Three weeks ago, I learned from The Coaster Guy that the Six Flags Magic Mountain memorabilia in the Sky Tower had been completely removed, including the framed awards on two walls, bringing it back to its original form of people just riding the elevator up and looking at the view from all sides. I'm disappointed, because this was the one place in the Santa Clarita Valley where history was alive. History here is usually sad and decrepit. It has meaning, but it's not quite there because it always feels like regret. I know that people have history that they're not too proud of, but if we're talking the history of a place, the history of a valley, there should be more. And the Sky Tower Museum did have more. I agree with Kurt, the proprietor of the site, that it "was a great idea, but I don’t think it was executed very well." He's right on that count. The memorabilia was there, and so was that feeling of history being necessary. There were costumes and props and decommissioned seats from rollercoasters that didn't need those seats anymore, or didn't need to be a rollercoaster anymore. It was a random assortment, though. No chronological order, no theme. No section for rollercoasters, and then stage shows or outdoor shows, and then the overall park, such as it would be with maps from the 1970s. What Six Flags Magic Mountain should have done is train the employees in the history of the park. No tests or anything like that; just make sure that they can speak confidently enough about the history and answer any questions. In fact, they should have had a few sheets detailing questions most likely to be asked in the Sky Tower Museum.
If Six Flags Magic Mountain was run by a company that still cared about its history like Knotts Berry Farm is in Buena Park (a town heavy with the ghosts of its history, but not as gloomy as that sounds), they could consult former employees who might still be in touch with others throughout that division of the company, or known historians, and create exhibits that give people a full view of what the park was like back then. Have those former employees from long ago and those historians come up with a program that's palatable to the average visitor, and still detailed enough for the devoted fan. This is how the Sky Tower could have been best used, and with the benefit of that panoramic view, docents (as in paid employees that wanted this position) could point out where certain areas used to be and where the dolphin shows had been, and whatever else visitors might have wanted to know.
But would it have worked? Would there have been enough visitors to justify such a venture? Idealistically, I would hope so. But realistically, I'm not sure. Visitors who live in Santa Clarita just want the rides, and to get out of the heat for a little while during those months. Tourists want to see the park, and try to understand how in the heck people could simply walk up that huge frickin' Samurai Summit without either pulling something or collapsing from exhaustion, but on a not-too-steep incline so they don't roll down the hill. I would hope, even realistically, that mixed into those crowds are those interested enough in the history of place, to wonder what the park had been before its current incarnation, to try to imagine the park from the Sky Tower without all those rides, without those shows, without those food stands, and without the Sky Tower, imagining all that emptiness before it began to be filled in.
In the comments section of Kurt's post, he says that the artifacts were moved to Level P1, which is the "floor of the tower under the museum," now meaning under the panoramic view. It's amazing what's actually contained within the tower, as Kurt wrote in the early days of his blog:
"It stands 385 feet tall, has two observation decks around the 300 foot mark, and is serviced by two elevators. It can even be configured as a restaurant with the dining area on one floor and the kitchen on the other. Magic Mountain uses it as merely an observation deck, however they did furnish it with some historical park memorabilia in 2008 after a park employee suggested they create some sort of a museum."
Configured as a restaurant. Is the kitchen even up to code anymore? If they were to go that way, would they have to upgrade the equipment? This is what I'd want to know and also want to know if the dining configuration was ever used for any events. I'm sure it was, but these are the details that could have kept the Sky Tower Museum going.
Today, we four went to the Walmart on Kelly Johnson Parkway, the one that overlooks Six Flags Magic Mountain from a distance. Through willowy trees that have grown tall and bend airily in the wind, you can see the Superman: Escape from Krypton tower, as well as the Sky Tower. Superman: Escape from Krypton is having Lex Luthor: Drop of Doom added to it, which means clamping two separate tracks on each side of the tower, as a freefall kind of ride, or a drop tower ride, as they say. Who's they? Rollercoaster and theme park enthusiasts. I trust their word.
After we parked, I looked out at Six Flags Magic Mountain, at the Sky Tower and thought about that post with great regret. This is not a valley that's known for its history because it constantly presses on. We have to keep moving, we have to embrace the future, and then we have to discard that part of the future that has become the past and chase after the new future. Then the new new future. And, oh look! The new new new future!
One of the worst things happening to the Santa Clarita Valley, though few notice since it's financially in the crapper and wouldn't be if more people subscribed (though there's nothing worth subscribing for), is that the weekend Escape section of The Signal, the exclusive newspaper of this valley, has been cut down to 7 pages, which is basically nothing. I know. I worked with 16 pages when I was the interim editor and there was a lot more to play with. 7 pages in this edition is movie listings, an AP movie review of The Avengers by Christy Lemire (or at least I think it was The Avengers, though it doesn't matter), a few paragraphs from Chuck Shepard's News of the Weird, which is also part of the AP wire service for newspapers to use, and that's it. Nothing else. Nothing about this valley, and nothing about what's going on in this valley. Nothing to tell about its history, nothing to tell about anyone who might be doing something with its history, like a lecture or something. It's sadly a reflection on this valley because it is that shallow. Most who live here work in Los Angeles, and don't want to live in Los Angeles, so they come back here after work. This valley is the true definition of a bedroom community, minus "community," because there's no sense of one anywhere in here. Some people try, and I admire them for it, but it seems like a futile effort. How can it be done when L.A. is only half an hour south? L.A.'s not so great with its history either, as I learned from Taco USA: How Mexican Food Conquered America by Gustavo Arellano. A lot of whitewashing of history on Olvera Street, and a harkening back to the good old pueblo days, which didn't actually exist. History is only useful there if it's beneficial. Otherwise, what history?
Also in Arellano's fascinating history tour, I learned about San Bernardino, "about sixty miles east of Los Angeles," which was starting to become "America's fast-food incubator." Taco Bell began in the L.A. suburb of Downey in 1962. I read something about Anaheim in here, but I can't find it. While reading that section, I thought about Anaheim and Buena Park, and how both retain their history in many forms. They may not pay a great deal of attention to it, but they don't ignore it, they don't shun it, and they aren't ashamed of it. In the years before we began to be set on Las Vegas as our next and final residence (once I'm there, I'm not moving. It's where I belong and I don't think any other city in America would fit me so comfortably as Las Vegas does), I think I would not have been so angry toward the vapidity of the Santa Clarita Valley if I had studied Anaheim and Buena Park closely. I wrote about Buena Park in late January 2010, and I still feel the same about it. It's there for those who seek its history. It's not trying to be something it never was. Anaheim fascinates me because even though it would seem that there's nothing else outside of Disneyland, it feels like it has its pockets of history. All those past lives and past dates and past events are part of its fabric. It absorbed them and gained character from them. Whenever we went to the now-unfortunately-closed Po Folks in Buena Park, I always got a copy of the Orange County Register. The paper has always covered Orange County extremely well, but what interested me the most was Jonathan Lansner, the Register's real estate writer. How could anyone be interested enough in real estate to write about it? I can't understand it, but people are interested in it, and Lansner always writes about it so well, making such clear sense out of all the numbers. I wondered who Lansner is when he's away from the Orange County Register, what got him interested in real estate. History has always been accessible in Orange County. It takes some time to find, I'm sure, but it's there. There's no fear of being seen as old, as seems to be the mentality in Los Angeles and Santa Clarita. Perhaps that's why history is hidden or erased, as it felt upon seeing the photos of that empty Sky Tower floor and walls.
