusement. He taught me that you could write about anything in the world, as long as it comes from you first and foremost and embodies everything that you are. I proudly live his writing beliefs every day.
Thank you, my writing teacher.
Tuesday, September 27, 2011
Desert Soundtrack
My latest project, among the many others already stacked up, is to create a personal soundtrack representative of the desert that I know in and near Las Vegas, the view of that ocean of desert from that mountain ledge next to Hacienda Hotel and Casino near Boulder City, the Mojave Desert from Baker, California on, and in Victorville.
So far, in a Windows Media playlist, I have placed Amazonia by Paul Lawler and Paul Speer (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LHdqmU5lXSs), which has a vast desert feeling; Viva Las Vegas as sung by Shawn Colvin (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=g87Mu9SNqwk. It has a slower tempo, more grounded, and is the Las Vegas I know and love); Cherry-Coloured Funk by Cocteau Twins (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WybSSagVvoU. For me, it embodies nighttime in Las Vegas); Heaven or Las Vegas by Cocteau Twins (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dtBr5JKSuks. It's like an introduction to Las Vegas); Serengeti by Jeff Oster (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sd6TvuJMEhIand. It reminds me of crossing the California state line into Nevada and approaching Primm with the outlet mall, the three casinos, and the Desperado rollercoaster); and Cluster One by Pink Floyd (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XRqrpfzpTaA. It has the feeling of parking your car somewhere in the desert at night, lying on the hood, looking up at all those stars).
Since the Spa channel is on our XM Radio in the living room every day, full of the ambient music I love, I listen to it to see if any songs feel like the desert, and write down the titles and artists and listen to them more closely online if they're available either on YouTube or through another source. My goal here is to create a soundtrack that's just as much home to me as Henderson will be, that makes me feel even more like I truly belong in this vast wonder of desert living. Does anyone have any suggestions that could make for an effective soundtrack?
So far, in a Windows Media playlist, I have placed Amazonia by Paul Lawler and Paul Speer (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LHdqmU5lXSs), which has a vast desert feeling; Viva Las Vegas as sung by Shawn Colvin (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=g87Mu9SNqwk. It has a slower tempo, more grounded, and is the Las Vegas I know and love); Cherry-Coloured Funk by Cocteau Twins (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WybSSagVvoU. For me, it embodies nighttime in Las Vegas); Heaven or Las Vegas by Cocteau Twins (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dtBr5JKSuks. It's like an introduction to Las Vegas); Serengeti by Jeff Oster (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sd6TvuJMEhIand. It reminds me of crossing the California state line into Nevada and approaching Primm with the outlet mall, the three casinos, and the Desperado rollercoaster); and Cluster One by Pink Floyd (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XRqrpfzpTaA. It has the feeling of parking your car somewhere in the desert at night, lying on the hood, looking up at all those stars).
Since the Spa channel is on our XM Radio in the living room every day, full of the ambient music I love, I listen to it to see if any songs feel like the desert, and write down the titles and artists and listen to them more closely online if they're available either on YouTube or through another source. My goal here is to create a soundtrack that's just as much home to me as Henderson will be, that makes me feel even more like I truly belong in this vast wonder of desert living. Does anyone have any suggestions that could make for an effective soundtrack?
An Attempt at Reading United States Reports, Volume 515
Owing to my interest in the Supreme Court, recently revitalized by having read Five Chiefs by John Paul Stevens, which in turn spurred me on to order biographies of Antonin Scalia and Sandra Day O'Connor that I had checked out of the library earlier this year but had not read, and having read The Nine by Jeffrey Toobin and The Brethren by Bob Woodward and Scott Armstrong, I pulled out of a stack near my left-side closet door United States Reports, Volume 515, a result of rooting through the Government Printing Office Bookstore website (http://bookstore.gpo.gov/), seeing if there were any cheap volumes of Supreme Court decisions. The full official title of 515 is United States Reports, V. 515, Cases Adjudged in the Supreme Court at October Term, 1994, May 30 through September 29, 1995, Together with Opinions of Individual Justices in Chambers, End of Term. 1,369 pages. $19.
