Thursday, July 20, 2017


I love “simple.”

I can’t do “simple” but I love it.  (My failure at “simple” due, in part, to my obsessive self-questioning, such as the most recent, “Is it ‘I can’t do ‘simple’, or is it ‘I can’t do ‘simple’ myself’?” “And should the words ‘simple’ in the previous sentence have full quotation marks around them or just half?”  You cannot do “simple” grappling with paralyzing conundrums like the foregoing.   Nor can you use the word “conundrums.”  Or is it conundra?  You see what I’m talking about?)

It’s not that I automatically love things because I can’t do them myself.  (There, “myself” is necessary.  Or is it?  Yeah, it probably is.  I’ll tell ya, I can’t imagine Hank Williams having these problems.  Williams’s best works were described as, “Three chords and the truth.”  I bet he never thought, “I wonder if I should slip another chord in there.”  He just stuck to the three and the rest is history.)

There are definitely things I cannot do myself that I don’t love.  Oregami, for example.  I can’t do oregami but that does not make me reflexively all gaga about it.  I mean, oregami’s fine, if you have time on your hands and an appropriately weighted sheet of paper.  Now that I think of it, origami is also “simple”.  Demonstrating that within “simple”, there lies a subsection of “simple” I care minimally about.

I never thought about that before.  Look at that, a new insight!  And you guys were there at its arrival.  You know, we should all get together and talk about that.  “Do you remember what you were doing when I my illuminating insight showed up?”  That could be a crackling good conversation.

Now, before I spend the entire post on the extraneous “sidetrack” of “simple” – demonstrating if more evidence were required that I’m not – let me tell you about Maudie.

Maudie is unqualifiedly “simple.” 

And it’s wonderful.

Let me also report that Maudie is the best film set in Nova Scotia I have ever seen in my life, and I have seen… another one.   Goin’ Down The Road.  And Maudie’s better than that one.  Though Goin’ Down The Road was not too shabby itself.  Better than anything I’ve seen coming out of New Brunswick or Prince Edward Island, I can tell you.  Or Ontario, for that matter, and they’re supposed to be the English-language, cultural standard-bearers.  And there’s little Nova Scotia, beating it like the proverbial rug.  And they’ve got coal there, to boot!

Maudie is the biographical depiction of Nova Scotia folk artist Maud Lewis, a physically-challenged (juvenile rheumatoid arthritis) painter of her rustic, proximate surroundings – flowers, birds, a team of oxen – who becomes ultimately recognized enough to merit inclusion in the Art Gallery of Nova Scotia and catch the enthusiasm of vice-president Richard M. Nixon.  (Which triggered a glimmer of respect for the disgraced former president.)

Seeking an escape from the domination of her aunt/guardian, Maudie hooks up with a cold and unbending door-to-door fish peddler named Everett Lewis, insinuating herself into his one-room-and-a-sleeping-loft abode as his personal housekeeper.

The movie portrays Maudie’s developing recognition as an artist, along with Maudie and Everett’s unlikely relationship, which evolves eventually into marriage, although a demonstrably bumpy one.  At one point, after a devastating argument, Everett reveals to his buddy/coworker,

“Well, she left me.”

To which his knowing associate replies,

“What took her so long?”

That’s an example of the pared-down authenticity of the exchanges matching, in its screenwriting predilection, the uncluttered clarity in Maudie’s artwork.  Another example:

Maudie and Everett deliver some post-card-sized paintings to a storekeeper who offers them for sale to the public.  When the storekeeper dismissingly remarks, “My five year-old son can do that” the gruffly protective Everett shoots back, “Well, he didn’t.  Maud did.  And you’re an idiot.”

One final example, because I like it:

Sharing a bed together (‘cause there’s only one bed in the cabin), Everett experiences some inevitable “stirrings”, and as he is about to make his move, Maudie, responding with neither outrage nor trepidation instead calmly inquires,

“Are you going to do that?”

(Spoiler Alert:  He doesn’t.  Maudie demanding a marital quid pro quo.)

Sally Hawkins, whom I have seen and enjoyed before, most particularly in Mike Leigh movies, is – yes, simple – but also credible and beguiling.  Ethan Hawke is too pretty by half – no visible signs of tattoos or eye-threatening fish hook mishaps – but he’s such a consummate actor you come to accept that this admirable physical specimen has not left Nova Scotia behind and traipsed off to Hollywood to find assured fame and fortune as a movie star.

