After creator Aaron Sorkin and chief director Thomas Schlamme left The West Wing at the end of the fourth season, the show entered a severe creative slump that only lessened with the spectacular episode "The Supremes" (guest-starring Glenn Close and William Fichtner as potential Supreme Court nominees), and then lasted until the seventh season, when the show got halfway and almost three-quarters to being Sorkin-like. I hung on. I had watched The West Wing from the beginning in 1999, graduated high school between seasons 3 and 4, and moved to Southern California between seasons 4 and 5, which should have been a sign of what living in Southern California was going to be like for eight years.
No matter how much John Goodman's Glenallen Walken was wasted as an Acting President (There was so much more they could have pursued with that storyline than just partisan sniping), no matter how bad the writing got, I was there. I kept hoping for better. I knew that without Sorkin, the show could never again reach the greatness it had consistently achieved, but I wanted enough of my show back to justify still watching it. I'm fascinated with the presidency, historical and fictional, and I just wanted my show to work again.
When "The Stormy Present" originally aired on January 7, 2004, I was hopeful. John Goodman was returning as Glenallen Walken, and James Cromwell was guest-starring as former president D. Wire Newman, the last Democratic president in office before Bartlet. All three were flying on Air Force One to the funeral of former president Owen Lassiter, a Republican, and likely Bartlet's predecessor, as Lassiter had served eight years in office throughout the '90s (The West Wing universe is markedly different from ours, especially with the differences in election years, which fans online have theorized about at length).
This was a few months before Reagan had died, so the funeral was modeled on Nixon's in 1994. It was being held at the "Lassiter Library in Costa Mesa," "The one with the fake Oval," as Josh states in Leo McGarry's office. Nixon's library does not look like what they filmed. It seems more vast, and quietly haunting, not just because of the funeral at hand, but I guess all presidential libraries are haunting in a way, with a recap of power, photos all over, various historical videos (The starting point of the Nixon Library has a video of Pat Nixon accepting a gift of two pandas from China for the National Zoo), accomplishments heralded, and scandals kept on the down low, save for the Nixon Library which apparently has a new Watergate exhibit that hews closely to the truth and not created by loyalists, as the previous exhibit was.
Bartlet with Newman and Walken could mean that the men would talk about their time in office, how they feel personally about the huge burden placed on them as leaders, however temporarily it was for Walken. It would be interesting to learn what it was like for Walken when he was summoned to the Oval Office to become Acting President. All we saw at the end of the fourth season was him coming down the steps of what might have been his home, or the Capitol building, and being ushered into a waiting car with a security detail there, and then climbing out of it and walking up the steps to the back end of the White House.
None of that happened. The episode was also about a protest in Saudi Arabia shouting for democracy, and the thought by Newman that Walken's actions of bombing Qumar (fictional Middle Eastern country in our world) in retaliation for Zoey Bartlet's kidnapping may have helped foster the protest. It's just policy discussions between Newman and Bartlet, and then all three after Walken joins them when the plane lands in Missouri to pick him up.
I still somewhat like the episode because of the presidential library setting, but Newman gets more play when discussing with Bartlet how he felt when Bartlet revealed to the world that he had multiple sclerosis. Walken is reduced to sitting with Bartlet on a bench, recounting a trip to China with Lassiter. The show is generally only 42 minutes, I get that, but here was a grand opportunity for reflection of a kind. Instead, the episode is also jammed with "B" and "C" storylines of Josh mediating a dispute between Connecticut and North Carolina on who actually owns a copy of the Bill of Rights that was stolen by a Union soldier during the Civil War, and C.J. finding out if the Department of Defense is heading up mind-control research. Useless storylines. What was so wrong with spending more time on Air Force One, and at the Lassiter Library, a little more time than just the last 11 minutes? There's former members of Lassiter's cabinet on the plane, including one named Bobby Bodine, "who I think tried to sell back Alaska as Secretary of the Interior," as Toby tells Josh on his cell phone while walking to the plane. Shouldn't Toby talk to these men that incense him so? He may not come to an understanding with them, if they'd want to talk to him at all, but just to put more meat in the episode. Here is a long-ago administration in the same plane as one that's most likely in the second year of its second term (I can't quite determine here what year the Bartlet administration is in, but that feels right).
There's a covered outdoor area of the Lassiter Library that Bartlet and Newman somberly walk through, and there's a banner with Lassiter's likeness on it. Here is this man's presidential library. Here are these men who have served and are serving in the same office. Reflective moments were sorely needed in this episode, from those former Lassiter cabinet members, from Walken, from Newman, from Bartlet (though he does get one when he talks with Toby, who's having trouble writing Bartlet's eulogy for Lassiter). What does it mean to these men to have been in power, to have power? How does it change them?
