Blogger's Note: Since this blog is somewhat Amishcentric, I get questions from time to time from readers about Amish life and culture, which I refer to my Aunt Tillie, an opinionated, but humble Amish woman. Here is a recent question and answer. Please leave a comment or email me if you have questions you want me to refer to her in the future.
Dear Aunt Tillie:
One of my faithful readers, Lauren, has called me a "city boy" and accused me of spending too much time reporting on "fancy pants" books and movies. She asked me what I have "done" with you. Do you think I spend too much time reading books and watching movies and reporting on them?
(Signed) Amishlaw
Dear Nephew:
Is that the same Lauren you were telling me about who was going to have a birthday party with the children wearing their underwear on their heads, and worrying about what kind of underwear to furnish to the lone girl invited to the party? Something about a Captain Underpants television show? Does she have some kind of "pants" fixation? Maybe she should read a book or go to a movie.
Anyway, I don't know if you spend too much time reading books and going to movies. I suppose you have to have something to occupy your time since you don't raise chickens or milk cows or have a garden. I have to wonder about some of the books you tell me about. Maybe it would be better, if you have to read something, to spend your time reading the Bible. But, knowing you, I am afraid you would be picking out some of the parts of the Bible that are just better left unread, and then you would write about that on your blog. Would you really be better off getting people upset because you pointed out that the Bible clearly says that handicapped people are not supposed to enter the temple of the Lord? I just don't know that you have good enough judgment to ignore the parts of the Bible that need to be ignored, if you were spending all your time reading and writing about the Bible.
And, as far as going to the movies, it's been 60 years since I last saw a movie. I think it was called "Abbott and Costello Meet the Mummy," or maybe it was the Three Stooges, I don't remember, but as a 16-year-old girl I thought the movie was pretty funny until I stopped to think, "What if Jesus returned right now and caught me in here and I would have to spend the rest of eternity in hell, I wouldn't think this movie was so funny then, that's for sure." So, I stopped going to movies, even though Jesus didn't return during "Abbott and Costello Meet the Mummy." There have probably been a lot of good movies that I've missed over the last 60 years but even though Jesus stood me up, why take a chance?
So, I guess we all waste time, one way or another, I spend too much time looking through seed catalogs this time of year, but in the end we have to do what we have to do to keep our sanity. As for you being a city boy, you might as well admit to Lauren that's what you are, but you've probably shoveled more cow manure than she has over your lifetime, but then again, she'll soon get caught up -- didn't she just apply to get into an MFA program?
(Signed) Aunt Tillie
Wednesday, February 28, 2007
Saturday, February 24, 2007
Fun With Oscar
As an occasional movie reporter, I would be remiss if I did not engage in idle speculation about the Academy Awards Sunday night.
Best Actor: I think Forest Whitaker did a fine job in King of Scotland and am content with seeing him get the award. He seems to be the favorite among those in the know. I have to confess, however, that my favorite performance by any actor this year was not by Whitaker but by Leonardo DiCaprio in The Departed, although the movie as a whole was overrated. I haven't seen DiCaprio in Blood Diamond, Ryan Gosling in Half Nelson, Peter O'Toole in Venus, or Will Smith in The Pursuit of Happiness, the other nominees for Best Actor. My prediction is that if Whitaker doesn't get it, DiCaprio will because of his other fine performances. Whether he deserves it for Blood Diamond, I can't say.
Best Supporting Actor: My vote is for Alan Arkin in Little Miss Sunshine, which deserves something, although not the Best Picture prize. I didn't see Jackie Earle Haley in Little Children or Djimon Hounsou in Blood Diamond. I was not as impressed with Mark Wahlberg in The Departed as with his co-star, DiCaprio, although if they want to give him the award, it's fine with me. I would be positively upset if Eddie Murphy got it for his ridiculous performance in Dreamgirls. Murphy seems to be the insider favorite this year, but his performance is just a rehash of an old Saturday Night Live routine, which had more credibility than his acting in Dreamgirls. My prediction, although not my vote, is that Murphy will get it.
Best Actress: This is a tough category for me because I thought all of the nominees whose performances I saw did outstanding jobs. The only one of the five I did not see was Kate Winslet in Little Children. Meryl Streep did a fantastic job in The Devil Wears Prada, (much better than in the more highly-acclaimed Prairie Home Companion, but I think its acclaim came mainly because it was by a director, Robert Altman, who is revered for his earlier movies.) Helen Mirren gave a strong performance in The Queen, and the insiders seem to think she has the Oscar in the bag. I didn't think The Queen was that fantastic nor did I think Mirren's was the best performance of any actress I saw this year. I was ready to give the award to Penelope Cruz for her performance in Volver, but that was before I saw Judi Dench in Notes On A Scandal. My vote goes to Dench, but it will not be any great travesty of justice if the winner is Streep, Mirren or Cruz instead. My prediction is Mirren.
Best Supporting Actress: This is one of the categories in which I have seen all of the movies. Jennifer Hudson seems to be the favorite for her performance in Dreamgirls. She did okay, but I thought the best of the lot was Cate Blanchette in Notes on a Scandal.
Best Picture: I have seen all five of the nominees and two do not deserve consideration. Little Miss Sunshine was a fun, quirky movie but does not have the "gravitas" I like in a movie that is designated as the best motion picture of the year. The Departed is just an ordinary crime thriller made memorable only because it was directed by Martin Scorsese, who has had some good films in the past and an excellent performance by Leonardo DiCaprio. Basically, it is just the usual Hollywood formulaic crime thriller with its plot turns clumsily telegraphed from the beginning. The Queen is a cut above Little Miss Sunshine and The Departed, but still only the third best movie made this year, in my opinion. Letters from Iwo Jima and Babel both deserve the award, and if I were doing it, I would make history and name them co-winners. The reason they should both be honored is that they both give American audiences something we do not often get from Hollywood, an empathetic view of other cultures who are considered enemies in the popular culture. I know of no other Hollywood film that gave us a significant World War II battle from the other side's viewpoint and it is ironic that it took Clint Eastwood, who played the lawless vigilante, Dirty Harry," to do it with Letters from Iwo Jima. Babel gives us the other side of the war on terror. But neither movie sacrifices entertainment for the sake of being educational. These are both well done movies with great acting, great plot and great cinematography. Despite my preference, my prediction is that in the biggest travesty of the night The Departed will win the nod because it is about time Scorsese wins for something.
Best Actor: I think Forest Whitaker did a fine job in King of Scotland and am content with seeing him get the award. He seems to be the favorite among those in the know. I have to confess, however, that my favorite performance by any actor this year was not by Whitaker but by Leonardo DiCaprio in The Departed, although the movie as a whole was overrated. I haven't seen DiCaprio in Blood Diamond, Ryan Gosling in Half Nelson, Peter O'Toole in Venus, or Will Smith in The Pursuit of Happiness, the other nominees for Best Actor. My prediction is that if Whitaker doesn't get it, DiCaprio will because of his other fine performances. Whether he deserves it for Blood Diamond, I can't say.
Best Supporting Actor: My vote is for Alan Arkin in Little Miss Sunshine, which deserves something, although not the Best Picture prize. I didn't see Jackie Earle Haley in Little Children or Djimon Hounsou in Blood Diamond. I was not as impressed with Mark Wahlberg in The Departed as with his co-star, DiCaprio, although if they want to give him the award, it's fine with me. I would be positively upset if Eddie Murphy got it for his ridiculous performance in Dreamgirls. Murphy seems to be the insider favorite this year, but his performance is just a rehash of an old Saturday Night Live routine, which had more credibility than his acting in Dreamgirls. My prediction, although not my vote, is that Murphy will get it.