Then on Saturday, while Mom, Dad, and Meridith were out, remembering that Escape section, I thought about what I would have done to revive the section, if there was management willing to make it vibrant again, getting rid of the monotony that has poisoned it. I thought about more stories of community events, profiles of people with different hobbies, including gardening because that's always been interesting to me as an observer. Articles about Santa Clarita's history that include interviews with those who have lived that history or have studied it well. As much as I loathe this valley and will happily never go back to it once I'm gone, it needs this. It needs this attention. The entire area always looks so dry, and that's not because of the weather. It's because no one wants to try to prop it up, to give it life. It's the bedroom community mentality. The major flaw in my "plan," is finding writers who can write and are passionate about this valley, who don't mind being paid the pittance that The Signal barely offers. A new owner would be an improvement, but only if it was someone first rich enough, and secondly who has lived in this valley for decades who actually loves it and wants to see it made better, more active. This shouldn't just be a bedroom community. This is where people live, and I've heard that there are people who live here who have never left this valley. I take it to mean that they've never driven out to L.A. or Burbank or Pasadena or Anaheim or Buena Park, but I find that absolutely impossible. Considering what's offered here, how could they find anything to do? The library only goes so far.
I wish for more for this valley. As awful as it has been to me, I really do. But whereas Buena Park's ghosts remain, and its history is always there, Santa Clarita is heavy with apathy. It's there. People just want to do their necessary errands, eat wherever the booze is good, go to a movie, get out of this valley on a Friday night, and that's it. They get what they put into it. Maybe Anaheim and Buena Park are just more interesting because they're removed from Los Angeles and Hollywood by extension. They have their own distinct identities because of that. They're not clawing and yowling for the power of media. They are who they are, in all that they offer. At least history exists somewhere in Southern California.
Sunday, May 6, 2012
Friday, May 4, 2012
Thursday: The True Peaceful Day in the Santa Clarita Valley?
Late Thursday afternoon. Walmart Supercenter on Carl Boyer Drive. McDonald's first there, and then some shopping, all with Mom and Meridith while Dad went to the 6th grade barbecue at La Mesa for incoming 6th graders, showing off his classroom and answering any questions.
Only when Dad has something going on in his school do Mom, Meridith and I have the nicest time in this valley. At the beginning of last September, when there was an open house at La Mesa, Mom, Meridith and I went to eat at Souplantation. Dad dropped us off there and then went to the school. The dining room was mostly empty, pleasant, soft music of an indeterminate sort playing throughout, and pasta and soup and breads continually available. I prefer empty places because of that peace, though I don't mind it so much in Las Vegas, because more people there means more money pumped into the local economy. In Baker, at the Grewal Travel Center, I prefer an empty men's restroom. More time to look at the bathroom graffiti, made with pen and marker, and scratched into the walls of the stalls. Country music, as is played there, sounds better when you're traveling. It's part of the moving soundscape.
At that McDonald's just slightly ahead of the entrance into Walmart Supercenter, but behind the racks of packaged breads and cake slices as you walk toward produce and next to the deli department, Meridith and I had grilled chicken Caesar salads, Mom had a Filet-O-Fish, and I also had large fries, while Mom and Meridith shared a medium size. Medium iced coffee for Mom, large sweet tea for Meridith, and a small cup for me that I filled with sweet tea. I didn't want as much as Meridith had. Dessert was a medium strawberry shake for me, a small strawberry shake for Mom (from a McMeal we got of 4 chicken nuggets and small fries, three chicken nuggets among us, and half a chicken nugget and four fries each for Tigger and Kitty after we got home), and their new Strawberry & Creme Pie that we split between the three of us, and learned that it's McDonald's take on a blintz, right down to the creme filling tasting close to sour cream.
We sat there in an, again, mostly empty dining room, which gradually filled up and was at its most crowded by the time we were getting ready to leave, to start shopping in Walmart. On a flatscreen TV on the left-side wall near the ceiling played the McDonald's Channel, which included some local stories from KABC, brief things from Reelz Channel, and other things I didn't pay any attention to. This visit had the exact same feeling as Souplantation. Just as peaceful, just as pleasant.
I know that Fridays in the Santa Clarita Valley feel like the universe is completely aligned, and also very empty, since many residents want to do something outside this valley. Even though it's probably not as big a number that leave as I believe, it still feels like a mass exodus, like I could do anything in this valley as a result and would not be bothered by anyone. I could pretend to be a member of the Ministry of Silly Walks on the paseos, or just spin around on the sidewalks of Valencia, or any number of other things within legal reason. I'm sure the mall is a little more crowded than it usually is on a Friday, but even so, it's not worth staying here on a Friday night when there's so much else to do in Los Angeles proper or Burbank or Santa Monica or other cities. I still find it ridiculous to have to navigate the freeways, go through so many mountain passes just to do what you want to do, which is why I'm never part of that exodus. Also because I don't drive here and won't. I don't like the roads, I don't like the tight turns, I don't like having to use the freeway system if I want something truly different from what the Santa Clarita Valley offers. I always had accessibility in Florida and it's what I will have again in Nevada.
But if Friday, including today, feels like a mass exodus has taken place and there's only the bare shell of this valley, then why does Thursday feel like the only truly peaceful day in this valley, like it's not worth being miffed at what always galls me in this valley in order to retain that good feeling? Is it because Thursday evening is that easy transition into the Friday that I know so well? Is it because with the weekend arriving soon, there's no reason to try hard at any venture, that relaxation will come and so we should start before it comes?
I don't remember a structure like this in Florida, where a Thursday felt like this. Perhaps that's because nearly all my years in Florida were spent in school, and then summers came, and after that was school again. I knew that Fridays were the best days because it meant I was done with school for the week. I never hated school, but picked out only specific things that made it worth it, and discarded the rest. I'll have that school structure again as a middle school campus supervisor in Nevada, but it'll be different because there's nothing at stake in the way of grades. I just want to do the best job possible, to know my campus intimately, to observe necessary safety measures, to make sure that the kids behave, and, in a way, to help foster peace among the campus. The best day at my job is one in which nothing much happens, or even nothing at all. And that's because the job's been done right.
But for now, here in Southern California, I wonder what makes Thursday feel peaceful. Shouldn't that be Friday? Friday should be a catch-all, especially with that mass exodus feeling. Or is it even because of these rare times in which Dad is at La Mesa and it's just me, Mom, and Meridith? It's certainly easier because Dad doesn't like to be at Walmart that long, and so shopping trips soon turn unpleasant. His displeasure is easy to ignore because we need a few things from there, and yet it hangs on the periphery. Not dark clouds, but not always easy to deal with.
