NOTES FROM (THE LAST) FRIDAY AFTERNOON (OF THE YEAR)
forgetting the old acquaintances of my
mind.
For your consideration: another curious collection
of thoughts, reactions, and observations that didn't make it into a full-length
post this week. So they’re sort of like those after-Christmas,
bargain-hunting shopping trips. You've already had your fill for the week, and
yet, you just can't resist...
• First, a follow-up to Tuesday's post: I am thrilled to report that so far, Jim's father is doing well. His body is adjusting to the new heart, his vital signs are good, and there have been no problems -- as there often are after transplant surgery -- with any of his other organs. Yesterday, he was removed from the ventilator and was able to talk to his family for the first time since the operation. This morning, he was able to sit in a chair and even briefly to stand under his own power. As these things go, his progress has been nothing short of amazing.
• Thanks to everyone who emailed to express their concerns and to ask for an update after reading Tuesday's post. And thanks especially to everyone who kept Jim's Dad and his family in your thoughts and prayers. At times like these, every little bit of spiritual strength makes a big difference. For everyone. It was great to feel all those positive vibes flowing through TWM this week.
• I had the misfortune of walking along Murray Avenue on Tuesday, on the east side of the street between Darlington and Bartlett, and it was like trudging across the surface of the planet Butt. From street to storefront, the ground was practically covered with dirty, discarded cigarette butts. Near the curb, the sidewalk was so strewn with them, ground up and flattened and all overlapping each other, that it looked like one of those eye-crossing 500-piece jigsaw puzzles they sell in novelty shops. It made me want to puke.
• Note to the Pittsburgh Department of Public Works: I know we're approaching the deep mid-winter, but could you at least make an attempt to keep Squirrel Hill's sidewalks clean? Note to Squirrel Hill cigarette smokers: Your cigarette butts do not melt along with the snow. To spare the rest of us from facing the filthy refuse of your disgusting habit, could you at least find enough courtesy to throw thee fetid things in a trash can? Those few extra steps will also provide some exercise for your cancer-ridden lungs.
• Whenever there's a public debate about banning or restricting smoking in public places, some defenders of the habit invariably whine that, if public health is really a concern, then governments should ban alcohol consumption and fast-food restaurants too. This "argument," of course, conveniently ignores the fact that, taken in moderation, beer and burgers can be part of a healthy lifestyle. But more to the point, the "argument" willfully ignores the fact that, when I'm eating a burger or drinking a beer, the people around me are not subjected to second-hand cholesterol or second-hand inebriation. And I can't remember the last time I saw a Squirrel Hill sidewalk littered with Big Mac wrappers or festooned with beer bottles.
• I spent a couple of hours in the thriving, ossifying strip-mall metropolis of Cranberry -- or, as the inimitable Ron Vassel likes to call it, Cram-'em-in-berry -- Pennsylvania this week, and that time only reinforced a notion I've long held: the only thing preventing Cranberry from being Breezewood West is the presence of Pittsburgh twenty miles to the south. No matter what its smug, white-flight, low-tax-craving denizens would have you believe.
• In homage to one of my favorite writers and one of my new favorite blogs, I offer today a pair of TWM Friday Afternoon Happy Hour Specials. Love: the Crab Rangoons at Squirrel Hill's new Pacific Ring Pan-Asian restaurant. Haterade: People who would happily submit themselves and their loved ones to wiretaps or anal probes or any other indignity they thought might somehow aid the great "War on Terror."
• After many years of casual observation, I have concluded that Volkswagen dealers only sell Jettas to young, beautiful women. I don't know why, and I can't really explain it, but it's true. The next time you see a Jetta, look behind the wheel. Guaranteed babe.
• You want evidence that the Division I College Football Bowl System -- now with twenty-seven freaking bowl games! -- is about as fat and bloated and mind-numbingly mediocre as it can get? Look no further than the storied Fort Worth Bowl, with its scintillating Kansas-Houston match-up. Nothing says post-season excellence like a battle of 6-5 teams.
• Twice this week, my iPod shuffled up Nanci, a lovely old Toad the Wet Sprocket tune that features one of my favorite pop-song similes of all time: I can't believe you / You bend your words like Uri Geller's spoons. Esoteric, but a classic.
• Best post-Christmas gift-card purchase of the week: the Smithsonian Folkways Woody Guthrie collection, This Land is Your Land: The Asch Recordings, Vol. 1. Twenty-seven tracks from the original master recordings and thirty-six pages of lovingly detailed liner notes combine to provide a rare, revelatory glimpse into the heart of American folk music. Listening to those songs is like listening to the world-weary voice of American history itself.
• After seeing Peter Jackson's King Kong remake for a second time, I'm more convinced than ever that the lovely and insanely talented Naomi Watts deserves a Best Actress nomination for her fierce, funny, ultimately heartbreaking performance. That she does so much with so little dialogue, that she expresses such a range of depth and emotion with just a series of looks and expressions and reaction shots, and that she manages to command our interest while surrounded by so many eye-popping special effects, are reasons alone for Oscar voters to cast their ballots her way. But when you consider the embarrassments and indignities that performing before blue screens has wrought upon other fine actresses -- I'm talking about you, Natalie Portman and Gwyneth Paltrow -- Naomi Watts' accomplishment is all the more impressive.