All of that would have been most welcome. But still I'll watch that episode occasionally (I am right now on Amazon), reminded of Reagan's death and the events that followed, and watching the Reagan funeral motorcade on that freeway from our apartment in Valencia in that summer of 2004. And it continues to inspire me for one presidential history book I want to write. I watch with regret, though. Always regret.
Thursday, December 29, 2011
More Hope
Not that I need any reassurance that moving to Henderson and always having Las Vegas available is the right path for me, but it's always nice to have those moments along the way to it that give more than you thought was there. Much more. And I've already thought there to be so much to look forward to already.
I'm reading a novel called Greyhound, published by AmazonEncore, about a 11-year-old, nearly 12, who's put on a Greyhound bus in Stockton, California by his feckless, uncaring mother, pushing him off to Altoona, Pennsylvania to live with his father's grandmother (a father who left long ago), because she doesn't want him to interfere with her new life with her new man, Dick, another man in a long line of men. This is a three-and-a-half day journey for the boy, with many well-defined characters along the way, the best so far being the kindly Mr. Hastings, working behind the ticket counter at the Los Angeles Greyhound terminal, and Marcus Franklin, his seatmate out of Los Angeles, a Langston Hughes and Miles Davis conoisseur.
I'm only on page 58, out of 240 pages, and I love this novel. I was on page 20 a few minutes ago and I knew that it was going into my permanent collection. Most important to me is where AmazonEncore seems to be based. On the copyright page, there's a P.O. Box address that ends with "Las Vegas, NV 89140."
Great literature does exist in, and come out of, Las Vegas. It is a place for readers and writers just as much as it is for dreamers. I will be proud to be part of it, because there's so much to see, so much to feel, so much to write about. From there, anything is possible for me, and AmazonEncore's existence gives me more hope. Maybe it was just a matter of convenience for the company, to not have that division ensconced in a thickly-populated metropolis. Even so, they have the right idea. The writers that fuel AmazonEncore may not come from Las Vegas (Steffan Piper, the author of Greyhound, lives in Los Angeles), but the books themselves do. The city is part of yet another valuable service.
I'm reading a novel called Greyhound, published by AmazonEncore, about a 11-year-old, nearly 12, who's put on a Greyhound bus in Stockton, California by his feckless, uncaring mother, pushing him off to Altoona, Pennsylvania to live with his father's grandmother (a father who left long ago), because she doesn't want him to interfere with her new life with her new man, Dick, another man in a long line of men. This is a three-and-a-half day journey for the boy, with many well-defined characters along the way, the best so far being the kindly Mr. Hastings, working behind the ticket counter at the Los Angeles Greyhound terminal, and Marcus Franklin, his seatmate out of Los Angeles, a Langston Hughes and Miles Davis conoisseur.
I'm only on page 58, out of 240 pages, and I love this novel. I was on page 20 a few minutes ago and I knew that it was going into my permanent collection. Most important to me is where AmazonEncore seems to be based. On the copyright page, there's a P.O. Box address that ends with "Las Vegas, NV 89140."
Great literature does exist in, and come out of, Las Vegas. It is a place for readers and writers just as much as it is for dreamers. I will be proud to be part of it, because there's so much to see, so much to feel, so much to write about. From there, anything is possible for me, and AmazonEncore's existence gives me more hope. Maybe it was just a matter of convenience for the company, to not have that division ensconced in a thickly-populated metropolis. Even so, they have the right idea. The writers that fuel AmazonEncore may not come from Las Vegas (Steffan Piper, the author of Greyhound, lives in Los Angeles), but the books themselves do. The city is part of yet another valuable service.
Wednesday, December 28, 2011
Got to Be the Only Uptick in That Aisle
Yesterday, the end of a long list of errands (post office, Sprouts, Walmart, made long by the time spent at the latter) led us to Albertsons to pick up what apparently is the only decent bread in this valley. It's the only one Mom has found that is tolerable, and we hope to find many good kinds in Henderson and not just one.
Albertsons is also the only store I know of in this valley that sells individual Matchbox cars. Target sells only five-packs, one of which I picked up and considerably expanded my collection of working vehicles. I haven't checked Toys"R"Us because the location here has always felt like the Wal-Mart of toy stores, just where you go to pick up obligatory birthday gifts for someone's kid.
At this Albertsons, in recent weeks, I've bought a forklift, a "concrete specialists" truck, and an "MH Authentic Austin Performance Parts" vehicle, which looks like a close cousin of a hearse. I figure that in supermarkets, at Walmart, at Target, heck, at anywhere that caters to customers, they keep tabs on what sells. Now, whether my purchases of individual working vehicles at Albertsons made such a difference, I don't know, but last night, I went to that empty toy aisle as always (It doesn't seem like anyone buys anything from there), flipped through the individual cars, noted what I already had, and then found in the back a water tanker truck, "Construction Water Supply Delivery." Exactly what I hoped to find just as a working vehicle, and it gives me hope that maybe somewhere in Vegas or in Henderson, the tow truck I want is sold individually, because I surely won't find it here.