Best Actress: This is a tough category for me because I thought all of the nominees whose performances I saw did outstanding jobs. The only one of the five I did not see was Kate Winslet in Little Children. Meryl Streep did a fantastic job in The Devil Wears Prada, (much better than in the more highly-acclaimed Prairie Home Companion, but I think its acclaim came mainly because it was by a director, Robert Altman, who is revered for his earlier movies.) Helen Mirren gave a strong performance in The Queen, and the insiders seem to think she has the Oscar in the bag. I didn't think The Queen was that fantastic nor did I think Mirren's was the best performance of any actress I saw this year. I was ready to give the award to Penelope Cruz for her performance in Volver, but that was before I saw Judi Dench in Notes On A Scandal. My vote goes to Dench, but it will not be any great travesty of justice if the winner is Streep, Mirren or Cruz instead. My prediction is Mirren.
Best Supporting Actress: This is one of the categories in which I have seen all of the movies. Jennifer Hudson seems to be the favorite for her performance in Dreamgirls. She did okay, but I thought the best of the lot was Cate Blanchette in Notes on a Scandal.
Best Picture: I have seen all five of the nominees and two do not deserve consideration. Little Miss Sunshine was a fun, quirky movie but does not have the "gravitas" I like in a movie that is designated as the best motion picture of the year. The Departed is just an ordinary crime thriller made memorable only because it was directed by Martin Scorsese, who has had some good films in the past and an excellent performance by Leonardo DiCaprio. Basically, it is just the usual Hollywood formulaic crime thriller with its plot turns clumsily telegraphed from the beginning. The Queen is a cut above Little Miss Sunshine and The Departed, but still only the third best movie made this year, in my opinion. Letters from Iwo Jima and Babel both deserve the award, and if I were doing it, I would make history and name them co-winners. The reason they should both be honored is that they both give American audiences something we do not often get from Hollywood, an empathetic view of other cultures who are considered enemies in the popular culture. I know of no other Hollywood film that gave us a significant World War II battle from the other side's viewpoint and it is ironic that it took Clint Eastwood, who played the lawless vigilante, Dirty Harry," to do it with Letters from Iwo Jima. Babel gives us the other side of the war on terror. But neither movie sacrifices entertainment for the sake of being educational. These are both well done movies with great acting, great plot and great cinematography. Despite my preference, my prediction is that in the biggest travesty of the night The Departed will win the nod because it is about time Scorsese wins for something.
Saturday, February 03, 2007
Third Day Book Report: Secret Smile
I was singularly unimpressed with the first several chapters of Secret Smile, thinking that Helen Fielding did a more amusing job of telling about the love lives of young English women in Bridget Jones's Diary. But the book grew on me as I persisted and by the end I thought it was a "good read."
The book is written by committee, a husband/wife team using the pseudonymn, Nicci French, which comes from their real names, Nicci Gerrard and Sean French, two British journalists and authors. I do not know how they divide up their authorial tasks, but the book reads as if different parts of it could have been written by two people. The beginning, which is banal, and the end, which is implausible, collectively seem to me to be the weakest parts of the book. Some of the British vernacular is unfamiliar to American readers, but the context usually provides the interpretation.
The plot, summarized, is that a brief boyfriend, Brandon, comes back into the life of the heroine, Miranda, through her sister, Kerry, whom he woos and wins a few weeks after Miranda dumped him. Brandon quickly wins over not only Kerry but the rest of Miranda's family and then manipulates her into allowing him to ruin her life. In the end Miranda thwarts Brandon but the way she does it seems highly unlikely.
Actually, if we're talking about versimilitude, the whole story seems highly unlikely. Miranda is a strong young woman, working as a home remodeler and decorator, hardly a shrinking violet, yet allows Brandon to bully her, through her family, into giving up her apartment, her new boyfriend, her best friend and peace of mind. The reader keeps waiting for Miranda to put her foot down and say, "No," When she finally does, through the aid of an accomplice, not enough of the back story of the accomplice is given to make it plausible that the accomplice would actually help Miranda when no one else, her family, the police, her friends, would do so.
Despite my criticisms, the book was well enough written to be a pleasant way to divert a few hours. It is a psychological thriller, and the authors do a good job of building suspense. You know, as Miranda appears to be taking charge of her life again, that the next move in Brandon's crazy game is about to happen. The authors do not telegraph what is to come and so, like in real life, the next blow comes out of the blue. And Brandon always wins and gives her that "secret smile." Well, almost always. I thought the book was above average, and so gave it four out of five stars.
The book is written by committee, a husband/wife team using the pseudonymn, Nicci French, which comes from their real names, Nicci Gerrard and Sean French, two British journalists and authors. I do not know how they divide up their authorial tasks, but the book reads as if different parts of it could have been written by two people. The beginning, which is banal, and the end, which is implausible, collectively seem to me to be the weakest parts of the book. Some of the British vernacular is unfamiliar to American readers, but the context usually provides the interpretation.
The plot, summarized, is that a brief boyfriend, Brandon, comes back into the life of the heroine, Miranda, through her sister, Kerry, whom he woos and wins a few weeks after Miranda dumped him. Brandon quickly wins over not only Kerry but the rest of Miranda's family and then manipulates her into allowing him to ruin her life. In the end Miranda thwarts Brandon but the way she does it seems highly unlikely.
Actually, if we're talking about versimilitude, the whole story seems highly unlikely. Miranda is a strong young woman, working as a home remodeler and decorator, hardly a shrinking violet, yet allows Brandon to bully her, through her family, into giving up her apartment, her new boyfriend, her best friend and peace of mind. The reader keeps waiting for Miranda to put her foot down and say, "No," When she finally does, through the aid of an accomplice, not enough of the back story of the accomplice is given to make it plausible that the accomplice would actually help Miranda when no one else, her family, the police, her friends, would do so.
Despite my criticisms, the book was well enough written to be a pleasant way to divert a few hours. It is a psychological thriller, and the authors do a good job of building suspense. You know, as Miranda appears to be taking charge of her life again, that the next move in Brandon's crazy game is about to happen. The authors do not telegraph what is to come and so, like in real life, the next blow comes out of the blue. And Brandon always wins and gives her that "secret smile." Well, almost always. I thought the book was above average, and so gave it four out of five stars.
Sunday, January 28, 2007
Movie Report: Volver
I have seen a lot of good movies already in 2007 and Volver, directed by Pedro Almodovar, is one of the best. According to my handy on-line Spanish dictionary, "volver" means to return and this is one movie I would like to volver to see again and again.
The movie is set in Madrid and in the windswept countryside in LaMancha. It has some unexpected (at least to me) plot twists, so it is difficult to say too much about it without spoiling it. It involves murder, visitation by a practical-minded ghost, estrangement and reconciliation, but, best of all, lots and lots of Penelope Cruz. Forget that she is a Scientologist; that she has made a fool of herself with Tom Cruise or that she has gorgeous breasts (impossible to forget that,) the woman is a great actress. She is one of the nominees this year for Best Actress for her role in Volver, and had I not just seen Judi Dench's performance in Notes On A Scandal, (I'll do a report on that movie soon,) I would be ready to hand her the award.
There is no nudity in the film; the R rating comes from the language but Cruz's cleavage plays a prominent role. According to a review by Jonathan Richards on Rotten Tomatoes, Roger Ebert reported that when Almodovar was asked at Cannes about his enthusiatic display of Cruz's breasts, he said, "I'm a gay man, but I love breasts." There is a line in the movie when Cruz's friend, who is bartending at her restaurant says, "With your your cleavage and my mojitos, we'll make a fortune." Almodovar should make a fortune on this film, which has much more main stream appeal than previous efforts like Talk to Her. Lest I be accused of liking the movie only because I am a leering old man, let me repeat, there is no nudity, not even in a love-making scene. Rather Cruz's breasts are treated as one of the architectural wonders of the world, which they are.