So maybe because Dad had that open house in September and then the 6th grade barbecue last night is why Thursdays feel peaceful. Yet, we don't do that all the time, so maybe it's because, in a way, it feels like the valley is breathing easier because it knows it doesn't have to shoulder so many people on the Friday night to come. It doesn't feel like there's as much at stake. I've always gotten the feeling that people here live to win, in whatever they do. It's now how I like to live. I live to enjoy.
So now it's late Friday afternoon (the time stamp says differently, but it's 4:07 as I finish this), and there's that feeling of the universe having aligned, of the valley soon to be empty. I have to go to the Chase ATM later to deposit a check, and I know that when I get out of the car to go in, I'll look around and despite all the houses and apartments around, the area will feel barren. Always does. Fascinating to me, but not an ideal living condition. For now, though, Thursday will always be peace, and Friday will always be empty ground.
Only when Dad has something going on in his school do Mom, Meridith and I have the nicest time in this valley. At the beginning of last September, when there was an open house at La Mesa, Mom, Meridith and I went to eat at Souplantation. Dad dropped us off there and then went to the school. The dining room was mostly empty, pleasant, soft music of an indeterminate sort playing throughout, and pasta and soup and breads continually available. I prefer empty places because of that peace, though I don't mind it so much in Las Vegas, because more people there means more money pumped into the local economy. In Baker, at the Grewal Travel Center, I prefer an empty men's restroom. More time to look at the bathroom graffiti, made with pen and marker, and scratched into the walls of the stalls. Country music, as is played there, sounds better when you're traveling. It's part of the moving soundscape.
At that McDonald's just slightly ahead of the entrance into Walmart Supercenter, but behind the racks of packaged breads and cake slices as you walk toward produce and next to the deli department, Meridith and I had grilled chicken Caesar salads, Mom had a Filet-O-Fish, and I also had large fries, while Mom and Meridith shared a medium size. Medium iced coffee for Mom, large sweet tea for Meridith, and a small cup for me that I filled with sweet tea. I didn't want as much as Meridith had. Dessert was a medium strawberry shake for me, a small strawberry shake for Mom (from a McMeal we got of 4 chicken nuggets and small fries, three chicken nuggets among us, and half a chicken nugget and four fries each for Tigger and Kitty after we got home), and their new Strawberry & Creme Pie that we split between the three of us, and learned that it's McDonald's take on a blintz, right down to the creme filling tasting close to sour cream.
We sat there in an, again, mostly empty dining room, which gradually filled up and was at its most crowded by the time we were getting ready to leave, to start shopping in Walmart. On a flatscreen TV on the left-side wall near the ceiling played the McDonald's Channel, which included some local stories from KABC, brief things from Reelz Channel, and other things I didn't pay any attention to. This visit had the exact same feeling as Souplantation. Just as peaceful, just as pleasant.
I know that Fridays in the Santa Clarita Valley feel like the universe is completely aligned, and also very empty, since many residents want to do something outside this valley. Even though it's probably not as big a number that leave as I believe, it still feels like a mass exodus, like I could do anything in this valley as a result and would not be bothered by anyone. I could pretend to be a member of the Ministry of Silly Walks on the paseos, or just spin around on the sidewalks of Valencia, or any number of other things within legal reason. I'm sure the mall is a little more crowded than it usually is on a Friday, but even so, it's not worth staying here on a Friday night when there's so much else to do in Los Angeles proper or Burbank or Santa Monica or other cities. I still find it ridiculous to have to navigate the freeways, go through so many mountain passes just to do what you want to do, which is why I'm never part of that exodus. Also because I don't drive here and won't. I don't like the roads, I don't like the tight turns, I don't like having to use the freeway system if I want something truly different from what the Santa Clarita Valley offers. I always had accessibility in Florida and it's what I will have again in Nevada.
But if Friday, including today, feels like a mass exodus has taken place and there's only the bare shell of this valley, then why does Thursday feel like the only truly peaceful day in this valley, like it's not worth being miffed at what always galls me in this valley in order to retain that good feeling? Is it because Thursday evening is that easy transition into the Friday that I know so well? Is it because with the weekend arriving soon, there's no reason to try hard at any venture, that relaxation will come and so we should start before it comes?
I don't remember a structure like this in Florida, where a Thursday felt like this. Perhaps that's because nearly all my years in Florida were spent in school, and then summers came, and after that was school again. I knew that Fridays were the best days because it meant I was done with school for the week. I never hated school, but picked out only specific things that made it worth it, and discarded the rest. I'll have that school structure again as a middle school campus supervisor in Nevada, but it'll be different because there's nothing at stake in the way of grades. I just want to do the best job possible, to know my campus intimately, to observe necessary safety measures, to make sure that the kids behave, and, in a way, to help foster peace among the campus. The best day at my job is one in which nothing much happens, or even nothing at all. And that's because the job's been done right.
But for now, here in Southern California, I wonder what makes Thursday feel peaceful. Shouldn't that be Friday? Friday should be a catch-all, especially with that mass exodus feeling. Or is it even because of these rare times in which Dad is at La Mesa and it's just me, Mom, and Meridith? It's certainly easier because Dad doesn't like to be at Walmart that long, and so shopping trips soon turn unpleasant. His displeasure is easy to ignore because we need a few things from there, and yet it hangs on the periphery. Not dark clouds, but not always easy to deal with.
So maybe because Dad had that open house in September and then the 6th grade barbecue last night is why Thursdays feel peaceful. Yet, we don't do that all the time, so maybe it's because, in a way, it feels like the valley is breathing easier because it knows it doesn't have to shoulder so many people on the Friday night to come. It doesn't feel like there's as much at stake. I've always gotten the feeling that people here live to win, in whatever they do. It's now how I like to live. I live to enjoy.
So now it's late Friday afternoon (the time stamp says differently, but it's 4:07 as I finish this), and there's that feeling of the universe having aligned, of the valley soon to be empty. I have to go to the Chase ATM later to deposit a check, and I know that when I get out of the car to go in, I'll look around and despite all the houses and apartments around, the area will feel barren. Always does. Fascinating to me, but not an ideal living condition. For now, though, Thursday will always be peace, and Friday will always be empty ground.
Thursday, May 3, 2012
Tidbits from the 11th Issue of The Henderson Press
The evolution of The Henderson Press continues, with smaller, thinner bylines. Previous issues had bylines in bold with "Henderson Press" beneath the name of the writer. Now one font style fits all. For example, "By Jeremy Twitchell" is first, but below that isn't bold. "THP Reporter" is the same size and type as his name. Below that is his (now former) e-mail address: jtwitchell@hendersonpress.com. I like this. There's more room for potentially longer articles if need be, and especially helpful since this issue, Vol. 2, No. 6, dated March 24-April 6, 2011, has a Voter Guide for the 2011 municipal election, which may have necessitated the change in font, so there's more room for candidate statements and information about their professional and education backgrounds. This is when a local newspaper is needed the most and even before reading about these candidates, the layout looks organized and gives ample room to everyone running for various offices. I'm curious about why they want to run.