The volume nearest to this one that I can find on the website is volume 513, and that goes for $50.40. I bought this one because I was curious about what such a book looks like and it's incredibly thick in hardcover, with a gloomy tan cover, and very official type on the spine with United States Reports in gold lettering, against a red background, with gold bars above and below it, and the same gold bars above and below Oct. Term 1994 and below that, Amendments of Rules, both lines against a black background. When Mom saw it after I took it out of the box it came in, she said it was exactly what her grandfather had in his law office, hundreds of books like this one lined up on shelves. She remembered it well.
Curiosity spurred me on to order this. I didn't want to read for hours the .pdfs available on the Supreme Court website, though I may scroll through them, and wanted one volume that I could read through, seeing what's written here, as well as the writing styles of the justices, particular David Souter in this time, who is my favorite justice, albeit retired now.
There will be occasional entries as I pore over it, things observed, use of footnotes, how much they're used, how each justice seems to approach the case at hand in their words, and the careful use of words to make the law clear.
The volume nearest to this one that I can find on the website is volume 513, and that goes for $50.40. I bought this one because I was curious about what such a book looks like and it's incredibly thick in hardcover, with a gloomy tan cover, and very official type on the spine with United States Reports in gold lettering, against a red background, with gold bars above and below it, and the same gold bars above and below Oct. Term 1994 and below that, Amendments of Rules, both lines against a black background. When Mom saw it after I took it out of the box it came in, she said it was exactly what her grandfather had in his law office, hundreds of books like this one lined up on shelves. She remembered it well.
Curiosity spurred me on to order this. I didn't want to read for hours the .pdfs available on the Supreme Court website, though I may scroll through them, and wanted one volume that I could read through, seeing what's written here, as well as the writing styles of the justices, particular David Souter in this time, who is my favorite justice, albeit retired now.
There will be occasional entries as I pore over it, things observed, use of footnotes, how much they're used, how each justice seems to approach the case at hand in their words, and the careful use of words to make the law clear.
My Fall TV Season is Over
My fall TV season began with the anticipation of the 5th season premiere of The Big Bang Theory and the 3rd season premiere of The Good Wife, the latter spurred on by a half-hour recap special aired a few weeks beforehand, along with a second-season episode right after which guest-starred Fred Dalton Thompson and which I found entertaining and exactly the kind of writing I like to hear on a TV show, with confidence and sophistication offered in great amounts. This led to buying the first season on DVD at Target for $20, a worthy investment of my time, and though I've not yet seen the third season premiere (I Tivo'd it), I'm sure I will later tonight.
The 5th season premiere of The Big Bang Theory was good, airing the first and second episodes, and it's exactly what I expect of the show, to be a reliable purveyor of comedy every Thursday night, with enough of Sheldon to keep me pleased.
There have also been new additions. Three Mondays ago, CBS reran the first season finale of Hawaii Five-O and I had learned a few things about the show, though not paying a great deal of attention to it beyond Jean Smart playing the governor. And I had learned that she was killed off in the season finale, with Steve McGarrett (Alex O'Loughlin) framed for her murder. I happened to have the rerun on that night and was intrigued with the action, the strongly-written characters, and great use of many locations. I watched the rest of the second-season premiere late last night on Tivo and loved when a henchman of Wo Fat (Mark Dacascos, who my sister saw and said, "That Iron Chef guy must travel a lot") said to Kono (Grace Park), "You wouldn't shoot me. You're a cop." Kono fired at the dirt between his legs and replied, "You see a badge?" I started watching the second episode right after, but will finish it later tonight as well.
And then, around 1:30 a.m., I watched Hart of Dixie (Tivo'd), which debuted on the CW. As it began, I reminded myself that this is Hollywood's view of the Deep South, not representative of what it really is, and was able to enjoy it right from the start. It stars Rachel Bilson as an aspiring cardiothoracic surgeon, who loses the fellowship she had been vying for, advised by the Chief of Surgery at her hospital that in order to be a great surgeon, she has to work on her own heart, and reflect more on herself, knowing people more than she does, which is nearly nil. She arrives in Blue Bell, Alabama, having been left half of a medical practice by an older gentleman who had been at her medical school graduation four years ago and offered her the opportunity to work at that practice, but she refused, knowing full well her path in life. Nevertheless, he kept sending her postcards with the same offer, and after being denied that fellowship, she left Manhattan for Blue Bell.