The wind is prominent in the movie; there are modern windmills, and it is constantly blowing; hard. The wind must have some symbolic importance, but I couldn't figure out what it is. Maybe when I volver to the movie, it will become apparent.
I gave the movie five out of five stars.
The movie is set in Madrid and in the windswept countryside in LaMancha. It has some unexpected (at least to me) plot twists, so it is difficult to say too much about it without spoiling it. It involves murder, visitation by a practical-minded ghost, estrangement and reconciliation, but, best of all, lots and lots of Penelope Cruz. Forget that she is a Scientologist; that she has made a fool of herself with Tom Cruise or that she has gorgeous breasts (impossible to forget that,) the woman is a great actress. She is one of the nominees this year for Best Actress for her role in Volver, and had I not just seen Judi Dench's performance in Notes On A Scandal, (I'll do a report on that movie soon,) I would be ready to hand her the award.
There is no nudity in the film; the R rating comes from the language but Cruz's cleavage plays a prominent role. According to a review by Jonathan Richards on Rotten Tomatoes, Roger Ebert reported that when Almodovar was asked at Cannes about his enthusiatic display of Cruz's breasts, he said, "I'm a gay man, but I love breasts." There is a line in the movie when Cruz's friend, who is bartending at her restaurant says, "With your your cleavage and my mojitos, we'll make a fortune." Almodovar should make a fortune on this film, which has much more main stream appeal than previous efforts like Talk to Her. Lest I be accused of liking the movie only because I am a leering old man, let me repeat, there is no nudity, not even in a love-making scene. Rather Cruz's breasts are treated as one of the architectural wonders of the world, which they are.
The wind is prominent in the movie; there are modern windmills, and it is constantly blowing; hard. The wind must have some symbolic importance, but I couldn't figure out what it is. Maybe when I volver to the movie, it will become apparent.
I gave the movie five out of five stars.
Wednesday, January 17, 2007
Obamania
I'll admit it, I'm a sucker for a politician who sounds good. I got all excited when Jimmy Carter was inaugurated, almost exactly 30 years ago, walking part of the parade route in Washington; finally an honest president. I got all excited when Bill Clinton was inaugurated, almost exactly 14 years ago, watching on CNN as he and Hilary stood in the White House greeting ordinary citizens who had stood in line; finally a president who cared about ordinary people.
I'm a late comer to Obamania; not voting for him in the Democratic Senatorial primary in Illinois in 2004 because I had never heard of him and didn't think someone with a weird name like his had a chance. I became a convert after I got to know him better after the primary, and, once more, I have high hopes that this time we have a different kind of politician. I am not impressed with the arguments that he lacks substance. Anyone who has read his books (I have only read the first one, Dreams From My Father, although the second one, The Audacity of Hope, is on the shelf waiting for me,) knows that Obama is not a person without substance. He did not miraculously become a United States senator without serving an apprenticeship in serving his community and state as a community organizer and state senator. He has not felt it necessary to try to hide the less savory aspects of his past. He lets it all hang out in Dreams From My Father, including the parts that do not make him look good, such as drug use when he was a young man.
I realize I'm getting too old to be suckered by a politician once again. But this campaign biography video made my throat get all lumpy and my head get all mushy. I'm willing to believe once again.
I'm a late comer to Obamania; not voting for him in the Democratic Senatorial primary in Illinois in 2004 because I had never heard of him and didn't think someone with a weird name like his had a chance. I became a convert after I got to know him better after the primary, and, once more, I have high hopes that this time we have a different kind of politician. I am not impressed with the arguments that he lacks substance. Anyone who has read his books (I have only read the first one, Dreams From My Father, although the second one, The Audacity of Hope, is on the shelf waiting for me,) knows that Obama is not a person without substance. He did not miraculously become a United States senator without serving an apprenticeship in serving his community and state as a community organizer and state senator. He has not felt it necessary to try to hide the less savory aspects of his past. He lets it all hang out in Dreams From My Father, including the parts that do not make him look good, such as drug use when he was a young man.
I realize I'm getting too old to be suckered by a politician once again. But this campaign biography video made my throat get all lumpy and my head get all mushy. I'm willing to believe once again.
Saturday, January 13, 2007
Movie Report: Dreamgirls
I seldom like movie musicals, but I was willing to give Dreamgirls a chance. After all, it had Beyonce in it, so how bad could it be? I had low expectations for the movie, and I have to report they were met.
Beyonce, I can report, is very lovely, and is displayed to good advantage, mostly in the last half of the movie. Don't go to the movie if you like the Motown sound and expect to hear Supremes-inspired singing. This is Motown by way of Broadway, which is to say it's not Motown at all. It's something else; I'm not sure what, well, I guess, "Broadway, as interpreted by Hollywood," best describes it. Broadway is fine for telling the story of Dolly Levi, but the tale of Diana Ross loses any authenticity when it is interpreted through production numbers.
In fairness, Dreamgirls does not pretend to be a biopic of The Supremes. It's just that in a movie about three black women who start singing gospel in Detroit and whose career is taken over by a shrewd operator who creates a distinctive sound and eventually takes them to Hollywood, one naturally thinks first of the group to whom this actually happened. But it's easy to soon forget about the Supremes as this group, the Dreamgirls, sing songs composed in Tinpan Alley, not Gratiot Street.
Eddie Murphy does a reprise of a Saturday Night Live character in his role as James "Thunder" Early. That is to say he plays a black singer who has some characteristics of James Brown, Wilson Pickett, Luther Vandross and others, but he plays the character essentially for laughs, with a toothy grin that never fades. Jamie Foxx got a lot of kudos for his portrayal of Ray Charles in Ray, but I didn't think he really got into the Berry Gordy character in Dreamgirls unless Gordy was essentially without emotion.
I wouldn't call this a "bad" movie, it just wasn't a "good" movie. I gave it two out of five stars. My companion thought it was worth three stars.
Beyonce, I can report, is very lovely, and is displayed to good advantage, mostly in the last half of the movie. Don't go to the movie if you like the Motown sound and expect to hear Supremes-inspired singing. This is Motown by way of Broadway, which is to say it's not Motown at all. It's something else; I'm not sure what, well, I guess, "Broadway, as interpreted by Hollywood," best describes it. Broadway is fine for telling the story of Dolly Levi, but the tale of Diana Ross loses any authenticity when it is interpreted through production numbers.
In fairness, Dreamgirls does not pretend to be a biopic of The Supremes. It's just that in a movie about three black women who start singing gospel in Detroit and whose career is taken over by a shrewd operator who creates a distinctive sound and eventually takes them to Hollywood, one naturally thinks first of the group to whom this actually happened. But it's easy to soon forget about the Supremes as this group, the Dreamgirls, sing songs composed in Tinpan Alley, not Gratiot Street.
Eddie Murphy does a reprise of a Saturday Night Live character in his role as James "Thunder" Early. That is to say he plays a black singer who has some characteristics of James Brown, Wilson Pickett, Luther Vandross and others, but he plays the character essentially for laughs, with a toothy grin that never fades. Jamie Foxx got a lot of kudos for his portrayal of Ray Charles in Ray, but I didn't think he really got into the Berry Gordy character in Dreamgirls unless Gordy was essentially without emotion.
I wouldn't call this a "bad" movie, it just wasn't a "good" movie. I gave it two out of five stars. My companion thought it was worth three stars.
Thursday, January 11, 2007
Book Report: Under the Banner of Heaven
As the child of a weird sect, the Amish, I would be the last person to argue against the virtues of religious tolerance and diversity. Nevertheless there are certain varieties of religiosity that make me uncomfortable, particularly those varieties that believe that God talks specifically to them and directs their every day actions.