Let's see what there is in this issue:
- An article about general satisfaction with the city on various issues from a survey commissioned by the City Council and run by Kansas City-based research firm ETC Institute says that St. Rose Parkway is one of the city's fastest and busiest streets. Something to keep in mind when I begin driving these roads.
- In 2009, there were 132,395 registered voters in Henderson. For this election, there's 124,700 registered voters. There's no clear reason why.
- A record low voter turnout of 6.9% in 2005 triggered the city to establish "vote centers" throughout, in lieu of precincts, where any registered voter can vote at any of them. Voter turnout increased to 11.1% in 2007, and 14.7% in 2009. Interesting to find a city that actually wants to engage its voters.
- Statements by the candidates are at least cogent, all genuine, but one doesn't seem feasible (Does this guy realize what it would take to disconnect from the Clark County School District and establish Henderson's own school district? It likely takes more time than he could even imagine, it wouldn't be an easy task, and it wouldn't be worth getting away from the Clark County School District because everyone in Southern Nevada is connected. Doesn't matter if you live in Las Vegas, or Henderson, or Summerlin; all actions affect the entire region. A lot of people who work in Las Vegas live in Henderson (including comedy magician The Amazing Johnathan, of whom I'm a huge fan). Summerlin may not want to know Las Vegas, but they're just as connected. We're all together.
- These candidate statements also make me want to attend a Henderson City Council meeting one day. I'm curious about it, and have never been to one anywhere else. I'm sure I can find something to be interested in there much like I do with everything else in my life.
- I'm curious about who got elected. First time I think I've ever been interested in that outside of a presidential election.
- Fred Couzens has an article about improvements to be made on Water Street in downtown Henderson for a Rapid Transit bus system. Hard facts in here and Couzens handles them admirably. There's also a photo by Couzens of a bus on the Boulder Highway Express route. I hope in future issues, there are more and more photos by Couzens. They're remarkable every time.
- Couzens also has an article about Ameresco, an energy efficiency company, finishing out its contract with the City of Henderson with great success. This is his best article so far. His details about energy efficiency improvements are well-written and easy to understand for those like me who don't think about this all the time, and a black-and-white photo by him of the pool and slides at the Whitney Ranch Recreation Center should be hanging somewhere, perhaps on a wall at the City of Henderson Recreation Department, reminding employees of the good they do.
- Twitchell's best article so far is in here too, about the City Council unanimously approving construction of the Wigwam Surgical Center on the "south side of Wigwam Parkway, east of Eastern Avenue." He writes about the objections by the Scottsdale Valley Homeowners Association, which is south of the Center's property line, support by a resident of another neighborhood across from Wigwam Parkway, comments by the lawyer representing the developer, details about what the Center will contain, and how the City Council feels about it. The best articles in The Henderson Press provide a deeper connection to the community. This is one of them.
- Mayor Andy Hafen and his family had their own parade car in the 45th annual St. Patrick's Day parade. I love that as vast as Henderson is, the mayor is never too busy for such events as this one.
- Couzens is improving in community articles. He wrote about a modest philanthropist named Bob Ellis, and while he stumbled greatly with the wrong usage of "humble pie" at the beginning (believing it to mean that someone is humble, when its meaning is far from that), the rest of the article is touching. Ellis is an example of one reason I love Henderson and the rest of Southern Nevada: There's many people like this living there, good people, philanthropy or not.
- On March 27, the Henderson Symphony Orchestra hosts their 14th annual Young Artists Concert in which those young artists perform with the Henderson Symphony. No matter whose music they're playing, I would go to that, to support that.
- The Clark County Museum has a Pueblo art exhibit from March 9 to June 3. I would see that.
- In the transportation ads, someone's selling a 1995 Corvette Convertible for $13,400, with 85,000 miles on it. Supercharged. You've got to really have the money for it to want it, also the money way beyond that $13,400.
These issues are getting better and better. Interest and care are the two most important things for a community newspaper to have, and The Henderson Press has both. The Las Vegas Review-Journal can't cover Henderson all the time, and so The Henderson Press has stepped up enormously to fill the gap that would be there otherwise. Just like everything else in Southern Nevada, I'm sure it wasn't known that The Henderson Press was even needed before it started, but now that it's there, it's obvious that the city needed it. It has become an important part of the fabric of Henderson. It's believed that connections are tenuous in Las Vegas and therefore its surrounding areas. But The Henderson Press shows otherwise. There are fiercely loyal connections all around, people always willing to help, who are always friendly. To live in Southern Nevada, you can't have a fight-the-world attitude. Relax. Feel the world around you. Appreciate what's in front of you. Las Vegas survives because there is always understanding, the reputation of casinos notwithstanding. It is always there. It's the only way to survive in the desert.
Let's see what there is in this issue:
- An article about general satisfaction with the city on various issues from a survey commissioned by the City Council and run by Kansas City-based research firm ETC Institute says that St. Rose Parkway is one of the city's fastest and busiest streets. Something to keep in mind when I begin driving these roads.
- In 2009, there were 132,395 registered voters in Henderson. For this election, there's 124,700 registered voters. There's no clear reason why.
- A record low voter turnout of 6.9% in 2005 triggered the city to establish "vote centers" throughout, in lieu of precincts, where any registered voter can vote at any of them. Voter turnout increased to 11.1% in 2007, and 14.7% in 2009. Interesting to find a city that actually wants to engage its voters.
- Statements by the candidates are at least cogent, all genuine, but one doesn't seem feasible (Does this guy realize what it would take to disconnect from the Clark County School District and establish Henderson's own school district? It likely takes more time than he could even imagine, it wouldn't be an easy task, and it wouldn't be worth getting away from the Clark County School District because everyone in Southern Nevada is connected. Doesn't matter if you live in Las Vegas, or Henderson, or Summerlin; all actions affect the entire region. A lot of people who work in Las Vegas live in Henderson (including comedy magician The Amazing Johnathan, of whom I'm a huge fan). Summerlin may not want to know Las Vegas, but they're just as connected. We're all together.
- These candidate statements also make me want to attend a Henderson City Council meeting one day. I'm curious about it, and have never been to one anywhere else. I'm sure I can find something to be interested in there much like I do with everything else in my life.
- I'm curious about who got elected. First time I think I've ever been interested in that outside of a presidential election.
- Fred Couzens has an article about improvements to be made on Water Street in downtown Henderson for a Rapid Transit bus system. Hard facts in here and Couzens handles them admirably. There's also a photo by Couzens of a bus on the Boulder Highway Express route. I hope in future issues, there are more and more photos by Couzens. They're remarkable every time.
- Couzens also has an article about Ameresco, an energy efficiency company, finishing out its contract with the City of Henderson with great success. This is his best article so far. His details about energy efficiency improvements are well-written and easy to understand for those like me who don't think about this all the time, and a black-and-white photo by him of the pool and slides at the Whitney Ranch Recreation Center should be hanging somewhere, perhaps on a wall at the City of Henderson Recreation Department, reminding employees of the good they do.