The water tanker truck brings me to 11 working vehicles so far, and it'll only keep growing. I was always fascinated by garbage trucks when I was a kid, and I think I like these vehicles because they've got a purpose besides transport. They're not just showing off. They're a part of something. Once I have more room in our new place (even though it's actually smaller square footage than this place, but my DVDs are all in two binders and I'll be moving with less books), I'm thinking of adding big rigs.
Albertsons is also the only store I know of in this valley that sells individual Matchbox cars. Target sells only five-packs, one of which I picked up and considerably expanded my collection of working vehicles. I haven't checked Toys"R"Us because the location here has always felt like the Wal-Mart of toy stores, just where you go to pick up obligatory birthday gifts for someone's kid.
At this Albertsons, in recent weeks, I've bought a forklift, a "concrete specialists" truck, and an "MH Authentic Austin Performance Parts" vehicle, which looks like a close cousin of a hearse. I figure that in supermarkets, at Walmart, at Target, heck, at anywhere that caters to customers, they keep tabs on what sells. Now, whether my purchases of individual working vehicles at Albertsons made such a difference, I don't know, but last night, I went to that empty toy aisle as always (It doesn't seem like anyone buys anything from there), flipped through the individual cars, noted what I already had, and then found in the back a water tanker truck, "Construction Water Supply Delivery." Exactly what I hoped to find just as a working vehicle, and it gives me hope that maybe somewhere in Vegas or in Henderson, the tow truck I want is sold individually, because I surely won't find it here.
The water tanker truck brings me to 11 working vehicles so far, and it'll only keep growing. I was always fascinated by garbage trucks when I was a kid, and I think I like these vehicles because they've got a purpose besides transport. They're not just showing off. They're a part of something. Once I have more room in our new place (even though it's actually smaller square footage than this place, but my DVDs are all in two binders and I'll be moving with less books), I'm thinking of adding big rigs.
Tuesday, December 27, 2011
Covered in Books, But Not Overwhelmed
Mid-afternoon yesterday, I began reading an anthology called Steampunk!, which involves worlds with machines made of many gears, clockwork, airships hovering about, and I know I'm not explaining it very well, but I'm still immersing myself in it and it is awe-inspiring. I want a way to have now that expansive feeling when I spent all day in Tomorrowland in the Magic Kingdom at Walt Disney World, going between Space Mountain, the Tomorrowland Transit Authority, and Walt Disney's Carousel of Progress, that unspoken encouragement to imagine big, dream big. I get that with this anthology, and as I resume an interest in Superman, and seek out more sci-fi books, I feel I can have it all the time.
Sara, an old, very dear friend of mine who is making great strides toward becoming a human rights lawyer at Florida State University College of Law, recommended to me To Say Nothing of the Dog by Connie Willis in a list of her favorite books when we reconnected at the start of this year. I thought nothing of it, then, but later in the year, I thought I had purchased it out of curiosity, yet let it languish just like countless other books in my room.
With this new craving for sci-fi books, and so invigorated by the stories in Steampunk!, I remembered To Say Nothing of the Dog and thought I still had it in my room. This, of course, meant pulling out stacks of books that inevitably fell. Lola of WOMEN: WE SHALL OVERCOME offered to organize my books for me, and I refused, because I have certain stacks in place, one with all Las Vegas and Florida books (the former for the future, the latter for nostalgia-at-a-glance), another of books I want to read over the next few weeks or months, and others just haphazardly organized. When you don't look at those stacks closely every day, and put back the books that have fallen out of place without thinking anything of it, there's no reason to consider organization.
I'm not overwhelmed by the sheer number of books in my room, but it is clear that once we move to Henderson, settle into our new apartment, and I get the bookshelves I was promised years ago, I am going to come up with an organizational plan. I can't do it like this anymore. For now, being that all my DVDs are now in two big, heavy-duty binders, those box shelves are empty (yes, box shelves, fashioned from the boxes we moved with, which are still whole), and once I determined what I didn't need to read right now, I shoved a lot of books into those shelves and into the bottom box shelves too. It's not a case of out of sight, out of mind, but rather getting some floor space back and maybe vacuuming it one of these days.
I couldn't find To Say Nothing of the Dog. I may actually have been remembering checking it out of the Valencia library a few months before it switched from County of Los Angeles to City of Santa Clarita control. But that craving for sci-fi books is strong, and so I found the other steampunk anthology I bought last month, as well as the Superman novels I bought, Soulless by Gail Carriger, the 600+-page The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy book I have that contains all the novels, the Jules Verne book I have with all his novels, as well as many Charles Dickens novels I bought that I want to read, including Hard Times, Great Expectations, and Bleak House. The 2005 miniseries of the latter book is what turned me on to reading it. Unrelated to science fiction, but the same desire.