There were a few groan-worthy bumps in the script with the "sophisticated city girl" looking down on the "hicks," but it's appealing enough, and certain plot elements are intriguing enough to get me to watch again next week, such as Bilson sparring with the other half of the medical practice, played by Tim Matheson. My biggest disappointment is that Nancy Travis left this for Last Man Standing, starring Tim Allen. There was probably more pay for her in that, and co-lead status, but she fit so well here. I just hope CW gives it a good long chance.
I saw Pan Am and liked it enough to try it again next week, though I didn't connect to it as quickly as I did to Hart of Dixie, despite the historical airline storylines. I haven't seen the second episode of 2 Broke Girls, but will later. After all that, though, I think my fall TV season is over. I've got The Big Bang Theory, The Good Wife, and Hawaii Five-O on CBS (and possibly CSI as well, since I liked Ted Danson's debut last week, and I like being reminded of Vegas until I get there as a resident), and Hart of Dixie on CW. That's about all the shows I need. I also have Prime Suspect and Unforgettable on the Tivo, but I think if I had really been interested in them, I would have watched them by now.
The 5th season premiere of The Big Bang Theory was good, airing the first and second episodes, and it's exactly what I expect of the show, to be a reliable purveyor of comedy every Thursday night, with enough of Sheldon to keep me pleased.
There have also been new additions. Three Mondays ago, CBS reran the first season finale of Hawaii Five-O and I had learned a few things about the show, though not paying a great deal of attention to it beyond Jean Smart playing the governor. And I had learned that she was killed off in the season finale, with Steve McGarrett (Alex O'Loughlin) framed for her murder. I happened to have the rerun on that night and was intrigued with the action, the strongly-written characters, and great use of many locations. I watched the rest of the second-season premiere late last night on Tivo and loved when a henchman of Wo Fat (Mark Dacascos, who my sister saw and said, "That Iron Chef guy must travel a lot") said to Kono (Grace Park), "You wouldn't shoot me. You're a cop." Kono fired at the dirt between his legs and replied, "You see a badge?" I started watching the second episode right after, but will finish it later tonight as well.
And then, around 1:30 a.m., I watched Hart of Dixie (Tivo'd), which debuted on the CW. As it began, I reminded myself that this is Hollywood's view of the Deep South, not representative of what it really is, and was able to enjoy it right from the start. It stars Rachel Bilson as an aspiring cardiothoracic surgeon, who loses the fellowship she had been vying for, advised by the Chief of Surgery at her hospital that in order to be a great surgeon, she has to work on her own heart, and reflect more on herself, knowing people more than she does, which is nearly nil. She arrives in Blue Bell, Alabama, having been left half of a medical practice by an older gentleman who had been at her medical school graduation four years ago and offered her the opportunity to work at that practice, but she refused, knowing full well her path in life. Nevertheless, he kept sending her postcards with the same offer, and after being denied that fellowship, she left Manhattan for Blue Bell.
There were a few groan-worthy bumps in the script with the "sophisticated city girl" looking down on the "hicks," but it's appealing enough, and certain plot elements are intriguing enough to get me to watch again next week, such as Bilson sparring with the other half of the medical practice, played by Tim Matheson. My biggest disappointment is that Nancy Travis left this for Last Man Standing, starring Tim Allen. There was probably more pay for her in that, and co-lead status, but she fit so well here. I just hope CW gives it a good long chance.
I saw Pan Am and liked it enough to try it again next week, though I didn't connect to it as quickly as I did to Hart of Dixie, despite the historical airline storylines. I haven't seen the second episode of 2 Broke Girls, but will later. After all that, though, I think my fall TV season is over. I've got The Big Bang Theory, The Good Wife, and Hawaii Five-O on CBS (and possibly CSI as well, since I liked Ted Danson's debut last week, and I like being reminded of Vegas until I get there as a resident), and Hart of Dixie on CW. That's about all the shows I need. I also have Prime Suspect and Unforgettable on the Tivo, but I think if I had really been interested in them, I would have watched them by now.