- Twitchell's best article so far is in here too, about the City Council unanimously approving construction of the Wigwam Surgical Center on the "south side of Wigwam Parkway, east of Eastern Avenue." He writes about the objections by the Scottsdale Valley Homeowners Association, which is south of the Center's property line, support by a resident of another neighborhood across from Wigwam Parkway, comments by the lawyer representing the developer, details about what the Center will contain, and how the City Council feels about it. The best articles in The Henderson Press provide a deeper connection to the community. This is one of them.
- Mayor Andy Hafen and his family had their own parade car in the 45th annual St. Patrick's Day parade. I love that as vast as Henderson is, the mayor is never too busy for such events as this one.
- Couzens is improving in community articles. He wrote about a modest philanthropist named Bob Ellis, and while he stumbled greatly with the wrong usage of "humble pie" at the beginning (believing it to mean that someone is humble, when its meaning is far from that), the rest of the article is touching. Ellis is an example of one reason I love Henderson and the rest of Southern Nevada: There's many people like this living there, good people, philanthropy or not.
- On March 27, the Henderson Symphony Orchestra hosts their 14th annual Young Artists Concert in which those young artists perform with the Henderson Symphony. No matter whose music they're playing, I would go to that, to support that.
- The Clark County Museum has a Pueblo art exhibit from March 9 to June 3. I would see that.
- In the transportation ads, someone's selling a 1995 Corvette Convertible for $13,400, with 85,000 miles on it. Supercharged. You've got to really have the money for it to want it, also the money way beyond that $13,400.
These issues are getting better and better. Interest and care are the two most important things for a community newspaper to have, and The Henderson Press has both. The Las Vegas Review-Journal can't cover Henderson all the time, and so The Henderson Press has stepped up enormously to fill the gap that would be there otherwise. Just like everything else in Southern Nevada, I'm sure it wasn't known that The Henderson Press was even needed before it started, but now that it's there, it's obvious that the city needed it. It has become an important part of the fabric of Henderson. It's believed that connections are tenuous in Las Vegas and therefore its surrounding areas. But The Henderson Press shows otherwise. There are fiercely loyal connections all around, people always willing to help, who are always friendly. To live in Southern Nevada, you can't have a fight-the-world attitude. Relax. Feel the world around you. Appreciate what's in front of you. Las Vegas survives because there is always understanding, the reputation of casinos notwithstanding. It is always there. It's the only way to survive in the desert.
I Belong to Nevada
In his book In Nevada: The Land, The People, God, and Chance, which I started reading on the way to Walmart Supercenter for a pleasant visit that I'll write about tomorrow--in appreciation of Thursdays in this valley that don't feel as combative as other days of the week--and also read while at Walmart, David Thomson describes the ideal Nevada resident:
"You have to have some of the patience and sangfroid of a ghost to get along there--you need to be not quite what you were, not quite alive to this world, but breathing history and with time in your veins."
I've got the patience and sangfroid. It comes from moving so many times, being pretty much rootless in my native Florida because nearly all the moves happened throughout there. I'm easygoing about anything. Nothing's permanent, and I understand that.
I'm not quite a film critic like I used to be; I write reviews for fun now, and while the thought of writing a book before I did it worried me to no end because of all the work involved, I want to do it again, and yet I still have to push myself to make a go of it.
I'm not quite alive to this world. I use Facebook, but not Twitter, I don't believe in keeping up on absolutely everything that's happening online, though I do read the news as necessary. I don't need to know every single movement of politicians. I don't need to know what celebrities are up to. I'm not one of those who are so wired and so connected that if their iPhone broke, they would go crazy.
Breathing history? I'm passionate about presidential history, interested in Supreme Court history, I'm reading In Nevada because I want to know everything about my future home state, and once there, I'm going to read every single Nevada history book available, while also studying New Mexico, which I want to travel throughout. I'm also interested in the origins of things and people, such as a book about pasta that I want to read and had put it on my immediate to-read stack, but then Lots of Candles, Plenty of Cake by Anna Quindlen and God's Hotel by Victoria Sweet arrived in the mail yesterday from Amazon. I started In Nevada because I didn't want to carry the hardcover God's Hotel with me in Walmart. I wanted to leave it for home reading, where I can truly go deep into it.
Whenever I pass by buildings, I wonder who built them, the architects who thought of them, the construction guys who installed flooring and made columns. I look at parks and wonder what they looked like decades before our car passed them by. I think about each state and wonder how many of its citizens take pride in its history, or even pay attention to its history. I hope there are many like me. I'm always breathing history.
I'm 28. I have time in my veins, and as a writer, it's there anyway. It takes time to write a book, to write a novel. I know how I want to use time, yet I know that time does not belong to me. The clock will tick no matter what I do. But I will try for what I want in my life, in reading, in writing books, in finally having roots, feeling like I'm home somewhere.
By all this, I belong to Nevada.
"You have to have some of the patience and sangfroid of a ghost to get along there--you need to be not quite what you were, not quite alive to this world, but breathing history and with time in your veins."
I've got the patience and sangfroid. It comes from moving so many times, being pretty much rootless in my native Florida because nearly all the moves happened throughout there. I'm easygoing about anything. Nothing's permanent, and I understand that.
I'm not quite a film critic like I used to be; I write reviews for fun now, and while the thought of writing a book before I did it worried me to no end because of all the work involved, I want to do it again, and yet I still have to push myself to make a go of it.
I'm not quite alive to this world. I use Facebook, but not Twitter, I don't believe in keeping up on absolutely everything that's happening online, though I do read the news as necessary. I don't need to know every single movement of politicians. I don't need to know what celebrities are up to. I'm not one of those who are so wired and so connected that if their iPhone broke, they would go crazy.
Breathing history? I'm passionate about presidential history, interested in Supreme Court history, I'm reading In Nevada because I want to know everything about my future home state, and once there, I'm going to read every single Nevada history book available, while also studying New Mexico, which I want to travel throughout. I'm also interested in the origins of things and people, such as a book about pasta that I want to read and had put it on my immediate to-read stack, but then Lots of Candles, Plenty of Cake by Anna Quindlen and God's Hotel by Victoria Sweet arrived in the mail yesterday from Amazon. I started In Nevada because I didn't want to carry the hardcover God's Hotel with me in Walmart. I wanted to leave it for home reading, where I can truly go deep into it.
Whenever I pass by buildings, I wonder who built them, the architects who thought of them, the construction guys who installed flooring and made columns. I look at parks and wonder what they looked like decades before our car passed them by. I think about each state and wonder how many of its citizens take pride in its history, or even pay attention to its history. I hope there are many like me. I'm always breathing history.
I'm 28. I have time in my veins, and as a writer, it's there anyway. It takes time to write a book, to write a novel. I know how I want to use time, yet I know that time does not belong to me. The clock will tick no matter what I do. But I will try for what I want in my life, in reading, in writing books, in finally having roots, feeling like I'm home somewhere.