Cleared floor space means room for a very important stack, that of the books I'm using for my research, as well as books I'm reading for insight and inspiration, such as The Season by William Goldman, his chronicle of the 1967-68 Broadway season. It's not what I'm writing, but it's that kind of framework that Goldman employs. Plus I've ordered a few other books which are directly related to what I'm writing, and I want to see how those authors did it. I'm never intimidated by reading those who have done what I want to do; I just want to study their approach, and see what works for me.
My room looks a lot better, now that I've also cleaned up the junk that was littering my floor, such as loose papers and past issues of The New Yorker that I probably won't read now. The October 13th issue that I picked up from my floor is still folded back to the page that begins a profile of IKEA, and I intend to read that, now that it's sitting right in front of me.
Hopefully this reorganization of my book stacks is a sign that we'll be moving soon. I'd like that to be the final time of doing that here. I know I can't take all these books with me, and I don't mind that. But I would like some hint that this is getting me closer to the future I want. Can't predict what others are going to do, but I hope those others are giving thought to bringing my dad into their company so we can finally get started on really enjoying our lives, and I can seek the job I want.
Sara, an old, very dear friend of mine who is making great strides toward becoming a human rights lawyer at Florida State University College of Law, recommended to me To Say Nothing of the Dog by Connie Willis in a list of her favorite books when we reconnected at the start of this year. I thought nothing of it, then, but later in the year, I thought I had purchased it out of curiosity, yet let it languish just like countless other books in my room.
With this new craving for sci-fi books, and so invigorated by the stories in Steampunk!, I remembered To Say Nothing of the Dog and thought I still had it in my room. This, of course, meant pulling out stacks of books that inevitably fell. Lola of WOMEN: WE SHALL OVERCOME offered to organize my books for me, and I refused, because I have certain stacks in place, one with all Las Vegas and Florida books (the former for the future, the latter for nostalgia-at-a-glance), another of books I want to read over the next few weeks or months, and others just haphazardly organized. When you don't look at those stacks closely every day, and put back the books that have fallen out of place without thinking anything of it, there's no reason to consider organization.
I'm not overwhelmed by the sheer number of books in my room, but it is clear that once we move to Henderson, settle into our new apartment, and I get the bookshelves I was promised years ago, I am going to come up with an organizational plan. I can't do it like this anymore. For now, being that all my DVDs are now in two big, heavy-duty binders, those box shelves are empty (yes, box shelves, fashioned from the boxes we moved with, which are still whole), and once I determined what I didn't need to read right now, I shoved a lot of books into those shelves and into the bottom box shelves too. It's not a case of out of sight, out of mind, but rather getting some floor space back and maybe vacuuming it one of these days.
I couldn't find To Say Nothing of the Dog. I may actually have been remembering checking it out of the Valencia library a few months before it switched from County of Los Angeles to City of Santa Clarita control. But that craving for sci-fi books is strong, and so I found the other steampunk anthology I bought last month, as well as the Superman novels I bought, Soulless by Gail Carriger, the 600+-page The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy book I have that contains all the novels, the Jules Verne book I have with all his novels, as well as many Charles Dickens novels I bought that I want to read, including Hard Times, Great Expectations, and Bleak House. The 2005 miniseries of the latter book is what turned me on to reading it. Unrelated to science fiction, but the same desire.
Cleared floor space means room for a very important stack, that of the books I'm using for my research, as well as books I'm reading for insight and inspiration, such as The Season by William Goldman, his chronicle of the 1967-68 Broadway season. It's not what I'm writing, but it's that kind of framework that Goldman employs. Plus I've ordered a few other books which are directly related to what I'm writing, and I want to see how those authors did it. I'm never intimidated by reading those who have done what I want to do; I just want to study their approach, and see what works for me.
My room looks a lot better, now that I've also cleaned up the junk that was littering my floor, such as loose papers and past issues of The New Yorker that I probably won't read now. The October 13th issue that I picked up from my floor is still folded back to the page that begins a profile of IKEA, and I intend to read that, now that it's sitting right in front of me.
Hopefully this reorganization of my book stacks is a sign that we'll be moving soon. I'd like that to be the final time of doing that here. I know I can't take all these books with me, and I don't mind that. But I would like some hint that this is getting me closer to the future I want. Can't predict what others are going to do, but I hope those others are giving thought to bringing my dad into their company so we can finally get started on really enjoying our lives, and I can seek the job I want.