So, I will admit it upfront, I have a problem with Mormonism. It is one thing to believe that thousands of years ago, God inspired men to write scriptures which still have the power to inspire and direct, in a general way, how people live. It is something else to believe, as Mormons do, that as recently as 1830, God, through the angel, Moroni, spoke through a man, Joseph Smith, by means of some buried golden tablets, which Smith translated from Egyptian into Elizabethean English sounding suspiciously like the King James version of the Christian Bible. The golden tablets then miraculously disappeared again, leaving no objective proof of their existence. Amazingly, these scriptures, which only Joseph Smith could read, designated Joseph Smith as God's prophet and the church that Smith founded, the Church of Jesus Christ of Later Day Saints (Mormons) as the only church through which mankind could be saved.
Whatever plausibility this scenario might have for 21st century belief is undercut by the fact that Joseph Smith would not be considered a saint by any normal standards of morality. Prior to the prophet gig, Smith raised money in upstate New York by claiming to be able to find buried treasure through means of a "seer stone," and although guillible farmers paid him money, he never did find any treasure, a fact that got him prosecuted for fraud. After he founded his church, God supposedly commanded Smith to marry many women, 40 or more by some accounts, with a peculiar emphasis on young girls, 13 and 14 years old, and further, he commanded Smith to lie about his "marriages" denying that he or his followers were engaged in polygamy when, in fact, they were.
Modern-day Mormorns, of course, take umbrage at the criticism of Smith's teachings about polygamy, as well as other teachings about which God has supposedly changed his mind, such as not only the inferiority of blacks but the barring of them from the holiest of Mormon shrines, because more recent prophets have been told directly by God that those doctrines are no longer valid. It is apparently not only the Supreme Court that follows the election returns. God changed his commandment about polygamy only after Congress outlawed it and serious efforts at enforcing the laws in the western United States began causing problems for Mormons, and about blacks only after the Civil Rights laws of the 1960s changed the climate of racial intolerance in the United States.
Although I have tried to read the Book of Mormon, I have to admit that I didn't get very far before getting bogged down in its essential presposterousness. I have visited Salt Lake City, took the tour with an All-American Mormon guide, but felt like I was being given a con job. The attempt was to make Mormonism seem like just another variety of main-line Christianity, different only in minor details from Protestant denominations like Presbyterian, Methodist or Baptist.
The book, Under the Banner of Heaven: A Story of Violent Faith, by Jon Krakauer, does an excellent job of showing just how different Mormonism is from main-stream Christianity. Although Krakauer spends a lot of time describing fundamentalist Mormon sects, no longer formally affiliated with the main Mormon church, these extremists show what can happen when Mormon teaching and doctrine is taken to its logical conclusions. Main line Mormons still believe that God speaks directly to their prophets and that the prophets' commandments must be obeyed. Krakauer spends a lot of time on the Lafferty Brothers, several brothers in Colorado City, Utah, who killed their sister-in-law and her baby because of God's command,and I imagine that most Mormons would agree that these brothers were psychotics, not prophets. Nevertheless, they still are unwilling to believe that Joseph Smith was a con man, not a prophet, despite the many provable factual errors in the Book of Mormon.
I find it hard to believe that Mitt Romney, the Mormon ex-governor of Massachusetts, is considered a serious candidate for the Republican nomination for president of the United States. While Mormons are not the only religious group to take their marching orders from a leader with sometimes provable mendacity, I have more faith in the ability of Roman Catholics, for example, to disregard the teachings of the Pope than for Mormons to go against their prophet's instructions. I am not at all comforted by the malleability of Romney's views on abortion and gay marriage, depending on which way the wind is blowing at the time he is expressing the views. Krakauer wrote his book before Romney was prominent in national politics, and he states that Smith and his successor, Brigham Young, seriously entertained thoughts of becoming president of the United States. Romney has shown the capacity of raising lots of money, and I believe, without being able to prove it, that much of his backing is coming from fellow Mormons who dream of establishing a Mormon theocracy in the United States.
Krakauer is an excellent writer and although Mormons have criticized the book for emphasizing the negative, I have not seen any exposes of serious inaccuracies. I gave the book four stars.
So, I will admit it upfront, I have a problem with Mormonism. It is one thing to believe that thousands of years ago, God inspired men to write scriptures which still have the power to inspire and direct, in a general way, how people live. It is something else to believe, as Mormons do, that as recently as 1830, God, through the angel, Moroni, spoke through a man, Joseph Smith, by means of some buried golden tablets, which Smith translated from Egyptian into Elizabethean English sounding suspiciously like the King James version of the Christian Bible. The golden tablets then miraculously disappeared again, leaving no objective proof of their existence. Amazingly, these scriptures, which only Joseph Smith could read, designated Joseph Smith as God's prophet and the church that Smith founded, the Church of Jesus Christ of Later Day Saints (Mormons) as the only church through which mankind could be saved.
Whatever plausibility this scenario might have for 21st century belief is undercut by the fact that Joseph Smith would not be considered a saint by any normal standards of morality. Prior to the prophet gig, Smith raised money in upstate New York by claiming to be able to find buried treasure through means of a "seer stone," and although guillible farmers paid him money, he never did find any treasure, a fact that got him prosecuted for fraud. After he founded his church, God supposedly commanded Smith to marry many women, 40 or more by some accounts, with a peculiar emphasis on young girls, 13 and 14 years old, and further, he commanded Smith to lie about his "marriages" denying that he or his followers were engaged in polygamy when, in fact, they were.
Modern-day Mormorns, of course, take umbrage at the criticism of Smith's teachings about polygamy, as well as other teachings about which God has supposedly changed his mind, such as not only the inferiority of blacks but the barring of them from the holiest of Mormon shrines, because more recent prophets have been told directly by God that those doctrines are no longer valid. It is apparently not only the Supreme Court that follows the election returns. God changed his commandment about polygamy only after Congress outlawed it and serious efforts at enforcing the laws in the western United States began causing problems for Mormons, and about blacks only after the Civil Rights laws of the 1960s changed the climate of racial intolerance in the United States.
Although I have tried to read the Book of Mormon, I have to admit that I didn't get very far before getting bogged down in its essential presposterousness. I have visited Salt Lake City, took the tour with an All-American Mormon guide, but felt like I was being given a con job. The attempt was to make Mormonism seem like just another variety of main-line Christianity, different only in minor details from Protestant denominations like Presbyterian, Methodist or Baptist.
The book, Under the Banner of Heaven: A Story of Violent Faith, by Jon Krakauer, does an excellent job of showing just how different Mormonism is from main-stream Christianity. Although Krakauer spends a lot of time describing fundamentalist Mormon sects, no longer formally affiliated with the main Mormon church, these extremists show what can happen when Mormon teaching and doctrine is taken to its logical conclusions. Main line Mormons still believe that God speaks directly to their prophets and that the prophets' commandments must be obeyed. Krakauer spends a lot of time on the Lafferty Brothers, several brothers in Colorado City, Utah, who killed their sister-in-law and her baby because of God's command,and I imagine that most Mormons would agree that these brothers were psychotics, not prophets. Nevertheless, they still are unwilling to believe that Joseph Smith was a con man, not a prophet, despite the many provable factual errors in the Book of Mormon.
I find it hard to believe that Mitt Romney, the Mormon ex-governor of Massachusetts, is considered a serious candidate for the Republican nomination for president of the United States. While Mormons are not the only religious group to take their marching orders from a leader with sometimes provable mendacity, I have more faith in the ability of Roman Catholics, for example, to disregard the teachings of the Pope than for Mormons to go against their prophet's instructions. I am not at all comforted by the malleability of Romney's views on abortion and gay marriage, depending on which way the wind is blowing at the time he is expressing the views. Krakauer wrote his book before Romney was prominent in national politics, and he states that Smith and his successor, Brigham Young, seriously entertained thoughts of becoming president of the United States. Romney has shown the capacity of raising lots of money, and I believe, without being able to prove it, that much of his backing is coming from fellow Mormons who dream of establishing a Mormon theocracy in the United States.