Not to get too “criticky” about things, but Maudie’s photography is frequently “too beautiful”, clashing with the guileless unshowiness in Maudie’s paintings.  It’s almost as if the Nova Scotia Chamber of Commerce said, “While you are filming the movie, could you make it so people will want to come here?”  (My research reveals that Maudie was actually shot in Newfoundland and Labrador, so apparently they couldn’t.)  (Further research reveals the relocation was precipitated by the Nova Scotia provincial government’s rescinding its subsidizing film credit program.  Making me a big smarty-pants.)

Not all movies need to be Maudie.

But I am glad that, once in a blue moon, one of them is.

“Once in a blue moon.”  That’s kind of how Maudie would put things.  Whoa!  Could I have possibly caught the “simplicity” bug?   


But most likely, it will wear off.

Hey, at least I didn’t say “dissipate.”

Wednesday, July 19, 2017

"Language Problem"

In a recent blog post, I theoretically pondered what it’s like for a person to be living in a world they find unacceptably tasteless, offensive and annoying.  I had to approach that scenario theoretically because I am surrounded by people who are apparently fine with everything.  The closest example I can come up with of a person who finds the world unacceptably tasteless, offensive and annoying is me.  Though I generally respond to the hopeless situation with, “Yeah, well, hmph, there you go.”  And I haplessly leave it at that, imagining the Durante-esque, “Those are the conditions that prevail.”  (Accompanied, on rhythmical cue, by airborne arms slapping surrenderingly against his sides.)

In reaction to my theoretical – because I lack concrete examples – blog post, I receive a comment from reader Mike T., who begins his response with “You’re in luck, Earl.  I just happen to be one of ‘those people.’”

Mike T. then reports that growing up in the 70’s and 80’s, his entertainment selections included “pre-1970 TV shows and movies… with contemporary cartoons and (some) game shows also permitted.  Mike T. goes on to explain that

“To this day, that is pretty much all I watch because I can be assured that there will be no swearing, suggestiveness, let alone outright nudity.”

I truly appreciated hearing from Mike T.  He provided precisely the information I was looking for and was theoretically pondering in my post.

And then Mike T’s responding commentary took a provocative “turn.”

“One of the things I like about your blog is that you rarely cross the bad-taste line.  In fact, I was a bit shocked a few days ago when you threw in a particularly unnecessary F-bomb… I’m still here, reading your musings faithfully every day, trusting that your momentary descent into edginess won’t become permanent.”

Being congenitally thin-skinned – though nowhere near Trumpian proportions – led me to reflexively delete Mike T’s comment from my e-mail – all comments appearing concomitantly among my e-mails – almost immediately after I read it.  Then, however, asking myself “Is that really the person you want to be?”, I recovered Mike T’s e-mail, and I decided to write about it.

I do not remember the context of my…


Before I forget, I want to thank Mike T. for his forgiving reaction.  I admittedly “crossed the line” – by Mike T’s standards, to which he is unquestionably entitled.  But, despite my “momentary descent into edginess”, he remains forgivingly “still here.”  

Classy.  And I admire and appreciate the gesture.

Second, what Mike T. adjudged as “a particularly unnecessary F-bomb” probably was.  A needless transgression, which I chalk up to accidental sloppiness, encroaching senility and the unseasonable (by Santa Monica standards) summer heat. 

None of which forgives the lamentable “F-bomb” inclusion.  I simply lost focus, perhaps thinking distractedly about lunch.
Third, and most importantly, though I will offer a provocative “turn” of my own in a moment, since, as Mike T. correctly observes, I infrequently cross the line into “No-no Land” – I have over the years created an unspoken but proven consistent expectation, that expectation being,

“I don’t do that.”

And then I did. 

And by so doing,

I disappointed a regular reader.   

Which I heartfeltedly regret.

A man receives “shelter from the storm” only to find an unwelcome hole in the roof.

The thing is – and here comes the provocative “turn”…

In the palette of sincere self-expression, I believe there is a legitimate value in the availability of the entire panoply of colors, including the questionably acceptable ones. 