Sunday, December 25, 2011
If She Does, Then I Will
The thought of another relationship is so far in the back of my mind that it has to fight its way through the loads of research I'm doing for my book, the movies I want to see again on DVD, the episodes of Red Dwarf I want to watch, the movies I want to see in 2012, the upcoming two Knicks games this week, future blog topics, the leftover pumpkin pie in the fridge (Not ideal, but I'll take what I can get for now), my search for the person who made, or created the recipe for, the perfect Sysco pumpkin pie I had at Six Flags Magic Mountain, the books I want to read in the next couple of weeks, the movies I still have on the Tivo in the living room, the books I want to write after I'm done writing my second book (hopefully with a publishing contract attached), ransacking the Nevada history sections in the libraries of Las Vegas and Henderson once I'm a resident, etc., etc., etc. and still etc.
Yet once in a while, the thought protrudes a little. If I seek out someone for me, she has to be a voracious reader, has to know intimately the feeling of a great book, how it can do so much for you, make you feel like you can fly throughout the world, inspire you endlessly. No one who reads only for information.
At Ralphs yesterday with Dad, picking up a few groceries, including ice cream, more Silk soymilk, and two bottles of Arrowhead sparkling water for me, there was a big waist-height bargain book box in the middle of the frozen food aisles. I started digging through the books, not specifically looking for anything, but hoping for one or two grab-worthy titles, particularly because these books were selling for 3 for $10.
The paperback edition of Home by Julie Andrews was in there, but it stops before Mary Poppins and therefore includes nothing about Victor/Victoria, so I didn't want that. One day I'll read it, most likely when I check it out from the Henderson library. I hope she writes a second memoir that features those movies, and that's one memoir I'll buy, though I'll probably check it out of the library too since I won't have to buy so many books by then.
I came upon Nanny Returns by Emma McLaughlin and Nicola Kraus, the sequel to The Nanny Diaries. I vaguely remember reading The Nanny Diaries years ago, but I liked the description on the inside flap of this part of the plot of Nanny Returns: "To compound the mounting construction and marital chaos, her former charge, Grayer X, now sixteen years old, makes a drunken, late-night visit, wanting to know why she abandoned him all those years ago. But how can she explain to Grayer what she still hasn't come to terms with herself?" I want to see how that plays out.
Digging past multiple copies of a book that wasn't notable enough for me to remember, I found My Stroke of Insight: A Brain Scientist's Personal Journey by Jill Bolte Taylor, Ph.D., about how her knowledge of the brain saved her from a stroke she was having. I've got to know more about this.
Both books were $1.99 each, coming out to $4.29 with tax. I love finding cheap books that interest me. I don't know if Smith's or Vons in Henderson and Las Vegas have bargain book boxes like that one, but if they do, and if I spot a woman digging through those, as absorbed in the task as I was (I forgot I was in the frozen food aisle and only realized it when I looked up after finding those two books), I'm boldly walking over to her and striking up a conversation and hopefully getting her phone number. That's the kind of woman I want.
Yet once in a while, the thought protrudes a little. If I seek out someone for me, she has to be a voracious reader, has to know intimately the feeling of a great book, how it can do so much for you, make you feel like you can fly throughout the world, inspire you endlessly. No one who reads only for information.
At Ralphs yesterday with Dad, picking up a few groceries, including ice cream, more Silk soymilk, and two bottles of Arrowhead sparkling water for me, there was a big waist-height bargain book box in the middle of the frozen food aisles. I started digging through the books, not specifically looking for anything, but hoping for one or two grab-worthy titles, particularly because these books were selling for 3 for $10.
The paperback edition of Home by Julie Andrews was in there, but it stops before Mary Poppins and therefore includes nothing about Victor/Victoria, so I didn't want that. One day I'll read it, most likely when I check it out from the Henderson library. I hope she writes a second memoir that features those movies, and that's one memoir I'll buy, though I'll probably check it out of the library too since I won't have to buy so many books by then.
I came upon Nanny Returns by Emma McLaughlin and Nicola Kraus, the sequel to The Nanny Diaries. I vaguely remember reading The Nanny Diaries years ago, but I liked the description on the inside flap of this part of the plot of Nanny Returns: "To compound the mounting construction and marital chaos, her former charge, Grayer X, now sixteen years old, makes a drunken, late-night visit, wanting to know why she abandoned him all those years ago. But how can she explain to Grayer what she still hasn't come to terms with herself?" I want to see how that plays out.
Digging past multiple copies of a book that wasn't notable enough for me to remember, I found My Stroke of Insight: A Brain Scientist's Personal Journey by Jill Bolte Taylor, Ph.D., about how her knowledge of the brain saved her from a stroke she was having. I've got to know more about this.
Both books were $1.99 each, coming out to $4.29 with tax. I love finding cheap books that interest me. I don't know if Smith's or Vons in Henderson and Las Vegas have bargain book boxes like that one, but if they do, and if I spot a woman digging through those, as absorbed in the task as I was (I forgot I was in the frozen food aisle and only realized it when I looked up after finding those two books), I'm boldly walking over to her and striking up a conversation and hopefully getting her phone number. That's the kind of woman I want.