Krakauer is an excellent writer and although Mormons have criticized the book for emphasizing the negative, I have not seen any exposes of serious inaccuracies. I gave the book four stars.
Sunday, January 07, 2007
Movie Report: The Painted Veil
The Painted Veil is like looking at National Geographic illustrations with a plotline attached. Set in China in 1922, every frame of this movie is a stunning photograph. The lighting is soft and bathed in a golden glow. The plotline has an excellent pedigree. It is based on a book of the same name by W. Somerset Maugham.
The story is not complicated. A serious physician and medical researcher, played by Edward Norton, back in England for a brief leave, spots and instantly falls in love with a beautiful, but vacuous young woman, Naomi Watts, who marries him out of a lack of anything better to do and goes off with him to China where he is helping to fight cholera epidemics. As the newly-weds get to know each other, it becomes clear to everyone that the marriage was a mistake. He exists only for his bacteria; she is interested in partying and socializing. She soon starts an affair with a debonair cad in the small British expatriate community, an affair which is quickly discovered by the young husband. To punish the wife, the husband forces her to accompany him to an isolated area in the interior, in the middle of a cholera outbreak. Predictably enough, she eventually, out of boredom, starts helping out in a Catholic orphanage and discovers the virtues of living for others; he gets a new-found respect for his wife, and they fall in love, for real this time, but too late to live happily ever after.
The story was first made into a movie in 1934 with Greta Garbo playing the Naomi Watts role. I have never seen that movie, so I can't compare the jobs Garbo and Watts did. I really like Watts's performance, though. She gives a strong performance, although not one for which I would nominate her for any Academy awards. I may be suffering from Edward Norton fatigue. I thought he played essentially the same early 20th century person in this movie that he did in the recent The Illusionist, about which I was unenthusiastic as well.
Overall, The Painted Veil adds up to less than the sum of its parts. My overall impression at the end of the movie was that I had just watched a "chick flick." A beautifully photographed chick flick but a chick flick nevertheless. In all fairness, the chick who watched the flick with me disagreed with my assessment. She gave it four out of five stars, while I only gave it three; three and a half stars, at the most, if the chick decides to really battle for the rating.
The story is not complicated. A serious physician and medical researcher, played by Edward Norton, back in England for a brief leave, spots and instantly falls in love with a beautiful, but vacuous young woman, Naomi Watts, who marries him out of a lack of anything better to do and goes off with him to China where he is helping to fight cholera epidemics. As the newly-weds get to know each other, it becomes clear to everyone that the marriage was a mistake. He exists only for his bacteria; she is interested in partying and socializing. She soon starts an affair with a debonair cad in the small British expatriate community, an affair which is quickly discovered by the young husband. To punish the wife, the husband forces her to accompany him to an isolated area in the interior, in the middle of a cholera outbreak. Predictably enough, she eventually, out of boredom, starts helping out in a Catholic orphanage and discovers the virtues of living for others; he gets a new-found respect for his wife, and they fall in love, for real this time, but too late to live happily ever after.
The story was first made into a movie in 1934 with Greta Garbo playing the Naomi Watts role. I have never seen that movie, so I can't compare the jobs Garbo and Watts did. I really like Watts's performance, though. She gives a strong performance, although not one for which I would nominate her for any Academy awards. I may be suffering from Edward Norton fatigue. I thought he played essentially the same early 20th century person in this movie that he did in the recent The Illusionist, about which I was unenthusiastic as well.
Overall, The Painted Veil adds up to less than the sum of its parts. My overall impression at the end of the movie was that I had just watched a "chick flick." A beautifully photographed chick flick but a chick flick nevertheless. In all fairness, the chick who watched the flick with me disagreed with my assessment. She gave it four out of five stars, while I only gave it three; three and a half stars, at the most, if the chick decides to really battle for the rating.
Wednesday, January 03, 2007
Third Day Book Report: Suite Francaise
Today is January 3rd, time for people in Patry Francis's Third Day Book Club to blog about Suite Francaise.
I'm going to blame the New York Times for my failure to get the complete book read by today. I finally succumbed to the offers to get the New York Times on a trial basis for $1 a week for four weeks. The holidays were coming up, with more time off for reading; Chris was coming home for two weeks and he might enjoy having something with a little more heft than our local rag which is filled 90 percent with sports. But I'm a little obsessive about reading newspapers; I read practically every word in our local rag, including the sports I care little about; the 50th wedding anniversaries; the obituaries; the celebrity birthdays -- everything. But our local rag is so small that I can do that and still have time for reading books and The New Yorker. Having the New York Times in the house has blown a hole in almost all other reading. The New Yorkers are piling up; books are sitting unread; even the Times is piling up because I don't have time to read it completely -- and that's without the Sunday Times. So, this morning I put Chris on the plane back to San Diego and today, I'm going to have to cancel the NYT; provided I can figure out how and that I can bring myself to do it.
In the meantime, I've read 230 pages out of 338, not including two appendices and the preface to the French edition of Suite Francaise. I hate to commit myself too strongly, because sometimes the ending goes south and changes my overall impression of the book, but so far I have to say that if I read any better books in 2007, this will have been a great year for reading books. The author, Irene Nemirovsky, was born in Ukraine to a successful banker and escaped to Paris during the Russian communist revolution. There she was a very successful writer, but eventually was shipped to a concentration camp by the Nazis where she died. The book was written shortly before the author was arrested. It was secreted away until many years later when her daughter discovered it and got it published. I had never heard of Nemirovsky before this book, so I don't know if her other works pack the punch of this one, but if they do, she is one of the great writers of the 20th century, in my opinion.
The subject matter of the book is every day life in France in the early part of the German occupation of France. Despite the subject matter, I did not find it to be a depressing book. She writes about very hard times with humor and insight.
The book reminds me of Proust in its ability to use descriptions of minute details to make a larger point about life and people. The writing is rich but very readable. The translator did a wonderful job of translating the book from French to idiomatic British English, so that the book reads as if it had been written in English.
One of the chapters, written from the point of view of a family cat, may be the best chapter of any book I have ever read. It is so rich and evocative and contains a twist with the last sentence of the chapter that made me say "Wow," and re-read the chapter. I don't want to ruin it for those readers who have not yet read the book, but for those who have read the book, but I am referring to Chapter 20, which begins on page 96.
This is not a very long or detailed report, but this will have to suffice until I finish the book. I intend to come back to it then and write in more detail about the book and author. In the meantime, I offer an unqualified endorsement of the book. I highly recommend it with five stars, subject, however, to yanking some of them away if the ending fails to satisfy.
I'm going to blame the New York Times for my failure to get the complete book read by today. I finally succumbed to the offers to get the New York Times on a trial basis for $1 a week for four weeks. The holidays were coming up, with more time off for reading; Chris was coming home for two weeks and he might enjoy having something with a little more heft than our local rag which is filled 90 percent with sports. But I'm a little obsessive about reading newspapers; I read practically every word in our local rag, including the sports I care little about; the 50th wedding anniversaries; the obituaries; the celebrity birthdays -- everything. But our local rag is so small that I can do that and still have time for reading books and The New Yorker. Having the New York Times in the house has blown a hole in almost all other reading. The New Yorkers are piling up; books are sitting unread; even the Times is piling up because I don't have time to read it completely -- and that's without the Sunday Times. So, this morning I put Chris on the plane back to San Diego and today, I'm going to have to cancel the NYT; provided I can figure out how and that I can bring myself to do it.
