Mad As Hell

This comment from a Huffington Post regular named mad as hell, appeared in response to an article about Progressive Caucus members not signing on to any watered-down health care reform legislation. I'm inclined to agree with mad, and with those Congressmembers who see the compromised legislation as business as usual continued. This is simply the most articulate and cogent expression of the single-payer manifesto I've seen in one place. Kudos, Mr. hell.


****************************** AN OPEN LETTER TO THE US CONGRESS ******************************

--------------------------------- Heed this or enjoy your last term in US Congress ----------------------------------

We, the people, DEMAND that a strong condition-free PUBLIC OPTION be included in whatever Health Care Reform legislation you enact. We will be watching your actions closely, so, keep the following in mind before casting your vote. Make it count for all Americans :-

Health Care Reform is MEANINGLESS if:

1. There is no Public Option ( with clear path to SINGLE PAYER, No Co-ops, No Triggers ).
2. Everybody is not covered. (Without Exception)
3. Coverage can be denied based on "Pre-existing" conditions.
4. It does not contain Patients' Rights.
5. Strict Regulations are not imposed on insurance plans.
6. Affordability and costs to consumers, as well as providers, are not addressed.
7. Accessibility, delivery and quality are not maintained and/or improved.
8. There's NO oversight from medical, financial and nat.ional sec.urity persp.ectives.
9. Profit motive is NOT REMOVED.
10. Innovation, Research guidelines and funding are not addressed.

Health Care For Patients, NOT For Profit because Health Care For Profit is Health Care DENIED.

Under NO CIRCUMSTANCES should an insurance middleman come between a patient and his/her doctor - especially, if the insurance middleman stands to gain from it.

Insurance and Employers have no business being in Health Care. They contribute nothing towards it.

Fazakerlys in Transylvania

Bob Fazakerly has played keyboards at First UU Church, Houston, for more than 25 years. He missed the choir's trips to Transylvania & elsewhere in 2003 & 2006 due to work and family obligations, but finally got to go this summer to help celebrate the electrification of the pump organ at our partner church in the village of Árkos/Arcus. Since Bob is a meticulous writer, I have left his report on his travels unedited.

For those who have this impression of Unitarian Universalists as a bunch of pagans and humanists, it helps to know that many of us maintain a sturdy theism, along with the belief that God is not necessarily the hairy thunderer depicted on the Sistine ceiling. The Unitarians in Europe mostly count themselves as Christians, as they have for more than 400 years, right alongside their Calvinist Reform, Orthodox, and Roman Catholic neighbors, though differing on the mathematical question of whether 3 = 1.--dbc

*****

RECOLLECTIONS OF ÁRKOS

Egy az Isten! These Hungarian words, or slight variants thereof, adorn every Unitarian church in Transylvania. The inscriptions on the bell towers and the woven tapestries inside the churches loudly proclaim, “God is One.”

As I found myself on the other side of the world in July – in the country of Romania, the provinces of Transylvania and Moldavia, the town of Árkos among others – those three words were constantly with me. We visited several other Unitarian churches besides the Árkos church, including the 13th-century church at Székelyderzs, and each one reminded me of the oneness of God. We visited many Orthodox, Reformed, Evangelic and Roman churches and monasteries as well. Amidst all the variety of religious art (or lack thereof), architecture, theology, and worship styles those three words, written or unwritten, were always present in my mind. We visited many places of remarkable beauty in a land of pristine mountains and lakes and the Oneness was all around us.

Egy az Isten! And if it is true, then we are One. Out of the oneness of God springs the oneness of humanity. Romanian and American. Hungarian and German. English and Russian. Eastern and Western. Black and White. Despite all apparent differences, we are one human family. Egy az Isten! The depth of meaning in those three simple words is endless.

I was there to participate in the dedication services for a new organ. Well, not a new organ really. It was an old organ that had been transformed by much new work. The old bellows were replaced by a new electric blower. Pipes had been reworked and tuned. Stop actions had been repaired. Tracker mechanisms and connections had been replaced. All of this had taken place under the direction of Dean Dalton, our former music director who now makes his home in Transylvania – at least part of the time – with his wife Zsófia.