Day 5 of a Four-Week Pleasure Cruise
I went to bed at 1:45 this morning, hoping to get up before 9 so I could watch the Knicks/Celtics game, the start of the new NBA season. I didn't. It was 10:53 when I woke up and turned on the TV in my room to the heat of the 3rd quarter, or rather the heat for the Celtics, who were running fast, with the Knicks spending the rest of that quarter trying to close the point-gap. I don't like coach Mike D'Antoni because he looks like a schmuck, argues like a schmuck, and needs to stop coaching like a schmuck. Ok, there are going to be less practice sessions because the season is shortened, but Miami pulled way the hell ahead of the Dallas Mavericks in their game, and the Chicago Bulls and Los Angeles Lakers were keeping it very close throughout their game, two points and then at the end, one point apart, with the Bulls winning 88-87. I'm not interested in either team, except for Bulls star player Derek Rose, and was only curious to see how the new Lakers coach would fare, but that was a truly suspenseful finish.
As to the Knicks, they won 106-104, and thank god for Carmelo Anthony, but he cannot be the only player on the team. The rest need to step up, besides the top 3, including Amar'e Stoudemire, my favorite player in the league. D'Antoni needs to get this team motivated, and I'm sure the game today didn't quell calls for him to be fired.
Reading a live blog I found of today's game, I see that a lot did happen before I woke up and turned it on, with the Knicks way ahead at times. I'll watch the next game in full on Wednesday, which is them against the Golden State Warriors on NBA TV, of which DirecTV has a free preview going, so I'm glad for that, not to have to wait until Thursday when they're playing the Lakers, with that game broadcast on TNT.
I can't watch basketball like others do, riveted to the screen, shouting at the TV with every play, although I did that in the fourth quarter, hoping the Knicks would get ahead. I enjoy suspenseful final minutes, but only when my team is a few points ahead. I prefer comfortable leads, of course, but that'll do, when the defense is good enough to hint heavily at a win. I always have a book open while I'm watching the game, which today was These Foolish Things by Deborah Moggach, spurred on by seeing the trailer for The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel, starring Judi Dench, Maggie Smith, Bill Nighy and Tom Wilkinson. Based on the trailer, The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel seems to be just like The Bourne Identity (2002), in which the concept is used for a movie, but nothing else. These Foolish Things is about a retirement hotel in India, but from what I can tell, very few of the characters in The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel are adapted from the book. Characteristics, perhaps, but not entire persons. It's why when the movie tie-in edition of These Foolish Things comes out (retitled The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel), people will be surprised to find that little of the book is in the movie, and also that in These Foolish Things, the property is called the Dunroamin Retirement Hotel, not The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel. As it happens, the movie goes the right way on its own because the first 78 pages of the novel are a bit too gray for a movie and it's obvious those who produced the movie wanted it to be internationally accessible; in other words, not too much for moviegoers to have to think about in terms of other cultures. Just see India, see the culture, see the British retirees, and go from there. I like wider exploration, but I'll accept the seemingly myopic view here because Judi Dench and Bill Nighy are in this, and Tom Wilkinson is always good, so I'm set. Plus, I love the trailer. I've played it almost as many times so far as I did the one for Mission Impossible: Ghost Protocol. By the time the movie comes out in May (pushed back from March, which was a perfect time for it), I'll have seen that trailer more times than the one for Ghost Protocol.
The turkey that Dad had shown us in the trunk in the parking lot of Wienerschnitzel on Friday was 10 pounds and was turned into a masterpiece by Meridith. She's got a gift, an instinct for food that will propel her to wherever she wants to go. She rubbed butter all over the turkey, under the skin too, unleashed a few spices, and it came out golden, nearly glowing. At dinner tonight, Mom said that there were many years in which she stayed up all night to make the turkeys we had, set an alarm for every 2 hours or so to baste it, and it never came out as Meridith made it tonight. And this was her first turkey, which she took photos of because as if we didn't know already, this was the one moment that shows a remarkable talent about to break open wide. The butter all over the turkey she learned from watching Food Network, and that's the amazing thing about Meridith's cooking: She can learn something from a source and then employ it as if she's been using it for years. Dad used to just dump marshmallows on top of the sweet potatoes before putting them in the oven. Meridith places each marshmallow in a circular pattern on top of the sweet potatoes until the top is completely filled. While I was washing the dishes from dinner, a break before dessert that included a just-ok Claim Jumper pumpkin pie, I said to Meridith that it's really something that our family has a fast-budding chef and a writer. I credit continued exposure to Walt Disney World when I was a toddler, and Meridith's first visit to Walt Disney World when she was nine days old. The imagination expands immeasureably there, especially a developing one.