In the meantime, I've read 230 pages out of 338, not including two appendices and the preface to the French edition of Suite Francaise. I hate to commit myself too strongly, because sometimes the ending goes south and changes my overall impression of the book, but so far I have to say that if I read any better books in 2007, this will have been a great year for reading books. The author, Irene Nemirovsky, was born in Ukraine to a successful banker and escaped to Paris during the Russian communist revolution. There she was a very successful writer, but eventually was shipped to a concentration camp by the Nazis where she died. The book was written shortly before the author was arrested. It was secreted away until many years later when her daughter discovered it and got it published. I had never heard of Nemirovsky before this book, so I don't know if her other works pack the punch of this one, but if they do, she is one of the great writers of the 20th century, in my opinion.
The subject matter of the book is every day life in France in the early part of the German occupation of France. Despite the subject matter, I did not find it to be a depressing book. She writes about very hard times with humor and insight.
The book reminds me of Proust in its ability to use descriptions of minute details to make a larger point about life and people. The writing is rich but very readable. The translator did a wonderful job of translating the book from French to idiomatic British English, so that the book reads as if it had been written in English.
One of the chapters, written from the point of view of a family cat, may be the best chapter of any book I have ever read. It is so rich and evocative and contains a twist with the last sentence of the chapter that made me say "Wow," and re-read the chapter. I don't want to ruin it for those readers who have not yet read the book, but for those who have read the book, but I am referring to Chapter 20, which begins on page 96.
This is not a very long or detailed report, but this will have to suffice until I finish the book. I intend to come back to it then and write in more detail about the book and author. In the meantime, I offer an unqualified endorsement of the book. I highly recommend it with five stars, subject, however, to yanking some of them away if the ending fails to satisfy.
Monday, January 01, 2007
Annual Book and Movie Report
For the last 15 years or so, I have inflicted an annual Christmas letter upon family and friends. If you're a friend and haven't gotten one, feel grateful, not insulted. One feature of the annual letter that recipients seem to enjoy the most (right after the fact that it only comes out once a year) is our annual book and movie picks. The winner of Best Movie Viewed in 2006 (I list only movies seen in theaters; movies were not meant to be watched on television) is Babel.
Best Book was Houseboating in the Ozarks, about which I have reported in more detail a month or so ago.
Here is a listing of all of the books I read in 2006, 52, and all of the movies which I saw in theaters, 46. It was a good year for books and movies. Only a few books and movies in my lifetime have ever rated the 5 plus rating, which is the highest rating known to humankind.
Here goes (Books first):
5 Plus Stars
Houseboating in the Ozarks by Gary Forrester
5 Stars
East of Eden by John Steinbeck
Crime and Punishment by Fyodor Dostoevsky
Boyhood: Scenes from Provincial Life by J.M. Coetzee
Blink by Malcolm Gladwell
How Men Pray by Phillip Deaver
Ordinary Heroes by Scott Turow
All Quiet on the Western Front by Erich Maria Remarque
Middlesex by Jeffrey Eugenides
4 Stars
White Teeth by Zadie Smith
Family Man by Calvin Trillin
Silas Marner by Georges Elliott
Brideshead Revisited by Evelyn Waugh
The Scarlet Letter by Nathaniel Hawthorne
My Antonia by Willa Cather
Hot Kid by Elmore Leonard
Devil With A Blue Dress by Walter Mosley
Falconer by John Cheever
American Humor and Satire various authors
The Mysterious Stranger and Other Stories by Mark Twain
The Woman in White by Wilkie Collins
Everyman by Phillip Roth
Atonement by Ian McEwan
Call It Sleep by Henry Roth
Mark Twain, a Biography by Ron Powers
City of Falling Angels by John Berendt
I Thought My Father Was God by Paul Auster
Red Badge of Courage by Stephen Crane
My Detachment: A Memoir by Tracy Kidder
Half of A Yellow Sun by Chimamanda Adiche
Second Nature by Michael Pollan
American Rhapsody by Joe Esterhazy
A Gathering of Old Men by Ernest Gaines
Three Stars
Genius: The Life and Science of Richard Feynman by James Gleick
Stories of T.C. Boyle by T.C. Boyle
Housekeeping by Marilynne Robinson
Joe Jones by Anne Lamott
Secrets of the Ya Ya Sisterhood by Rachel West
Journal of a Novel by John Steinbeck
"C" is for Corpse" by Sue Grafton
"A" is for Alibi by Sue Grafton
"B" is for Burglar by Sue Grafton
Selected Stories by Bret Harte
Mile High Club by Kinky Friedman
Straight Man by Richard Russo
Winter's Bone by Daniel Woodrell
A Confederacy of Dunces by John Kennedy Toole
Love in the Driest Season by Neely Tucker
Two Stars
Espelkamp on the German Frontier by Bill Dyck
Discipline and Punishment by Michel Foucault
Race by Studs Terkel
One Star
The History Boys by Alan Bennett
2006 Movie Ratings
Five Plus Stars
Babel
Five Stars
Match Point by Woody Allen
Why We Fight
Claire Dolan
Junebug
For Your Consideration
Four Stars
The Family Stone
Fun With Dick and Jane
The Whale and the Squid
Looking for Comedy in a Muslim World
Brokeback Mountain
Transamerica
The Three Burials of Melquiades Estrada
My Fair Lady
Man Push Cart
Somebodies
Millions
U-Carmen e-Khayelitsha
To Kill A Mockingbird
Prairie Home Companion
Look Both Ways
The Devil Wears Prada
Scoop
Little Miss Sunshine
The Illusionist
Hollywoodland
Little Jerusalem
Last King of Scotland
Pulp Fiction
The Queen
Three Stars
Mrs. Henderson Presents
Thank You for Smoking
Duane Hopwood
The Sting
An Inconvenient Truth
The Unforgiven
The Departed
Borat
Bobby
Two Stars
Spartan
The Eagle
Ripley's Game
The Black Dahlia
Please Teach Me English
One Star
The Libertine
Bad Santa
Best Book was Houseboating in the Ozarks, about which I have reported in more detail a month or so ago.
Here is a listing of all of the books I read in 2006, 52, and all of the movies which I saw in theaters, 46. It was a good year for books and movies. Only a few books and movies in my lifetime have ever rated the 5 plus rating, which is the highest rating known to humankind.