By all this, I belong to Nevada.
Wednesday, May 2, 2012
An Empty Stage, A Troupe Unformed
I believe that theater is wherever you make it. Large productions with lots of logistics should be on Broadway. You can't stage The Little Mermaid on a Chicago street corner. But smaller plays, at least those that are made for passion and its players aren't doing it for money, should be staged wherever there's space. I imagine that this involves permits and the like, and other logistics different from Broadway productions, but why not change the perception of a place? Take a sidewalk near the Santa Monica Pier and turn it into soul-searching upon arrival at the beach. What are these two or three people searching for? What have they lost that they're trying to find? Perhaps there's not a strong audience to be found at a Goodwill store, but there are so many stories in the items there that so many performances are possible.
I think about this because of the Merrill Lynch building in Los Angeles. Or it may be the Bank of America building. I'm not sure. I do know that there was one year in the middle of the first decade of the new century in which awards for the Stock Market Game, a program that my dad's classroom was part of, were given out in an area of Walt Disney Concert Hall, with a lavish catered dinner that included filet mignon. The next year, because of the ensuing financial crisis, the awards were given in significantly less swank accomodations at that building, the 1960s-looking gathering place of that building, with a half-moon curve of chairs that looked like they were from the Space Age. Swivel chairs, with tiny side tables attached to them. It smelled moldy and dusty, also remnants of the Space Age. The stage at which presenters (teachers who participated in the program) and winners (students who had earned the most money from mock investments) was very small, and only the outer wings were used, a podium on the left side, and a long table next to it, in the middle, at the edge of the stage.
I was always so bored at these ceremonies. Mom, Meridith and I tagged along in support of Dad, but those speeches seemed to never end in time to celebrate New Year's Eve. And this always took place in April or May. So I looked around at this aged venue, looking at that stage, wondering what other presentations had been given on it. And today, before I realized I needed air from reading Anna Quindlen's new memoir, Lots of Candles, Plenty of Cake (I like her gentle writing, but reading enough of her essays, I find that she's pressed herself so tightly that words can't breathe all that well), I thought about that stage, in that building, way off from the entrance to the elevators that take financial people to their jobs on the higher floors, but not before they scan their ID cards and a gate barrier drops to let them through.
I wish most workplaces took the model of Pixar, that it's not all about work. They've got a cereal bar with all kinds of cereals for its employees in the mornings, the atrium is huge, with lots of events going on, and the key for them is keeping everything social, to keep people talking, listening, gathering ideas from the most unexpected places. Would the financial industry be better if it wasn't so rushed, if there was a chance for people to breathe, to let in some imagination, things that they like in their own lives, things they want to explore?
I don't know how it would be arranged for a theater troupe, or even a collection of actors among employees, to perform in that space, in that aged air, being watched from those space-age chairs. I don't know if a corporate giant would even bother with such a thing because does anyone know theater there beyond the theater that comes with financial investments? Would the legal department have to look over the scripts to make sure there's nothing potentially offensive and litigious? Would it really be right for corporate minds to decide what could be put on? Certainly, there couldn't be anything performed about the Marquis de Sade. That would be too wild a contrast. Original monologues, original plays, that would be worth trying. Short, though. One act. 45 minutes to an hour. Perform it during lunch breaks when people may want to see something different than what they've been dealing with at their desks. It would make that room different from how it's usually perceived, likely for awards ceremonies or long meetings with more than 10 people, different than the usual ramblings that go on and on and on.
I'm thinking of how utterly amateurish some of those productions might be, but it would still be a valuable creative outlet. But then, those who might perform in these plays still have to work with their co-workers each day, so would they be subtly mocked for such a thing if it goes off badly? Or maybe it's best to bring in outside actors, those looking to get better at what they do or who want to try a work before they expand on it? Nothing sexually explicit or violent, I'm sure. If there are standards laid down and whoever is to write a play and/or perform it, it's an interesting challenge to create something out of what can't be done or said. But then by that token, maybe it's best that this room remain as it always is. Who would want to be censored? But it's an experiment I wish Los Angeles would try. The city's not known for theater, so just make different theater. Put it where it's least expected, advertise the hell out of it, either among paying audience members or employees, and have fun with it. Ironically, only if I cared enough and I was staying in Los Angeles would I try to mount something like this. I wish the city was as loose as this. It's too buttoned-up, too many dark looks at others as if they're going to steal everything away. I am curious to see how Las Vegas does theater, how it's done at UNLV, what the City of Henderson offers. Theater is mounted in odd places in a way, what with those costumed characters now on the Strip just like the ones at Hollywood & Vine in L.A. I don't agree with it, because there shouldn't be an L.A. influence in Las Vegas, and it should remain at Hollywood & Vine, where it fits in better. But it's too short. And yet, theater is all around in Las Vegas, drama is prevalent, and the cast of characters always changes. Theater doesn't need to be mounted there in places not known for theater, because it has it at all times, even though it's not meant to be that.
Just now I went to the website for the Nevada Conservatory Theatre. They've got nice set designs, and hopefully actors who try. With the productions they put on, such as Sam Shepard's Fool for Love, I'm sure they do. What I keep having to remember is that not everyone is into theater, that they get enough drama from their daily lives, that the Space Age room should remain as it always has been, for nothing else but wide-ranging meetings and awards ceremonies. The best I can hope for then is to change perceptions through my writing, hoping to show people what they didn't know about what they see every day, what's always there, what doesn't give them pause because it's so automatic for them.
I wish Los Angeles could do better, make more use out of the already-tight spaces they have. But all that is so automatic to them. If anyone dances on a street corner who's not a sign-spinner, they're probably deemed crazy. That's not how it should be. There should be more connections through artistic expression. Hollywood isn't the only outlet for that.
I think about this because of the Merrill Lynch building in Los Angeles. Or it may be the Bank of America building. I'm not sure. I do know that there was one year in the middle of the first decade of the new century in which awards for the Stock Market Game, a program that my dad's classroom was part of, were given out in an area of Walt Disney Concert Hall, with a lavish catered dinner that included filet mignon. The next year, because of the ensuing financial crisis, the awards were given in significantly less swank accomodations at that building, the 1960s-looking gathering place of that building, with a half-moon curve of chairs that looked like they were from the Space Age. Swivel chairs, with tiny side tables attached to them. It smelled moldy and dusty, also remnants of the Space Age. The stage at which presenters (teachers who participated in the program) and winners (students who had earned the most money from mock investments) was very small, and only the outer wings were used, a podium on the left side, and a long table next to it, in the middle, at the edge of the stage.
I was always so bored at these ceremonies. Mom, Meridith and I tagged along in support of Dad, but those speeches seemed to never end in time to celebrate New Year's Eve. And this always took place in April or May. So I looked around at this aged venue, looking at that stage, wondering what other presentations had been given on it. And today, before I realized I needed air from reading Anna Quindlen's new memoir, Lots of Candles, Plenty of Cake (I like her gentle writing, but reading enough of her essays, I find that she's pressed herself so tightly that words can't breathe all that well), I thought about that stage, in that building, way off from the entrance to the elevators that take financial people to their jobs on the higher floors, but not before they scan their ID cards and a gate barrier drops to let them through.