I had a couple of lengthy practice sessions prior to the services. The organ and I had to arrive at some negotiated settlements. The organ did not immediately like my finger action. Being a tracker instrument, it wanted me to work a lot harder than I like to work. Nor did it like my carefully learned “toe-heel” pedaling – the result of many years of working on the radiating pedal boards built to American Guild of Organists specifications. I learned quickly that I was going to be the loser in these negotiations, so I changed some fingerings and started to use a “high-finger” technique that my first piano teacher emphasized for Bach playing. And I went to toe only on the pedal and brought some of the pedal notes up to the manual. Despite one stubborn, sticking key, things worked out okay in the end. Organists, by the way, are much better prepared if they have been trained on piano. The piano builds strong hands to accommodate such ornery devices as tracker organs!

The services brought quite a few dignitaries from the region. The minister of the Árkos church, János, was of course there taking great pride in the event. Also present was the Rev. Bálint-Benczédi, the Unitarian Bishop of Transylvania, the minister of the Reformed Church in Árkos, the Mayor of Árkos, and all the wonderful parishioners who are normally in attendance there. The choir sang in Hungarian and English. I loved their “Spirit of Life,” sung in English especially for the American visitors. The Cantor Attila – a genuinely nice person and good musician I am anxious to get to know better – has his new choir performing quite admirably.

The Saturday before the services, five of the Unitarian churches in the area combined to host a picnic and fair. It was delightful, with sermon and prayer followed by many performing groups, including Hungarian dancers and folk musicians, and fine food (not to mention a sort of liqueur concoction they call “’pálinka” which appears in abundance at all celebratory events). Listening to the folk music, I better understood the origin of some of the peculiarities of Béla Bartók’s music. The rhythms, modes and inflections of that folk music are indelibly etched in his scores. We came upon Bartók’s former residence in St. George quite by accident. We stopped to get a snack and pulled into a parking place that just happened to be right across the street from the Bartók memorial. I learned that one of the Unitarian churches in Hungary is named in honor of the great composer.

My son Bryan loves animals. Being a big city boy, this love has mostly accrued to the benefit of our three dogs. But in Árkos, Bryan found many other types of animals with whom to commune. Right there at Pastor János’s house there were cows, pigs, chickens, turkeys, geese, and pheasant. We stayed with a parishioner named Éva who had an intimidating German Shepherd. Bryan made friends with him, though the dog never took a liking to Cory or me. One evening at János’s house I was looking for Bryan and I wandered back to the cow pasture and there he was, reaching through the fence, with several of the cows waiting their turn to get his attention. Egy az Isten! Don’t forget the animals, for they also belong to the Oneness.

In the small, very poor village of Székelyderzs stands the oldest “Unitarian” church building in the world, dating back to the 13th century. Originally Roman Catholic, the building has served Unitarian congregations since the Reformation. It is still used for services. There is a pipe organ about the same size as the Árkos organ. The paint on the walls has been carefully removed in many places to reveal frescoes dating back centuries. A renovation process is underway. We met other tourists there. A couple was there from Florida and we struck up a conversation. There we were, fellow Americans meeting for the first time at a Unitarian church in Transylvania. Cory, Bryan and I took turns signing the guest book. Bryan and I went up into the church tower, as we had done at Árkos and at the Orthodox painted monasteries in Moldavia (in opposition to the signage, but we had the excuse we could not read the language). A beggar woman was outside the church trying to catch the tourists both coming in and going out. Cory handed her some money and I found myself thinking that by helping that woman Cory was helping all humanity in some mysterious way. I purchased a book to have a memorial of the church. It was in Hungarian and I couldn’t read a word. The next day I discovered two English pages in the book. Since I can’t read the rest of the book, I content myself to read those two pages repeatedly. There is something about that book that touches a special place in me.

Egy az Isten!

Bob Fazakerly

Our Redhead Rules the Roost at the Chicken Ranch

A while back, Paxton informed me that his musical theatre classmate Megan Stanke had a part in Country Playhouse's new staging of "The Best Little Whorehouse in Texas." countryplayhouse.org/whorehouse.php Of course, there was no need to consider: We were going. I managed to get a pair of tickets in the back row, center section, before last night's house sold out, and I'm really glad I did.

As the www.houstonpress.com/2009-07...the-wiz/ capsule review</a> in the Houston Press mentions, HSPVA's triple-threat redhead shines in the role of Shy, though she goes from awkward to fabulous all too quickly even for musical theatre. We were awfully proud of Megan, who has plenty of star quality without the massive ego that often comes with it.