Here goes (Books first):
5 Plus Stars
Houseboating in the Ozarks by Gary Forrester
5 Stars
East of Eden by John Steinbeck
Crime and Punishment by Fyodor Dostoevsky
Boyhood: Scenes from Provincial Life by J.M. Coetzee
Blink by Malcolm Gladwell
How Men Pray by Phillip Deaver
Ordinary Heroes by Scott Turow
All Quiet on the Western Front by Erich Maria Remarque
Middlesex by Jeffrey Eugenides
4 Stars
White Teeth by Zadie Smith
Family Man by Calvin Trillin
Silas Marner by Georges Elliott
Brideshead Revisited by Evelyn Waugh
The Scarlet Letter by Nathaniel Hawthorne
My Antonia by Willa Cather
Hot Kid by Elmore Leonard
Devil With A Blue Dress by Walter Mosley
Falconer by John Cheever
American Humor and Satire various authors
The Mysterious Stranger and Other Stories by Mark Twain
The Woman in White by Wilkie Collins
Everyman by Phillip Roth
Atonement by Ian McEwan
Call It Sleep by Henry Roth
Mark Twain, a Biography by Ron Powers
City of Falling Angels by John Berendt
I Thought My Father Was God by Paul Auster
Red Badge of Courage by Stephen Crane
My Detachment: A Memoir by Tracy Kidder
Half of A Yellow Sun by Chimamanda Adiche
Second Nature by Michael Pollan
American Rhapsody by Joe Esterhazy
A Gathering of Old Men by Ernest Gaines
Three Stars
Genius: The Life and Science of Richard Feynman by James Gleick
Stories of T.C. Boyle by T.C. Boyle
Housekeeping by Marilynne Robinson
Joe Jones by Anne Lamott
Secrets of the Ya Ya Sisterhood by Rachel West
Journal of a Novel by John Steinbeck
"C" is for Corpse" by Sue Grafton
"A" is for Alibi by Sue Grafton
"B" is for Burglar by Sue Grafton
Selected Stories by Bret Harte
Mile High Club by Kinky Friedman
Straight Man by Richard Russo
Winter's Bone by Daniel Woodrell
A Confederacy of Dunces by John Kennedy Toole
Love in the Driest Season by Neely Tucker
Two Stars
Espelkamp on the German Frontier by Bill Dyck
Discipline and Punishment by Michel Foucault
Race by Studs Terkel
One Star
The History Boys by Alan Bennett
2006 Movie Ratings
Five Plus Stars
Babel
Five Stars
Match Point by Woody Allen
Why We Fight
Claire Dolan
Junebug
For Your Consideration
Four Stars
The Family Stone
Fun With Dick and Jane
The Whale and the Squid
Looking for Comedy in a Muslim World
Brokeback Mountain
Transamerica
The Three Burials of Melquiades Estrada
My Fair Lady
Man Push Cart
Somebodies
Millions
U-Carmen e-Khayelitsha
To Kill A Mockingbird
Prairie Home Companion
Look Both Ways
The Devil Wears Prada
Scoop
Little Miss Sunshine
The Illusionist
Hollywoodland
Little Jerusalem
Last King of Scotland
Pulp Fiction
The Queen
Three Stars
Mrs. Henderson Presents
Thank You for Smoking
Duane Hopwood
The Sting
An Inconvenient Truth
The Unforgiven
The Departed
Borat
Bobby
Two Stars
Spartan
The Eagle
Ripley's Game
The Black Dahlia
Please Teach Me English
One Star
The Libertine
Bad Santa
Thursday, December 28, 2006
Ask Aunt Tillie: Do Amish Celebrate Christmas?
Blogger's Note: Since this blog is somewhat Amishcentric, I get questions from time to time from readers about Amish life and culture, which I refer to my Aunt Tillie, an opinionated, but humble Amish woman. Here is a recent question and answer. Please leave a comment or email me if you have questions you want me to refer to her in the future.
Dear Aunt Tillie:
The readers of your nephew's blog haven't read much about you lately, and I was just wondering how you're doing? Did you have a Merry Christmas? Do Amish even celebrate Christmas?
(signed) A Friend
Dear Friend:
I had a very nice Christmas; thanks for asking. All 14 of the children and 57 of the grandchildren were at our house for dinner on Christmas Day. I would say we "observe" Christmas more than "celebrate" it. From what I've read and heard from neighbors, our Christmas observances are quite a bit different from the way the English celebrate Christmas.
For one thing, we don't have Christmas lights, since we don't have electricity and it wouldn't make much sense to string lights around that don't light up. Actually, we don't put up Christmas decorations at all and we don't have Christmas trees and don't try to fool our children into believing they get presents from Santa Claus. When I hear people talk about having an "old-fashioned" Christmas, I have to laugh because in the olden days even the English didn't put as much time and trouble into celebrating Christmas as they do now days.
But we are not too Scrooge-like. We give presents to the younger children, although the idea of children making lists and demanding that we give them what's on the lists is unheard of among our people. We don't give presents to our married children, but when we had children at home, we might give the boys each a pair of gloves and the girls a scarf or something pretty, like a scriptural saying to hang on their wall. Abner will usually give a half dollar to each of the grandchildren, although the way inflation is going, I keep telling him he should get silver dollars to hand out. (I don't know if you can even get silver dollars anymore, that tells you how often I get to town.)
From what I've read, Christmas really doesn't have much to do with Jesus's birth, which no one even knows when it happened. Christmas started as a pagan celebration of the winter solstice, which the Catholics appropriated into a Christian celebration. It has pretty much returned to its pagan roots, from what I hear, with just a big buying and charging binge that the stores have promoted in order to sell more. I hear there are people on television and radio trying to get people stirred up about the "assault on Christmas," claiming that the ACLU is trying to ruin this country by making it illegal to say, "Merry Christmas." I like Christmas but I don't get too pushed out of shape about what someone might be trying to do or not do about saying "Merry Christmas." I figure that Christians who want to celebrate Jesus's birth are going to be able to do it without worrying too much about whether someone at the store said, "Merry Christmas," to them.
I hope, Friend, that you have a Happy New Year, and before you ask, no, I'm not planning on staying up until midnight; I don't have a television so I won't be watching the big ball come down at Times Square and I won't be drinking any champagne. If our throats feel scratchy, (or might be getting ready to feel scratchy,) Abner and I might just have a little nip of Kentucky bourbon before we go off to bed on New Year's Eve, but one nip is it. You don't want to be in bed with a drunken Amishman at my age, believe you me!
(Signed) Aunt Tillie
Dear Aunt Tillie:
The readers of your nephew's blog haven't read much about you lately, and I was just wondering how you're doing? Did you have a Merry Christmas? Do Amish even celebrate Christmas?
(signed) A Friend
Dear Friend:
I had a very nice Christmas; thanks for asking. All 14 of the children and 57 of the grandchildren were at our house for dinner on Christmas Day. I would say we "observe" Christmas more than "celebrate" it. From what I've read and heard from neighbors, our Christmas observances are quite a bit different from the way the English celebrate Christmas.
For one thing, we don't have Christmas lights, since we don't have electricity and it wouldn't make much sense to string lights around that don't light up. Actually, we don't put up Christmas decorations at all and we don't have Christmas trees and don't try to fool our children into believing they get presents from Santa Claus. When I hear people talk about having an "old-fashioned" Christmas, I have to laugh because in the olden days even the English didn't put as much time and trouble into celebrating Christmas as they do now days.
But we are not too Scrooge-like. We give presents to the younger children, although the idea of children making lists and demanding that we give them what's on the lists is unheard of among our people. We don't give presents to our married children, but when we had children at home, we might give the boys each a pair of gloves and the girls a scarf or something pretty, like a scriptural saying to hang on their wall. Abner will usually give a half dollar to each of the grandchildren, although the way inflation is going, I keep telling him he should get silver dollars to hand out. (I don't know if you can even get silver dollars anymore, that tells you how often I get to town.)
From what I've read, Christmas really doesn't have much to do with Jesus's birth, which no one even knows when it happened. Christmas started as a pagan celebration of the winter solstice, which the Catholics appropriated into a Christian celebration. It has pretty much returned to its pagan roots, from what I hear, with just a big buying and charging binge that the stores have promoted in order to sell more. I hear there are people on television and radio trying to get people stirred up about the "assault on Christmas," claiming that the ACLU is trying to ruin this country by making it illegal to say, "Merry Christmas." I like Christmas but I don't get too pushed out of shape about what someone might be trying to do or not do about saying "Merry Christmas." I figure that Christians who want to celebrate Jesus's birth are going to be able to do it without worrying too much about whether someone at the store said, "Merry Christmas," to them.
I hope, Friend, that you have a Happy New Year, and before you ask, no, I'm not planning on staying up until midnight; I don't have a television so I won't be watching the big ball come down at Times Square and I won't be drinking any champagne. If our throats feel scratchy, (or might be getting ready to feel scratchy,) Abner and I might just have a little nip of Kentucky bourbon before we go off to bed on New Year's Eve, but one nip is it. You don't want to be in bed with a drunken Amishman at my age, believe you me!
(Signed) Aunt Tillie
Saturday, December 23, 2006
A Crockhead Extravaganza
We're about to head for Gatlinburg, TN where all the Crockheads are getting together for four days in a big seven-room cabin that sleeps 30 people. We will have 27. You can see pictures here. We plan to have a Crockhead Film Festival and Argument. If there is internet access and time, I will blog during the festivities. Merry Christmas, everybody.
