Update on the pink birds:

Thirty hours later, and that errant flamingo is still resting upside down in the snow hill across the street (see first post today). There are 4 kids living in the house, along with two parents. They’re newcomers: they bought the house just this year. The moldy shingled roof didn’t make them back off and look elsewhere. He’s always around --they say he does film (?); the mother is an inside sort of person and so I don’t see her much.

Interestingly, neither adult has felt compelled to right the pink bird. It’s as if it offers a different perspective on things. An upside-down perspective. [We haven’t gone through an election season with them yet and so I can’t comment on their past or current leanings. I don’t know if a dozen flamingos in the front yard tells you much of anything about party affiliation. Now, if there had been green flamingos, that might be a hint.]

Today, while walking the dog, I almost said “say, that’s a cool upside-down bird..” A veiled question, if I ever saw one; comparable to “is anyone worried about the bird’s ability to breathe?” or “those pink toes look like they’re in for frost-bite, don’t they?” Just what they need – a neighbor on the prowl, posing nonsensical questions about plastic birds.

Working at home is not always such a great idea.

If you spend hours picking DVDs that then turn out to be duds..

My colleague Ann has posted a questionnaire, designed to help you select a movie to rent. This is great news if you’re like me and will actually ask the random Blockbuster clerk what’s good these days. As if they can figure this out for you. However incompetent the questionnaire is – it’s better than asking the clerk.

I, of course, filled out all the info on the site just to see if it was at all credible. The conclusion: Ann and I should avoid renting videos together. It’s not finessed to such an extent that it can really zero in on your taste, but it gives you a good stack to at least consider before you toss them all aside and pick out the usual dud.

Still on the Beatles..

It was on this day, then, that we listened, cried, screamed and went nuts. But I have to admit now, in retrospect, that I really didn’t get it. All the while that I worshiped the Beatles, I was a good 10 years behind them in age, and so their meaning was probably not my meaning. And I’m not even talking about the regular transcription mistakes. How long til I realized that they were NOT singing: “Trying to rule the days that are ohhhhhhh” (Across the Universe) or “Darling he sobs in the night when there’s nobody there” (Eleanor Rigby)?

“Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds” was probably obvious to anyone hearing it on the side of the ocean, but in Poland (I was back in Poland from ’66 onwards), it was just pretty and somewhat sexy. Good to dance to. With Bulgarian wine on the side rather than LSD. Or “Strawberry Fields” – tell us the words, tell us the words! --my Polish girlfriends would ask. And so I’d talk about how dreamy it was, you know, all that “living is easy with eyes closed …” And my absolute favorite “Fool on the Hill” (round and round and round and round and rooooound….) – I knew the words perfectly, but I had only a hazy understanding of what they meant.

I grew up with the Beatles. There is no question that they were the single most important, sustained musical force in my life. In my own quirky adolescent way, I imagined I was deeply immersed in their message. “I read the news today, oh boy…..” That is the power of song.

My vote seems to have been cast without my knowing it

Moments ago I got a call from a serious sounding John Kerry. He asked for my support in the primaries. Then he asked to please press “1” if I would vote for him. Multi-tasking is useful when you’re listening to calls from parents and politicians and so I leaned on the receiver and picked up my laptop. I heard a “beep,” and then an exalted Kerry telling me “great! I am so glad we can count on your support….. bla.. bla..” Oh no! That was a mistake! Please don’t count that in your score logs – I didn’t mean it! I mean, I’m not saying I’m NOT going to lend my support – anything can happen, we’re still a week away, bribes could start pouring in (see earlier post).

There’s no going back. I’m sure I’ll get all the letters, the calls, the solicitations; tomorrow I expect a Kerry sign in the front yard, and my name will probably appear on some massive ad taken out in the NYT. A technological snafu with a dose of human error has taken away my right to cast an educated vote.

Let them eat contracts..

GWBush has taken an idle comment heard on a plane ride and turned it into a political tool. Apparently he still wants the moderate vote badly enough to offer an alternative for gay couples: make a contract and then you can have all those nifty little rights like hospital visits, insurance, inheritance --that come with marriage.

But it's not that simple, even forgetting the intended slap in the face for the couples occupying this lesser status of "cohabitants." For one, those nifty little rights like social security or federal benefits cannot be passed on to even those occupying the Vermont category of ‘civil unions,’ thanks to the federal Defense of Marriage Act, which, as we know now, is routinely being passed also by state legislatures (not Wisconsin: one vote short of a veto override).

And perhaps GWB should read a case or two coming from Illinois, or from a number of other states where courts have been extremely unhappy about enforcing cohabitation agreements (CAs), even between heteroseual partners, let alone between same-sex partners. Why? What else: for policy reasons. Because enforcing CAs is like giving a nod of approval to the unions. And because there are problems with CAs in general: when do they click into being? Commitment ceremonies. Okay. But when do they terminate? If there is no “divorce” does that mean that they are in place until the sexual relationship ends? And so are they really sort of like in exchange for sex? Meaning – when the sexual relations end, so do a partner's rights to shared property? Tricky tricky. You can write one, and many do. Then hope you’ll find a sympathetic court if there is a challenge. Not a family court – family courts have no jurisdiction over these private contracts. A regular court. Good luck!

