Recovery Option

L'esser poeti, non e un vanto-- Eugenio Montale

It is odd to seek appeasement from titanic rupturing in an era of nuclear family idealism that Reynolds represents before JFK's ascendancy. The dowager had yet been born, but this doesn't stop "Tammy" from resonating as a corrupted Romantic/Naturalist melody which at first glance is a simple tune of first love and longing for consummation, the.anticipation of which is a more exalted expectation than any actual climax, no matter how pleasurable. Neither Reynolds's role as a vivacious brown sugared sweetheart in dungarees and braids, nor Livingston and Evans skill as lyricists is simple. This is actually a tightly structured and successful commercial product in the hands of professionals, from Reynolds as an eminently talented vocalist all but tearing at the reins to become the submissive housewife, to the orchestra accompanying her voice, to Livingston's and Evans' clever use of fecund imagery and diachronic crescendo in two stanzas. Cottonwoods whisper, the "hooty" owl is a predatory menace to the dove it calls, causing a joyful heart, singing like a violin, contained within equally structured pastoral frames. Let me have my moment in the 1950's where you and I don't exist. This is my coping mechanism. And I broke out laughing, finding it inexorably funny that the man I was hoping to woo into port had to be necessarily juxtaposed against what I am as such a hard bitten woman-- not that I can extend the metaphor of what Reynolds lost in her humiliation at the hands of Elizabeth Taylor, who simply oozed a beauty and sexuality rivaled only partly by Marilyn. Taylor cannot stand in as an incomparable before whom I was felled, as was the case with her more recently departed rival. No, I aimed too high without being able to specify what I hoped to find on Mount Olympus, but it certainly entailed property ownership, economic sufficiency and career which is all but lost, and now I cannot even out hustle the hustle in a brawny nerdy minority who is my best shot a mobility recapture (and why he "liked" my first hard hitting post about our first contact is an issue I should let lie today, if I'm wise enough; he should push back, be offended, tell me I'm wrong...) Nevertheless, he reads my sentiment that I'll go down fighting, even if I could not assist him in a late afternoon toilet transfer. I cannot accept these looming limitations of my loss of strength either, except by waiting, the hope to regain wiping myself with toilet paper, for instance.
What he and I really feel, who the fuck knows anymore. I am aware of how gratitude can masquerade itself, how much I relish feeling his strength as my protector, and neither of us would strum the stringed instruments if we didn't enjoy it, that too, in holding patterns not enough for my thwarted ambitions in this game of Brawn versus brain, boy-man versus Italian lava, deescalating, re-managing, back in my analytical head, able to proceed, barring the unforeseen, he will be back in ten hours, on the swing set of Reactionary Liberal Fatal Attraction. Where is Glenn Close when you need her to jab someone with a fork?

Back to Black in a Holy Land Apotheosis

We only said goodbye with words I died a hundred times.-- the late Amy Winehouse

We have followed Glenn Close in her various guises of hedonistic, playful, malevolence over the years. The uproar over Fatal Attraction is now nothing more than a cyclic cultural footnote, especially juxtaposed against the reverberating waves of emasculating feminine outcry, castrating the acculturated like Ryan Lizza and the swine like Harvey Weinstein, and even the pedantic like Al Franken. [Erik Wemple is sometimes more filler than substance, but he nails the bafflement squarely on the head with Lizza’s career. Though Wemple is accurate about employer termination clauses, the case here against the noted eastern analyst seems in need of adjudication. I have no vested interest in salvaging a tenacious liberal like Lizza, and I had my supervisor removed simply for putting her husband’s orgasms and performance in the same sentence, so my alarm may seem hypocritical, but to impugn the man over what has a feel of sour grapes seems to be a loss of proportion…] Dangerous Liaisons might be an extended metaphor for weaponizing the AIDS virus, and it is my favorite Close film in a way that The Big Chill is almost instantaneously a non-entity. Like many performers, however, Close embodies the nefarious enforcer, and she can dial her medical professionals up or down, accordingly, always with a slightly malicious air. There are hideously interesting aspects to The Girl with All the Gifts. The opening scene was the only time I have ever seen wheelchairs used as protective devices for a threatened able-bodied minority, but I am going to go out on a limb and call the narrative evolutionary diabetes of popular culture. I have nothing against women like Carey earning a living off of established zombie conventions, but her motifs come on the cheap. Oh, there are creative instances, a distillation of the bond between teacher and student in merciless institutional settings. Sennia Nanua does an excellent job as monster child heroine with her idealism and principles contrasted with insensate drive, with her savagery toward cats a deliberate poke in the eye. Consumers don’t need a reference website to see McCarthy’s imitations of 28 Days Later, stark geography, stark existence in tandem. The dowager wearies of Walking Dead syndrome.