Monday, September 26, 2011
Insular Worlds
Late yesterday afternoon, as Dad pulled into a parking space near the deli entrance of Ralphs in Valencia (There's the deli entrance on the right side, and the produce entrance on the left side on the other side of the parking lot), I closed Five Chiefs by John Paul Stevens on a page in which he was talking about the tenure of Chief Justice William H. Rehnquist. And as I walked to the deli entrance behind Dad, I began thinking about my interest in the Supreme Court and realized that everything that interests me are insular worlds.
I've been debating about whether "insular" is the right word. Merriam-Webster's second definition (http://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/insular) is "characteristic of an isolated people; especially: being, having, or reflecting a narrow provincial viewpoint."
Provincial. Ok. Merriam-Webster's definitions of that, under "adjective" (http://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/provincial?show=0&t=1317073998), include "limited in outlook: narrow" and "lacking the polish of urban society: unsophisticated." The second definition, to me, is a subjective term, and the justices of the Supreme Court certainly aren't limited in outlook, based on the experience they bring to their positions and opinions they have formed over decades which inform the votes they cast and the decisions they write, and "characteristic of an isolated people" seems like the wrong kind of definition, being that people throughout the world come to them, including those who populate the courtroom as viewers, and the lawyers that argue the cases, and defendants and plaintiffs seeking judgment, but in a way, they are isolated. There is only this Supreme Court in the United States. And the work of the Court is very much cloistered. Maybe "cloistered" is the better word. Or "secluded." But the words I seek for description are still debatable when applied to my other interests.
After I picked up a basket and Dad and I walked to the deli to wait for potato salad (for Dad) and half a pound of American cheese (for us), I went right back to where the carts are stored and picked up the September issue of Southern California Gaming Guide. On the cover is "Sycuan Casino: Reimagined." I've never been to this casino, only San Manuel Indian Bingo and Casino in these eight years in Southern California, but the article about the changes interested me. In a way, casinos are cloistered, "providing shelter from contact with the outside world," according to another Merriam-Webster definition. The world here is gambling and bingo and buffets and poker and sports betting and everything that makes being over 21 a lot of fun. My fascination with casinos is because of Las Vegas, of course, but I'm always curious to learn how other casinos operate, even if I never go to them.
Tying into casinos is my interest in bingo halls. Now those are not only indeed cloistered, but they're an entirely different culture, a lot of fun, a lot of camaraderie that comes easily, and it's very friendly, because you're playing on the same level as everyone else. It's not like poker. Everyone has an equal chance here. I remember at San Manuel how a couple at the table across from us four let us borrow two of their daubers, before we bought our own from the snack bar, and we handed those daubers back to them when we left, along with the ones we bought, thanked them, and they told us that it was their pleasure. Just like that. If you're not familiar with bingo, anyone there is very helpful. Of course, I say that with the experience of the San Manuel bingo hall. I can't vouch for others, at least until I go to them, which I intend to because there is something to be written extensively about that culture, and I want to write it, whatever it might be.
Some malls are insular, that if you drive away after and go to another mall, you likely won't find the same experience, especially if it isn't a Westfield-owned mall you go to. I'm thinking of the Galleria at Sunset in Henderson, Nevada (my future home), where I've been, and which Mom has told me has a small Henderson library branch there. Now, at any mall, I look around, and I wonder who designed the mall, who built it, who created the artwork, all those anonymous people who should be known more.