Friday, December 22, 2006
Testosterone Anyone?
The secretaries in our office got together and bought gift certificates for the partners. I was happy with mine, which was to Walnut Street Tea Company, where I like to go to buy teas. That is until I found out my partner's gift certificate is for Hooter's! Now I'm afraid I was insulted and didn't know it. Today, for the first time in history I wore jeans to work on jeans Friday. By God, I'm nothin' if not manly. Just because I drink tea instead of coffee don't mean nothin'. (I'm going to start droppin' my g's like George Bush. That helped him get over the stigma of being a cheerleader instead of a football player in college.) The secretaries promised to get me a gift certificate for Lowe's next year. I'll buy me a big drill or somethin'. Either that or find me a country to invade.
Thursday, December 21, 2006
Final Report from Philadelphia
After the incomparable Dishkin Brothers finished their set, there was a short intermission so they could gather up their pieces of wood and amplifiers. Then came the performance for which we had traveled to Purgatory and back, Jason Calloway and Christopher Otto. They first did a Xenakis piece written in 1996 for the Lincoln Center Festival called "Huuem-Iduhey," which is Yehudi Menuhim spelled backwards (sort of.) (If you don't know who Yehudi Menuhim is, you wouldn't like this piece.) They then did an original composition by someone whose name I didn't catch and finished up with Ravel's Sonata for Violin and Cello. Calloway quoted Ravel as saying about this piece that it "dispenses with the charm of trite-sounding harmonies." It does indeed, but it has its own charm.
At this point there used to be a video snippet of the Ravel piece. Chris has requested that I remove it, so I have.
The last set was by David Gross and Rhob Rainey and was called "Faces of Death," which is described in the poster as a "reductionist death match between two experimental saxophonists, complete with boxing style managers and high drama." One would think, reading the description, that the "reductionist death match" was between the two experimental saxophonists. It turned out it was between the saxophonists and the audience, many of whom literally had to cover their ears for protection against the assaults. I am told that Gross and Rainey are highly accomplished musicians and that this piece was intended as a parody. The problem was they had five minutes of parody, loosely packed into 30 minutes of our time.
Afterwards, we went out for some drinks, got to bed about midnight and were up again by 5:00 to fly out of Philadelphia, back to the good old conventional Midwest with its trite-sounding harmonies.
At this point there used to be a video snippet of the Ravel piece. Chris has requested that I remove it, so I have.
The last set was by David Gross and Rhob Rainey and was called "Faces of Death," which is described in the poster as a "reductionist death match between two experimental saxophonists, complete with boxing style managers and high drama." One would think, reading the description, that the "reductionist death match" was between the two experimental saxophonists. It turned out it was between the saxophonists and the audience, many of whom literally had to cover their ears for protection against the assaults. I am told that Gross and Rainey are highly accomplished musicians and that this piece was intended as a parody. The problem was they had five minutes of parody, loosely packed into 30 minutes of our time.
Afterwards, we went out for some drinks, got to bed about midnight and were up again by 5:00 to fly out of Philadelphia, back to the good old conventional Midwest with its trite-sounding harmonies.
Tuesday, December 19, 2006
And Back to Purgatory
Cows must be sacred in Pennsylvania. For some reason, no one eats beef chili. We had gelatinous chicken chili for lunch at Ruby Tuesdays (described below) and turkey chili for dinner at Lauren's Dream Kitchen. I'm told the airport cafeteria was offering goose chili for breakfast, but we left too early to try that or duck chili, cornish rock hen chili or pigeon chili, the specialty in the city's Belgian restaurants. Lauren's turkey chili was not only a different species of poultry chili than the gelatinous chicken chili we had at Ruby Tuesday's, but on an altogether higher plane of taste. It was excellent, as was the apple pie pictured in the post below.
After a very fine meal and interesting conversation with the denizens of Dream Kitchen, we headed for downtown Philadelphia in my sister, Louise's van, along with her husband Al, sons, Jason and Andrew and Jason's girlfriend, Angie. I declined the invitation to sit in the front seat with the map to navigate for Al, the driver, figuring that with time running short and none of us knowing where we were going, only a spouse would have the courage to shout, "Why didn't you turn back there?" as we whizzed by an exit. Unfortunately, Sister Louise was too soft spoken (or maybe the map was too confusing) and we wound up completely missing the exit to get downtown, and not realizing the mistake until we were several miles north of Philadelphia and rapidly approaching Camden, New Jersey. I was stuck in the middle seat next to a spouse who kept chanting in a not-so-undertone, "We're going to be late. We should have left earlier."
We finally did find the concert at Nexxus, an art gallery (without any art)located in a trendy part of town (meaning formerly run down but rapidly becoming gentrified) and although we were a few minutes late, the concert hadn't started yet.
First up were the incomparable Fishkin Brothers, Daniel and David, playing the saxophone and daxophone duet. Yes, there is such a thing. A daxophone is an amplified piece of wood which Daniel plays with a bow and another piece of wood. He makes his daxophones out of scraps because of environmental concerns about cutting down the rain forest. It sounds pretty much like you think a piece of wood with a microphone attached to it would sound when it is scraped with a violin bow. Fishkin will sell you a daxophone if you are interested, but since you probably won't be able to find a daxophone CD at your local big box store, you might want to hear an excerpt before you invest in one. Here is a snippet of one of the Fishkin pieces, very dark but the best I could do with a digital camera. At least you can hear what it sounds like. (Visually, this video is terrible; the sound has fidelity, if nothing else.)(Okay, so maybe it would benefit from a little less fidelity, but here it is.)
I have to go to work now. Next up will be a report on the Calloway/Otto duet, along with a video snippet. Please, please don't go away permanently.
After a very fine meal and interesting conversation with the denizens of Dream Kitchen, we headed for downtown Philadelphia in my sister, Louise's van, along with her husband Al, sons, Jason and Andrew and Jason's girlfriend, Angie. I declined the invitation to sit in the front seat with the map to navigate for Al, the driver, figuring that with time running short and none of us knowing where we were going, only a spouse would have the courage to shout, "Why didn't you turn back there?" as we whizzed by an exit. Unfortunately, Sister Louise was too soft spoken (or maybe the map was too confusing) and we wound up completely missing the exit to get downtown, and not realizing the mistake until we were several miles north of Philadelphia and rapidly approaching Camden, New Jersey. I was stuck in the middle seat next to a spouse who kept chanting in a not-so-undertone, "We're going to be late. We should have left earlier."
We finally did find the concert at Nexxus, an art gallery (without any art)located in a trendy part of town (meaning formerly run down but rapidly becoming gentrified) and although we were a few minutes late, the concert hadn't started yet.
First up were the incomparable Fishkin Brothers, Daniel and David, playing the saxophone and daxophone duet. Yes, there is such a thing. A daxophone is an amplified piece of wood which Daniel plays with a bow and another piece of wood. He makes his daxophones out of scraps because of environmental concerns about cutting down the rain forest. It sounds pretty much like you think a piece of wood with a microphone attached to it would sound when it is scraped with a violin bow. Fishkin will sell you a daxophone if you are interested, but since you probably won't be able to find a daxophone CD at your local big box store, you might want to hear an excerpt before you invest in one. Here is a snippet of one of the Fishkin pieces, very dark but the best I could do with a digital camera. At least you can hear what it sounds like. (Visually, this video is terrible; the sound has fidelity, if nothing else.)(Okay, so maybe it would benefit from a little less fidelity, but here it is.)
| A sample of the Fishkin Brothers' Sax and Dax duet at the Nexxus Gallery in Philadelphia on December 16, 2006. | |
I have to go to work now. Next up will be a report on the Calloway/Otto duet, along with a video snippet. Please, please don't go away permanently.
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