The Press review gets a lot right, but it doesn't mention the real highlight of the show, for us anyway: the Aggies. CP found nine young men to play the seniors on the Texas A & M (American) football team who got treated to a night at the Chicken Ranch after beating the Texas Longhorns in the annual Thanksgiving game. And damn, can those guys dance! It was clear that choreographers Alex & Victoria Arizpe had those guys working their denim-clad booties off to give their big number the combination of precision and abandon that made it such a yee-ha moment.

Sure, the Chicken Ranch girls did a terrific job too, but it's always a pleasant surprise when guys from the neighborhood show that kind of talent.

We also discovered to our excitement that Michael Perez, with whom Paxton acted in "The Music Man" two summers ago, is a sophomore at Stephen F. Austin, majoring in psychology, minoring in theatre. Yee-ha again! In "Music Man," Michael stepped into the role of Marcellus (played by Buddy Hackett in the film) on less than a week's notice after the casting chaos that occurred during rehearsals. After the show, I "knighted" Michael with my umbrella and dubbed him Pax's Big Bro.

Pax told everyone who'd listen that he wants to come back next spring and audition for whatever musical CP is putting on. They'll be performing "Rent" on its li'l ol' stage in January 2010; Pax will be at school in Nacogdoches during rehearsals and can't help out with that show, but he'll certainly want to be here to cheer them on.

Fremont Solstice Cyclist Pix, June 20, 2009

Questions? Send me a message.

A video from the painting party into the ride: www.youtube.com/watch

Noam Gundle: www.flickr.com/photos/noa...0115554397/

Regolux: www.flickr.com/photos/279...0433322134/ and www.flickr.com/photos/279...0433068682/

Dapper Lad: www.flickr.com/photos/2ki...0020597122/

Daffodilious: daffodilious.xanga.com/705277...rising/

ArchitectureGeek (mostly from the parade itself, not the cyclists, but a good set): www.flickr.com/photos/arc...9942779987/

Matt Freedman: imageevent.com/pmattf/fre...ze2.tiger_s

Barebuns: www.flickr.com/photos/sot...0430017322/

Aaron Bonner: bonnerphoto.smugmug.com/galler...5_ovgak (cyclists) and bonnerphoto.smugmug.com/galler...7_DC3dQ (a few parade shots)

Lara: www.flickr.com/photos/lar...0802449078/

Control: Not the Janet Jackson Story

This is a bonus posting for this week.

www.imdb.com/title/tt0413108/
www.imdb.com/title/tt0079400/
www.imdb.com/title/tt0421082/
en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Joy_Division

This extraordinarily long paragraph is brought to you by my finally reading some short stories by the late David Foster Wallace. It's August 1986. I am finishing an Amtrak odyssey, having visited my folks in Connecticut and my cousin in Chicago. The Texas Eagle from Chicago to San Antonio departs about 2.5 hours late. As it travels, it gets further behind schedule, especially with a long stop in St. Louis. This is not good. I'm supposed to be in Austin by about 6:00 the next night to meet some friends with whom I have tickets to see New Order at the old Austin Convention Center, but it doesn't look as if the train will be there even at 10. Then I have to get from the Amtrak station to the gig. I'm not a huge New Order fan, I don't even own any of their records, but friends of mine do, KTRU does. But I'm a big enough fan that I don't want to miss a rare US appearance, especially when I've gone to the trouble of purchasing tickets. So thinking quickly, I jump off the train in Dallas, leaving my bags aboard, take a bus from downtown to Love Field, somehow get a ticket on a very full Southwest Airlines flight about 20 minutes before takeoff (using Southwest's new ticket computer and my handy VISA card). In a bit of a claustrophobic panic, I fly to Austin, get a cab from the old airport to the old Convention Center, and meet up with my friends to catch an amazing show (if a bit too short for all that trouble). My friend who had driven up from Houston then drove us to the Amtrak station just after midnight, when the train had just pulled in, so I could retrieve my luggage, and then to a no-star motel somewhere in South Austin for a sleepless night.

Recently I have been indulging myself, and the young rock fanatic that dwells within, with Netflix rentals. First I checked out Peter Gabriel's "Growing Up" concert DVD, shot in Milano in 2002. It is brilliant and self-indulgent in ways that only PG's concerts can be. There is the usual godly level of musicianship from Tony Levin, David Rhodes, and the others. There are the expensive stage tricks. There's the absolutely adorable presence of young Melanie Gabriel on backing vocals, looking sometimes very much at home, sometimes a little like a 13-year-old a trifle embarrassed to be hanging out with her dad. Strangely, the whole thing left me a little cold, partly because, having seen PG on three tours, I kept thinking how much more boss it would be in person.