I'm also interested in insular experiences, such as being a chaperone for Meridith's Grad Nite in 2007. I remember going with her to Valencia High one morning, hanging around until the bell rang, and then seeking out the teacher in charge of Grad Nite, introducing myself and asking if I could be one of the chaperones for it. I was told I could, and I walked in triumph back to the bus stop in front of Ralphs, waiting to go back home. I had woken up a little after 6 for this, and it had been well worth it. Meridith's Grad Nite for me was better than my own Grad Nite because of such amenities as free cookies and cheese cubes and crackers and drinks for the chaperones, as well as salads or chili or breakfast plates either when you got there or at around 2 in the morning. There was also screenings of Deja Vu and then The Queen playing in the theater on Main Street that now houses Great Moments with Mr. Lincoln again, but used to play a 50th anniversary short film hosted by Steve Martin. In that same theater area, amidst all the mementos and models of attractions in the park, there was also a caricaturist drawing the chaperones as well as Disney characters, though by the time I found out about that free opportunity, the reservations list had already been filled up. I still enjoyed watching the guy drawing Disney characters and the chaperones wearing Mickey ear hats. This was my one and only Grad Nite, so I was a fresh faced newbie, but I noticed the veterans, the chaperones sitting in front of the Plaza Inn, next to heat lamps, conversations afloat, and there was one guy sleeping on a long padded bench in the lobby of that theater, so I chatted with his wife a while.
I've also been in pursuit of really good covered fries, and it seems like an insular pursuit. Not necessarily chili-cheese fries, but something different in fries being covered with cheese. Looking at this Wikipedia entry (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cheese_fries), I noticed that there's "pizza fries" in Philadelphia, topped with mozzarella cheese, with pizza sauce on the side. Possibly.
We were at Weinerschnitzel last Saturday, after Mom and Dad picked us up from the movies, and I had "ultimate" chili cheese fries, which were the basic chili-cheese fries with onions sprinkled throughout, though they became too much toward the end, too dominant. When I become a resident of Henderson with easy access to Las Vegas, I don't intend to eat chili-cheese fries or any other kind of covered fries too often to find my ideal combination, but it will be one of my occasional pursuits when I'm there.
Speaking of Las Vegas, the very definition of an insular world there would be the Pinball Hall of Fame on East Tropicana Avenue. You come in, you find your nostalgia, and you play it. There's no frills, no distractions, just the machines that you remember fondly. There's 152 pinball machines, from 1947 to 2009. And besides those, there's 54 arcade machines, including Super Mario Bros., Ms. Pac-Man, and Tetris. I'm not sure if Galaga is also there, but if it is, I'm spending my time right there, ducking and weaving as I always do as I fire, as if the aliens are firing right at me. It's how I play, and it's one of my favorite ways of living in Vegas.
Those are the major examples of my interests in insular worlds, and there are probably more, but I'll bet that those I figure out after having written all this will relate in much the same manner.
I've been debating about whether "insular" is the right word. Merriam-Webster's second definition (http://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/insular) is "characteristic of an isolated people; especially: being, having, or reflecting a narrow provincial viewpoint."
Provincial. Ok. Merriam-Webster's definitions of that, under "adjective" (http://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/provincial?show=0&t=1317073998), include "limited in outlook: narrow" and "lacking the polish of urban society: unsophisticated." The second definition, to me, is a subjective term, and the justices of the Supreme Court certainly aren't limited in outlook, based on the experience they bring to their positions and opinions they have formed over decades which inform the votes they cast and the decisions they write, and "characteristic of an isolated people" seems like the wrong kind of definition, being that people throughout the world come to them, including those who populate the courtroom as viewers, and the lawyers that argue the cases, and defendants and plaintiffs seeking judgment, but in a way, they are isolated. There is only this Supreme Court in the United States. And the work of the Court is very much cloistered. Maybe "cloistered" is the better word. Or "secluded." But the words I seek for description are still debatable when applied to my other interests.
After I picked up a basket and Dad and I walked to the deli to wait for potato salad (for Dad) and half a pound of American cheese (for us), I went right back to where the carts are stored and picked up the September issue of Southern California Gaming Guide. On the cover is "Sycuan Casino: Reimagined." I've never been to this casino, only San Manuel Indian Bingo and Casino in these eight years in Southern California, but the article about the changes interested me. In a way, casinos are cloistered, "providing shelter from contact with the outside world," according to another Merriam-Webster definition. The world here is gambling and bingo and buffets and poker and sports betting and everything that makes being over 21 a lot of fun. My fascination with casinos is because of Las Vegas, of course, but I'm always curious to learn how other casinos operate, even if I never go to them.