Do your homework, GWB. Or at least call a family law prof. Wait til you get the bill!

Who IS the fat lady and why must we wait til she sings?

With respect to this question, posed in my Sunday blog on letting Wisconsin seal the fate of Dean, I can now some clarifications:

Thanks to the reader who, in answer to who she is, pointed me to viable contenders. In the first, I see the clear indication that girth may add oomph to a crescendo in a Wagnerian opera. In the second, I see that Brunhilde's girth may actually overwhelm anything and anyone who threatens to come close. I understand that both would indeed give finality to a crucial moment – be it in opera or politics.

Thanks also to the reader who suggested that I look to baseball for answers. Apparently the phrase itself is attributed to the great Yankee baseball catcher Yogi Berra, who likened a baseball game to an opera, noting, "It ain't over 'til the fat lady sings..."

All very helpful. I did vaguely recall that the phrase got to be associated somehow with baseball, but I couldn't imagine why the game would be over at the end of the singing of the National Anthem, nor why the person singing it had to be of a large frame.

Oh ho the Wells Fargo Wagon..

A package from California came in the mail today. It was a book, along with the following note (literal transcription):

“Hi. I hope you take the trouble to vote in the primaries – for DEAN. Very important. He deserves every bit of support. He was first to oppose the war and was rewarded with a kick in the pants [I know her, she’s referring to the primaries]. That’s politics for you. Kerry has now shifted gears and blasts Bush but he’s been in Washington 19 years and has accomplished nothing [she’s listening well to the Dean ads]. I’m not enamored with him but, of course, I’ll vote for anyone against that maniac from Texas [for Berkeley, this is not strong language]. Love, H. P.S. Enclosed is a delightful book as a bribe for your vote.”

Well now, is this the same California that said “it ain’t over until?!” There are quite a number of voting members in this household. Any other bribes from readers in the Pacific time zone?

Herd animals

I know that some people go to see movies purely based on their assessment of the films’ worth. I know that. But the rest of us, the huge majority, maybe 99% of the viewing public doesn’t even consider a movie until it has something on its resume: like a credible review, or a recommendation from a friend, or an Oscar nomination. The NYT writes about this today in the context of nominations in the “foreign film” category. The nomination isn’t a guarantee of success, but it sure makes people wake up and take note.

People like success and they sniff it out and herd out to the movie showing the colors of victory. We move in packs, from one crowded movie house to another [and we’re disappointed when we go to see a movie and the cinema is empty, as in “hey, this is weird. Why isn’t anyone else seeing this? They’re all so stupid and unsophisticated! Or, maybe I’m stupid? WHERE IS EVERYONE??].

Of course, like others, I instantly became interested in all the films listed in the foreign film category when the nominations were posted. I mean, suddenly even the “Twilight Samurai” sounded just excellent, even though anyone who knows me would immediately say that this is the last film in the world that I would ever choose to see. And “Twin Sisters”? Sounds so great that I’m thinking, maybe we’re overdue for a week-end in NY – you know, fly out, visit the daughters, go see a movie – THAT movie, fly home… I mean, it’s not going to happen, but you can see my escalating desires: pick out the winners, get the tickets early online, because it’s SURE TO BE CROWDED when it opens, Yeah!, pack animals, following the herd to the next success, having our own opinion of it, but following the herd nonetheless..

Pink birds in the snow

The children from our block built a snow mountain in the front yard across the street. What’s a snow mountain? Just that: a hill-like structure made of snow. Perhaps it wouldn’t get top billing in a snow sculpture competition, but it is a remarkable piece of work, if only for its simplicity. I can see it at this second: it’s a bit lumpy, and some of the younger guys have placed destructive foot prints up one side. It also has a dozen of those plastic flamingos mounted in all manner of repose, one with a head and neck buried in the snow and the legs jutting in the air.

I watched them yesterday (from the warmth of our LR): they were having such fun with the project, much more fun than I was having with my stack of 60 Law School applications to read, a trip to the incredibly boring gym to look forward to, and some form of week-end house tidying to attend to. What the heck is the matter with us? What would it take to get a group of multi-age (discreetly stated, don’t you think..) people out there to build a snow mountain (lacking imagination, we might as well copy the kids)? Just to slap together some snow to resemble one of those burial mounds, and then stick in some flamingos, without order or purpose?

The kid mountain is unfinished: it’s a work in progress. It’s so brilliant in its imperfection, what with that upside-down pink bird, truly making me smile every time I see it. So who had the richer Sunday, me or them?