However much appreciative of British one-upmanship against their American colonial counterparts, the BBC and Channel 4, if not ye old Pinewood Studios, love of humbling redneck reactionaries with an elitist sensibility of how acclimated European minorities are simply isn’t a real world reflection of social mobility, inside a class system or not. And we dare not exclude the French from this contention, since David Baiot is the Remorseful, if corrupting, Homosexual of The Churchmen. Audiences cannot possibly dismiss his fully rounded character Emmanuel as not deserving of ordination and grace, unless it emanates from his conscience, not ours. This diversity outcry from Mcdonald may have accurate demographics, but to the English mindset, there is no such creature as a British African who can flip black counter culture on a half penny. Ask Sophie Okonedo. Any regular PBS viewer knows her as the indispensable token of Great Britain’s sobering success, never mind the empire’s ruthlessness when Jamaican field hands were executed for the sake of sugarcane in the 1840’s. Okonedo is the unflappable gauze bandage, exchanging a prosecuting barrister for an unassuming lesbian like a living hologram. It is in this sense “Melanie” is captivating on the cheap: look at the little black girl behaving like a duchess. This is what sells, African appropriation and elocution of Caucasian table manners. If her predatory ferocity is a survival tool in the new world order, exactly what that is in Carey’s disaster remains mystifying, since we have little idea if the fungal symbiosis of the third generation will essentially wind up being the jealous plants of the body snatchers. Contrary to what my audience reads here, I treat the Muslim Saran quite well, especially since my bitterness is beyond her comprehension. I let her have a few dollars here and there, and she has no idea I’d ship her right back to West Africa, that I examine her like a foreign invader who will invariably destroy my United States. If she understood this intolerance, she would weep, and perhaps marvel at the strength of its roots, ingrained by self-inflicted alienation, among other things. Some journalists take the bull by the horns and equate Trump’s behavior with mental disease, and these are in the majority. Will, Sullivan, Joe Scarborough. Wiser men like Ed Rogers see Trump’s behavior as unpleasant, remembering that none of us are expert at psychiatric classification. I am impatient with certain aspects of Trump’s crass, but as someone long wading the trenches of expendability, every time I distance myself from his bluster, the left swings me right back with what is indicative of hysteria. There is still entertainment to be had in making Jerusalem an apocalyptic focal point simply on the strength of conviction. Jewish Israeli’s have  a divine right because the Torah makes it so, or Trump likes to side with winners, in the simplicity of reasonable accommodation.

Perhaps, within a week, or two, I will stop being let down by Mike’s schedule, (the wheelchair mechanic) I can order a new charger and or trade in my kindles and return to reading, actually passing my stool into our civilized sewer systems, as I could in the fall, and be more forgiving of the turn of the screw. I do not think Trump will necessarily ignite a catastrophic third world war. I also don’t believe the GOP will shield him indefinitely. This doesn’t imply impeachment. His reign isn’t worth what that would entail, but I am no judge of what constitutes mental defect. Isn’t Al Sharpton also a bigoted bully?