This four-week pleasure cruise turned out exactly as I had hoped. I did everything I wanted to do, and to cap it off, my book research has become even more fascinating. It's a bigger puzzle than I first imagined, with the families of some late actors hard to find (if there even are families), and it's exactly what I wanted. It's more rewarding when it takes time to get what you want.
As to the Knicks, they won 106-104, and thank god for Carmelo Anthony, but he cannot be the only player on the team. The rest need to step up, besides the top 3, including Amar'e Stoudemire, my favorite player in the league. D'Antoni needs to get this team motivated, and I'm sure the game today didn't quell calls for him to be fired.
Reading a live blog I found of today's game, I see that a lot did happen before I woke up and turned it on, with the Knicks way ahead at times. I'll watch the next game in full on Wednesday, which is them against the Golden State Warriors on NBA TV, of which DirecTV has a free preview going, so I'm glad for that, not to have to wait until Thursday when they're playing the Lakers, with that game broadcast on TNT.
I can't watch basketball like others do, riveted to the screen, shouting at the TV with every play, although I did that in the fourth quarter, hoping the Knicks would get ahead. I enjoy suspenseful final minutes, but only when my team is a few points ahead. I prefer comfortable leads, of course, but that'll do, when the defense is good enough to hint heavily at a win. I always have a book open while I'm watching the game, which today was These Foolish Things by Deborah Moggach, spurred on by seeing the trailer for The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel, starring Judi Dench, Maggie Smith, Bill Nighy and Tom Wilkinson. Based on the trailer, The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel seems to be just like The Bourne Identity (2002), in which the concept is used for a movie, but nothing else. These Foolish Things is about a retirement hotel in India, but from what I can tell, very few of the characters in The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel are adapted from the book. Characteristics, perhaps, but not entire persons. It's why when the movie tie-in edition of These Foolish Things comes out (retitled The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel), people will be surprised to find that little of the book is in the movie, and also that in These Foolish Things, the property is called the Dunroamin Retirement Hotel, not The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel. As it happens, the movie goes the right way on its own because the first 78 pages of the novel are a bit too gray for a movie and it's obvious those who produced the movie wanted it to be internationally accessible; in other words, not too much for moviegoers to have to think about in terms of other cultures. Just see India, see the culture, see the British retirees, and go from there. I like wider exploration, but I'll accept the seemingly myopic view here because Judi Dench and Bill Nighy are in this, and Tom Wilkinson is always good, so I'm set. Plus, I love the trailer. I've played it almost as many times so far as I did the one for Mission Impossible: Ghost Protocol. By the time the movie comes out in May (pushed back from March, which was a perfect time for it), I'll have seen that trailer more times than the one for Ghost Protocol.
The turkey that Dad had shown us in the trunk in the parking lot of Wienerschnitzel on Friday was 10 pounds and was turned into a masterpiece by Meridith. She's got a gift, an instinct for food that will propel her to wherever she wants to go. She rubbed butter all over the turkey, under the skin too, unleashed a few spices, and it came out golden, nearly glowing. At dinner tonight, Mom said that there were many years in which she stayed up all night to make the turkeys we had, set an alarm for every 2 hours or so to baste it, and it never came out as Meridith made it tonight. And this was her first turkey, which she took photos of because as if we didn't know already, this was the one moment that shows a remarkable talent about to break open wide. The butter all over the turkey she learned from watching Food Network, and that's the amazing thing about Meridith's cooking: She can learn something from a source and then employ it as if she's been using it for years. Dad used to just dump marshmallows on top of the sweet potatoes before putting them in the oven. Meridith places each marshmallow in a circular pattern on top of the sweet potatoes until the top is completely filled. While I was washing the dishes from dinner, a break before dessert that included a just-ok Claim Jumper pumpkin pie, I said to Meridith that it's really something that our family has a fast-budding chef and a writer. I credit continued exposure to Walt Disney World when I was a toddler, and Meridith's first visit to Walt Disney World when she was nine days old. The imagination expands immeasureably there, especially a developing one.
This four-week pleasure cruise turned out exactly as I had hoped. I did everything I wanted to do, and to cap it off, my book research has become even more fascinating. It's a bigger puzzle than I first imagined, with the families of some late actors hard to find (if there even are families), and it's exactly what I wanted. It's more rewarding when it takes time to get what you want.
Saturday, December 24, 2011
Someone Got It Right
Three Saturdays ago at Six Flags Magic Mountain, I tried the pumpkin pie I had been thinking about all day, at a table outside the Cyber Cafe in the central plaza with the glut of souvenir shops. It was the best one I had had in all the eight years I'd lived in the Santa Clarita Valley, though I don't think I'd been into pumpkin pie when we moved here. I remember many lemon meringue pies, some chocolate pies, an apple pie or two. I think I'd tried pumpkin pie when this valley began to get to me in the last four years. It's the one pie that's solid in nature, reliable, able to pull you through anything, a great comfort when you need it and even when you don't.