I wish most workplaces took the model of Pixar, that it's not all about work. They've got a cereal bar with all kinds of cereals for its employees in the mornings, the atrium is huge, with lots of events going on, and the key for them is keeping everything social, to keep people talking, listening, gathering ideas from the most unexpected places. Would the financial industry be better if it wasn't so rushed, if there was a chance for people to breathe, to let in some imagination, things that they like in their own lives, things they want to explore?
I don't know how it would be arranged for a theater troupe, or even a collection of actors among employees, to perform in that space, in that aged air, being watched from those space-age chairs. I don't know if a corporate giant would even bother with such a thing because does anyone know theater there beyond the theater that comes with financial investments? Would the legal department have to look over the scripts to make sure there's nothing potentially offensive and litigious? Would it really be right for corporate minds to decide what could be put on? Certainly, there couldn't be anything performed about the Marquis de Sade. That would be too wild a contrast. Original monologues, original plays, that would be worth trying. Short, though. One act. 45 minutes to an hour. Perform it during lunch breaks when people may want to see something different than what they've been dealing with at their desks. It would make that room different from how it's usually perceived, likely for awards ceremonies or long meetings with more than 10 people, different than the usual ramblings that go on and on and on.
I'm thinking of how utterly amateurish some of those productions might be, but it would still be a valuable creative outlet. But then, those who might perform in these plays still have to work with their co-workers each day, so would they be subtly mocked for such a thing if it goes off badly? Or maybe it's best to bring in outside actors, those looking to get better at what they do or who want to try a work before they expand on it? Nothing sexually explicit or violent, I'm sure. If there are standards laid down and whoever is to write a play and/or perform it, it's an interesting challenge to create something out of what can't be done or said. But then by that token, maybe it's best that this room remain as it always is. Who would want to be censored? But it's an experiment I wish Los Angeles would try. The city's not known for theater, so just make different theater. Put it where it's least expected, advertise the hell out of it, either among paying audience members or employees, and have fun with it. Ironically, only if I cared enough and I was staying in Los Angeles would I try to mount something like this. I wish the city was as loose as this. It's too buttoned-up, too many dark looks at others as if they're going to steal everything away. I am curious to see how Las Vegas does theater, how it's done at UNLV, what the City of Henderson offers. Theater is mounted in odd places in a way, what with those costumed characters now on the Strip just like the ones at Hollywood & Vine in L.A. I don't agree with it, because there shouldn't be an L.A. influence in Las Vegas, and it should remain at Hollywood & Vine, where it fits in better. But it's too short. And yet, theater is all around in Las Vegas, drama is prevalent, and the cast of characters always changes. Theater doesn't need to be mounted there in places not known for theater, because it has it at all times, even though it's not meant to be that.
Just now I went to the website for the Nevada Conservatory Theatre. They've got nice set designs, and hopefully actors who try. With the productions they put on, such as Sam Shepard's Fool for Love, I'm sure they do. What I keep having to remember is that not everyone is into theater, that they get enough drama from their daily lives, that the Space Age room should remain as it always has been, for nothing else but wide-ranging meetings and awards ceremonies. The best I can hope for then is to change perceptions through my writing, hoping to show people what they didn't know about what they see every day, what's always there, what doesn't give them pause because it's so automatic for them.
I wish Los Angeles could do better, make more use out of the already-tight spaces they have. But all that is so automatic to them. If anyone dances on a street corner who's not a sign-spinner, they're probably deemed crazy. That's not how it should be. There should be more connections through artistic expression. Hollywood isn't the only outlet for that.
Tuesday, May 1, 2012
So, These Two Comedians Think They're Cops...
My latest review for Movie Gazette Online is of Car 54, Where Are You?: The Complete Second Season. Actually the final season, though it's just a minor quibble since I've never seen the series before this set. I've never ranted about DVD packaging either before this review. In fact, I've never had to because all DVD packaging before this is just there. You pop the discs out and when you're done, if you have shelves of DVD sets, you click the discs back in.
That's all I have. I'll leave you to read it.
That's all I have. I'll leave you to read it.
Why Not Books?
Having reviewed movies and DVDs for the past 13 years, and starting up again recently, I've wondered at times why I don't review books on this blog. I subscribe to many book review blogs to read what others think about certain books and to learn about books I've never heard of, so wouldn't it just be a natural extension?
A movie lasts for a certain length of time. After 85 minutes, 95 minutes, 105 minutes or more, the movie's over and then I'm left to work out in writing what I think, what I liked, what I didn't like, and how I want to express that. Once I'm done with it, I move on. Obviously a book takes more time, and I've written book reviews before, in 2006, for a weekly Southern California publication called Valley Scene Magazine. It's not a well-run publication, rife with spelling errors, and more concerned about exposure in the market rather than carefully creating something worth reading, and it's still that way, but there, I found the opportunity to try it, to do something different from what I was used to.
I reviewed Feet on the Street: Rambles Around New Orleans by Roy Blount, Dewey and Elvis by Louis Cantor, Like Wind, Like Wave: Fables from the Land of the Repressed by Stefano Bolognini, More Than They Could Chew by Rob Roberge, The Average American by Kevin O'Keefe, The Encyclopedia of Underground Movies by Phil Hall (long before I became his co-author of What If They Lived?, and he's still as much an acquaintance now as he was before, since he lives in Connecticut and I live here on the west coast), It's Good to Be the King: The Seriously Funny Life of Mel Brooks by James Robert Parish, The Girl Who Walked Home: Bette Davis - A Personal Biography by Charlotte Chandler, and The One That Got Away by Lee Robert Schreiber, and Bollywood Confidential by Sonia Singh. I still have the reviews saved as Word files, but I don't remember why I reviewed some of these books, and I'm sure those at Valley Scene Magazine don't remember me, despite still sending me press releases and other things as part of its mailing list, the editor asking me and the other writers on that mailing list if we want to cover anything offered. I never do because I don't drive freeways and $50 paid for 3,200 words is insultingly paltry. However, I wrote those book reviews for free (I'm sure they still don't pay anything for book reviews), because I wanted to try it out, to see if maybe I wanted to write book reviews more prolifically one day. But now that I only write DVD reviews for fun, I don't see myself writing book reviews, not even for my blog. I know I've done it before for books I really really love, but that's only because I knew I wanted to push those books at you and jump up and down and shout about them and hope that would get you to look them up on Amazon and possibly read them.