Next came the 1979 documentary on the Who, "The Kids Are Alright," which I hadn't seen since my buds & I invaded the Champions Cinema to watch it when it came out. It was as good as I remembered, but again deprived of full impact by the small screen and a sensible volume limit on the audio. All over again I remembered being duly impressed, back in 1979, with John Entwistle's playing, and being surprised at how well Pete Townshend played (not just how artfully he destroyed) his guitars. I had forgotten how much goldurn racket the Who made in their live performances, and those sloppy drunk interview segments with Keith Moon and fellow dipsomaniac drummer Ringo Starr. Most disappointing was the reminder that without great songs and that Roky Erickson–inspired howl, Roger Daltrey would still be a sheet metal worker.

Then came the great revelation: I finally got to watch Anton Corbijn's lovely biopic on Ian Curtis, unhappily titled "Control." There are plaints and plaudits aplenty here, but on balance I loved it, if one can love a movie about a poetically precocious, epileptic, 23-year-old suicide. On the plus side, I loved the black & white cinematography, which was really shot on color stock and digitally decolorized. The lead actors Sam Riley & Samantha Morton as Ian & Debbie Curtis are beyond brilliant; granted, I don't know how realistic Riley's on-camera seizures are, but what he did physically during those scenes is not covered in most acting schools. Alexandra Maria Lara is also delicious as Annik Honoré, but she's more scenery and story. Lastly, I appreciate that Corbijn and the screenwriters kept things focused on the human elements of Ian, Debbie, and the immediate Joy Division family, in a very linear narrative fashion, without resorting to a lot of fancy cinematic tricks.

Quibbles I had with "Control" were mostly about the depiction of the band and its evolution. Before I go into these quibbles, be aware that the actors portraying Joy Division actually played and sang the songs on the soundtrack, close enough to the real thing to make you believe it was all lip-synched.

The whole story of the beginning of Warsaw/Joy Division revolves around Ian's fascination with Jim Morrison, who was a fairly obscure figure at that time in the Northern English industrial towns. Ian played Doors records for his mates, got them hooked, and he got a spot singing with the band. Ian was one of those great vocalists who was not technically a great singer. Despite his tenory speaking voice, he started singing in that world-weary baritone because of Morrison (and yes, Bryan Ferry too). In Riley's performances on the soundtrack, a discerning ear can catch a bit of the Morrison influence, and Jim's name appears briefly in Ian's room amid all the Bowie/Roxy paraphernalia.

Bernard Sumner apparently was even worse as a singer, if you believe the movie, but in real life must have picked up the knack by the time of Ian's death. I happen to like Sumner's quavery little voice, even on the earliest New Order recordings. By the time I saw New Order in 1986, he was damn good, but not nearly as impressive as Steven Morris's handling of keyboards, electronic drums, and real drums.

The portrayal of Peter ("Hooky") Hook in the film is a disappointment. Hooky has a well-deserved reputation for being a chronically angry dude who could knock back a few pints with the best of them. At the Austin show, he seemed a bit put out at having to play for a motley bunch of punks and goths and Ian Curtis Cultists in the ass-end of America, with a sub-par PA and the dreadful acoustics of a mostly concrete interior. He even seemed to be taking out his anger and frustration on the band, Gillian Gilbert in particular. Maybe in the Joy Division days Hooky was as bland and easy-going as he's portrayed—except during the riot scene when Ian gets a sudden bout of stage fright and Rob the Manager pays some hanger-on out to sing lead and the crowd gets hostile and Hooky gives some wanker a pretty good boot in the teeth (at least I think that's what happened). Incidentally, Toby Kebbell as Rob Gretton is fookin' brill.

Of course, in a film like this you have to decide what to leave out. So important bits go by the wayside, like, oh, Martin Hannett (played by Ben Naylor), the guy ultimately responsible for how Joy Division sounds on those masterful recordings. He's not important to this particular story, probably barely makes an appearance Debbie's book "Touching from a Distance," but he may have been among the first to realize that Ian's lyrics were preliminaries to his suicide. Also not so important to the story, but of interest to the band's fans, were unusual practices like changing the name of the band whenever there was a change in personnel, releasing singles without including the songs on albums, and insisting on bathing the stage in solid white light (no strobes, since they would provoke seizures; the band were known to get rough with lighting techs who tried to get creative with the strobes despite explicit instructions NOT to).