• First, a follow-up to Tuesday's post: I am thrilled to report that so far, Jim's father is doing well. His body is adjusting to the new heart, his vital signs are good, and there have been no problems -- as there often are after transplant surgery -- with any of his other organs. Yesterday, he was removed from the ventilator and was able to talk to his family for the first time since the operation. This morning, he was able to sit in a chair and even briefly to stand under his own power. As these things go, his progress has been nothing short of amazing.
• Thanks to everyone who emailed to express their concerns and to ask for an update after reading Tuesday's post. And thanks especially to everyone who kept Jim's Dad and his family in your thoughts and prayers. At times like these, every little bit of spiritual strength makes a big difference. For everyone. It was great to feel all those positive vibes flowing through TWM this week.
• I had the misfortune of walking along Murray Avenue on Tuesday, on the east side of the street between Darlington and Bartlett, and it was like trudging across the surface of the planet Butt. From street to storefront, the ground was practically covered with dirty, discarded cigarette butts. Near the curb, the sidewalk was so strewn with them, ground up and flattened and all overlapping each other, that it looked like one of those eye-crossing 500-piece jigsaw puzzles they sell in novelty shops. It made me want to puke.
• Note to the Pittsburgh Department of Public Works: I know we're approaching the deep mid-winter, but could you at least make an attempt to keep Squirrel Hill's sidewalks clean? Note to Squirrel Hill cigarette smokers: Your cigarette butts do not melt along with the snow. To spare the rest of us from facing the filthy refuse of your disgusting habit, could you at least find enough courtesy to throw thee fetid things in a trash can? Those few extra steps will also provide some exercise for your cancer-ridden lungs.
• Whenever there's a public debate about banning or restricting smoking in public places, some defenders of the habit invariably whine that, if public health is really a concern, then governments should ban alcohol consumption and fast-food restaurants too. This "argument," of course, conveniently ignores the fact that, taken in moderation, beer and burgers can be part of a healthy lifestyle. But more to the point, the "argument" willfully ignores the fact that, when I'm eating a burger or drinking a beer, the people around me are not subjected to second-hand cholesterol or second-hand inebriation. And I can't remember the last time I saw a Squirrel Hill sidewalk littered with Big Mac wrappers or festooned with beer bottles.
• I spent a couple of hours in the thriving, ossifying strip-mall metropolis of Cranberry -- or, as the inimitable Ron Vassel likes to call it, Cram-'em-in-berry -- Pennsylvania this week, and that time only reinforced a notion I've long held: the only thing preventing Cranberry from being Breezewood West is the presence of Pittsburgh twenty miles to the south. No matter what its smug, white-flight, low-tax-craving denizens would have you believe.
• In homage to one of my favorite writers and one of my new favorite blogs, I offer today a pair of TWM Friday Afternoon Happy Hour Specials. Love: the Crab Rangoons at Squirrel Hill's new Pacific Ring Pan-Asian restaurant. Haterade: People who would happily submit themselves and their loved ones to wiretaps or anal probes or any other indignity they thought might somehow aid the great "War on Terror."
• After many years of casual observation, I have concluded that Volkswagen dealers only sell Jettas to young, beautiful women. I don't know why, and I can't really explain it, but it's true. The next time you see a Jetta, look behind the wheel. Guaranteed babe.
• You want evidence that the Division I College Football Bowl System -- now with twenty-seven freaking bowl games! -- is about as fat and bloated and mind-numbingly mediocre as it can get? Look no further than the storied Fort Worth Bowl, with its scintillating Kansas-Houston match-up. Nothing says post-season excellence like a battle of 6-5 teams.
• Twice this week, my iPod shuffled up Nanci, a lovely old Toad the Wet Sprocket tune that features one of my favorite pop-song similes of all time: I can't believe you / You bend your words like Uri Geller's spoons. Esoteric, but a classic.
• Best post-Christmas gift-card purchase of the week: the Smithsonian Folkways Woody Guthrie collection, This Land is Your Land: The Asch Recordings, Vol. 1. Twenty-seven tracks from the original master recordings and thirty-six pages of lovingly detailed liner notes combine to provide a rare, revelatory glimpse into the heart of American folk music. Listening to those songs is like listening to the world-weary voice of American history itself.
• After seeing Peter Jackson's King Kong remake for a second time, I'm more convinced than ever that the lovely and insanely talented Naomi Watts deserves a Best Actress nomination for her fierce, funny, ultimately heartbreaking performance. That she does so much with so little dialogue, that she expresses such a range of depth and emotion with just a series of looks and expressions and reaction shots, and that she manages to command our interest while surrounded by so many eye-popping special effects, are reasons alone for Oscar voters to cast their ballots her way. But when you consider the embarrassments and indignities that performing before blue screens has wrought upon other fine actresses -- I'm talking about you, Natalie Portman and Gwyneth Paltrow -- Naomi Watts' accomplishment is all the more impressive.
Posted: Fri - December 30, 2005 at 05:08 PM
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Published On: Nov 30, 2007 03:57 PM
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Published On: Nov 30, 2007 03:57 PM