For me, “profanity” is losing your temper, with words.  But with words, upping the emotional ante.  Those words, I herein submit, need to be protected and readily accessible.  Otherwise, you feel anger, outrage, punishing disappointment, unendurable agony, you open your mouth to respond commensurately to the traumatic event, and the only word that emerges is,


People for whom using profanity is an unconsiderable option – I get it.  I mean, for me, eating pork is literally “off the table.”  But there are other foodstuffs I can easily turn to.  (Although Ko-Jel – kosher Jell-o – tastes utterly vile, and kosher bacon is invariably not crispy.) 

In the case of “passionate reaction”, however, there is no commensurate alternative avenue.  Imagine someone experiencing profoundly intense feelings but the accompanying words meant to communicate those profoundly intense feelings are unilaterally forbidden?

I don’t know, is “Shoot!” really sufficiently cathartic?

Again, as with “offensive programming”, this is not essentially my problem.  Though I’d be equally curious to hear how on a practical level that works.

As for the infraction in question – my gratuitous – maybe in quotes though arguably not – profanitorial misstep, I propose – for myself in the future, and for others, should you be interested – the following strategy:

I recall watching a child-rearing expert, opining on the “hot button” issue concerning the spanking of children.  The expert’s advice on this troubling dilemma was the following:

“If you make the decision that you will never spank your children, you will end up spanking them exactly the right amount.”

Replace “spanking” with “cursing”,

And that is the guiding “North Star” of this enterprise from here forward.

My thanks to Mike T. for obliging me to think about this.  And my appreciation again for his steadfastly sticking around.

You’re a better man than I am, Michael T.

Tuesday, July 18, 2017

"A Weighty Consideration On A Sultry Summer's Day"

Remember Aaron Brown?

You don’t?

My point exactly. 

Thank you, and have a wonderful day.

What?  Explain myself?  Aw, come on.  It’s too nice.  I want to go outside.  Which, as I previously explained, means it’s summer and I do not want to work that hard.  And by not wanting to work that hard I mean I do not want to work at all. 

By the way, when I say, “I want to go outside”, I do not necessarily “want to go outside.”  I am referring instead to the liberating experience of “going outside”, though I would actually be as happy and perhaps happier remaining, coolly and comfortably inside.  Not working at all. 

But, hey I started this.  So pretend it’s another season and I shall try and keep it short, so, if you wish, you can go outside, whether it is literally outside or metaphorically outside, meaning inside, frolicking in that liberating “outside” experience.

Okay, back, hopefully temporarily, to work.

Aaron Brown was, for a short duration, the host of a prime time cable news commentary show on CNN.  Aaron Brown was sensible, reasonable and determinedly balanced.  His ratings stunk up the place.  Goodbye, Aaron Brown.

That’s my point.  Or at least the lead-up to my point.

Venn Diagram Number One:  (partially truncated)

Sensible, reasonable and determinedly balanced people do not succeed hosting cable news commentary shows.

Aaron Brown was a sensible, reasonable and determinedly balanced person.


Partisan Alert:  MSNBC commentators?  They indeed sound sensible, reasonable and determinedly balanced.  But if they missed the possibility that, having felt economically damaged by a Democratic president, some voters chose to vote not irrationally for a Republican president, despite his hideous liabilities, perhaps those MSNBC commentators were wielding their vaunted sensible, determinedly balanced reasoning abilities unequally.

And – lurching towards my point – if you – and yes, I – accepted MSNBC’s cable news commentary shows hosts’ rationales as the truth, how sensible, reasonable and determinedly balanced would we ourselves consequently emerge?

That’s what I’m talking about on a day when I should be lolling in the magnificent summer sunshine.

Venn Diagram Number Two:

Cable news commentary shows promote an unbalanced political perspective.

We get all our information from cable news commentary shows.

We have an unbalanced political perspective.

What makes our political perspective unbalanced?


See:  Venn Diagram Number One.

Bigger Picture.

Venn Diagram Number Three:

For profitability reasons (and self-preservation), every cable news commentary host reflects opinions on the outer edges of the ideological spectrum.

A proverbial Martian watches only cable news commentary shows.

The proverbial Martian believes every American holds opinions on the outer edges of the ideological spectrum.

That proverbial Martian would be sadly mistaken.

But they’d never know it from watching cable news commentary shows.

And neither would we.

Okay, that’s it.

Now, go make a sand castle.