Finally, what the hel-lo?! "Ceremony," debuted in Joy Division's last gig, released on the posthumous double LP "Still," and as New Order's first single, does not make an appearance on the soundtrack. And, uh, seeing this film and some subsequent reading have put to rest for me the myth that Ian hanged himself in a meat locker. If the kitchen at his & Debbie's little townhouse in Macclesfield, Cheshire, could loosely be construed as a meat locker, then the myth might hold water.

Three Yee-Has for Sara Hickman!

I just received this bulletin from musical super-pal Sara Hickman, about whom I have written fawningly numerous times in this space. Sara is now officially a constellation in the same exalted portion of the Texas sky as Willie Nelson his-own-self. This comes after having a section of Lavaca Avenue renamed in her honor. In a word, OMG.

*****

AUSTIN, Texas – May 26, 2009 – The Texas Commission on the Arts (TCA) has announced its appointments to the positions of state poet laureate, state musician, state two-dimensional artist and state three-dimensional artist. These positions, created by SB 1043 of the 77th Legislature, will be filled by one-year appointments. The eight appointees named for 2009 and 2010 were selected for the exceptional quality of their work and for their outstanding commitment to the arts in Texas.

The 2009 appointees include Texas State Poet Laureate Paul Ruffin of Huntsville, Texas State Musician Willie Nelson of Austin, Texas State Two-Dimensional Artist Rene Alvarado of San Angelo, and Texas State Three-Dimensional Artist Eliseo Garcia of Dallas.

The 2010 appointees include Texas State Poet Laureate Karla K. Morton of Denton, Texas State Musician Sara Hickman of Austin, Texas State Two-Dimensional Artist Marc Burckhardt of Austin and Texas State Three-Dimensional Artist John Bennett of Fredericksburg.

[snip]

Tomorrow, Thursday May 28, at 9:30am a resolution naming Sara as State Musician will be read at the Texas State Capitol. If you're in Austin, you're cordially invited to attend!

During the reading of the resolution, legislators will recognize Sara and briefly talk about her accomplishments.

Seniors Reap Awards; Munchkins Fill RMC

(This post was edited 21 May 2009, after I realized that I had used real names where I normally use pseudonyms.)

The Class of 2009 at HSPVA consists of 147 seniors as of now. A little more than half of them showed up at Zilkha Hall in the Hobby Center for the Performing Arts last night for the senior award ceremony. A few dozen of them received scholarships and awards of merit in various disciplines, artistic and academic. A few of them received multiple awards because they are just that awesome.

Moose's name was called only once, among the many seniors (nearly all 147) who received Texas Scholar medals for completing certain high school courses. He did not win one of the two new Chandra Wilson scholarships, but then he's not the academic powerhouse that the Creshelle Smith and Micah Pushia are. Moose also did not win his classmates' vote for best performance of the year despite his star turn in "Zombie Prom." True, he acted, sang, and danced his dupa off in a difficult role, but Josh Langham got his Peter Sellers on in "Voice of the Prairie," playing eight different parts and leaving audiences breathless. The estimable Creshelle Smith also got the performance nod for her work in "For Colored Girls...," in which all seven young women kicked dramatic butt.

There's lots else to write about last night, but I'd like to make a mention that I spent what turned out to be a pleasant evening with Moose and She-Rex. It's always encouraging to know that the three of us can have fun together, as we did after the ceremony, going to Mission Burrito (dinner for them, a Negra Modelo for me), talking about the Classic Rock on the Sirius radio, solidifying plans for the summer.

*****

The award ceremony followed what could only be described as an exercise in claustrophobia. K (Musetta's daughter) participated in the HISD West Region's Elementary Gifted & Talented Expo at the Rice Memorial Center. The 300 kids, their exhibits, and their families filled the RMC Grand Hall and the old Sammy's to bursting. I literally could barely stand in there for five minutes, then could barely squeeze through the milling throng to get back out.

What I saw of the exhibits looked very nice, but I couldn't get close enough to any of them to give them a good look, and there certainly wasn't time to look at all of them. Hey HISD: Next year, bigger venue, please—and somewhere actually in the West Region with sufficient free parking, like the gym at HBU if possible.