Jonathan Yardley at The Washington Post, as with so many other book critics, gets a pile of books for review every single week, and I wouldn't be surprised if they number in the hundreds. From that, he has to weed them out, figure out what he wants to review based on what he's always reviewed, and then get to reading, and then write his reviews and repeat the process. It sounds like a wonderland to me, but probably because I don't do it. Books are like my hands, my heart, my feet, everything that keeps me operating every day. I can't live without them. I don't think I'd burn out from such an arrangement, but being that our future apartment (or whatever it might be, since we're still working out where we want to live in either Henderson or Las Vegas, as it stands now) will also have finite space, I would rather have my local libraries keep what I want to read and I'll just go there and choose what I want. That arrangement worked well in Florida, and here, before the City of Santa Clarita cut the libraries off from the County of Los Angeles system to create their own, and it'll work equally well there. I don't feel like I need to read every new book that comes out. I'll get to them when I feel like them, and some I won't even know about. I like to read those books after the hype has passed, if there is any hype.
I can review DVDs because I've done it for so long that I know what I want to talk about, what I want to pick at, such as with a recently-posted DVD review that I'll link to in the entry following this one. I hated the DVD packaging of this release, though I became slightly milder toward it after I played with it a little while longer, but still cautioned fans of this particular show to store the DVDs safely somewhere else.
Books are my private universe. I have an account on Goodreads, I rate books there, but that's all I do. I want my experience to be just me and the book. To write what I thought about a book takes time away from other books. Right now, I'm finishing Loud and Clear by Anna Quindlen, another collection of her essays, in anticipation of reading her memoir, Lots of Candles, Plenty of Cake, which will likely arrive tomorrow in the mail, courtesy of Amazon, which is always courteous when I give them my money. (There's only one Barnes & Noble in this entire valley. Nothing else. After I become a resident of Southern Nevada, I will explore.) After that, I'm thinking of starting either In Nevada: The Land, The People, God, and Chance by David Thomson, David Hackett Souter: Traditional Republican on the Rehnquist Court by Tinsley E. Yarbrough, Annie Lennox: The Biography by Bryony Sutherland and Lucy Ellis, or Pasta: The Story of a Universal Food by Silvano Serventi & Francoise Sabban. I've been reading since I was 2, and eventually speed-reading not long after that. I reflect on books by way of my favorites, which I reread a few times a year (it's a mix as to what I reread each year), and my writing reflects my reading. That's enough for me.
Besides, I'm working on my own books. Those will also be a reflection of my reading. Because of those projects, I review books in my own way, studying style, punctuation usage, figuring out how I want to write my own. And they're also good for inspiration. Lots of it.
A movie lasts for a certain length of time. After 85 minutes, 95 minutes, 105 minutes or more, the movie's over and then I'm left to work out in writing what I think, what I liked, what I didn't like, and how I want to express that. Once I'm done with it, I move on. Obviously a book takes more time, and I've written book reviews before, in 2006, for a weekly Southern California publication called Valley Scene Magazine. It's not a well-run publication, rife with spelling errors, and more concerned about exposure in the market rather than carefully creating something worth reading, and it's still that way, but there, I found the opportunity to try it, to do something different from what I was used to.
I reviewed Feet on the Street: Rambles Around New Orleans by Roy Blount, Dewey and Elvis by Louis Cantor, Like Wind, Like Wave: Fables from the Land of the Repressed by Stefano Bolognini, More Than They Could Chew by Rob Roberge, The Average American by Kevin O'Keefe, The Encyclopedia of Underground Movies by Phil Hall (long before I became his co-author of What If They Lived?, and he's still as much an acquaintance now as he was before, since he lives in Connecticut and I live here on the west coast), It's Good to Be the King: The Seriously Funny Life of Mel Brooks by James Robert Parish, The Girl Who Walked Home: Bette Davis - A Personal Biography by Charlotte Chandler, and The One That Got Away by Lee Robert Schreiber, and Bollywood Confidential by Sonia Singh. I still have the reviews saved as Word files, but I don't remember why I reviewed some of these books, and I'm sure those at Valley Scene Magazine don't remember me, despite still sending me press releases and other things as part of its mailing list, the editor asking me and the other writers on that mailing list if we want to cover anything offered. I never do because I don't drive freeways and $50 paid for 3,200 words is insultingly paltry. However, I wrote those book reviews for free (I'm sure they still don't pay anything for book reviews), because I wanted to try it out, to see if maybe I wanted to write book reviews more prolifically one day. But now that I only write DVD reviews for fun, I don't see myself writing book reviews, not even for my blog. I know I've done it before for books I really really love, but that's only because I knew I wanted to push those books at you and jump up and down and shout about them and hope that would get you to look them up on Amazon and possibly read them.
Jonathan Yardley at The Washington Post, as with so many other book critics, gets a pile of books for review every single week, and I wouldn't be surprised if they number in the hundreds. From that, he has to weed them out, figure out what he wants to review based on what he's always reviewed, and then get to reading, and then write his reviews and repeat the process. It sounds like a wonderland to me, but probably because I don't do it. Books are like my hands, my heart, my feet, everything that keeps me operating every day. I can't live without them. I don't think I'd burn out from such an arrangement, but being that our future apartment (or whatever it might be, since we're still working out where we want to live in either Henderson or Las Vegas, as it stands now) will also have finite space, I would rather have my local libraries keep what I want to read and I'll just go there and choose what I want. That arrangement worked well in Florida, and here, before the City of Santa Clarita cut the libraries off from the County of Los Angeles system to create their own, and it'll work equally well there. I don't feel like I need to read every new book that comes out. I'll get to them when I feel like them, and some I won't even know about. I like to read those books after the hype has passed, if there is any hype.
I can review DVDs because I've done it for so long that I know what I want to talk about, what I want to pick at, such as with a recently-posted DVD review that I'll link to in the entry following this one. I hated the DVD packaging of this release, though I became slightly milder toward it after I played with it a little while longer, but still cautioned fans of this particular show to store the DVDs safely somewhere else.
Books are my private universe. I have an account on Goodreads, I rate books there, but that's all I do. I want my experience to be just me and the book. To write what I thought about a book takes time away from other books. Right now, I'm finishing Loud and Clear by Anna Quindlen, another collection of her essays, in anticipation of reading her memoir, Lots of Candles, Plenty of Cake, which will likely arrive tomorrow in the mail, courtesy of Amazon, which is always courteous when I give them my money. (There's only one Barnes & Noble in this entire valley. Nothing else. After I become a resident of Southern Nevada, I will explore.) After that, I'm thinking of starting either In Nevada: The Land, The People, God, and Chance by David Thomson, David Hackett Souter: Traditional Republican on the Rehnquist Court by Tinsley E. Yarbrough, Annie Lennox: The Biography by Bryony Sutherland and Lucy Ellis, or Pasta: The Story of a Universal Food by Silvano Serventi & Francoise Sabban. I've been reading since I was 2, and eventually speed-reading not long after that. I reflect on books by way of my favorites, which I reread a few times a year (it's a mix as to what I reread each year), and my writing reflects my reading. That's enough for me.
Besides, I'm working on my own books. Those will also be a reflection of my reading. Because of those projects, I review books in my own way, studying style, punctuation usage, figuring out how I want to write my own. And they're also good for inspiration. Lots of it.
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