This particular slice had the perfect balance of pumpkin, spices and sugar. No one flavor dominated another and whoever made it knew just how much spice to put in. I vowed to e-mail Six Flags Magic Mountain and ask who had made the pie. I wanted to buy more.
I got a call this past Monday from a woman who works at Magic Mountain, possibly overseeing the food they sell there. I didn't ask. I was shocked because I didn't remember e-mailing Magic Mountain about the pie. Did I e-mail them that night, after I'd gotten home from the park? Did I e-mail them after getting home from Burbank after a day of IKEA, the Burbank Town Center Mall (and a few games of Simpsons pinball, Galaga, and a game of air hockey), and Barnes & Noble? After I thanked the woman for the information and hung up, I tried to figure it out. I honestly don't remember. I must have been really tired whenever I e-mailed them, yet I still was able to form whole words.
The woman told me that the pumpkin pie had come from Sysco. Sysco! The food distributor! Meridith was surprised when I told her where the pumpkin pie had come from, and told me she had heard something about them having test kitchens somewhere. Maybe that's true, to make sure that the products they push are of the quality they need them to be, but this pumpkin pie could not have come from a committee. This had to have come from the mind and heart of someone who had grown up with pumpkin pie, who had seen relatives make it, who saw how much nutmeg, cinnamon and ginger to put in, who had made their own as they got older and learned how they liked it and what worked best.
I doubt I'll be able to find that one person, if it even was one person who had come up with the recipe, but I've got to search. I've got to know. Even three weeks after, I still remember the taste of that pumpkin pie, and before I embark on my quest to find other great pumpkin pies in Las Vegas, along with chili-cheese and other covered fries, marinara sauce (Not the crappy, liquidy marinara sauces I've had here), and quesadillas, I want to get on the trail of this particular pumpkin pie, just to know.
Once businesses get back up and running after the start of 2012, and I'm deep into my book research again, I'll use the pumpkin pie search as an occasional break from it. There's a Los Angeles branch of Sysco with an "800" number, and I'll start there. I know it's a corporation, so it's very likely that they won't be as easily forthcoming as the woman from Six Flags was, but I've got to try. And even if nothing comes of it, that taste will be a good start for my pumpkin pie search in Las Vegas, to find one just as good or better than that one. I don't see how it's possible, but it can be there.
This particular slice had the perfect balance of pumpkin, spices and sugar. No one flavor dominated another and whoever made it knew just how much spice to put in. I vowed to e-mail Six Flags Magic Mountain and ask who had made the pie. I wanted to buy more.
I got a call this past Monday from a woman who works at Magic Mountain, possibly overseeing the food they sell there. I didn't ask. I was shocked because I didn't remember e-mailing Magic Mountain about the pie. Did I e-mail them that night, after I'd gotten home from the park? Did I e-mail them after getting home from Burbank after a day of IKEA, the Burbank Town Center Mall (and a few games of Simpsons pinball, Galaga, and a game of air hockey), and Barnes & Noble? After I thanked the woman for the information and hung up, I tried to figure it out. I honestly don't remember. I must have been really tired whenever I e-mailed them, yet I still was able to form whole words.
The woman told me that the pumpkin pie had come from Sysco. Sysco! The food distributor! Meridith was surprised when I told her where the pumpkin pie had come from, and told me she had heard something about them having test kitchens somewhere. Maybe that's true, to make sure that the products they push are of the quality they need them to be, but this pumpkin pie could not have come from a committee. This had to have come from the mind and heart of someone who had grown up with pumpkin pie, who had seen relatives make it, who saw how much nutmeg, cinnamon and ginger to put in, who had made their own as they got older and learned how they liked it and what worked best.
I doubt I'll be able to find that one person, if it even was one person who had come up with the recipe, but I've got to search. I've got to know. Even three weeks after, I still remember the taste of that pumpkin pie, and before I embark on my quest to find other great pumpkin pies in Las Vegas, along with chili-cheese and other covered fries, marinara sauce (Not the crappy, liquidy marinara sauces I've had here), and quesadillas, I want to get on the trail of this particular pumpkin pie, just to know.
Once businesses get back up and running after the start of 2012, and I'm deep into my book research again, I'll use the pumpkin pie search as an occasional break from it. There's a Los Angeles branch of Sysco with an "800" number, and I'll start there. I know it's a corporation, so it's very likely that they won't be as easily forthcoming as the woman from Six Flags was, but I've got to try. And even if nothing comes of it, that taste will be a good start for my pumpkin pie search in Las Vegas, to find one just as good or better than that one. I don't see how it's possible, but it can be there.
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