Sadly, E (Musetta's son) could not attend the expo due to a wicked fluish cough and fever, possibly related to the bronchitis he had a few weeks ago. Poor lad is a mess. He had to stay home by his lonesome. Not only would he have been one additional body in that crowd, but a contagious body. With entire HISD schools closing for weeks at a time due to H1N1, one doesn't take chances.

Why Is This Critical Mass Unlike All Others?

In its essence, Ride to Work Day documents.publicworks.houstontx.gov/documents/divisions/planning/bikeway/bike_month_broadcast.pdf was like a Critical Mass ride. There were about 200 people riding their bikes together on city streets, occasionally stopping cross traffic and riding through red lights so that all could get through an intersection in a single cluster. And like a lot of CM rides, there was recorded music playing.

So much for comparison; now for the contrast.

First, this ride had the official sanction of the City of Houston. Mayor Bill White himself, City Councilmember Jolanda Jones, and a few other governmental luminaries participated in the event, pedaling from Memorial Park to City Hall. There was even a police escort of six very capable HPD bike officers and two Metro Police motorcycles.

Second, it was in the morning, riding to work as the event's name implies, rather than in the afternoon or evening riding away from the tall buildings. The cyclists met at the South Picnic Loop between 7 and 7:30 am. Because I could only estimate how long it would take to get there by bike, I left home at 5:30 and got to the park around 6:30, just as the first Public Works Department employees shepherding this ride arrived. My pre-ride ride took me through downtown Bellaire via South Rice Avenue, and past the Galleria on Sage Road.

Third, the musical accompaniment was provided not by some random kid with a boombox, but by a dude about my age (or a little younger) with an orange Slick Daddy retro bike attached to a trailer with a sound system hooked up to an MP3 player. Come to think of it...

Fourth, most of the riders were well-to-do middle-agers, certainly not college students and anarchists; the majority wore actual cycling togs and shoes along with the required helmets, and rode some nice rigs obviously not obtained at a pawn shop or garage sale.

I was alerted to this ride through an e-mail from a co-worker who facilitates the Cancerville cycling team. When I asked whether the team would be participating, she replied that there would not be an official Cancerville presence. This makes sense, since the ride terminated downtown, not at the Texas Medical Center. Maybe next year there will be a group of TMC employees that will start at Memorial Park, ride with the pack as far as Waugh Drive, then break off and continue southward to their jobs at Big Med.

The ride mostly followed designated bike routes, which makes sense: This is an event to promote, believe it or not, Houston's designated bike routes. We did not take over Memorial Drive as I'd expected; that would be more like mass suicide than Critical Mass. We crossed Memorial in the park, and went via the jogging loop to the back streets of the Rice Military neighborhood (which has no military installations and is several miles from Rice University), eventually chugging up the rather narrow Blossom Street all the way to Shepherd Drive; then we crossed back over Memorial, Buffalo Bayou, and Allen Parkway on the Shepherd viaduct, turning left on West Dallas with its nice, wide bike lanes. After I split off at Waugh, I have to assume that the ride continued on West Dallas all the way in.

Jolanda Jones is also a sponsor of a cool ride next week, the Tour da Hood. It starts at 8 am Sunday, 24 May, at TSU, and features stops in all six of Houston's historic wards, finishing around 3:30 pm. I have other obligations, but I wish I could participate in that ride.

Lastly, I should mention my bonus ride: Since I got to the park wicked early and didn't want to sit around waiting, I decided to check out the mountain bike trail the runs from the Picnic Loop toward Buffalo Bayou. As many kilometers as I have logged and in as many parts of this city, never had I checked out the trails in Memorial Park. They're doozies, color-coded by level of difficulty, and the yellow trail I rode has some scary bits. I consider myself a fairly intrepid rider, but I got to a downslope studded with roots, took a quick breath, and said aloud, "Aw, HELL no!" before portaging. When I got a little braver, I built up a little speed and tried a not-too-drastic upslope with some roots, but wound up eating more dirt than I was hungry for. Bike and rider hit the ground; left knee got a trifle skinned, heels of hands stung a bit from the impact. Next time, I'll bring a friend and a first aid kit.

25 Years

Well, I didn't post anything here yesterday, per my recently acquired habit of getting something up Monday or close to it. That's OK. I've missed my share of deadlines, and I'm not compulsive about what's not compulsory—well, maybe a few things.