Tying into casinos is my interest in bingo halls. Now those are not only indeed cloistered, but they're an entirely different culture, a lot of fun, a lot of camaraderie that comes easily, and it's very friendly, because you're playing on the same level as everyone else. It's not like poker. Everyone has an equal chance here. I remember at San Manuel how a couple at the table across from us four let us borrow two of their daubers, before we bought our own from the snack bar, and we handed those daubers back to them when we left, along with the ones we bought, thanked them, and they told us that it was their pleasure. Just like that. If you're not familiar with bingo, anyone there is very helpful. Of course, I say that with the experience of the San Manuel bingo hall. I can't vouch for others, at least until I go to them, which I intend to because there is something to be written extensively about that culture, and I want to write it, whatever it might be.
Some malls are insular, that if you drive away after and go to another mall, you likely won't find the same experience, especially if it isn't a Westfield-owned mall you go to. I'm thinking of the Galleria at Sunset in Henderson, Nevada (my future home), where I've been, and which Mom has told me has a small Henderson library branch there. Now, at any mall, I look around, and I wonder who designed the mall, who built it, who created the artwork, all those anonymous people who should be known more.
I'm also interested in insular experiences, such as being a chaperone for Meridith's Grad Nite in 2007. I remember going with her to Valencia High one morning, hanging around until the bell rang, and then seeking out the teacher in charge of Grad Nite, introducing myself and asking if I could be one of the chaperones for it. I was told I could, and I walked in triumph back to the bus stop in front of Ralphs, waiting to go back home. I had woken up a little after 6 for this, and it had been well worth it. Meridith's Grad Nite for me was better than my own Grad Nite because of such amenities as free cookies and cheese cubes and crackers and drinks for the chaperones, as well as salads or chili or breakfast plates either when you got there or at around 2 in the morning. There was also screenings of Deja Vu and then The Queen playing in the theater on Main Street that now houses Great Moments with Mr. Lincoln again, but used to play a 50th anniversary short film hosted by Steve Martin. In that same theater area, amidst all the mementos and models of attractions in the park, there was also a caricaturist drawing the chaperones as well as Disney characters, though by the time I found out about that free opportunity, the reservations list had already been filled up. I still enjoyed watching the guy drawing Disney characters and the chaperones wearing Mickey ear hats. This was my one and only Grad Nite, so I was a fresh faced newbie, but I noticed the veterans, the chaperones sitting in front of the Plaza Inn, next to heat lamps, conversations afloat, and there was one guy sleeping on a long padded bench in the lobby of that theater, so I chatted with his wife a while.
I've also been in pursuit of really good covered fries, and it seems like an insular pursuit. Not necessarily chili-cheese fries, but something different in fries being covered with cheese. Looking at this Wikipedia entry (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cheese_fries), I noticed that there's "pizza fries" in Philadelphia, topped with mozzarella cheese, with pizza sauce on the side. Possibly.
We were at Weinerschnitzel last Saturday, after Mom and Dad picked us up from the movies, and I had "ultimate" chili cheese fries, which were the basic chili-cheese fries with onions sprinkled throughout, though they became too much toward the end, too dominant. When I become a resident of Henderson with easy access to Las Vegas, I don't intend to eat chili-cheese fries or any other kind of covered fries too often to find my ideal combination, but it will be one of my occasional pursuits when I'm there.
Speaking of Las Vegas, the very definition of an insular world there would be the Pinball Hall of Fame on East Tropicana Avenue. You come in, you find your nostalgia, and you play it. There's no frills, no distractions, just the machines that you remember fondly. There's 152 pinball machines, from 1947 to 2009. And besides those, there's 54 arcade machines, including Super Mario Bros., Ms. Pac-Man, and Tetris. I'm not sure if Galaga is also there, but if it is, I'm spending my time right there, ducking and weaving as I always do as I fire, as if the aliens are firing right at me. It's how I play, and it's one of my favorite ways of living in Vegas.
Those are the major examples of my interests in insular worlds, and there are probably more, but I'll bet that those I figure out after having written all this will relate in much the same manner.
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