Anyway, today's a more appropriate day, as I can observe the 25th anniversary of the graduation of Rice University's Class of 1984. Note that I use the word "observe" and not "celebrate." While I have been able to face getting old with better than average equanimity, it's still no fun to be reminded that one finished college a quarter of a century ago.

My life occasionally intersects with those of other 1984 Rice graduates (and 1980 matriculates who did not finish in four years), and some are Facebook friends. Many of them look smashing for 46+, without having resorted to the cosmetic surgery. Many of them are ridiculously successful in their professional lives, some in their personal lives. My record is checkered in both the professional and personal arenas. I guess that's the main reason I note this date with some jumbled emotions.

Certainly I don't begrudge my classmates their success. When I decided to major in classics and become a Latin teacher, it certainly wasn't the money that sparked the decision. Of course, I had planned to become at least a cult figure in either music or literature before age 30. So much for planning. Someone forgot to tell me to do more (than zero) drugs and write a jaded hipster youthquake novel like those of Bret Ellis and Jay McInerney.

But here I am 25 years down the road, with a white elephant house in Sharpstown, currently inhabited by my ex-wife and our 17-year-old; a shrinking but still considerable credit card balance; a bit of atrophy in my frustrated artistic muscles; problems with interpersonal communications; and a touch of the neurosis that accompanies a progressive worldview, induced by watching the governments of the world flirt with fascism.

Amid all this, I am also keenly aware of my many blessings—indeed, too many to list, and some of them quite mixed. There are the basic necessities in abundance, family, friends, rewarding work for a state institution, music, the world of ideas, anti-smoking ordinances, veggies and herbs growing in the backyard, among others.

Rice has changed, too, and not all for the better. Part of what I have always loved about the place stems from its smallness. I don't think all the expansion and construction, including the 30% increase in undergraduate population, is necessarily good for it. It will still be comparatively small, and inexpensive for a top-rated school, but I hardly recognize the place any more. How will Beer-Bike work with 11 colleges plus the GSA? Will the football team continue to qualify for bowl games (of which there are way too many for it to mean anything, but that's not Rice's fault)? Plus ça change, plus ça change.

There, I've spoken my piece. Now get off my lawn, you crazy kids.

Oldman & Depp

After Dema & I returned from seeing HSPVA's senior recital production, "Is There Life after High School?" we looked around for a movie and stumbled across "HP & Prisoner of Azkaban." The ad breaks were frequent, and that was when we found the soccer matches in the nearly empty stadia on two Spanish-language channels.

But back to Gary Oldman. I have seen him in a buttload of films, and not the ones you might think: e.g., I have yet to see "The Dark Knight" because I thought "Batman Begins" was shite. I probably will sit thorugh TDK at some point, which would be my 18th Gary Oldman flick. Three of those are from the Potter franchise.

Per IMDB, in chronological order of release and omitting titular italics or quotes:

Sid and Nancy, 1986
Prick Up Your Ears, 1987
Track 29, 1988
Criminal Law, 1988
Chattahoochee, 1989
Rosencrantz & Guildenstern Are Dead, 1990 (just rented that one)
Henry & June, 1990
JFK, 1991
Bram Stoker's Dracula, 1992
Immortal Beloved, 1994
Basquiat, 1996
The Fifth Element, 1998
The Contender, 2000
Harry Potter & the Prisoner of Azkaban, 2004
Batman Begins, 2005
HP & the Goblet of Fire, 2005
HP & the Order of the Phoenix, 2007

That's 17 out of around 55 feature films in which Oldman has appeared. I bring this up primarily because of my son's pursuing a career in the dramatic arts. And when it comes to acting, my boy could do a helluva lot worse than emulate Mr. Oldman. And actually, I made the list for my own benefit; I don't care whether anyone else notices or cares.

Another actor I've suggested Pax study closely is Johnny Depp. Here's my Depp list for the sake of comparison. I'm surprised at how many of his films I've never seen, like "Gilbert Grape," and thought I'd seen several more—but again, this represents about a third of his feature filmography.

Platoon, 1986
Cry-Baby, 1990
Edward Scissorhands, 1990
Fear & Loathing in Las Vegas, 1998
Chocolat, 2000
Blow, 2001
Once Upon a Time in Mexico, 2003
Finding Neverland, 2004
Charlie & the Chocolate Factory, 2005
Sweeney Todd, 2007
Pirates
Pirates
Pirates

A final thought: Why haven't Oldman & Depp made a film together yet?